by Meg Maxwell
Tears pooled in Clementine’s eyes. “I didn’t mean—” She looked down at Timmy and kissed the top of his head, covered in a soft knit yellow hat. “I’m sorry. I know you’re right. I’m just...angry about how things work sometimes, how things are.”
“Well, that’s both good and bad,” Essie said. “Good if you do something positive with your anger. Bad if you let it seep inside your bones. Capisce?”
Even Clementine had to smile. “Capisce.” She glanced at Georgia. “Are you really home for good? Not going back to Houston?”
Georgia shook her head. “No way. I’m home for good.”
“I’m very glad to hear you say that,” Essie said. “Because with Hattie gone to help care for her granddaughters, we’ve sorely needed a baker and I’m overjoyed you’ve agreed. I do okay and I make a mean biscuit, but no one bakes a chocolate layer cake like you, Georgia.”
Georgia smiled, the compliment from her grandmother nestling in her heart. “I’m just glad to finally be able to help out around here.”
Over the next few hours, as Gram and Annabel got busy making sauces, from Creole to barbecue to white gravy for chicken-fried steak, and Clementine set up the dining room, Georgia baked two chocolate layer cakes, three pies—blueberry, apple and lemon meringue—and two dozen chocolate-chip cookies. They talked and laughed and reminisced and gossiped and it was as if Georgia had never been gone. Then Gram and Clementine left for the farmers’ market, and Annabel headed to the door to get home for lunch.
“Do you instinctively know what to do?” she asked Annabel, who was stepmother to her husband West Montgomery’s five-year-old daughter. She and West had married back in April in a business arrangement to save both Hurley’s and West’s family—but the two had realized how much they loved each other and their marriage became very real. “Or have you had to learn as you go?”
Annabel smiled. “I’d say a bit of both. Sometimes I surprise myself. Sometimes I’m so afraid to say or do the wrong thing. But even when I do, it works out because my heart is definitely in the right place. You know?”
Georgia nodded. “But at least a five-year-old can tell you you’re braiding her hair too tightly or whatever. With Timmy—and with my own baby—I’ll have to figure it out for myself. What if I figure wrong?”
“You’ll do fine,” Annabel said. “I don’t have experience with babies either, but moms I know always say you’ll just figure it out as you go and you can quickly tell the different between cries. One waaah means hunger, another means pick me up, another means wet diaper.”
Georgia bit her lip. “Sounds complicated.”
Annabel dug into her tote bag and handed over a thick book. “I almost forgot! I borrowed this for you from West’s bookshelves. Your Baby 101.”
Georgia smiled. “Thanks. I definitely need this.” She slipped the book into her own tote bag. “Thanks for everything, Annabel. And for sending Nick Slater to me in Houston in the first place. I’m sorry I worried you. I wish now I’d just told you what was going on.”
Annabel nodded. “Well, I understand why you didn’t. But who knew that my sending a detective to check up on my older sister would end up with said sister pregnant with his baby? Not me.”
They both laughed, but then Georgia’s smile disappeared and she wrapped her sister in a fierce hug. “Thank you, Annabel. And I know I’ve said it too many times already, but I am so sorry. You entered into a business-deal marriage to save Hurley’s.”
Annabel smiled. “Well, I would have done that if Hurley’s had been in the black too. I really married West to stop his former in-laws from trying to sue for custody of his daughter. Now we’re all one big happy family, in-laws included.”
“I’m so happy for you.” Georgia loved the joy she saw in her sister’s eyes.
“Now our big happy family is going to get one person bigger,” Annabel said, eyeing Georgia’s belly. She glanced at her watch. “I’d better run. See you later.”
Alone again in the kitchen, except for napping Timmy, Georgia was sliding the last of the pies from the oven when Timmy began to stir and then let out a wail.
Georgia took off her oven mitts and then rushed over to Timmy, scooping him up from the basinet. “I’m here, sweet boy,” she cooed. “Let’s change your diaper. Hey, I am getting the hang of this.”
