by Nina Croft
But it wasn’t just the money. She loved her job, it was what she’d trained to do, and she couldn’t imagine doing anything else. She could move away and get a similar job in a different town—presumably without the morality clause—but she couldn’t leave Mimi, and Mimi would never leave her beloved ranch, and Emily wouldn’t ask her to.
Mimi had been diagnosed with recurring and remitting MS thirteen years ago—the doctors believed the first bout had been brought on by stress after Emily’s parents were killed. She was in remission now, but Emily would never put her through the stress of even thinking about moving.
Never going to happen.
Her head hurt.
She glanced at her watch. It was already after one. Her stomach rumbled, empty from the bout of vomiting. Morning sickness—she could give it its real name now.
The thing that was really screwing her up, though, was what to tell Tanner. She had a strong belief that a child deserved to have two parents whenever possible. But two loving parents.
So while she knew she had to tell him he was going to be a father, she was 100 percent sure he would be totally dismayed. And probably in denial. Might even claim she was trying to trap him. But it had been his crappy condom, after all. If anyone had done the trapping, it wasn’t her.
Except I did throw myself at him.
She groaned.
She could go around and around in circles. She was going to tear herself apart thinking about this. The only way to put a stop to that was to get it over with now.
Without thinking it was a really bad idea, she pulled out her phone and called directory inquires. She was going to track down her baby’s father and tell him the good news.
Chapter Ten
Mimi hesitated a moment at the door, chewing on her lower lip.
Truth was, she was feeling just a little bit guilty, and that wasn’t something she was used to. Once, a long time ago, she’d done something she was ashamed of, something she would probably never recover from, and she’d take the burden of that regret to her grave. Afterward, she’d sworn to herself that she would never put herself in a situation where she might be ashamed of the outcome again. That had been over fifty years ago, but she’d pretty much kept to her promise.
Now, she’d broken her own rule and meddled in something that was none of her business, and she had to decide just how much of a mess she’d made of things.
She pushed open the door and stepped into the showroom. The place looked the same, except the bike on the podium had changed. To her untutored eye it appeared the same model, but this one was painted red with orange flames along the gas tank.
Two men stood behind the counter. Clearly, they’d been talking but stopped when they heard the door. Both turned her way.
One was Tanner O’Connor, looking much the same as the last time she’d seen him, in jeans stained with oil and a white T-shirt, also stained. He didn’t look particularly happy to see her, his face set in sullen lines.
She turned her attention to the man beside him and guessed who he must be straight away. She’d heard the rumors—the whole town was talking about him. How Tanner O’Connor had gone too far this time, bringing a serial killer into their town. They’d all be murdered in their beds… She hadn’t paid the gossip much mind, but now she studied the man as she walked toward the counter.
He was tall and lean, with a starkly handsome face and dark eyes that sent a shiver through her. She wasn’t a fanciful woman, but those eyes held a hint of restlessness, as though he’d seen everything and was still coming to terms with it. His skin was dark, and his hair cut close to his head and white at the temples.
And suddenly she was pleased that for once she’d made the effort to change out of her work clothes before heading into town. And she had no clue where that thought had come from.
She came to a halt in front of the counter, addressed Tanner. “Where’s my hog, Mr. O’Connor?”
Did his lips twitch at that? “Not going to happen, lady.”
“We entered a contractual agreement. You took my check. You—”
“I tore up the check.”
She’d suspected something like that when it hadn’t cleared from her bank account. “And why would you do that?”
He opened his mouth to answer when the phone on the wall behind him rang. “Just a moment.” He turned and picked it up, listened for a moment, glanced at her, a frown forming between his eyes. Then he turned so his back was to her and spoke quietly, so she had to strain to hear.
“What’s the matter… Can’t you tell me what this is about… There’s a roadhouse this side of Virginia Beach, The Ball and Chain. I’ll meet you there in an hour.”
Her ears perked up at the Virginia Beach. Who else had gone to Virginia Beach that morning? Was she reading things in that weren’t there? This could be pure coincidence. Just her guilty conscience putting one and one together and getting a hundred.
He put the phone down and turned back to them. Did he give her a weird look? Was she being paranoid? Probably.
“I have to go out,” he said to the other man. “Deal with this.” He waved a hand in her direction and then, without giving either of them a chance to say another word, he disappeared out the door at the back of the showroom.
She pursed her lips, then eyed up the other man. “So, Mr…?”
“Simpson. Joshua Simpson, ma’am.”
“I’ll call you Josh, if I may, and you must call me Mimi, everyone does.”
His eyes widened a little, and she thought it was doubtful he’d be calling her Mimi anytime soon.
“So how can I help you, ma’am?”
“Mimi.” She hated being called ma’am—it made her feel every one of her seventy years.
He just nodded.
“A little over a month ago, I came here and bought a motorcycle from Mr. O’Connor. I signed a contract and I paid by check. Granted, Mr. O’Connor said it might take a couple of weeks, but it’s been four now, and I’d like to know where my motorcycle is.”
