An Unlikely Daddy (8 page)

“Well, I don't know squat about it,” he said truthfully. Rising, he put his own cup down and crossed the room. He lifted her ankles from the hassock, feeling that simple touch like an electrical shock, and sat with her feet on his thighs. Gently he started rubbing her ankles. “I'd like to know,” he said quietly. “Tell me about it.”

The frozen way she looked at his hands, he expected her to tell him to keep his mitts to himself. But then she astonished him. With a smile, she said, “That feels so good.”

“Then I'll keep it up.” Carefully he removed her jogging shoes, leaving her socks in place, and began to rub her feet, as well. It felt like sparks were shooting from his hands, or from her feet to his hands. “So talk to me. Despite everything, you must have had some special moments after you learned you were expecting.”

“I did.” Utter relaxation appeared to pass through her, and she let her head fall back and her eyes close. “There was the first time I felt movement. It was...amazing. All of a sudden this baby was real, totally real to me. It changed everything.”

“What did it feel like?”

“At first almost like small bubbles moving. Now it's stronger. I get definite pokes and kicks.”

“Can you see them?”

“I sure can. Sometimes I think I can even make out a foot, just this tiny little wedge, but I'm not sure. As the doc said, the baby's inside a pillow which is inside another pillow.”

“But you've seen an ultrasound?”

“This morning.” Her eyes didn't open, but a smile came to her face. “She's so perfect.”

“Did you get to keep a picture?”

“It's in my purse.”

“I'd like to see it later.”

Her eyes opened. “Ryker? Why are you doing this? You don't need to get involved with the baby.”

He thought about that before answering. “I've led an active life, but there are lots of things I've missed. This is one of them. And besides, the baby is John's legacy.”

“Legacy,” she repeated the word. “I like that.”

He rubbed her feet, extending her toes, massaging the muscles along her arches, then returning to her ankles, rubbing gently to move the fluid upward. “We're different in a very important way.”

“What's that?”

“You create life. You bring something wonderful into the world.”

She tilted her head. “And you don't?”

“I try to save lives, yeah. But it's not always possible.”

Another sigh escaped her, and her eyes closed. “That's sad. And I could sleep.”

“You just do that. While you nap, I'll get my belongings from the motel.”

She nodded slightly, and he watched with a faint smile as she dozed off. Only when he was sure she slept did he stop massaging her.

She was giving him a totally different perspective on life, he thought as he grabbed his coat and headed out. That could be a good thing or a very bad thing.

One thing for sure. He was beginning to wonder how John could have ever left this woman's side.

* * *

After he'd filled his duffel and backpack, which pretty much contained his whole life except for some items in storage in Virginia, he headed for the diner. He was recognized when he entered and greeted by some of the folks having lunch there. While he didn't feel as if he were part of their community, he guessed they were letting him know that they'd decided he was okay.

Even irascible Maude gave him a nod and asked what he wanted. As soon as she heard he was buying for two, she asked if it was for Marisa. When he answered yes, Maude went to work making a meal.

“She swelling any?” Maude asked.

“Her ankles and feet.”

“I'll leave off the salt, then. I swear that woman looks ready to pop any day.”

Ryker didn't offer any gossip. Keeping secrets was nearly automatic.

“She needs someone looking after her now.” Maude glared at him. “Any volunteers?”

He almost laughed at her pointedness. He'd known gunnery sergeants who didn't hold a candle to this woman. “Yes, ma'am. Me.”

“About time,” Maude grunted, then went back to work. Quite soon she had a paper bag full of foam containers and beverages. Ryker stepped out into the bracing cold and found himself face-to-face with a guy in a sheriff's uniform. One side of his face was burn-scarred, and his badge said “Dalton.”

So this was the sheriff he'd heard about a couple of times. “Put that food in the car,” the man said. “Let it keep warm. I just want a word.”

