“Johnny talked about you from time to time, but I gather he said little about me.”

“He mentioned R.T. a couple of times but no, he didn’t say much. But then he didn’t talk much about his friends in the Rangers or later. It was like when he came home, he turned all that off.”

“Probably wise,” Ryker said. He washed down a mouthful of bagel with some coffee. “Compartmentalizing, we call it. Keeping things separate. Why would he want to bring any of that home to you?”

“But he talked about me,” she argued.

“Once in a while. Sometimes everyone talked about home. Sometimes we needed to remember that there was a place or a person we wanted to get back to. The rest of the time we couldn’t afford the luxury.”

That hit her hard, but she faced it head-on. Remembering home had been a luxury? That might have been the most important thing anyone had told her about what Johnny had faced and done.

“I didn’t know him at all,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut, once again feeling the shaft of pain.

“You knew the best part of him. That mattered to him, Marisa. You gave him a place where that part could flourish.”

* * *

Conard County: The Next Generation

RACHEL LEE was hooked on writing by the age of twelve and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.

An Unlikely Daddy
Rachel Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To all the heroes whose stories will never be told.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

Marisa Hayes stood atop a hill in the Good Shepherd Cemetery in Conard County, Wyoming. The ceaseless spring wind seemed to blow through her hollow heart, sweeping away her life. Johnny’s coffin, wood and brass, sat atop the bier, ready to be lowered. Beneath it a strip of artificial turf covered the gaping hole in the ground that would soon contain him. The green swatch was an affront to the brown ground all around.

She couldn’t move. Pain so strong it was almost beyond feeling, a strange kind of agonized numbness, filled her. Several men were waiting to lower the casket. A few of her friends waited behind her, giving her space and time. Dimly she realized they must be growing impatient as time continued its inexorable march into a future she wished would go away.

Beyond the coffin she saw the tombstones of others who had left this life before Johnny, generations of markers, some newer, some so old they tilted. Plastic flowers brought artificial color here and there to a comfortless landscape. No well-tended ground, this. No neatly trimmed lawns and shrubs trying to create an impression of life amidst death. Just the scrubby natural countryside, tamed to a level one could walk through, but no more. A couple of tumbleweeds had rolled in and hung up just since she arrived here. They’d move on soon. Everything moved on. Time stole everything, one way or another.

Her hand rested against her still-flat belly. She’d never had a chance to tell Johnny. If she believed the pastor, her husband knew. She wasn’t sure if she believed the pastor. Right now she didn’t know if she believed in afterlife, God or anything at all.

What she believed in was her pain. What she believed in was that she was carrying Johnny’s baby. What she believed was that when she had tried to Skype him, to tell him, she had been told he was out, they’d give him a message. What she believed was that the next thing she heard was that Johnny was dead.

No open coffin. They’d warned against it. The funeral director had practically fallen on his knees, begging her not to demand it. Telling her that some images were best not remembered. Telling her to remember Johnny alive.

If the funeral director couldn’t pretty it up...

But, no, she refused to go there. It was the one piece of advice she had taken. Holding the folded flag in her arms, against her baby, she could still hear the ring of “Taps” on the desolate air, could still feel the moment she had accepted that flag, as if it were the moment she had accepted Johnny’s death. Then the man, someone she didn’t know, a State Department official who had given his name, as if she cared, had said, “John was a true hero.”

So? He was a dead hero, and his widow just wanted to climb into that hole beside him.

She lifted her gaze to the insensitive blue sky, wondering why it wasn’t gray and weeping, the way her heart wept. Why thunder and lightning weren’t rending the heavens the way her heart was rent.

She thought about burying the flag with Johnny. Just marching the four steps and placing it on the coffin. He’d earned that flag, not her, and right now it felt almost like an insult, not an honor. But she didn’t do it. The baby. Someday the child within her might want this flag, all it would ever have of its father except a few photographs. Maybe someday it would even mean something to her.

“Marisa.” Julie’s quiet voice, near her. A touch on her arm. “We need to go.”

“Then go.”

“I think I was including you in that.”

She turned her head, her neck feeling stiff, and looked straight into Julie’s worried face. “I...can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Come on, hon. You can come back tomorrow if you want. You can come every single day. But right now...”

Right now people were waiting for her, waiting to take her home, waiting to put Johnny in the ground. When she came back tomorrow, the turf would still be there, covering the bare, freshly turned earth. But Johnny’s coffin wouldn’t be where she could see it. His final home.

Numbly she nodded, facing the inevitable. Everything seemed inevitable now. She felt like a leaf caught in a rushing river’s grip, unable to stop anything, unable to catch her breath, unable find the shore. Adrift, banging from one rock to the next, helpless.

Despite Julie’s entreaties, she walked up to the coffin and laid her hand on the cold, polished wood. “I love you,” she whispered, hoping he could hear, fearing he couldn’t.

Then, jerking with every single movement as if her body belonged to someone else, she allowed Julie to lead her back to her friends and the row of cars.

It was over. Tomorrow loomed like a devouring dragon. She hoped it devoured her.

Chapter One

Ryker Tremaine pulled up to the Hayes house on a frigid November night and looked at it from within the warm confines of his car. He needed to go in there, introduce himself to John’s widow and start making amends. He suspected what John’s death had cost Marisa, but it was only when word had sifted back to him that she was pregnant that he realized he had a whole hell of a lot of atoning to do. Because of him there was not only a widow, but a fatherless child.

He had some stains on his soul, but this one felt bigger than most, and some were pretty big.

It was a large house. He knew it had been in John’s family for generations, because John had told him. It was, in John’s mind, a safe place for Marisa to stay. She had grown up around here, too. She had a job at the community college, she had friends to look after her when her husband was away. And neither of them had any family left, odd as that seemed. Even Ryker, at almost forty, had parents who had retired to New Mexico and a sister who had married a sheep rancher from New Zealand. Somehow Marisa and John, through the vicissitudes of illness and life, had been left alone.

And now Marisa had no one but friends. Had she been blessed with a big family, he’d have felt his mission of repentance was pointless. But there was a woman and a baby who John Hayes couldn’t look after. He owed something to John, to that woman and to that baby.

Just what, he wasn’t sure. Conscience and a vague promise to John had driven him here, and now conscience kept him inside the car when he should have just strode up to the door and introduced himself.

She’d had nearly six months. Maybe someone out of her husband’s past would only refresh her grief. And maybe he was making excuses because he dreaded this whole thing.

He wasn’t a chicken by nature.

Sighing, he glanced in the rearview mirror, taking stock as much as he could. He’d ditched the suit because it was too much around here, and had settled on a sweater, jeans and a jacket. He didn’t want this to look official, or remind her of bad things more than necessary.

But he continued to sit in the car a little while longer, wondering if this was just a huge act of selfishness on his part. He’d been wrestling with that since the thought of coming here had first begun goading him.

Penance was fine, as long as it didn’t inflict pain on someone else. Atonement should make things better, not worse. He shouldn’t salve his own guilt by worsening her pain.

He’d finally gotten to the point where he could no longer tell what was right or wrong, whether he was being selfish or paying a debt he owed a friend.

There was only one way to find out. That was to knock on the door and introduce himself. If she told him to go to hell, he’d have his answer. And maybe that wouldn’t freshen her grief too much, just to hear someone say, “John was my friend.”

Finally, he climbed out of the car, crunched his way across a sidewalk covered with rock salt and went up the porch steps. Icicles hung from the eaves, probably from a recent, brief thaw. If she didn’t tell him to get out of her life immediately, he should knock them down. They weren’t huge, but they could be dangerous, and she shouldn’t do it herself in her condition.

At last he could avoid the moment no longer. The doorbell glowed, demanding he punch it and then face whatever came. Usually that wasn’t a problem for him. Most things in his life had come at him the hard way. But this time...well, this time was different.

He rang the bell. He waited as the winter night deepened. She must be gone. Well, he’d come back tomorrow.

