Wild Card (56 page)

through him, making it hard to breathe, to think.

Jesus. They made a baby!

He stared in shock at her stomach. Then in awe.

He spread his hand over her stomach and felt the tightness in his chest fill his throat, lock

behind his eyes.

Then he watched in disbelief the little bead of moisture that dropped to her stomach,

shimmered against it.

Tears?

He blinked and another fell.

He felt the slam of emotion. Love, regret, pure blinding God-thanked reverence filling him as

he lifted his eyes to his wife's face, to see her watching him, tears sliding down her darkened

cheeks.

The bruises would fade, but this moment in time would always fill his memories.

"Go síoraí," he whispered, the old lilt to his voice almost, almost, normal as he reaffirmed his vow to her.

"Forever, Noah," she whispered tearfully, her hand covering his on her stomach, her breath

hitching in joy. Not in pain. "Forever, my love."

Four months later, on a blazing September day, Noah pulled his pickup into the graveled

driveway of his grandpop's cabin and stared at the vehicles gathered there with a sense of

throttled fury. Grant Malone was there.

"This wasn't our agreement," he said coolly, glancing over at her.

The bruises were long gone, but his memory of how close he had come to losing her wasn't.

She sat beside him, her hand on the tiny mound of her stomach as she stared out the windshield

thoughtfully.

She finally turned to him, and he saw the determination in her gray eyes. "It's time, Noah.

Grandpop called this meeting, Noah. There's things he wants us to hear. And we're going to

hear them."

"With him there?" He stabbed his finger to his father's ranch truck. "No, Bella. No way. No how."

He hadn't visited his father, hadn't made good on his threat to reach out and enter his

nightmares, and he would be damned if he would hold a civilized conversation with him now.

He'd asked one thing of him. Protect Sabella. His wife had spent six years with only Rory

standing between her and the world. And her own stubborn strength. He wouldn't forget that.

It was all he could do to bite back his curse. He couldn't curse in front of the baby when it came

so he might as well start practicing now. Right?

Something softened inside of him as he looked down at her stomach again. She was barely

showing, but their baby was there. His guts shook at the thought again and everything inside

him seemed to explode in a riot of sensation. Even now. Four months later.

He blew out a hard breath and stared back at the vehicles. Rory was there, and Jordan,

Grandpop, and Grant. Grant, not Father, and sure as damned hell not Dad.

"This wasn't part of the marriage rules," he gritted out, thinking about the page-long list they had fucking negotiated before she would marry him.

Negotiated, like a damned lawyer squabbling over pennies. She'd made him so fucking hot he'd

had her right there on the kitchen table. Hell, he was hard again just thinking about it.

"Yes it was," she answered calmly.

"Where?" He turned on her, his hands clenching on the steering wheel, no longer afraid she

would run away crying if he raised his voice a little bit. "Where the hell was it?"

"The part that stated Sabella was always right."

He snapped his teeth together and turned back. Fuck. He'd forgot about that one. The last one.

He was going to negotiate the hell out of it at the time, but he'd been too busy trying to get

under that silky skirt she was wearing.

"You cheat." He turned on her, nose to nose now. "We renegotiate."

"Too late, you signed it and you sealed it with marriage vows. You're stuck, Mr. Noah Blake."

Her lips curled in satisfaction, but her eyes were dark, her expression assuring him she was

very well aware of how difficult it would be to face his father now.

She laid her hand on his arm. "Grandpop is old, Noah. Whatever's waiting on us in there means

a lot to him. Give it a chance. Maybe you'll have some answers instead of the questions I know

burn inside you."

Why had he deserted Sabella? Not why hadn't he been a fucking father to him. Why had he

cheated on his mother? Why hadn't he claimed Rory and given him a home? God, why had he

turned his back on Grandpop and stolen everything the old man tried to work for?

So many questions that he had actually put behind him the day he faced Grant Malone in the

convenience center four months before.