“Let me go look in the office.”
She followed him across the showroom and leaned in the doorway while he went to the desk and leafed through a pile of paperwork. He obviously came to her contract at the bottom and glanced up at her. He held it out, and she stepped forward and took it. A great big “cancelled” was stamped right across it, and stapled to the top was her check—torn in half.
“I think your order was cancelled, ma’am.”
This time she didn’t put him right. “And can you tell me why it was cancelled?”
“No clue, ma’am. You’ll have to take it up with Mr. O’Connor.”
“But Mr. O’Connor is not here.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Is my money not good enough?”
“I’m sure it is, ma’am.”
“And yet my contract has been cancelled, my check torn up, and I have no motorcycle. Tell me, have you met my granddaughter, Josh?”
“No, ma’am. Should I have?”
“I wondered whether she’d been in here and requested that the order be cancelled.”
“Why would she do that?”
“She was a little unhappy about my purchasing a motorcycle—she seemed to think that a woman my age couldn’t handle something so…powerful.” He didn’t respond. “What do you think, Josh? Could a woman my age handle a hog?”
His lips twitched at her use of the word. And she had the sudden urge to see him smile properly. She was guessing he wasn’t a man who smiled easily. “I don’t know, ma’am.”
She tried to remember what she’d heard about him. But probably it was a mixture of exaggerated half truths and downright lies, depending on who was doing the gossiping. But they all agreed—he was a dangerous man. And she could see that; there was a sense of everything coiled in tight, held under control. Shut down.
She’d seen the same thing in many of the veterans she worked with, though with them it tended to be closer to the surface. This man had had years t
o perfect his control. She studied his face. His body was that of a much younger man, but hard lines bracketed his mouth. She guessed he was close to her own age.
“Did you fight in Vietnam, Joshua?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why would you ask that?”
“You have the look of a soldier. That’s all.”
“I haven’t been a soldier for over forty years, ma’am.” He nodded to the paperwork she still held. “You want to take that with you?”
It was a dismissal. Had she upset him with her questions? She took the paperwork and placed it in her bag. “You can tell Mr. O’Connor that this is not the last he’ll hear on the subject.”
“I’ll tell him that,” he said drily.
She turned to go, but hesitated, for some reason reluctant to leave. “Do you ride, Joshua?”
“Motorcycles?”
“Horses.”
“No, ma’am. They never offered me no riding lessons in prison.”
“I have a ranch just outside town. I run an equine therapy center. If you get some time off, perhaps you would like to pay us a visit.”
“What the hell’s an equine therapy center?”
“We work with veterans who are suffering with PTSD—that’s post-traumatic stress disorder.”
“I know what it is.”
“They spend time with the horses. I thought you might find it interesting. Considering your past.”
For the first time, she saw some real emotion in his eyes. A flash of anger. “You think I need to be rehabilitated? Lady, I’ve had forty years of rehabilitation, and this is as good as it gets.”
Forty years. Had he been in prison all that time? She couldn’t even begin to understand what that would do to a person. He was doing pretty well. Considering. Maybe it was time to go.
“Welcome to Saddler Cove, Joshua. I do hope you change your mind and come out to visit me. Anyone will tell you the way.” And she turned and headed for the exit.
“Never going to happen, crazy lady.”
The muttered words followed her through the door.
She called back over her shoulder. “Never is a long time, Josh, and I can be very tenacious.”
She was still thinking about him as she headed back to her car and didn’t see the man walking toward her. She almost crashed into him but stopped at the last second. Looking up, she went still.
He’d stopped as well. For a moment, she thought he would move on without speaking. It was what they usually did when they could get away with it. When no one was watching, and they didn’t have to keep up the pretense. Even after all this time, she couldn’t look at him without something twisting up her insides. A mix of sadness, and regret, and guilt. And anger.
“Miriam.”
“Jed.” She nodded briskly and made to move on, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm, and a shiver of shock ran through her. They avoided touching even at social events they both attended. It was hard to avoid each other completely in such a small town. Jed Forrester. He was head of the school board now and on a number of committees. It was why she shunned such things.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” he said. “Meaning to talk to you.”
“What about?”
He cleared his throat. “I thought we might…go out sometime. Have dinner. Talk.”
Was he insane? “I can’t.”
Something crossed his face, some echo of her own mixed-up emotions. She’d always wondered how what they’d done had affected him. They’d never spoken. Not afterward. She didn’t blame him—or maybe she did, and that was just something she told herself. But they’d both been sixteen, and back then it just didn’t happen. Not to people like them. However much they thought they were in love. And they had been—totally, madly, crazily in love. Looking at the aging, tired man in front to her, it seemed like another lifetime. Two different people. They’d both lost children since. Maybe it had been punishment for past sins.
They’d had no other choice.
But she knew in her heart that wasn’t true.
