An Unlikely Daddy Page 5

“I guess not.”

  Julie rolled her eyes. “Call the man. He must be at the motel. Besides, I want to size him up. Protective urges also go with being a teacher.”

  And a friend, Marisa thought. But Julie had leavened her mood, and she decided she wouldn’t at all mind hearing Julie’s opinion of Ryker. Right now she herself couldn’t make up her mind about the man. He’d zoomed in from nowhere, and experience with Johnny had taught her that he’d zoom away again just as unexpectedly, and probably without any explanation except he had to return to work. She also wondered if Julie would sense the secretiveness in him, would also feel that Ryker was withholding important information.

  Because, honestly, she didn’t quite trust the man, whatever his association with Johnny.

  Julie left the food on the counter and got them both some coffee. Sitting at the table with her felt good and familiar. “Call him,” she said more gently. “A second opinion is good and, frankly, I’ve been wondering about him all day. Strangers make me uneasy. So let’s sort it out.”

  With an almost leaden hand, Marisa reached for the wall phone and called the motel. One click, and then a voice answered. “Ryker Tremaine.”

  “Ryker, it’s Marisa. My friend Julie and I wondered if you want to join us at my house for dinner. Nothing fancy, just chicken casserole.”

  Julie grabbed the phone from her hand. “Hi, Ryker, this is Julie. Believe me, my chicken casserole is fancy. Say an hour? We can chat while it cooks. Thanks. Looking forward to it.”

  Then Julie hung up the phone.

  “Why did you do that?” Marisa demanded. She may have been living in a state of near paralysis for months now, but she was still capable of making a phone call.

  “Because,” Julie said frankly, “you sounded like you didn’t want him to come.”

  “Maybe I don’t!”

  “Too late now.” Julie grinned. “I’m going to get you out of that shell before it hardens into an unbreakable habit. Anyway, I need to start cubing the chicken.”

  Marisa’s curiosity overwhelmed her irritation. It always did with Julie. “What did he say? Did he hesitate?”

  “No hesitation. Just asked for time to shower since he was out running.”

  Marisa’s gaze drifted to the window, still frosty in many places. “In this?”

  “The tough get going,” Julie tossed back as she rose and pulled out the cutting board. “Did you exercise today?”

  “I forgot.” The realization shocked her. What had happened to the entire day? Had she just sat here brooding for all these hours?

  “Bad girl. If you want to ride your exercise bike while I cook, go for it.”

  Marisa had a recumbent bike to ride every day. It had become too risky to walk outside with patches of ice scattered everywhere, and the bike was designed so that she could lean back and leave plenty of room for her belly. “No. One day off won’t kill me.”

  “Probably not, but you know what the doc said. More exercise means easier labor.”

  “Like he knows for sure.”

  Julie giggled. “It’s got to be better, and you know it. For bunches of reasons. But you’re right, one day off won’t kill you. Now enjoy your cup of coffee and watch me slave after a long day of sitting in chairs that are way too small for me and listening to piping voices that never quiet down unless I roll out the nap mats.”

  However Julie talked about it, Marisa was certain that she loved teaching kindergarten. She’d had a chance to change grades more than once, but she stuck with her five-year-olds.

  “Formative years,” Julie had explained once, but Marisa had always believed that Julie got a kick out of the little ones. She also believed that getting them young gave her the best chance to instill a joy in learning. “Not that some other teacher won’t knock it out of them,” she had added wryly. “But I can’t do anything about that. All I can do is give them the best start.”

  “Well, they’ve sure lost their interest by the time they get to me,” Marisa had retorted.

  “That’s your fault,” Julie had answered. “You should have majored in something besides the classics and dead gods.”

  Much to her surprise, Marisa felt her mood elevating. Having dinner with Julie and Ryker might well be enjoyable, especially since Julie never pulled her punches.

