What Mattered Most

by Linda Winfree

  Eyes closed, Lanie slumped against the door frame. Why had she trusted him? She should have known he’d do something like this—hadn’t he shown her he couldn’t be counted on? Tears slipped down her face and clogged her throat. He could be anywhere.

  “Lanie, calm down.” Caitlin’s hand smoothed the tears from her cheeks. “His clothes are in the baby’s closet, and it looks like he’s been sleeping on the daybed in there. He just moved out of your room.”

  Her eyes snapped open. “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I can be. Want me to check the bathroom?” Wry patience colored the words.

  Lanie nodded. Caitlin disappeared into the Jack-and-Jill bathroom between the two bedrooms and returned moments later. “All his toiletries are still here. Looks like he went to the store. I tell you what. You get into bed and give me his cell phone number. I’ll call and find out exactly where he is.”

  Exhausted, Lanie let Caitlin put her to bed. The smooth sheets smelled clean and fresh, with no trace of John’s scent. Lanie drew the covers to her chin. Caitlin picked up the pad and pen from the nightstand. “What’s his cell number?”

  Eyes closed, Lanie searched her memory for the familiar number. The digits didn’t come. She reached out for them, and nothing happened. A void answered her. Tears slipped between her lashes, and she lifted them to stare up at Caitlin. “I can’t remember.”

  “Okay.” Caitlin brushed the damp hair away from Lanie’s face. “You don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

  Don’t worry? She couldn’t remember a phone number she knew by heart. What else had she lost? She clutched the pillow, the fear growing until it pulsed in the room, an entity unto itself.

  When Lanie woke, darkness lay outside the window. The bedside light glowed, casting shadows in the empty closet. She lay on her side, staring at the bare hangers on the rod. A cold lump settled in her stomach.

  Delicious aromas hung in the air—the scent of sizzling steak and spicy peppers. The lump grew. John was cooking. Male voices drifted up the stairs, and Lanie recognized Dennis Burnett’s deep drawl. She forced her muscles into relaxation. If Dennis were here, Caitlin hadn’t abandoned her yet. She wasn’t alone with John.

  She closed her eyes, shutting out the sight of that empty closet. With a deep breath, she shifted her thoughts to the doctor’s discharge instructions. Rest, limited physical activity, keep her stitches—both sets—clean and dry. Nothing but sponge baths until the incisions healed. She shuddered, wanting nothing more right now than a long soak in the oversized tub.

  Unbidden, the memory rose of the last time she’d soaked in that tub. John shucking his shirt and pants so that the candlelight gleamed along the taut muscles of his arms, stomach, thighs. His deep voice rumbling along her nerves as he climbed into the tub with her, water sloshing onto the floor. Warmth flashed through her, followed by the unrelenting anger. That was not what she needed to remember—she needed to remember his deceit, what his wide grin kept hidden from her.

  Clinging to the anger, she opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. She just had to keep reminding herself of the way he’d pretended with her, and while he played daddy with the baby, she would count all those missed doctor’s appointments.

  “Hey, you’re awake.”

  With cautious movements, she shifted to sit against the pillows and met Caitlin’s affectionate gaze. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “A couple of hours.” Caitlin came into the room and sat on the foot of the bed, feet tucked under her. Her linked hands hugged her knees in a loose hold. “Feel better?”

  “I guess.” Lanie’s gaze strayed to that empty closet again. She pulled it back with an effort but avoided the knowing expression in Caitlin’s green eyes. “Did you book a flight?”

  Caitlin nodded. “I’m staying a couple more days, just until you get settled in. Dennis is here to see how you’re doing.”

  Male laughter rumbled up the stairs, and Caitlin shot a cynical glance at the door. Lanie pulled her knees up as far as her sore stomach would allow. “Sounds like male bonding.”

  Caitlin brushed her hair back. “Seems O’Reilly shares my ex’s obsession with old cars. They’ve been discussing their dream rides for the last hour. That, and swapping cop stories. Are you hungry? If you don’t feel like coming downstairs, I’ll bring something up and hang out with you.”

