6

INDIA COVERED HER mouth with her hands. She’d never meant for her most closely guarded secret to spill out like that. Upon realizing the kind of danger she faced, she knew she could no longer keep Bridgette a secret when her precious little life might also be at risk. But how could she have just blurted such life-altering news?

“Wait. What?” Briggs’ gaze narrowed.

“You have a daughter. Her name is Bridgette. She might still be a baby, but I can already tell she has your eyes and nose. That’s why everyone was so rude to you this morning—they don’t know I never told you.”

“Why didn’t you?” As if popping up on a surfboard, he was instantly on his feet. “How could you have kept something like this from me? We’ve talked at least once a month since I’ve been gone. In that time, you were pregnant. In labor. Experienced dozens of milestones that can never be repeated.”

“You said you never wanted to be a dad! Ever! Each time we talked, you sounded so happy—so enthralled with your damned security job. Who was I to interfere?”

“Who were you? You were the woman I—” He stopped himself short of the words she’d always dreamed of him saying. You were the woman I loved. Her heart finished what his mouth would not. “I’m not believing this. Let me get this straight…if Turtle hadn’t died, if you and my daughter weren’t in very real danger, would you have ever told me?”

“I don’t know. Please quit being angry and try understanding my point of view. How many times did you tell me you’d never be a dad, Briggs? Five minutes ago you told me you weren’t fit to be a husband or father. So now you don’t get to play the outraged victim.”

“I’ll be whoever I damn well please.” He stormed down the beach.

She should have chased after him, but couldn’t.

She needed time to collect her thoughts. Assuming they solved this mess with Turtle’s killer, then what? Where did she and Bridgette and Briggs go from there? Clearly, he didn’t want to get married. Would he want partial custody? Or would he be the kind of dad who only saw his daughter on her birthday and holidays? Maybe not at all?

The thought broke India’s already shattered heart.

Briggs had known he was a father for all of five minutes and already he was gone.

But could she blame him for being upset?

If she hadn’t known he would be, she wouldn’t have dreaded telling him for all this time. She owed him an apology. She owed him his daughter. But how did she do that while keeping any semblance of her normal life?

Kind of a non-issue considering their current situation—stranded on a deserted island.

Miles from the nearest help.

Only enough food and water to last a few days.

When she and Briggs didn’t come home, India’s parents would launch a search, and maybe tie in Turtle’s missing boat, but then what? With the boat sunk in deep water and about a hundred islands to search—only eight of which were inhabited, and that’s assuming they didn’t believe them drowned, who knew how long they would look?

Long enough for them to stay alive?

Hugging herself, India fought back not only tears, but a wave of panic. For the moment, she and Briggs were safe. She would assume Bridgette was, too.

Consumed with crushing loneliness and fear and regret for having not told Briggs the truth about their daughter from day one of her positive pregnancy test, India ensured the raft was high enough on the beach to not be swept away by the rising tide, then slipped on her sandals.

It was time to find him.

Most of the shore was comprised of what she’d always called “moon” rock. Treacherous coral remains with razor sharp edges. Briggs had set off barefoot. She was surprised to not see his blood.

Doubling back, she grabbed his leather soled Sperry’s from the raft.

Judging distance had never been her strong suit, but she guessed the kidney-shaped island to be a half-mile across at its widest. It didn’t take long to discover Briggs atop the highest point, staring out at crashing waves. His strong profile was so handsome it hurt. Even in this horrible situation, her body craved him to an embarrassing degree. Since the day they’d first met, it had always been that way.

Their connection had been instant. Visceral.

Did she love him? Maybe. Probably. Did it even matter?

As if he felt her stare, he turned her direction.

With the sun behind him, she might not see his expression, but she felt it in the way his normally strong shoulders sagged. Most men would be overjoyed by the news that they were a father. She understood that he’d had a lousy childhood. Lots of people did. But that didn’t automatically set him up to be a lousy dad.

“Go away!” he shouted above the surf’s roar. This side of the island was unprotected and wild. The few trees grew stubby and misshapen.

Ignoring him, she climbed higher up the steep slope, catching herself on ancient coral outcroppings with each near-fall.

“Damnit, India, turn back before you break your neck!”

“I’ve already been shot at today. Might as well try death by falling, too!”

“That’s not funny!”

He pushed himself upright, then winced when his full weight and no doubt destroyed feet had a reunion with the sharp coral.

“Wait! I’ve got your shoes.” She jogged the rest of the way to him, hunching over at the top to catch her breath.

“Thanks,” he said when she handed them over. “I’m supposed to be rescuing you.”

“You’re not supposed to be doing anything other than living—which is how we ended up in this mess in the first place. Unrealistic expectations.”

“Appreciate the free consult, Dr. Phil.” He slipped on one shoe, then the other.

Hands on her hips, she said, “You know what I mean.”

He said nothing as they walked side-by-side down the hill.

“I’m sorry. I tried telling you. A hundred times I tried telling you. But—”

“No—you made a valid point. I shut you down.” On flat ground, he pulled her into his arms and she held on for dear life. “The really crazy thing is, I’m more afraid of seeing my own baby girl than I am of having another run-in with that shooter.”

“Why?” She drew back, searching his dear, yet so unfamiliar face. How could she share a child with a man, yet at his core know nothing about him?

“I already told you. It’s complicated. It goes way back. I can’t be a dad. But suddenly I am. And it doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense.” He covered his face with his hands. In the frenzy to abandon Turtle’s sinking boat, Briggs hadn’t put on his T-shirt and his broad shoulders and chest looked painfully red from too much sun. In another world, she’d have rubbed ointment on him, teasing him about not knowing better than to stay out too long in the sun. Now, she no longer knew what to say.

In an odd twist of fate, he was still her world, yet also a stranger.

And that fact made her want to cry.

They could have had it all. The perfect marriage and baby and idyllic island life. The kind of life most men would kill for. But no—he’d rather occupy his days with the very real possibility of getting himself killed . . .