Teresa Southwick - When A Hero Comes Along

He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. Dark intensity pushed through the cool look in his eyes and hinted at a pain deep inside. “There are things you don’t know, Kate.”

“There are things I do know, Joe.” She put her hand on his arm and saw something flicker in his expression. “I was wrong not to trust you with J.T. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“So you’re going to allow me to spend unsupervised time with my son?”

“As much as you want,” she confirmed. “He deserves to know his father. Because you are a good man.”

She started to walk away and felt his strong fingers on her wrist. When he tugged her into his arms, the heat in his eyes stole the air from her lungs.

“If I were a good man, I wouldn’t have been thinking about this. Let alone do it in a hospital.”

He lowered his head and captured her lips….

Dear Reader,

Have you ever wondered about the guy who made you contemplate happily-ever-after, but for whatever reason things didn’t work out? What would you do if that man suddenly showed up on your doorstep?

In When a Hero Comes Along, this is the dilemma facing Kate Carpenter. Dashing Marine Corps helicopter pilot Joe Morgan abruptly broke things off with her before going overseas, then rekindles the relationship because of their baby. She never stopped caring about him, but his rejection hurt so very much she’s determined not to go down that road again. Instead, for the sake of their child, they’re forced to follow a different path—one that eventually leads to love.

When a Hero Comes Along is for all of us who remember the one who makes us sometimes think about what might have been. For me, that one was named Joe.

Enjoy!

Teresa Southwick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

lives with her husband in Las Vegas, the city that reinvents itself every day. An avid fan of romance novels, she is delighted to be living out her dream of writing for Silhouette Books.

To all the men and women in the U.S. military—

past and present.

Your service and sacrifice are deeply appreciated.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

It wasn’t every day a man had the chance to come back from the dead.

More to the point, Marine Captain Joe Morgan had come back from hell. He knew what it felt like to face off with a cold-eyed terrorist who hated his guts and was determined to kill him. He knew what he’d done to keep from being killed and that secret would go with him to his grave, where it belonged.

Now he had to face Kate Carpenter, although she probably hated his guts, too. She had good reason, but he still had to see her. And his baby boy. He had to explain.

And here he was on her doorstep.

He lifted a hand to knock, then curved his fingers into a fist. Maybe he should have called first, he thought, running his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t one for putting things off. Mostly. Sooner or later they had to see each other. Although he’d been standing here for five minutes without knocking. Glancing around the apartment complex, he didn’t see anyone moving around.

The pathways through the rock-and-shrub landscaping were well-lit. He’d specifically timed this meeting for nineteen-thirty hours, seven-thirty at night, because it was early enough not to be too late, and late enough that he figured she’d be home. And with any luck not so late that she’d shut the door in his face.

But if he stood here much longer, anyone watching would wonder if he was up to no good. He probably was no good, enough to show up here anyway.

He ran a hand through his hair again, then pressed the doorbell, but he heard nothing and wondered if that was due to thick walls or a broken doorbell. Or was he broken? War was a noisy business; it took all kinds of tolls. Maybe his hearing had suffered.

But he’d passed his flight physical and could hardly wait to get back to the business of flying for his half of Southwestern Helicopter Service. The fact that his bastard of a brother owned the other half wasn’t something he could think about now.

Inside the apartment a shadow passed the window and he heard light footsteps on the other side of the door. If Kate was as smart as he thought, she’d be peeking through the peephole. Assuming she could reach it. It had been fourteen months, but he hadn’t forgotten how small and slender she was. He was six feet tall, yet she’d fitted perfectly against him, and the thought made him ache deep down inside.

Several moments passed and he realized his heart was racing. Between Afghanistan and Kate Carpenter, his ticker was getting a pretty good workout. But any second now the suspense would be over.

Any second.

Now.

He waited, but nothing happened. Was she standing there? Did she see him? What if she didn’t open the door? Could he really blame her?

He really should have called first.

“Kate?” He knocked lightly on the door. “It’s Joe. Morgan,” he added. In case she didn’t remember him.

He didn’t think that was likely. Not after the letter and what she’d said in it. But he knew from personal experience that women could turn the right memories off when they wanted to do wrong.

Inside, a chain scraped just before the dead bolt clicked and Kate opened the door. She didn’t say anything, just stared up at him, eyes wide, full lips parted slightly in shock. That was something he recognized. Shock was protection for mind and body—a time-out until the two were strong enough to handle trauma. He’d never actually thought of himself as a trauma. Not consciously. But now he realized he hadn’t called because he was afraid she would hang up on him. Refuse to see or talk to him.