Then he heard the doorknob turn and the door opened. He recognized her instantly from photos John had shown him. Long ash-blond hair, eyes that were shaded somewhere between blue and lavender, set in a heart-shaped face. Her lips, soft and just full enough, framed the faintest of quizzical smiles. And her belly... He couldn’t help but look at the mound. John’s baby, due in a few months.

“May I help you?” Her voice was light, pleasant, but cautious.

He dragged his gaze to her face, understanding in an instant what had drawn John to her. Surprise shook him as attraction gut-punched him. He figured he must be plumbing new depths of ugliness. His friend’s pregnant widow? Off-limits. He cleared his throat. “Hi,” he said. “My name’s Ryker Tremaine.”

If he expected her to recognize it, he was disappointed. Her brow creased slightly. “Yes?” No recognition, nothing.

“I was John’s friend,” he announced baldly. “We worked together at...State. Before that, a few times when he was in the Rangers.”

Her smile faded, but at least she didn’t pale. “He never mentioned you.”

He’d anticipated this possibility. The question was whether he should just walk away or press. He nodded. “He used to call me R.T.”

“R.T.?” The furrow deepened, and then recognition dawned. “Oh. Oh! I thought he was saying Artie. Short for...” She clapped her hand to her mouth, as if containing something, and her face paled a little. “You were with him.”

“Not that day,” he said evenly. This wasn’t going the way he’d imagined, good or bad. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone. I just...when I heard you were...” He glanced down.

Her hand dropped from her mouth to the mound of her belly. “Oh.” She sounded faint and closed her eyes. Then they opened, blue fire. “Is there a reason for this visit after all this time?”

“I couldn’t get away when...” He didn’t want to say funeral. “Then I thought it was too late. And then I heard about... Maybe you have some questions I can answer.” At once he wanted to kick himself, because those were questions he mostly couldn’t answer. He was usually better than this. Smoother. This was turning into a hash. “I’ve been out of the country,” he finished finally. That was absolutely true.

She looked down. He braced for her to tell him to go to hell, a place he was intimately familiar with. But then, with a visible shake, she said, “Come in. I’m going to freeze standing here.” She stepped back, allowing him to pass.

The house was warm and quiet except for the laboring forced air heat. A pleasantly sized foyer welcomed him, speaking of age and care. She pointed to his right. “Get yourself a seat in there. Do you want a hot drink?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Hayes. If you want something, don’t mind me. I’m not trying to impose.”

But that was exactly what he was doing, he thought as he watched her walk away toward what was presumably a kitchen. She wore jeans and a bulky blue sweatshirt that reached to her hips, with the sleeves pushed up. He would have bet that sweatshirt had belonged to John, and now it was doing double duty as a maternity top.

He stepped into a cozy living room, a collection of aging and mismatched pieces that somehow came together to create a quietly colorful charm. He settled on a goosenecked chair covered with worn burgundy damask, only to pop to his feet again as she returned carrying a glass of milk. She took the other chair, a rocker, probably easier for her to get in and out of these days than the sofa across from them. He sat when she did.

Then the silence grew almost leaden. He let her study him while trying not to return her stare. She hadn’t suggested he remove his jacket, so she wanted to keep this short. Fine by him. He could come back tomorrow.

She broke the silence. “You got him the job with the State Department.”

If she’d etched the words with acid, they couldn’t have stung anymore. “Guilty,” he admitted. And of a whole lot more besides.

“Did he know?” she asked.

“Know what?”

“How dangerous it might be?”

God in heaven, that was a question with no right answer. Truth, he decided. As much truth as he could offer. “Yes.”

“As dangerous as being in the Rangers?”

Again he offered the truth. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

She closed her eyes again, and he noted that she was rocking a little faster. “They won’t tell me the truth,” she murmured. “They said it was a mugging.” Her eyes snapped open. “I know Johnny. No mugger could have taken him.”

It was true. But it was equally true that they’d given him the same story. “They told me the same thing. A street mugging.” Initially. Unfortunately, he couldn’t reveal the little he’d learned later without revealing operational secrets. God, he’d been a fool not to have considered all the secrets he’d have to continue to keep. But still, he owed this woman and her child something.

Her gaze bored into him. “Do you believe it?”

“I...found it difficult. But...” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. Some things he knew couldn’t be shared. Other than that, he knew almost nothing. “Muggings, street violence, in other places...well, they aren’t what we know here. And it’s pretty bad in some places here.”

Her rocking slowed, and he watched tension seep out of her. At last she lifted her milk and sipped it. “So you’re as much in the dark as I am.”

He chose not to answer.

Then she smiled faintly. “So you’re R.T. And here I thought you were an Arthur. Why didn’t you ever visit when he was home?”

“Because,” he said with perfect truth, “when John came home, all he wanted to do was be with you. I wouldn’t have intruded even if he had asked me.”

* * *

Marisa felt the words burrow straight to her heart like a spike. Reminding her of her loss, a loss that walked beside her every waking minute and during sleep sometimes, as well. But she heard the truth in them. He had known Johnny, because once she had suggested that he bring home some of his friends to visit. His answer had been, “I’m selfish. When I’m home I want you all to myself.”

She studied this Ryker Tremaine, this ghost out of John’s past. She saw in him the same hardness that she had sometimes seen in Johnny. Men who had faced death in the service of a cause. It changed them, gave them an edge.

A tall man, solid, with a face etched by many suns and hardships into a near rocky definition. A square face, with eyes almost like midnight and a strong jaw. He had been pared, the way she had watched Johnny get pared by his experiences. Honed, like fine knives.

Seeing Johnny in him, seeing a resemblance in their characters, eased her doubts even more. She’d invited a stranger in, and now she recognized him. Johnny’s ilk. Johnny’s friend. Certainly someone who had walked the same difficult, secretive paths.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“John wanted it. Because...” She watched him hesitate, wondering what he was withholding. “Because I care.” That at least sounded true.

“Did he ask you to come?”

Ryker shook his head. “Not exactly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. But after he started working at State, yes, he did ask me to check on you. I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to come or just call you.”

She could believe that. The fist that had been clenching her heart, since she’d realized Ryker was part of Johnny’s history, loosened its grip a bit. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to be cold. It must be hard for you, too.”

Something passed quickly over his face, then he said bluntly, “It’s been hell. Not your kind of hell, I’m sure, but it’s been hell.”

She felt a little warmth for him then. Though she hadn’t thought much about it, Johnny must have left other people grieving, too. Like an old friend named Ryker Tremaine. “You want to talk about him?”

“If you want to.”

“I have some gaps I’d like filled in.”

Again that odd hesitation from him, but then he explained, “Within the bounds of operational secrecy. You must have heard that from John.”

Words she had come to hate, because they had left her with huge holes in her memory of Johnny. Things she would never know, things he couldn’t share. Maybe even some things he didn’t want to share, which she could understand. But now, with an empty future in front of her, she was hungry to fill in that unknown past. Things he had done and seen but had never mentioned.

She rocked a little more, feeling her child stirring inside her. She laid her hand over her belly, feeling the active little pokes. A girl. She’d kept that to herself, as well.

“Johnny didn’t know we were going to have a baby,” she said. One of her greatest pains, laid bare now to a stranger. “I called to tell him, but he wasn’t there, and then...”

“I just heard about it recently. Evidently John wasn’t the only one who didn’t know.”

She nodded, absorbing the betrayal again. He should have at least known about his baby before he was killed. It seemed so wrong that he didn’t.

“He’d have been happy,” Ryker offered.

“I suppose.” Another resentment bubbled up inside her, one she tried to bury, but one she couldn’t quite quell. “He was gone a lot. Did he tell you how we met?”

“You grew up together.”

“Not quite. He was older. A senior in high school when I was in seventh grade. I had a crush on him, but he didn’t know it until much, much later. I was in my last year of college when he came home on a visit and noticed me. Really noticed me. We were married the day after I graduated. Then he was off again.”

