The Soldier and the Baby

by Anne Stuart

  She would have thought she was too weary to react, but the reference stung. Could he read her mind as well? She was about to protest, but Reilly had already turned his back on her.

  She walked straight into the shallow stream, shoes and all, then sat on the bank as pain made her dizzy. She could hear the baby’s noisy protests, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Within a moment he’d stilled, and there was blessed silence, broken only by the quiet sound of the slow-moving water and the call of the jungle birds.

  She lay back against the grass, groaning softly, staring up into the leafy canopy overhead. Every muscle in her body screamed in agony, and not even for Timothy’s sake could she rouse herself. She was never going to move again. She was going to lie here in the jungle, her feet in the water, and die. Reilly was a responsible man who knew his way around babies. He could get Timothy out of there. For now she was just going to drift....

  * * *

  He stared at her. She had long legs for such a little thing, and sun had penetrated the rain forest just enough to give her a faint dusting of color. She lay beside the river in an exhausted stupor, probably asleep.

  It was just as well. He found her distracting when she was awake. Hell, he found her distracting when she was asleep, as well, but at least she wouldn’t be aware of it.

  Timothy lay on his stomach on his discarded shirt, cooing happily enough, his diaper clean, his stomach full. They were going to need to get supplies before too long—their purified water wouldn’t last forever, and Timothy seemed to be going through the stash of disposable diapers at an impressive rate. Reilly worked swiftly, efficiently, setting up a protective tarp, laying out their bedrolls. He didn’t think Carlie was going to look with approval on the sleeping arrangements, but that was too damned bad. He had only one tarp, and the best way to keep the baby safe was to keep him surrounded by adults. Besides, Reilly was hardly going to jump her bones with a month-old infant as chaperon.

  Besides which, she wouldn’t be ready to have her bones jumped for another few weeks, even if she looked as if she was pretty well recovered from childbirth. She was off-limits, for every reason he could think of. Now why couldn’t he remember that?

  She wasn’t what he’d expected. He hadn’t had time to do his research before he took off for San Pablo. Things were in a crisis situation, as usual, and he couldn’t afford to wait even an extra twenty-four hours so he could know what he was getting into. All he could go on was stuff he’d picked up, mainly by osmosis, and what he knew of Billy’s taste in women.

  None of it was to Carlie’s credit. And he was too old and too experienced to be suckered by an innocent face and a vulnerable air. She was about as vulnerable as one of Mendino’s black-shirted enforcers.

  Still, she was pretty. Not drop-dead gorgeous, as Billy had assured him. Not stunning, not glamorous, not sophisticated. Pretty. He couldn’t remember when he’d last used the word.

  It made him think of cottages in England. It made him think of spring flowers, and baby lambs, and all those stupid things that made up camera commercials.

  But she was brave. She’d stood up to him, when he’d been doing his best to terrorize her. He figured his best chance was to make her so scared she’d do everything he told her to, without complaining. He could be extremely intimidating when he set his mind to it. Carlie didn’t seem to be easily intimidated.

  She was strong, uncomplaining. He knew she’d been in pain, but she hadn’t said a word. And she was a good mother. The way she looked at her little baby, cooed to him, forgave a lot of sins. She’d do what needed to be done, he felt it in his bones. Maybe he didn’t need to come down on her so hard.

  He walked over to the stream. She was asleep, as he’d guessed, and her eyelashes lay against her cheeks. There was a faint flush of color in her face, but apart from that she was white and still. He looked down at her feet. And then he saw the blood.

  He started to curse, rich, colorful invectives that could have turned the air blue, as he reached down under her armpits and hauled her out of the water. She hit at him, dazed and disoriented by the rude awakening, but he didn’t give a damn. He simply dumped her farther up on the riverbank, still cursing, and then knelt by her sodden, blood-stained feet.

