An Unlikely Daddy (5 page)

“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.

Regardless, 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.

Which brought him back to the guilt trip. He flopped back on the bed, telling himself not to be an idiot. Maybe he should just take care of those stairs, so she didn't hurt herself and the baby, and then clear out. It'd be safer.

But safer for whom? Himself? Marisa was so lost in grief and pregnancy that he was probably peripheral to her awareness of anything. So what if he wanted her? He could be certain she wouldn't feel the same about him.

Atonement, he reminded himself. Penance. Maybe hanging around and enduring his burgeoning desire for her was just part of the price he needed to pay. He'd already reopened her wounds. Who cared how uncomfortable this might be for him?

He'd withstood more in his life. Far worse than a little self-denial when it came to sex. Although sex was one place he hadn't practiced a whole lot of self-denial, except when on a mission.

Love, he realized, was the one thing he'd never allowed to blossom in his heart. He preferred it that way. He'd leave no one behind to grieve him. If he needed proof that he was being wise, there was a woman right across town.

A woman expecting a baby who'd never know its daddy. He never wanted to be responsible for that.

But in a different way, he was accepting responsibility for it. It hadn't been his choice, but it was still his responsibility. He owed that woman and child something. Hell, the whole damn agency did, but the most they ever managed was a letter and a star, and Marisa would never get those. If they had intended to tell her, she'd already know.

The secrets must be kept.

And suddenly, he hated them with every bit of passion he owned.

* * *

“Well, he was certainly interesting,” Julie remarked later as she and Marisa curled up in the living room with some hot chocolate. “Did you see that flash of anger?”

“Yeah.”

“All I did was ask him what took him so long to get here. You want my guess?”

“About why?”

Julie nodded. “I wish I had some marshmallows for this cocoa. My students have ruined me. I used to hate them. Anyway, he got mad because he felt bad about taking so long to get here. You must have noticed. Men get mad because it's easier for them than dealing with other emotional stuff.”

Marisa gave a little laugh. “Sometimes, anyway.”

“Well, that's my theory, and I'm sticking to it. They can't cry, so they throw things or punch something. They could learn from us. Anyway, he's an intriguing character. Attractive, too. He fluttered my little heart.”

Now Marisa
did
laugh. “I thought you were recommending men without secrets. Like a teacher.”

“Oh, definitely. If you want stability, avoid the bad boys.” Then she caught herself and frowned. “Sorry, I wasn't including Johnny in that.”

Marisa glanced down, eyeing her stomach, watching a small ripple pass across it. Her baby. Her touchstone. “Why not?” she asked finally. “Johnny was a bad boy. He liked danger. But he wasn't bad with me, or at home.”

“Nope. Definitely not. He definitely worshipped you.”

But not enough to give up the danger
. The thought slammed into Marisa's mind, and a tiny gasp escaped her. No, she didn't want to think that way. Not about Johnny.

“Are you okay?” Julie asked swiftly.

“Just a little foot poking a rib. I'm fine.” And now she was lying to her best friend, keeping her secrets. But she sure as heck didn't want to get into this with Julie. Not ever. In fact, she didn't even want to think it.

But the thought stayed in the back of her mind, refusing to go away.

“So,” Julie went on, “are you going to let him work on the basement steps? He seems to want to.”

“I think so,” Marisa answered slowly. “They've been worrying me more and more often. Especially as ungainly as I am right now. One slip could be catastrophic.” She paused. “Funny how things change. When I first married Johnny, I charged up and down those steps without a thought. But over the last few months—well, I guess I no longer feel indestructible or immortal.”

“Actually,” Julie said gently, “when you married Johnny a fall might have meant a broken bone. A fall when you're pregnant is a whole different thing.”

“It feels like it.”

“It's curious, though,” Julie mused. “Ryker doesn't hang for long, does he? He came over, then vanished as soon as he'd finished cleaning up.”

“He keeps saying he doesn't want to impose too much.” She sighed and sipped cocoa. “Frankly, I don't think he's comfortable. When he walks in here, I get the sense that he feels like he's walking into an alien world.”

