Читать книгу Blame It On Babies - Kristine Rolofson, Kristine Rolofson - Страница 9

“SHERIDAN’S BACK,” Lorna heard someone at the counter announce. “Carter said he walked into the sheriff’s office late last night and moved his stuff in.”

“Where’s he been?”

“Workin’ over in Huntsville, I heard. He was pretty broken up about that divorce,” another man added. “Had to leave town, y’know, ’cuz she ran off with—who’d she run off with?”

No one answered, which Lorna found a little disappointing. She would have liked to know exactly what happened to Jess’s marriage and why. She waited for someone to mention whether or not he had children, but no one offered the information.

“I heard he’s renting a place from Jackson.”

“Nah,” came another opinion. “He won’t live in town. He’ll go out to his place and start ranchin’ again.”

“I thought his wife got the ranch,” someone added. “You know, in the divorce.”

“She sold it,” another retired cowboy declared. “She always was a hard one to like, but she was a good looker, all right.”

Lorna picked up the coffee carafe and turned to refill cups along the counter. Ten stools, ten men, ten coffee cups. And one topic of conversation: the return of Jess Sheridan. Her hand shook a little as she made her way down the counter. She’d hoped Jess Sheridan would walk back into her life; she’d prayed he wouldn’t. It just depended on the day. And the weather. And how much her feet hurt.

“You okay, Lorna?” one of the older men asked. “Maybe you should rest a little.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, not much for sympathy. “You make your bed, you lie in it,” was another one of her mother’s maxims. Lorna figured she’d made herself quite a complicated bed, all right. And she would lie in it without complaining.

“Can we get some more cream in here?” the next guy asked, pushing the stainless steel creamer toward her.

“Sure.” She finished refilling the mugs, replenished the cream, rang up two transactions on the cash register and glanced out the window three times, but saw no one or nothing of any interest. January in Beauville wasn’t exactly the busy season, and the breakfast rush was over. She enjoyed her job at the Coffee Pot Café. The customers were, for the most part, a pleasant and undemanding group. Her boss believed in serving good food, kept the place spotless and didn’t mind when Lorna took a few minutes to rest whenever she grew tired.

She glanced at the clock above the door and saw that it was almost ten o’clock. There would be some time to sit down before the lunch rush began.

So Jess Sheridan was back in town. She’d read in the paper he’d accepted the job as sheriff. She’d also read he was some kind of hero, having risked his life doing undercover work at the Huntsville prison.

Lorna didn’t care what kind of hero he was. She only wanted him to go away before he discovered she was having his baby.

NOTHING IN BEAUVILLE had changed in six months, Jess figured. He’d done his stint at Huntsville, added a healthy sum to his bank account and now could afford to contact Bobby Calhoun about buying back his ranch. Until then he was homeless, or pretty close, if he didn’t count his room at the motel. He’d looked at a couple of apartments above the drugstore, but Jess wasn’t ready to move in just yet.

He drove along Beaumont Street, along the north border of the park, and realized he hadn’t set foot in town since the weekend of Jake Johnson’s wedding. That was one night he hadn’t forgotten. And probably never would. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol since. He’d never been so stupid in his life, unless he counted his marriage.

But that night in July had been one hell of a night. He shouldn’t be thinking about sex. He shouldn’t be cruising the streets of Beauville looking for the sight of a curvaceous curly-haired blonde and trying to remember where she lived the night he slept there. He knew it was a small house not too far from the park, but the next morning pain, embarrassment and guilt had combined to make him unaware of his precise surroundings until he stumbled back to the Grange and found his truck parked around the corner. It hadn’t been one of his best mornings.

Jess turned on Main Street and tried to forget what a fool he’d been that night last summer. He could sure use a cup of coffee and he wouldn’t mind a little conversation, either. The Coffee Pot didn’t look crowded, which suited Jess just fine. He didn’t feel like talking.

And he didn’t think talking would be possible when his mouth went dry at the sight of the woman from last summer sitting in the café. But was it her? Jess hesitated before taking a seat at a table by the door. The woman in a booth at the other end of the room sat with her back to him, a familiar mass of yellow curls twisted into a knot at the top of her head.

He didn’t know if he wanted it to be her or not. For one thing, he wasn’t sure she’d remember him. Which wasn’t exactly a compliment to the lady. Or to himself. For another, it was damn embarrassing to come face-to-face with someone you’d only known for one night—and one sexual encounter.

But what an encounter.

Jess ordered coffee from Charlie, who’d come out of the kitchen to welcome him back.

“Is there anything else I can get you, Jess? Breakfast is on the house,” the man offered.

