Baby Bootcamp

by Mallory Kane

  “Thanks,” he said. “I decided it would be best for me to sleep here after Rory Stockett came in just as Faith was trying to close.”

  At hearing Rory’s name, Valerio spewed out a string of Spanish that should have turned the air blue.

  “That’s the impression I got, too,” Matt said with a smile. “He tried to rough-handle Faith, so I stepped in.”

  For the first time, Matt saw a spark of interest and maybe even respect in Valerio’s eyes. “Yeah? I don’t see any blood.”

  “No blood, but Mr. Stockett is nursing a sore throat this morning.”

  Valerio nodded his approval. “And mi ave blanca?”

  My white bird. A nice pet name for Faith. “She’s upstairs, hopefully still asleep.”

  “Good.” Valerio eyed Matt for a split second then jerked a thumb back toward the kitchen. “I’d better get started on the rolls and the chicken stock and heat up the grill for breakfast.” He headed toward the door to the kitchen, then turned around.

  “You know,” he said. “If you’re going to stay here, you’re going to need a better place than a booth.”

  Matt arched his neck and winced. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re right about that.”

  Within an hour, the café was buzzing with activity and gossip. Apparently the announcement of the governor’s town hall meeting in Freedom had run on the early morning TV and radio shows, because everybody who came in for breakfast was talking about it.

  Sheriff Hale didn’t get a peaceful bite of breakfast for all the questions, most of which he couldn’t answer. “First I heard about it was on the news this morning, too,” he said over and over again.

  His breakfast buddy Mayor Arkwright claimed not to know anything either, but unlike the sheriff, the mayor was full of opinions, and Matt thought it was a good thing Arkwright didn’t get paid by the word.

  “Well, if you were to ask me, my considered opinion is that our governor is making a grave error in holding an event of any kind here in Freedom so soon after the terrible tragedy of the Fourth of July parade.” He barely paused to take a breath. “What I mean is that we all know the violence and bloodshed was supposedly directed at her daughter, but how can Governor Lockhart be certain of that? If she were to ask me, I’d advise her to stay out of the public eye for a period of time—that is, if she knows what’s good for her.”

  As the mayor continued, a tall, attractive redhead came in to get a cup of coffee and a bagel. She sat at the counter next to Matt while she waited. “So you must be new around here,” she said.

  Matt nodded. “I’ve been here a little over a week.”

  “My name’s Charlotte, Charlotte Manning.”

  “Matt Soarez.”

  Charlotte held his gaze and nodded. “Well, Matt Soarez, what brings you here?”

  “Construction job,” Matt said noncommittally.

  Charlotte’s eyes looked him up and down. “How long will you be in town?”

  “Charlotte,” Fred March interrupted.

  Then Stan Lorry said, “Good to see you. I thought maybe you’d given up coffee.”

  Charlotte twirled on her bar stool. “Not at all, Fred. I’m just getting over a bad sinus infection. I’ve been sipping tea and taking cold medicine.”

  “Come sit with us for a minute,” Stan invited her. “Tell us what you think about Lila’s latest shenanigans. Seems like she’d figure she’s done enough damage to Freedom already. People are just getting over the Fourth of July fiasco, and now she wants to hold a town hall meeting?”

  Fred March chimed in. “One of these days Lila’s going to push too far, and then we’d better all take a step back and watch out for the fireworks.”

  Glo appeared from the kitchen in time to hear the end of Fred’s statement. “Aw, Fred, put a sock in it. The rest of you, too.” She cocked an eyebrow at the mayor. Apparently Glo wasn’t afraid of anybody.

  “Has there ever been a governor you actually liked, Fred?” she snapped. “Or you, Stan?” She poured coffee all around before she continued.

  “And if you think that blowhard Davidson on the radio has anything remotely intelligent to say, then I’ll have to adjust my opinion of your IQ downward even farther.” She set the coffeepot down, took a dish towel that was draped over one shoulder and started wiping down the counter.

  “Stop for a minute and listen to yourselves. I’m not saying it, but some of what I’m hearing comes real close to sounding like a threat.”

