An Unlikely Daddy

by Rachel Lee

  Just as she was reaching for the carton of chicken broth, she heard the front door open and close. Ryker?

  “Marisa?” she heard him call.

  “In the kitchen.”

  She heard his steps cross the foyer and turned from the pantry in time to see him carry in a large paper bag. “I found Maude’s,” he said with a smile. “You were right about the service.”

  “Everyone’s used to it.”

  “Anyway, I took a chance and brought something for us to eat. Interesting thing happened.”

  She realized she was devouring him with her eyes and fought to drag her gaze to the bag. “What?”

  “The incredibly angry woman who runs the place asked if I was buying dinner for you, too. I said I was. She picked out your meal for tonight.”

  Despite everything, a laugh overtook Marisa, and she had to grab the back of a chair and hold her side. “Oh, that’s Maude,” she said breathlessly.

  “So I gathered. I also gathered at least half the town knows I’m here to see you. Great intelligence network.”

  “Fiona,” she answered.

  “Fiona?”

  “My next-door neighbor. I’m surprised she hasn’t come over here to give you the third degree. Anyway, she was the first to see you, and the entire reason Julie came to check you out. If you want secrecy, you won’t find it in this town.”

  He flashed a smile. “I’m already discovering the usefulness of that. I ordered supplies at the lumberyard, and they’ll be delivered tomorrow. Two guys are going to help get them down your stairs, and I’m reliably informed by one of them—Hank, I think it was—”

  “That’d be Kelly’s husband. You’ll meet him Friday night.”

  He absorbed that. “Okay, then. Anyway, he says more than one person has lately been worrying about you on those stairs, so it seems I’m going to have some help.”

  She gripped the chair with her other hand. “Heavens!”

  He shrugged and started pulling foam containers and beverages out of the bag. “I think it’s great. We’ll make short work of it this way and cause you less commotion.” He raised his gaze as he put the last beverage container on the table. “I can see why Johnny believed you were safe here. The gargoyle at the diner knew what you’d want to eat, and three guys at the lumberyard couldn’t wait to help with your stairs. That’s special.”

  She nodded, admitting it. People around here could be very special, yet she’d been avoiding them like the plague. What did that make her? “I never even mentioned the stairs,” she said, lacking a more appropriate response.

  “Well, according to Hank, his wife went down them once after...the funeral, to help you out with the wash, and she’s been muttering ever since. He said, unfortunately, he couldn’t afford to do it himself.”

  She shook her head. “Hank and Kelly have a lean budget.”

  “Well, I don’t. I suspect from the way they were talking there was some discussion of trying to get a pool going to fund the supplies. So we’ll start on Saturday.”

  “Wow,” she whispered. She paused just long enough to get her glass of ice water, then slid into a chair at the table.

  “Maude sent you hot cocoa,” he said, pushing a foam cup her way. “Something about you being restricted on coffee?”

  A surprised laugh escaped her. “You know, Johnny kept his secrets, but I guess I don’t have any.”

  Ryker slid into a seat across from her. “I like it here,” he announced. “I’ve seen other close-knit places like this all over the world, but I was always the outsider. You’re fortunate to have these people.”

  She thought then about the amazing loneliness he must live with and felt a pang. Not knowing what she could say without offering offense in some way, she opened the foam container and found that Maude had sent her a Cobb salad loaded with turkey and conspicuously lacking bacon. She smiled as she looked at it. Caring even from Maude, who rarely showed any.

  “I liked the guys I met,” he remarked. “They all seem like good sorts.”

  A few minutes later, as they ate, he spoke again. “You’ve grown awfully quiet. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. It’s just that you reminded me of something I lost track of after Johnny. How good my friends are. How lucky I am to have them.”

  He swallowed another bite of his sandwich before replying. She watched him wash it down with his own drink, which appeared to be coffee. “You know,” he said, “I can see why John could leave you behind, knowing you had these people around you. He relied on them. And I can also understand why you’ve lost sight of them since John died. Some things are so huge they don’t leave room for much else.”

  “Grief,” she replied, “is totally selfish, as I’ve just begun to realize.”

  “It’s also overwhelming. Cut yourself some slack.”

  She raised her gaze to his face. “How much slack do you cut yourself?”

  He didn’t answer, which she decided meant he didn’t cut himself much slack. He was here, wasn’t he? Keeping a sort-of promise he’d made to Johnny back when. She hadn’t exactly given him a gracious welcome, but he had told her that he was stuck to her like gum to the sole of a shoe—apparently until he decided he’d kept his word.

  “So when’s your due date?” he asked.

  “Two and a half months, give or take.”

  “You don’t look that far along...not that I’m a great judge.”

  “Well, I am. I expect I’ll get really big soon. But not everyone does, I guess.”

  “Girl or boy?”

  “Girl.”

  She caught sight of his smile. “It’s been a long time since anyone had to wonder. Must have been very different when you didn’t know whether to get blue or pink.”

