by Irene Hannon
Chapter Twelve
“Mark! Can I ask you a favor?”
Turning, Mark saw Marge bustling toward him across the foyer of the inn. “Sure.”
“Could you drop this off at Abby’s house on your way to dinner? I meant to give it to her yesterday at church, but it slipped my mind. I try to get the minutes from the Chamber of Commerce board meetings to the members within a week, and I’m already a bit late this month.”
Why was he not surprised that Abby served on the Chamber board? He’d already concluded that she was a human dynamo. Reaching for the envelope, he tucked it inside his leather jacket to protect it from the persistent rain. “No problem.”
“Enjoy your dinner.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” The one thing he wouldn’t miss when he left Oak Hill was the cuisine, he thought with a grimace as he dashed for his car through the cold drizzle. Delaying his meal for a few minutes was no sacrifice. Especially if it meant he could see Abby. She might be able to avoid him at the office, as she had all day today, but she couldn’t very well ignore him if he was standing on her front porch.
Then again, maybe she could, he concluded a few minutes later, after ringing her bell twice and then resorting to the brass knocker without a response. Stifling his disappointment, he was starting to turn away when the sound of a crying baby made him freeze. A moment later, he heard a doorknob being turned, and the door swung open.
A few beats of silence ticked by as Mark took in the scene before him. Abby, dressed in a T-shirt and worn jeans, was juggling a blond, blue-eyed infant on her hip. She looked frazzled as she bounced the wailing baby, murmuring soothing sounds that didn’t seem to be having any impact. Fat tears coursed down the child’s face, and he—or she—had a death grip on Abby’s T-shirt, its tiny fists bunching up the fabric.
So distracted was she by the baby that, for once, Mark’s presence didn’t seem to discombobulate her.
“Marge asked me to deliver the Chamber board meeting minutes on my way to dinner.” Mark unzipped his jacket and withdrew the envelope, pitching his voice to be heard over the howls of the baby.
“Oh. Thanks. I was wondering…” A loud beep sounded from somewhere in the recesses of the house, and Abby gave him a flustered look. “I have to take a casserole out of the oven. Look, just come in for a minute, okay?”
Before she had a chance to rescind the invitation, Mark retracted the envelope and stepped into the living room. Abby hesitated for an instant, as if the notion of Mark in her home unnerved her. Then she turned toward the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”
Instead of waiting, Mark trailed after her through the small, simply furnished living room, noting with a frown that she was limping.
As he paused on the threshold, Abby made a valiant effort to settle the baby into a high chair beside the worn oak table in the homey kitchen. But the child would have none of it, tightening its grip on her shirt. The beep sounded again and, in desperation, Abby moved toward Mark and thrust the child into his arms.
Taken aback, Mark reacted on instinct and reached for the little noisemaker, depositing the envelope on the dinette table beside him. To his surprise, the baby released its grip on Abby, threw its arms around his neck, closed its mouth and rested its head on his shoulder. Quiet descended on the kitchen except for an occasional snuffle from the infant.
Considering that the only baby he’d held in his life was his niece, Elizabeth—and just on a couple of occasions, when she’d been forced upon him by his brother or Allison—he couldn’t have been more surprised by the child’s reaction. Nor, it seemed, could Abby, judging by her astonished expression.
Another high-pitched beep shattered the silence, and Abby turned, grabbed some pot holders and withdrew a savory-smelling casserole from the oven. Mark realized he’d give a week’s salary for a few bites of whatever was in that glass dish.
When Abby looked at him again, she’d wiped the astounded look off her face. “You have quite a way with babies.”
Glancing down, Mark saw that the infant in his arms had fallen asleep, its cheek nestled against his chest. A pleasing sensation tugged at his heart as he took in the sweeping lashes, the porcelain skin, the peaceful demeanor, the utter trust this fragile little creature had exhibited for a stranger. “I have no idea why.”
“Some people have the knack. I don’t always have good luck with her.”