"Fine." He gave his head a hard shake. "It won't change anything."

"All I ask is that you hear Grandpop out. Not Grant," she promised him. "I love you, Noah.

Some things, we need closure on. If not for us, then for our child."

Closure. He blew out a hard breath before he got out of the truck and strode around to the other

side. He lifted Sabella from the high cab, setting her easily on her feet as she leaned her head

against his chest for just a second.

"You owe me for this," he muttered. "That's definitely one of the rules. If I have to give in to Sabella knows best, then Sabella gives me head. Period."

"I always give you head," she said, laughing.

"Yeah, but I want special head."

"There's a special way to do it?" Her eyes lit up.

He loved that about her. She was always ready to play or get down and dirty.

"We'll discuss it," he grunted. He'd tease her until she begged to suck his cock. That was

special to him.

He kept his hand at her back as they moved to the rough boards of the porch. He loved

touching her. He touched her every chance he had. because he could, because she was his.

Jordan had made it easy on him. And whoever the hell backed the Elite Ops seemingly hadn't

even blinked at the situation. Noah was on backup on the few missions they had gone out on in

recent months. They were still waiting for information to see where the fallout on the militia

had gone. But even then, Noah would pull back. The name Malone might be dead to him, but

he was a husband, a father, and he wasn't risking that again. Not like he had before. Another of

Sabella's rules.

His job wasn't low risk, but it was lower than it could have been. And maybe he should have

read the whole Elite Ops contract. There was no resignation, there was no opting out, but there

was a stated waiver once the operative reached what they considered noncombatant age or was

deemed unable to effectively complete or conduct missions. They were then moved to backup

or technical ops.

Elite Ops would always own whatever job he did, but they didn't own his soul. Sabella owned

his soul.

Grandpop was waiting. The door opened and they stepped into the small living room. Grant

was sitting on the couch. Jordan and Rory in chairs that faced it. There were two more chairs to

the side that Noah knew had been pulled from the bedrooms.

Grant sat with his head down, his hands clasped between his knees. Jordan's expression was

somber, Rory's eyes gleamed with fury.

"What's up, Grandpop?" Sabella asked, kissing the old man's cheek as Noah moved in behind

her.

Grandpop held Noah's gaze. Noah had gone to him the day after he returned to his wife. They'd

held each other as Grandpop cried, slapped his shoulder, and then they had walked to the grave

and Noah had seen the truth there.

The gravestone had simply said "Nathan." Nothing more. Grandpop had never believed he was

dead.

"Grant has something to tell his son."

Noah's gaze moved to Rory.

Grant lifted his head as Noah glanced at him, and a shock of disbelief filled him. Tears filled

Grant's eyes, and knowledge. He knew. The same expression Grant had had the day Noah had

held him pinned to the cooler in the convenience store. Grant Malone had known who he was.

"Who told?" he growled.

"I knew," Grant whispered. "I knew the minute I saw you." He shook his head and a tear slipped free. "I knew when Dad didn't have your stone engraved. I knew when I heard Sabella

had a lover." He shook his head. "I knew."

"Doesn't change anything." He held Sabella to him, trying to harden himself. Trying to tell him it didn't matter.

Grant shook his head. "It has to matter." He looked at Sabella's small abdomen and another tear slipped. "It has to matter, Noah."

He lifted his eyes back to Noah. "Thirty-five years ago, I married a woman I didn't love. She

married me for the money I could bring to the ranch. You know that. I married her because I

wanted to build a legacy for the sons I intended to have. I got the ranch, but by the time my

first son came, I knew the danger we all faced."

Nathan knew about the loveless marriage. Before Tammy Malone's death, she hadn't exactly

been silent about the fact that she only married an "Irish cur," as she called him, to save the ranch her father was losing.