“It was hard on you.” It didn’t sound like a question.

“Of course. But he laid it all out. I knew what it would be like. What mattered was that we loved each other.”

Ryker nodded. “Of course. I know he loved you more than anything on this earth.”

She felt her mouth twist. “Not quite. The Rangers were his first love. No competition there.”

Ryker surprised her then. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “I wouldn’t say that. I listened to him talk about you. Man, did he brag when you got your master’s degree. When you started teaching at the college here. He was so proud of you.”

“I was proud of him, too,” she answered simply. “I still am.” Then the grief speared her again. “When he took the job with the State Department, I thought he’d be safer!”

“He should have been, Marisa.”

Anguish twisted her gut. The baby reacted, kicking hard. “Well, he wasn’t.”

Ryker didn’t answer, not that she could blame him. How did you respond to that? She had no answers for herself, so how could anyone else? She leaned back in the rocker, giving her lungs a little more room, feeling the baby’s agitation like scalding criticism. She had to remain calm for her daughter.

Ryker remained silent, a sphinx full of secrets he was no more likely to share than Johnny had been. Why had he come? Because of Johnny? Probably. But to what purpose? What could he possibly do to make any of this better? “I don’t see the point of you coming.”

“To help in whatever way I can. Just to talk if that’s all you want from me. But I’m going to stay in town for a while, Marisa. I know my arrival is a shock, and I’m sorry. But I owe something to John.”

“John’s past caring,” she said bitterly.

“Not for me he isn’t. And if there’s anything I can do for you, I’ll do it, even if it’s just knocking down the icicles out front.”

She looked at him again and couldn’t mistake his determination. Wherever Johnny’s loss had forced her, it was clearly pushing this man, too. So they had something in common. Little enough.

She closed her eyes again, rocking gently, feeling her baby settle down, the pokes lessening. Peace returning. A hard-won peace. Acceptance hadn’t come easily, but it had come, although it hadn’t eased her grief one bit yet.

If there was any blessing in all of this, it was that during her marriage she’d grown accustomed to Johnny’s long absences. She didn’t expect to see him around every corner, didn’t expect to wake to find him beside her in bed, didn’t keep listening for the sound of his voice. Not every waking moment prodded her with reminders of his absence.

But the grief, anger and sometimes even despair often rolled over her like a tsunami, irresistible and agonizing. For all the holes in the past, there was a bigger one in the present.

Let it go, just let it go. The man nearby was grieving, too. Maybe together they could find some answers for each other. Not that life offered many answers. Things just seemed to happen.

She looked at Ryker again. He studied his hands, or maybe the floor. She couldn’t tell which. “How long will you be in town?”

“I don’t know. I do know that I’m not leaving immediately. And I have quite a bit of time.”

Meaning what, exactly? “So you were with Johnny in the Rangers, too?”

“We worked together on a number of missions.”

She accepted that, for now at least. “When he joined the State Department, I thought we’d be traveling a lot. I was looking forward to it. Only he got sent somewhere families can’t go.”

“I know. There are a lot of those places, unfortunately.”

“So what do you do?”

His smile was almost crooked. “Security. Keeping the embassy or consulates safe, and most especially the people who work there.”

“Johnny was a translator.” But of course he knew that. Her husband had a gift for languages. He soaked them up the way the grass soaked up the rain. She’d never found out exactly how many of them he knew. But then she’d never asked him to count them for her. When they’d been together, other things had seemed so much more important, the sharing and caring and lovemaking. The occasional time with old friends, but mostly... She lifted her head. “Our marriage was like one long honeymoon. When he was home we might as well have been on our own planet.”

Ryker’s face shadowed. “That’s wonderful.”

“I thought so. We never had enough time to take one another for granted.” Why was she telling him this? Was she reminding herself? Was it important somehow? “But one thing I took for granted was that we’d have a future. No matter where he went, I always believed he’d come home. I was a fool.”

“You were an optimist,” he corrected firmly. “How else could you do it?”

Good question, she supposed. No answer, but still a good question.

He spoke again. “Some of us do things with our lives that are very unfair to the people we love.”

“Are you married?”

He shook his head. “I envied John. He was happy with you, he trusted that you were strong enough to handle all this. I could never trust that much.”

“Maybe you were kinder.” She hated herself for saying it, but there it was. Johnny had trusted her to be able to handle this?

“No, I wasn’t kinder,” he said. “More selfish. Love ’em and leave ’em, that was me. My romantic past is strewn with ugliness. John at least made a commitment, tried to build something good. I not only envied him, I admired him for it.” Then he offered her something approximating a smile. “But then I never met a woman like you.”

“Meaning?”

“One who could put up with this. They always wanted me to change. You didn’t try to change John. Pretty special.”

“Trying to change someone is pointless.” Of this she was certain. “We are who we are, and if you can’t love someone just the way they are, then you don’t love them.”

“There’s a lot of wisdom in that.”

“Just truth.” She sighed. Facing up to reality again. Always painful these days. “So you weren’t with John when this happened?”

“I was in another country. A little far away to be of any use.”

“Johnny could take care of himself,” she said. “I guess that’s what’s bugging me as much as anything. He could take care of himself. This shouldn’t have happened.”

Ryker stirred. “No, it shouldn’t have. But a lot of things shouldn’t happen. I live in a world where things that shouldn’t happen often do. I’m just sorry you got dragged into it. I’m sorry John didn’t make it. I’m sorry as hell I got him the job. And I wish it had been my funeral, not his.”

She couldn’t doubt him, but this wasn’t right. She felt a stirring of self-disgust. All her dumping had done was make this man feel worse about something that had been out of his control. What kind of shrew was she becoming?

“Don’t say that, Ryker. Please. I’m not attacking you.”

“Why not? I deserve it. I saw my good friend talking about changing careers, and I found him a job. It’s my fault you’re grieving, and I know it. I should have just told him to come home to you and become a shopkeeper or something.”

That had the oddest effect on her. It booted her right out of her misery to a place where she could actually see some humor. The shift was instantaneous and shocking. She actually laughed. It sounded rusty, but it was real. “Tell me,” she said, “do you really think Johnny would have done that? Do you think he’d have taken that job you got him if it wasn’t what he really wanted to do? Come on, Ryker. Let’s be honest here. Johnny was Johnny, and he’d have made a lousy shopkeeper.”

Astonishingly, he smiled. It was a beautiful expression, erasing all the hardness from his face, nearly lighting up the room. Her heart quickened, but she barely noticed. “You’re right,” he said.

“Of course I’m right. He was an adventurer at heart. I knew it. I walked into it with my eyes open. That’s not making this hurt any less, but there was no way I was going to keep him stapled to my side for fifty years. If not this, then something else.”

He sat up, half nodding, half shaking his head. “Probably,” he agreed, then made an effort to change the subject. “Are you still teaching?”

“I’m on sabbatical until next fall.” She paused, then decided her reasoning needn’t be kept private. “It felt like too much to deal with—the baby, Johnny’s death. I couldn’t have focused on teaching. So I decided to focus on getting through this year, having the baby and taking some time to be a mother. Fall will be soon enough.”

Soon enough to try to resume a full life. Right now she wanted no part of it. Her life was all in a shambles, and she felt like she had to glue some of the pieces back together before she’d be any use to anyone. She tried to think of it as convalescence. Maybe it was sheer cowardice. An unwillingness to face more of the world than she had to, to deal with constant reminders that life went on. To deal with students who were young enough to be cheerfully falling in love or agonizing over not being asked for a date. For young people, even minor things were magnified. For her, she didn’t need a magnifying glass. She doubted she’d have patience for all that. She even doubted whether she’d be focused enough to be a good teacher.

Life had become an unending blur of pain punctuated by moments when she felt the joy of the coming child. A stark contrast that left her feeling continually off balance.

Ryker drew her attention back to him by rising. “I didn’t mean to intrude for so long. I just wanted you to know that I’m here. If it’s okay, I’ll stop by again in the morning.”

