Rogue (SEAL Team: Disavowed Book 1) (11 page)

“You’re okay . . .” Maisey was hugging him and crying and when he took her into his arms, it was with newfound awe.

“Do you realize you took on a fifteen-foot snake and won?”

“I was so scared for you.”

“That makes two of us.” Nash managed a laugh. “I was so worried about alligators that it never occurred to me to worry about man-eating snakes.”

“Come on,” she took his hand, leading him toward the water. “Let’s get cleaned off.”

His legs wobbled, and his pride fell another dozen notches as he was forced to concede that if his pregnant first love hadn’t been holding him up, he would have fallen.

She helped him sit on the sandy bottom, then washed him as if he were a child. She hummed an ethereal tune and his shoulders sagged as he surrendered to her and the moment, grateful to be alive.

“I’m stupid off my game,” he noted.

“Hush. You’re fine.”

“No. For real, I’m supposed to be saving you.” He sighed.

“You have—about a dozen times. Now, drop it. You’re still a big, tough guy, and I still love . . . you.” She’d washed his face and now dropped to her knees, kissing his forehead and cheeks and nose. “I’ve always loved you.”

Nash closed his eyes, wanting to return her beautiful sentiment, knowing he should love her, and once had deeply. But he couldn’t. Not anymore. He was badly broken, and if this recent turn of events hadn’t proven that to her, nothing would.

“Nash?” She raised his chin. “Say something—anything.” Her fathomless blue eyes begged,
please
.

“We should get going.”

Still staring and with tears welling, she nodded.

“Let’s keep heading north. We’ll have to eventually hit I-75.”

“Great plan.” She no longer met his gaze and more than he’d been scared of once again losing himself to her, he was that much more afraid of never again having her. Without his wife, he’d felt adrift, but here in this godforsaken swamp, he’d begun to think he might again have a reason for life. A life that, in a perfect world, might begin and end with Maisey.

She struggled upright and swam to the boat, once again fighting to drag herself aboard. Back in high school, Nash’s best friend, Todd, had a ski boat they’d take out on weekends. He’d been too broke to buy a swim ladder, so they’d all perfected the art of climbing over the side. Apparently, Maisey hadn’t lost her touch. Was there anything the woman couldn’t do?

Nash was more impressed with her than ever—not that the fact changed anything. “Aw, Mais, wait . . .”

The snake bite in his calf hurt like a sonofabitch, but the rest of him seemed to be in working order. He made it to the boat in time to hold out his hands, offering to help her the rest of the way to her seat.

Stoney eyed, she silently rejected his offer.

“You know I love you, Mais—like family.”
I’m sorry, but that’s all I’m capable of for now. Maybe ever
. After what she’d been through, she deserved more.

“Whatever. Can we go?”

He opened his mouth to explain, but what was the point? She was pissed, and he had no eloquent way to tell her his heart would forever belong to a dead woman.

Nash tried starting the engine, but got nothing.

No
ruh
,
ruh
,
ruh
. No ticking. Nada.

Shit
.

“Nash . . . Could you please come here? I-I think we have a problem.”

“Damn straight we do.” He tried the motor again. “This sucker’s dead. But what the hell? It worked fine when I shut it off.”

“Nash, please . . .”

“I know you’re ready to get started.” He’d already made his way to the back of the boat to check battery connections. “I’m working as fast as I can.”

“This isn’t about the stupid engine!” Her shrieked tone was loud enough to roust the seagull who’d landed atop the airboat’s fan into flight.

“Then what’s the problem?” In no mood for a confrontation about his
feelings
, Nash stormed past the bench seats to her. “From where I’m standing, a busted engine is kind of a huge problem.”

“Not as big as this.” She pointed to the pool of yellowish liquid at her feet.

“Are you hurt?”
I’m a dick
. “What happened? Did you cut yourself climbing onto the boat?”

“Worse.” She hugged her huge belly. “I think my water broke.”

“WAIT—WHAT DOES that even mean?” Nash asked. “Like I get what the fluid is, but your water only breaks when you’re about to deliver, right?”

Maisey nodded. “Usually in twenty-four hours. But I’m only at thirty-two weeks. My baby’s too small. Plus, because of a risk of infection, I’m not supposed to even bathe, so I’m guessing a swamp walk is a bad idea.”

“Lord . . .” He raked his hands through his hair. “Yeah, I remember Hope being a wreck because she was always afraid hers would break at the grocery store. The doctor told her most women have theirs break during delivery.”

“Perfect. But I don’t have a doctor—just you.” Honestly, she’d have rather been alone. Confessing her love for him, only to be told that he essentially loved her like a sister had come as quite a blow. It shouldn’t have. She’d long ago passed on her chance to be with him, but the vivid dreams she’d been having told another story. Reliving their first time had brought everything rushing back. He’d been her rock, supporting her through each of life’s blows. It hadn’t mattered if she’d flunked a geometry test or her car wouldn’t start or her mom caught her dad cheating again. Regardless of the circumstance, Nash was always there—until he wasn’t. And she’d been forced to rely on herself. It hadn’t been an easy transition, but she’d done it and thought herself better off having learned the skills. Then Vicente had come along, and she’d leaned on him. Why was she now once again turning over her power to Nash? It made no sense.

It does if you never stopped loving him
.

She bit her lip through the rising pain of what she now knew wasn’t a cramp, but a contraction, then glanced up to find Nash staring. “On the plus side,” he said, “I’ve been to a lot of places where having babies in grass huts is normal, so I know we theoretically can do this. It’s not ideal that your little guy is small, but we’ve got this. Don’t worry, okay?”

