by Anne Stuart
Fortunately he wasn’t given that choice—a deserted convent in the middle of a jungle was not the best place to find cigarettes. He would simply have to do without.
At least it might distract him from the memory of Billy’s widow. Caterina—the name didn’t suit her one bit. Granted, she was only half Spanish, but she looked more Irish than anything else, with her pale skin and blue eyes. Carlie suited her. Though he was better off thinking of her simply as Mrs. Morrissey.
He pushed away from the table and began packing tins of formula in a backpack. He hoped that tiny little creature in the crib was tougher than she looked. The next few days would be rough on the adults, including a woman who’d given birth not that long ago.
It was just too damned bad he couldn’t afford to wait a couple of weeks till the baby got bigger, till Carlie got stronger. Though she certainly looked strong enough, despite the unexpected paleness of her arms and legs.
But the soldiers were moving down from the north. The rebels were moving up from the south. Reilly had learned to trust his instincts in these matters, and he knew the whole place was about to go up like a firecracker. He needed to get those two safely out of here before it happened.
Why the hell did Billy have to fall in love with the daughter of a political hot potato? It would be tough enough if this was just any woman, any baby. But Mendino’s only grandchild made it impossible.
Reilly didn’t pay much attention to the word impossible. Not when there were no other alternatives. He was going to get Carlie and her baby out of San Pablo, safely back to the States, and then he was going back to his mountaintop, alone.
But before he left, he might give in to temptation and see whether her wide, pale mouth tasted as innocent as it looked.
“What are you doing?”
“Hell!” He whirled, the gun already drawn, as her voice startled him out of his faintly erotic reflection. “Don’t ever do that.”
She stared at him, at the gun pointed directly at her, and her huge eyes were even wider as she shifted the baby against her shoulder. “Are you always this jumpy?”
He shoved the gun back in his belt. “Let’s just say I’ve got good reason. We’re in the middle of a war zone, and no one around here is particularly fond of your family. What’s wrong with the kid?”
“He’s hungry.”
“He?”
“I mean she,” Carlie corrected herself, shifting the squirming baby in her arms. “I keep forgetting.”
“There’s a fundamental difference between boys and girls, Carlie. Or haven’t you been changing the baby’s diapers?”
“You’d know if I hadn’t,” she snapped, heading for the row of freshly washed bottles. She grabbed one and tossed it to him. “Maybe you’d better get used to doing this. Two scoops of powder, then fill it with the filtered water and shake it.”
She must have expected him to refuse. Hell, he could rise to that challenge, and any other she wanted to throw at him. He caught the plastic bottle deftly, mixing up the formula. “Sure would be easier if you were nursing,” he murmured, handing it to her when he was finished.
The baby obviously thought so, too. She was rooting around at Carlie’s breast, making loud sucking noises. She made do with the bottle, however, when her mother tucked it in her mouth.
“I would if I could,” she snapped.
He leaned against the table. He liked making her mad, he decided. She had too much of an otherworldly calm that she kept trying to pull around her. He didn’t believe in other worlds. He didn’t believe much in serenity, given the circumstances.
He liked watching her feed the kid, too, even if it was with a bottle. She was a natural mother, and the look she had as she bent over the baby was a far cry from her uneasy glares in his direction.
Maybe she wouldn’t leave the kid with Billy’s parents. Maybe she’d learned there were other things more important than parties and fancy clothes.
But that was none of his business. He was a courier, delivering his package safely. He needed to remember that.
Before it was too late.
* * *
Chapter Three
* * *
Carlie was used to the silence. She’d been virtually alone in the old building for the past three weeks, with only the baby and the jungle noises outside to keep her company. For all that Reilly was a large man, he moved with just as much silence as the most discreet Sister of Benevolence.
But she knew he was there. Even if she couldn’t hear him, she could feel his presence, permeating the very air she breathed. Man, the invader, in this house of women.
She lay on the narrow bed, sweltering in the humid night heat. There wasn’t even the hint of a breeze to cool her, and the jungle birds kept up their ceaseless chattering, while Timothy slept on.
She would be leaving this place in the morning, the only home she had known for the past nine years. Sometimes it seemed like the only real home she’d ever had, but she knew that wasn’t the truth. There’d been other places, other homes. The first ten years of her life had been spent in California, where her parents had ministered to migrant workers. The next seven had been in a variety of places, always in her parents’ footsteps, waiting for them to remember her existence among all the needy who ruled their lives.
Reverend Mother Ignacia said they died in grace. It didn’t seem like grace to Carlie, hidden down behind the trees outside the small mountain town in the north where they’d been living. They had died in blood and pain, in a hail of bullets as they tried to bring their own version of God’s words to the villagers. And Carlie had watched, frozen in horror and denial, crouched down with her fist shoved in her mouth to still her screams.
It was the harried relief workers who’d found her, who’d taken her down to the jungle convent of Our Lady of Repose, where Mother Ignacia and the others had clucked over her and soothed her and brought her reluctantly back into the sheltered world they lived in. As the years passed, no one seemed to remember she was there, and Carlie had grown secure, even as the country grew more explosive.