All at once, Mark began to put two and two together. Abby had come to the door holding a baby. The kitchen seemed well-equipped to handle an infant, with a high chair at the table and a playpen in one corner of the room. Jars of baby food were lined up on the counter. He stared at her. “You have a baby?”
She gave a startled burst of laughter. “Of course not. I’m not married.”
So much for trying to add things up. He was going to have to dump his mathematical way of thinking one of these days. “That’s not a requirement for parenthood these days,” he defended himself.
Her smile faded, and the look she gave him was steady and direct. “It is for me.”
Her response didn’t surprise him. Abby was definitely the husband-and-two-kids-and-white-picket-fence type.
And maybe that was why she was putting up barriers between them, he suddenly realized. Considering all the messages Molly had taken for him from any number of women, Abby must have heard about his wide circle of female acquaintances. Perhaps she thought he was just looking for a little diversion in Oak Hill, a quick fling, a passing dalliance. Someone to pass the time with until he could return to his numerous companions in Chicago. And she wasn’t the type to find that appealing.
Truth be told, neither was he. At least not anymore.
Yet…where did that leave him with her? Did he want a deeper relationship? And if he did, how would they manage to sustain it, with him returning to Chicago in a couple of weeks and Abby’s roots firmly planted in Oak Hill?
He hadn’t thought that far ahead. But he needed to. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was hurt Abby. Until he sorted through his intentions, a change of subject seemed in order.
“So who is this?” he asked, inclining his head toward the dozing baby.
“Caitlin. She and her mother live up the street. Linda’s going to night school to get a nursing degree, and I watch Caitlin for her when her regular sitter is busy. Caitlin’s daddy is in the service, stationed in the Middle East.”
A sudden sensation of wetness caught Mark’s attention, and he shifted the baby a bit to check it out. A spreading expanse of dampness was darkening the front of his oxford blue designer shirt. “I think she’s leaking.” He flicked a wry grin at Abby.
The look of horror on her face was almost comical. “One of the tabs on her diaper must have come loose.” She moved forward and held out her arms. “I’ll change her.”
“No sense both of us getting wet. Where do you want her?”
After a brief hesitation, Abby nodded toward the living room. “On the floor in there.” Grabbing a protective mat, she led the way—her limp more pronounced now. And she had difficulty lowering herself to the floor. The angry red burn on her forehead was the only visible sign of her accident three days before, but it appeared she’d sustained another injury, as well.
Dropping down beside her as she spread out the mat, Mark laid the baby on the waterproof square. “What’s wrong with your leg?”
Her hand stilled for a brief instant as she dug through the diaper bag, then she continued her task. “I bruised my knee in the accident.”
“It might be a good idea to have it checked out.”
“I’ll be fine. You can clean off your shirt in the bathroom down the hall. There are extra washcloths in the vanity.”
Taking the hint to drop the subject, Mark followed her directions to the bathroom, located a washcloth and removed his jacket to scrub at his shirt.
She was taping the new diaper closed when he reappeared. As she reached for the baby, he restrained her.
“I’ll take care of
her in a minute. Let’s get you up first.”
Without giving her a chance to respond, he tossed his jacket onto a nearby chair and grasped her hands, easing her to her feet. He didn’t miss the wince she tried to suppress as she put her weight on her leg.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
She looked up at him, a whisper away, his strong arms supporting her, his warm brown eyes filled with concern—along with some other emotion she shied away from identifying. No, she wasn’t okay. More than anything in the world she wanted to step into this man’s embrace.
Fighting off that dangerous impulse, she managed to croak out a single word. “Yes.”
After a brief hesitation, Mark released her and picked up Caitlin. Already the baby was drifting back to sleep. “Shall I put her in the playpen?”
“Yes. Thanks.”
Back in the kitchen, Mark carefully lowered the sleeping baby into the portable crib and covered her with a blanket. She emitted a tiny sigh but didn’t stir.
