Suzanna's Surrender

“Uncle, uncle, uncle!” She screamed, gurgling with laughter. Satisfied, he used the same weapon on Alex until victorious, he rolled over and lay stomach down on the grass.

“You killed us,” Alex admitted, not displeased. “But you're morally wounded.”

“Yeah, but I think you mean mortally.”

“Are you going to take a nap?” Jenny climbed onto his back to bounce. “Lilah sleeps in the grass sometimes.”

“Lilah sleeps anywhere,” Holt muttered.

“You can take a nap in my bed if you want,” she invited, then pressed a curious finger on the edge of the scar she saw beneath his hitched-up T-shirt. “You have a hurt on your back.”

“Uh – huh.”

Alex was already scrambling to look. “Can I see?”

Holt tensed automatically, then forced himself to relax. “Sure.”

As Alex pushed up the shirt, both children's eyes widened. It wasn't like the neat little scar they had both admired on his leg. This was long and jagged and mean, slashing from the waist so high up on his back they couldn't push the shirt up enough to see the end of it.

“Gee,” was all Alex could think to say. He swallowed, then gamely touched a finger to the scar. “Did you get in a big fight?”

“Not exactly.” He remembered the pain, the incredible flash of white heat.

“One of the bad guys got me,” he said, and hoped it would satisfy. When he felt Jenny's little mouth lower to his back, he went very still.

“Does it feel better now?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He had to let out a long breath to steady his voice. “Thanks.” Turning over, he sat up to brush a hand through her hair.

Suzanna stood a few feet away, watching them with her heart in her throat. She'd seen the battle from the kitchen doorway. It had touched her to see how easily Holt had joined in the game with her children. She'd been smiling when she'd started out to join them – then she had watched Jenny and Alex examining the scar on Holt's back, and Jenny's kiss to make it better. She had seen the look of ragged emotion on Holt's face when he'd turned to sweep his hand over her little girl's hair.

Now the three of them were on the grass, Jenny cuddled on his lap, Alex's arm slung affectionately around his shoulder. She took a moment to make certain her eyes were dry before she continued toward them.

“Is the war over?” she asked, and three pair of eyes lifted. “He won,” Alex told her.

“It doesn't look as though it was an easy victory.” She scooped Jenny up when the girl lifted her arms. “You're all wet.”

“He blasted us – but I got him first.” “That's my girl.”

“And he's ticklish,” Jenny confided. “'Real ticklish.”

“Is that so?” Suzanna sent Holt a slow smile. “I'll keep that in mind. Now you two scat. I noticed nobody put away the game you were playing.”

“But, Mom –” Alex had his excuses ready, but she stopped them with a look.

“If you don't clean it up, I will,” she said mildly. “But then I'll have your share of strawberry shortcake tonight.”

That was a tough one. Alex agonized over it for a minute, then caved in. “I'll do it. Then I get Jenny's share.”

“Do not.” Jenny sprinted toward the house with her brother giving chase. “Very smooth, Mom,” Holt commented as he rose.

“I know their weaknesses.” She put her arms around him, surprising and pleasing him. It was very rare for her to make the first move. “You're all wet, too.”

“Sniper fire, but I picked them off like flies.” Bringing her closer, he rested his cheek on her hair. “They're terrific kids, Suzanna. I'm, ah...” He didn't know how to tell her he'd fallen in love with them, any more than he knew how to tell her he'd fallen in love with their mother. “I'm getting you wet.” Feeling awkward, he drew away.

Smiling, she touched a hand to his cheek. “Want to take a walk?”

He thought of the list in his pocket. It could wait an hour, he decided, and took her hand.

He'd known she would head to the cliffs. It seemed right that they would walk there as the shadows lengthened and the air cooled toward evening. She talked a little of the job she'd finished that day, he of the hull he'd repaired. But their minds weren't on work.

“Holt.” She looked out to sea, her hand in his. “Will you tell me why you resigned from the force?” She felt his fingers stiffen, but didn't turn.

“It's done,” he said flatly. “There's nothing to tell.” “The scar on your back –”

“I said it's done.” He withdrew and pulled out a cigarette.

“I see.” She absorbed the rejection. “Your past and your personal feelings about it are none of my business.”

He took an impatient drag. “I didn't say that.”

“You certainly did. You have the right to know all there is to know about me. I'm supposed to trust you with everything, unquestioningly. But I'm not to pry into what's yours.”

He turned angry eyes on her. “What is this, some kind of test?”

''Call it what you like,” she tossed back. “I'd hoped you trusted me by now, that you cared enough to let me in.”

“I do care, damn it. Don't you know it still rips me up to remember it? Ten years of my life, Suzanna. Ten years.” He whirled away to flick the cigarette over the edge.