“Probably is. Which I guess makes him sad in a way. Where the hell does a man like that belong?”

For once Marisa had no answer, because she had begun to wonder if Johnny had really felt he belonged with her. Oh, he'd loved her; he'd always come home to her. But belonging? Maybe it was different for him. He wasn't just coming back to her, but to the town he grew up in. Ryker didn't have that, not here. Maybe not anywhere.

Julie was right. That made him sad, no matter how strong, dangerous or driven he might be.

Chapter Four

T
his time Ryker called before he showed up. Marisa appreciated the gesture but was a little surprised by her reaction. Now that her first shock and discomfort had passed, she was looking forward to seeing him again.

A major change of pace, she assured herself. That was all it was. At this point she still distrusted him. Oh, she didn't fear he might hurt her or threaten her in any real way, but as she had phrased it to Julie, he was another box of secrets. If she hadn't known Johnny for so many years, she might not have been able to trust him enough to marry.

Because when you felt that there were large parts of a person you could never know, how did you offer them trust?

Not that that was an issue here. He'd stay for a little while, then go back to his secret world, and her life would resume.

Sometimes bitterness overtook her, and she wondered what life, what future, but the baby never missed an opportunity to remind her. Little Jonni, as she had started to think of the child,
was
her future, and all that mattered right now. The important thing was taking care of Johnny's final gift to her. Raising a daughter he would have been proud of. But sometimes she wondered if things might have been different if she'd been able to tell him she was expecting.

What would have been different? Would he have quit his job and settled into some boring path doing something he didn't love because he had a responsibility?

She wasn't sure that would have happened or worked out if it had. She'd bravely told Ryker that loving someone meant loving them just as they were, not trying to change them. She had done that with Johnny, so why even harbor any too-late hope that her pregnancy would have changed a thing?

Life had gutted her, and sometimes she grew angry. Extremely angry—a state that hadn't been familiar to her before. Sometimes she wanted to smash something. Throw something. Get even somehow. But none of that would have helped, and she knew it. Sometimes she wondered why life was so unfair, but even in the depths of misery she could look around and see that life was unfair to everyone. Fairness didn't even enter into it.

Since Ryker was coming and seemed to enjoy coffee, she made a fresh pot. Back in the early days of her pregnancy, when her doctor had limited her to two cups a day, she thought she was going be miserable forever. Now here she was six months later, and her two cups seemed more than ample.

Until right now. The brewing coffee smelled so good, she decided she might indulge. At this point, the restriction had been removed, but she had lost her old urge to drink the brew all day long. Right now, however, the aroma made her mouth water.

But as she waited for Ryker, some old, nearly forgotten instincts began to arise. She ought to be able to offer him something to eat. God, she hadn't done that even for her friends since word of Johnny's death. Not even now. Instead, Julie came over and cooked a meal for her, or her other friends dropped by with some tidbit and conversation. She'd become an ungracious mole.

It was a wonder she still had any friends, given how self-absorbed she'd become. She didn't laugh much, didn't say much and couldn't even welcome a guest with a cookie. She took, but she didn't give.

A new kind of guilt speared her, one she hadn't had room for since the funeral. Time, she guessed, to start dusting off her social skills again. Time to make an effort to participate, at least a little. The shower on Friday would be a good start. She hadn't wanted it, but she was getting it, and the girls were going to do it right here in her cave. She wouldn't even have to set foot out into the icy night; the party would come to her.

She made up her mind right then that she was going to enjoy it. Failing that, she'd make every effort to appear to be enjoying it. God, their patience with her was amazing, because being around her had to have been a serious downer all these months.

The doorbell rang, and she went to let Ryker in. Evidently the winter cold had returned in force. He stomped his feet as if to get blood flowing to them again, and pulled off his ski mask to give her a smile. “I've been to cold places before, but this one is heading to the top of my list.”

“I haven't been paying attention.” Sadly true.

