it,’ said the doctor in her dad as he stepped away, averting his face in a vain attempt to hide his worry.
‘As if.’ Nowadays she took naps and spent her free time playing with dolls and building things out of plastic blocks with Aimee.
How drastically her life had changed since she’d returned home pregnant. She rubbed her tummy. Felt the surgical scar on her lower abdomen. Tried to ignore the flare of anguish. At least she’d had a child before her hysterectomy. She’d loved being pregnant and watching all the changes that had happened to her body. The months had flown past and then Aimee had arrived and she was in love.
Unfortunately, someone else had missed out on all that. Aimee’s father. Marshall Hunter, US Army medic.
If only he’d been able to share in the excitement, to be around to put his hand against her expanding belly and feel his daughter kick. Even if she found him tomorrow, he’d never get any of that back. Aimee was eighteen months old and nothing like the tiny scrap of arms and legs placed against her breast moments after the birth.
How stupid of she and Marshall to agree to going their separate ways at the end of their fling. Despite her heart breaking, she’d gone along with him. He’d assured her he was single, that they weren’t hurting anyone else, but he didn’t do long-term relationships. Rightly or wrongly, she’d believed him. He’d come across as genuine. But no one had told her she’d have a child from that liaison. There’d been no thunderclaps to warn her she’d need Marshall Hunter back in her life nine months later.
Had Marshall flown to the moon? Even if he had, he’d still be contactable. Wouldn’t he?
Well, she could be stubborn if it was important. And finding her daughter’s father ranked at the top of the scale. But as of today she wasn’t going to let the continual failure to achieve her goal get her down. She’d done with all that. It was time to start living full on, not half pie.
A louder shriek from down the hall told her Aimee was fed up with waiting. She wanted out of her cot—now. Being a determined little lady—wonder where that had come from?—she would quite likely attempt climbing out of her cot soon. Charlie moved fast. A broken head would only add to the worries this little household already faced.
‘Hey, beautiful, how’s my girl? Have a good sleep?’ Reaching for Aimee, Charlie’s heart squeezed at the sight of the little creases made by the pillow on the side of her baby’s face, and at the red cheeks and sleep-filled green eyes staring out at her over the edge of the cot. So like Aimee’s father’s eyes. Piercing green, reminding her of a polished emerald.
Aimee’s father. MIA. She shuddered. Wrong term. She might be doing everything in her power to find him, but MIA? That was definitely tempting fate. Especially if he was back in another war zone with his unit. She touched the side of the cot with her fingers for luck, definitely needing to push away that cloud of dread.
‘Mum-mum,’ Aimee instantly gurgled, and raised her arms high. ‘Mum-mum.’
Thoughts of Marshall kept trekking through Charlie’s head as she lifted her daughter up. She couldn’t really imagine anything happening to him. ‘Your dad is so virile, so much larger than life, strong and full on. He looks the world in the eye, as though daring it to throw the worst at him.’ He always acted as though nothing could touch him.
Stupid Charlie. Trying to get the man hurt now?
‘Mum-mum.’
‘Time you learnt a new word. How about Grandpa?’
How about Daddy? If only there was a need for that.
Aimee wriggled and tightened her arms around Charlie’s neck, almost choking her.
Carefully unravelling them, Charlie grinned. ‘You’ve got a very wet bottom, my girl.’ She kissed Aimee’s brow and headed for the bathroom.
Blowing kisses on Aimee’s tummy took up a few minutes. Giggles rent the air and made Charlie grin more widely. ‘You’re worth it all, my girl. I’d go through everything again if I had to.’
Careful, you might have to yet. No guarantees out there.
The dark thought lifted goose-bumps on her skin. It was this fear that kept her acting on the side of caution, kept her refusing to relax and accept she was over the worst so that she could get on with life, and that drove her to keep trying to find Marshall despite the unlikelihood of ever succeeding in that quest.
‘Mum, up.’ Aimee’s well-aimed foot banged against her jaw, making her jerk back, and refocused her on where her mind should be. On her daughter.
‘Hey, mischief, watch who you’re kicking.’ Yep, definitely an active kid.
Her baby girl, whom she’d do absolutely anything for. Along with Marshall’s green gaze Aimee had inherited a whole dose of stubbornness from him. Otherwise she was her mum with the dark blonde hair, button nose and freckles dotting her cheeks.
‘One day, my girl, we’re going to find your dad. Won’t he be surprised?’ Surprise might not cut it. There was a myriad of other emotions Marshall would no doubt feel when he learned he was father to this gorgeous bundle of joy. Hopefully love would eventually come out on top.
But first she’d get her strength back. She sighed.
Nothing was easy these days. Hadn’t been since the day the lab results had come back with all the medical jargon screaming out at her: cervical cancer.
Charlie’s world had instantly imploded. The future, in particular Aimee’s future, had become a priority in case the worst happened and Aimee lost her mum. Fear had driven Charlie throughout her surgery and treatment, had got her back on her feet. Losing her mother to cancer at seven had been dreadful, but she’d had her dad to love and cherish her. If Aimee lost her to this terrible disease then she’d need Marshall in her life.
He was out there. He’d held her in his arms, made love to her a lot, kissed her senseless. He hadn’t been an apparition.
Oh, no. Not at all. Her fingertips traced her lips. Her insides melted as her skin remembered his large hands caressing, teasing, loving her body.
Aimee needed to know both her parents. And … Charlie’s fingers brushed the bathroom cabinet … if the worst came to the worst, Marshall had to be there for Aimee if she couldn’t be.
If only she could find him.
She had to. No argument.
CAPTAIN MARSHALL HUNTER turned onto Spa Road and slowed, checking which side of the road he was driving on. ‘Goddamned Kiwis. Why can’t they use the right-hand side like everyone else?’
Someone tooted at him and he pulled to the kerb. ‘Yeah, yeah, give me a break. I’m a tourist.’ A tired smile stretched across his mouth. The trouble with being overtired was that everything got that much more complicated. Twisting the cap off the bottle of soda he’d purchased at the petrol station a little way back, he poured half the contents down his parched throat. At least that tasted the same as back home. Jet lag, and lack of sleep for the past six months, played havoc with his body. And his mind.
The