She glanced at her watch. Just after eleven-thirty. She and Nick hadn’t made any kind of plan for today, and for all she knew, he was off investigating Timmy’s mother. Or maybe he was home, reading through the case files and using the internet and phone to investigate. She’d left him a note saying she’d taken Timmy to Hurley’s and would be back at lunchtime. Maybe he’d be there too. She’d head back to Nick’s and see.
It would be good for Nick to spend time around Timmy. Just as taking care of Timmy would teach her the rudiments of taking care of her own baby, perhaps being around Timmy would soften Nick’s feelings about fatherhood, get him used to having a baby around.
She could hope, anyway.
Chapter Five
Last night, Nick had woken up to the sound of a baby crying and thought he was dreaming, then remembered. Timmy. And when Timmy had magically quieted down, Nick had bolted up.
Georgia.
Right next door. It had taken him a while to fall asleep, but he did, only to wake up a few hours later to the same cries. Then the same magic quiet. Then he heard the very faint sound of her singing some kind of lullaby.
He hadn’t been able to fall back asleep that last time.
He’d wondered what she was wearing. What she was thinking. If he should knock on her door and offer to make some coffee.
But he hadn’t gotten out of bed. He’d sat up, consciously unwilling to check on Georgia and the baby.
Which was interesting, considering that he’d hired her as his live-in nanny.
You want her close but not too close, he knew.
He’d heard her tiptoeing around at five o’clock, heard the front door gently click. Then he’d sprung out of bed. In the kitchen he’d found she’d made a pot of coffee and left a note: Took Timmy to Hurley’s to meet the family and start my first morning as baker. Back at lunchtime.
He glanced at his watch. It was just about lunchtime. For the past several hours, he’d been parked on the living room couch, the box of case files for the past two years on the coffee table. He’d been too distracted to go through the case files last night, but now they were all fresh in his head, his little notebook full of reminders, schedules and any helpful information. This afternoon, he’d start with the most recent and work his way back. First up: a visit to Harriet Culver, whose greyhound eleven-year-old Jason Pullman had dognapped, then the Pullmans. Harriet was in her early sixties, but perhaps she had a relative or a neighbor who liked how he’d handled the case and thought he’d make an excellent babysitter for the week. Or maybe the Pullmans were connected to Timmy—someone who thought Nick had something to do with how Harriet had been so kind to dogless Timmy when it had been Harriet’s own doing.
He pulled the next file, shaking his head. Penny Jergen, a twenty-four-year-old local beauty queen with a mean streak whose entire wardrobe, including shoes, were stolen and never found. The only evidence? Ashes from a bonfire in a clearing on the outskirts of town, a glittery pink scarf left behind with a rock holding it down. Clearly, someone wanted Penny to know all her clothes and shoes were dust. He’d never cracked that case, and Penny Jergen glared at him in town. If she’d had a baby and had had to leave her infant with someone, he doubted it would be him.
But he’d add her to the list. She’d been difficult, to say the least, and he’d been kind and patient, since her demeanor had reminded him of his sister when she’d been hurt and angry or frustrated. Maybe someone connected to her liked how he’d handled Penny and that someone was Timmy’s mother.
He’d have to backtrack through all these people. He sighed. Sounded tedious and draining. But somewhere in these boxes was the key to Timmy’s mother. So he’d do it.
The doorbell rang and he jogged over to open it. It was Georgia with Timmy.
“You don’t have to ring the doorbell,” he told her, again struck by how damned pretty she was. She wore a denim skirt and a pale yellow ruffly tank top, the swell of her belly even more visible in this outfit. “This is now your home for the week.”
“Still seems strange to just walk in.” She set Timmy’s carrier on the coffee table next to the box of case files. “Any luck on finding Timmy’s mother?”
He sat down and slid the Jergen file back into the box. “Not yet. But I have a long list of folks to see today. My not so brilliant plan is to casually ‘run into’ them and conversationally check up on their cases. I’ll look for any signs of nervousness. You can tell a lot by someone’s expression, by what they do with their hands.”
