The Marine's Secret Daughter. Carrie Nichols
what was it for? He ran his hand through his hair and tugged on the short strands. “I had to do something. You’re...you’re—”
“Trying...to breathe?” She raised her eyebrows, crinkling her forehead.
His hands fisted with the need to shake some sense into her or cradle her close and never let her go, no matter what Liam McBride or anyone said. “Do you have another inhaler at your place?”
When she shook her head, his chest squeezed in sympathy. From the moment he’d recognized Meg, he may as well have been in the blast zone from an improvised explosive device. His ears rang, his breath caught in his throat, his heart raced. Where was his battle calm? In an attempt to keep his hands to himself, he paced the small kitchen.
“I...” She set the untouched water on the table, her gaze shifting to a small purse on the counter.
How had he missed that? He grabbed the purse. “Do you have another inhaler in here?”
She shook her head. “Phone.”
“Phone?” he echoed.
“To call the pharmacy...” She stood but swayed and grabbed the back of the chair before reaching for the purse he had in his hand. “For a refill.”
“Meg, please. Sit down.” He stepped toward her, but she waved him off. “That could take too long.”
“I’ll be okay in a minute.” She pressed a hand to her chest.
“We shouldn’t take that chance.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket. “I’m taking you to the ER.”
“No, really... I...” Her voice trailed off as she began gasping for air, struggling to keep upright.
“I’m done asking. Now I’m ordering.” Riley put his hand under her elbow and gave her no choice. “My truck. Now.”
She pulled out of his grasp. “I can...walk.”
Whoa. Obviously while gaining those womanly curves, she’d lost that youthful attraction for him, but that was okay. For once something other than combat was getting his blood pumping.
* * *
Reality, meet Meg. Meg, meet reality.
This was not how her first meeting in over five years with Riley Cooper was supposed to happen. In her imagination, she was all sexy in a little black dress and killer heels after a relaxing spa day. Yeah, right; she’d spent the day cleaning and probably looked like Nick Nolte’s mug shot. So not fair! Riley was supposed to be breathless and falling at her feet, not vice versa. Stupid, stupid asthma. Another twenty minutes and she would’ve been home, not making embarrassing wheezing and whistling noises in front of him.
In the cellar, Meg had thought Riley was a hallucination brought on by her oxygen-starved brain, but it hadn’t taken long for her to see he was swoon-worthy flesh and blood. Riley had this whole bad-boy persona going on, with close-cropped military hair, Hollywood stubble and chiseled cheeks. What was he doing in Loon Lake? Last she knew, he was in Afghanistan. Her stomach clenched. Why had he returned?
Meg plodded toward the front door. Was it lack of oxygen or his presence making her dizzy? A million questions flitted around in her head like horseflies in spring. Forget curiosity. Giving him the third degree was out of the question until she could speak in full sentences. Another round of coughing left her light-headed. Damn, fresh air wasn’t helping. She rubbed her chest, hoping to ease the new tightness settling there and chase away the black spots dancing around the edges of her vision. Every time she tried to draw in a deeper breath, the cough started again and the cycle repeated. She’d wanted to argue some more, but she could expend effort on one thing and she chose breathing.
Riley brushed past her and opened the front door.
“Wait and I’ll help you into the truck.” He turned back to lock the door.
A shiny black Ford F-150 hulked in the driveway. Great, how am I supposed to climb into that beast? “I’ll manage.”
He grunted and swept past, getting to the truck ahead of her. He opened the passenger door, swearing under his breath as he lifted a brown paper grocery bag off the seat. Glass bottles clinked as he turned, and she glanced into the bag. Bottles of Jack Daniel’s stared back. She choked on the bitter bile rising in her throat. Oh, God, Riley, no. Please. I don’t want Fiona to come home to...this.
Meg met his gaze. Riley’s eyes resembled the lake during a summer storm. Those gray eyes—Fiona’s gray eyes—dared her to say something. “Are you okay to drive?”
He lifted the bag higher, the bottles clinking and the paper bag crackling. “I haven’t touched a drop. Check the bottles if you don’t believe me.”
“I believe you.” She stepped out of his way. “Expecting company?”
“Something like that.”
He set the bag on the porch steps and hustled back to the truck.
The dots dancing around the edges of her vision had increased in both size and speed, but she tried to pull herself into the pickup. Riley seized her around the waist and easily lifted her into the seat. “Thanks.”
After securing her seat belt, she sat hunched forward and closed her eyes.
When he climbed behind the wheel, she pried her eyes open and eased back against the seat. “You remember...hospital?”
“Of course.”
Meg tried to ignore his hand draped over the steering wheel. Not a good time for taking trips down memory lane...but those hands...
She made a strangled choking sound and turned away.
He slammed the brakes on. “Should I call an ambulance?”
“No.” She motioned with her hand. “Go.”
He peered at her for a moment longer before easing his foot off the brake. “Quit scaring me like that.”
“Sorry.” But it was his fault for looking so damn sexy. So not fair that his worn camo pants looked hot and her worn jeans looked...well, old and tattered. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and Liam’s old sweatshirt swallowed her whole. Yep, Meg McBride was a real sexpot. What was she doing? She needed to remember her first priority was Fiona. Riley’s parting words rang in her ears. I’m not coming back again, Meggie. The marines are my life now. But she’d been naive enough to think she could change his mind with sex. Yeah, that worked out well. But she was in a good place in her life now and wouldn’t confuse lust with love. Not that there was anything wrong with no-strings-attached sex. She might even try it...someday.
“...and I was surprised.”
Oh, God. He’d been talking and she hadn’t heard a word. “Sorry?”
He passed a slow-moving car. “I didn’t think your family used the cottage anymore.”
Was he here because he thought she wouldn’t be?
“I—”
“Sorry.” He glanced at her. “I didn’t mean to make you keep talking. Save your breath. We can catch up later.”
Fiona had two more weeks of vacation with Grampa Mac and Doris. Most lake rentals lasted a week. Riley would be gone before Fiona came home. Meg curled her fingers into her palms. She should be thinking of ways to tell Riley the truth, not celebrating the timing of his visit. If he’d come three weeks ago or two weeks from now, there would be no escaping the truth; it would be literally staring him in the face. But now? With a bag of whiskey bottles waiting on his porch? She could last a couple of weeks. Riley had shattered her heart... What would he do to Fiona’s tender one?
“Meg? You still with me?”
She opened her mouth but began coughing.
“I noticed the musty smell. Did mold bring on your attack?” He turned onto the road