“Take my word for it. It's beginning to feel like Antarctica.”

She had started toward the kitchen but swung around instantly. “Was that hyperbole, or have you been there?”

She saw him hesitate. More secrets. Smothering a sigh, she started for the kitchen again. “I made a fresh pot of coffee for you. How are you managing at the motel?”

“The motel's fine. So is the truck stop diner.”

“Try the City Diner sometime. Ask for it as Maude's diner, which is what everyone calls it. The service may be less friendly, but the food is fabulous.”

“I'll remember that.” As she entered the kitchen, with him following, he added, “Yes, I've been to Antarctica.”

She froze, then turned to face him. He was shucking his jacket, hanging it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. For an instant, just an instant, she thought that he looked like a hunk in flannel and jeans. She pulled herself back quickly, returning to curiosity. “For real? Are you allowed to tell me that?”

“I just did. Training exercise years ago.”

“Wow,” she said slowly. Not that she believed that was the whole story, but she decided to accept it. “I used to want to go there.”

“What in the world for?” He sounded astonished.

A half smile tipped up one corner of her mouth. “I hear there are more shades of blue in the ice than we can imagine. And penguins. But I was thinking of a cruise.”

“Ah.” His smile returned. “Well, there
are
more shades of blue than you can imagine, if you have time to look at them. The penguins are smaller than you'd think, the seals more dangerous and the terrain and weather totally unforgiving. Which probably explains why no one except crazy scientists and crazy military people try to hang out there for long.”

To her surprise, he drew a small laugh from her. Now, that wasn't so hard, was it? As she poured two mugs of coffee she said, “So, have you been on every continent?”

Again he didn't answer immediately. When she sat at the table, he sat, too. “No,” he said finally. “And to answer the question you haven't asked, neither had John. And no, he didn't go to Antarctica as far as I know.”

“That probably explains why he didn't quash my dream of taking that cruise someday.” She stared into her coffee for a few seconds, thinking that it might be wise to back off this. This man was no more free to talk than Johnny had been. “So, what brought you today?”

“Well, I wanted a good look at those stairs to see what I'll need and figure out how to make them safer without taking over your entire basement. Measurements, mostly. Do you mind?”

She felt a flicker of warmth toward him, although she wasn't sure it was wise. “I really appreciate this. I'll pay for the materials.”

He shook his head. “Call it my shower gift. It will probably take me a few days, though. Can you handle it?”

She decided she could. Internally, she'd made some kind of shift, she realized. She would never fully trust this man. She would always suspect he knew more about what had happened to Johnny than he would say, but she appreciated his willingness to deal with a problem for her.

“Are you a carpenter?” she asked.

“It used to be one of my hobbies. I can do stairs. Don't ask me to do any cabinetmaking. I don't have that level of skill.”

“When did you learn?”

“My dad and I used to spend a lot of time in his shop. It was his hobby, too.”

At last, something truly personal. That seemed important. She wondered where else she could safely wander. Then, an unexpected wave of resistance hit her. “I can hire someone to do it.”

“All right.” He sipped coffee before putting his mug down. “But you're not going to get rid of me that easily.”

“Is that a threat?” Her heart slammed as she wondered if she had totally misjudged him.

“No, not at all.” He shook his head. “I don't expect my feelings to matter to you, Marisa. Why should they? But understand this. I promised something to Johnny. You're going to find me as tough to get rid of as gum on the sole of your shoe.”

“But why?” she demanded again. “Just tell me why, and don't tell me about promises. Just coming here fulfilled your promise. If I want you to go...”

“It's not just about promises. It's about debts. Guilt. Whatever you want to call it. I should never have gotten John that job. Never. I have to live with that.” He sat there pinning her with his hard, dark gaze. “We all have our griefs and guilts, Marisa. All of us.”

The raw honesty of that gripped her hard. Her lungs felt squeezed. “I don't want to be anyone's penance!”

“You're not my penance, believe me. You couldn't be if you tried. These are things I need to deal with myself. In the process, if I can help you out a little bit, it would be nice.”