  But the instant she felt her spirits improve, she felt guilty, and her thoughts tried to return to Johnny and his death. For the first time, it occurred to her that she shouldn’t feel guilty every time she enjoyed something. In her heart of hearts, she knew Johnny wouldn’t have wanted that. She shouldn’t want it, either. Grieving was hard enough without adding guilt to the mix every time she knew a few moments of respite from the loss. Julie was right, fifty years was too long to waste.

  So she pushed the guilt down and focused instead on the here and now. Julie been trying to tell her for some time that there was no proper way to grieve, no set of requirements to be met. Her heart had been ripped wide open, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t allow herself to heal.

  Locking herself in a permanent purgatory helped no one. It didn’t bring Johnny back, and it wouldn’t be fair to her baby. Time for some stiff upper lip.

  “I was thinking it’s time to shop for the baby,” she remarked as Julie began to scoop chicken and vegetables into the casserole.

  “I saw the list on the fridge. About time, kiddo. But first we’ll have the shower. Friday evening. Then I can go shopping with you on Saturday. Or if you really want to splurge, we can go to Casper or Denver. It might do you some good to get away.”

  Indeed it might. “You’re the best, Julie.”

  “I know.” Julie flashed a grin over her shoulder. “The world spins because of me.”

  Marisa actually laughed. That made two laughs in one day. Maybe she was improving.

  Ryker arrived just as Julie was popping the casserole into the oven and setting a timer. “I’ll get it,” she said when the bell rang. “I want a first view all to myself.”

  “Do you want a spear and shield, too?” Marisa tried to joke.

  “My tongue can take care of all that. Just relax.”

  Marisa listened to the greetings at the door and thought it all sounded pleasant enough. Julie apparently gave Ryker time to doff his jacket and gloves in the hall, then the two of them returned to the kitchen. She didn’t feel tension between them, but somehow she didn’t think that would last. She knew Julie too well.

  Once they were all seated around the wooden table, Julie plunged right into the inquisition. “So what took you so long to get here?”

  Ryker arched one brow. “Meaning?”

  “Well, the funeral was nearly six months ago. Most planes are faster than that.”

  Marisa battled an urge to quell Julie, realizing that she needed to hear some of this, too. And count on Julie to address it baldly.

  Ryker rested his arms on the table. He wore a gray Yale sweatshirt that looked as if it had seen a lot of washings. “It depends on whether we can take a break,” he answered. “I couldn’t get away. Not then.”

  “But six months?”

  Marisa felt this was a bit unfair. She opened her mouth to say so, but Ryker spoke first. “Sometimes one is in a situation that one can’t walk away from. Not even for the death of a family member.”

  “Now that’s mysterious,” Julie popped back. “I guess it’ll stay that way, won’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so. There are things I can’t talk about. Marisa knows that. There were things Johnny couldn’t talk about, either.”

  “I get it,” Julie said pleasantly enough. “So, what happened to Johnny? And how about a truthful version?”

  Relax? Julie had told her to relax and now she was delving into this? Marisa wanted to get up and leave, but Julie had arranged her chair so that Marisa couldn�
�t. Damn!

  “I was told the same thing Marisa was. That’s all I know.”

  “Officially, anyway,” Julie said bluntly. “I guess that’s all anyone will know.”

  Then Ryker surprised Marisa by getting angry. He’d seemed so self-contained until that moment, but a definite edge crept into his voice, and his dark eyes sparked. “That’s more than some people get, Julie. Some never know anything at all.” He started to push back from the table, but Julie’s hand shot out and caught him by the arm. He looked at her grip on him, and Marisa was sure he could have shaken it away like a fly.

  “I’m sorry,” Julie said. “I’m worried about Marisa. She’s my friend, and you popped up out of nowhere at a very late date.”

  Ryker turned his gaze on Marisa. “You couldn’t have asked me this yourself? You needed someone else to speak for you?”

  “I asked you last night,” she reminded him, her heart thumping. He appeared to relax a hair, and Julie released his arm.

