The SEAL's Secret Heirs(4)

It was too early in the morning for Jack Daniel’s, though he might make an exception, pending the outcome of the conversation.

Liam nodded and spun to stride off toward the back of the house. Following him, Kyle was immediately blinded by all the off-white cabinets in the kitchen. His brother hadn’t left a stone unturned when he’d gotten busy redoing the house. Modern appliances in stainless steel had replaced the old harvest gold ones and new double islands dominated the center. A wall of glass overlooked the back acreage that stretched for miles until it hit Old Man Drucker’s property. Or what had been Drucker’s property ten years ago. Obviously Kyle wasn’t up-to-date about what had been going on since he’d left.

Without ceremony, Liam splashed some tea into a cup from a pitcher on the counter and shoved the cup into his hand. “Tea. Now talk to me about Margaret Garner.”

Hot. Blonde. Nice legs. Kyle visualized the woman instantly. But that was a name he hadn’t thought about in—wow, like almost a year.

“Margaret Garner? What does she have to do with any—”

The question died in his throat. Almost a year. Like long enough to grow a baby or two? Didn’t mean it was true. Didn’t mean they were his babies.

It felt like a really good time to sit down, and he thought maybe he could do it without tipping off Liam how badly his leg ached 24-7.

He fell heavily onto a bar stool at the closest island, tea forgotten and shoulders ten pounds heavier. “San Antonio. She was with a group of friends at Cantina Juarez. A place where military groupies hang out.”

“So you did sleep with her?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Kyle said noncommitally. They were long past the kiss-and-tell stage of their relationship, if they’d ever been that close. When Liam took up with Grace ten years ago, it had killed any fragment of warmth between them, warmth that was unlikely to return.

“You made it my business when you didn’t come home to take care of your daughters,” Liam countered, as his fists balled up again.

“Take another swing at me and you’ll get real cozy with the floor in short order.” Kyle contemplated his brother. Who was furious. “So Margaret came around with some babies looking for handouts? I hope you asked for a paternity test before you wrote a check.”

This was bizarre. Of all the conversations he’d thought he’d be having with Liam, this was not it. Babies. Margaret. Paternity test. None of these things made sense, together or separately.

Why hadn’t any of Liam’s messages been relayed? Probably because he hadn’t called the right office—by design. Kyle hadn’t exactly made it clear how Liam could reach him. Maybe it was a blessing that Kyle hadn’t known. He couldn’t have hopped on a plane anyway.

Kyle couldn’t be a father. He barely knew how to be a civilian and had worked long and hard at accepting that he wasn’t part of a SEAL team any longer.

It was twice as hard to accept that after being discharged, he had nowhere to go but back to the ranch where he’d never fit in, never belonged. His injury wasn’t supposed to be a factor as he figured out what to do with the rest of his life, since God hadn’t seen fit to let him die alongside Cortez. But being a father—to twins, no less—meant he had to think about what a busted leg meant for a man’s everyday life. And he did not like thinking about how difficult it was some days to simply stand.

Liam threw up a hand, a scowl crawling onto his expression. “Shut up a minute. No one wrote any checks. You’re the father of the babies, no question.”

Well, Kyle had a few questions. Like why Margaret hadn’t contacted him when she found out she was pregnant. While Liam had little information on his whereabouts, Margaret sure knew how to get in touch. Her girlfriend had been dating Cortez and called him all the time. She’d known exactly where he was stationed.

It was nothing short of unforgivable. “Where’s Margaret?”

“She died,” Liam bit out shortly. “While giving birth. It’s a long story. Do I need to give you a minute?”

Kyle processed that much more slowly than he would have liked. Margaret was dead? It seemed like just yesterday that he’d spent a long weekend with her in a hotel room. She’d been a wildcat, determined to send him back to Afghanistan with enough memories to keep him warm at night, as she’d put it.

He was sad to learn Margaret had passed, sure. He’d liked thinking about her on the other side of the world, living a normal life that he was helping to secure by going after bad guys. But they’d spent less than forty-eight hours together and had barely known each other, by design. He wasn’t devastated—it wasn’t as if he’d lost the love of his life or anything. Not like when he’d lost Grace.