The problem was, what would Riley do about it now? Even if he found the courage to leave her for her own good, he couldn’t turn away from her now. Not with her six months pregnant with his child.
What was a man to do in such a situation? The hell if Riley knew. He wasn’t even close to being good enough to deserve Hannah. She’d crashed into his life when he least expected to meet a woman like her. One night with her had left him frantic with worry, furious and baffled. He hadn’t known who she was or where she’d come from; all he had known was that he had to find her again.
He was getting too old, Riley decided. Too tired. Too weary. He was losing his cutting edge. His emotional resilience was gone. He’d like to blame Hannah for that, as well, but he couldn’t. The problem was his own. The stark truth of the matter was he’d never been in love before and he’d lost his heart to her that night in Seattle.
His heart and his mind.
All his life he’d been waiting to meet someone like her. He just never expected it to happen in a waterfront bar. He’d seen her and wanted her immediately, not recognizing himself what it was he found so damned appealing about her. After three months of marriage, he knew. He’d been attracted to her innocence, her generosity of spirit and her awesome ability to love. For once in his life, Riley needed a woman to love him. Someone who belonged to him. Someone not bound to a memory.
He couldn’t, he wouldn’t share her.
But he did already.
As he lay next to Hannah, her measured, even breathing echoing in his ear, the implications of his situation pounded at his temples with the sharpness of a hangover.
He could fight her love for Jerry, do everything he could to wipe out the other man’s memory. In essence Riley could shadow-box with a dead man. Or he could accept her love for the seminary student and go on, doing his utmost to be the best husband he knew how to be—always knowing, always conscious that he was a damn poor second choice.
The choice, however, had already been made. The gold wedding band on his finger was reminder enough of that. The child growing in Hannah’s womb convinced him there could be no turning back now. That being the situation, the best Riley could hope for was that, in time, she’d be able to look past the hard outer crust he wore like battle armor and come to love him, too.
Love.
No one had told him it was such a painful emotion. Powerful enough to break a man, topple him from his prideful perch and leave him shaken and unsure. Riley loved Hannah and their unborn child beyond reason. Enough to cast all pride aside.
She stirred and rolled closer to him, draping her arm across his stomach. Her bare legs scooted next to his as she drew in a deep, even breath. Lying as she was, her stomach nestled against his side, reminded him how grateful he was that she hadn’t lost Junior. He’d never experienced such panic as he had the night he’d driven her to the hospital.
It happened then, and Riley’s eyes flew open. The baby kicked, and he’d felt it as strongly as if Hannah herself had poked him. An involuntary grin grew and grew.
“Riley,” she whispered, “did you feel him?”
“Yes.”
“I told you he was going to be a soccer player.”
“He’s so strong.”
Her smile was evident even in the dark. “Tell me about it.” She yawned, holding her hand in front of her mouth. “What time is it?”
Riley read the illuminated dial of his wristwatch. “A little after two.”
“Did Junior wake you?”
“No. I was lying here thinking.”
“About what?” she quizzed.
She sounded worried, and he sought to reassure her. “About what we should name Junior. I was thinking...that if you wanted, we could name him after Jerry.”
Her silence confused him. He turned his head toward her, hoping there’d be enough moonlight in the bedroom to judge her expression.
“That’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever said to me,” she murmured, her voice breaking with emotion. She pressed her hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “Actually, I’ve been giving some thought to a name myself.”
“And?” he pressed.
She hesitated, as though she expected him to disapprove of her choice. “There’s a Hannah in the Bible. I didn’t know if you were aware of that or not.”
Riley wasn’t, but that shouldn’t come as any shock. Now that he thought it over, it made sense that a godly man like George Raymond would give his only daughter a scriptural name.
“She was married and desperately wanted children. She tried for years and years to become pregnant, but was barren.”
“So far I don’t see any similarities between the two of you,” he teased, and was rewarded with an elbow in his ribs.
“Might I continue?”
“By all means.”
“Hannah went to the temple to pray, asking God for a child, and soon afterward she found herself pregnant. When her son was born, she named him Samuel.”
“Samuel,” Riley repeated slowly, testing the name. It had a nice solid sound to it. Samuel Murdock. “I like it, but aren’t you taking a lot for granted? We could very well be having a daughter.”
“Samantha, then.”
“All right,” Riley said, gathering her close in his arms, pressing his chin against the crown of her head. “Samuel or Samantha it is.”
“Samuel Riley Murdock.”
Riley felt his throat thicken. “Or Samantha Hannah Murdock.”
“But Riley, that’s too awkward a name for a little girl. Samantha Lynn or Samantha Anne would be better.”
“It’s Samantha Hannah, so don’t argue with me.”
“In that case I certainly hope we have a son,” she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear. She tugged the blankets more securely around her shoulders and continued to use his chest for a pillow. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, with her breasts brushing against him and her thighs rubbing his own, but Riley hadn’t the strength to ask her to move.
“Good night, Hannah,” he said, closing his eyes, content for the first time in hours. “Good night, Sam,” he added, and nearly laughed out loud when a tiny foot or arm jabbed him in the side.
