Anne Stuart's Out-of-Print Gems

by Anne Stuart

  “I’m Carlie Forrest,” she said. “Caterina was my friend.”

  “Was?” Wait echoed. “She’s dead?”

  “I’m afraid so. She died in childbirth.”

  Morrissey bore down on Carlie. He was an impressive man, bulky, powerful, with the ability to intimidate most people despite the overbearing charm he wielded like a weapon. Billy had been scared spitless of him, and even Reilly watched his step.

  Carlie didn’t move. “So you got Reilly to give you a free ride out of the country at my expense,” Wait said. “Well, forget it. You’re responsible for any extra passengers you pick up along the way. I’ll take care of any debts my grandson incurred.”

  “I told you, I don’t need any money,” Reilly snapped, but Wait ignored him, staring down at the baby.

  “We can sort that out later,” he said grandly. “I take care of my own. Assuming he even is my grandson.”

  Timothy didn’t like the sound of the old man’s voice. Reilly didn’t blame him. The baby let out a loud, furious wail, the likes of which Reilly hadn’t heard in the past four days, his little face turning red with temper.

  “What do you mean by that?” Carlie asked calmly over the noise of the screeching kid.

  “I mean we’re going to have tests done. Reilly should have made that clear. He’s going straight into the hospital so that they can check him out, run some DNA samples, that kind of stuff. I want to make sure he’s in good shape before we take him. And I want to make damned sure he really is my grandson.”

  “And if he’s not?” Reilly said in a deceptively polite voice.

  “If he’s not? Well, there’s no way in hell I’m raising some bastard as my grandson. And you can kiss your expenses goodbye.” Wait Morrissey took a deep, calming breath. “No offense intended, Reilly. I know you wouldn’t try to pawn off some brat as Billy’s. But who’s to say this girl’s telling you the truth?”

  Reilly tilted his head sideways, considering him. “No way I’d do that, Wait. Which is why I hate to tell you, but he’s not your grandson.”

  Fortunately his simple words drew all of Wait’s attention, and he didn’t notice Carlie’s shocked expression. She tried to say something, but Timothy’s wails drowned out her attempt, and Wait wheeled around, storming away from them, already dismissing them.

  “What the hell are you talking about, Reilly? What are you trying to pull?”

  “Absolutely nothing. Caterina died in childbirth, and so did the baby. By the time I got to the mission the only person there was Carlie. She’d given birth a couple of weeks before Caterina, but she hadn’t been strong enough to be evacuated with the others. I was there, I had the baby supplies. I brought her out with me.”

  “I’m not paying for it,” Morrissey said instantly.

  “I don’t expect you to.”

  “Can’t you shut that brat up?” The old man snarled back at Carlie. “I can’t hear myself think.”

  “You don’t need to think, Wait. I’m sorry it worked out this way, but there’s nothing to be done. Just tell Gracie what happened. I think she’ll manage to survive.” He tried to keep the wryness out of his voice. Gracie Morrissey wouldn’t have let an infant grandson interfere with her social life, and she certainly wasn’t going to let the loss of one she’d never even seen affect her.

  For a long moment Wait just looked at him. For all his bluster, he was an intelligent man. He looked at Reilly, then glanced back toward the baby and the woman holding him so protectively.

  “All right,” he said suddenly, nodding. “It’s probably just as well. Gracie and I weren’t very good parents the first time around, and we’re too old to change our ways. It’ll work out better this way.”

  Reilly simply nodded, unwilling to say anything. Wait turned and walked back to the howling child, staring down at him. “Gracie’ll be relieved,” he muttered underneath his breath. He reached out one stubby, perfectly manicured finger and touched the baby’s red face. “Have a good life, kid.”

  THE DOOR CLOSED behind him, and suddenly Timothy was still, a hiccupy little breath at odds with his tremulous smile.

  “Such a noisy baby,” Carlie whispered at him, holding him tightly. “I don’t think you liked that old man very much, did you?”

