REILLY'S RETURN

by Amelia Autin

  When she was done she sighed and turned over, hoping for sleep, but every time she breathed she smelled Reilly's dark, masculine scent on her pillow, and her heart ached.

  She searched her soul for answers and found none that satisfied her. She'd thought she had already dredged out the well of anger and resentment she'd discovered in herself earlier, but it must have gone deeper than she'd known. It had only taken a few condemning words from Reilly to bring it welling up again.

  It's all gone so horribly wrong. I should have told Reilly about Cody before we made love. It wasn't fair to let him find out afterwards, when he was most vulnerable. Even then, I should have explained calmly, rationally. Instead, I hurt him and kept on hurting him. I wanted to see him bleed as I was bleeding inside when he looked at me that way.

  She shifted her head on the pillow, Reilly's earlier words taunting her. So much for your deathless love, Mandy. She flexed her hand, imagining she could still feel the sting from when she'd struck him.

  He was right to say that. At least that's how it looked to him. I did sleep with Cody when Reilly had been dead only a few months. It's not much of an excuse to say I was grieving for him and for—

  "No," she whispered to herself, fighting tears and memories both. She wouldn't think about the baby now. She couldn't bear it. Losing Reilly had torn out her heart. Losing his baby, losing that last precious link with the man she loved, had ripped out her soul, leaving her bereft of hope.

  Even now she wouldn't let herself think of that time. She wouldn't, couldn't go down that road again, not when her emotions were already raw.

  She turned over restlessly, punching her pillow, and telling herself that if she didn't get some sleep she was going to be useless in the morning. Both men had long since fallen asleep; Reilly's steady breathing in the still room was punctuated by Cody's gentle snores, both sounds coming and going with regularity through the darkness.

  Her thoughts gave her no respite. I said I wasn't ashamed of sleeping with Cody, but I am. Not just because of Reilly, but because I used Cody. I used his love for me to try to block out my pain. It didn't work, of course, but I didn't deserve to have it work. And because I was a coward, I didn't have the heart to tell either man the truth. I didn't tell Cody he could never take Reilly's place. And I didn't tell Reilly about Cody, or about the baby.

  The baby. Conceived the first time she and Reilly had made love, when they'd been so wrapped up in each other that neither had spared a thought for protection. They'd always been careful after that, but neither had known it was already too late.

  Despite her determination not to think about that time, she'd never been able to control her dreams. As sleep stole over her, her mind skittered willy-nilly back to memories of the baby. Her precious baby that never was.

  * * *

  She hadn't suspected anything when she skipped her first period. She'd never been all that regular to begin with, so she never marked her calendar as other women did, and the weeks slid by without her noticing. Around the time her next period was due she had an extremely light flow for a couple of days, little more than spotting really, and thought nothing of it. By the time she missed her third period, however, she'd already noticed other symptoms—extreme tiredness for no reason, heightened sensitivity in her breasts, a slight thickening of her waistline—and she grew concerned. When she started counting back, she knew.

  She'd been unsure of Reilly's reaction to the news. As often as he told her he loved her, he never mentioned marriage or children, and she didn't want him to think she was trying to trap him this way. She also wanted medical confirmation before she said anything, but she could hardly walk into Black Rock's only drugstore and buy a home pregnancy test. The gossip would have blazed through town like wildfire before she returned home. And since Black Rock had no doctor of its own, she had to make an appointment with her doctor at the clinic in Sheridan without letting Reilly know.

  Four months. Her baby had been almost four months along when the doctor confirmed her pregnancy, although in her heart Mandy had already been sure.

  She drove home from Sheridan in a state of nervous excitement: excited about the baby, nervous about telling Reilly. She couldn't put it off any longer now. In truth, she yearned to share this precious secret with him. Lately his beloved face had worn a distant, almost sad, expression at times, when he thought she wasn't looking. When she asked him if anything was wrong, he denied it, but she wondered if he suspected she was keeping something from him and was hurt by her silence.

