When the time finally came for the bride and groom to be on their way, Kate pulled Trish aside. “I’ll call you on New Year’s Eve,” Kate told her. “We’ll be in port then. Maybe on Christmas, too, but I can’t promise that.”
Trish felt tears coming on and could only nod. She was already beginning to miss her sister.
“You haven’t told Morgan yet, have you?” Kate asked.
Swallowing the lump of emotion in her throat, Trish answered. “Not yet, and I don’t know if I’ll see him before Christmas Eve. Aunt Aggie and I are supposed to spend it with Hettie at the Commune, and I expect Morgan will be there for at least part of the evening.”
“Maybe Christmas Eve, then?” Kate asked gently. “What a present that could be!”
A vision of what Morgan’s reaction might be popped into Trish’s mind. “Or not,” she said, feeling far from positive about it. “But it would be the best time.”
“And the worst time for me to be gone,” Kate said, her eyes filled with concern.
Trish tried for a smile. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it. And I’m the one who got myself into this.”
“With a little help from Morgan,” Kate reminded her. “You can’t put it off, Trish. Not with Morgan, anyway. And with Aunt Aggie and Hettie leaving for their cruise after the first of the year…”
Sighing, Trish shook her head. “Let’s wait to tell them when they get back. I don’t want anything to interfere with their trip, and I’m afraid they both might feel they need to cancel and stay home with me. But you’re right. I’ve put off telling Morgan for as long as I can. Christmas Eve may be my best chance.”
Kate wrapped her in her arms and hugged her. “Make it the best chance, Trish.”
Knowing she couldn’t put it off, Trish nodded. “I’ll try.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
BY THE END OF THE NEXT WEEK, the weather had turned colder and the wind blew the limbs of the bare trees back and forth. Winter had definitely set in around Desperation.
As Trish stepped out of the church on Christmas Eve, she pulled her knit cap farther down around her ears. Apprehension had grown by the day, and she’d been nervous about what she knew she must do that evening. Now that they were headed for the Commune, she hoped her nervous stomach didn’t embarrass her or ruin the evening for everyone.
“That was a beautiful service, as always,” Hettie said, walking on one side of Trish.
“I’ve never been to a Christmas Eve candle-lighting service that wasn’t,” Aggie agreed from the other side. “I’m glad we decided to walk.”
Trish, who had been half listening to the conversation, spoke. “Your knee isn’t bothering you?”
“Nope,” Aggie answered. “Doc Priller prescribed some new pills for me, and they seem to be doing the trick.”
“I’m so glad to hear it,” Trish told her sincerely.
They chatted on about the wedding the week before and gossip in Desperation. Just the mention of gossip reminded Trish that she would soon be the subject of it, which led to a churning stomach at the prospect of what the rest of the evening would bring. By the time they reached the stone steps of the Commune, she was ready to turn around and run away from it all, but she knew that was childish. She couldn’t put it off. And she wanted some answers. She only hoped it didn’t mar the evening for anyone other than the two of them.
Freda greeted them at the door, her round cheeks rosy and her smile as bright as the sun. “Good. Good. Now I have my ladies here to help.” She stepped back to let them through the door. “Trish, you’re all right?”
Startled, Trish looked up, her stomach tightening. “Yes, I am. Why?” It was if Freda had sensed her secret.
Freda cocked her head to one side and then shook it, smiling. “Nothing. You look a little tired.”
Relief swept through Trish. “After-wedding letdown, I guess,” she said with a smile.
“Yes, it has been so very busy. But only a few more days and life will be quiet.”
Trish knew this wouldn’t be the case. More than likely, life would be topsy-turvy for quite some time.
They followed Freda to the kitchen, where pot after pot simmered on the double stove. “Smells wonderful, Freda,” Hettie said, sniffing the air.
Freda’s grin widened. “Good. Good.” She picked up a platter piled high with appetizers and handed it to Trish. “The guests will start with this, while we put the rest on the sideboard and the table in the dining room. It will take the edge off their hunger until we are ready.”
Trish checked out the contents of the plate. “Meatballs?”
“Köttbullar,” Freda answered, nodding. “Go on. Try one.”
Picking up one of the small, round meatballs stuck with a toothpick, Trish nibbled. “Oh, yes,” she said and popped the rest of it into her mouth, closing her eyes and savoring it.
“Is it all Swedish fare this year?” Aggie asked.
“Oh, no,” Freda answered. “Only the köttbullar and lussekatter. That is Saint Lucia buns. And the Risgryngröt.”
“What’s reesgr…” Hettie laughed. “Whatever you said.”
“Rice porridge. It is special.”
“How’s that?”
“You will see,” Freda answered with a mysterious smile. She gave Trish a nudge. “Go. Take the tray. They are all in the library waiting. Hettie and Aggie and I will get everything set up for the smorgasbord. It won’t take us long.”
Trish would have rather stayed in the kitchen, but no one was giving her the choice. In the hallway, she found Ernie talking to Elaine and Harold Anderson, who had been the first couple to move into the Commune when it opened.
“Why, Trish, what have you brought us?” Elaine asked when she saw Trish approaching.
