An Unlikely Daddy

by Rachel Lee

  “So?”

  He hesitated, then jumped in with both feet. What the hell? He’d been tongue-lashed before. “I want to ask a favor.”

  She almost scowled at him. “What?”

  “Can I get a tree? Some trimmings? Would you mind?”

  Some of the irritability vanished from her face. Her mouth opened a bit. “For you, you mean?”

  “Yeah. For me.” But not just for him. No way. He knew loneliness intimately, and he figured this woman had had her share and then some.

  “I have an artificial tree in the attic. Decorations. Help yourself.”

  “I was thinking of a real tree, unless you object. The scent of pine. God, I love that.” He waited. He was proposing to celebrate a holiday in her house, and he’d just dismissed her usual decorations for something entirely different. He knew he needed a change. He wondered if she was ready to really make one.

  So much to hang on one Christmas tree, he thought with self-amusement.

  “Sure,” she said after a minute. “Go ahead.”

  “Want to tell me where to put it? And better yet, help me pick it out? It’s going to be in your house, after all.”

  Her lips curved, but the smile didn’t appear especially amused. “What are you trying to do, Ryker?”

  “Change up my life. God knows it needs changing. The last time I decorated a Christmas tree was nearly twenty years ago. In a forward base in the middle of nowhere. This scrawny thing we decorated with whatever crap we could find lying around.”

  She continued to regard him, apparently thinking. Slowly, she relaxed a bit. “Sure,” she said finally. “Go ahead. Just don’t expect me to get all into it.”

  “This tree’s for me,” he reminded her. “If you want your own, I’ll get it out of your attic.”

  That worked. A laugh escaped her, a genuine one. “You are too much,” she told him. “One tree is plenty. Yours will be plenty.”

  And maybe it would help put a different complexion on things for both of them. He’d just have to wait and see.

  “Whenever you’re ready to bundle up,” he said, offering a smile. “Dang, I’m getting excited.”

  “About Christmas?” She laughed again. “Still a kid inside?”

  “I think the kid inside me has been locked away for too long.”

  Her face softened, and she surprised him by reaching across the table for his hand. “Then, let’s let the kid out.”

  * * *

  She insisted on doing the dishes, so while she cleaned up and dressed to go out, he shoveled the fresh snowfall off her steps and sidewalks. Only a few inches of light and fluffy stuff made it easy. Then he salted every place she might have to walk, brushed off his car and started it to warm it up.

  Other people were out shoveling, too, and he liked the way they waved to him, as if he were part of the neighborhood now. Friendly folks. He’d been running into that everywhere. Quite a change from his past.

  Streets he could walk without feeling exposed. People with nothing deadly to hide. Something inside him was uncoiling in response, and only as he began to relax into his new environment did he realize how long it had been since he’d simply felt comfortable in any environment.

  Yeah, they gave him decompression time after every mission, but looking back now he could easily see that he had never fully decompressed. Too afraid of losing his edge.

  Here, somehow, that didn’t seem important. He might be making a big mistake, but he didn’t care. Life had finally delivered him a small measure of peace, and he made up his mind to enjoy it.

  Once he had Marisa safely bundled into his car, he drove them toward a tree lot he’d seen yesterday on the edge of town. Even though Thanksgiving had passed, it had still appeared to have quite a few decent trees in it. A mental checklist began to run of all the other things he’d need to get, from a tree stand to some ornaments. Maybe some lights for outside?

  It would depend, he decided, on Marisa’s reactions. If she seemed to be enjoying herself, he’d go whole hog on it.

  Although it had been plowed, the parking around the tree lot was still covered with snow. No one else was there this morning, except for an older man inside a little hut with a propane space heater. With Marisa’s arm firmly tucked in his for support, they began to walk around the narrow paths in the small lot.

  “Any particular kind of tree you favor?” he asked her.

  “This is your tree.”

  “I’m kinda out of practice. I’m just asking what you think is pretty.”

  She glanced at him with a smile. “I like the long-needled ones because they look full. On the other hand, the short-needled ones are sparser-looking but can hold a lot more decorations.”

  “Some help you are.”

  She laughed, and he soaked up the sound. “How high are your ceilings?” He figured close to ten feet. It was an older house.

  “High enough. The thing is, we can’t get a humongous tree unless you want to move furniture onto the front porch.”

  “Good point. I guess I shouldn’t go overboard.”

  “Just saying.” Then she laughed again. She was enjoying this. He could have given himself a pat on the back.

  “I never went tree shopping with Johnny.”

  He almost froze, then caught himself. “Never?” The thought that she’d had to deal with holidays on her own struck him for the first time. Of course she had an artificial tree in the attic. He’d almost have bet that some years she didn’t even get it down.

  Cripes. They strolled a little farther, then he heard Marisa draw a sharp breath. At once he stopped and turned to her. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She was staring past him, so he looked and saw the tree that held her attention. In an instant it became The Tree.

  “You like that one?”