Though he’d certainly misread Georgia’s back in April. He’d tossed and turned last night thinking about it. Why hadn’t he recognized what was right in front of his damned face? He’d allowed her to suffer under that man’s abusive thumb—while pregnant with Nick’s child—for four months. And what if the bastard hadn’t gotten himself killed? Georgia had said she’d had enough, that she was going to ask for help, but that hadn’t gotten her very far before.
He looked at Georgia’s belly. Five months and there would be a little person in her arms, his child, his son, his daughter.
Nick was man enough to admit he’d been scared before in life. But nothing scared him more than impending fatherhood.
“You know,” she said, “maybe Timmy and I could come along. It would probably be easier to get a reaction out of someone who was actually looking at her own baby. Or at a five-week-old relative.”
He considered that. “I don’t know. None of these folks fall into the dangerous category, but I’m not comfortable bringing you and Timmy on police business.”
“Unofficial police business, though.”
He smiled. “I suppose. I guess it would help. Good thing about a small town is you know where people generally are. Harriet Culver will be having her usual 1:00 p.m. lunch at Hurley’s with her sister, Gloria. We’ll find the Pullmans at their son’s baseball practice at 3:30 p.m. And Penny Jergen works at the coffee shop her aunt owns. She’s on till five.”
“Where will you find me on Mondays at ten?” she asked with a smile. A beautiful smile. One he hadn’t seen since their night in Houston, he now realized.
“Well, you’re a newcomer,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. “But I’ll have you profiled in no time.”
She smiled again, but it faltered a bit. “Actually, this Monday at ten I have a checkup at my obstetrician’s office.” She hesitated for moment and added, “Perhaps you could come with me.”
He almost choked on his coffee.
“I can feel the baby kick inside me. It’s what made this feel very real for me. I think you’ll feel similarly if you see the baby on the ultrasound.”
“I don’t know, Georgia,” he said, turning away, his skin feeling tight again.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to. The baby will be here soon enough and then it’ll be very real. I just thought—”
She’d caught him off guard and he needed a little time to let the idea sink in. Doctor appointments. Ultrasounds. “Well, I’d better double-check my notes before we leave,” he said, standing up. “Hopefully, there’ll be a table open near Harriet’s,” he added in a rush, hoping she’d stick to the change of subject.
She glanced at him and nodded. “I could use a shower. Do you mind watching Timmy for five minutes?”
“Of course I’ll watch him,” he said, glancing at Timmy in his carrier on the coffee table. As she headed to her room, Nick tried to imagine Georgia naked under a spray of water, but visions of photographic evidence of their unborn child flashed in his head instead. He closed his eyes to clear his head. No luck.
He unbuckled Timmy and carefully picked him up, cradling him in along his arm. “Can I do this?” he whispered to Timmy? “Can I go to OB appointments? Can I be a father at all?”
Did he want to see the baby on the ultrasound? Did he want it to feel real? Probably not, not yet. The trouble wasn’t going with her to an appointment or seeing the picture. It was how he’d react, how he’d feel. What if it was like a punch in the gut—how inadequate he’d be as a father—and he shut down even more?
What if seeing his baby on that screen undid him emotionally and made him want to be a good father when he knew it wasn’t in him?
Maybe he just wouldn’t go to the appointment.
But he knew he would. He had to be there for Georgia. Yes, she had family to stand by her, but he was her baby’s father.
That meant he had to go.
Sometimes Nick liked the ease of black and white. Until he thought about the things he wouldn’t, couldn’t do “because he was the baby’s father.” That was a long list too.
* * *
Two hours later, Georgia and Nick arrived at Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen, Nick holding Timmy’s carrier. The dining room was full, but there was no line out on the porch, so there wouldn’t be much of a wait. Harriet Culver and her sister, Gloria, whom Georgia had known forever because they were Hurley’s regulars dating back to when she was a kid, were sitting by the window facing Blue Gulch Street, and two bankers from Texas Trust were just paying up at the table to their left. Perfect.
