The Daddy Salute Read online

  “Don’t Misunderstand, Sergeant. I’m Going To Take Care Of Your Baby. Not You.”

  One light brown eyebrow lifted and Kathy’s toes curled. Oh, brother, what was she letting herself in for?

  “Strictly business?” he asked.

  She cleared her throat noisily. “Business.”

  “Good. It’s a deal, then,” Brian said, and held out one hand.

  She looked at it as if it were a snake and had to work up her nerve before she slid her hand into his. But even braced for the contact with his skin, as his fingers were curled around hers, she felt a white-hot burst of light shoot straight from her fingertips, along her arm to dazzle her heart.

  She was in deep trouble. She could feel it in her bones.

  The Daddy Salute

  MAUREEN CHILD

  To my editor, Karen Taylor Richman, with thanks for her support and her belief in me. Karen, I wish you joy with your little miracle. You’re entering an amazing new world…enjoy the magic.

  Books by Maureen Child

  Silhouette Desire

  Have Bride, Need Groom #1059

  The Surprise Christmas Bride #1112

  Maternity Bride #1138

  *The Littlest Marine #1167

  *The Non-Commissioned Baby #1174

  *The Oldest Living Married Virgin #1180

  *Colonel Daddy #1211

  *Mom in Waiting #1234

  *Marine under the Mistletoe #1258

  *The Daddy Salute #1275

  MAUREEN CHILD

  was born and raised in Southern California and is the only person she knows who longs for an occasional change of season. She is delighted to be writing for Silhouette Books and is especially excited to be a part of the Desire line.

  An avid reader, Maureen looks forward to those rare rainy California days when she can curl up and sink into a good book. Or two. When she isn’t busy writing, she and her husband of twenty-five years like to travel, leaving their two grown children in charge of the neurotic golden retriever who is the real head of the household. Maureen is also an award-winning historical writer under the names Kathleen Kane and Ann Carberry.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  One

  “You can’t die! Not now.” Kathy Tate turned the key one last time, listened to the dreaded coughing and droning of the engine, then shut it off and slapped the steering wheel. “For Pete’s sake,” she reminded her trusty Bug, “you just had a checkup.” An overhaul, she thought with disgust, that had cost her a whopping six hundred dollars.

  The battered old VW sat silent, apparently having nothing to say in its own defense.

  Well, perfect. She stared out the windshield at the tree-lined suburban street. How was she supposed to get into town and deliver the stack of résumés she’d been up all night typing and printing?

  “U.S. Marines to the rescue, ma’am.” A deep voice interrupted her thoughts, and she slowly turned to look out the driver’s side window.

  Oh, man. Talk about from the frying pan into the fire.

  Her heartbeat did a weird little thump as she stared into the crystal-blue eyes of her across-the-hall neighbor, Sergeant Brian Haley. He and a friend of his had been playing basketball in the driveway when she’d left her apartment only a few minutes ago. She’d managed to get past them with just a quick wave, but now she was trapped. By her own blasted car. The traitor.

  Her “rescuer” bent at the waist, put both hands on his knees and peered in at her. Sharply chiseled features, short, marine-regulation haircut and bare, tanned, sweat-dampened muscles that looked to have been meticulously carved into his chest made for one impressive package. Unfortunately, in the month since he’d moved in, she’d learned that he was all too aware of his impact on women.

  Oh, not that he seemed conceited or anything. It was more subtle than that. When he smiled that crooked smile of his, it was clear that he fully expected a woman to turn into a puddle of goo. And, since Kathy Tate puddled for no man, she’d become something of a challenge to him. Lately it seemed that whenever she turned around, there he was.

  “Need some help, ma’am?” another deep voice spoke up, and Kathy swiveled her head to look out the passenger window at Brian’s friend. Judging by the high-and-tight haircut, he was also a marine. But then, in Bayside, a town only a mile or so from Camp Pendleton, you couldn’t swing a broom without hitting a marine.

  “No, thanks,” she said. She didn’t need help. What she needed was for her stupid car to start.

  “Kathy Tate,” Brian said, “this is First Sergeant Jack Harris. Jack, meet Kathy. My new neighbor.”

  “Hi.” He gave her a friendly smile that Kathy returned with ease once she noted the gold wedding ring on his left hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” she said.

  “I say she needs help, Jack.” Brian shook his head slowly as he gave the little car a good once-over. Then, looking past her at his friend, he asked, “What do you say?”

  “Oh, definitely.”

  Kathy turned to stare at Brian. One corner of his mouth was tilted into that patented lady-killer smile, but his eyes were all innocence. Yeah. Like she believed he was an innocent. “Okay, guys, I appreciate the offer. But look, the car will be okay. It just needs a rest, that’s all.”

  “A rest?” Brian repeated with a short laugh. “For how many years?”

  She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and gritted her teeth. It was one thing for her to insult poor old Charlie the VW; it was quite another for somebody else to take a shot at it. “Sergeant Haley…”

  “Gunnery Sergeant,” he corrected for her.