  Reilly crossed the room and took the baby from her arms, and she had no choice but to let him go. “He’s going back to bed. He needs to start getting on a normal schedule.”

  “Babies don’t have normal schedules,” she protested.

  “Well, we can try.”

  She looked up at him, startled. We, she thought, shocked. She wanted to say something, but he’d already carried the baby into the bedroom, settling him back down in the crib.

  Timothy set up a tired screech of protest. “Forget it, kid,” Reilly said, rubbing his back with a rhythmic pattern. “You need to sleep, and your ma and I need to talk.”

  She shouldn’t have told him she loved him. For all his bluster, Reilly was an honorable man. He probably thought he had to make some grand sacrifice for her sake. Well, she wasn’t about to let him, and she would tell him so. As soon as she got her courage together.

  He looked at her over the sleeping baby. “Showdown time,” he said quietly.

  She followed him into the living room of the suite. “You lied to that old man,” she said.

  He turned to look at her. They were standing just a foot apart. She was afraid he might touch her. Afraid that if he did, she’d never want him to let her go. She couldn’t do that to him.

  “He’s smarter than he looks. He guessed the truth,” Reilly said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He wouldn’t have gone off and left his grandson with you….”

  “That’s exactly what he’d do. I doubt they would have done any better a job with him than they would have with Billy, and Billy, God love him, was royally screwed up. No, it’s better this way.”

  “Living a lie?”

  “I thought you said something wasn’t a sin if it was done in love.”

  “Don’t!” she said, feeling mortification wash over her as she held up a hand in protest.

  He caught her hand, drawing her closer to him. “He’s your son, Carlie. He always has been. You know that, deep in your heart.” She wanted to pull away, but she couldn’t. “What do you think of Colorado?”

  “Reilly,” she said, “I can’t let you do this. I can’t make you change your life, take on a couple of lost souls because you’re too decent a human being to—”

  Reilly began to curse again, his usual litany of obscenity that she’d begun to find oddly comforting. “You can’t make me do a damned thing I don’t want to do,” he growled, hauling her up against him with enough force for her to know he meant it. “I’m a reasonable man. I consider alternatives, I think about things and then I make up my mind. And you’re coming with me to Colorado, we’re getting married and Timothy will be ours.”

  “No, Reilly. I can’t…”

  He caught her face in his hands, glaring down at her. “Listen, I’ve spent the last fifteen years of my life with no home, no family, no life. Now I’ve got Billy’s kid, and I can raise him a damned sight better than anyone else can. And I’ve got you. And I’m not going to let you go.”

  “Why not?” Her voice was low, shaky. She already knew the answer. She could see it in his eyes, in his face, hear it in his voice. But she had to have the words.

  “Because I love you, goddamn it,” he said irritably. “And don’t you dare give me any more crap about going away. I don’t care whether you believe me or not—”

  “I do,” she said.

  “You do what?”

  She smiled up at him, a glorious, sunny smile. “I believe you. And the only place I’m going is Colorado, with you and our son.”

  He stared down at her for a moment in disbelief. “I thought you were going to put up more of a fight,” he said.

  “I only fight the battles I want to win,” she said simply.

  He kissed her t
hen. A long, slow, sweet kiss, of promises and forever. And then he threw back his head and laughed. “We’re going to make a hell of a family,” he said. “A soldier, a nun and a baby.”

  “Ex-soldier,” she said, resting her head against his chest and listening to his steady, strong heartbeat. “A not-quite nun. And babies grow up awfully fast.”

  He looked down at her, and there was toughness and tenderness in his smile. “Then we’ll have to make some more.”

  “Yes,” she said, against his heart. “Yes.”

  Epilogue

  Three Years Later

  Carlie sat curled up in the window seat, staring through the frosty panes of glass to the swirling snow beyond. Winter in the Colorado mountains seemed to go on forever, and she never tired of it. Even trapped in the house with a total of five kids, and one more on the way, with her husband off on some mysterious errand, she managed to still her anxiety at the way the snow was piling up and pay attention to the child curled up beside her, her hand resting trustingly in hers.