Ryker nodded, put the bag on the passenger seat, then faced the man. He wore a heavy shearling coat, but the badge and name tag were sill prominent, as were patches on the shoulder. He offered his hand.

“Gage Dalton, sheriff,” he said. “And you're Ryker Tremaine.”

“Yes.”

“I got word you checked out of the motel. Leaving town?”

“Marisa Hayes asked me to stay with her.”

Dalton nodded slowly. “I checked up on you. I still have some pretty good contacts from my days with the DEA.”

Ryker tensed. What was this about?

“You have an amazingly bland background,” Dalton remarked. “Which tells me a whole lot. The absence of information is often very informative.”

Ryker waited, vigilant, for whatever was to come.

“Just be careful,” Dalton said. “I don't think Marisa could handle another John, if you get my drift.”

“Perfectly.”

Dalton nodded and walked back toward his office up the street. Ryker stood there for a minute. The man was right. Marisa couldn't handle it again. But he already knew that. What struck him was the way this town kept trying to protect her. Even the damn sheriff.

He figured that living here could either make a person claustrophobic or very grateful. So far he didn't feel claustrophobic, but then he wasn't trying to put down roots here. Maybe folks were pretty much leaving him alone.

He took the warning in good part, even though he didn't need it. He knew he was poison. That was why he'd never stayed long enough to get attached. This was different, however. Between repatriation time after his last mission and having a whole lot of built-up vacation time, he could stay as long as he wanted.

But only if he didn't feel he was hurting anyone. Marisa had her doubts about him, justifiably so. He might want to take her to bed, maybe even indulge in a little fantasy about a life with her, but that was all it would ever be: fantasy.

Because Marisa carried a price tag. He'd have to give up his job to be what she needed, to spare her another loss. The thought was so impossible that he'd never considered it.

Not before Marisa, anyway.

Crap, he was a mess. He needed to square his head away, and he needed to do it soon.

When he got back to the house, he left his bags in the car and went inside with the food. She was gone from her rocker, evidently done with her nap.

“Marisa?”

“In the kitchen.”

He walked through the door and froze. She was standing on the top of a three-step stool, reaching for something well above her head.

“My God, woman! What the hell...?”

“I wanted that casserole dish from up there,” she said. “It didn't use to be so high.”

He saw her teeter a bit. He moved in a flash, dropping the bag on the table as he passed it and catching her by the hips, steadying her. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Oh, hush, Ryker. I've done this a million times.”

“Probably not with about twenty pounds hanging off your front affecting your balance. Down. Now. I'll get the damn dish.”

“Sheesh,” she said, but a little giggle escaped her. “I think the nesting hit again.”

“I think you're out of your mind. Step down. Easy now. I've got you.”

With each step down, her back brushed the front of his body, stoking fires he'd been trying to put out almost from the first instant he saw her. “You know,” he muttered, “this sucks. And you shouldn't be allowed to be alone for even ten minutes if you're going to pull stunts like this.”

“Maybe not,” she said quietly, then astonished him by leaning back into him as her feet settled on the floor. His hands remained on her hips, and he stopped breathing as she covered them with her own.

What was the she up to?

“You have big hands,” she remarked. “Strong.” Her fingers curled briefly around his and squeezed. “Thanks. Forget the casserole. I have others.”

“But you wanted this one enough to risk your neck.”

“It was my grandmother's. I mainly wanted it down where I could see it. Pure decoration. Ryker? I think my back hurts a bit.”

Well, he could sure understand why, given the way she had been reaching and that twist to look at him when he first arrived. “Where?” he asked.

“High up. Not low. Don't panic, it's not labor.”

Panicking wasn't usually in his nature, although he supposed anything was possible. But he didn't want to let go of this moment of intimacy, however pointless and brief it was. He had begun to crave this woman, and a stupider thing he'd never done.

Slowly she released his hands. Taking it as a sign, he stepped back. He cleared his throat, feeling uncharacteristically awkward. “I brought food from the diner. A warning, though. Maude left the salt off yours.”