  “Whatever,” she snapped, and shot him a look that should have singed the soles of his feet. However, he seemed completely unaffected. “I didn’t ask to be rescued, so why don’t you just go back to your game?”

  He grinned at her and glanced at his friend. “Well, Jack, do the marines wait around to be asked or do we go where angels fear to tread?”

  “Ooh-rah!” the other man said in a hoarse grunt.

  “Oh, brother…”

  “From the Halls of Montezuma…” Brian intoned in a deep, steely voice.

  “…to the shores of Evans Avenue,” Jack finished for him as they both straightened up.

  “Come on, you guys,” she said loudly, but they were already moving toward the back of her car. Kathy slapped her forehead against the steering wheel once, muttered a curse she hoped her car understood, then hopped out to keep an eye on the cavalry.

  They had the little hood open by the time she got there. With their backs to her, she had quite a view of what looked like miles of tanned, muscled flesh. If nothing else, she had to give it to the corps. When they advertised “building men,” they weren’t kidding.

  “So,” Jack asked, “what do you think the problem is?”

  “Nothing a good round of mortar fire couldn’t fix.”

  “A mortar?” Kathy repeated, leaning over them, trying to keep an eye on what they were doing.

  Brian glanced at her over his shoulder and explained. “It’s a gun. A really big gun.”

  “Very funny,” she retorted.

  “Who’s kidding?” he asked on a snort of laughter. “This thing’s on its last legs.”

  “VWs can go forever,” she said.

  “And this one obviously has.” He shook his head, reached past a cluster of greasy wires to the shadowy interior of the engine and pushed and
poked around for a minute or two. “Still,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else, “never let it be said that a marine couldn’t get a machine to run.”

  “Oh, perish the thought,” she muttered. Kathy thought she heard Jack chuckle, but she couldn’t be sure. A moment later, Brian stood up abruptly and almost knocked her over. He reached for her automatically to steady her, and where their hands touched, she felt a blast of white-hot heat that nearly swamped her.

  He let her go instantly and took a step back, as if he’d experienced that strange sensation, too, and wasn’t sure what to do about it. Heck, Kathy knew what she was going to do. Ignore it.

  “Okay,” Brian said, as Jack stood up. “Kathy, get in the driver’s seat, and when I tell you, try to start it.”

  “Fine,” she said, knowing it was pointless to try to reason with a man who was attempting to outsmart a car. Besides, it would get her out of his immediate presence and put a nice, solid car door between them.

  Once she was settled, she pushed the clutch in, grasped the key and waited for the signal. That’s when she heard it—a stream of harsh, guttural sounds pouring out of Brian Haley’s mouth. He shouted, he snarled and he did it all in a language she’d never heard before, though she suspected its origins.

  Then he called out, “Okay, try it now!”

  She did, whispering a little prayer as she turned the key. Instantly good old Charlie fired up, his throaty roar splintering the otherwise quiet of the afternoon.

  Both men strolled up to the driver’s side window, and Kathy turned to look up at them.

  “Outstanding,” Jack said.

  “Consider yourself rescued,” Brian told her.

  Okay, so she hadn’t wanted their help. She hadn’t wanted to be indebted to Sergeant Smile. But it had turned out all right. The least she could do was be gracious. Looking right at him, she squinted into the sunlight and said, “Thanks.”

  One brown eyebrow lifted, and he nodded his head briefly. “You’re welcome.”

  Then, because she couldn’t stand not knowing, she heard herself ask, “Were you speaking in German a minute ago?”

  That grin of his widened, and she had to take a firm grip on her blood pressure.

  Shrugging, he said, “I was stationed in Germany a few years ago. Learned enough curse words to give any German car a taste of home and shock it into doing what it’s supposed to do.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” she wondered aloud.

  “Lady,” Brian said as he leaned one hand on the roof of her car and lowered his head to within inches of hers, “as you get to know me, you’ll find I’m just one surprise after another.”

  Kathy smiled sweetly at him and said, “I don’t like surprises, Sergeant.”

  “Gunnery Sergeant.”

  “Whatever.” Then she shoved the car into first, gunned the motor and took off, letting the gunnery sergeant scramble to find his footing.

  As the VW coughed and snarled its way down the street, Brian shook his head slowly. “That woman is really starting to get to me.”

  “Yeah?” Jack said and slapped him on the back. “From where I’m standing, it looks like Hands-on Haley is striking out.”

  Brian shot him a look and grinned. “Jack, my man, I’m just comin’ up to bat.”

  “Not a chance. That was a clean swing and a miss. I call that strike one.” Laughing, he started back toward the driveway to finish their interrupted basketball game.

  Brian stared in the direction the VW had gone, long after it had disappeared from sight. Strike one, huh? Well, he had two more coming to him. And he’d never been a man to give up easily.

  “Hi, neighbor.”

  Caught. Kathy stopped short at the sound of that deep, rumbling voice. She’d hoped to get into her apartment without seeing him again today. But apparently the man had some sort of radar where women were concerned. She took a long, steadying breath before turning around to face the man standing behind her.

  It didn’t help.