“Well, hello again, little guy,” Clementine said as she came over to where they waited by the front door, smiling at napping Timmy. “Detective Slater,” she added. “It’ll be just a minute for a table.”
A few minutes later, with the table next to Harriet open, Clementine led the way with menus. Nick set the carrier on the chair between his seat and Harriet’s table.
Clementine recited the specials and Georgia opted for the spicy chicken po’boy—major craving—and sweet potato fries; Nick ordered the barbecue burger. Clementine was back in a flash with their iced teas and a small plate of Gram’s biscuits and apple butter.
“What a darling little baby!” Harriet said as Clementine left. She and her sister, both tall, imposing women in their sixties with matching gray-blond bobs, gushed over Timmy, marveling at his big cheeks and bow-shaped lips. “I didn’t know you and Georgia were married and had a baby. What a lovely couple you are.”
Georgia could feel her cheeks pinken. “Actually, Nick and I aren’t married. Or a couple. We’re babysitting.”
“Oh, you’re so lucky,” Harriet said. “I have four adult children and not one grandbaby yet. I don’t even know anyone with a baby, so I never get to babysit and smell that new-baby smell.”
Gloria nodded. “Me too. It’s awful,” she added as Clementine brought over their orders.
Nick leaned close to Georgia. “Guess we can cross off the Culvers from the list. One down, many to go.”
“Who’s next?” she whispered, so aware of him beside her, the clean, masculine scent, his leg slightly brushing hers once or twice.
Nick took a bite of his burger, then swiped a fry in Creole mustard dipping sauce. “The Pullmans are next. Nice couple with an eleven-year-old son. We have a couple hours before Jason’s baseball practice, so eat slowly.”
Georgia smiled and dug into her grilled chicken po’boy. “Mmm, this is good. I grew up eating Hurley’s po’boys and those sweet potato fries, and all these year later, nothing beats it. Pure comfort food.”
He held his burger up, about to take a bite. “Best burger in town, hands down.”
She doubly appreciated that, since Clyde’s Burgertopia had opened across the street a few months ago and was big competition.
As Harriet and her sister got up to leave
, Harriet said, “Detective Slater, I’ll never forget how you saved my Bentley. That dog is everything to me.”
Nick smiled. “It was a pretty easy case. Eyewitness. Eleven-year-old perp.”
“Maybe so,” Harriet said, “but all I know is that Bentley was stolen and an hour later, he was back with me. When I lived in another town and my cat was up a tree and couldn’t get back down, do you know what the police told me? To borrow a ladder from a neighbor. But you made Bentley a priority. You must love animals.”
Georgia held back her snort, thinking of Mr. Whiskers, the cat.
“Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you, Detective Slater. Some people might think Bentley is just a dog, but he’s my family. Thank you for what you did for me.” Harriet’s eyes were glistening.
“You’re very welcome,” he said, and Georgia could tell by his expression that he was touched.
As Harriet and her sister left, Georgia stood up, on a twofold mission. She could visit her family in the kitchen and give Nick a little time alone with the baby. “I’m going to say hi to Gram and Annabel in the kitchen. You’ll be okay with Timmy?”
He frowned as though she’d insulted him. “I can handle him for a few minutes.”
“I know,” she said. “I just noticed that you’d rather not.”
He probably didn’t mean to make that so obvious, especially to her. He unbuckled Timmy’s harness, carefully picking him up and laying him in the crook of his arm. Timmy’s tiny mouth quirked and stretched in a bit of a yawn; then he settled. “I keep expecting him to start screeching bloody murder.”
“I guess you’re better at this than you realized you would be.”
He glanced at her, then at Timmy. “Holding a baby for a few minutes is a lot different than raising one.”
Georgia was suddenly aware of nosy eyes on them, so she placed a quick hand on Nick’s shoulder and hurried across the dining room into the kitchen.
The moment she came through the swinging in door, Annabel said, “Look at that.” Her sister took Georgia’s hand and led her back to the door, where a little window provided a view to the dining room.