Understanding shook her. She wrapped her arms around herself. She could barely whisper. “You feel like you killed Johnny.”

His face darkened until it looked like a winter sky, threatening, harsh.

“Did you?” she asked with the last bit of breath she could summon.

“I wasn't lying when I said I was in a different country.” Without another word, he rose and left the kitchen. She half expected him to leave the house until she saw that his jacket was still there. She sucked air and rocked a bit, dealing with a blow she couldn't quite explain to herself. He felt responsible for Johnny's death, but in a way that went far past simply getting him a job. But why? What the hell was involved in that job? Translating shouldn't have been a deadly occupation.

Something was being withheld. The feeling that had overwhelmed her from the start battered at her again. She didn't know, she might never know, what had really happened, what Johnny had really been doing.

She listened to Ryker pace, felt her baby's stirrings as if they came from another world, and wondered how she was ever going to deal with any of this.

But oddly, as complicating as Ryker's presence was, even though she couldn't decide if she loathed him, and certainly knew that she didn't trust him, she felt a burgeoning seed of sympathy for him. She'd been so lost in her misery that she had forgotten that others had lost someone, too. That Ryker had not only lost a friend, but even felt responsible for it. The responsibility wasn't his. Even she knew that. The responsibility lay with Johnny's choices and whoever had attacked him. Ryker shouldn't have to shoulder that on top of anything else.

She had to live with loss and endless questions, but at least she didn't feel responsible. She couldn't imagine the weight of responsibility being added to all this hell.

For the first time since she got the news, she honestly thought about what someone else might be feeling. Actually cared that someone else was hurting, too. God, how utterly selfish she had become.

Standing back, for just a few seconds, she looked at herself and didn't like what she saw. Yes, grief was consuming, but it needn't rule out every other human feeling on the planet. In fact, she thought she might have been incredibly self-indulgent. Other people had to pick up the pieces after a death. They couldn't just withdraw into a private cocoon of hell, even if they wanted to. They had jobs and others they couldn't afford to forget.

“I'm weak,” she announced.

Ryker's pacing in the foyer stopped. A moment later he appeared in the doorway. “You said something?”

“I'm just thinking about how weak I am.” Might as well be truthful about something, and a near stranger seemed like a safer ear than even Julie right now.

“You're not weak,” he said quietly.

“I disagree. I dropped out of everything. I put everything else on hold so I could curl up in a ball and feel sorry for myself.”

“Grieving is not self-pity.”

“Depends on how you do it, don't you think?” For the second time that morning, she felt scalded by understanding. Then she remembered something else. “You didn't kill Johnny. If there was one thing I learned as his wife, it's that he made his own decisions. If you hadn't found him that job, he'd have found another. It's how he was. How
you
are. You, of all people, should understand that.”

Ryker visibly hesitated, shifting back and forth on his feet, as if he wasn't quite sure how to respond. She waved a hand. “You don't have to answer me,” she told him. “Secrets. I get that part very clearly.”

Slowly he came back to the table, as if he were dragging something heavy. He poured them both fresh coffee, then sat again. “Can we talk about John?”

She drew a long breath. “I guess we need to. He's here right now, right between us, still full of secrets I'll never know. Things I'll never understand. So go for it.”

“I don't want to rip you up.”

She swallowed hard. “I don't think anything can rip me up more than I already have been.”

He nodded slowly. “Over the years John and I worked on a number of missions together. Not every one, but enough. The thing about me, about people like me, is that after a while you start to know exactly what you're capable of. Good and bad. What you can endure.”

She nodded slowly. She guessed she could understand that.

“It doesn't usually take long for the brass to come off.”

“Meaning?”

“You get to the point where you know you have nothing to prove to anyone, not to yourself, not to others. You've proven it already. So you kind of quiet down. That's what I meant about the brass going away.”

“Okay.” She sipped coffee, trying to wet a mouth that was turning dry. Somehow she knew she wasn't going to like this.