  “Aw, give it a rest, Glo. We got a right to free speech, just like you do,” Stan groused.

  “Well, when you’ve got the governor’s bodyguards around, not to mention maybe some feds, you’re going to find out how they feel about the kind of free speech you folks are spreading around.”

  MATT LEFT THE CAFÉ EARLY, before Faith came downstairs. He went back to his apartment, took a shower and changed clothes. Then he called Bellows.

  “I was just about to call you,” Bellows said as soon as he picked up the phone. “I’m meeting with Gavin Farraday this morning. He’s the governor’s bodyguard in charge of security for the town hall meeting. He flew in late last night from Austin. He’ll be here at 9:00 a.m. sharp. I want you here, too.”

  Matt dressed in pressed khaki slacks and a yellow polo shirt and drove to Bellows’s mansion. He was ushered into the same room he’d been in before, where Bellows sat in his wheelchair behind the massive desk.

  A medium-height man in a suit and tie with sharp features and sharper eyes rose from a leather sofa and held out his hand.

  Bellows made the introductions, and Matt shook Farraday’s hand briefly, then sat.

  Bellows nodded to Farraday, who took up the conversation as if he hadn’t been interrupted by the introductions. “We will have three bodyguards besides me. I and one other guard will be on stage with the governor. The other two will be in front of the podium, to thwart immediate attacks, if any.” He looked at Matt. “What I need from you, Soarez, is your plan for utilizing the sheriff and his deputies and the three police officers from Amarillo.”

  Matt nodded and sat forward. “I outlined this for Mr. Bellows the other day, but I’ve refined it a bit since then. There needs to be two policemen at the front door and one at the back door that leads from the kitchen into the alley. Barricade the door to the basement and the stairs leading up to Faith’s—Ms. Scott’s—apartment. The sheriff and three of his deputies will remain outside to monitor the onlookers and to be ready in case someone runs. His other two men will control the media.” Matt paused to take a breath.

  “Whoever is after Governor Lockhart won’t be interested in hurting innocent people,” he said, “although he won’t balk if he’s cornered. He’s probably working alone and will only have time to hit and run.”

  Farraday’s expression barely changed, but Matt could tell the bodyguard liked what he’d heard. “And you?” he asked. “What will you be doing?”

  “I’d prefer to be on the stage with the governor,” Matt said. “I want to face the audience. I’ll be looking for any suspicious body language, expressions or reactions.” He spread his hands.

  Farraday’s gaze shifted from Matt to Bellows, and he gave a brief nod. Then he stood and held his hand out to Matt again.

  “I’ve made arrangements to have communications devices and tasers transported to the Amarillo airport. They should be there by two o’clock this afternoon. Can you pick them up?”

  Matt nodded. “Of course.”

  “Bring them here. We’ll store them until Saturday,” Bellows said.

  Farraday nodded. “My team will pick them up on Saturday morning and bring them to the sheriff’s office. We’ll have enough for each deputy and each policeman. We’d like to meet with all of you Saturday morning.”

  “I’ll let Sheriff Hale know.”

  “Good. I’ll be in contact with you before then, Soarez. You and I will meet at least one more time prior to Saturday.”

  Matt shook Farraday’s hand again. “Thank you, sir
.”

  Once the bodyguard was gone, Matt turned to Bellows. “Do you have a minute, sir?”

  “What’s up?” Bellows asked in his no-nonsense way.

  “There was an incident last night at the Talk of the Town Café.”

  Bellows’s eyebrows went up.

  “The father of Faith’s baby, Rory Stockett, showed up and tried to bully her into giving him money. Luckily I was there. I warned Stockett not to bother her again. He threatened both of us.”

  “Stockett,” Bellows said, frowning.

  “First name Rory. Have you heard of him, sir?”

  “I’m not sure. The name sounds familiar. It’s possible I heard some gossip, and I’m thinking it was in connection with something illegal. Let me look into it. Do you have reason to think he might be connected to the threats against the governor?”