  She turned off the highway before reaching the road to Black Rock, deciding not to wait until this evening to tell Reilly about the baby. Saturday was her busiest day at the bookstore and she rarely took it off, so he'd be surprised to see her. Surprised and, she hoped, pleased.

  When he'd kissed her goodbye that morning, he'd told her he would be working at the reservoir, repairing the pump station's frame housing. She took the steep road that wound up the north side of the mountain and led to a shortcut, rehearsing exactly what she would say to him.

  She never got the chance to say anything. A little way above the reservoir she caught sight of him, saw him put his tools in the back of his Blazer, and she sped up to catch him before he left by the main road. She didn't want to miss him now that she'd come all this way.

  A bend in the road blocked her view for a minute, then she rounded another turn and spotted the Blazer again, seconds before it exploded into a ball of smoke and flames, sending shards of twisted metal flying. She screamed his name, knowing he was inside, knowing she was too far away to save him from a horrible death. That didn't stop her from trying. Praying as she'd never prayed before, she jammed her foot on the accelerator, and her car shot forward, rocketing dangerously around the downward turns.

  That was the last thing she remembered before waking up in the little hospital in Sheridan. Cody sat in a chair beside her bed, holding her hand. He never said a word, but she didn't need him to tell her that Reilly was dead. She knew. And by the hollow, empty feeling inside she knew the baby was gone, too…

  * * *

  Mandy moaned in her sleep and thrashed, then jerked awake. She lay there for a few seconds, disoriented by the familiar nightmare and the strange bed. Then she heard the rhythmic breathing of the two men in the room, and one nightmare replaced the other as she realized where she was.

  Grief rolled through her in waves, accompanying the memories evoked by her dreams. She squeezed her eyes shut and fought the memories off before they went any further. It was a trick she'd learned in the past few months, a way of accepting only as much as she could deal with at one time. It didn't always work, but it worked better for her than the more traditional grief therapy, although she'd gone through that, too.

  She wondered if she'd ever reach the point where her memories no longer had the power to invade her dreams. Maybe, she thought. Now that she knew Reilly wasn't dead, maybe those memories would fade away eventually.

  She didn't think she'd be so lucky with the rest of them.

  She sighed, a broken sound that trembled on the brink of tears. The saddest thing of all, she thought, was that her baby hadn't had to die. If she'd known the truth, if Reilly had trusted her, she would never have crashed. But there was no turning back the clock, no way to change what had happened when she'd seen his Blazer burst into flames.

  There were no second chances for her baby.

  She couldn't hold the grief at bay any longer. A sorrowful sound welled up in her throat, and she muffled it against her pillow as sobs shook her body.

  It was a long time before she slept again.

  * * *

  Reilly woke before anyone else, the quiet of the early morning out here in the middle of nowhere intruding on his sleep in a way that the hustle and bustle of a big city would never do.

  He lay there for a few minutes, getting his bearings, his big body aching all over. I'm getting too old to sleep on floors, he thought, focusing on the physical, putting off the moment
when he would have to face the emotional ache deep inside.

  God, he'd wanted to kill Walker last night when the man had looked him straight in the eye and admitted to being Mandy's lover. Lover. Maybe he should have killed him. Maybe then he wouldn't have lain awake for most of the night, tormenting himself with pictures of Walker holding Mandy, Walker touching her lips, her breasts, the softer-than-soft place between her thighs. Mine, he told himself, gritting his teeth. My woman.

  He drew a sharp breath as pain stabbed through him. It was a physical thing, this pain, as if Mandy had reached into his chest and squeezed his heart with callous hands before tearing it out altogether.

  Was it all lies, Mandy? he'd asked her in his mind last night. Did you ever love me?

  He'd known the answer, though, even without hearing her say it. She couldn't have loved him, at least not the way he loved her. If she had been the one who died, he'd told himself last night, he would have died, too. Oh, his heart would have kept on pumping blood to his vital organs, but he would have been dead inside. He could never have assuaged his grief over losing her with another woman. There was no other woman for him. It was Mandy, or no one.