She didn’t move. “Where are you staying?”

“At the motel.”

She sighed. “Lovely place.”

“I’ve stayed in worse.” He moved toward the door. “Don’t see me out. And like I said, I’ll stop by in the morning. I don’t know about you, but I need some rest. Still adjusting to a major clock change. Jet lag.”

She looked up at him. “Where did you fly in from?”

A half smile. “Quite a few time zones to the east. Even more if you count to the west.”

A pang struck her. “Johnny used to say something like that. Really helpful.”

“I told you...”

She waved a hand. “I get it. Operational security.”

He paused and offered his hand. Reluctantly she took it, feeling warm, work-hardened skin. So familiar, but from a stranger. “Ryker...”

“We can talk more tomorrow.” He gave her hand a squeeze, then let himself out.

When Marisa heard the front door close, she felt at once a sense of relief and one of disappointment. There was more she wanted to ask. A lot more.

Well, he said he’d come back. Then she sat rocking and thinking about Ryker Tremaine. She didn’t quite trust him, even if he had been Johnny’s friend. How could she? He wouldn’t give her any more answers than her husband had.

Men who lived in the shadows, both of them. After all these years she was just beginning to understand how much.

Finally she rose, rubbing her back a bit, and went to lock the front door, something she didn’t usually do.

But the simple fact was, a stranger had come to her door, claiming to know Johnny. Maybe he did, but that alone didn’t make him trustworthy.

In all, the situation felt wrong. After all these months? Out of the blue without warning? Not even a condolence card? While she wasn’t yet prepared to reject the possibility that he was the “Artie” Johnny had sometimes mentioned, even that alone wasn’t enough to create trust.

He was a stranger. And while she might not care all that much about her own life, she did care about her baby.

When at last she went to bed, she rested on her side, feeling her daughter’s gentle stirrings, and staring into the darkness. She thought of Johnny, which was slowly growing easier, she thought about the child who would soon join her in this world and she thought about Ryker Tremaine.

Her sense of him was that he was a lot like Johnny in some ways. But different, too. Maybe even harder.

Or maybe this visit had been as difficult for him as it had been for her. She couldn’t imagine why he was planning to stay, was troubled by the fact that he wouldn’t say for how long, and realized that another box of secrets had just walked into her life.

Like she needed more of that. At last sleep freed her, giving her gentle dreams for a change, offering escape from a world that had too many hard edges.

Morning would come. Somehow, to her everlasting sorrow, it always did.

Chapter Two

Rising before the sun. The phrase had amused Marisa since childhood, especially since she was climbing out of bed at the same time as usual. The sun’s winter-delayed arrival always made her feel cozy somehow, and this morning was no different. By the time she finished showering and dressing in one of Johnny’s old flannel shirts and maternity jeans, faint gray light began to appear around the edges of the curtains.

In the kitchen she made her allotted few cups of coffee and decided to eat cinnamon oatmeal for breakfast. With a glass of milk, she swallowed her prenatal vitamin while she stirred the oatmeal.

She had just poured the oatmeal from the pan into the bowl when she heard a knock at her side door. Looking over, she saw Julie standing there and waving. Immediately she went to let her in.

“Gawd, it’s cold out there this morning,” Julie said, pulling back her hood and shaking out her long auburn hair. Green eyes danced. “Be glad you don’t have to be anywhere. After that thaw last week, it feels like an insult. Oatmeal, huh?”

“Want me to make you some?”

“Sweetie, I already gorged on Danish and coffee. Unlike you, I don’t have to worry about healthy eating.”

Marisa laughed lightly. “Not yet, anyway.”

“I know, I know, it’ll catch up with me. All our sins do. So, dish.”

“Dish?”

Julie pulled out a chair without unzipping her jacket and sat, arching a brow at her. “Did you really think a mysterious man could show up on your doorstep last evening and that your neighbor Fiona would miss it? Or that she wouldn’t call me and probably half the rest of the town? Sit, eat.”

Marisa brought the bowl of oatmeal and a milky mug of coffee to the table. Julie eyed the coffee. “Still on restriction?”

Marisa shook her head. “Not now. The doc says I can have more, it’s not risky. But now...I don’t want any more.”

“Hah. They retrain us. Anyway, the guy last night.”

“Fiona. Does she report on every breath I take?”

“You know her better than that. But last night was something new. Everyone needs something new to talk about. So, who was he?” Julie waited eagerly.

“He says he worked with Johnny for years.”

Julie’s smile faded. “What’s wrong, Marisa? Did he scare you?”

“I don’t know what to make of him, that’s all. He said a few things, so yes he knew Johnny but...it seems kind of late to be making a social call. He certainly doesn’t know me. And he’s talking about Johnny wanting him to check on me.”

“Well, that sounds like Johnny.”

Marisa’s head popped up, a spoonful of oatmeal in her hand. “What do you mean by that?”

Julie bit her lip, finally shrugged and said, “Johnny asked me to keep an eye on you if... Well, you get it.”

“He did?” Anger billowed in Marisa. “He asked you that, and you never told me?”

Julie put up a hand. “He asked me not to. Don’t bite my head off. But, frankly, I could see his point.”

Marisa put down her spoon and gripped the edge of the table. “See what point?”

“The point that he was going away for months at a time to do a dangerous job, and sometimes his feet touched ground long enough to worry about you. He didn’t want to share that with you because you might worry about him more. It was always understood, wasn’t it, that Johnny would come home?”

The oatmeal was beginning to congeal. Marisa pushed it to the side, her appetite utterly gone. More secrets, now one that had been shared with her best friend. What else hadn’t Johnny told her? She guessed at some of it, but now she wondered. “What else?”

“That was it,” Julie answered quietly. “You know Johnny. He made light of it when he asked me, but I could tell he was serious. I’d have looked after you, anyway. You’re my best friend.”

Numbness was slowly replacing anger. Julie popped up. “Let me make you some fresh oatmeal.”

“I don’t want it anymore. Maybe I’ll make some later.”

Julie paused beside her, squeezing her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I honestly didn’t think that telling you that would.”

“No?” Craning her neck, Marisa looked up at her. “How many other things didn’t he tell me?”

“God,” Julie breathed. Slowly she returned to her chair. “Don’t take it like that. We all know he couldn’t talk about his work. It wasn’t like he was running around confiding in everyone except you. That was it, Marisa, I swear. Given that he had a dangerous job, why should it surprise anyone that he asked a handful of close people to help you out if something went wrong? Seems more thoughtful than secretive to me.”

Maybe Julie was right. Gripping her mug in both hands, Marisa tried to swallow the coffee before it cooled down too much and warmed her not at all. But this on the heels of last night...she felt alarm flags popping up inside her. Had she ever known her husband at all?

“Damn it,” Julie muttered. “The last thing on earth I wanted to do was make you feel bad. I just came over to hear about Mr. Mysterious, and look what I’ve done.”

Marisa didn’t answer immediately. Julie had been her friend since kindergarten, and she had to believe her. So Johnny had been worried. Well, he’d kind of explained the possibility when they were dating. He’d been in the Rangers, after all. Going into combat and who knew what else. She certainly didn’t. How would anything have changed if he’d told her he’d asked friends to check on her if something happened? Not at all. She would still have moved forward with the certainty that he would always return, because any other possibility was unthinkable. Johnny had seemed to believe that himself. Maybe she was more troubled by the realization that he’d been acutely aware that he might not come back. If so, he hadn’t shared that with her. Another in his long line of omissions, most of which hadn’t bothered her. So why was this getting to her?

“So,” Julie said eventually, “I’ve got only a few minutes before I have to get to work. I want to hear about this friend of Johnny’s.”

Marisa struggled back to the present moment. “Not much to say. He’s in town for a few days. He wanted to see how I was doing mainly because Johnny asked him to at one time or another.”

“But it took him six months to get here?”