  “Nothing concrete,” Matt said. “But Faith—Ms. Scott—told me she hasn’t seen him since she loaned him five thousand dollars six months ago. It seems a little coincidental that he would show up now, a couple of days before the governor’s town hall meeting.”

  Bellows nodded. “It’s worth looking into. I’ll get someone on that. Anything else?”

  “No, sir.” Matt turned toward the door, then paused. “Actually there is one other thing. I’m moving into the café. I’ll sleep on the floor if necessary, but I don’t want to take the chance that Stockett will try to contact her again. Even if he’s not connected to the threats, he could disrupt the meeting.”

  “That’s up to you. You’re not required to give me a blow by blow of where you are at any given time as long as you have your cell phone and I can get in touch with you. You do whatever you deem necessary to keep the governor safe and the town unharmed.”

  FAITH LIKED MID-AFTERNOONS at the café. The lunch crowd was gone by two, and they didn’t start serving dinner until five o’clock. Not many people came in between two and five. Once in a while someone would show up for an afternoon piece of pie and coffee, and the mayor occasionally held afternoon meetings there, but usually the diner was quiet for three hours.

  The kitchen ran like clockwork as long as Valerio was there. He had the preparations for dinner down to a science. Faith had made the pies this morning while Glo and Valerio handled the breakfast crowd.

  By the time she’d come downstairs, Matt was gone. She didn’t want to admit it—even to herself—but she was disappointed. She’d tried to convince him that he didn’t need to spend the night in the restaurant, but with him downstairs, she’d slept better than she had since Gram died.

  She sat at a table near the window, sipping a cup of herbal tea and folding flatware into snowy white napkins for the tables. She’d continued using cloth napkins after Gram died, although everybody encouraged her to change to paper. But she could hear Gram now.

  No decent meal should be served with paper napkins.

  The bell over the door rang, and a musical voice said, “Hi, Faith.”

  “Hi, Molly. Welcome back.” Faith smiled at the teenager who worked as a bus girl and sometimes waitress at the café. Hiring Molly after she’d found out she was pregnant had turned out to be the smartest thing Faith had done in a long while.

  Molly was trying to save up enough money to go to culinary school, and she was happy for the chance to observe and occasionally work with Valerio in the kitchen.

  “Thanks. And thanks for the extra day off.”

  “Did your friend get moved?”

  “Yes ma’am. And I’m ready to work the weekend.” Molly jerked a thumb toward the window. “Or is that help wanted sign supposed to be a hint?”

  Faith smiled. “Not at all, Molly. I don’t know how we’d make it without you. I’m just making plans for the fall, when you leave to go to culinary school.”

  “Good,” Molly said, making a show of wiping imaginary sweat from her brow. “I’ll take any overtime you’ve got, too. I’m going to need the money.”

  “I’ll take you up on the overtime,” Faith said, “because this weekend is going to be busy. The governor is—”

  “Going to have a town hall meeting. I know!” Molly grinned. “I am so excited. Have you seen her bodyguards? Some of them are hot!”

  “You think they’re hot? Wait til you see Matt Soarez,” Faith murmured.

  “Ma’am?”

  Faith shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Should I finish doing the setups?”

  “No. I’d rather you help Valerio in the kitchen. You can cut the pies and get the bread baskets ready. I’m going to sit here and finish this.”

  “Okay.”

  “Molly? When you’re done, ask Valerio to show you how to cut up a chicken for frying.”

  “I will. Thanks, Faith.” Molly headed for the kitchen with a bounce in her step that Faith remembered having herself not so long ago.

  “I don’t bounce as much as I waddle now, do I Li’l Bit?” she whispered, folding a napkin and rolling a knife, fork and teaspoon inside, then securing the bundle with gummed paper.

  As if in answer, a pain stabbed her on the right side of her tummy. She rubbed it. “Stop that, Li’l Bit. Why don’t you take a nap?”

  But the pain continued until Faith was taking short shallow breaths, trying not to trigger the squeezing pain. The pain went on for several minutes and then died down.

  Faith turned and looked at the calendar that hung behind the cash register. She had a doctor’s appointment on Monday. If this didn’t get better, she’d tell the doctor and let him figure out what was the matter.