“In that case, I’ll have a couple of eggs over easy,” Jess said, not wanting to hurt Charlie’s feelings.

“We’ve missed you around here,” the cook said, going back behind the counter to pour the coffee. He came back with an oversize mug he set in front of Jess. “Black, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing once more at the yellow curls in the back booth. “You remembered.”

“Sure. You weren’t gone that long.”

“Are you the waitress now, too, Charlie?”

“Nah. She’s taking a break. Holler if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” Jess took a sip of coffee and looked around the café. The place hadn’t changed for as long as he remembered. Though he’d grown up outside of town, his father brought him here for breakfast every Saturday morning. He nodded at a couple of older men on their stools who swiveled at the counter toward him. He pretended he recognized them, accepted their “welcome back” and “good to see you again,” but his gaze went more often to the woman at the end of the room. In fact, she was seated at the last booth before the rest rooms, so Jess decided it was time he answered nature’s call. Or at least pretended to.

He slid out of the booth, left his hat on the table, and headed toward the far end of the restaurant. He couldn’t see her when he passed, though he tried to look out of the corner of his eye. Jess went into the men’s room and washed his hands, smoothed back his hair and looked at the fool in the mirror, who looked back at him as if he was the biggest idiot in Texas.

When he stepped out, he was conscious of his heart racing faster than usual, and his throat had gone dry again. And all because of the sight of yellow curls. His gaze went right to her, and he knew her right away, even though she had her head lowered and appeared to be reading a magazine.

“Excuse me,” he said, pausing at the table. The profile, the petite nose, the hair—it had to be her. So when she turned and lifted her gaze to meet his, there was no doubt he’d found the woman he’d made love to last July. In fact, she blushed. And he thought his own face felt a little too warm, but then again, Charlie didn’t care to use a whole lot of air-conditioning this time of year.

“Yes?”

It occurred to him that he didn’t know her name. “Haven’t we met?”

She looked straight into his eyes and lied. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Really.” He looked at her until those blue eyes blinked once and then looked away to her magazine. “Are you sure?”

She glanced toward him once again. “I’m sorry,” she said, but there was no regret in her voice. “I suppose I would have remembered.”

“Yeah.” Jess walked away, toward his cooling coffee and the plate of eggs that Charlie had just set at his table. She didn’t remember him or she didn’t want to. He supposed she was as embarrassed as he was about that night. He thanked Charlie for the eggs, then lowered his voice so the cook would have to lean closer. “Is that your waitress?”

Charlie chuckled. “Yeah. I saw you talking to her, Jess. How’d you make out?”

“Not too good.”

“You’re not the first man around here who’s tried and failed, Jess. Don’t take it too hard.”

“What’s her name?”

“Lorna,” Charlie replied, and the name sounded familiar. Had he known her name that night? He had a vague recollection of a waitress uniform and a fight over garbage bags. There’d been a ruckus, and that was all he remembered until waking up to find himself in bed with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life. Lorna.

“Lorna what?”

“Walters. She’s from Marysville, but she inherited her aunt’s house here in town last summer.” Charlie winked. “If you want to know anything else, you’ll have to ask her.”

He intended to, now that he’d found her. Surprisingly it hadn’t taken very long. She knew who he was, but she didn’t want to admit it. He would talk to her again, ask her out for dinner, maybe. Show her that he wasn’t the combative drunk she’d known a few months ago. He was the town’s sheriff now, after serving as a deputy in Marysville for more than ten years. He was well-respected, or at least he hoped he was.

Jess attacked his eggs, even though he didn’t have much of an appetite. Lorna Walters didn’t want to have anything to do with him. He should have guessed that his luck with women couldn’t be anything but bad. Some guys were lucky—and some guys were better off staying home with their dog, their refrigerator and the remote control.

HE WAS A QUICK EATER and he didn’t linger over his second cup of coffee, which meant Lorna didn’t have to make her morning break last longer than it should. There was no way she was going to get out of the booth and show Jess Sheridan her new figure, even if it meant sitting there until sundown. Oh, she knew she couldn’t avoid seeing him until March, when the baby was due, but she hoped to stall the inevitable for a while longer.

“You feelin’ okay?” Charlie asked, when she stood behind the counter once again and poured herself a glass of ice water.

“Fine.” She fixed a fresh pot of coffee, wiped down the counters and checked the napkin holders to make sure they were filled.

“The new sheriff was asking about you,” Charlie said, grinning at her. She thought for a moment her heart stopped.

“What’d you tell him?”

“I told him your name, that’s all. And if he wanted to know anything else he should ask you.” The cook shook his head. “For a pregnant woman, you sure get asked out a lot. How come you don’t go?”