As Abby watched Mark’s gentle ministrations to the infant, her throat tightened with emotion. The juxtaposition of his strong, capable, masculine fingers with the downy softness of the baby’s fine, wispy hair and the pink fuzzy blanket pulled at some place deep inside her. Filled her with longing for a husband and a child of her own, a desire to create a warm, loving home where moments like these were the rule rather than the exception. A home where more than work gave her life meaning and joy. And perhaps someday she’d have that. But it wouldn’t be with this man, she acknowledged with a pang.
When Mark turned toward Abby, her soft, wistful eyes reached deep into his heart. Before he could stop himself, he took a step forward. “Abby, I…”
“Y-you had an envelope for me from Marge?” Alarm sharpened her features, and she scooted back.
“Yeah.” He picked it up from the table and handed it over. When she took it, he noted that her fingers were trembling.
“Thanks. Sorry to delay your dinner.”
“I’m eating at Gus’s. Trust me, I’m in no hurry. The man only knows one cooking method—fried. I’ve ingested enough grease since I’ve been here to lube a car.”
“I’m sure you could convince Marge to fix you a meal.” A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“I’ve tried that. I’ve now consumed my lifetime allotment of tofu.” He cast a hopeful glance toward the casserole on the counter. “I’m open to a better offer. Price is no object.”
Surprise registered on her face, followed by apology. “That’s for the Langes. For tomorrow night.”
“Ah.” He swallowed past his disappointment. “Well, it was worth a try. I guess it’s off to Gus’s. Or Grease’s, as I like to call it.”
A niggle of guilt tugged at her conscience, reminding Abby that this man had come to her rescue on more than one occasion. Plus, he’d made a special trip over here tonight to deliver the board minutes. She ought to feed him. But it was hard enough to rein in the attraction between them in public. She feared it would be a losing battle in her own house.
As the seconds ticked by, she debated her decision. The right thing to do was ask him to stay. The smart thing to do was send him on his way. Should she follow her heart or let logic rule?
In the end, she was saved by the doorbell. But as Abby went to answer it, she knew that the interruption was just a reprieve. She still had a decision to make.
And she hoped that neither would live to regret it—whichever way it went.
“Dale! What a surprise! Come in.”
As Abby stepped back to allow the sheriff to enter, she sensed that Mark had moved into the kitchen doorway behind her. Dale’s surprised glance over her shoulder confirmed her suspicion—as did his greeting.
“Mark.”
“Sheriff.”
“Make it Dale.” The lawman continued to appraise Abby’s visitor for a moment, then turned his attention back to her. “I have some good news. We have a suspect in custody for the fire at Ali’s restaurant and the various pranks that were directed at you. He’s also been charged with some similar incidents in neighboring towns.”
Relief coursed through Abby, easing the knot of tension in her stomach. “That’s great! Can I offer you a soda while you fill us in?”
“No. I can’t stay. I need to pick up Jenna at my mom’s. But I thought you’d want to know right away.”
“Who is it?” Mark moved behind Abby in a propriety stance the other man couldn’t miss.
“Lee Callahan. Seventeen years old. Lives in Jasper Springs. His father was killed in the Middle East six months ago while serving a final tour of duty with the Marines. The kid’s been unstable ever since. We got our first tip after that incident in Crandall. He had a little too much to drink at a party and started hinting that he had inside information about it. One of the kids who heard the story got scared and told his parents, and they called the police. It didn’t take long after that.”
“What will happen to him?” Concern etched Abby’s features.
“It could be handled as a juvenile case. Or he could be tried as an adult. I expect the courts will take the circumstances into consideration when they make that call. And they’ll get him some counseling.” Dale checked his watch. “I’ve got to run. Depending on how things go with Lee, I may need you to fill out some paperwork, Abby. But at least you’re safe now. Have a good evening, folks.”