Marisa nodded. “Same kind of job as Johnny’s. Anyway, I gather from what he said that he heard I was pregnant and that galvanized him to get here. He said something about how Johnny had mentioned that I was safe here, among friends. So maybe it didn’t seem all that critical.”

“Or,” Julie said fairly, “he simply couldn’t get away.”

“Maybe.”

“So...” Julie grinned. “Is he gorgeous?”

“Julie!” Marisa’s shock caused her to gasp. “Are you kidding?”

“No, perfectly serious. Johnny wouldn’t want you to bury yourself, and a calendar is a poor way to measure grief. I always thought that old thing about wearing widows weeds for a year was a bit over the top. I mean, you grieve however long you grieve. There’s not some magic date when it stops. As for everything else—” she pushed back from the table and stood “—you’re still here, hon. You should snap at anything good that happens by, or the next fifty years are going to be awful. At least enjoy having a new face around for a few days. I’m off!”

Anything good that happens by? Really? Emotionally she still felt like a train wreck most of the time. Snap at life? The only snapping she’d like to do was angry.

Then her baby stirred again, reminding her she did indeed have to carry on. She scraped the oatmeal into the trash and made herself a fresh bowl to eat with her second cup of coffee.

Slowly, as the warm oatmeal and coffee hit her system, calm began to settle over her. When she was done eating, she sat for a while with her eyes closed, her hands on her belly, and concentrated on the new life growing inside her.

She already loved her child. It hadn’t taken long for that to happen. At first, during the darkest days, she’d hated her pregnancy almost as if it were a promise that would never be fulfilled. She’d gone through the motions of taking care of herself only because she had to. But then had come the day when she had felt the first movement. Even in the midnight of her soul, she’d felt an incredible burst of joy, a connection she had never imagined possible before she even saw the child. Her baby was growing inside her, and it was indeed a promise. Her child, her love. An unbreakable link was forged with those first tiny, almost bubble-like movements.

The future did hold something good, she reminded herself. It held this baby, Johnny’s final gift, a new life she needed to live for and work for. A purpose, a joy, a journey. Her imaginings might have turned to dust with Johnny, but now there were new imaginings. Maybe it was time to quit fighting with herself and just get on with setting up the nursery, making sure she had everything a baby would need. Maybe it was time to accept Julie’s repeated offer of a baby shower. Time to stiffen her spine and start taking steps of her own choice into all the tomorrows to come.

Because if she was sure of anything, it was that she couldn’t remain like this, paralyzed and hunkered down. If she didn’t change it now, she’d be changing it in a few months because life would force it on her.

Maybe it was time to stop being a victim.

* * *

The doorbell rang shortly after she finished washing her breakfast dishes and absently wiping the counters clean. Ryker, she thought. No one else she knew in Conard City would come by at this time of day. She’d half expected never to see him again. She hadn’t been exactly welcoming last night, and he could have called his duty to Johnny done. He’d checked on her. What more could Johnny have expected of him, of a man who was a stranger to her?

She dried her hands on a towel, smoothed her still-damp hair back quickly, then went to answer the door. She half hoped it was Fiona, who lived next door, coming to try to pry some more gossip out of her. Fiona, she often thought, needed to get a job now that her two children spent all day in school. She clearly didn’t have enough to do with her time. Of course, who was Marisa to criticize anyone else for that?

But as she had half feared, she opened the door to see Ryker. He looked more rested, his face less like granite this morning. Sunlight reflected almost blindingly off the snow.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly. He offered a small white bag. “Bagels from your local bakery. I figured they couldn’t be too bad for you. Want me to knock down those icicles?”

She felt as if a whirlwind had just blown into her quiet life. “The icicles are really bothering you,” she remarked, suddenly remembering that he’d mentioned them last night.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Most of them aren’t too dangerous, but why let them grow? Got a broomstick?”

Arguing seemed utterly pointless. She gave him her broom, then listened to the dull thuds from the porch as he took down the icicles. In the kitchen, she opened the bag he’d brought, and her nose immediately filled with the amazing smell of oven-fresh bagels. For the first time that morning, she became genuinely hungry. Melinda, the bakery owner, had also tossed in a few small containers of cream cheese. At that point it seemed churlish not to set out a couple of plates and make some fresh coffee.

Ryker came in, bringing the cold and the broom with him. “All done. Where should I put this?”

She pointed to the pantry door at the back of the kitchen. “Just inside there. Thank you.”

“Safety, that’s my thing,” he said as he put the broom away and shucked his jacket, revealing a gray flannel shirt that made his eyes and hair look even darker. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m okay.” It was the best she could say. “I made coffee to go with the bagels. Do you drink it?”

“By the gallon. But you don’t have to feed me just because—”

She interrupted him, feeling a sense of desperation. “Let’s get past this, okay? Maybe you showed up out of nowhere without any warning. Maybe I don’t know you from Adam, but you’re here because of Johnny. One way or another we should both respect his wishes. He wanted you to check on me. I’m not going to tell you to get lost, at least not right away. You brought breakfast, which was nice, and I do have enough manners left to invite you to enjoy it with me. Okay?”

For a couple of seconds he didn’t move, then a smile spread slowly. “Cutting to the chase, huh?”

“As much as I can. We can spend the next few hours fencing around, but honestly, I hate wasting time like that. Especially now. Sit down. Eat. I’ll join you. Thank you for the bagels.”

With a snort like a laugh, he took the chair she indicated at the kitchen table. The bagels were already sliced, so all they had to do was spread the cream cheese. Melinda, the bakery owner, had remembered that Marisa liked hers with chives. She hadn’t had room to feel much outside her own pained universe for the past few months, but she was touched now by Melinda’s thoughtfulness. So many good people around here, and she’d been avoiding most of them.

Maybe Ryker’s arrival had jarred her out of her self-preoccupation. Was grief selfish? She supposed it was.

At least he didn’t tell her to sit while he got the coffee, or otherwise imply that she wasn’t perfectly healthy. Lately, on the rare occasions she visited with her friends, they wanted her to let them take care of everything, as if she were an invalid. She understood they felt helpless to do much about anything else, but really, she was in good health and capable of getting a cup of coffee for someone.

But then the awkwardness returned. Ryker decided to pierce it. “I probably know more about you than you do about me,” he remarked. “Johnny talked about you from time to time, but I gather he said little about me.”

“He mentioned R.T. a couple of times, but, no, he didn’t say much. But then he didn’t talk much about his friends in the Rangers or later. It was like when he came home, he turned all that off.”

“Probably wise,” Ryker said. He washed down a mouthful of bagel with some coffee. “Compartmentalizing, we call it. Keeping things separate. Why would he want to bring any of that home to you?”

“But he talked about me,” she argued.

“Once in a while. Sometimes everyone talked about home. Sometimes we needed to remember that there was a place or a person we wanted to get back to. The rest of the time we couldn’t afford the luxury.”

That hit her hard, but she faced it head-on. Remembering home had been a luxury? That might have been the most important thing anyone had told her about what Johnny had faced and done.

“I didn’t know him at all,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut, once again feeling the shaft of pain.

“You knew the best part of him. That mattered to him, Marisa. You gave him a place where that part could flourish.”

“But why?” she asked, opening her eyes. “Why do you get into this? This kind of life?”

“I can’t speak for Johnny. Only for myself.”

“Then tell me.”

“I was young, hotheaded and determined to do something important with my life. And in case you start to wonder, Johnny did a lot of very important things. But we don’t know what it’ll cost when we cross the line and take up the work. We have no idea in hell what we’re getting into. No one can.”

She managed a stiff nod and tried to eat some more bagel. The baby kicked, then she felt a little foot or hand trail slowly along her side.

“Anyway,” Ryker continued after finishing half a bagel, “we do it for a variety of reasons. I wanted excitement. Exotic places. A sense of mission and purpose. Adrenaline junkie, I guess.”

“And Johnny?”