Now that she was close enough for him to feel the warmth of her skin, he knew how badly he’d needed to see and talk to her. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her eyes were huge and his memories hadn’t done them justice. At first glance he’d call them brown. But a closer look showed flecks of gold, reminding him that when she looked into the sun her eyes turned almost green. She was still small, and with clothes on it was hard to tell, but he would swear she was curvier than the last time he’d held her—made love to her.

Brown hair hung in shiny layers to her shoulders, and was still the same as when he’d run his fingers through it and kissed her until her breath was a sigh of surrender. Then her eyes had turned green and the sun had had nothing to do with it. But she wasn’t smiling now and he longed to see the dimples he knew would magically appear when the corners of her mouth turned up.

“Kate?”

She gasped, as if his voice brought her out of shock. “Joe,” she whispered. “I—I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“Surprise.” He shrugged, then hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his worn jeans and leaned against the doorjamb.

“What are you doing here?”

That wasn’t what he’d expected, yet it provided his first clue that he’d had a script of this meeting. In his head there had been smiles, dimples, hugs and—if he was really lucky—maybe a tear or two—followed by a heartfelt declaration of how glad she was that he’d come home.

“I wanted to see you.”

“Why?”

He wanted to think this was shock talking, but he knew better. She’d been hurt when he’d abruptly told her they were over. She hadn’t understood that it was for the best and he hadn’t explained why he felt that way.

“I got the letter,” he said.

“I wasn’t sure.” Her chin lifted. “You didn’t write back.”

“There’s a reason for that—”

“It doesn’t matter.” Her full lips pressed tightly together for a moment. “You made it clear that I was nothing more than a fling. We had fun. Just an affair.”

A hot and steamy affair, he thought. Instant attraction that had burst into flame. They couldn’t get enough of each other. But she was right. He had made it clear they were over, unfortunately, his memories were not. And one of his most vivid was of the last time he’d seen her, when she’d been wearing nothing more than a sheet and a pair of dimples. Then he’d dumped her and the dimples had disappeared.

“I remember what I said.”

“Then you remember you told me not to bother waiting. That I shouldn’t expect—”

“About expecting…” he said.

She looked down for a moment, then met his gaze. “I—I only wrote because I thought you had a right to know—”

This is where the whole right and wrong thing tweaked his tail rotor. “How soon did you know?”

Something like guilt flickered in her eyes. “What is it you’re asking?”

“Whether you were going to tell me at all.”

“I did have some conflict about that,” she admitted. “I—”

“Can we discuss this inside?” He glanced at the apartment doors on either side of hers. “Let me go out on a limb here and point out that you probably don’t want the neighbors eavesdropping on this conversation.”

She caught her lip between her teeth and her expression told him she was seriously thinking about turning him down. Then she stepped back and pulled the door wide. “Okay. Come in.”

Before she could change her mind, he walked inside. From where he stood he could see a kitchen and dining area with a French door that led to a small patio. The walls were painted light gold with white crown molding and six-paneled doors. Neutral beige carpet. But the painting of wine bottles and the decorative wrought-iron plate rack personified Kate. It was cute and charming and colorful.

He turned and looked down at her. In her snug jeans and a scoop-necked T-shirt that hugged every curve, she almost made him forget that he wanted to know why she’d waited so long to tell him she was pregnant. If he’d found out sooner, would it have changed things? That’s something he would never know.

“About the letter,” he said.

“We hardly knew each other, Joe. You made it clear you didn’t want to be tied down. And why would you believe I wasn’t trying to trap you?”

“Before I get blamed for something, shouldn’t I get a chance to screw up first?”

“And didn’t I have a right to know that you only wanted sex? Somehow I missed the signs.” Her eyes flashed a color that was new to him. “For the record, I don’t blame you. No one held a gun to my head.”

That’s for sure. She’d been warm and willing in his arms. And he’d wanted her more every time he saw her. Even after all this time, he still wanted her. “I was there. I’m back now.” Maybe he was the one blaming her when she hadn’t screwed up.

But he’d been fooled once and that was enough. Maybe the experience had fine-tuned his cheater meter, because he believed her. “He’s my son, too.”

In a split second, the expression on her face went from woman scorned to mother lion. “Since when? You made it clear that you didn’t want to participate when you didn’t write back.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t write back because I couldn’t.”

“Oh? Your arms were broken?” She sighed and shook her head. “That was a cheap shot. Look, Joe, the fact is I don’t want or need anything from you. I felt obligated to let you know about the baby. You didn’t—couldn’t write back. End of story.”