by Lacey Baker
“For our baby?” he asked, his voice low, his fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle. “You’re not asking me to help you take care of our baby, is that what you’re telling me?”
She rubbed her hands down her thighs and looked over at him. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
Parker laughed. He knew it wasn’t what she expected. Hell, it wasn’t what he expected. None of this was. Since the moment she’d said those words to his face in that bathroom, so many things had been going through his mind. All the women, all the one-night stands, all the nights and then the mornings when he gave some reason to leave if he hadn’t done so already. Everything he’d ever thought he knew about himself had come crashing down in that moment. He still didn’t know how he felt about that.
But there was one thing he did know—Mary Janet Cantrell hadn’t raised a deadbeat. He was a man, and as long as he played in the world doing manly things, he intended to take full responsibility for the repercussions of his actions. No matter what those repercussions were.
“Like I said, I take care of my responsibilities. Our baby is our responsibility.”
He reached for her hand then, not really caring if that was what she was expecting or not. Parker was quickly realizing that life didn’t exactly go along as planned, no matter how much you convinced yourself otherwise.
“Right,” she said quietly, looking down at their entwined hands as if she were seeing a ghost. “Listen, I’m really tired and I have lots to do tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday. The flower shop is closed on Sundays,” Parker said. He knew this because in the months that she’d been moving around town trying to avoid him at every turn, he had done a little bit of stalking where she was concerned. He knew the hours of the flower shop and the days and times she went down to The Crab Pot to help her uncle. He knew that on Sundays her mother would stop by and they’d end up at The Silver Spoon for brunch. Parker was on puppy duty on Sunday afternoons, so he was rarely in the restaurant when they were, but he’d seen her. He saw her a lot, even when he wasn’t looking for her.
“But you do look tired,” he conceded, again trying not to push. “So how about we have dinner tomorrow?”
She was already pulling her hand away before he’d completed his question. Standing up quickly, she ran both hands down the front of her dress, then clasped them behind her back as she spoke. He couldn’t help looking at her stomach, saw the small bulge he hadn’t paid any attention to before, and felt something shift inside him.
“This is not why I told you, Parker. I just figured you should know that I was having your baby.”
“Drew…,” he began, standing up to face her.
“No. Let me finish, please.”
He nodded.
“I know you’re not the relationship type of guy, and truth be told, I’m not looking for a commitment either. This wasn’t what either of us planned, we both know that now. So fine, we’ll do the grown up thing and take care of our child. But that’s all there has to be between us. I want you to know that I’m okay with that.”
She was intriguing. That’s what he’d thought that first time he saw her working at The Crab Pot. Their gazes hadn’t met because she’d been delivering drinks and crabs to tables. Her hair had been pulled so that it fell over her right shoulder, leaving the left side of her neck exposed. He liked the smoothness of her skin, the sleek line of her neck, and had imagined kissing her there. And a couple of hours later, he’d hoped he would be doing exactly that. But she hadn’t given him that pleasure. Not that time or the many times thereafter. Preston had said Parker loved the chase because he’d never experienced it before. He figured that was true.
Right now, however, seeing this woman standing not four feet away from him, trying to be strong when he sensed she was afraid, giving him the okay to walk away and not feel guilty, he thought it wasn’t the thrill of the chase that intrigued him. It was simply the woman.
“You have to eat, Drew. Both of us do. I’m simply suggesting we do it together.”
She shook her head. “And I’m declining your offer.”
Don’t push. Don’t push. It’s not about the chase. Parker told himself this over and over again until the instinct to simply show up tomorrow with dinner in hand had subsided.
“I understand,” he said, shocking himself probably as much as Drew. “But I will call you tomorrow to see how you’re doing. We still need to talk about our plans for the future.” When her eyes widened, he held up a hand. “Our separate plans, Drew. Separate but together for our baby.”
They’d both said it, and Parker still couldn’t believe it. They were having a baby. He and Drew Sidney were going to be parents.
