The SEAL's Secret Heirs

Violet didn’t pause until she’d disappeared from the room. What in the world?

“I practically had to force her to come tonight,” Clare confessed, her voice lowered as she leaned close to Grace and waved off the beleaguered waitress, who promised to come back later. “I guess I shouldn’t have. But she’s been holed up for a few weeks now, and Mac called me, worried. He mentioned that she’d been under the weather, but he thought she was feeling better.”

That was just like Violet’s brother, Mac McCallum. He was the kind of guy Grace had always wished she’d had for a big brother, one who looked out for his sister even into their adulthood. Back in high school, he’d busted Tommy Masterson in the mouth for saying something off-color about Violet, and the boys in Royal had learned fast that they didn’t cross Mac when it came to Violet.

“We should go check on her,” Grace said firmly. Poor thing. She probably had a stomach flu or something like that, and they’d let her run off to the bathroom. Alone. “Friends hold each other’s hair.”

When Grace and Clare got to the restroom, Violet was standing at the sink, both hands clamped on the porcelain as she stared in the mirror, hollow eyed, supporting her full weight on her palms as if she might collapse if the vanity wasn’t there to hold her up.

“You didn’t have to disrupt your dinner on my account.” Violet didn’t glance at the other two women as she spoke into the mirror.

“Of course we did.” Grace put her arm around Violet and held her tight as she stood by her friend’s side, offering the only kind of support she knew to give: physical contact. “Whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll feel better soon. Sometimes it takes a while for the virus to work through your system. Do you want some crackers? Cold medicine? I’ll run to the pharmacy if need be.”

A brief lift of Violet’s lips passed as a smile. “You’re so nice to offer, but I don’t think what I’ve got can be fixed with cold medicine.”

She trembled under Grace’s arm. This was no garden-variety stomach bug or spring cold, and Grace was just about to demand that Violet go see a doctor in the morning, or she’d drag her there herself, when Clare met Violet’s eyes in the mirror as she came up on the other side of their friend.

“You’re pregnant,” Clare said decisively with a knowing smile. “I knew it. That night at Priceless... I could see then that you had that glowy look about you.”

Oh. Now Grace felt like a dummy. Of course that explained Violet’s strange behavior and refusal to drink the wine.

Shock flashed through Violet’s expression but she banked it and then hesitated for only a moment. “No. That’s impossible.”

“Impossible, like you’re in denial? Or impossible, like you haven’t slept with anyone who could have gotten you pregnant?”

“Like, impossible, period, end of story, and now you need to drop it.” Violet scowled at Clare in the mirror, who just stuck her tongue out. “It’s just an upset stomach. Let’s go back to the table.”

With a nod that said she was dropping it but didn’t like it, Clare hustled Violet to the table and ordered her hot tea with lemon, then ensured that everyone selected something to eat in her best mother-hen style.

The atmosphere grew lighter and lighter until their food came. They were just three friends having dinner, as advertised. Until Clare zeroed in on Grace and asked point-blank, “What’s going on with you and Kyle Wade?”

Grace nearly choked. “What? Nothing.”

Heat swept across her cheeks as she recalled in living color exactly how big a lie that was.

“Funny,” Clare remarked to Grace. “I’d swear I heard mention of a highly charged encounter with Kyle in the parking lot of the HEB the other night. Care to fill us in?”

Violet perked up. “What’s this? You’re picking up with Kyle again?”

“Over my dead body!” That might have come out a little more vehement than she’d intended. “I mean...”

“I haven’t seen him yet,” Violet said to Clare as if Grace hadn’t spoken. “But when I went to the bank yesterday, Cindy May said he’s filled out and pretty much the stuff of centerfold fantasies. ‘Smoking hot’ was the phrase she used. Liberally.”

Clare waggled her brows at Grace. “Spill the beans, dear.”

Heat climbed up her cheeks. “I don’t have any beans to spill. His daughters are on my case docket, and we ran into each other at the grocery store. This is Royal. It would be weird if I hadn’t run into him.”