Читать книгу A Baby For The Deputy - Cathy McDavid, Cathy Mcdavid - Страница 9

Chapter Two

“Over here. Another three feet. Wait. No. Up against the wall.” Frankie Hartman barked orders in her customary bossy voice.

Mel exchanged looks with her younger sister, Ronnie. As if on cue, they both rolled their eyes and shuffled the table to the exact spot their older sister wanted. Which, it turned out, wasn’t so exact.

“Centered beneath the window.” Frankie motioned with her hands to demonstrate.

After two more shuffles with the table, Mel and Ronnie were released from their task and instructed to undertake another. There was still a lot to do before the party started at six, including all the decorating.

Mel had brought streamers, a banner, party favors, confetti and a case of champagne. Ronnie’s job had been to create a photo collage depicting their father’s life from birth to now. Frankie brought the barbecued beef, a family favorite and her specialty dish.

The owner of the Cowboy Up Café, and Frankie’s employer, had been kind enough to let them use the covered outdoor patio free of charge. With its built-in misting system, the patio was reasonably comfortable even in ninety-plus-degree temperatures.

The sisters were grateful. With several dozen people expected to attend, they’d definitely needed a large venue, equipped to feed so many mouths. And as if the location wasn’t perfect enough, the owner was giving them a discount on the side dishes and beverages.

“Napkins!” Frankie ripped open packages as if the success of the party depended on guests being able to wipe barbecue sauce off their faces and hands.

Mel and Ronnie took their sister’s theatrics in stride. Besides being the oldest of the Hartman sisters and a single mother, she was the Cowboy Up Café’s head waitress and self-appointed organizer of their dad’s party. She’d also stepped in—to the best of her twelve-year-old ability—when the sisters’ mother had died over twenty years ago in a horse riding accident. “We’re here,” a high-pitched voice trilled. “Sorry we’re late.”

Mel’s stepmom was accompanied by two very excited little girls: Frankie’s twin daughters.

“We got balloons,” Paige announced.

“And string,” Sienna added, holding up her booty.

They were dressed alike in matching shorts and tees but were as different as night and day in personalities and features. Tiny, fair-haired Paige took after the Hartmans while tall, doe-eyed Sienna resembled her father, who wasn’t and had never been in the picture.

“You wait until Mommy can help,” Frankie called from the chair on which she stood, hanging the Happy Birthday banner with Ronnie’s assistance.

Mel went over to the girls and scooped them both into her arms. They squirmed and giggled and squealed, loving the attention while pretending not to.

“Let us go,” they protested.

“Kisses first.”

The girls gleefully obliged.

“Can I help?” Mel asked. Blowing up balloons and taping them to the backs of chairs sounded more fun than laboriously writing out name tags.

“No scissors,” Dolores admonished.

Mel relieved her stepmom of the plastic sack and small helium tank she’d carried in. “Does that apply to me, too?”

“Depends. They’re sharp.” Dolores wagged a finger at her. “Can I trust you?”

“We’ll be careful.” Mel winked at the girls and then led them to one of the tables where they set up a balloon inflation station.

“Me first,” Paige insisted.

Mel distributed a package of colorful balloons to each girl while keeping the scissors for herself. “Remember to share and take turns.”

Ha! Like that was going to happen.

Of course, the pair was more trouble than help, but that didn’t matter. They were having a blast. Mel, too.

As luck would have it, Dolores excelled at writing name tags, and between the four of them, the room quickly took shape. Then again, they were old pros, having done this before. Most recently, they’d organized a wedding reception—for Ray Hartman and his new bride.

Ronnie came to stand beside Mel, having finished with bringing in extra chairs from the storeroom. “This is going to sound terrible.”

“What?” Mel asked.

“Is it wrong to miss Mom today?”

“No. Of course not. It’s Dad’s birthday. A milestone birthday.”

“I mean, Dolores is wonderful. I adore her.”

“Me, too.” Mel didn’t think there was a more perfect stepmom around.

Ronnie linked arms with her. “Sometimes, I have trouble remembering Mom. I hate that.”

“We were young. Don’t feel bad. It happens.” Mel surveyed the room. “I think she’d approve of this party. I also think she’d like Dolores.”

“She’d be proud of us,” Ronnie said with conviction. “And of how Dad always supported us. You know the date of their anniversary was one of the numbers Dad used for his lottery tickets.”

Mel laughed. “And to think we gave him such grief for buying tickets every week like clockwork.”

“None of us ever thought he’d win.”

But, then, he had. Last winter. The amount of the jackpot wasn’t staggering, about two hundred thousand dollars after taxes. But for the Hartmans, it was a fortune.