  “No.” Lanie shook her head and immediately regretted the movement. She might as well remind him right now that he only remained in the house because she allowed him to. Recuperating or not, she had no intention of being a prisoner in her own bedroom. “I’ll come downstairs.”

  The whitewashed pine table held the bright Mexican pottery plates they’d found at a junk shop in Corpus Christi. A platter of steaming stuffed tomatoes sat next to a large bowl of mixed greens. Ice water sparkled in swirled painted goblets, and fury sizzled along her nerves. Beth had given her those goblets for her last birthday. Was he that insensitive?

  Dumb question, Falconetti. The man is oblivious to everything but his own wants and needs. Don’t forget that.

  She dug her fingers into the hard wooden chair back. In the kitchen, John transferred shrimp skewers from the stovetop grill to another platter, and Dennis arranged strip steaks next to the seafood. Hurt seared through her. When Caitlin had called and said she was visiting for a couple of days, this was what Lanie wanted—dinner, laughter, happiness. Only this wasn’t that—this was a travesty of that vision.

  Like having a baby with a man who didn’t love her.

  Glad her white-knuckled grip on the chair hid her trembling hands, she watched Caitlin bend over the bassinet. “He’s sound asleep.”

  Lanie looked at the baby and wondered if her face showed as much wistful hunger as Caitlin’s. Head covered by a fuzzy blue hat with embroidered ducks, he lay on his back, arms on either side of his head. An impulse to pick him up and hold him close surged through her, but the unrelenting fear kept her still.

  “Wait until two in the morning.” John’s dry voice near her ear sent a startled quiver over Lanie’s skin. He leaned around her to set the platter of steak and shrimp on the table. His clean, spicy scent filled her nose. “He’ll be wide awake and ready to tank up.”

  His hand rested on the chair back next to hers, and she could feel the warmth his skin radiated. She stepped back and glared at him, but without a word, he pulled out the chair for her and walked back to the kitchen.

  After a brief hesitation, she sat, hoping Caitlin would take the seat next to hers. Instead, her cousin sat across the table, so when the men joined them, John sat inches away from Lanie. With him so close she could feel the warmth of his body, she was glad for the activity of passing platters, filling plates and eating. Lost in the effort of ignoring him, she took several minutes to catch the direction of Dennis and John’s conversation.

  “So the desk work doesn’t bother you?” John stabbed a shrimp with his fork.

  Dennis lifted his water goblet. “Only at budget time. I still get out on the road every so often, and that relieves the monotony.”

  “But your hours are regular?”

  “Pretty much. So you’re seriously considering this?” Dennis stretched his arm along the back of Caitlin’s chair, his fingers brushing her upper arm.

  John shrugged. “I’ve got a couple of months of leave left, so I don’t have to rush into a decision. But, yeah, I’m looking at it. I passed my sergeant’s exam—”

  “You passed your exam?” The words slipped out before Lanie could stop them. He’d been waiting on those results forever.

  With a quick glance at her, John nodded. “Yeah. I tried to tell you, but it was the same day the baby furniture was delivered. You weren’t real focused on what I was saying… It doesn’t matter.”

  She ran her fingertip around the rim of her goblet, trying to suppress the tiny spurt of guilt. Had she been so focused on the nursery furniture that she’d misread his excitement? “So you’ll advance to sergeant detective, ri
ght?”

  He chuckled, a low, self-deprecating sound. “Or desk sergeant in the records division.”

  Desk sergeant? During the last year, she’d watched him thrive on the challenges of working homicide, and he was talking about a desk job? Who was this man, and what had he done with the real John O’Reilly?

  She looked for answers during the remainder of dinner, but didn’t find any. Listening to the men talk about hot rods, she poked at her food. She wanted the evening over, but didn’t want Caitlin to go either.

  The inevitable couldn’t be postponed, though. Finally, with Dennis claiming exhaustion, Caitlin stood to hug Lanie. “You don’t have to walk us out. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Sure.” Unease gathered in her stomach, but Lanie forced a smile. As John walked them to the door, she rose and began stacking plates.

