The Soldier and the Baby

by Anne Stuart

  * * *

  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. Despite what he’d have the world believe, 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. Just as soon as she got her courage together.

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

  She considered letting him go first and the slamming the door and locking it, rather than face what would likely break her heart. But a locked door wouldn’t keep Reilly from anything he wanted to get to. She sighed, following 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 be able to let him 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 did 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. His grip was gentle but unbearable. “What do you think of Montana?”

  “Reilly,” she said miserably, “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 Montana, 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 through her tears. “I believe you. And the only place I’m going is Montana, 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, slightly disgruntled.

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

  He kissed her then. 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 Bitterroot 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 stem 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 menage, 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 bladder. She had a month to go—the baby wasn’t due till March—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 film 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. She needed these stupid cramps to stop.

  “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 no
t 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 snow-plow. 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. Another cramp hit her, but she’d been going through false labor for the past month and she ignored it.

  She 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 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 voice, “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?”

  “I think that can be managed,” she said a little breathlessly, keeping her expression unreadable. 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 took a shaky breath, her smile a little lopsided. “We can handle it,” she said. “You’ll just need to keep adding to the house.” She took another breath. “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.

  “You’ve got a nun out there, soldier,” she hissed with mock disapproval.

  “I’ve got a knocked-up nun in labor in here and there’s a g.d. blizzard out there,” he roared in outrage. “Let’s go!”

  He scooped her ungainly figure up in his arms and kicked open the door. Mother Ignacia was presiding over the horde of children in the kitchen, and Reilly paused in the doorway as Carlie grabbed for her parka. “We’re going to the hospital,” he announced.

  “You always were an efficient child,” Mother Ignacia said approvingly. “Go with God.”

  “And drive like hell,” Reilly muttered under his breath.

  They made it to the hospital in time. By six o’clock the next morning, Forrest Reilly made his appearance, weighing five pounds three ounces, followed, most unexpectedly, by his sister Ignacia, who was a portly five pounds eight ounces. Once they managed to revive Reilly from his dead faint, he looked down at his wife’s exhausted expression with a glazed one of his own.

  “Did you know?”

  She shook her head, looking down at the babies nestled in her arms. “Reilly,” she said with a faint grin, “you’d better buy more diapers.”

  He leaned down a
nd kissed her, hard and deep. She kissed him back, somewhere summoning the energy to arch her back to reach him. “I love you, Reilly,” she murmured.

  He cupped her face. “I love you, too, Sister Maria Carlos,” he said. And the snow-swept Montana night slipped away into a glorious, white-glazed dawn. And all was peaceful.

  For another four and a half minutes.

  ––THE END––

  If you enjoyed The Soldier, The Nun & The Baby, continue reading for an excerpt from

  Blue Sage!

  * * *

  Blue Sage

  * * *

  He didn’t have to go searching for the volume of fifteen-year-old newspapers and the issues covering that Fourth of July. It was always out, always available for those who wanted to read about it once more, just in case anyone had forgotten the details. Even in the carefully bound edition the newsprint was showing signs of wear. Too many hands had touched it, smoothing the old print. The pictures were faded and grainy, the aging black-and-white print draining the horror from the blood-splattered tableau. He stared at the open page, inwardly reciting the words he’d committed to memory years before.

  Vet Goes Berserk —Kills Sixteen in Montana

  Morey’s Falls, Montana. July 5, 1972. Charles Tanner, Sr., a forty-two-year-old unemployed Congressional Medal of Honor winner, killed sixteen people and wounded one before turning the gun on himself during Fourth of July celebrations in the tiny town northwest of Billings. The lone survivor is a sixteen-year-old girl, listed in satisfactory condition.

  That was all there was. Later editions of the papers had more information, longer articles, details about the victims, and all of those articles were kept, neatly and carefully, a testimony to the past. But he still liked this one the best. Short, simple, direct. With a quiet sigh of satisfaction he closed the heavy volume and turned to face the new day.