After he’d left Drew’s place and was driving the Suzuki around the streets of town, he thought about how his siblings were going to react to that little announcement.
Chapter 5
Parker walked through the door not knowing what to expect. He’d drawn his gun because the lock had been completely busted. Amateur burglars had been his first instinct, but once inside and using the flashlight from his utility belt, he caught a quick glimpse of the mess that had been made of his apartment. The sofa and leather recliner had been ripped to shreds, miniblinds torn from the window and crushed. As each step brought him deeper into the apartment, more glass crumbled beneath his feet, and he saw that the doors to his entertainment center had been shattered, DVDs and CDs strewn across the floor.
Then he heard a sound coming from the bedroom, and adrenaline pumped loud and fierce in his ears. His blood pulsated and the hunger of the chase ignited a new strength in him. He moved with sure steps, arms raised, gun in hand, ready to shoot the intruder first and ask questions later. With his foot lifted, he kicked open the bedroom door. Then he stepped inside, first to see words scrawled in red on his bedroom wall: “Dead men tell no tales.” He almost smiled at the saying, a picture of Johnny Depp and the Pirates of the Caribbean immediately coming to mind. Amateurs, he thought once more, and was about to lower his weapon when movement from the left caught his eye. Parker took another quick step and turned, aiming his gun in that direction.
A man stood staring at him, the infamous can of spray paint in one hand, a baby in the other.
A baby?
The little cherublike face was scrunched, tears streaming down the plump cheeks as it let out a loud cry. Parker stopped, staring from the baby to the man and then back again. Something wasn’t right. The feeling moved along his spine like a snake, sure to bring destruction or at least lots of pain in its wake. He lifted his gun arm again, aimed at the man, and was just about to ask what was going on when he was struck from behind. The next thing he saw was darkness. And a couple of hours later, he’d stared into the eyes of his commanding officer.
Then he’d been suspended from the force, and the next day Gramma had died.
Now, he lay in his bed, one hand still crossed behind his head, the other rubbing down his face as if that action would clear the remnants of the dream. Beside him, resting his head on the pillow to the right, was Rufus, the twenty-four-week-old Lab he’d inherited from his grandmother. After last week’s visit to Dr. Bellini, Parker had to force himself not to refer to Rufus as a puppy any longer. At eighteen inches tall and fifty-one pounds, he was almost 75 percent of his adult size. That 75 percent occupied half of Parker’s bed as if he were already an adult.
Parker had experienced lots of dreams in the last few weeks, followed by anxiety attacks that almost choked him. Attacks he kept from his family out of embarrassment. Only Rufus knew about the attacks, as the dog had witnessed more than a few of them. When Rufus was around and Parker had an attack, the dog would promptly plant his chin on Parker’s knee, looking up at him with chocolate-brown eyes that Parker was told had been blue when he was born. Parker would rub Rufus’s broad head with a shaking hand, breathing deeply until the attack finally passed. Afterward, Rufus would almost immediately want to go out and play, a task that Parker fo
und relaxed him as well as accommodated his dog.
When he and his siblings had first learned of their inheritance, The Silver Spoon B&B and restaurant and the Labrador puppies, many of them had been skeptical about keeping them. Gramma had obviously foreseen this and left an out clause in her will—if they didn’t want to keep the puppy, they had to at least find it a loving and caring home. To date, none of them had parted with their puppies, even though Preston had tried to put his up for adoption and Savannah cursed hers every day, all day. Parker was very content with Rufus, admitting only to himself that the dog filled a void that had been in his life for far too long.
As for the anxiety attacks, the doctor at Capitol City Hospital had advised Parker to contact someone if the attacks persisted, that maybe he was suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome and needed to be monitored. Parker hadn’t thought of doing any such thing. He wasn’t sick. Physically injured, yes: From the concussion in his apartment to the shattering of his knee in that stupid accident, his body had been brutally attacked. But there was nothing wrong with his mind.