"We had you," Grant whispered. "The militia started targeting me then, Noah. I was Irish. They didn't want me here, but they couldn't kill me either. Killing me would break the agreement I

had with Tammy's father. And he was one of them. But they could hurt you. Dad." He looked

at Rory. "My other son."

Noah stilled.

"I made sure they knew I didn't have anything that they could destroy me with." He swallowed

tightly. "Dad knew." He nodded to Grandpop. "We both made sure you and Rory, and Belle,

were protected. You know he did, Noah."

"You took everything he had!" Noah snarled. "Don't lie to me now."

"No." Grant shook his graying head. "We made it look that way. We let everyone believe that."

He swallowed tightly. "Rory's mother died because they thought, rightfully, that she mattered

to me. I had to pretend she didn't." He shook his head. "Even your mother didn't know because

she was best friends with some of their wives and I couldn't risk my son. Neither of my sons."

He swallowed tightly. "I let them think I didn't care. I let them think there was no way to hurt

me, and I skated by. I stayed quiet. I ran my ranch and looked for ways to hurt them that

wouldn't come back on me." He rubbed at his face with his hands. "I sent pictures of the hunts

to the FBI. And those agents died. Finally, I went to Jordan."

Noah turned to his uncle. Jordan nodded slowly. 'This is why we brought together a team no

one could tie to an agency. We had more than four dead agents. There have been six total.

Every time we sent someone they were identified. We couldn't figure out how. Until Sienna."

Because she had hacked her husband's computer files. Because she knew how to watch, how to

listen, and how to deceive.

"Between her and the federal marshal and judge, no agency could get anyone in close enough

for proof."

"That was eight years ago. You were engaged to Belle," Grant whispered. "I did my best,

Noah, to protect her. Grandpop would make the mortgage payments when we had to do

something. He would let his buddies know I was being a bastard that refused to help. It nearly

broke him."

"You should have sold out when I wanted you to," Grandpop argued.

"We would have lost everything, Pop, you know that. Everything I tried to build for my boys.

For my grandchildren. Everything we saved all those years would have gone down the drain."

"Poor and happy ain't that bad, boy."

It was obviously an argument they had had often.

Grant could only shake his head as Noah let himself ease into a chair, pulling Sabella to his lap.

He couldn't let go of her. A lifetime of what he thought he knew was exploding in front of his

face.

He hadn't known his wife. He hadn't seen what was evolving in the town and with his father.

His vision had been so narrow, his focus on the SEALs, his career, on loving Sabella, and little

else.

His "death" had shown him how little he had lived, how little he had known.

"You didn't tell me," he whispered.

"You were one of the things I was trying to protect," Grant bit out. "For that." He pointed to Sabella's stomach. "Your future. Your wife and your children. Nothing else mattered to me,

Noah. I loved you, and I loved Rory, and I did my best. Not good enough, I admit, but my best.

And I prayed Dad could do the rest."

And Grandpop had.

Noah shook his head.

"I'm not asking for forgiveness, or for acceptance," Grant whispered. "But I want to know that baby, Noah. I want to be called Grandpop. I haven't been called Dad since you were a boy, and

I've lived with that. But I want to be a grandfather, just as bad as I wanted to be your father."

Silence filled the room then. Grandpop stood behind him, his hand settling on Noah's shoulder.

"The world is never what we think it is, Noah." He repeated the words Noah had heard so many

times. "There are layers, son. And layers. This is just another."

"But it's always love," Sabella whispered and pressed her hand against his where it rested over their child.

"Nathan Malone doesn't exist anymore," he told his father, thinking of him as a father, despite the practiced determination not to.

"But Noah Blake does," Grant stated. "And Sabella Blake is a gentle, compassionate woman.

Everyone knows that. If Grant Malone needs to pretend, hell." He shook his head. "Everyone

knows he's damned strange anyway. And I've been inconsistent enough over the years that it

won't be remarked on too much. I'm getting old. Rory is close to Noah Blake and his wife. No

one will question it."

And that was the truth.