But now her safe life had come to an end. She would be back among the living, among the soldiers and the violence. She would put her fate, and that of Timothy, in the hands of a soldier, someone who killed. She had no other choice.
She heard a scream in the distance, and she sat bolt upright for a moment, her heart pounding. Then she lay back, trying to still her breathing. It was simply a jungle cat, out stalking its prey. Nothing to worry about. Nothing that could hurt her. Besides, it was the two-legged beasts she needed to fear. She’d known that for years.
There were no clocks in the tiny convent—the nuns ran their lives on God’s time, not man’s. Carlie hadn’t noticed the lack before, but right then, in the middle of a heat-soaked night, she would have given anything to know what time it was. Whether it was getting close to sunrise, or if it was still worth struggling with an elusive sleep.
Where was Reilly? Sleeping in Mother Ignacia’s bed? Prowling the night corridors? He looked like a man who would snore, but the only sound through the empty corridors was the occasional scream of the jaguar. Maybe he didn’t need to sleep at all.
She did, but that blessed reward seemed to be denied her. The longer she lay sweltering on the bed, the worse it got. Finally she rose, pushing the rough cotton sheet away from her, and pulled on Caterina’s clothes. She didn’t bother to light the oil lamp by her bed—she didn’t want to run the risk of waking the baby. Tiptoeing to the door, she opened it into the inky darkness of the hallway.
Her foot connected with something solid, and before she could stop herself she went sprawling onto the hard tile floor, onto the hard-boned body of her protector.
The words he muttered beneath his breath as he caught her narrow shoulders were words she’d forgotten existed. She scrambled away from him, ending up against the far wall, and as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness she realized he’d been sleeping in front of her doorway, his bedroll a mute testim
ony to the fact.
“Sorry,” she whispered, still mindful of the sleeping baby. “I didn’t know you’d be there.”
“Where’d you think I’d be?” he countered irritably. “It’s part of my job.”
She stared at him. In the murky light she could barely see him, but she realized belatedly that she’d felt hot, bare skin beneath her when she went tumbling over him, and she wondered just how much he was wearing.
“You could have told me,” she said in a deceptively reasonable tone of voice. “What time is it?”
“Quarter past four. We’ll be leaving in a little more than an hour.”
“Then I suppose I shouldn’t bother trying to get any more sleep.”
“I suppose you shouldn’t,” he said, and she felt more than saw him rise, heard the rustle of clothing. “I’m going to scout around the place, see if we’ve had any uninvited visitors. You stay put till I get back.”
“But––”
“Let’s get one thing clear,” he said, overriding her objections. “There’s only one person in charge of this little expedition, and that’s me. You’ll do what I tell you, no questions asked, or I’ll leave you behind. Your life might depend on obeying me. The baby’s certainly does.”
“Yes, sir,” she muttered, struggling to her feet.
A large, strong hand came down on one shoulder, and she found herself pushed back down, this time onto his sleeping bag. “Stay put,” he growled. And then he vanished into the darkness.
She started to get up, then paused. It wasn’t like her to be defiant. She’d learned the safety and comfort of unquestioning obedience—why was she choosing now to rebel?
She sat back down again, tucking her feet under her and leaning her head back against the stucco wall. There was no sound at all now except for Timothy’s regular breathing in the other room and the steady pulse of her own heartbeat. The sleeping bag beneath her offered very little padding between her body and the hard tile floor, and it still retained his body heat. She considered lying down on the cool tiles, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. The steady sound of the baby mixed with the sultry stillness of the night, and Carlie felt her eyes begin to drift shut as she waited for Reilly to return.
It wouldn’t be an easy hike out of there. Even under the best of circumstances they were at the treacherous edge of the rain forest, and the roads were narrow, rutted and overgrown.
Having two warring armies on their trail wouldn’t help matters. Reilly would push, and push hard, and right then Carlie felt too weary to even crawl back to her own bed.
She stretched out on the sleeping bag, just for a moment. It smelled like coffee, and gun oil, and warm male flesh. She closed her eyes, oddly lulled by the faint, seductive odors, and fell asleep before she could stop herself.
* * *
The first rays of dawn were just beginning to penetrate the old convent when Reilly returned to the hallway where he’d spent a restless night. For a moment he frowned, certain that Carlie had ignored him and taken off. And then he saw her, curled up on his old army-issue sleeping bag, one small, strong hand tucked under her willful chin.
He stood over her, staring, but she didn’t move, deep in a dreamless sleep. She looked younger in sleep, innocent, with that pale, delicate skin, that soft, unkissed mouth.
Though why the hell he should think of her mouth as unkissed was beyond him. She’d done a hell of a lot more than kissing, and Billy hadn’t been the sentimental sort to be enticed by amateur lovemaking. The jet-setting daughter of Hector Mendino would have had more than her share of lovers, no matter how innocent she looked.
This time he heard the faint, snuffling cry of the baby before she did. She slept on, in an exhausted daze, while he moved past her into the bedroom, conquering the urge to lean down and touch her.