  “Look,” he said, “I didn’t come here to make your life harder. I came because John asked me to. I came as soon as I could get away. But if it’ll save you problems, I can leave right now. I’d feel bad about it, because I said I’d be here for you, but if you don’t want me around, then it hardly matters what I promised.”

  Before Marisa decided how to answer, Julie looked between them, then said, “We’re throwing Marisa a baby shower on Friday night. You can crash it if you want. Of course you might get nauseated looking at tiny clothes and booties.”

  Several noticeable seconds passed before Ryker answered. Marisa got the distinct impression that he was putting a lid on something inside himself, although she couldn’t imagine whether it was anger or sorrow.

  “It won’t nauseate me,” he said. “But it’s up to Marisa.” He gave her a crooked smile. “I’m totally out of my depth here. I know nothing about baby showers, and I just spent eighteen months in a country very different from this. Help me out here.”

  “You can come,” Marisa said impulsively. “And you don’t have to bring anything.”

  All of a sudden his eyes widened. “I picked up dessert at the bakery, and it’s out in my car freezing.” Without another word, he jumped up. An instant later they heard the door slam behind him.

  Marisa and Julie shared a look. “I think he’s okay,” Julie said finally. “Sorry if I upset you.”

  “I think he’s okay, too,” Marisa agreed. “But he’s a box full of secrets.” She didn’t want to admit how much that disturbed her.

  “Just like another man we both knew and loved. Say, Marisa?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you ever fall in love again, find someone uncomplicated. I know a teacher or two. You know, someone without secrets?”

  Another laugh escaped Marisa as they heard Ryker come back in. “Yeah,” she agreed. But she doubted that would ever happen. Losing one love had been enough for her lifetime.

  And while Ryker was an attractive, sexy man, her response to that had been muted. She hoped it stayed that way.

  * * *

  Ryker left early, after dinner and a piece of the cake he had brought, and after insisting on doing the dishes. He was a man who was used to taking care of himself under far worse conditions. Washing dishes with running water felt like a luxury, although looking around the kitchen and thinking of the baby to come, he wondered if they could install a dishwasher in there. There seemed to be room.

  But first the basement steps, he decided. Marisa hadn’t refused his offer, so he supposed he ought to hit the lumberyard in the morning and buy what he’d need, as well as the angle brackets to attach to the crib. At least then he’d feel like he’d done more for John’s wife than freshen her grief.

  Marisa was a pretty armful. He could understand what John had seen in her, despite the grief that weighed her down now. If anything, pregnancy had made her blossom, although maybe the pictures John had shown him once hadn’t done her justice.

  And that Julie! The woman was something else, and he suspected that under better circumstances Marisa could be every bit as pointed and outspoken. Julie was protecting her friend from the possible threat he posed, and he approved of that, even though it had annoyed him a bit.

  He was, after all, a stranger to them both, and John certainly hadn’t been mistaken when he felt Marisa was safe here in the cradle of people who knew her. A very different life from his own, and he couldn’t quite smother a flicker of envy.

  It wasn’t that he hadn’t had decent friends over the years, John among them. But forged in the heat of a mission, they tended to be intense and brief. If you worked with the same guys repeatedly, as he had with John a number of times, something more enduring resulted. But with too many, the friendships had evaporated, either through death or dispersal.

  Secrets weighted his soul the way grief weighted Marisa’s. He’d never been a Ranger with John, although he let Marisa believe it. No, he’d always been an operative on the outside, working for the agency after his initial special ops training with the military. She, of course, had no idea what kind of missions John and his fellow soldiers had been sent on, dangerous missions behind the lines, in disguise, spying, gathering intelligence, always risking execution if they were discovered.

  And deep in his heart he suspected John had been executed.