She turned slowly, her cheeks flushed. “Nice of her.”

He guided her to her chair and began pulling items out of the bag. His groin throbbed, and he hoped she couldn't see it. His jeans weren't that tight, he assured himself, and his black sweatshirt was extra long, providing a little more camouflage.

“Ryker?” She sounded breathless. Concerned, he looked up from the bag.

“What?”

“Am I awful?”

“Awful? What in the world would make you think that?”

“Because...because...” She put her face in her hands.

At once he squatted beside her, worried, touching her arm. “Marisa? What's wrong?”

“Nothing. It's just...I shouldn't be having these feelings.”

“What feelings?” Suicidal thoughts? Urges to kill someone? Fear? The whole palette of emotions lay there waiting for her to choose one.

She kept her face covered. “I have dreams about you.”

His entire body leaped. He had dreams about her, too, and not only when he was sleeping. “And?”

“I want you. Is that wrong? I mean...it hasn't been that long...”

Her words deprived him of breath. He could have lifted her right then and carried her to her bed. He'd have done so joyfully. But caution and maybe even some wisdom held him back.

“I want you, too,” he said huskily.

She dropped her hands, her wondering eyes meeting his almost shyly. “Really? Looking like this?”

“You're beautiful looking just like that. But...”

“But?” She seized on the word, some of the wonder leaving her face.

“I don't want you to regret it. So how about we spend more time talking to each other? Give yourself some time to be sure. Hell, it probably wouldn't be safe, anyway.”

“My doc says it would.”

She'd asked her doctor? A thousand explosions went off in his head, leaving him almost blind. He cleared his throat. “Uh...I could take you right now. I want to. So, please, don't be embarrassed. I don't think you're awful. But...please...get to know me a bit better. I want to know you better. I want you to be sure.”

“I feel guilty,” she admitted. “It's been driving me nuts. Am I betraying Johnny?”

“I don't believe he'd think so. But that's a question only you can answer, and you need to do that for yourself. Then there's me.”

“You?” She studied him.

“I don't exactly feel right about this. After what you've already been through, I shouldn't have to explain that. I'm another John, Marisa. Why in the world would you want to risk that again?” And now that he knew the real reason she'd been trying to avoid him, he felt like crap. He'd read her all right. She wanted him gone. But only because she wanted
him
, and it made her feel guilty. Could it get any messier?

She nodded slowly, looking down at where her fingertips pressed into the wooden table. “I don't know,” she finally said quietly. “Not that it'd be a risk. You already said you don't commit.”

At a rather advanced stage of life, he was discovering how fast feelings could grow. It was as if he'd let something off his internal leash, and now he hurt to hear himself described in his own terms. “Think about it,” he said. “Just think about it. I'll be living here for a while, so you can find out if this is what you really want. In the meantime, let's chow down before the food gets cold.”

He hated to remove his hand from her arm, to withdraw to a safer distance. Food held little appeal now, because he knew he didn't just need her to evaluate her feelings, but he needed to evaluate his whole damn life.

* * *

Later, after he'd cleaned up and put half her salad in the fridge for later, he retrieved her casserole dish for her. “It's pretty,” he said. It was cobalt blue, with pink flowers and gold scrolling.

“I always thought so.” Then she shook him to the core. “You know I've been avoiding you.”

“I know. Same here. I could tell you didn't want me around, so I stayed away.”

“But do you know why I felt that way?”

“Tell me.” So it wasn't all about illicit feelings of desire. He didn't know whether to be relieved.

She hesitated while he set the casserole dish on the counter and put the stool away. “I didn't trust you. Too many secrets. And then I wanted you, and I felt guilty. Did I upset you by telling you that?”

He faced her squarely. “Truth is always welcome in my life.” A rare commodity, if he were to be honest. “No, you didn't upset me. Why should you trust me? But you shouldn't feel guilty.”