You always had a choice.
“Why, Miriam? It’s been so long. We’re both alone. I thought we could be…friends.”
“Just leave me alone, Jed. I can never be your friend.” And she pushed past and walked away.
…
What the hell did she want?
Tanner had a bad feeling about this. He was aware that Emily wouldn’t contact him unless it was something important. And how weird that she’d phoned when her grandmother was in the shop. The old woman had been pissed about the Harley. Had Josh managed to calm her down? He didn’t think customer service was Josh’s strong suit, but what did he know.
Emily had sounded…hell, he didn’t know what she sounded like. He didn’t know her well enough to read the nuances in her voice. But she had sounded as though she’d been crying.
What the hell would make her cry?
Tanner drove just within the speed limit and pulled up into the parking lot of The Ball and Chain with five minutes to spare. The place was owned by his maternal uncle, Benjamin Fohler. Ben had been med-boarded out of the Marines four years ago with one leg and a pension. He’d come back and bought this place. He’d lived abroad most of Tanner’s childhood, and the O’Connor brothers hadn’t known him, but he’d introduced himself into their lives when he’d moved back. He claimed Tanner and his brothers were the only family he had, and he wanted the chance to get to know them.
Tanner liked the man. He was tough as shit and took no crap from anyone, including Tanner. He also had a piano and was one of the few people in the immediate vicinity who was aware that Tanner played. Ben was a big jazz fan and often had live music in the club. He’d given Tanner a key and let him come and go as he liked. He’d come here sometimes when the place was closed, play until whatever bad mood was riding him disappeared. Yeah, anger management.
He’d thought it was a place he could meet with Emily and talk in private. He doubted she would want to be seen with him.
The club was closed during the day, and the parking lot was empty except for a small gray car parked in the far corner. He drove the truck across and parked a few spaces down from the car, turned off the engine. Something churned in his stomach.
Fear?
He felt like he was tilting on the edge of a precipice. Because really, there was only one thing he could think of that Emily would want to talk to him about and that would make her cry.
Shit.
He swallowed and then jumped down from the cab just as she climbed out of her car. Her face was pale, but there was no sign she’d been crying. She cast him a quick glance. “Thanks for coming.”
“No problem.” Actually, he had a feeling it was going to be a fucking great big problem. “Let’s go inside. You look like you need a drink.”
He took her around the back and tried the door at the rear. It opened, which meant someone was around. But his uncle wouldn’t mind, and the staff all knew him and were used to him coming.
He led her down the corridor and into the large bar area where he spotted Ben behind the bar stock-taking. He turned as they approached and smiled, looked past Tanner to Emily, and quirked a brow.
“Not here to play today?”
“Not today.” He turned to Emily. “This is Ben. He’s my mother’s brother, and he owns this place.”
Ben nodded. “Emily.”
“Emily is a…friend. We just needed somewhere to talk. Is that okay?”
“Of course. You want a drink, Emily?”
She looked like she needed a drink, but she shook her head. “I don’t suppose I could have a cup of tea? Black tea?”
He raised a brow but nodded. “I’ll get it for you.”
Tanner ducked behind the bar and helped himself to a bottle of Bud from the fridge. He needed it, even if she didn’t. He came back and gestured to one of the booths that lined the big room.
“What did he mean about you playing?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He wa
ited until she was seated, then slid into the seat across from her. “What is it, Emily?”
She opened her mouth and then closed it again as Ben approached with a steaming cup of tea, which he placed in front of her before leaving them alone.
She stared at it for a moment, then looked straight into his face. “I’m pregnant.”
At the words, his heart rate picked up, even though he’d been expecting it. What else would upset her this much? What would make her approach him?
“Are you sure?”
“I just bought a test. Two tests, actually. They both came out positive. I’m definitely pregnant.”
That must be why she’d gone to Virginia Beach. So she could buy a pregnancy test without anyone from town knowing. Hell, if she had bought one in the drugstore back home, the whole of Saddler Cove would have been reeling with the news that their first-grade teacher was pregnant.
“Is it mine?” he asked.
She bit her lip and nodded. He was betting she wished it was anyone else’s but his.
“Aren’t you seeing Ryan Forrester?” He didn’t know why he was pushing this. If it wasn’t his, she was hardly likely to pretend it was. He was the last person she would choose to be her baby’s father. Strangely though, he didn’t want Emily pregnant with Ryan’s baby. The man was an asshole.
“Not any longer. And besides, we never…” She shrugged. “It’s yours.”
Even in the midst of a catastrophe of epic proportions, he was still glad that she hadn’t fucked dickhead Ryan. He took a gulp of beer, trying to get his brain to work again. He seemed incapable of coherent thought.
“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice so woebegone. “We used protection. How did this happen?”
He had a few ideas. Well, just one, actually. He gave an almost-guilty shrug. “The condom might have been a little…old.”
She frowned. “How old?”
“Three years, at a guess.”