  “Don’t you have more sense than that?” he demanded when his first string of curses had run out. “Piranhas are the least of your worries in this climate. You lie there, trolling your bloody feet like some goddamn fishing lure while you take a little nap....” His voice was savage as he gently, carefully pried off her sodden running shoes.

  There was no way he could keep from hurting her, especially once he got a good look at how bad they were. But she didn’t say a word, simply clamped her teeth down on her full lower lip as he pulled the wet canvas and leather away from swollen feet.

  “Whose shoes are these?” he demanded. “Don’t you know better than to take off into the jungle without the proper footgear?”

  “Piranhas are greatly overestimated,” she said faintly. “They’re not nearly as dangerous—”

  “They’re not nearly as dangerous as I’m feeling right now,” he interrupted ruthlessly.

  “For your information, I don’t happen to have decent shoes with me,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting to go running through the jungle, and I didn’t have a chance to go shopping before I left La Mensa.”

  “There hasn’t been anything to buy in La Mensa for the last year and a half, and you know it.” He sat back and looked at her feet. They were swollen, bloody, a complete mess. God only knew what kind of tropical diseases she’d picked up from the muddy water. He reached behind him for the backpack and the first-aid kit. “I’m going to have to hurt you.”

  He expected a smart crack. She didn’t make one. She simply looked at him out of those big innocent eyes that he couldn’t believe in, and waited.

  He was fast, deft and careful. He’d done more than his share of field triage, and Carlie’s injuries, as nasty as they looked, weren’t life threatening, once he got them properly taken care of.

  When he was finished he sat back on his heels. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to walk tomorrow....”

  “I can walk.”

  “Maybe we should wait a day.”

  “Is it safe?”

  “No.”

  She looked at the baby, now sound asleep on the discarded shirt. Dusk had settled down around the jungle, and Reilly felt an odd chill run across his skin. “I can walk,” she said again, and he had no doubt she would, if she had to do it barefoot on hot coals.

  “All right,” he said mildly enough, not interested in arguing with her. “Why don’t you go lie down and I’ll get you something to eat? Unless you need to use the woods?”

  “Use the woods?”

  “Go to the bathroom, lady. If you want I can carry you.”

  She blushed. A deep, embarrassed red. He stared in fascination. Why would she blush over something like that?

  “I can manage,” she said stiffly, starting to climb to her feet.

  She didn’t get far. She fell back with a muffled cry of pain, and he caught her. He didn’t bother arguing with her—she was ridiculously small and light, and he simply scooped her up in his arms and carried her a little way into the brush, dumping her on her butt.

  “Call me when you’re done,” he said.

  “I don’t need-”

  “If you don’t call me, I won’t let you out of my sight again.” His voice was implacable.

  She glared at him, some of the dull apathy of pain fading. “You’re a bully, aren’t you?”

  “Be glad of it, lady. It’ll keep you and the kid alive.”

  It took her a moment. “I am glad of it,” she said in a quiet voice. “Thank you, Reilly. For everything.”

  He didn’t like her softness. He didn’t want her gratitude. He wanted her smart-mouthed and fighting him.

  He turned his back, walking away from her, wishing he could put the memory of those deceptively innocent
eyes out of his mind with as little effort. Rescuing Carlie and her baby had never been a piece of cake. Why did it suddenly feel a million times harder. Too bad he wasn’t getting paid. He had the suspicion he would earn every cent.

  * * *

  Chapter Five

  * * *

  She didn’t like being carried by Reilly. She didn’t like being touched by him. His hands were big, strong, callused. His body was warm, sleek, muscled, and he hadn’t worn a shirt. When he’d scooped her up and carried her through the woods he’d doubtless thought of her as nothing more than another burden, like the too-heavy pack.

  But she couldn’t dismiss the sensations so easily. The feel of that warm, smooth skin beneath hers was disturbing. Upsetting. It took her a full five minutes to get her senses back in order, to calm the emotions that roiled up inside her.