Ryker spread his hand. “By the time I met him, I couldn’t have guessed a thing about why. By then he was one of us. And as you so correctly said last night, by then he wouldn’t have been happy with a tamer life. Somehow, I guess that’s how we’re built.” He frowned faintly and looked past her. “I don’t know if I can make you understand, or even find the right words. But there’s a point where the mission becomes everything. It motivates every breath we take. Not for everyone, mind you. But for some of us...well, we get hooked. We don’t just carry the sword, we are the sword.” He shrugged and picked up another piece of bagel. “Unfortunately, the world needs swords. I’d have made a lousy plowshare, I guess.”

The reference didn’t escape her. Her stomach turned over, and for a few seconds she felt so nauseated she wondered if she’d have to run to the bathroom.

But memories floated back, instants out of time, just brief things she had heard or seen with Johnny, moments when he had seemed almost like someone else. Moments when she glimpsed the sword. They always passed swiftly, wiped away by a ready smile, but she’d seen them. She just hadn’t wanted to remember them.

But recalling them now, she felt just awful that Johnny had felt the need to hide a very big part of himself from her. She’d have loved him no matter what. Hadn’t he trusted her?

“We also get older,” Ryker continued. “So we change some more. I’m nearly forty. Too damn old for this business. Johnny was starting to feel the same way. So after I moved over to State, he asked me to let him know if something opened up.”

“How could you give up the rush?”

Another faint smile. Her insides prickled with unwanted awareness of him as a man. She shoved it quickly aside, and guilt replaced it. At least he was speaking.

“It’s possible to get one without being the pointy tip of the sword. Besides, it’s important to know when the time has come. You can shift without giving up the mission or your sense of purpose. It’s safer for everyone. Johnny had started to think more about you, about being with you more.”

Her breath caught. “He told you that?”

“Actually, yes. When he asked me to let him know if there was a position for him, he said it, Marisa. He said he was thinking about all the time he’d missed being with you, and that he was ready to start down a different road. Unfortunately...”

“Yes,” she said tightly. Unfortunately. Johnny had said the same thing when he told her was trying to get a job with the State Department. We’ll have more time together. We’ll even be able to travel together once in a while. I’ll need to work my way up a little higher on the food chain, but think of the places we could visit.

How much of that had been real? “Just last night you said he knew it could be dangerous.”

“It’s always dangerous,” Ryker said bluntly. “Always. But I didn’t think it would get him killed.”

Nor had she. In her blissful ignorance, she had forgotten all the places in the world where a State Department employee would be unwelcome. No, she’d been thinking of London, Paris, Tokyo...not little out-of-the-way consulates in dangerous countries. But of course Johnny wouldn’t shy away from the dangers. He never had.

She needed to get away from this, at least for now. Ryker was shifting her mental images around like a puzzle, and she wasn’t sure she would like the new picture. “So, more about you,” she said.

“I was born,” he said.

Despite everything, she felt her mood rising to a much lighter place, and realized she desperately needed it. “That’s it?” she asked, surprised to hear a tremor of humor in her voice.

“No, of course that’s not it. I had, still have, family. I grew up like a normal kid, two parents and a sister. My parents are retired now, and my sister lives in New Zealand. I get to see her once every few years. And that’s where normal ended, I guess. The military called to me like a siren. My imaginings were very different from reality. But I think I mentioned that. Anyway, since then my home has been my job.”

None of that told her very much, but what had she been expecting? “That could be lonely.”

“I haven’t noticed it, except occasionally.” The way he spoke led her to believe there had been times when it had been incredibly lonely. She wondered if Johnny had felt that way sometimes, too. And why.

“So you’re going back to teaching in the fall?”

She nodded. “I hope I’m ready by then. I’d be a lousy teacher right now.”

“How are you filling your days?”

“Trying to get through them.”

The words lay there, stark and revealing. More than she had wanted to say to this stranger, more than she had even said to her friends. The fact that hell lived inside her was not something she felt compelled to inflict on her friends. She tried to keep it to herself as much as humanly possible. She knew she didn’t do the best job of it, but she still made the effort.

“Everything’s okay with the baby, though?”

“Fine.” It wasn’t really his business.

“And a nursery? Have you put one together?”

She felt a prickle of guilt. Her pregnant friends had usually attacked the nursery business early and had things ready months in advance. For some reason she had been postponing it, as if she could stay in this state of stasis forever. Unrealistic. Ducking. Evading what she couldn’t have said. “No. There’s a crib in the basement that was Johnny’s. I thought I’d use that.”

“Need help getting it up here?”

It was clear he wanted to do something more than knock down a few icicles. Well, this was one task where help would be welcome. “Yes, actually I do.”

She had just given him a wedge to drive farther into her life. She hoped like hell she didn’t regret it.

* * *

Glad of a useful job to do, Ryker headed downstairs to the basement. Marisa had told him where to find the crib, and he didn’t have any trouble locating it. The basement was clean, scrupulously organized and stocked with every tool a man could wish for. The only thing that bothered him was that the laundry machines were down here. That meant Marisa was going up and down those narrow steps at least once a week, and when the baby came she’d have to do them even more often. He didn’t like it. The railing didn’t seem stout enough; the steps were too narrow. How often would she attempt them with a baby in her arms? He hated to think.

But as he carried the awkwardly sized pieces of the crib frame up one by one, he had the opportunity to think about Johnny and Marisa, and his opinion was changing.

Had Johnny even once considered how his death would gut his wife? Had he ever looked at her and wondered what would become of her? In just a short time Ryker had gleaned a decent impression of the price Marisa was paying, a price compounded by the impending arrival of a child she would now have to care for on her own. He had no doubt she could do it, but there’d be no handy dad to spell her when she got tired or needed a break.

Lots of women did it. He got it. But Marisa should have had Johnny to lean on. Of course, Johnny had been so busy pursuing his new goals that maybe he’d have been no help at all.

Thoughts such as these had been one of the main reasons Ryker had avoided every opportunity to settle down. It wasn’t just that women wanted to change him. No, they had a right to expect certain things from a husband, things he couldn’t provide.

And the lie. The big lie. That they would travel together? Johnny would likely have never been assigned to any station where he could take his family. Not with his skills.

And another lie, his own. He and Johnny didn’t work for the State Department. They worked for the CIA. State was their cover. He hated having to perpetuate that with Marisa. At this point she deserved something better than lies. She certainly deserved to know about a black star on a marble wall at Langley that would never bear Johnny’s name.

But the simple fact was, the agency would put up the star, but it might never acknowledge that John had been one of them. It had happened before and would happen again, and setting Marisa on a quest to break through that huge barrier to truth seemed fruitless. Some names were never inscribed in the book, which was guarded as well as the crown jewels. Some families were never invited to the annual memorial ceremony. Some were never told what their loved ones had done. Some were left forever with stories such as those Marisa had been told because even one slip might cause an irreparable harm.

He didn’t even know himself exactly what had happened to John. He’d never know. But he didn’t like giving her the cover story when she deserved the truth.

But maybe the truth would upset her more. Maybe knowing that all that talk about exotic travel had been most likely lies would only compound sins that never seemed to stop compounding.

He’d been at this business longer than John had; he was more used to deceptions that went with it. But he found himself getting sick to the gills of it. That woman up there reminded him that secrecy had repercussions. Horrible repercussions. At least if John had been killed in a combat mission with the Rangers, she’d have been given some information about where, when and how that was truthful. Instead, she’d been given a lie. A street mugging?

Not much closure, especially when she was right that John could have taken care of himself.

He brought the springs up to the bedroom she had indicated. Her room, he guessed, at the back of the house. She wanted the child near. She was already working over the wood with a damp rag. He looked at the springs, though, and wondered if they should be replaced. A few rusty spots marred them.

“Can we get new springs for the crib?” We, as if he belonged.

She let it pass, though, and stepped over to look. “Maybe I should.”

“Can you get them in town?”

“I can order them. I know I need to order a mattress.”

But not a whole new crib. He didn’t need brilliant insight to understand that. “Let me measure them, then. Can you just call to order them?”