  “I’ve always loved blue spruce. I’ve never had one for a Christmas tree.”

  He studied it. Six feet tall, thick foliage and surprisingly blue compared to the trees around it. “That’s wild. I like it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He’d been sure since he’d seen the sparkle in her eyes. He didn’t care if it was full all the way around, or anything else. If it had bare spots, they had plenty of walls to hide them against. Glancing around, he saw no others of its kind.

  “Okay, let’s get you back to the car, then I’ll help the guy load it up.”

  She hesitated. “Don’t do this for me.”

  “Did I say I was? I like it, too. It’s different.”

  He was glad she didn’t argue. He understood that she wanted to think this was all about him, and to some extent it was. He didn’t want to be pushed into a corner where he had to admit he was doing this mostly for her, to break a cycle, because he was nearly certain that would make her uneasy.

  But it was time, with the baby’s arrival so near, for this woman to find some happiness in life again.

  * * *

  By that evening, Ryker had the tree standing in the corner of the living room and was stringing it with multicolored lights. Marisa sat with her feet up, watching him and thinking that he finally looked relaxed and content.

  If she were to be honest, she was feeling pretty relaxed and content herself. Her baby stirred comfortably in her womb, a Christmas tree was happening right before her eyes, and she spared only a few minutes to think about how she had missed doing this with Johnny. Only once in their marriage had he been home to participate in this. But then she let go of the regret and gave herself over to enjoying Ryker. As he handled the strings of lights, he even taught her a few new cusswords that made her giggle.

  “I forgot this was the miserable part,” he said at one point. “Sorry.”

  “No apologies. I’m having too much fun watching.”

  He pr
etended to scowl at her as he wound the light strands around the tree. “I hope all the same colors don’t wind up in one place.”

  “You got a problem with blotches?”

  “Not unless it means I have to do this all over again.”

  She laughed again. On one of his trips out for ornaments, he’d brought home dinner again, so she didn’t even need to cook. She was beginning to feel like a lady of leisure.

  He flashed a smile at her. “You’re enjoying watching a tree torture me, huh?”

  “Believe it.”

  On the floor lay boxes of ornaments he’d purchased. She liked their bright colors but was surprised he hadn’t purchased any glass ones. Was he thinking of the baby to come? Most were brass or decorated foam, pretty indestructible. Or maybe that was just the way he thought.

  “Want some coffee?” she asked.

  He left the light strand dangling. “I’ll get it. I need a break. I am at war with this tree. You want anything?”

  “Milk would be nice. I thought you were going to have fun with this.”

  “I will, once I get the lights on.”

  “There’s something to be said for fiber-optic trees,” she called after him.

  “Bah, humbug,” he called back, causing her to giggle again.

  He was right about the scent of a real tree, though, she thought as she leaned her head back and looked at the corner of her living room where he was installing it. The tree smelled wonderful, carrying her back to happier times, to memories of childhood excitement.

  He returned shortly with his coffee and her milk. She held her glass perched on her belly. Like having a handy shelf, she thought wryly. “So,” she asked, “did you get excited about Christmas when you were a kid?”

  “Believe it.” He sat on the edge of the couch, mug in hand, smiling. “There were times I had trouble sleeping, and not only when I was little.”

  “Me, too,” she agreed. “My excitement always started ratcheting with the first snowfall. I could feel magic in the air. I remember when I was fifteen and too excited to sleep, and telling myself that was ridiculous for someone of my age. That was for the little kids. Didn’t work.”

  He chuckled. “I wasn’t any better. My sister, however, was a pain. Somehow she slept. Worse, she slept in. I had diabolical ways of waking her up when I got too impatient.”

  “I had to wait in my bedroom until my folks put on some Christmas music. They always wanted to make coffee before they unleashed me. Mom left a stocking on the door, though.”

  “You, too? But that stocking didn’t tamp my impatience for very long. I used to think there had to be something wrong with my sister. How in the world could she sleep in on Christmas morning? Even when she was young. What five-year-old does that?”

  “Your sister?” she suggested.

  He laughed. “Apparently so.”

  She was enjoying seeing this side of him. He looked younger than when he’d arrived, and for the first time, she didn’t feel like she was sharing quarters with a cat that was always poised to pounce. Right now he was very comfortable to share space with.

  And sexy as hell, she thought with no guilt. As he sat there in his plain blue flannel shirt and jeans, elbows resting on splayed knees, she felt the sizzle, felt the longing...and he wasn’t even doing anything to encourage it. What was it about him? The man in him seemed to call effortlessly to the woman in her.

  She remembered the feeling of his arms around her, and admitted that the simple hug had filled an aching hole deep within her. She wanted more hugs, and as she watched him resume hanging the lights, she acknowledged that she wanted a whole lot more than that. She wondered what it would feel like to run her hands over that hard body, to discover his contours. To feel his hands running over her skin, everywhere, touching places that hadn’t been touched in so long. She wanted him to fill all her senses until she thought of nothing else.