  A scornful sound issued from his lips. I guess it's no one, then, he mocked himself. Do you really want her after she's been with Walker?

  He rolled over onto his side, unwilling to answer that question just yet.

  He'd heard her muffled weeping during the night, when she thought everyone else was asleep. Despite everything, he'd been hard-pressed not to go to her, not to hold her, comfort her, and discover the cause of her tears. He'd managed it only by reminding himself that she was probably just feeling sorry for herself now that her guilty secret had come out.

  But when he'd finally fallen asleep in the wee hours, he'd dreamed of her. Not as she'd looked when he'd returned to the cabin and found her with Walker, but as she'd been earlier, lying in his arms, fighting back tears as he spoke of having children with her.

  He couldn't erase that picture from his mind, or her expression earlier as she'd sat by the fire and held out her hand to him, love and longing chasing the shadows from her eyes.

  Nor could he forget her soft voice saying, "I love you, Ryan." She hadn't been faking then. He was damned if he could make himself believe it.

  I should have let her explain last night. But I was too proud, too hurt, and I struck back without thinking, condemning her without giving her a chance.

  Well, that wouldn't happen again. Maybe she didn't love him as he wanted her to, but she did love him, and a part of Mandy's heart was better than nothing.

  He had his answer to his earlier question, too. Walker or no Walker, he wasn't giving her up without a fight. He'd never be able to forget; no, that was asking the impossible. But he might be able to forgive. Someday.

  At least he'd have Mandy, and he'd know she was safe.

  The last thought made him throw off his blanket and stand up, his muscles protesting. He yawned and stretched wearily, then picked up his shoulder holster and made his way to the bathroom as quietly as he could, so as not to wake Mandy.

  When he came out, Walker was up and moving around as stealthily as he himself had done. Reilly ignored him and strapped on his gun. He'd slept in his clothes last night, as had Walker and Mandy. He could have used a shower, but it was more important to check the perimeter right now. Especially since Walker was awake. He didn't trust himself not to take the other man apart, piece by piece.

  Reilly stepped into his shoes without bothering to unlace them, then headed for the door. Walker stopped him.

  "Hold on a minute," the man said in a deep undertone. "I'm coming with you."

  Walker didn't wait for Reilly's answer, just disappeared into the bathroom, emerging a moment later. At a soft sound from the bed, both men froze, then turned toward it. They watched as Mandy's head tossed restlessly on the pillow, then subside, the tousled golden strands of her hair glinting in the early-morning sunlight that crept through the window.

  Reilly's hands clenched at the brief flash of naked emotion that crossed Walker's face, emotions that mirrored his own. You have no right to look at her like that, he wanted to say, but he didn't know if it was true. Maybe Mandy had given Walker that right. He wouldn't know for sure until he talked with her.

  They waited for several heartbeats, but Mandy didn't stir again. Finally Walker tore his gaze away. "Let's go," he said tightly.

  Outside, Reilly set the pace, with Walker only a half step behind him. Neither man said anything as they walked the line, the crisp mountain air bringing them both wide awake. Walker watched as Reilly checked each trap, and Reilly knew he was noting their location against future need.

  It wasn't until they were heading back toward the cabin that Walker spoke. "You know your stuff, O'Neill. I have to give you that."

  Reilly grunted, a noncommittal response. He didn't need the other man's approval. And all things considered, he didn't want it, either.

  "Yeah," Walker continued, "You know this stuff like the back of your hand, all right. But you don't know squat when it comes to Mandy."

  Reilly swore and swung around, his right fist making contact with Walker's mouth before he knew it, sending the other man sprawling in the dirt. His knuckles ached, but Reilly didn't care. It gave him great satisfaction to see Walker wiping blood away with the back of his hand; he'd been wanting to mess up Walker's face for him, among other things.

  When Walker jumped to his feet, Reilly expected him to try to return the favor, and he held himself at the ready—body crouched in a defensive stance, weight balanced on the balls of his feet, hands up to ward off one blow or a dozen.

