The Daddy Salute. Maureen Child

and families and drifted off, Brian stood alone. Waiting.

      Then she was there.

      A woman came toward him, older, a bit gray, with kind eyes and a tired droop to her posture. Over one shoulder she carried a Winnie the Pooh bag and on her right hip was perched a baby girl.

      His baby girl.

      Maegan Haley.

      God help them both.

      “Gunnery Sergeant Haley?” the woman asked as she stopped in front of him and swung the bag to the floor.

      “Yes, ma’am,” he said, unconsciously shifting stance to attention. His gaze flickered to the baby, who stared at him through eyes so much like his own he felt an invisible fist crash into his belly. Well, whatever else had happened, Mariah hadn’t lied.

      His daughter.

      The woman saw his reaction and gave him a soft smile. “I’m Mrs. Norbert, and this…is Maegan.”

      “Uh, huh.”

      “If you wouldn’t mind showing me some identification?”

      She looked as though she was having second thoughts about handing over the baby. He didn’t blame her. Still he showed her all the ID he had and she appeared to be satisfied.

      “So,” she said, “everything seems to be in order.”

      Real good, Haley, he told himself. Impress the woman with your articulate style.

      But she didn’t seem to mind that he’d been struck dumb.

      “In the bag there are a few diapers, a bottle of apple juice and some teething biscuits.”

      “Teething biscuits?” Oh, man, he was in deep trouble here.

      “Something like a hard cookie.”

      “Uh-huh.” He nodded, and in an effort to sound at least halfway knowledgeable said, “It looks like she’s got all her teeth.” He knew this because the baby was baring said teeth at him.

      “Oh, most of them, yes,” the woman said. “but those back teeth are tough little beggars.”

      Swell.

      “Anyway,” Mrs. Norbert went on, “you’ll have to do some shopping right away, but at least you don’t have to worry about formula.”

      “Formula?”

      “Yes.” She looked up at him and shook her head slightly. “Maegan drinks regular milk now, and she can eat people food.”

      Well that worked out well, but then he hadn’t planned on feeding her cat chow.

      “Although, you might want to go easy on regular food and stockpile some jarred toddler foods.”

      “Uh-huh.” Numb. Completely numb. And the baby didn’t look too happy about the situation, either.

      “So! If you’ll just sign these…” The woman dipped a hand into her large black purse and pulled out a sheaf of legal papers.

      Brian took them and stared down at the words, watching as they blurred and fuzzed. He was about to sign his life away, and for some reason his eyes were refusing to focus.

      “A pen. Do you have a pen?” she asked.

      “No.” A bayonet maybe. A gun. But no pen. “No, I don’t.”

      “Never mind, I do,” Mrs. Norbert told him, digging into the bowels of that purse again. “Here, you just take the baby and I’ll find it.”

      With that, she plopped Maegan into her daddy’s arms, and man and child stared at each other warily. Brian studied her, noting the heart-shaped face, the string of drool hanging from her pouting mouth and the butterfly hair clip attached to impossibly fine, light-brown hair. She wore a frilly blue dress, shiny black shoes and white tights straining over a well-padded behind.

      Brian held her exactly as he would a live grenade—with extreme caution, at arm’s length.

      Maegan looked him over, and he was pretty sure she didn’t approve of him. Of course, how could he blame her? Some strange woman had just loaded her onto a plane, flown across the country and dropped her into the arms of another stranger. What did she have to be happy about?

      As if to prove him right, Maegan started kicking her little feet wildly, then screwed her face up into a mask of displeasure just before howling like some crazed hound on the scent of fresh meat.

      “Geez!” he choked out. “Hey, hey stop that,” he told her, and jiggled her slightly.

      The only effect that move had was to make the sound of her cries go up and down like a talentless kid playing scales on the piano.

      “Oh, pay no attention,” Mrs. Norbert said as she came up with the long-sought-for pen. “She’s just tired and cranky.”

      “I know how she feels,” he muttered. In fact, he was getting crankier by the minute.

      “Excellent,” she said, taking the baby from him so he could sign the papers that would make him solely responsible for one tiny, loud scrap of humanity. “I’m sure you’ll get along wonderfully well. It will just take some time.”