Livestock foremen didn’t typically earn a lot. Mel’s father gave all he had to his daughters, providing a comfortable, if modest, home and the basic necessities. After he won, he’d divided the money equally between the four of them, using his share to pay for his wedding to Dolores and their honeymoon.

“I almost refused the money,” Mel said.

Ronnie drew back. “Me, too.”

“He didn’t tell me that.”

“Because he wanted us to take the money. And, frankly, we needed it. You couldn’t have bought Doc Palmer’s practice otherwise.”

“Probably not.”

Shortly after the elderly veterinarian announced his retirement, he’d approached Mel about buying his practice. She’d had to tell him no at first. Calling him the following month had been a dream come true.

“And forget Frankie buying that new house,” Ronnie said. “It wouldn’t have happened.”

“True.”

Frankie had been desperate to move out of their dad’s place. What new bride wanted to share her home with a stepdaughter and two rambunctious stepgranddaughters? Frankie had used the money from their dad for a down payment on a cute house in town and some new furniture.

“Mom would be really happy for us.”

Ronnie sighed contentedly. “She did always call us her fairy princesses.”

If not for a lack of handsome suitors, Mel thought, she and her sisters were living fairy-tale existences.

Did Aaron count? Not at the moment. She didn’t let herself imagine “someday” and what the future might hold for them if circumstances changed. Her energies were best focused on making the monthly payments to Doc Palmer and all those pesky necessities like food, clothes, repaying college loans and rent on the house she shared with Ronnie.

The simple and straightforward arrangement she had with Aaron was enough for both of them. At least, that was what Mel repeatedly told herself. Every time she caught herself falling a little harder for him, she remembered that he wasn’t ready or able to fall for her.

Her nieces came bounding back from showing off to their mother, balloons bobbing in the air behind them as if filled with jumping beans and not helium. Ronnie warned them to be careful, her tone a decent imitation of Frankie’s. Dolores chatted amiably while putting the finishing touches on the centerpieces.

Soon, they’d leave for their respective homes to change and freshen up before the party. In Frankie’s case, she’d pack the barbecued beef for transport and arrive early to start warming it.

Mel stepped forward, intending to gather the balloon supplies, when all at once her stomach lurched and the floor seemed to ripple beneath her feet.

Convinced she was about to embarrass herself, she muttered, “Be right back,” to Ronnie and speed-walked across the patio to the café’s main building.

By sheer force of will, she made it to the empty restroom and one of the stalls before losing her lunch. Waiting a few moments to be on the safe side, she slowly rose, the sensation of weakness persisting.

She felt her forehead. No fever. Or sore throat or runny nose. Other than intermittent nausea, she exhibited no other symptoms of the flu bug.

What was wrong with her?

Was it possible...? Could she be...?

No. She and Aaron had always been careful about using protection. Mel could not be pregnant.

Nonetheless, she counted backward. How many days since her last period? The answer sent a spear of alarm slicing through her. How had she not realized she was late? She wasn’t that busy.

Oh, God! Mel sucked in air, unable to catch her breath. Her skin burned as if she did indeed have a fever.

What would she do if she was pregnant? How would Aaron react? Would he be angry? Disappointed? Blame her? Accuse her of trapping him?

She stumbled out of the stall toward the row of sinks along the wall. Turning on a spigot, she splashed her face with cool water. It didn’t alleviate the panic building inside her. Staring at her worried reflection in the mirror only worsened things.

Drying her face with paper towels from the dispenser, she told herself not to cry. There could be any number of reasons she was late and nauseous. Working ridiculous hours, skipping meals and not getting enough sleep, to name a few. Plus, Mel had a history of being irregular. No sense freaking out until she knew for sure.

With a whoosh, the restroom door flew open and Dolores breezed in. Seeing Mel, she stopped midstep.

“Are you okay?”

“I think I have a touch of the flu.”

“Oh, no. I’d hate for you to miss the party, but maybe you should stay home and get some rest. You look awful.”

Mel tried to wave off her stepmom’s concern, only to rush to the stall she’d vacated minutes earlier. When she finally emerged, shaky but in one piece, it was to find Dolores waiting, arms crossed and brows raised.

“How far along are you?”

Mel’s knees, already wobbly, threatened to give out. “What?”

“I have three children of my own. I’m very familiar with morning sickness, even when it comes in the afternoon or evening.”

Mel started to object. Dolores’s kind expression changed her mind. The older woman wasn’t her mother. But she was Mel’s friend and, she hoped, a confidant.

“Please don’t say anything to anyone. Especially Dad. Until I know for sure.”

“Then it’s possible?”

“We’ve been careful.”

“I was, too. Both the second and third times.” Dolores reached for Mel and gave her a quick but warm hug. “Does the father know?”

Again, Mel thought of Aaron. How would he take the news? When would be the best time to tell him? “No. Not yet.”

“Do you love him?”