“Sure.” Easier said than done.

“Sit tight. I’m going to work on the engine. Hopefully, it’s an easy fix—a loose wire or spark plug.”

Whatever. She was done. Allowing herself to be wrapped in the fantasy of what she and Nash once shared had been a mistake. She’d soon be a single mom, which meant she no longer had the luxury of lingering in the past when, like it or not, she was barreling toward her future.

A low humming on the horizon caught her attention. A boat?

Maisey grunted, pushing to her feet, shading her eyes from the already bright sun. An ancient Wellcraft was barely visible, but coming closer.

“Hey! Hey!” She crossed her arms over her head, hoping to draw the driver’s attention.

“What the hell are you doing?” Nash practically ambushed her, dragging down her arms, and jerking her beside him.

“Unlike you, I’m getting us rescued.” She struggled free.

“You don’t even know who that is,” he said when the boat came close enough for them to clearly identify a man and woman on board. “They could have ties to Vicente.”

“Hey!” Freed from Nash’s hold, Maisey waved all the harder. “Over here! Help!”

“Are you crazy?” He fought her again. “I know you’re pissed, but you’re not being smart.”

The boat turned in their direction.

“Thank God.” Relief shimmered through her in dizzying waves. Assuming these undoubtedly nice locals knew their way around the swamp, her baby would be born in a safe, snake-free environment.

“Take this.” He handed her a sheathed knife. “Keep it hidden in case things go bad.” He tucked a pistol in the waistband of his pants, drawing his shirt over it. He also had two knives and a second gun in his cargo pants’ thigh pocket.

“Look at them,” she said with the family fishing boat now in full view. An elderly couple sat beneath a shaded canopy. Each held a bottled sweet tea. A bag of Ruffles potato chips rested on the bench seat between them. An assortment of fishing poles, coolers and crab pots littered the front of the boat. Hip waders and life jackets had been mounded on the back.

“Ahoy,” the white-bearded man said with a friendly wave. He reminded Maisey of Santa. “You having engine trouble?”

“Yessir,” Nash stepped in front of her. Maybe he thought Santa and plump, smiley Mrs. Claus might launch a surprise marshmallow gun attack? For the first time since leaving Vicente’s compound, Maisey dared exhale. Everything truly would be all right. “Probably the battery. Mind giving us a jump?”

“I’ll do you one better—how about a tow back to our dock, then you can work at your leisure on fixing the problem. Mother, here, will fix us a nice—”

“Harvey, hush. Look at that poor girl. Can’t you see she’s miserable and about to pop?” The elderly woman stood, offering Maisey her hand to help ease the transfer to their boat.

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” Nash said under his breath. “Let me check them out first.”

“Stop.” Maisey was done with his mission. While she appreciated his rescue more than he could ever know, for now she needed this darkness behind her at least long enough to welcome her innocent baby into the world. She had no illusions that Vicente wouldn’t still move heaven and earth to find her, but for this brief window in time, all was right in the world.

The adorable saviors brought their boat close, and sheer adrenaline-fueled joy helped Maisey safely aboard.

Nash reluctantly followed.

Introductions were made and Maisey admitted her water had broke, so she needed medical assistance ASAP.

“Since y’all are in a hurry,” Harvey said, “how about I bring Nash back around for your boat later? You know, once the missus and baby are settled.”

“That’d be great. Thanks.” Nash shook the man’s hand, but his rigid posture told Maisey he was nowhere near relaxed.

“You poor thing,” the kindly woman offered Maisey her seat beside the captain. “I mean no disrespect, but you look a mess. Been out here long?”

Maisey nodded. “Do you have any bottled water?”

“Where are my manners?” Mildred not only doled out chilled waters, but ham and cheese sandwiches, deviled eggs and chips.

“Thank you,” Maisey managed between frantic bites. “My baby books said I wouldn’t be hungry close to delivery, but they lied.” Knowing they’d had nothing, she’d put hunger and thirst from her mind, but now both matters were front and center. “It’s been a while since our last meal.”

“What exactly were y’all doing out here?” Harvey asked from behind the craft’s steering column.

“Fishing,” Nash said.

“Sightseeing,” Maisey stupidly said over him.

“Judging by your nightie,” Mildred said to Maisey with an exaggerated wink, “I figured you two were newlyweds, out for a day of hanky-panky.”

“We tossed in a bit of that, too.” Nash finished his water, then started on his sandwich.

Harvey fired up the engine with a chuckle. “I always say the worst day fishing is better than the best day working. Throw in some good, old-fashioned necking and you’ve got a fine morning indeed.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Mildred lurched forward to give her man a good-natured swat. “Just because your mind lives in the gutter, doesn’t mean you have to share the filth that comes out.”

The two bickered above the engine’s steady hum.

Maisey leaned back, beyond thankful. Having Mildred and Harvey find them was nothing short of a heaven-sent miracle. Her mind struggled to switch gears from the rapid transition from depths of despair to rescue.

Rehydrated, with food in her tummy, she rode out the latest contraction like a champ, breathing along with the rise and swell, reassuring herself that this nightmare would soon be over. As soon as she safely delivered her baby, she’d report Vicente to authorities, they’d pick him up and haul him off to a cell, and then she and Nash could be on their way to Jacksonville for a nice, long visit with their moms—not that they’d be together past then. He’d made his feelings for her—or rather, lack thereof—clear.