  “I’ll get those.” Laughter tinged John’s voice, and she startled, unaware until he spoke that he’d returned to the room. She was suddenly, achingly aware of being alone with him.

  “What is so funny?” she snapped.

  He set the plates on the counter and returned for a pair of goblets. “Your cousin and your boss. He’s still hot for her, and she has no clue.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You didn’t catch it?” He shot a glance over his shoulder at her, a grin quirking at his mouth. “Hell, Lanie, she accidentally nudged his leg under the table. I thought he’d come out of his skin.”

  “And you would notice that.”

  He lifted the platters. “Actually, I was thinking how much I missed having you tease me under the table. How much I miss you, period.”

  His words left her speechless. In the bassinet, the baby stirred with a soft cough. Lanie watched John lean over him, adjusting the blanket. The affection on his face was all too real, everything she’d dreamed of seeing on his face when he looked at their son. The emotion, the conversation, the enforced closeness was all too much.

  The anger snapped to life. “What are you doing?”

  He straightened to look at her. Wariness took over his navy gaze. “What do you mean?”

  Lanie waved a hand at the table, the living room, the bassinet. “This. Cooking. The whole perfect-daddy thing. The desk sergeant’s job. What are you doing?”

  He swallowed, the muscles in his throat moving in a convulsive thrust. “Honey, I—”

  “Don’t you dare call me that.” When he reached for her, she shoved him away, the exhausting effort barely moving him. She flung out her hands again, and the jerky motion toppled a goblet. Water flowed across the table, but neither of them moved. “Do you think my letting you stay changes anything?”

  He stared at her, his face pale and gaunt, and she hated him for staying, for not leaving when he’d had the chance to go with Beth. She leaned closer, teeth clenched to prevent her from screaming at him, her voice a raw whisper instead. “It doesn’t matter what you do. Nothing changes what you did.”

  Water dribbled onto the floor, a muffled splatter rising as it hit the carpet. He shook his head. “Don’t you think I know that? I’m trying to show you—”

  “No.” She shook her head, pain shooting along the incision, digging deep into her senses.

  “I know I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

  “Hurt me?” The anger flared, drowning the pain, drowning everything but the overwhelming urge to strike back. “You ruined my life. You ruined everything! I wish I’d never met you, that I’d never gotten…”

  The awful words died in her throat, and she stared at him, his blue eyes blazing in his pale face. He swallowed again. “I’m sorry for a lot of things, Lanie, but I can’t be sorry about that baby. Not about having him.”

  She backed away, shaking her head. Why was he saying this now? Why not when it would have mattered? She forced a whisper past numb lips. “I hate you, O’Reilly.”

  Instead of fleeing as she wanted, she took the stairs with maddening slowness, feeling his gaze on her the whole way. In the bedroom, she remembered the sleeping baby and restrained the urge to slam the door. The empty closet mocked her, and she fought the racking sobs attacking her body. Curled up on the bed, she wrapped her arms around a pillow and stared out at the waves.

  Light glittered along a silver pool on her nightstand. Reaching out, she tangled her fingers in the silver chain and lifted the infinity pendant. It dangled from her hand, light reflecting along the links and the stylized swoop. She wrapped her hand around the pendant and drew it close, the edges cutting into her palm.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lanie’s eyes flickered open. The harsh cries of a demanding newborn filtered through the wall. The wails built to a crescendo as Brannigan McCall O’Reilly, finally named for his grandmothers’ maiden names during an uneasy truce between his parents, let everyone know he was awake and not happy about it. Lanie waited for the sound of John’s sleep-roughened voice as he soothed the baby.

  No deep voice rumbled, and the crying continued. She sat up, straining her ears. Where was John? Pushing back the covers, she slid from the bed and padded through the bathroom to the nursery. She stopped in the doorway, transfixed.

  Clad only in boxer briefs, John sat in the Windsor rocker by the window, Sonny Buck cradled against his shoulder. Eyes closed, he moved the chair in a slow motion with one foot and rubbed his son’s tiny back in circles. His demeanor spoke of the infinite patience Lanie had seen in all of his interactions with Sonny.