  He was there to help her. The fact that he caused all sorts of strange, inexplicable reactions within her was simply the result of loneliness and stress. She needed to remind herself that while he was far from the friendliest soul in the universe, his motives were beyond noble and downright heroic. She needed to remember that, and not let her emotions and her uncharacteristic irritation get in the way.

  She didn’t make the mistake of not calling him when she was finished. He wasn’t a man who made empty threats, and she had little doubt he’d stand over her while she accomplished her calls of nature if she didn’t do as he told her.

  He picked her up again as if she weighed no more than the baby. He’d pulled on a dun-colored T-shirt, which made things marginally better, but it still took all of Carlie’s concentration to ignore the bulge and play of his muscles when he lifted her, and shame flooded her. What was wrong with her?

  The gathering dusk sent eerie shadows around the small clearing. It was then that she noticed the sleeping bags, side by side beneath the makeshift tent. The baby lay on his stomach, sound asleep in the middle of the conjoined beds.

  “Are you sure we can’t go any farther tonight?” she asked, suddenly nervous.

  “You aren’t in any shape.” He dropped her down on one end of the bedroll. “Crawl in.”

  “What about snakes?” She glanced around, trying to appear cool. “Or jaguars?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep you safe from jungle beasts.”

  She peered up at him. He looked rather like a magnificent beast himself, looming over her in the darkness. “How?”

  “I’ll be keeping watch.” He sat on the ground and began to crawl beneath the tarp. She watched him for a moment, disconcerted.

  “How are you going to do that if you sleep?”

  “I’m not going to sleep.”

  “Then why are you lying down?”

  “Because I’m tired,” he said, stretching out. And that was when she noticed the big, heavy handgun he’d placed by his head.

  “But if you’re tired and you lie down, then won’t you...”

  “Lady,” he said wearily, “I was in the military for more than fifteen years. I was trained for combat, and I’ve spent the better part of those years in places where I couldn’t afford to let up for a minute. I’ve never fallen asleep during guard duty and I’m not about to make a habit of it. Now get in the damned bed.”

  All her noble resolve vanished in a wave of pure annoyance. “What if I don’t want to sleep with you?”

  He closed his eyes in weary exasperation. “If I wanted to get in your pants you’d know it. For now all I want is for you to be quiet and climb in your sleeping bag. Preferably without waking the baby.”

  She didn’t have any choice in the matter, and she knew it. Timothy lay sleeping peacefully enough, and Reilly looked as if he found her about as interesting as a day-old slug. She slid down, stretching full length on the sleeping bag and closing her eyes determinedly.

  She listened to the silence, trying to will herself to sleep. Until she heard the unmistakable sound of chewing.

  Her eyes flew open. He was stretched out beside her, and he was eating something brown and nasty looking that nevertheless had her stomach churning in hunger.

  “Are you planning on sharing that?”

  He glanced over at her, and there was just a hint of amusement in his dark eyes. “I didn’t think you were interested in food.”

  “I’m interested. What is it?”

  “Dried beef jerky. We also have an assortment of dried prunes, dried apples and trail mix.”

  “Yummy,” she said wryly. “Where is it?”

  “Ask me nicely.”

  She reached out and snatched the piece of meat from his hand, scuttling out of his way before he could grab it back. Between them the baby slept on, secure between the two battling adults.

  “I don’t suppose you have any coffee?” she asked after a moment.

  “All out. If we manage to make it to the jeep tomorrow we should be able to get supplies. Maybe even a bed for the night, though I’m not certain I want to risk it. Are you going to be able to walk?”

  She wiggled her feet carefully. They hurt, but the salve Reilly had rubbed into them seemed to have done wonders. “I think so.”

  The night was growing darker around them, so that she could barely see him in the small confines of the makeshift tent. She heard him move, and a small pack of trail mix landed in front of her. “Where’s your canteen?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Besides, I’m not particularly thirsty.”

  “Damn it, woman, you can’t go losing your canteen,” he snapped. “And I don’t care whether you’re thirsty or not. In this climate you can get dehydrated real fast, and then I’d have two helpless creatures on my hands.”