  The two men were well matched, and Reilly welcomed the chance to relieve some of his anger and frustration in a set-to with Walker. The sheriff was perhaps a shade taller and a couple of pounds heavier, but Reilly knew he could take him. This wouldn't be a finesse fight with rules and time limits, and Reilly hadn't grown up a street brawler for nothing. He had no hesitation about fighting dirty, especially given provocation.

  Instead of rushing Reilly, however, Walker stood with his hands balled into fists for a tense moment, his alert eyes narrowed to slits as if gauging the weaknesses in Reilly's defenses. Then, with a visible effort he relaxed, muscle by muscle, and straightened up. He looked at his fists as if he didn't recognize them, then uncurled them and dropped his hands to his side. He raised his face, and there was a grim set to his mouth as he said, "That's your free one, O'Neill." There was a watchfulness about him still, as if he didn't trust Reilly to accept the offered truce, then he added, "But don't even think about doing it again, because I won't hold back next time."

  "What's holding you back now?" Reilly taunted.

  "The same thing that held us both back last night."

  The blood lust faded. Frustration mounted at being deprived of the fight he craved, but he could hardly hit Walker again when the man had dropped his guard. The first blow, yes. Walker had deliberately provoked him into it; he deserved what he'd gotten. But even though Reilly had been a street fighter, he'd never been a bully. The fight was over. For now.

  Reilly dropped his fists, but remained on the defensive. If Walker thought to catch him off guard with his not-so-subtle reminder, Reilly would be ready for him.

  Neither man spoke for a moment or two, each taking the measure of the other, then Walker's gaze slid away from Reilly's, and his eyes clouded as though he were seeing something only he could see.

  When their eyes finally met again, Walker said, "You think you're the only one to suffer in all of this?" Self-mockery twisted his lips. "It's no secret that I love Mandy. I've loved her for years, ever since we were kids. Long before you showed up. She never 'saw' me, though. I was her friend." A bitter smile replaced the mockery. "But I was willing to wait. Time was on my side, I thought, and it could still happen. Maybe one day she'd turn around and really see me."

  His nostrils flared. "Then you came to town. I had to watch her fall in love
with you, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it."

  "Except sleep with her when my back was turned," Reilly answered in a soft, deadly voice.

  "Is that what you think?" Walker's bark of laughter grated on Reilly's ears.

  "What else am I supposed to think? You knew I was alive. I trusted you to watch over her, to keep her safe while I led the wolves off the scent." He was breathing hard as his anger built again. "That didn't mean she was yours for the taking!"

  "That wasn't how it was, damn it!"

  "Yeah, right." Reilly expression was as derisive as his tone.

  Walker shot back, "She saw the explosion." He held up his hand as Reilly started to interrupt. "I know, I know," he insisted, "she wasn't supposed to be anywhere around, but she was. She was coming down the back road toward the reservoir when your 4x4 burst into flames."

  Reilly remembered Mandy saying something of the kind, remembered her statement that she'd seen him die. It cost him something, but he put his pride in his pocket, and asked, "Why? What was she doing there?"

  "It would be better if she told you herself."

  "Damn it, Walker! Spit it out!"

  Walker glared at Reilly. "She was pregnant, you son of a bitch! Pregnant with your child!"

  As the meaning of the words sank in, Reilly had the same sensation as the time he'd been shot in the line of duty, the same disbelief that this was actually happening to him, before he turned numb and cold. "A baby?" He managed to get the question out. "She had my baby?"

  Pity replaced Walker's belligerent expression, and he shook his head. "No," he said with real regret. "I wasn't going to tell you like this, but she lost the baby the same day. She crashed trying to reach you after the explosion."

  The numbness that had started to wear off returned in full force, cushioning the blows to his heart, but Reilly fought against it. Underneath the shocked numbness was pain that rocked him to the core, but at least that was real. His lips moved, forming one word. "How?"