  She managed a laugh. “Like the baby would care.”

  He joined her laugh. “Probably not. But isn’t that designed to avoid all those mistaken comments about the baby’s sex?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. What’s the point of getting bothered by that? I can’t imagine getting offended by a pronoun.”

  He laughed again. “You might feel differently after the hundredth time. But then I guess around here word will travel fast. Probably won’t be a problem if you dress the girl in orange.”

  She smiled but then realized she was getting tired again. Having someone around so much had become taxing. And Ryker, though he didn’t mean to be, was especially taxing. He was wakening feelings in her she didn’t want and making her think about how she had changed in ways she didn’t like.

  As if he sensed her fatigue, he left as soon as he finished eating, promising to see her tomorrow night at the shower.

  She was relieved that he was gone and strangely disappointed that he didn’t intend to come back until the shower. She guessed the lumberyard would deliver without his supervision.

  That was for the best, wasn’t it? She didn’t need to cultivate a relationship with him. He was part of Johnny’s past, and she didn’t want him to be part of her future.

  At some deep level, she still felt distrusting. They’d get through the baby shower and then the stairs, and then she’d try to send him on his way.

  Because she absolutely didn’t like the painful awakening he stirred inside her, and she didn’t want to emerge from her cave just yet. Her desire for him felt like a betrayal, and he wasn’t the staying kind, anyway.

  So even if she hadn’t felt that he was still guarding secrets and keeping her in the dark, she would have still wanted him gone.

  Ryker Tremaine was trouble. He had to leave.

  Chapter Five

  Ryker attended the baby shower but left as early as he could. All the oohing and aahing over tiny clothes in every color of the rainbow and over a ton of other baby supplies didn’t interest him.

 
Well, it didn’t exactly repel him, but it reminded him of how empty his own life had been except for work. He was nearly forty and had just discovered the whole concept of baby showers. There was something wrong with the way he lived his life.

  By choice, he reminded himself as his feet pounded cold pavement. In his motel room, he did endless sit-ups and push-ups and wished for a gym.

  Then they went to work on the staircase. He liked the three other guys well enough, Hank and his cohorts, but they were as far from his world as it was possible to be. He listened to their conversation, occasionally managed to join in some of the joking, but mostly just kept his mouth shut. They had the new stairs done by Sunday night and watched Marisa try them out. She smiled hugely and thanked them repeatedly...and once again he exited as quickly as he decently could.

  One of his greatest survival mechanisms was being able to read people, and he was reading Marisa. She was uncomfortable around him. She didn’t trust him much, justifiably so. And judging by the way her gaze skated past him so often, she didn’t really want him there.

  So he stayed away. He should have left town, but something made him hang around, anyway. He’d made a promise of sorts, and somehow sticking his nose in the front door and helping build some stairs didn’t leave him feeling as if he was done with it.

  But what could Marisa need him for? She had an ample number of concerned friends. He was no one to her, except possibly the man who had gotten her husband into a deadly situation.

  He sent out some feelers, trying to get more information about what had happened to John Hayes, wondering at himself even as he did so. Did he really need any more secrets to conceal from a grieving widow? But he still wanted to know, and he still didn’t learn a thing. The cloak of secrecy that had been thrown over John’s final activities was as impenetrable as steel.

  That bothered him, too. He was beginning to see the organization he worked for in a new light, one shone on it by Marisa’s loss. The agency was built on secrets, swamped in them, but for someone supposedly on the inside to be unable to learn even something small? Whatever they had asked of John, they didn’t want anyone to know. The secrecy was so deep they didn’t even have a decent cover story to share in-house. It was as if John had never existed, except for one anonymous black star on a wall.

  Then, a few weeks later, while still wrestling with his own demons and trying to ignore the Christmas decorations that had popped up everywhere, he ran into Marisa and almost didn’t recognize her. She was coming out of a doctor’s office, and her belly had ballooned. Late pregnancy was truly on her. He wondered if she was nearing term, despite what she’d told him.

  She saw him and froze mid-step.

  “Hi,” he said, slowing his jog and stopping. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” she said hesitantly. “I didn’t know you were still in town.”

  He doubted that. “Well, I don’t need to go back, and I kind of like the place.”

  “Like gum on my shoe,” she remarked.

  “Hey, I’ve been staying away. I know you don’t like me being around.”

  A frown trembled around her mouth, though he could see she was making a valiant attempt to smile. “It’s true,” she admitted finally. “Go home, Ryker.”

  Wind cut through his jogging clothes, despite the jacket and gloves. “Where’s that?” he asked rhetorically, starting to run in place.

  “This is creepy. I feel stalked.”

  “I haven’t bothered you anymore,” he argued, keeping his tone level. “I got the message.”

  “And it’s a free country,” she said sharply.

  “Last I heard. Look, I don’t want to fight with you. I’m staying out of your way. Let’s just leave it, okay?”

  He started to pass her, but her voice stopped him.

  “You don’t have a home?”