  “Reilly, my name isn’t woman, it isn’t lady, and it isn’t princess. It’s Carlie.”

  “It’s Caterina Morrissey,” he reminded her. “And I don’t particularly like that fact.”

  “Why not?”

  “Maybe it reminds me that a buddy is dead, and that before he died he got suckered by a spoiled jet-setter.” He shoved his canteen at her.

  She didn’t make the mistake of not taking a long drink. She might not be able to see him clearly in the dark, but she wouldn’t put excellent night vision past his extraordinary list of capabilities. What in the world had Caterina ever done? Her deathbed confession, a talk shared between two unlikely friends and far from a religious ritual, hadn’t been specific. It had been the weary cry of a wasted life that had once been full of promise, and it had broken Carlie’s heart.

  “Maybe you should consider that he left a son behind,” she said in a relatively calm voice. “And the spoiled jet-setter who suckered him is responsible for something of him continuing in this world.” She was about to add, and she died doing it before she remembered that she was supposedly the spoiled jet setter.

  “Maybe,” he said, not sounding particularly convinced. “Go to sleep. I’m willing to bet the baby won’t be sleeping through the night, and I sure as hell don’t want to be feeding him and changing his diapers.”

  “You have already,” she said sleepily, stretching out on the sleeping bag. “I’m surprised I haven’t heard you complain before. You’re very good with babies.”

  “I’m good at what I need to do. And I don’t complain if things can’t be helped. You might work on that, your highness.”

  “Have you heard me complain yet?”

  “No.”

  “You won’t.”

  There was silence for a long moment. She waited, half expecting him to come up with another barbed comment. But her eyes drifted closed, and she told herself he wasn’t about to give an inch.

  And neither was she.

  She woke during the night. She lay still in the darkness, listening to the light, peaceful sound of the baby sleeping beside her. Listening to the steady, even breathing of the man who lay just on the other side.

  She could feel his body heat in those close quarters. She could smell the scent of coffee and gun oil and sweat that clung to both of them. She lay there and
listened, wondering if he slept. Wondering if they’d be safe from marauding beasts, wondering if a bush-master was going to slither into her sleeping bag and...

  “Go back to sleep, Carlie.” His voice was nothing more than a deep whisper of sound.’ ‘I’m not going to let anything happen to either of you.”

  She should have resented him. She had learned to put her trust in nothing but God, and a hostile man in camouflage with a gun shouldn’t be the first likely person she’d feel like cozying up with.

  But fate, or God, wasn’t taking her feelings into consideration. And despite her fears, her doubts, her misgivings, she knew perfectly well that the man lying beside her would be true to his word. Nothing would get past him. Nothing would harm the baby. Nothing would harm her.

  Except, perhaps, for this unwanted excursion into the real world, complete with men and guns and life.

  But she would survive. And for the time being she was perfectly safe, with Reilly watching over them. Closing her eyes, she sank back into a deep, dream

  less sleep.

  * * *

  They were on the trail by a little past dawn the next morning. Reilly wasn’t in the mood to be impressed, but he had always considered himself a fair man, and Billy’s little princess had done herself proud. She could walk, gingerly, but with the bandages she’d wrapped around her feet those oversize running shoes fit her. She fed and changed the baby, ate trail mix without a murmur and even managed to look gorgeous when she struggled to her feet and began to hitch the kid into that sling-type thing she wore.

  “Think you can make it another seven miles?” he asked, shouldering both their packs.

  He saw her blue eyes blink at the number seven, but apart from that she showed no distress. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He started through the forest, leaving her to follow along behind him.

  He moderated his pace, just enough to make it easier on her, not so much that it would endanger them. Not so much that she would notice. Carlie Morrissey was turning out to be a far cry from the woman he’d expected, but she did have her share of pride. She wouldn’t like knowing he was going easy on her. Hell, he didn’t like knowing it, either.