  By five o’clock, the pain had diminished, so Faith acted as hostess and seated customers, talking with the regulars and reciting the specials and desserts to the others.

  She didn’t have a chance to relax until around eight o’clock, when most of the diners had cleared out. She realized she’d been watching the door all evening, but Matt hadn’t shown up. It was unusual for him not to come in for a late dinner.

  Why wasn’t he here by now? A sinking dread settled in her chest. He’d come to town for a construction job. The first time Faith had seen him was seven—no eight—days ago. Was the job done? Was he not coming back?

  She shook her head at that thought. He wouldn’t leave without telling her, would he? Especially since he’d offered to sleep here to protect her from Rory.

  Even as she asked herself that question, she knew she was being naive.

  Matt Soarez had no obligation whatsoever to inform her of his plans. He’d stepped forward like a knight in shining armor to defend her against Rory’s rough handling, but any man worth his salt would have done the same.

  Maybe because of the fight he’d forgotten to mention that his job here was done.

  With a sigh and a conscious effort to keep silly tears from forming in her eyes, Faith went to the cash register and got out the credit card receipts. There were no customers lingering this evening, so she could go ahead and start verifying them. Maybe tonight she could get upstairs to bed before ten.

  She was bent over the pile of receipts when the bell over the door rang. Her head flew up like a shot—maybe it was Matt. But no.

  The man standing inside the door was medium height and big all over, like a linebacker. His head was shaven, and his broad face sported a nose that appeared to have been broken more than once. He wore a dark suit that fit him well, even across his massive shoulders, with a white shirt and a school tie. He shot his cuffs and smoothed his tie as his gaze slid around the room.

  Apparently satisfied that there was no one in the dining room but Faith, he walked over to the counter and placed his considerable bulk on a stool.

  “Coffee,” he muttered. He unbuttoned his jacket and let it hang open, allowing Faith a glimpse of steel. Her pulse jumped. He had a gun. A part of her brain wondered why he bothered. He didn’t look like he needed any extra weaponry.

  Her throat went dry. “R-regular or decaf?” she croaked. The man frowned at her. “Coffee,” he growled.

  Faith
grabbed a mug, squeezing it to keep her fingers from shaking, poured him a cup and set it down in front of him.

  “Would you like sugar or cre—”

  The man wrapped a nearly unbelievably large hand around her wrist.

  She jerked away, shocked. Of course jerking did absolutely no good. The man tightened his grip, and she felt her fingers tingle. He was cutting off the circulation.

  “Did you forget that your loan’s due, Ms. Scott?” he asked softly.

  She couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. “My what?”

  “Your loan, sugar. Five large.”

  “L-large?”

  The man’s mouth twisted into a grimace, and he huffed a couple of times. His version of a chuckle?

  “Five thousand dollars,” he said slowly, as if to a child.

  “I don’t—” Faith shook her head “—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He let go of her wrist, and she shook her hand. The blood rushing back into her fingers made them prick as if needles were jabbing them.

  “Don’t act like an idiot, sugar. You took out a loan six months ago.”

  Six months ago. Of course. Her heart sank to her toes, and her breath grew short. “Rory—my…my ex-fiancé. He got—he’s the one who took out the loan. He’s paying it off,” she paused, a sick sinking feeling pressing down on her chest. “Isn’t he?”

  The big man shook his head and made that awful face and noise that must be his version of a laugh. “You talking about Stockett?” His shoulders shook.

  “Oh, sugar.” The man shook his head back and forth, back and forth, then eyed her tummy. “I’m afraid your boyfriend screwed you twice.”

  Faith’s heart jumped into her throat and lodged there. “Oh, no,” she mouthed. “Oh, no.”

  “Oh, yes. When Stockett took out the loan, he made arrangements to pay it off in six months. That six months is up today. He gave us this address.”

  “Oh, my God,” Faith whispered. Of course Rory would run off and leave her with the debt on the loan. She’d thought she couldn’t be any more of an idiot than to give Rory money borrowed against her café. But the man was right. Rory had definitely screwed her twice.