  Marisa didn’t need to know that, and without proof he was forced to doubt it himself. But she was right: A street mugging? He didn’t believe it, and his web of contacts within the agency had quivered a little, letting him know that secrets were running around again, secrets about John’s death.

  He’d lived his whole life with secrecy, but lately he was coming to hate it. Having met Marisa, he hated it even more. He understood that the truth would probably serve no one in this case, but he was still distressed to know that Marisa didn’t believe the cover story she’d been given. What would that do to her over time? Kill her ability to trust and believe?

  He’d pretty much left his own behind.

  He took a long run in the cold night air along the quiet streets of Conard City. The elements never bothered him, and he paid them only as much mind as he needed to for safety. A ski mask protected his nose, gloves protected his fingers and the rest of him stayed plenty warm from running.

  He ran into the truck stop across from the motel just long enough to buy a couple of strong coffees, then headed back to his room. Not the Ritz, but he’d never stayed anywhere fancy. He was used to far worse and had learned to bed down just about anywhere he felt safe.

  It was not a life he wanted to drag a woman into, even at long distance. John had managed it, but if Ryker had needed a reminder, Marisa had provided it. Some guys didn’t worry about such things. They felt they could balance the two ends of the spectrum, but finally it came down to fairness, at least to his way of thinking. John might have loved Marisa completely, but as he’d thought before, there was something John had loved more than her.

  As crazy as it might sound, John had been cheating on his wife with his job. Ryker preferred to just let it be known up front: he had one love and one love only.

  He downed one of the coffees, took a hot shower, then flopped on the bed in a fresh set of sweats and stared at the ceiling while drinking his second coffee.

  He might be used to being alone, but solitude wasn’t always a good thing. He had no mission right now, other than to do whatever little things he could for Marisa, and more time on his hands than he wanted. Whenever he came home from an extended assignment, they gave him time to repatriate.

  Funny word, but he understood it. Adapting to a foreign culture was somehow easier than coming home. Call it a mental health break or whatever, but they were giving him time to remember that he was all-American, apple pie, football-loving and all the rest of it. Making sure he had come fully home.

  Regar
dless, time and guilt hung heavily on his hands. Something else, too, was creeping into his thoughts: awareness of Marisa as a woman. Neither of them needed that, and she sure as hell wouldn’t want it.

  But she was attractive as hell, even in her gravid state. Being around her was wakening the man in him in a totally unwelcome way. Man! He sat up and tried to shake it off.

  Of all the unwelcome things he could feel. She was still deep in grief, pregnant with her dead husband’s child, and he’d helped lead John to his death by getting him the damn job. It was a wonder she hadn’t sent him on his way for that sin alone.

  He took another swig of cooling coffee and reached for the self-control that locked away everything else inside him when he was on a mission. But that wasn’t working now for some reason. He was drawn to Marisa, like it or not, and his mental shovel couldn’t seem to bury it.

  Maybe his bosses were right. Maybe they’d sensed something in him that had made them put him on enforced inactivity for longer than usual. Maybe John’s death had hit him harder than he thought.

  Death was his constant companion. He’d lost buddies before. Why should John be different? But somehow, in some deep way, he was. He had been, even before Ryker had decided to use this enforced break to keep his promise about Marisa. Why?

  He racked his brains, trying to get at it. Compartmentalizing wasn’t working. Nothing was working. John’s death had struck him hard, harder than others. Maybe he felt personally responsible? But that was ridiculous. Men who took these jobs took them willingly. Nobody lied about the risks, ever. They might lie and conceal everything else, but not the risks. Once you were in the field, it was a very bad time to discover you couldn’t handle the danger. And John had had plenty of previous experience. Some of the missions that Marisa would never know about had been CIA ones that used the Rangers, and John had known it.

  He rubbed his hand over his face, feeling a day’s stubble. Weird to be clean-shaven again. He still wasn’t used to it. He wondered if he could go for that two-day’s growth look that seemed so popular now.

  He wondered if Marisa would like it.