As she shut the door behind Dale and turned back to the room, Abby wasn’t sure about the safe part. The hate-crimes incident might be behind them, but another threat stood across the room. Reminding her that she still hadn’t decided whether or not to invite him to dinner.
“I’d offer to take you to Gus’s to celebrate the good news if I didn’t think it would do serious damage to your arteries.” One corner of Mark’s mouth quirked up. “Besides, you’ve probably had dinner already.”
He’d given her an out, Abby realized. If she said she’d eaten earlier, she’d be off the hook and could send him on his way.
Except she hadn’t. And she didn’t want to send him away. Besides, what could it hurt to share one meal? It wasn’t as if she was making a lifetime commitment. After the stress of the hate-crimes situation, didn’t she deserve to celebrate the resolution?
Without giving herself a chance to debate further, Abby made her decision.
“I was too busy feeding the baby earlier. I’m going to eat now. You can join me if you like. Though I can’t promise a very exciting menu. My diet is rather restricted.”
Mark’s smile warmed her all the way from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. “I’d love to. And anything is better than Gus’s.”
An hour later, as he polished off the last bites of a chicken breast seasoned with basil and oregano, brown rice and green beans amandine, Mark gave a satisfied sigh. “That was fabulous.”
“You’re easy to please. It can’t compare to Cara Martin’s fare at the Oak Hill Inn.”
“She’s good, I’ll give you that. I’d pit her food against the best chefs in Chicago with no qualms. But that’s more like a special occasion place. I like simpler meals on an everyday basis.”
“Good, because simple is all you’ll get with me. I have to work within the dietary restrictions dictated by my condition. Would you like some angel food cake for dessert? And coffee?”
“I thought diabetics couldn’t eat sugar.”
“That’s a common fallacy. It’s not so much what you eat as the total amount of carbohydrates you consume. As long as I balance out my starches, I can eat a little sugar once in a while.”
“Then, by all means, I’d love some cake and coffee.” Mark watched as Abby stood and moved about the small kitchen. Her tension at the beginning of the meal had been almost palpable, and he’d gone out of his way to put her at ease, keeping the conversation general. Now that she was a bit more relaxed, he felt comfortable edging toward more personal ground.
“You know, I mentioned that day you were jogging that I didn�
��t know much about diabetes. But I’ve been doing some research on the Internet and I’ve learned a lot. Do you have to take insulin?”
“No. That’s mostly for type 1 diabetes. Type 2 can often be controlled with diet and exercise alone. Some patients also need to take medication.”
“So no shots?”
“No. Not yet, anyway.” She cut a slice of cake and reached for another plate.
“Meaning that could be coming?”
“It’s possible. That’s what happened to my mother.”
“She had diabetes, too?”
“Yes. You probably learned from your research that it can run in families. Hers started as type 2, but after a few years she developed what’s called beta-cell failure. That means her pancreas stopped releasing insulin in response to high blood-sugar levels. After that, she needed the shots.” Setting their cake and coffee on the table, Abby leaned down to check on Caitlin, her touch gentle and tender as she rearranged the blanket over the infant in the portable crib.
As he sipped his coffee, Mark considered how to proceed. He knew he needed to move slowly with Abby while he mulled over what level of commitment he was willing to offer, yet he wanted to get a handle on the obstacles that had spooked her. Until he knew what they were, he had no idea how—or if—they could be breached.
“She’s a cute little thing.” He glanced down at the sleeping baby beside the table. “Any nieces or nephews?”
“No. My brother is single—and not apt to get married in the foreseeable future.”
“Why not?”
“He’s got three years left on a five-year missionary commitment in Bolivia. The living conditions are primitive, and the work is demanding and exhausting. There’s no opportunity—let alone energy—for romance.” A brief flash of concern shadowed her eyes before she banished it. “But it’s where he wants to be. Or, more importantly, where he believes God wants him to be. I miss him a lot, though. We’ve always been friends as well as siblings, despite the fact that he’s four years older than me.”