  “Ma-a-a-a.” Timothy managed to put half a dozen syllables into her name as he stormed through the huge, untidy living room, his three-year-old face flushed with tears. “Trina bit me.”

  “Caterina!” Carlie called out in the stern voice she’d been forced to master. A moment later two-year-old Caterina Reilly toddled out of the kitchen, a deceptively angelic expression on her face.

  “Took my G. I. Joe,” Trina announced with an air of infinite reasonableness.

  “It was my action figure,” Timothy shouted back in a fury.

  “Wouldn’t you guys rather play something nice and passive?” Carlie inquired, knowing the question was more rhetorical than practical.

  “No, Ma,” six-year-old Luis replied from his spot on the braided rug in front of the fire. “You know they’re hellions.”

  Elena stirred beside her, murmuring a protest in Spanish. She and her brother, Rafael, were the latest additions to their ménage, two preschool-age orphans from Brazil, sent northward with Mother Ignacia’s blessing. Luis had been the second member of their family, arriving at their mountain cabin when Timothy had just turned one, a shy, defensive four-year-old who’d gradually accepted the love and safety they offered him. Caterina arrived next, on a snowy night like this, when Carlie had gone into labor and Reilly had barely had time to get her down to the hospital, with both kids riding along in the pickup truck, listening to Reilly’s panicked cursing with awe and delight.

  Then came Rafael and Elena, ten months ago. It had taken them a little longer to adjust—they’d seen too much in their short lives to trust easily. But Elena had learned to snuggle, and Rafael had discovered that Luis was a soul mate. Together they kept their young siblings in line, and they both worshiped their father.

  And now there was the huge, uncomfortable, much-anticipated creature doing its best to reshape Carlie’s liver. She had two months to go—the baby wasn’t due till April—but she was becoming increasingly aware that this baby wasn’t going to wait. This time they’d need the four-wheel-drive van to take the children along to the hospital. And this time she wasn’t about to let Reilly videotape the delivery and then drag it out when friends made the trek up Paradise Mountain.

  The tears that had become increasingly common as her pregnancy progressed burned in her eyes, and she fought them back with an effort. She needed Reilly, she needed his strong arms around her, she needed his deep voice soothing her.

  “Where’s Papa?” Elena removed her thumb from her mouth long enough to ask.

  Carlie brushed her hair away from her dark, worried face. “I’m not sure, angel. But you know your father—he always gets back. We can count on him.”

  Elena nodded, sticking her thumb back in her mouth and curling up beside Carlie, her head resting against the bulge of her new sibling.

  She could hear the noise of a four-wheel-drive vehicle in the darkness beyond the cabin, but she couldn’t be sure whether it was Reilly or the snowplow. She forced herself to remain still. The children needed her calm, composed, and fear never helped anyone.

  She just wished she knew where the hell Reilly had gone.

  He’d just up and left, three days ago, putting down his tools in the midst of turning the loft into additional bedrooms, and he hadn’t told her where he was going. He’d simply kissed her, hard, on the mouth, told her he’d be back as soon as he could, and then disappeared, before she could demand a few answers.

  He’d gotten better about giving answers in the past three years. It had taken a while, but he’d learned to talk to her, to laugh with her. On the rare occasions when she let her temper disintegrate, he knew just how to charm her out of her fury. When his own temper shook the rafters, she was equally adept at soothing him.

  He was going to have his work cut out for him when he got home this time. She told herself she didn’t mind his going—he doubtless had a very good reason and he’d be back as soon as he could. She just didn’t like not knowing those reasons. Not when her back hurt, the baby seemed more like an octopus than a baby and each wild limb seemed to be wearing tap shoes. And she couldn’t stop crying.

  She could see the headlights now, through the blinding snow, coming closer. Too close together for the town plow. It looked like Reilly’s pickup truck, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Is it Papa?” Elena roused herself, her beautiful dark eyes lighting up with delight.