* * *
“Oh, Riley!” Hannah cried as she pried open the lid to the large rectangular box he’d squirreled away beneath the tree. “Oh, Riley,” she repeated, tears brimming in her eyes as her gaze shot over to him. With infinite care, she removed a soft pink maternity dress from the tissue wrapping and held it against her waist. “How’d you know?”
“You mean other than the fact you went back to the clothes rack four times to look at it?”
“But it’s much too expensive.... I could probably sew one like it for half the price. But I’m so pleased I don’t have to! I’ve only got a couple of things I can wear to work as it is. Oh, Riley, I love it so much. Thank you.” She rushed to his side, threw her arms around his neck and hugged him hard.
“Tears, Hannah,” her father teased.
“Don’t worry, I get emotional so easily now. Dr. Underwood said it was to be expected.”
“Your mother was the same way. She’d start to weep over television commercials when she was carrying your brother and you.” His eyes grew warm at the memory as he leaned back in his chair and smiled down on his daughter.
“Riley, open my gift next,” she said, breaking away long enough to pull a purple and blue gift-wrapped box from beneath the tree. “I made it myself while you were away.”
Riley examined the box, shaking it.
“Careful, it might break.” The blue wool sweater, complete with matching hat and scarf would do no such thing, but she enjoyed baiting him.
Riley took his time unwrapping the gift, and it was all Hannah could do not to rush to his side and help him tear away the paper. She watched closely as he
lifted the lid. No emotion registered in his eyes as he carefully unfolded the garments one by one and brought them out of the box.
“I hope it fits,” Hannah said in a rush, her words blending together.
Riley stood and tried on the sweater, slipping his long arms into the sleeves and then tugging them up past his elbow. He glanced over to her, and appreciation gleamed from his deep blue eyes. “I’ve never owned anything finer.” With a flair that delighted Hannah, he wrapped the scarf several times around his neck and set the hat upon his head. His eyes met hers, and a surge of warm emotion filled her heart. His look penetrated the very core of her being and communicated to her a feeling of love so strong, she wondered why she’d never noticed it before.
Riley did love her, and yet...and yet, he’d barely touched her all night. It seemed he went out of his way to avoid doing so. Hannah strongly suspected he would have stayed on his side of the bed the entire night and made no contact whatsoever if she hadn’t moved over to him.
Perhaps having her father so near had intimidated him and he hadn’t wanted to consummate their marriage while in his father-in-law’s home. But her father’s bedroom was downstairs and he slept like a brick. She’d made a point of telling Riley so, although she’d wondered at the time if he was listening.
“Do I get a turn here?” her father asked, effectively cutting off Hannah’s train of thought.
“Of course,” she answered, pleased he’d chosen the gift she’d made for him. It was a small painting, one of a small loaf of French bread and a chalice of wine set on a rough-hewn wooden table. Although the entire focus of the painting was the bread and wine, she’d worked hard to depict the symbolic nature of the simple elements that had been part of the Last Supper.
“Hannah,” her father said, awed as he held up the painting, “this is fabulous. Where did you ever find it?”
She beamed with pride and joy as she told him.
Hannah couldn’t remember a Christmas she’d enjoyed more. The meal was excellent, and they ate early in the afternoon. She sat at the old upright piano and played Christmas music for her father and Riley, who seemed to thoroughly enjoy singing the timeless carols. Afterward she took a nap and woke to discover that Riley and her father had done the dishes. While she’d been resting, Riley had loaded the car and seemed anxious to return to the base.
They bade their farewells while it was still light outside. Riley was quiet during the long ride home, but when she asked if there was anything bothering him, he smiled, assuring her there wasn’t.
As they approached the base, she realized he was speeding. Riley was a responsible driver, and she couldn’t understand why he seemed in such a hurry.
Once they pulled up in front of the house, her husband made an excuse about unloading the trunk and insisted she go inside ahead of him. She offered to help him carry something, but he wouldn’t let her.
Not knowing his thoughts, she did as he said, pondering his strange mood. She inserted the key into the front door and pushed it open. Turning on the light switch, she was halfway through the living room before she saw it.
There, against the wall, was a beautiful mahogany piano decorated with a huge red bow.
Eleven
Hannah stood frozen, unable to speak or move. A piano! A beautiful new piano that Riley had bought just for her. When she could move, she walked across the room and ran her fingers over the polished ivory keyboard. The joyous sound of her music filled the room. She continued playing while she scooted out the bench with her foot and sat down.
She proceeded with every Christmas song she could recall from memory, filling the house with music the way it did her heart and mind. When she finished, she laid her hands in her lap and exhaled a deep sigh.
Turning around, she found Riley leaning his shoulder against the wall, his powerful arms crossed over his chest, studying her.
“How...when?” She couldn’t seem to ask a coherent question.
“I take it you’re asking about the piano?”
She nodded, knowing she’d only make a mess of it if she were to try to explain. Her heart was full, bubbling over with love and excitement. Not once had she suspected. He’d been so closemouthed about it.