“Freitag’s?” She smiled faintly. “They’ll order anything anyone around here wants. We used to have a catalog store, but that closed. Miracle of the internet.”

“Where do I find a tape measure?”

He found it in the kitchen drawer she had directed him to and returned with it and the memo pad and pen from the fridge. He measured the frame, made notes about how it bolted to the bed, then joined her in wiping down the wood. At last she sat on the edge of her bed, holding her stomach and laughed. “That felt good!”

“Yeah? Somehow I think you need to tell that to your back.”

“How did you guess?”

“Because mine would have been aching after being bent over all that time.” He stepped back and looked at the crib. “It’s a very nice piece of furniture.”

“Johnny’s grandfather built it for him. Carpentry was his hobby.”

“A great heirloom then.” He looked again at the springs. “You know, I should probably take this back downstairs and work on it with some oil and rust remover. Maybe it doesn’t need to be replaced.”

She shook her head. “I want new springs if I can get them. Babies bounce when they get old enough to stand. I wouldn’t trust it.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed, and carted it back down to the basement. He could also put some wood slats in place to replace the springs, he thought. Peg them in so they couldn’t slip out.

But why was he even thinking of such things? He had no place here, and no sense of how long Marisa would tolerate him. Worse, with every passing hour he was building the wall of lies higher.

Sometimes he just hated himself.

When he got back upstairs, he found Marisa in the kitchen. She was nibbling on some carrots, and a plate of them sat at the center of the table as if in invitation to him.

“Mind if I get some coffee?” he asked.

“Help yourself. Make fresh if you want. And thanks for your help with the crib.”

“No big deal.” He filled a mug and sat across from her. She appeared pensive, so he waited for her to speak.

“You know, I don’t want to use springs in that crib at all. I shouldn’t need them. They look dangerous to me, and my friends all have mattresses that just sit on brackets around the outside of the crib.”

He summoned a mental picture. “That would work. I could add some more brackets for you easily enough. The way it looks now, you only have four of them.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I’d need them all the way around so the mattress is higher. You know, so fingers or hands couldn’t poke out.”

“Easy enough.”

Then she smiled faintly. “And that’s part of the reason for crib bumpers, I guess.” A little shake of her head. “I need to get on the stick about this, don’t I?”

“You’ve got a little time.”

“Not a whole lot.” She held out her hand. “Pad? Pen?”

He’d forgotten he’d tucked them into his breast pocket and turned them over immediately.

“So, hardware for angle brackets and screws, right? Say eight of them?”

“Maybe twelve. And they should be wide, not too narrow.”

She wrote. “Then mattress, bumpers, sheets, blankets...” Her voice trailed off. “I let this go too long.”

“You’ve still got time, right?”

“Another ten weeks.”

“That’s plenty,” he said bracingly. “Your friends and I will help if you let us.” Then he took a leap into a potential briar patch. “I don’t like those basement stairs of yours.”

She looked up from her writing. “Why?”

“Too narrow, and the railing isn’t sturdy enough. “You shouldn’t be climbing them right now, but with a baby in your arms or on your hip...” He let it hang, and braced for her justifiable anger. Just who the hell did he think he was? She’d have every right to demand that of him.

She frowned, then sighed. “You’re right. I hate those stairs.”

“I can fix them.”

At that her head jerked back. “Ryker, you just dropped by to do your duty to Johnny. You checked on me. Are you planning to move in?”

A justified question. But he was feeling a need, a strong need to atone and make up for things, including the lies he kept telling by omission as much as anything. His answer, though, surprised even him. “For a change I’d like to actually build something.”

Something passed over her face—whether sorrow or something else, he wasn’t sure. “Why should I trust you?” she asked finally. “You think I can’t tell you’re keeping secrets?”

“John kept secrets, too,” he said. “And by the way, John trusted me, or I wouldn’t be here now.”

She debated. He could see it. He wondered how much faith she’d lost in her husband just by the few things he’d told her. He’d certainly tried to avoid telling her that she’d been fed some outright lies. He didn’t feel good about it, but that was the job. Besides, he owed it to John to protect her from the ugly truths.

“What would you do to the stairs?” she asked.

“For one thing, the steps need to be wider. So it’ll stretch farther into the basement, but there’s room. And I’d give you a rail on both sides strong enough that if you grab or fall against them, they won’t collapse.”

She nodded slowly, giving him his first sense that he might actually be getting somewhere with her. “I’d like that,” she admitted.

He rose and reached for the jacket he’d slung over the back of the chair earlier. “I’ve imposed too much. See you tomorrow.”

Before she could answer, he headed for the door. Coming here hadn’t eased his sense of guilt in the least. He’d better watch his step before he carried that woman into another thicket of lies, a thicket worse than the one left to her by John.

He was, after all, still CIA. And while he might have a few months off, that didn’t mean he should spend them weaving another trap for an innocent woman. She’d paid a high enough price already for loving the wrong man.

Chapter Three

Ryker’s departure left Marisa feeling adrift again. Maybe she’d been too quick to take such a long sabbatical. No, she couldn’t have handled teaching in the fall, but now that months had passed, she itched at times to have a schedule, to have things that needed doing. A point, a purpose, beyond wallowing in grief and taking care of her health and the child in her womb.

Johnny’s death had inalterably changed her life, but she had managed his absences before by keeping a busy, full life. These days she’d all but cut off her friends.

And Ryker. He intrigued her. She felt the hardness in him at times, but she felt more there. As if he were reaching out for something, too. He’d helped her with the crib, and he said he wanted to fix her basement stairs. God, she hated those stairs. For years now she’d stood at the top of them and thrown her laundry down because she couldn’t safely carry it.

It would be nice to get them fixed, but his words had struck her even more: Ryker had said he wanted to build something for a change. If that wasn’t one of the saddest statements she’d ever heard...

He’d said he handled security for the State Department. She wondered if that job was even more dangerous than Johnny’s. Johnny, after all, had gone as a translator. But Ryker being involved in security sounded even more hazardous. Yet he seemed to accept those kinds of risks casually, which was chilling, in a way.

But then, hadn’t Johnny done the same?

She tried to fight the downward spiral her thoughts were taking again. Reality decreed she had to carry on. Indulging a grief that would never leave her didn’t seem to get her anywhere. One foot in front of the other. How many times had she reminded herself of that?

Julie showed up again in the late afternoon, an unusual number of visits for one day. Apparently Julie was concerned about something. Her? Ryker’s presence?

Anyway, it was a relief to see her cheerful face breeze into the house. Julie had apparently taken the bit between her teeth. While she gabbed humorously about her day with “those imps,” as she sometimes referred to her kindergarten class, she dove into the refrigerator and started pulling out food.

“I didn’t want to eat alone,” she remarked. “You up to a chicken casserole?”

“Absolutely.” Marisa sat back, enjoying Julie’s minor whirlwind.

“Just us, or will your new friend be here?”

“I’m not expecting him.”

Julie paused, package of skinless chicken breasts in hand. “Why not? Did he leave?”

“I doubt it. He wants to rebuild my basement stairs.”

“I love him already. Those things have been worrying me. So call him.”

“Call him? Why?”

“Because in this case three might be company. I mean, sheesh, Marisa, the guy came to look you up because of Johnny. How rude do you want to be?”

Marisa felt her stomach lurch. What was Julie doing? Was she being rude? She hadn’t asked Ryker to come visit; he’d just arrived without warning. She didn’t owe him a thing...or did she?

“He helped bring the crib upstairs,” she said slowly.

“Good man. So you’re finally facing the inevitability. Great. And that means we can throw a baby shower for you. My gosh, girl, the presents have already been bought. We’ve just been waiting for you to agree. And if you don’t, you’re going to have the shower around your hospital bed. So don’t you think it’d be best to know what you already have before you start shopping?”

Marisa felt an urge to giggle rising in the pit of her stomach. “You sound manic.”