And apparently other parts of his body worked just fine as well.
Drew Sidney was pregnant with his baby. He’d almost been about to ask himself how that happened, but he knew the answer to that question all too well. Parker had known that night they shared together wasn’t going to simply evaporate from his memory, like many of his past sexual exploits. He’d known that morning as he’d made his way back to the B&B that sleeping with Drew Sidney had been different from any other sexual experience he’d ever had.
He’d never thought the difference would result in her becoming pregnant. But they’d both had a few drinks that night and had been caught up in the moment—so caught up, apparently, that they’d forgotten to use protection. He’d remembered that in the morning as well, when he’d arrived back at the B&B and had undressed to take his shower. He’d taken the wallet from his back pants pocket and flipped it open just out of curiosity. There were three condom packs in the back slit where he always kept them. The same three he’d had in his wallet since arriving in Sweetland. He’d cursed, closing his eyes to his irresponsibility, and immediately began thinking of how he’d apologize to Drew for not protecting her.
Dressing after his shower, he’d decided he would visit Drew later that evening down at The Crab Pot. She ran a flower shop, so the last thing she needed was him barging in on her at work. Besides, he was hoping for a repeat performance of the night before, this time without the aid of alcohol.
But that hadn’t happened. Drew had totally ignored him at the restaurant and had actually slipped out the back door while he’d waited for her to get off. That had become the first of many times she’d avoided him, up to and including the day earlier this summer when she’d sat in the dining room of the B&B with her mother and acted as if she’d never met him before. If his siblings knew what he’d been through with Drew, they would undoubtedly say he was getting a dose of his own medicine and not liking it one bit. That’s precisely why Parker hadn’t told any of them. Now the circumstances had changed, drastically. He’d have to tell his siblings, and he’d have to figure out what he and Drew were going to do. Because Parker Cantrell was going to be a father.
Most likely an unemployed father, but a father nonetheless.
* * *
“The Marina’s grand opening is a few weeks away,” Michelle said the moment all of them were seated in the dining room on Sunday afternoon.
Their breakfast buffet had long since been cleaned, and the Sunday brunch customers had all but filed out of the Silver Spoon. Michelle had the beginnings of the dinner special—smothered pork chops, red-skinned mashed potatoes, and asparagus spears—already started in the kitchen. Customers were light enough in the restaurant that she felt comfortable leaving Nikki’s sister Cordy in charge for the moment. Since Nikki and Quinn’s engagement, the Brockingtons had been like extended family, and since Cordy’s husband, Barry, would be in Iraq until late October, she’d been spending a lot of time at the B&B. Her three kids loved the puppies, and the love was reciprocated each time Josiah, Zyra, and Mimi came over to play. Cordy had begun filling in at the restaurant when Lisa, the intern, returned to college.
The sous-chef Michelle wanted to hire had already accepted an internship in Europe, so the thought of help in the kitchen was also out. Sure, her sister Raine had said she was staying in Sweetland indefinitely and Savannah seemed to be content to stay here, but that didn’t qualify either of them to do the jobs she needed done. But she didn’t want to dwell on that at the moment, didn’t want to take a second away from the time that she and all her siblings had together.
“They’re planning a huge party with live entertainment and fireworks,” Savannah added. She was sitting in a chair, legs crossed and lips pouting, as usual.
Savannah was the youngest of the Cantrell siblings. She was hands down the prettiest and had proven that point by leaving town the moment she graduated and eventually becoming a world-renowned supermodel. Now, she was back with a chip on her shoulder the size of Mt. Everest, which meant nothing but moody days for whoever had the pleasure of being in her company.
“They’re having live entertainment and fireworks without a functional kitchen?” Raine asked. “Didn’t they just hire us to cater their meeting with the town council?”
“They’re trying to look like they’re blending in with the locals,” Nikki added.