Mel had expected Dolores to ask the name of the father. This question left her nearly as shaken as the bout of nausea had.

Unable to answer, Mel mumbled an excuse and hurried past Dolores. It was one thing to contemplate her changing feelings for Aaron. Another thing altogether to voice them aloud.

* * *

MEL GAVE HERSELF a figurative pat on the back for surviving the past few hours. Shortly after escaping the restroom and Dolores, she’d returned to the patio and been immediately recruited to hang paper lanterns. Thank you, Frankie. After that, they’d all gone home to change clothes and then returned before the party started.

Mel didn’t typically procrastinate. It wasn’t her style. But her father’s birthday just wasn’t the time for dealing with potentially huge problems. Like, for instance, a missed period. Not even with someone as compassionate as Dolores.

Seeing the party went off without a hitch, celebrating with her family, those were her priorities. Tomorrow, she’d purchase the home pregnancy test—in Scottsdale where no one knew her—and hopefully eliminate one potential reason for her nausea.

Now that was Mel’s style. Every move was calculated in advance and every contingency explored. She liked it that way. Order and purpose equaled confidence and a sense of security.

If she turned out to be pregnant, a highly unlikely probability, she’d talk to Aaron and together they’d devise a new plan using the same equation. A plan that didn’t throw both their lives into complete and utter chaos.

“Here’s my girl!”

The next instant, Mel was swept up in a fierce embrace.

“Dad!” She giggled and squirmed, not unlike her nieces.

“Thank you for the party,” he said, releasing her.

“I can’t take the credit. It was Frankie’s idea, and she did most of the heavy lifting. But you can thank me for not allowing any Over the Hill and Grim Reaper party favors.”

“She couldn’t have pulled it off without your help.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased.”

His gaze traveled the room. “Who knew I had this many friends?”

His daughters, for one. Mel’s dad had lived and worked in the valley for over thirty-five years. He was liked, if not loved, by many.

Not all the guests had arrived. Most noticeably absent was Theo McGraw, Ray Hartman’s boss and owner of The Small Change Ranch. Mel hoped the older gentleman would make it. He suffered from Parkinson’s disease, and some days were harder than others.

Also absent, and of more concern to Mel, was Aaron and his family. Perhaps he’d gotten called away on a last-minute emergency. Or, something had happened to his daughter. Mel tried not to obsess, which also wasn’t her style. But lately, he was constantly on her mind.

“You’re being modest.” She patted her father’s generous beer belly. That, and his gray beard, had made him the perfect choice to play Santa Claus at his granddaughters’ preschool. “You have lots of friends.”

“I’m a fortunate man.”

She noticed him watching Dolores. He often did, and the look in his eyes softened as if the mere sight of her melted his heart.

Someday, maybe someone would look at Mel like that. Welcome her home after a hard day at work. Slip into bed with her and wind his arms around her. Someone who didn’t cling to the memory of his late wife.

Oh, God! Had she really just thought that? Mel was ashamed of herself. She wasn’t normally shallow and unkind. Naturally, Aaron grieved his late wife. It had taken her father years to get over her mother’s death.

A group of nearby guests burst out in raucous greeting, distracting her. The source of the commotion became quickly apparent. Aaron, his mother-in-law, Nancy, and daughter, Kaylee, had finally arrived.

A grinning Aaron held Kaylee in his arms, balancing her against his broad chest. The shy little girl buried her face in his shirt when one too many people tugged on her silky curls or pinched her chin. Aaron patted her back with his strong hand and, bit by bit, Kaylee’s face emerged.

Aaron could do that. Make a person feel safe and sheltered. Mel had experienced it firsthand.

“Hey, there, birthday boy.” One of her father’s buddies hailed him. “Get over here before all the barbecued beef is gone.”

“See you later, honey.”

“Enjoy yourself,” Mel said to his retreating back, her attention remaining riveted on Aaron.

Eventually, their eyes locked. That was the usual outcome when someone stared long enough. She should step away. Engage the Powells or other clients of hers in conversation. Help Frankie with the food or Dolores with hosting duties.

She and Aaron had agreed not to draw attention to themselves in public, and here she was doing exactly that. Except, she didn’t break eye contact and neither did he. The connection Mel had been feeling lately intensified more and more until it practically sizzled.

Was it the same for him? If so, he gave no indication.

Mel’s nieces skipped over to Aaron and Kaylee, high on sugar from fruit punch and blobs of icing swiped from the birthday cake.

“Kaylee, play with us,” Paige pleaded with her friend. “We have balloons and bubbles and prizes.”

The little girl’s features lit up like a ray of sunshine after a storm, and she insisted her father put her down.

Aaron relented, holding her hand as if not quite ready to part with her. Mel was close enough to hear him say, “Don’t go far, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” she parroted in her sweet angel voice.

