An Unlikely Daddy (4 page)

He summoned a mental picture. “That would work. I could add some more brackets for you easily enough. The way it looks now, you only have four of them.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I'd need them all the way around so the mattress is higher. You know, so fingers or hands couldn't poke out.”

“Easy enough.”

Then she smiled faintly. “And that's part of the reason for crib bumpers, I guess.” A little shake of her head. “I need to get on the stick about this, don't I?”

“You've got a little time.”

“Not a whole lot.” She held out her hand. “Pad? Pen?”

He'd forgotten he'd tucked them into his breast pocket and turned them over immediately.

“So, hardware for angle brackets and screws, right? Say eight of them?”

“Maybe twelve. And they should be wide, not too narrow.”

She wrote. “Then mattress, bumpers, sheets, blankets...” Her voice trailed off. “I let this go too long.”

“You've still got time, right?”

“Another ten weeks.”

“That's plenty,” he said bracingly. “Your friends and I will help if you let us.” Then he took a leap into a potential briar patch. “I don't like those basement stairs of yours.”

She looked up from her writing. “Why?”

“Too narrow, and the railing isn't sturdy enough. “You shouldn't be climbing them right now, but with a baby in your arms or on your hip...” He let it hang, and braced for her justifiable anger. Just who the hell did he think he was? She'd have every right to demand that of him.

She frowned, then sighed. “You're right. I hate those stairs.”

“I can fix them.”

At that her head jerked back. “Ryker, you just dropped by to do your duty to Johnny. You checked on me. Are you planning to move in?”

A justified question. But he was feeling a need, a strong need to atone and make up for things, including the lies he kept telling by omission as much as anything. His answer, though, surprised even him. “For a change I'd like to actually build something.”

Something passed over her face—whether sorrow or something else, he wasn't sure. “Why should I trust you?” she asked finally. “You think I can't tell you're keeping secrets?”

“John kept secrets, too,” he said. “And by the way, John trusted me, or I wouldn't be here now.”

She debated. He could see it. He wondered how much faith she'd lost in her husband just by the few things he'd told her. He'd certainly tried to avoid telling her that she'd been fed some outright lies. He didn't feel good about it, but that was the job. Besides, he owed it to John to protect her from the ugly truths.

“What would you do to the stairs?” she asked.

“For one thing, the steps need to be wider. So it'll stretch farther into the basement, but there's room. And I'd give you a rail on both sides strong enough that if you grab or fall against them, they won't collapse.”

She nodded slowly, giving him his first sense that he might actually be getting somewhere with her. “I'd like that,” she admitted.

He rose and reached for the jacket he'd slung over the back of the chair earlier. “I've imposed too much. See you tomorrow.”

Before she could answer, he headed for the door. Coming here hadn't eased his sense of guilt in the least. He'd better watch his step before he carried that woman into another thicket of lies, a thicket worse than the one left to her by John.

He was, after all, still CIA. And while he might have a few months off, that didn't mean he should spend them weaving another trap for an innocent woman. She'd paid a high enough price already for loving the wrong man.

Chapter Three

R
yker's departure left Marisa feeling adrift again. Maybe she'd been too quick to take such a long sabbatical. No, she couldn't have handled teaching in the fall, but now that months had passed, she itched at times to have a schedule, to have things that needed doing. A point, a purpose, beyond wallowing in grief and taking care of her health and the child in her womb.

Johnny's death had inalterably changed her life, but she had managed his absences before by keeping a busy, full life. These days she'd all but cut off her friends.

And Ryker. He intrigued her. She felt the hardness in him at times, but she felt more there. As if he were reaching out for something, too. He'd helped her with the crib, and he said he wanted to fix her basement stairs. God, she hated those stairs. For years now she'd stood at the top of them and thrown her laundry down because she couldn't safely carry it.

It would be nice to get them fixed, but his words had struck her even more: Ryker had said he wanted to
build something for a change
. If that wasn't one of the saddest statements she'd ever heard...

He'd said he handled security for the State Department. She wondered if that job was even more dangerous than Johnny's. Johnny, after all, had gone as a translator. But Ryker being involved in security sounded even more hazardous. Yet he seemed to accept those kinds of risks casually, which was chilling, in a way.

But then, hadn't Johnny done the same?

She tried to fight the downward spiral her thoughts were taking again. Reality decreed she had to carry on. Indulging a grief that would never leave her didn't seem to get her anywhere. One foot in front of the other. How many times had she reminded herself of that?

Julie showed up again in the late afternoon, an unusual number of visits for one day. Apparently Julie was concerned about something. Her? Ryker's presence?

Anyway, it was a relief to see her cheerful face breeze into the house. Julie had apparently taken the bit between her teeth. While she gabbed humorously about her day with “those imps,” as she sometimes referred to her kindergarten class, she dove into the refrigerator and started pulling out food.

“I didn't want to eat alone,” she remarked. “You up to a chicken casserole?”

“Absolutely.” Marisa sat back, enjoying Julie's minor whirlwind.

“Just us, or will your new friend be here?”

“I'm not expecting him.”

Julie paused, package of skinless chicken breasts in hand. “Why not? Did he leave?”

“I doubt it. He wants to rebuild my basement stairs.”

“I love him already. Those things have been worrying me. So call him.”

“Call him? Why?”

“Because in this case three might be company. I mean, sheesh, Marisa, the guy came to look you up because of Johnny. How rude do you want to be?”

Marisa felt her stomach lurch. What was Julie doing? Was she being rude? She hadn't asked Ryker to come visit; he'd just arrived without warning. She didn't owe him a thing...or did she?

“He helped bring the crib upstairs,” she said slowly.

“Good man. So you're finally facing the inevitability. Great. And that means we can throw a baby shower for you. My gosh, girl, the presents have already been bought. We've just been waiting for you to agree. And if you don't, you're going to have the shower around your hospital bed. So don't you think it'd be best to know what you already have before you start shopping?”

Marisa felt an urge to giggle rising in the pit of her stomach. “You sound manic.”

“Comes from dealing with five-year-olds. Can't keep their attention for long. Talking rapidly is necessary. You never noticed before?”

“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.”