“Comes from dealing with five-year-olds. Can’t keep their attention for long. Talking rapidly is necessary. You never noticed before?”

“I guess not.”

Julie rolled her eyes. “Call the man. He must be at the motel. Besides, I want to size him up. Protective urges also go with being a teacher.”

And a friend, Marisa thought. But Julie had leavened her mood, and she decided she wouldn’t at all mind hearing Julie’s opinion of Ryker. Right now she herself couldn’t make up her mind about the man. He’d zoomed in from nowhere, and experience with Johnny had taught her that he’d zoom away again just as unexpectedly, and probably without any explanation except he had to return to work. She also wondered if Julie would sense the secretiveness in him, would also feel that Ryker was withholding important information.

Because, honestly, she didn’t quite trust the man, whatever his association with Johnny.

Julie left the food on the counter and got them both some coffee. Sitting at the table with her felt good and familiar. “Call him,” she said more gently. “A second opinion is good and, frankly, I’ve been wondering about him all day. Strangers make me uneasy. So let’s sort it out.”

With an almost leaden hand, Marisa reached for the wall phone and called the motel. One click, and then a voice answered. “Ryker Tremaine.”

“Ryker, it’s Marisa. My friend Julie and I wondered if you want to join us at my house for dinner. Nothing fancy, just chicken casserole.”

Julie grabbed the phone from her hand. “Hi, Ryker, this is Julie. Believe me, my chicken casserole is fancy. Say an hour? We can chat while it cooks. Thanks. Looking forward to it.”

Then Julie hung up the phone.

“Why did you do that?” Marisa demanded. She may have been living in a state of near paralysis for months now, but she was still capable of making a phone call.

“Because,” Julie said frankly, “you sounded like you didn’t want him to come.”

“Maybe I don’t!”

“Too late now.” Julie grinned. “I’m going to get you out of that shell before it hardens into an unbreakable habit. Anyway, I need to start cubing the chicken.”

Marisa’s curiosity overwhelmed her irritation. It always did with Julie. “What did he say? Did he hesitate?”

“No hesitation. Just asked for time to shower since he was out running.”

Marisa’s gaze drifted to the window, still frosty in many places. “In this?”

“The tough get going,” Julie tossed back as she rose and pulled out the cutting board. “Did you exercise today?”

“I forgot.” The realization shocked her. What had happened to the entire day? Had she just sat here brooding for all these hours?

“Bad girl. If you want to ride your exercise bike while I cook, go for it.”

Marisa had a recumbent bike to ride every day. It had become too risky to walk outside with patches of ice scattered everywhere, and the bike was designed so that she could lean back and leave plenty of room for her belly. “No. One day off won’t kill me.”

“Probably not, but you know what the doc said. More exercise means easier labor.”

“Like he knows for sure.”

Julie giggled. “It’s got to be better, and you know it. For bunches of reasons. But you’re right, one day off won’t kill you. Now enjoy your cup of coffee and watch me slave after a long day of sitting in chairs that are way too small for me and listening to piping voices that never quiet down unless I roll out the nap mats.”

However Julie talked about it, Marisa was certain that she loved teaching kindergarten. She’d had a chance to change grades more than once, but she stuck with her five-year-olds.

“Formative years,” Julie had explained once, but Marisa had always believed that Julie got a kick out of the little ones. She also believed that getting them young gave her the best chance to instill a joy in learning. “Not that some other teacher won’t knock it out of them,” she had added wryly. “But I can’t do anything about that. All I can do is give them the best start.”

“Well, they’ve sure lost their interest by the time they get to me,” Marisa had retorted.

“That’s your fault,” Julie had answered. “You should have majored in something besides the classics and dead gods.”

Much to her surprise, Marisa felt her mood elevating. Having dinner with Julie and Ryker might well be enjoyable, especially since Julie never pulled her punches.

But the instant she felt her spirits improve, she felt guilty, and her thoughts tried to return to Johnny and his death. For the first time, it occurred to her that she shouldn’t feel guilty every time she enjoyed something. In her heart of hearts, she knew Johnny wouldn’t have wanted that. She shouldn’t want it, either. Grieving was hard enough without adding guilt to the mix every time she knew a few moments of respite from the loss. Julie was right, fifty years was too long to waste.

So she pushed the guilt down and focused instead on the here and now. Julie been trying to tell her for some time that there was no proper way to grieve, no set of requirements to be met. Her heart had been ripped wide open, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t allow herself to heal.

Locking herself in a permanent purgatory helped no one. It didn’t bring Johnny back, and it wouldn’t be fair to her baby. Time for some stiff upper lip.

“I was thinking it’s time to shop for the baby,” she remarked as Julie began to scoop chicken and vegetables into the casserole.

“I saw the list on the fridge. About time, kiddo. But first we’ll have the shower. Friday evening. Then I can go shopping with you on Saturday. Or if you really want to splurge, we can go to Casper or Denver. It might do you some good to get away.”

Indeed it might. “You’re the best, Julie.”

“I know.” Julie flashed a grin over her shoulder. “The world spins because of me.”

Marisa actually laughed. That made two laughs in one day. Maybe she was improving.

Ryker arrived just as Julie was popping the casserole into the oven and setting a timer. “I’ll get it,” she said when the bell rang. “I want a first view all to myself.”

“Do you want a spear and shield, too?” Marisa tried to joke.

“My tongue can take care of all that. Just relax.”

Marisa listened to the greetings at the door and thought it all sounded pleasant enough. Julie apparently gave Ryker time to doff his jacket and gloves in the hall, then the two of them returned to the kitchen. She didn’t feel tension between them, but somehow she didn’t think that would last. She knew Julie too well.

Once they were all seated around the wooden table, Julie plunged right into the inquisition. “So what took you so long to get here?”

Ryker arched one brow. “Meaning?”

“Well, the funeral was nearly six months ago. Most planes are faster than that.”

Marisa battled an urge to quell Julie, realizing that she needed to hear some of this, too. And count on Julie to address it baldly.

Ryker rested his arms on the table. He wore a gray Yale sweatshirt that looked as if it had seen a lot of washings. “It depends on whether we can take a break,” he answered. “I couldn’t get away. Not then.”

“But six months?”

Marisa felt this was a bit unfair. She opened her mouth to say so, but Ryker spoke first. “Sometimes one is in a situation that one can’t walk away from. Not even for the death of a family member.”

“Now that’s mysterious,” Julie popped back. “I guess it’ll stay that way, won’t it?”

“I’m afraid so. There are things I can’t talk about. Marisa knows that. There were things Johnny couldn’t talk about, either.”

“I get it,” Julie said pleasantly enough. “So, what happened to Johnny? And how about a truthful version?”

Relax? Julie had told her to relax and now she was delving into this? Marisa wanted to get up and leave, but Julie had arranged her chair so that Marisa couldn’t. Damn!

“I was told the same thing Marisa was. That’s all I know.”

“Officially, anyway,” Julie said bluntly. “I guess that’s all anyone will know.”

Then Ryker surprised Marisa by getting angry. He’d seemed so self-contained until that moment, but a definite edge crept into his voice, and his dark eyes sparked. “That’s more than some people get, Julie. Some never know anything at all.” He started to push back from the table, but Julie’s hand shot out and caught him by the arm. He looked at her grip on him, and Marisa was sure he could have shaken it away like a fly.

“I’m sorry,” Julie said. “I’m worried about Marisa. She’s my friend, and you popped up out of nowhere at a very late date.”

Ryker turned his gaze on Marisa. “You couldn’t have asked me this yourself? You needed someone else to speak for you?”

“I asked you last night,” she reminded him, her heart thumping. He appeared to relax a hair, and Julie released his arm.

“Look,” he said, “I didn’t come here to make your life harder. I came because John asked me to. I came as soon as I could get away. But if it’ll save you problems, I can leave right now. I’d feel bad about it, because I said I’d be here for you, but if you don’t want me around, then it hardly matters what I promised.”

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