Mel’s nieces immediately grabbed her, and the preschool buddies scampered off, disappearing from sight.

“Are you sure she’ll be all right?” Nancy asked Aaron, ready to follow the girls.

Aaron waylaid her by saying gently, “She’ll be fine. Frankie Hartman is right there.”

The creases permanently etched into Nancy’s forehead deepened. “I’m going to get some punch.”

By sheer coincidence, or not, the punch bowl was located within a few feet of the game area where the girls were playing. If Aaron realized that, and he probably did, he chose not to address it.

Mel admired him for picking his battles. Nancy could be formidable. A self-defense mechanism, no doubt, from losing her only child at a young age.

Funny that Nancy and Dolores had become close. Then again, Dolores was the nurturing kind, taking the lost and lonely into her care. Hadn’t she done that with Mel’s father and, a few hours ago in the restroom, with Mel?

What if she was pregnant? Mel had tried hard to keep the thought at bay, but it crept back every few minutes, shouting, “You can’t ignore me,” in her ear.

As if sensing her distress—was he that tuned in to her?—Aaron glanced her way again. Confused and emotionally overwhelmed, Mel turned and snuck away in search of a quiet place.

Five minutes. That was all she needed. Time enough to collect herself and calm her frayed nerves.

Heading outside the café, she skirted the corner to an old hitching post that was still used today for customers arriving by single horse rather than two hundred of them beneath the hood.

Leaning her forearms on the thick railing, she let the warm breeze blow over her. A thin crescent moon hung in the sky above the mountains, waiting for dusk to fall and the stars to come out. Faint strains of piped-in music drifted to her from the patio.

“Hiding?”

Hearing Aaron’s voice, Mel jumped.

“Are you okay?” He strolled over to her, his eyes roaming her face. “What’s wrong?”

Did he have to look as good in jeans and a cowboy shirt as he did in his uniform? “Just tired. It’s been a long week.”

“You need to take better care of yourself.” He raised his hand and rubbed a knuckle along her jawline. The tender gesture nearly undid her.

It wasn’t like him to break the rules. Her, either. No intimacies away from the motel where they typically met. Boundaries were to be respected.

But, then, she remembered she was two weeks late.

“Aaron.” She suddenly wanted to confess everything. The fact she was late. Her increasing feelings for him. Her constant confusion.

Wasn’t that what couples did? Communicate?

Except, they weren’t a couple. They were sex buddies. At her suggestion and insistence.

“What?” he prodded.

“Nothing.” She pushed off the hitching post. “We should get back to the party.”

At that moment, an older pickup truck going too fast pulled into the parking lot, its tires squealing. Aaron tracked its slightly slower progress to the back row and the only available spaces.

“Someone you know?” Mel asked.

“If it’s who I think it is, I ran into her yesterday.” He was no longer Aaron but Deputy Travers. “Do you recognize the truck?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Just then, she heard the truck door slam and watched a young, slim woman navigate the parked vehicles, purpose in her stride. Rather than enter the café through the main entrance, she went directly to the outdoor patio.

“Maybe she’s someone’s plus one,” Mel mused.

“I’ll be back,” Aaron said, barely acknowledging her.

She’d seen this determination before when he was on the job. Did this stranger have something to do with the horse thefts?

“Wait!” She trotted after him, refusing to be excluded.

She reached the patio moments after Aaron. The young woman stood near the food tables, searching the room. Cupping her hands to her mouth, she shouted, “Where’s Ray Hartman? I need to talk to him.”

For a wild second, Mel thought the young woman was delivering a singing telegram. Except, she didn’t wear a costume. Unless one counted that ratty old ball cap.

“I’m Ray.” Mel’s father, beaming as if he, too, was expecting a birthday surprise, emerged from the crowd, a heaping plate of food in his hands.

“Do you recognize me?”

“’Fraid not.”

“I’m Samantha Egherman.” She glared at him. “Your daughter. I’m here for my share of the lottery money.”

Bursts of laughter vied with gasps of disbelief.

“Who’s that?” someone asked.

“She said she’s Ray’s daughter,” another answered.

“Is this someone’s idea of a joke?”

Mel was convinced she’d misheard the young woman. Then, like everyone else in the room, she looked at her father. His expression wasn’t one of surprise but rather guilt and resignation.

This couldn’t be happening. Samantha Egherman? Mel had never heard the name before.

Her ears started ringing, the sound increasing in volume until it blocked out everything else.

His daughter? That made no sense.

Slowly, Mel’s father set his plate on the nearest table. Facing the young woman, he said, “Samantha,” as if testing her name.

In that instant, Mel knew the outrageous claim was true. She had a half sister. More than that, her father had apparently known and hadn’t told anyone.