  But as he’d reminded her, they were both sorting things out. Maybe this mood was as ephemeral as everything else. Maybe she didn’t deserve stolen moments of happiness, and what if they wrecked her more? Because Ryker would be moving on, back to a dangerous job. The very kind of life she had already lived with Johnny. She didn’t think she could do that again.

  In fact, she was quite certain. Not with a baby. So, steamy thoughts aside, she needed to avoid anything that could hurt her again. Anything.

  * * *

  When the lights were at last on the Christmas tree, Ryker stood back to eye his handiwork. There were some blotches of color, but not much and not too many. “Okay?” he asked Marisa.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Seeing her smile made it all worthwhile. He would, he realized, do almost anything to keep that smile there. That expression had been so rare when he had arrived, but now he was glimpsing a new Marisa, one who was no longer totally buried in her grief.

  Oh, the grief was still there. He was no fool. She’d spend the rest of her life grieving for John, but the healing hands of time should ease it, lessen it, put it further in the background most of the time. If he could help that along, he would.

  “I’m gonna get some more coffee before I start decorating,” he said. “Want anything?”

  “I need to move around a bit,” she said decisively. As she started to wiggle forward, to get her feet properly balanced before she stood, he held out his hands. Without hesitating, she took them, and he tugged her gently up.

  “I think I’ll keep you,” she said lightly. “Getting up is getting harder.”

  She stood only a few inches from him, and her natural scents filled him. His whole body responded with need. He forced himself to focus on what she’d said. “How come?”

  “My balance has changed. It just takes a little more thinking and a little more work now. No biggie.”

  He looked down into her amazing eyes, saw a smile there. “And how’s Jonni doing?”

  “She’s fine. She’s been a little quiet this evening, but still stirring.”

  “That must be the most amazing experience.” Reluctantly, he let go of her hands, reminding himself that there were limits here, wise ones. Limits that protected them both from making a mistake. He didn’t want to do anything she would regret, because if he did he’d be living with a pile of regret, too, and he wasn’t a man filled with regrets.

  He’d made his choices and lived with them. He couldn’t see any point in regret because the past couldn’t be changed; it could only teach lessons. He had, however, known plenty of people who could devote a whole lot of time to regrets, and he didn’t know if Marisa was one of them.

  He didn’t really know her at all. Nor did she really know him. Worse, his secrets stood between them like an insurmountable barrier. Every time he failed to reveal who John had been working for, he committed another lie by omission. Yeah, he was bound to it, but you couldn’t build anything on lies. The whole thing would be rotten, riddled by them. As she walked toward the kitchen, his gaze followed her, and he felt a savage hatred for the secrecy forced on him.

  God, he needed to make some changes.

  His cell phone rang, surprising him, and he pulled it out. The office, of course. Why the hell were they bothering him?

  He grabbed his jacket and called to Marisa. “I’m stepping outside to take this call. Back in a minute.”

  “Okay,” she responded.

  Outside, the snow continued to fall. More shoveling in the morning. Making sure no one was within earshot, he answered the call before he even zipped his jacket.

  “Tremaine.”

  It was Bill. He recognized the voice instantly. “You’ve been rattling some bars, R.T.”

  “I want to know. And there’s a woman who deserves to know.”

  “Of course she deserves to know. That doesn’t change anything. It can’t change anyt
hing.”

  “Then at least have someone deliver the letter, let her know about the star. Someday she might even want to show the star to her child. Is that really too freaking much?”

  Bill didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Maybe that’s possible. I’ll look into it. But stop rattling the cage. Some folks are getting nervous about you.”

  As if he cared anymore. This had become personal. Maybe that reduced his effectiveness, but to hell with it. The certainty had been growing in him that, given his experience and expertise, he was far more valuable to them than they were to him.

  “I’ll let you know.” Then Bill was gone.

  He stuffed his phone into his jeans pocket and stood for a while watching the snow fall. It was beautiful, but tonight it reminded him of frozen tears.

  Finally he shook himself, remembering that Marisa was inside, probably wondering what was going on.

  He found her in the kitchen, and all the happiness that had been written on her face was gone now. She sat at the table with a glass of cranberry juice and looked hollowly at him. “You have to leave.”

  It sounded almost like an accusation. “No. Absolutely not. That was just a loose end.”

  Her hands were wrapped around the glass, her knuckles white. “You don’t need to lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying. I don’t have to leave.”

  “Johnny got calls like that, then he’d be gone.”

  He blew a loud breath, then said firmly, “I am not John, and I am not lying.” Except by all he couldn’t say.

  Of course he wasn’t John. But he was so like John that it made no difference, he supposed. He got his cup of coffee, then sat facing her, tree forgotten. One phone call and her day was destroyed. In that instant he had a clear and ugly picture of what she had endured.

  Reaching across the table, he pried her hands from the glass. They were now cold and damp. He swallowed them in his grip, holding on to her. He had a bridge to cross here, and he needed to do it quickly.

  “You want the truth?” he asked.

  She nodded, her face drooping.