When she reached them, Trish held out the tray. “Freda’s Swedish meatballs. Dinner will be ready soon, but you can enjoy these until then.”
Harold turned to Ernie. “I’ve always wondered where you found Freda. She’s a wonder in the kitchen. Keeps us all well fed.”
“I met her on my travels,” Ernie answered. “There wasn’t a better cook in all of Sweden, and she was eager to see America. It was one of those win-win things for both of us.” He turned to Trish. “Go on in. Everybody is gathered in the library.”
Ernie opened the door to the library, and Trish stepped inside to find the room crowded with people. “Köttbullar, anyone?”
Knowing all the residents of the Commune and their families, she spoke to each person. She was fully aware that Morgan was among them, but tried to avoid looking at him. Her stomach was fluttering, and she had to make an effort to calm her racing heart. Anticipation, she reminded herself, was usually worse than the deed.
Ready to put that deed into motion, she approached Morgan, who stood near the blazing fireplace, a cup of eggnog in his hand. “I hope that’s the nonalcoholic version,” she teased with a smile she hoped didn’t wobble.
“It’s the only way to drink it when I know I’ll be on duty later.” He took a meatball from the tray and bit into it. “Mmm. These are fantastic,” he exclaimed as he took another.
Nodding, she took a breath. “We need to talk.”
He glanced around the room before looking at her directly. “Okay. Now?”
“Later, after dinner.”
“I can do that. But just so you know, I have to make rounds.”
“It won’t take long.” She couldn’t even muster a smile and left him with a puzzled look on his face. She was halfway across the room on unsteady legs when Ernie walked in to announce that dinner was ready.
Although she participated in the evening’s festivities, including the scrumptious smorgasbord Freda had prepared, Trish’s evening passed by in a blur—until she found the almond in her pudding.
“According to tradition,” Freda had announced when Trish discovered the surprise in her dish, “the person to find the almond is to marry in the coming year.”
Trish barely
commented. All she could think about was the task that awaited her when dinner was over.
The company was almost as good as being with her family, and she didn’t miss Kate as much as she thought she might. She was wondering how Kate and Dusty were enjoying their honeymoon cruise when she saw Morgan speak to Ernie. He glanced at her, nodded, and then slipped out of the room. Excusing herself, she followed and found him waiting for her in the hallway.
“Is this a good time?” He glanced at his watch. “I have maybe fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes is fine,” she said, her throat closing on the words.
Crooking her finger for him to follow, she led him farther down the hall, away from the main rooms of the Commune. When they came to the small nook under the stairs, she took a deep breath to steady herself, unsure if her legs were going to hold her, and stepped into the shadows. Morgan followed. She felt light-headed and took another deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”
Time seemed to stand still. Morgan was looking at her, his eyes a little wider than usual, his face pale and his mouth open as if he’d been ready to say something. But there was nothing coming out.
He blinked once, then again. Closing his mouth, he gave a small shake of his head. “Pregnant?”
Trish prayed the dark edges of the room wouldn’t take over everything in her vision, and then everything cleared. She nodded.
Chapter Four
Morgan stared at Trish, the woman he’d loved—and still loved, in spite of knowing he shouldn’t. Her fair skin was paler than normal, and he guessed his probably was, too.
“When?” he finally managed to ask. The fact that she wasn’t saying anything bothered him. “There’s no way,” he continued, shaking his head. “We didn’t…”
And then he remembered.
“You’re right,” Trish said. “We didn’t.”
For one brief second, he almost believed nothing had happened, that they hadn’t made love. But they had. He’d provoked an argument with her the night before she left on her tour, knowing that for her sake he had to break it off with her. But knowing it would all be over between them when she returned, he had gone beyond his own limits, and the argument had led to making love.
Now he understood why she had said they didn’t. She’d meant they didn’t take precautions.
He leaned against the wall for support as he closed his eyes and groaned, in spite of trying to stop it. Slowly opening them, he saw her watching him.
“Then you remember,” she said.
He nodded and straightened. “Yes, I remember.” He waited for her to say more, but she remained silent. He knew he had treated her badly that night. Did she think he would run from his responsibility? Could he blame her if she did? He certainly hadn’t been responsible about taking precautions.
“What do you plan to do?” he asked, knowing full well she would expect to get married. He knew he should offer to marry her, but he wouldn’t risk leaving her a widow and his child without a father. He could offer financial support, but little more.
Silence grew between them, until her shoulders raised and lowered as she took a deep breath. Squaring them, she looked at him with a determination he’d never seen before. “It all depends.”
“Depends on what?” he asked.
“On whether you can be honest.”
He had a feeling he didn’t want to know what that meant. “Honest about what?”
“The reason you canceled our wedding.”
He couldn’t tell her. Only Ernie knew what had happened to his partner in Miami, and only Ernie knew what had happened with John. Trish never needed to know about either. There was no reason to frighten her.
“I never should have asked you to marry me.”
Trish merely looked at him. “That’s not a reason.”
He didn’t remember ever feeling so uncomfortable. “I told you why.”
She shook her head and turned away from him. “I still don’t understand. I thought everything was good, and there was no reason why we couldn’t simply postpone the wedding for a couple of months.”