Lorna attempted a laugh and smoothed her white blouse over her rounded abdomen. “I’ll give you one guess.”

“That baby’s gonna need a father,” the man warned. “And you’re gonna need a husband.”

“That would be nice, Charlie,” she agreed, trying to keep her voice light. “Do you have anyone in particular in mind?”

A voice piped up from the end of the counter. “How about the son-of-a-bitch who did this to you?”

“He’s not available, Mike,” she told the old man. Mike Monterro lived alone, spent hours at the café and wasn’t shy about pronouncing his opinions. He looked about ninety, with a weathered brown face and wiry gray hair that stuck up in patches on the top of his head. Lorna was still a little bit afraid of him.

“Hmmph,” the man grumbled, frowning at Lorna’s belly. “In my day women didn’t go around having kids if they weren’t married. The men married ’em and gave the kids a name.”

“Have you ever been married, Mike?” She hoped to change the subject as fast as she could, before he delivered another opinion on her pregnancy.

“Yes, ma’am, and a sweeter woman you’d never meet. She could bake pies that would make a man weep, my Felicia could.”

“What kind of pies?” She poured a fresh cup of coffee and placed it in front of him. Mike usually stayed for lunch, then went home to “get some work done.” Or so he said. Lorna figured he took a nap.

“Apple, peach, rhubarb, you name it.” He sighed. “Felly’s been gone twenty-seven years now and I still miss those pies.” He gave her a sharp look. “Do you bake pies, missy?”

“No. I never learned.”

“Well,” he said, nodding to himself. “That’s your problem. You learn to bake pies and mebbee you’ll get yourself a man.”

Lorna hid her sigh. Mike didn’t know it, but Lorna would have baked a thousand pies if it meant that Jess Sheridan would fall in love with her. “I wish it was that simple, Mike,” she said.

He shrugged and picked up his coffee cup. “It should be, missy, yessiree.”

WALTERS. LORNA WALTERS. He’d grown up with a Walters family. They’d lived down the street. There might have been a daughter named Lorna, but he didn’t remember. Jess tapped her name into the computer, but came up with nothing but her driver’s license and her Beauville address. She wasn’t wanted for anything, had no record of speeding tickets or in-fractions of any kind. At least he knew where she lived and could see if that was the house that matched his memory.

Or not. He could let it go, chalk it up to one of those “strangers in the night” happenings, one of those things that was better left in the past.

He didn’t know why he couldn’t. He told himself he needed to apologize. He told himself he needed to know what exactly happened that night—after all, he’d had a lump on the back of his head for a week. He told himself once again he was acting like a fool. But at seven-twelve Monday evening, Jess knocked at 1205 North Comstock and waited for Lorna to come to the door.

Her eyes widened when she recognized him, but she was behind the screen door and didn’t open it.

“Yes, can I help you?”

“I’m Jess Sheridan,” he said. “And we have met.” He paused, hoping he was going about this in the right way. “I wanted to apologize for that evening.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” she said, and he noticed she held a white bed pillow in front of her. She wore a fluffy blue robe and her hair was damp.

“This isn’t a good time to drop by, I guess.” He waited, hoping she would invite him inside. It was damn hard to talk while standing on the other side of a door. He started to feel uneasy, like he was making a big mistake.

“Not really,” she agreed. “It’s a little embarrassing. How did you find the house?”

“I’m the sheriff,” he said. “I got your name from Charlie and the rest was easy.”

“I know who you are. I knew who you were last July, too.”

Once again he felt an unaccustomed heat tinge his face. “There isn’t much I remember about that night. I was hoping you could fill me in. How drunk was I?”

“You were a perfect gentleman,” Lorna said. “You helped me out of a jam and you got yourself conked on the head for it. So I brought you home to recover.”

“To recover,” he repeated, remembering the way she’d felt in his arms. He’d recovered just fine, and when he’d put himself inside of her he’d thought he’d found heaven. Now it was Lorna’s turn to blush.

“Could we just forget about that night?” she asked, those big blue eyes imploring him to end the conversation. “Please? I don’t expect you to believe me, but I don’t pick up drunks and bring them home after work. You were the first.”

“And I’m not usually a drunk,” Jess said. “I guess that was an unusual night for both of us.” He’d believe anything she told him, Jess realized. Including that the earth was flat, the sky green and the state of Texas bordered the Atlantic Ocean. But he still had the nagging sense that there was something more, something else she hadn’t told him. He hadn’t been a cop for all these years for nothing. He fingered the prickles on the back of his neck and remembered the lump. “Who hit me?”