A SEAL's Secret Baby. Laura Marie Altom

respect for his friend’s folks. Deacon hated swapping stories, or talking about how Tom was in a better place. Screw that. Tom’s heaven had been with Ellie and little Pia.

      When she approached this time, Deacon again tried to dodge her.

      “Deacon, wait,” she said, grasping his arm.

      Lips pressed tight, he stared into the blue sky, rather than look her in the eye.

      “T-thank you for being here.”

      “Sure.”

      “Thank you, too, for the new trash bin. It’s big enough that even the neighbor’s Dalmatian can’t tip it over.”

      How could he politely tell her he had no interest in small talk? Even though the two of them had never so much as shared an inappropriate glance when she’d been with Tom, the fact still weighed on Deacon that she’d been with him first. He couldn’t have explained why, but when Tom had been alive, the former hookup hadn’t been a big deal. Now it was.

      “I’m, uh, glad to finally get a chance to talk.” She sipped her white wine.

      “Lord, Ell…” Head tipped back, Deacon released a long sigh. He couldn’t do this. He could go days without sleep, food or shelter, but facing his best friend’s widow? Wasn’t happening. “I really don’t have anything to say.”

      “That’s fine.” She nodded toward a more secluded area of the deck. “I’ll do all the talking.”

      “What about Pia?”

      “Ada’s with her. Please, Deacon….”

      He made the mistake of meeting Ellie’s tear-filled gaze. Her blue eyes mesmerized, while at the same time made him feel like the world’s biggest jackass for even thinking of skipping out on her, regardless of what she had to say.

      “Why is it so hard for you to talk to me?”

      “You know why.” He glanced over his shoulder to ensure they weren’t being overheard. “Last thing I want any of these people knowing is that I slept with the widow. Sure, it might’ve been before you met Tom, but it bugs me.”

      “You think the fact doesn’t bother me? I’d give anything if we could take back that night, but we have to—”

      “For whatever you feel you must say, now’s not the time or place,” he interrupted. “If it’s waited this long, as far as I’m concerned, it can wait indefinitely.”

      Ellie was so shocked by Deacon’s rejection, she couldn’t react quickly enough to stop him from walking away. This was the second time that day he’d refused to talk to her. What was wrong with him? Was he missing a vital sensitivity gene?

      Why ask? She already knew the answer. After their one wild night together, he hadn’t invited her to spend the morning with him, or even asked for her number. He’d merely thanked her, before explaining he had a long-standing date with the gym.

      Determined to once and for all get her most closely guarded secret off her chest, Ellie tried chasing after Deacon, but was cut off by the base commander and his wife.

      “This has been such a great day,” the portly, white-haired man said. “Paula and I think of Tom often.”

      “Thank you.” Ellie was momentarily too consumed with her anger at Deacon to think straight, resulting in her blabbering the first thing to pop into her mind. “Tom thought highly of you. Just before he died, he quoted your Independence Day speech.”

      “Oh?”

      Dabbing at tears with a tissue, she said, “He was playing with Pia when he reminded her, ‘True bravery stems not necessarily from those with the biggest muscles, but the biggest hearts.’” Flashing a misty smile, Ellie added, “Only to him would that quote seem apropos, while purposely losing a game of tug-of-war with a baby.”

      The older man chuckled, and tears filled his wife’s eyes.

      “Where’s Deacon?” Commander Duncan asked. “This anniversary must be hard on him, too.”

      “He, um, was here just a minute ago.”

      From the driveway came the muted, yet unmistakable revving of Deacon’s Harley.

      “Don’t you worry, dear.” Paula gave her husband’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll find him.”

      Good luck, since the weasel is at this very moment fleeing the premises.

      * * *

      ELLIE WAS BEYOND GRATEFUL for the day to finally be over. Tom’s parents meant well, but remembering happier times in the presence of so many people had been harder than Ellie would’ve thought. Toss in her botched attempts to finally come clean with Deacon, and the afternoon had been an epic failure.

      Out on the deck of her weathered, shingle-sided Cape Cod home, with a briny breeze drifting from the Atlantic, Ellie set the baby monitor on the side table, along with a freshly uncorked bottle of merlot. She’d long since lost the strappy heels that matched her floral sundress, and had freed her long, dark hair from the ponytail she’d resorted to while on the beach.

      Tom had loved her hair down… Seated on his favorite lounge chair, the wine bottle resting between her breasts, she closed her eyes, imagining him there, leaning in close for a kiss, whispering how much he loved her and would always protect her and—

      The pain balled in her chest was too much to bear.

      Tears gushed, hot and stinging, until Ellie had difficulty breathing. This couldn’t be happening. Even a year after the fact, she had a tough time believing her husband was really gone. The anniversary had dredged up too many painful memories. Of all their plans—not just for raising Pia, but projects for their home… Near the back picket fence, the one Tom had trained sweet pea vines to trail along, they’d talked about putting in a water garden. Ellie had wanted a trickling fountain. He’d wanted a train set that he could run with his angel, Pia.

      Pia.

      Such a huge burden her sweet baby unwittingly carried.

      Tears started flowing again and Ellie upended the wine bottle, guzzling to find temporary relief where there was none. She dropped the bottle to the wood decking, and rolled onto her side, drawing her knees to her chest. She needed her husband so badly. With Tom gone, she didn’t begin to know what to do. He’d completed her, and ever since his passing she’d felt empty and raw.

      The French door opened and shut, startling Ellie. She glanced in that direction, only to have her heart sink. “What are you doing here?”

      Deacon, still wearing the khakis and polo shirt he’d donned for the party, shrugged. “Wish I knew.”

      “Are you drunk?”

      “Wishing for that, too, but…”

      As much as she’d wanted to once and for all tell him everything, Ellie wasn’t capable of dealing with him now. Not after the day she’d had.

      “I was on the beach, thinking about all the shores I’ve been on with Tom, and somehow I ended up here.” Hands in his pockets, Deacon shook his head. “I needed to be with someone who loved him like I do—did. Whatever. Tom was the greatest man I’ve ever known, and for the life of me, I can’t figure why the big guy had him take that bullet instead of me. Literally six inches to the right and this would’ve all played out different. You’d be sitting here with him, shooting the breeze about me, and—”

      “Stop,” she begged, folding her arms tight. “You might’ve been with him when he died, but I was with him when he lived. I’d give anything if I could take back the night you and I shared. Most especially, I’d pray for Tom to be Pia’s father instead of—” Clapping her hands to her mouth, she was thankful she’d stopped herself from confessing the secret she’d planned on delivering in a much saner way.

      Deacon’s dark eyes narrowed, his expression dangerous