The baby lay on its back, snorting and snuffling plaintively. The look it gave Reilly when he leaned over the crib was unpromising, but it made no more than a token squawk of protest when he scooped it up, grabbed a folded diaper and headed back out toward the kitchen, stepping carefully over Carlie’s sleeping figure.
By the time Carlie roused herself and wandered into the kitchen the coffee was made, the backpacks were loaded and ready to go and the baby was fed and dozing peacefully against Reilly’s shoulder. She paused in the doorway, her spiky black hair rumpled around her pale face, yawning.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” she asked, heading for the coffeepot.
“You looked like you needed some sleep. An hour or two isn’t going to make that much of a difference in when we leave, and I’m used to babies.”
She froze, the coffee halfway to her mouth, then turned to stare at him. At the infant resting comfortably against his shoulder. “I need to change her...” she began hurriedly.
“I already did.”
She blushed. Odd, he wouldn’t have thought someone like Caterina Morrissey de Mendino would be capable of blushing, particularly over something as innocuous as a baby’s sex. “You want to revise your story just a little bit?”
She lifted her gaze to his, and the defiance in her soft mouth was more expected. “This is a Latin country, Mr. Reilly. The rebels wouldn’t consider Hector Mendino’s granddaughter to be much of a threat. His grandson, however, is a different matter.”
She obviously expected him to object. Instead he simply nodded. “Good thinking. Find yourself something to eat, and then we’ll get out of here.”
“Where are we going?”
“Through the swamp to begin with. On foot, at least for the first day. I left a jeep about twenty miles down the track—if no one found it we’ll be able to reach it by dark.”
“And if someone found it?”
“We’d better hope they didn’t,” he said blandly. “We’ll take turns carrying the baby. The damned formula weighs a ton.”
“Would you stop picking on me about the formula?” she shot back. “I didn’t have any choice in the matter.”
He let his eyes drop. She was wearing just what she had worn the night before—a sleeveless white cotton T-shirt and cutoffs. No bra; he’d noticed that right off. Her breasts were small and perfect. Well, not perfect, if they couldn’t feed a baby, he amended. But close to it.
“You’ll be carrying the formula as often as I will,” he said evenly. “We’ll take turns with the baby.”
“No. I can manage him.”
“I never would have pegged you for a protective mother,” he drawled, shifting the sleeping infant.
She looked more surprised than offended. “What do you know about me? We just met.”
“More than you imagine. I know Billy’s taste in women, and they run to thoroughbreds with expensive habits. Before I came down here I asked a few questions, and I didn’t like the answers. You’re a spoiled young woman, you married Billy on a whim, left him on a whim, and if you hadn’t happened to get knocked up you probably would never have planned to go back to him. For all Billy’s parents know, this might not even be their grandson.”
“What do Billy’s parents have to do with anything?”
“I told you, that’s where I’m taking you. That’s definitely where the baby’s going. They have the money, the connections, to see to his well-being. If you want to hang around that’s fine. It’ll be up to you.”
“A child needs family. Grandparents,” she said slowly, as if she were just considering the notion. “Are they good people, these Morrisseys? Will they love Timothy, take care of him, teach him right from wrong?”
It sounded as if she’d already made up her mind to abandon him. “Trying to assuage your conscience? They’ve got money. They’ll hire the best people to take care of him if they think he’s their grandchild.”
“I see.” She reached out for the baby, and he put him in her arms. “And if they don’t believe he’s their grandchild?”
“I don’t know if belief has much to do with it. They’ll arrange for the proper blood tests.”
“They don’
t sound like very nice people,” she said in a quiet voice, cuddling the sleeping baby against her.
“What’s nice got to do with it? The world hasn’t got much use for nice. When it comes right down to it, money talks.”
She lifted her eyes and looked straight at him. Innocent eyes, clear blue and honest. Why would someone like Caterina Mendino have innocent eyes? “Do you really believe that?”
“I’ve been around long enough. So have you.”
She looked down at the child in her arms. “Maybe,” she said. “But he hasn’t. I don’t want him to have to live by those rules.”
“He is Billy’s son, isn’t he?”
“Go to hell, Reilly,” she replied. And it must have been his imagination that her own words shocked her.
* * *
It was crazy, but for some reason Carlie was even hotter in Caterina’s skimpy clothing than she was in her usual garb. The light cotton of her habit had flowed against her skin, letting air circulate around her. The knit shirt clung to Carlie’s body like a blanket, making her itch. The weight of Timothy’s tiny body in the sling-type holder added to the smothering sensation, and the backpack full of baby paraphernalia and the minimum of clothing must have been thirty pounds at least.
Reilly hadn’t said a word as he loaded her down, other than to look askance at the shorts. “That won’t be much protection against pit vipers,” he said pleasantly.
“Then you’d better make sure none of them get to me,” she’d retorted without hesitation. “Otherwise you’ll end up carrying everything.”
“Good point.” He was already loaded down with at least twice the amount she was carrying, though it didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He was looking dark and dangerous in the light of dawn, with a stubble of beard, his long hair tied in a ponytail, his rough camouflage clothes rumpled as if he’d slept in them. But he hadn’t slept in them, she remembered. She’d felt warm bare skin beneath her hands. “Let’s do it.”