Nikki had worked at the B&B as an assistant manager until Gramma’s death. Then she’d been unanimously named the manager once the siblings inherited the place. The part about her falling in love with Quinn, the oldest Cantrell, and now planning a Christmas wedding with him … well, that was fate lending a hand, to Michelle’s delight.
“Keeping their enemies close just like we are,” Quinn added.
“You’re probably right,” Preston said from the side of the table where he sat next to his fiancée, Heaven.
Just a few months ago, Heaven had come to town intending to adopt the puppy Preston had inherited, named Coco. The fact that she was still here was a testament to both the town and the power of love. Michelle smiled each time she looked at them.
“And they’re pulling out all the stops marketing-wise,” Heaven mentioned. “The Hemingways, a very influential Bostonian family and owners of their own cable station, received a personalized invitation to come down for the opening.”
Heaven was one of the Boston Montgomerys, or at least she would be until she married Preston; then her mother would probably want to disown her. At any rate, for the time being Heaven was working her social connections to spread the word about The Silver Spoon while Savannah came up with ideas for specialty packages to enhance what the B&B already offered and Preston worked out the legalities to it all. Quinn’s part was to assist Nikki in management while Michelle did what she always did, what she’d gone to college to do: cook.
“So they’re bringing in the big guns,” Preston stated flatly.
“The Hemingways aren’t even big enough. They’ve invited Senator Majette and his family, too,” Heaven added.
“Damn! How are we supposed to compete with their corporate money and their political connections?” Savannah questioned. “They’re bigger and fancier and giving the customers everything but a gold coin to come stay at their resort. All we’re giving people are huge slices of pie and pretty flowers on the table.”
The pretty flowers were courtesy of Drew Sidney and her flower shop. Months ago, they’d struck a deal with Drew: She’d provide fresh centerpieces for the dining room every week, and they would prominently display her business cards for guests to connect the lovely arrangements with a place where they could purchase them for themselves. So far it had been working pretty well, as Drew had reported to Michelle just last week.
“It’s not about the biggest and the prettiest baubles,” Mr. Sylvester said. He’d been the first to arrive in the dining room for their family meeting.
The last meet
ing he’d almost missed—when they’d had steamed crabs and discussed the new direction of the B&B—Mr. Sylvester hadn’t been too happy. He was family because Gramma had loved him. She’d let him permanently rent a room at the B&B, and now that she was gone he’d sort of slipped into her place as the family elder. Michelle hadn’t meant to leave him out and swore to never make that mistake again.
“They don’t have one thing that we do here at The Silver Spoon,” he continued. “The one thing Janet built this place with, and that’s love. We’re a family-run business. That means we can offer them a more personal touch than a big corporation. We have to play our strengths here, not re-create the wheel,” he said emphatically.
For a man in his sixties who never owned a business in his life, who had children who didn’t speak to him scattered about the United States, and who had shown up on the doorstep with only a duffel bag and a smile, he was wise and helpful beyond measure.
Michelle nodded. “He’s right. We should focus on what we do well. The townspeople know us, so they’ll vouch for us. People in the city working fifty-hour weeks want a change, they want to come to a place and relax.”
“They want to come to a place and be able to go for a swim,” Savannah quipped. “We need to get a pool.”
“We’re not getting a pool,” Quinn reiterated for the billionth time. “I don’t think the answer is to disturb our land. It’s historical, Savannah, you know that.”
“History isn’t making us any money,” Savannah retorted.
Nikki shook her head. “On the contrary, we’re doing really well. The two weddings in August put us well in the black this month. Weddings are definitely a strong point, especially with Michelle’s catering.”
“So I’m the stupid one for thinking that things like a pool and maybe a gym would be a great addition?” Savannah asked.
“No, honey, that’s not what they’re saying,” Raine said softly, reaching over to touch Savannah’s hand. “They’re just trying to say that newer doesn’t necessarily mean better.”
