out to pour more whiskey.
The last time he’d done this, he’d gotten drunk because he’d been angry. More than angry—furious. Eight years had passed, but he still hadn’t forgotten the feeling of helpless rage that he’d tried to drown in the bottom of a bottle. He had just seen the carefully laid plans for his life crumble to nothing.
That’s what love did to a person. He’d been around the same age then that Maggie was now, and he’d been just as wrong about the person he’d fallen in love with.
Only in Del’s case, it hadn’t been a whirlwind romance with someone who was already married. He had loved Elizabeth Johanson since they had made a papier-mâché model of Mount Saint Helens together for a fifth grade geography project. The finished model had looked more like a crumpled soda can than a volcanic crater, but he had fallen head over heels for Elizabeth nevertheless.
They had gone steady all through high school. No one in the county had been surprised when Del and Elizabeth had become engaged after graduation. While she had gone away to teachers’ college, he had stayed behind to help work his parents’ farm, counting the days until they would be married. Their love had seemed stronger than ever each time Elizabeth had come home. By the time he was twenty-one, his parents had deeded him a plot of land, and he had already started to build the house he and Elizabeth had designed together. It would have plenty of bedrooms. They wanted a houseful of children.
Oh, yeah, Elizabeth had wanted children. She was wild about them. She came from a family almost as large as Del’s and she was devoted to her younger siblings. So when her youngest brother came down with the mumps the Christmas before her wedding, she hadn’t hesitated to take care of him. She hadn’t realized she would pass on the illness to Del.
Having the mumps at seven wasn’t usually serious. It was just another one of those childhood diseases that was more of a nuisance than a danger. But the consequences were different for a man of twenty-one.
Del hadn’t wanted to believe the results of the lab test his doctor had ordered. He’d had a second, and then a third, but they only verified the first. The mumps had left Del unable to father children. He was completely sterile.
It had been difficult to grasp. Del hadn’t felt any different physically. He still had the same sexual urges of any normal, red-blooded male his age. As far as he knew, his capabilities when it came to lovemaking hadn’t suffered. He had thought he was the same man.
Elizabeth had cried when he’d told her. In one breath she vowed she would always love him, but in the next she was telling him their engagement was off. She didn’t want to tie herself for life to a man who couldn’t give her children.
Del had felt his anger stir then, but he’d had no target to focus the feeling on. He couldn’t really blame Elizabeth’s brother for coming down with the mumps in the first place. And he tried not to fault Elizabeth for her honesty, either, no matter how hurtful her rejection of him was. If he really loved her, he would want her to be happy, wouldn’t he? He would let her go and wish her well.
That’s what he’d tried to do. He’d been damn noble about the whole thing. But the nobility had been submerged by a wave of fury when barely a month had passed before he learned that the woman who had promised to love him forever had eloped with his best friend. Their first child had been born eight months later.
So much for love. So much for loyalty. It hadn’t taken the love of his life long to find his replacement.
Getting drunk had seemed like a good idea then. It had helped to blunt the pain. It had diluted the frustrated anger he’d felt at Elizabeth, at fate, at his own physical defect.
But he wasn’t angry now, was he?
So why was he determined to get drunk?
It was because of Delilah. The beautiful little baby with Maggie’s eyes…and Del’s name.
Del let his head fall back against the headboard. He could feel a pleasant numbness starting in his lips. It was only a matter of time before it worked its way to his mind.
Trouble was, once the alcohol wore off, the emotions would still be there.
Maggie really had made him happy. It wasn’t just because she had named her child after him. It was her openhearted generosity. Even though they hardly knew each other, she was letting him share the joy of her baby. When was the last time he’d felt such pure, simple pleasure?
She had declared him an honorary uncle. He hadn’t been much of a real one. He always made sure to send Christmas and birthday gifts to his sister’s kids, but he didn’t see them often. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been home. He’d deliberately limited his contact with babies.
Until now, he’d never realized how much he’d been missing.
He fumbled to put his glass on the nightstand. Damn, he was drunk, all right. He was getting downright mushy. He could feel the silly smile working across his face as he thought about how incredibly soft Delilah’s cheek had felt, and how perfectly Maggie’s hand had fit within his.
He wanted to experience those feelings again.
Yet he would never know the touch of his own child. There would be no blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh. He wouldn’t be able to put that glow of happiness on a woman’s face that he saw on Maggie’s when she held her baby. He couldn’t give her the seed that would grow the miracle.
Rubbing his eyes, he shook his head. He was getting downright maudlin.
Maggie wanted more children. She had made that clear even when she’d been in the throes of labor. Del knew better than to get involved with a woman like that. It would only lead to pain and disillusionment. It would be Elizabeth all over again.
The solution to Del’s problem was dead simple. All he had to do was keep away from any woman who wanted children. That way, his sterility would never be an issue.
He shouldn’t have gone to see Maggie yesterday.
But he would see her today. And tomorrow. And as often as he could until his work here was over and he moved on to the next assignment. At least the whiskey had made him honest enough to admit that much.
Damn it all, he wanted to see her. And he wanted to see the baby. They made him feel good.
Besides, he didn’t intend to get involved with Maggie. He only wanted to do the decent thing, to be her friend. He still felt a certain amount of responsibility toward her, especially now that she had named her child after him. As long as he limited their association to friendship, there wouldn’t be any risk of hurt to either of them.
Yes, he could be her friend, he reasoned. He could be an honorary uncle to his namesake. Just because he couldn’t have children of his own didn’t mean he had to cut Maggie and Delilah out of his life entirely, did it?
And as he’d already reminded himself, he didn’t need to be able to father children to be a success in the life he had now. Having children was damn inconvenient for a SPEAR agent. Hunting international terrorists and keeping the world safe for democracy were dangerous business. On top of that, Del never knew where he’d be from one day to the next. A man like that wouldn’t make a good father, even if his plumbing did work.
When he thought about it, there was a certain irony to the situation—the top marksman in SPEAR was only capable of shooting blanks.
Was that one of the reasons he’d become such a crack shot, to compensate for his failure in that other area? Was that why he was so adamant about never taking a life, because he knew he’d never be able to create one?
Del sighed and slid down to stretch out on the bed. He’d definitely had enough to drink. He’d progressed from mushy to maudlin and now he was headed straight for philosophical.
Maybe he should forget about doing this once a year. Every eight years was more than enough.
The rain hit the front window of the diner with the determination of machine-gun bullets. Near the counter