“After hearing you sing and play in church, I decided we needed a piano,” Riley explained in that relaxed way of his, as if they were discussing a minor purchase.
“But...”
“There are no buts about it. You’re too talented not to have one. You enjoy it. The way I figure, you can sing Sam to sleep.”
“Oh, Riley, I can’t believe you.” She could think of no way to thank him. Nothing she could do or say would ever be enough. She walked over to him and kissed him the way that had been their habit of late, brushing her lips over his. Lightly. Briefly. First on his cheek, then his lips. But the all-too-hasty contact left her feeling empty and wanting. Standing on the tips of her toes, she leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Kissing him long and hard on the lips, she opened to him, introducing her tongue into his mouth until she created a warm, wet, gentle demand.
Riley held himself stiff against her, then groaned from deep within his throat. He sounded like a man absorbed in pain, and Hannah wondered if she’d done anything to hurt him.
With another groan he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her effortlessly from the floor so that her face was level with his own. Their gazes met for an instant before he directed her mouth to his. She’d been the aggressor, but that changed abruptly as he took control.
His tongue circled hers as his lips nibbled at her own. Riley was experienced in the ways of love; Hannah had known that from the first night they’d met. She’d responded to that experience, helpless to refuse him anything. To refuse herself. He seemed to need some kind of response from her, something more, she realized; otherwise he wouldn’t be holding himself in check the way he was.
Stroking her fingers through his thick, dark hair, her lips fluttered open, granting him everything she had to give: her mind, her heart, her soul.
Riley’s kiss was hungry and demanding, until slowly it began to happen. Her sensations were drowning in warm feelings—feelings she’d experienced so rarely in her life and only with this man. She ached in places she’d never thought to ache. Her breasts throbbed, and she recalled with vivid detail the night on the Seattle waterfront when Riley had taken her nipples in his mouth; and she wanted that again. Anything to ease the heavy swollen feeling that controlled her. The sensation didn’t stop there, but sank lower—much lower—to the juncture of her thighs. She felt hot and quivery, hot and excited; needy in ways she barely understood. Suddenly Hannah knew what she wanted. What she needed.
Her husband.
An electric shudder passed through her. Riley must have felt it because he abruptly broke off the kiss.
Hannah sighed. Riley’s lungs emptied of air as he slowly released his hold on her waist. His hands reached for hers, which were gripping his neck, and he gently pulled them free.
“I’d better finish unloading the trunk,” he said, his voice so low it was a gentle whisper. Following that, he walked away.
Hannah was stunned. He’d wanted her as much as she’d wanted him, and yet he’d pushed her aside and given some flimsy excuse to leave her. She didn’t know what was happening, didn’t understand the significance of it. What she did feel was alone and lacking. And more needy than she’d ever felt in her life.
* * *
Riley stood by the car, letting the cold December wind slam against him. He drew in several breaths, sucking the air deep into his lungs. His head was swimming with the reality of how close he’d come to breaking his self-proclaimed code of honor and making love to Hannah. He opened the car trunk, and his hands shook. Not only his hands, but every part of him—his legs, his belly, his head. It was the kind of shallow-breathing, head-pounding shaking that comes when one re
alizes what a close brush one has had.
They couldn’t have gotten any closer. Another minute, and Riley would have hauled her into the bedroom and damned the consequences. If he were to make love to her now, needing her so desperately, he’d frighten her half to death. Hell, he needed her so damn much it frightened him. He was concerned, too, about hurting the baby.
He’d made a promise to himself, one he fully intended to keep. He’d woo Hannah, love her the way a husband loves a wife, but only after she’d delivered the baby. Riley had lain awake most of the night before, sorting through his feelings for Hannah and, more important, what he’d learned about Jerry. He’d never be the husband her fiancé would have been. The way Riley figured it, Jerry, having been the noble man he was, wouldn’t have pressured her to make love while she was pregnant, so Riley wouldn’t, either.
“Admit it,” Riley said aloud. He clenched his hands into tight fists at his sides, resisting slamming them against the trunk lid. It was more than the pregnancy issue. “You’re afraid.”
The psychologists probably had a fancy name for it. The irrational, inane fear of making love to one’s wife. It would take time for him to analyze what was going on inside his head. He didn’t doubt his love. Riley was crazy about her, and committed to her, their child and their marriage.
In some ways, as weird as it sounded, Riley felt that he had a responsibility to Jerry Sanders. It fell heavily upon his shoulders. The Atlantis would be leaving again in the middle of January, a short three weeks away. All he had to do was keep his pants zipped until then. If he avoided situations such as the one he’d just encountered, everything would work out fine. Once he was back, Sam would be born and he’d face the issue then. But for now, he’d be content to let matters rest as they were.
* * *
Hannah didn’t know what was different about Riley, but a subtle change had taken place in her husband since Christmas. He was attentive, generous, solicitous. Nevertheless Hannah couldn’t shake the feeling he was avoiding her physically. If she had to come up with a word for it she’d say he’d become stingy with his kisses. What kisses? she mused, feeling both abused and melancholy.
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