  He hesitated. “Depends on what you mean by that.”

  “Oh, for the love of...” She broke off. Then, almost a command, she said, “Follow me home.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to talk.”

  “You’ve got plenty of friends.”

  She drew a breath. “But they’re not you.” Without another word, she walked around a car and climbed in behind the wheel.

  “Should you be driving?” he called after her.

  “Who else will do it for me?” She revved the engine and drove away, leaving him somewhere near hell’s door as he wondered if he should follow her or ignore her. He certainly hadn’t come here to make her life harder.

  But his feet seemed to have a mind of their own and carried him toward Marisa’s place. He guessed they were going to have it out. Maybe then he’d be free to leave.

  She opened the door to him, and he stepped in from the cold. Odd how symbolic that suddenly seemed. “I made you coffee. I need to get my feet up.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “Pregnancy. Nothing’s wrong.”

  “You want coffee, too?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  Hardly inviting, but she’d seldom been inviting toward him. He was like a mess she didn’t know how to clean up. He got it. He just wished he could explain what kept him stapled here when he was clearly so unwanted.

  He brought coffee into the living room and found her in the rocker with her feet up on the hassock. “Badly swollen?” he asked, trying to be polite.

  “It’s becoming more common, but the doc isn’t too worried. Just spend a little less time on my feet and put them up when I can.”

  Well, that was more than she’d been sharing since their first meeting. Was that good or bad? “So, what’s been keeping you on your feet?”

  She surprised him then, laughing softly. “Nesting.”

  “Nesting?”

  “I was warned this would happen toward the end of my term. Cleaning binge. Getting everything ready.”

  “The crib is sorted out?” He’d managed to put those brackets in for her in the midst of handling the staircase.

  “Go look,” she said, waving her hand.

  So he did. The crib was at the foot of her bed, a mattress in place, the bedding all made up, pads around the entire thing for protection, he supposed. He had to do a lot of guessing when it came to babies. He’d learned some things after his sister was born, but a ten-year-old boy didn’t pay attention to many of the details. A mobile hung from the ceiling, and he imagined one of her friends had done that for her. Soft cartoon characters hung from it. The top of her dresser looked ready to be a changing table.

  He returned to the living room feeling odd in some way. Preparation for a new life. Never had he felt more out in the cold. He perched on the edge of the couch, alert, ready to leave as quickly as necessary. Hell, he lived most of his life that way.

  “So you don’t have a home?” she said.

  “Not really. I’m gone too much.”

  She nodded. “Johnny was, too.” Then she surprised him. “I’ve been rude to you.”

  “No—”

  “Yes,” she interrupted. “Rude. You were Johnny’s friend. Apparently, a good enough friend to come to the back of beyond to check on his wife. I’ve treated you exactly like that gum on my shoe.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No,” she said hotly, “it’s not okay. You were my husband’s friend, one of the best he had, and I’ve treated you poorly. I didn’t want you here.”

  There, she’d said it. He edged forward, ready to leave.

  “But the thing is,” she continued, “I didn’t want you here for reasons that weren’t fair to you.”

  He hesitated, wondering if he should speak at all.

  “You reminded me, not just of Johnny, but of the person I used to be. I’d become something awful, and I had some time to think about it. You m
ade me think about it. I’d become a hermit. I’m surprised all my friends didn’t abandon me, and then you...you got me thinking about what I was doing. Grief is selfish, but it doesn’t have to be this selfish. I didn’t want you here because you made me see myself. It wasn’t a pretty picture.”

  “But an understandable one,” he said in what he hoped was a kind voice. It was a voice he didn’t get to use often.

  “Maybe or maybe not. The point is, I woke up to the fact that I was making things worse for everyone around me, and I wasn’t dealing. Not really. I was hiding in my misery. Then it struck me that misery is, if not comfortable, at least a safe place to stay. It takes no risks.”

  He tried to sort thought all this, to understand what she was driving at, but he wasn’t at all sure.

  “Anyway, you made me uncomfortable, and a lot of it had to do with me. I have a right to grieve, but not to wallow in self-pity and to hurt my friends because it hurt me to see them.”

  He grasped that. “It hurts to see others happy when you’re not.”

  “So what? They have a right to be happy, and I should be happy for them, not hating them for it. Loss comes to everyone, Ryker. I tried to remind myself that you’d lost Johnny, too, but...well, maybe that was the first thing that made me look harder at myself.”

  His chest tightened for her. God, all the things this woman had to deal with. He was amazed that she could even find concern for others with all that had happened. “Don’t be hard on yourself.”

  “Why not? I’m not the only widow in the world. It happens to thousands every single day. I just let it suck me down like quicksand. I shut out everything and everyone. I’m not very proud of it. Anyway, get your stuff from the motel. You can stay in one of the spare rooms.”

  He felt he’d just been gut-punched. Was she having some kind of break? A moment of insanity? Stay in this house with a woman he’d bed in an instant if she crooked a finger his way?