“I didn’t mean to lead you on or hurt you. I guess I thought it would work.”
She spun around and faced him, her eyes narrowed. “It would have worked.”
“And if it hadn’t?”
“You weren’t even willing to give it a chance!”
He couldn’t give it a chance, and he couldn’t tell her that. He couldn’t tell her what had happened to change his mind or that he still loved her.
“Failure isn’t something I strive for,” he finally said, hoping the discussion of the past was over. There were more important things to discuss.
“Nobody does. Honesty must be a priority in a marriage. You haven’t been honest with me since I told you about the tour, have you?”
“As honest as I can be,” he answered. Knowing it was the right thing to do, he did what was expected. “We should probably get married.”
She lowered her head, then raised it again, meeting his gaze. “Then I’ll be as honest as I can be. I’ve decided to raise the baby on my own,” she said.
He was surprised, but at the same time, he was ashamed at the relief he felt. All he wanted was to keep her and their baby safe. “If that’s what you want.”
“At this point, it is.”
“Am I the only one who knows?” he asked.
“No, Kate does.”
“Kate?” It was just like Trish to go and tell her sister something that had nothing to do with her. Even as adults, the two seemed to live in each other’s pocket. There were times it irritated him. Not many, because he honestly liked Kate, but this was definitely one of those times. “Now why did you go and tell her before telling me?”
Her head snapped up and her eyes blazed with anger. “She’s my sister!”
She had kept her voice low, but fury sizzled in it, and he took a small step back. “Okay, okay. I don’t know what it is about women that they have to share every little—”
“Shh,” she said, glancing around the hallway. “There’s no reason to shout.”
He was losing his temper, something that didn’t happen often. But he wasn’t angry at her. He was angry at himself. “I’m not shouting,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Kate and I have always shared. You know that, Morgan. You know how close we are. Like twins.”
Born within less than a year of each other. And as different as night and day.
But it wasn’t Kate who had him worried. It was what Agatha Clayborne might have to say. Or do. There was no telling how Aggie would react, and he wouldn’t put it past her to show up at his door with a shotgun when she learned. Hell, it surprised him that he hadn’t heard from Kate, as protective as she was of Trish.
“I’m sorry,” he said, realizing he’d forgotten what it was like to be that close to someone. “Of course you told Kate.”
Before he could say anything else, he heard someone in the hallway, and then Hettie appeared. “There you two are,” she said, her smile reminding him of the Cheshire Cat. “I was afraid you’d both left.”
He took a halfhearted look at his watch and noticed that they’d gone over the fifteen minutes he’d allotted for their little chat. “Consider me gone.” Grabbing his hat and coat from the rack in the hallway, he started for the door.
“I only need a minute of your time,” Hettie called out. “I need to ask—”
“Ask later.” He opened the door and stepped out into the cold night. But he turned back quickly, aware that he owed them both an explanation, especially Trish. “I’m already late, and I promised Stu he could spend Christmas Eve with his wife and little boy. I’ll see you both later.”
He didn’t bother to wait for an answer as he closed the door and hurried to the patrol car he’d parked in the driveway. After climbing into his cruiser, he started it and backed down the long driveway, his thoughts spinning.
How could he have been so foolish to have risked exactly what he had fough
t to keep from happening? Everything had changed fifteen minutes ago. Even if he told Trish the truth, it wouldn’t help. He couldn’t offer to marry her and put both a wife and a child at risk.
“MORE CAKE, Hettie?” Aggie asked.
“Maybe just a little piece. Morgan will be here soon to take me home.”
“I’ll make sure there’s a big piece left for him.”
Trish sat with the two women at the kitchen table and listened to the exchange between them, but her mind was busy with the subject of the conversation. She wished Hettie had driven herself out to the farm that afternoon to spend Christmas with them. Trish wasn’t ready to face Morgan again, not after telling him the news about the baby the night before.
“What about you, Trish?”
She looked up from the paper napkin that lay in tiny pieces in front of her. “What?”
“Another piece of cake?” Hettie asked.
“No, not for me. I couldn’t eat another bite.” She pressed her hand to her stomach and felt a stab of guilt. She still hadn’t told Aggie, and she wouldn’t until she and Hettie returned from their trip. They would leave the day after New Year’s. As soon as they were home again, she and Kate would tell them both their news.
Aggie pushed away from the table, her chair groaning on the linoleum floor. “I was hoping Kate would call.” Glancing at the phone hanging on the wall, she shrugged. “I guess not.”
Trish couldn’t agree more. “She said she’d try to call today, but she didn’t promise. Something about being on board and not able to call except in an emergency. But they’ll be in port on New Year’s Eve, so she’ll probably call then.”
Hettie’s sigh filled the kitchen. “It’s hard to believe the wedding was only a week ago.”
Nodding, Trish scooped up the shredded napkin and rose from the table. “I only hope Kate isn’t seasick.”
“Or Dusty,” Aggie added, laughing. “Wouldn’t it be a hoot if a man who’s spent most of his life getting bounced around on the backs of bulls were to get sick on a rocking boat?”
The Lawman's Little Surprise Page 5