  John hummed, his stroking fingers moving in a similar rhythm. Eric Clapton. “Wonderful Tonight.” She wanted to laugh at his choice of lullabies, but a rapid crush of memories took her breath. John owned every Clapton CD in existence, and how often had they danced to that very song, her arms around his neck, his hands urging her closer?

  Those same long-fingered hands cradled her baby with strength and tenderness. A lump settled in her throat. As hard as she’d tried over the five days she’d been home to harden her heart and cling to her hatred, this John kept slipping under her defenses. The discrepancy kept her caught between anger and wanting. How could he be the father she’d wanted him to be, but not the man she wanted in her life?

  More and more she had to remind herself of all the reasons why she couldn’t forgive him. More and more, as watching him with Sonny Buck forced her to see the changes in his personality, the arguments rang hollow. More and more, she wanted to be drawn into that circle of love and affection.

  But the baby is different. John didn’t love you before. What makes you think he would now?

  Sonny Buck’s cries drifted into snuffles, and his small body grew still under John’s touch. “Wonderful Tonight” faded to silence, and Lanie tensed, not wanting John to find her watching him but unable to turn away. His long lashes lifted, and she stared into the intensity of his dark blue gaze.

  The rocker stilled. John didn’t smile. “Sorry if we woke you. He’s having a rough night. I think his stomach hurts.”

  She fingered the edges of her hair. “That’s okay. I heard him crying and just wanted to check…”

  Her voice died away. The dim light glinted off John’s bare skin. John pushed out of the chair and crossed to the crib to lay Sonny Buck down. Lanie watched the ripple of muscle under his skin and averted her eyes from the narrow line of dark hair that arrowed beneath his boxer briefs.

  “I think he’s down this time.” John’s gaze flickered her way. He glanced down the line of her body then back up to her face, holding her gaze with his.

  Her pajama pants and cami top covered everything, but she felt naked and exposed under that look. Too aware of the quiet surrounding them, she dropped her gaze. “I’ll just go back to bed, then. Goodnight.”

  His quiet voice shivered over her raw nerves. “Goodnight.”

  Hands pillowed beneath his head, John stared up at the blue and silver fish stenciled on the ceiling. Exhaustion gripped his body, giving him the sensation of moving in thick mud, but sleep wouldn’t come. Etched into his mind was th
at image of Lanie, clad in the too-cute pink polka dot pajamas he’d bought last Valentine’s and looking at him with soft, hot eyes. His body stirred, and he gritted his teeth.

  Several times over the past few days, he’d caught that same look in her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking at her. Fighting down hope, he wondered if she saw the same hunger on his face. Not that it mattered. He wanted her, but he wanted more. He wanted everything. With that goal uppermost in his mind, he wouldn’t settle for just the physical with her.

  Mentally, he ticked off the number of leave days he had left. Lanie regained physical strength every day, and soon she wouldn’t need him in the house. He had no doubt what would happen then, unless he could convince her first that he could be trusted, could be worthy of her and Sonny Buck. He needed time, and time was the one thing he didn’t have.

  With Cary Grant on television and Sonny Buck in his bassinet, Lanie lay on the couch. Half asleep, she listened to John move around upstairs while he put laundry away. Her head ached despite the prescribed pain relievers and the healing scalp incision felt tight and itchy. Edgy and miserable, she pondered a walk on the beach, but her flagging energy made the idea unattractive.

  The doorbell rang, and she moved from the couch with a quick glance at Sonny Buck. He slept on, and she went to the door, the now-familiar revulsion shivering over her skin as she passed the foyer bath. She couldn’t even walk into that room yet.

  A peek through the security hole sent the memories into oblivion and settled old stresses and uncertainties back into place. Her father stood on the steps. She wondered for one wild, brief moment if she could get away with not opening the door. For a second, even wilder moment, she considered retreating upstairs and letting John handle everything.

  She drew herself up and took a deep breath. Leaning on John wasn’t in her plans anymore. Her damp palms slid on the doorknob, but she managed to open the door. Without smiling, she regarded her father. “Hello.”