Whispering her certainty to the priest that day of the embassy attack had persuaded the father to perform the bedside ceremony. "I can assure you, he is your father."
The weight of Lucas's eyes drew her attention to him. Was he remembering those steamy Latin nights— and afternoons—spent together in his flat, at hers, even on a secluded beach, the reticent man totally unrestrained when it came to lovemaking?
And wow, was he ever looking reticent at the moment.
He'd always been one to erect barriers the minute anyone came too close. Lucas must be scared to death. Still the child should come first and if he didn't scrounge up a smile soon...
Ahh.
The man did have the most amazing smile, even more precious for its rarity. Lowering to one knee, he moved closer to Lucia, meeting her at eye level.
Watching the two of them settle into their first acknowledged moment as father and daughter...Sara swallowed down tears and slid her arm from Lucia to let them bond.
He rested a hand on Lucia's little shoulder, his pat a bit awkward, touching coming from such a confident man. "I'm sorry I didn't know about you sooner. I would have come to get you right away."
"What would you have done with me?"
"I would have taken you home with me, back in the United States."
"What if I don't wanna go home with you?" Her bottom lip thrust out. "I like Tio Ramon. You're gwumpy."
His eyebrows slammed together. "Grumpy?"
Lucia inched back against Sara, ducking from under Lucas's hand. His face smoothed, eyebrows pulling apart again with as much studied concentration as a major weight-lifting feat. "Sorry. I don't know much about being a dad. I'm more used to being the boss, and sometimes that means I have to be grumpy. Maybe, uh, you could teach me what papas do."
Lucia clung to her mother's shirt. Sara struggled to suppress the urge to tuck her child under her arm, away from anyone who might step on her tender baby feelings, even inadvertently. She wasn't used to sharing her child, but she'd better get used to it.
Lucia peered up at Lucas from under her lashes, toes of her hiking boots turning in to touch. "Papas are supposed to buy toys and give their kids candy and read stories and play horsie."
Well, hell. Sara checked those cute little toes angled in. No doubt deliberately. Her Machiavellian daughter wasn't so scared she couldn't manipulate a battle-hardened veteran.
Could Lucia's acceptance of the changes in her life be that easily accomplished? She hoped so, for all their sakes, but she would still have to hold strong for both of them, because she refused to see her baby girl hurt ever again.
Scratching his forehead, then plowing his fingers through his stream-dampened hair, he finally nodded. "We can shop for candy when we get out of the jungle. I read pretty well, but I've never played horsie."
"I guess we kinda played horsie yesterday when you carried me. You didn't even get tired." She looked up at Sara. "I gotta go."
"What?"
"I gotta go use the bushes."
Of course. She'd only just woken. Still the conversational jolt jarred her in the middle of such an intense moment. Standing, Sara extended her hand. "I'll take you, then we can start our walk. You'll get to play horsie all day long."
Ramon whipped off the camo cover shrouding the Jeep inside the bunker where he and the woman had hidden through the night. Gunfire still sputtered sporadically, frightening even the monkeys silent.
And the woman.
After startling from the bushes, she hadn't spoken beyond saying that she'd been Padilla's captive, that she'd stowed away in one of the trucks when Padilla's troops had left to launch their attack—and she would do anything to survive. He believed the last part at least.
If she'd lied about the rest, he couldn't let her leave and alert Padilla. If she spoke the truth, then he couldn't turn his back on her. His enemy might sink to abusing women, but Ramon would not allow himself to live like an uncivilized animal.
He'd busted his ass, sacrificed years of his life living on the run and fighting for the right to protect what was his in the guerilla days. He wouldn't turn his back on all he'd fought for by ignoring a woman's plea. He refused to be less of a man for the sake of his own survival.
However, if she was a traitor, she could make a valuable bargaining tool to exchange for Sarafina and Lucia. If Sarafina and Lucia were dead, then the woman would also offer a means with which to strike back at the bastard who'd massacred his family.
Rage threatened to pierce his thin veneer of calm. He wouldn't surrender.
His gun weighed heavier in his hands these days, but he couldn't let the enemy—or this woman—see signs of age or weakness. He needed to keep his eyes on her at all times so she wouldn't knife him in the back.