  As always, her pulse skittered and her heart pounded against her rib cage. Her palms went damp and her mouth went dry.

  Brian Haley, six foot two inches of solid muscle and practiced charm stood in the open doorway of his apartment and smiled down at her. And it was truly an amazing smile. Kathy was forced to remind herself, again, that she wasn’t interested.

  Unfortunately, that fact was getting harder and harder to remember.

  “Been shopping?” he asked, leaning against the doorjamb and folding his arms across his broad chest, now covered in a red T-shirt emblazoned with the U.S. Marine Corps emblem.

  She flipped her hair back out of her face, forced a smile and said, “Boy, nothing gets past you, does it?” Then she hitched the twin grocery sacks in her arms a bit higher.

  His grin only widened at the sarcasm. Reaching for the bags, he cradled them both in one brawny arm and said, “Marines are trained observers.”

  “Lucky me,” she said, and took a moment to stick her key in the lock and turn it. Then she made a grab for her grocery bags. “Thanks for the help, but I’ll take them from here.”

  “No trouble,” he said, moving out of reach. “Any more downstairs?”

  Stubborn, that’s what he was. Stubborn and gorgeous and, like all good-looking men, programmed to flirt with any female in range. Well, she’d been flirted with before and withstood temptation. With her less-than-stellar track record in the romance department, resistance was the best defense.

  “Your car give you any more trouble?” he asked.

  “Nope,” she said. “Started up every time all afternoon.”

  “Probably needs a tune-up, anyway,” he told her.

  “It just had one, thanks.” She opened the door and walked inside, determined not to stand around in a too-narrow hallway with a man whose touch had the ability to start small electrical fires in her bloodstream.

  Brian followed her in, still carrying the groceries. She’d let him inside, thank him for his help and then send him the heck out of there, fast.

  He set the bags down on the bar counter separating the kitchen from the living room, then turned slowly to admire her place. It looked like her, he told himself. Soft, feminine. White lace curtains at the front windows splintered the afternoon sunshine into frothy patterns that lay across the wood floors in snowflake patterns. Overstuffed chairs and a love seat were pulled up to a round coffee table strewn with books and magazines. Pictures of country lanes and lighthouses dotted the walls, and the faint, sweet scent of lavender flavored the air.

  “It’s nice,” he said after a long moment, and turned to look at her. Her soft brown hair fell straight to her shoulders, then curved under at the ends. A few wispy bangs feathered her forehead and her liquid chocolate eyes looked at him warily. Irritation fluttered through him. He still saw disinterest and a cool distance in her eyes every time she looked at him. After a month of living in such close quarters, you’d think she’d at least let her guard down a little.

  Hell, he was a marine.

  One of the good guys. Though he doubted that meant a thing to her.

  He hid a smile as he realised she was standing in her kitchen, barricaded behind the counter. As far from him as she could possibly get.

  “Thanks,” she said quietly. “Look, I appreciate the help, but I—”

  “You’re busy,” he finished for her. “I know.” He wasn’t surprised she was giving him the bum’s rush. Though she was always polite, she’d made it clear she didn’t want to get to know him as well as he’d like to know her.

  And maybe that was a good thing. He didn’t like complications. And starting up an affair with a woman who lived right across the hall from him would definitely be complicated.

  Then again, he thought with another quick look up and down her small, but curvy body, she just might be worth it.

  She cleared her throat, and he blinked.

  “Thank you…?” she said pointedly. “And goodbye…?”

  “Right,�
�� Brian said, nodding. But before he left, there was one thing he wanted to know. Moving a bit closer, he leaned both elbows on the faux butcher-block countertop, locked his gaze with hers and asked, “What exactly is it you don’t like about me?”

  She looked startled by the question. Sliding her hands into the back pockets of her tight, faded jeans, she cocked her head to one side and said, “I never said I didn’t like you.”

  “You didn’t have to,” he assured her.

  She took a deep breath and sighed it out. “I don’t even know you.”

  He gave her a small smile. “We could fix that.”

  “No, thanks.” A quick shake of her head emphasized that statement.

  “See what I mean?”

  She frowned at him. “Now I’ve got a question for you, Sergeant Haley.”

  “Gunnery Sergeant,” he corrected her.

  “Whatever.”

  “Shoot.”

  Both of her eyebrows lifted, and she pursed her lips as if she was actually considering doing just that. A look like that could give a man pause.

  After a long moment she asked, “Why are you trying so hard to make me like you?”

  “I’m not trying to—”

  “You replaced the fixture in the hallway,” she said, interrupting his futile attempts to deny her accusation.

  Brian had to defend that one. “The landlord wasn’t going to do it anytime soon, and that hallway was like the black hole of Calcutta at night.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, and pulled her hands free of her pockets only to fold her arms across her chest. One foot started tapping against the kitchen floor.

  He glanced at it, shrugged and said, “I guess I’m just a small-town kind of guy. Helpful, neighborly.”

  She smirked at him. “You told me you were from Chicago.”

  “My neighborhood was small.”

  She shook her head in exasperation. “You fixed my doorbell without being asked.”