  “I expect so.” Carlie slid off the window seat, carefully, and was rewarded with a fresh kick from her burgeoning offspring. She started toward the door, but the children were ahead of her, flinging it open, letting the wind and snow swirl inside.

  Carlie leaned against the wall, one hand bracing her back, not even bothering to suggest the children calm down and close the door. They were too excited.

  Indeed, she had a hard time turning her own expression into a suitably disapproving one. Moments later Reilly filled the doorway, his long dark hair thick with snow, his long arms outstretched to catch all five bodies as they hurtled into his arms. Above the shrieks of delight he met her stern gaze with a rueful expression.

  “Miss me?” he mouthed at her above the din.

  She tried to summon up a suitable snarl, but she found herself grinning instead. “Where were you this time?” she demanded.

  “I brought you something.”

  “Oh, God,” she said in a resigned voice. “How many this time?”

  “Three,” he said, looking suitably sheepish. “Two cousins, Matteo and Carlos, but they’re only temporary. They’re on their way to their family in Washington State, but they need to stay with us for a couple of months until their parents get settled.”

  She looked past her husband to the three small figures in the doorway. She could see the two children, dark faced, wary, eyeing the melee with tentative interest. The person standing behind them wasn’t much taller, but the parka obscured the face and body.

  “Welcome, Matteo and Carlos,” Carlie said, crossing over to them. They looked willing enough, so she gave them a hug, one they returned.

  And then she looked at the snow-covered figure beyond them. “And who is this, Reilly?”

  The third visitor pushed back the fur-lined hood, exposing a lined, wrinkled little face, dark, sassy eyes and beaklike nose beneath the plain black veil. “Motherhood suits you, Sister Maria Carlos,” Reverend Mother Ignacia announced.

  “Oh, my God,” Carlie gasped, then clapped a restrictive hand over her mouth.

  “Don’t worry. After listening to your husband drive through a blizzard I imagine I’ve heard most curses known to man,” Reverend Mother said briskly, folding Carlie into her arms. “I’ve come for a visit. Being the mother of the year is all well and good, but you’ve got another baby coming, and I need a vacation. I’m here to make sure you’re taking proper care of yourself until after the baby arrives.”

  “Reverend Mother…” she said brokenly.

  “Reilly,” the old lady said in her bossiest vo
ice, “take your wife into the bedroom and give her a backrub. I’m going to teach these children how to make fajitas.”

  Before Carlie could protest she found herself swept away, Reilly’s strong arm around her as he pulled her into their bedroom and shut the door firmly behind him.

  A relative, peaceful silence ensued. Carlie looked up, way up at him. “How did you know?” she murmured.

  “That you were going crazy?” he replied, pulling her into his arms and resting a big hand on her rounded belly. “You forget, I know you pretty well by this point. There’s nothing wrong with being overwhelmed occasionally. You’re not a saint, Carlie, even if you sometimes wish you were.”

  “But they need me,” she cried, leaning her head against his shoulder. “And I need them.”

  “And you’re wonderful with them. You just need a little breathing space before Megatron makes his appearance.” He stroked her belly possessively.

  “Her appearance,” she said.

  “Besides,” he said, “there’s someone else who needs you around here.”

  She smiled up at him, leaning into his tough, strong body. “You’ve got me,” she whispered.

  “Reverend Mother Ignacia’s staying for two months,” he whispered in her ear. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance we can get Gargantua to make an appearance in the next week or two so that you and I might have a night or two of raunchy sex before we have to be parents again?”

  “Maybe,” she said. She looked up at him with sudden worry. “Are there too many children for you?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. I could handle a few more than we’ve got already. What about you? Did you plan on turning into the Waltons in such a short time?”

  She smiled up at him. “We can handle it,” she said. “You’ll just need to keep adding to the house. And I’m afraid a little sooner than you think.”

  For a moment a look of blank horror crossed his face. “You don’t mean…?”

  “Yup,” she said. “I figure we have maybe an hour to get down to the hospital. Think you can do it?”

  He began to curse, and she put her hand over his mouth with a giggle that turned into a moan and then back into a giggle again.