The Hog-Tied Groom (The Brides of Grazer's Corners #3)

by Charlotte Maclay

  The childish expression “Gag me with a spoon” popped into her head. It was going to be very different having two lovebirds living in the house. She’d have to remind Bud to knock it off with blatant displays of affection in front of Donnie. And herself.

  With considerable effort, she quashed a rising sense of envy that her brother had found someone to love while she had not. He deserved whatever happiness he could find, and so did Hailey. Bud had given up a promising future as an engineer when he’d dropped out of college to work the farm. And through all these years, never once had he pressed to know who had fathered Donnie. He’d simply been there for her when she needed a big brother to rely on.

  Because of that, she tried not to think about what he had said about Garrett. Though not friends, Bud and Garrett had attended high school at the same time. Her brother had probably heard a lot of things, most of them true, she suspected. But that had been a long time ago. She didn’t want to believe now that Garrett couldn’t be faithful to a woman.

  But perhaps it was true.

  Maybe I’m not capable of love he had told her. Or of being faithful to a woman? she wondered. What would a man like that be as a father to her son? Not the role model she’d prefer.

  In spite of the warm day, she shivered. She’d never be able to endure infidelity. If Hailey had suspected Garrett of that, little wonder she chose Bud instead.

  SHE’D JUST FINISHED washing up the dinner dishes and was drying her hands when she heard another car in the driveway. Their farm had become a regular Grand Central Station, she thought with a sigh.

  “Hey, Mom!” Donnie yelled from the living room. “It’s Garrett!” An instant later, the screen door slammed and Donnie’s footsteps pounded across the front porch.

  Charity’s insides clenched, and her heart rate accelerated.

  Dear Lord, less than an hour ago she’d been told Garrett wasn’t a man capable of fidelity. And still she reacted that way to the news of his arrival. She didn’t have the sense God gave a hog. At least Rambo, given a choice, preferred monogamous relationships with his lady loves. For as long as they were in estrus, anyway.

  Tossing the towel aside, she called down the hallway to her brother. “You’d better come out, Bud. I suspect Garrett’s here to talk with you.” And she hoped he hadn’t brought a gun with him.

  When she reached the porch, Garrett was hunkered down at eye level with Donnie and engaged in a deep conversation. He’d discarded the tuxedo pants he’d worn earlier, replacing them with faded jeans that gloved his tight butt with the softness of a woman’s hand. Something about the way he was clasping the boy’s shoulder and looking intently into his eyes made her breath catch. It was the way a father might talk to his son.

  No! He couldn’t know, not for sure. Even if he’d begun speculating about the dates, that’s all it could be. Speculation. Guesswork. A little curiosity.

  Drawing a deep breath, she walked to her son’s side, resisting the urge to draw him to her. “Bud will be out in a minute,” she told Garrett.

  He looked up at her, his brows pulled together. In his eyes, she saw questions that she’d never be able, or willing, to answer. Conjectures, that’s all he had.

  “Actually I wanted to talk to Hailey,” he said, standing. His eyes were on Charity, penetrating like deep green stilettos. “Her folks are going out of their heads with worry.”

  “She should have stopped by to see them first thing when they got back. Or at least called.”

  He nodded his agreement. “Then later, after I talk to her, I think you and I need to have a little chat.”

  Her throat seized. She managed a nonchalant shrug and a croaky “Sure.”

  “Garrett says maybe later he can come see the broken duck eggs, Mom. Is that okay?”

  As though his gaze were a powerful magnet fed by an electric current, she couldn’t look away. “Of course, honey. Just try not to get your shoes too muddy.” Blindly she reached out to her son. Wanting to hold him to her and never let go. But he was gone.

  She gasped and looked around. He’d scampered off to the old tire swing hanging from an oak tree in the front yard. He clambered into it, set on showing off to his new idol.

  His father.

  The truth twisted in her like a tightly coiled spring pulling taut.

  “Watch me!” he shouted, pumping the swing hard.

  But the arrival of Bud and his bride on the front porch distracted Garrett. He riveted his attention on the woman he had planned to marry three days ago. From the look of her, he’d guess she’d just had sex. Good sex. Her cheeks were flushed, her usually carefully styled hair in slight disarray. Oddly enough, the sight of her like that didn’t bother him as much as it should. He ought to be in a rage, jealous as hell. But he simply didn’t care.

  Not that he wasn’t miffed she’d picked another man over him.

  “You need to call your folks,” he said. “They’re worried sick.”

  Hailey’s eyes widened. “You talked with them?”

  “They had to hear the story from someone. You weren’t around.”

  She went a little pale, and Garrett might have felt sorry for her except she was in a mess of her own making. “It would have been easier if you’d told me you didn’t want to get married,” he said. That might have let him admit he didn’t want to go through with the ceremony, either. “Together we could have convinced your folks it wasn’t right for either of us.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Bud’s protective arm around Hailey’s shoulder tightened ever so slightly. “We’ll go see the Olsons now. Given enough time, they’ll accept that she’s chosen me.”

  “I’m sure that’s true.” Not that Hailey’s parents would have much choice. What’s done was done. They’d all have to live with it. “Good luck.”

  “Look, Garrett, I don’t want there to be any hard feelings over this,” Bud said. “I mean, you’ll have lots of chances—”

  “Don’t press your luck, Bud. It’s only because Charity doesn’t like violence that I haven’t pounded you into the ground, just on general principles.”

  Bud shot Garrett a look, then gave Charity a sideways glance, finally lifting his shoulders in a shrug.

  As the bridal couple turned to go inside, Garrett caught Charity’s arm. She was wearing a tank top and jeans, and her skin was as soft as warm velvet. “Let’s go find someplace to talk. Alone.”

  NAUSEA BURNED in Charity’s throat. The tacos she’d had for dinner—Donnie’s favorite—were about to rebel. She had to go with Garrett. Had to act as though nothing was wrong. Had to bluff, if need be. The very existence of the Arden farm depended upon it.

  He walked them around toward the back of the house. The row of sunflowers she’d planted along the walkway lifted their heads toward the summer sun, which was still well above the horizon although it was close to seven o’clock. Sparrows and starlings darted through the air, snatching up insects. From the pond, the frogs were beginning an evening’s discussion; the pigs in the parlor were chattering contentedly.

  When they went through the gate to the farmyard, Rambo trotted over to her and nuzzled her hand.

  “Sorry, fella,” she apologized. “No nibblies tonight.”

  He nudged her again, a thousand pounds on the hoof. She tried to step away, but Garrett was right there.

  Their hips collided; their arms brushed. His heat whipped through her, curling into her midsection. She wanted to be somewhere else; she wanted to be with him.

  “I’ve been doing some thinking,” Garrett began. “Some calculating, actually.”

  Somewhere else.

  Rambo woofed a sound of piglike warning and angled himself across the path, forcing Charity to take the fork to the pig parlor.

  Caught between Garrett and the hog, she nearly stumbled. “Rambo, what are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to talk to you, Charity. About Donnie. How ’bout telling your overweight bodyguard to get lost?”

  Rambo go
t behind her, bumping her rear end with his snout.

  She hop-skipped ahead. “Rambo, cut that out!” Didn’t she have enough to worry about without being goosed. by an overzealous Yorkshire hog who thought he was a guard dog?

  “That night at the lake,” Garrett continued. “The night we—”

  Rambo bumped her again, and she whirled. “What on earth is the matter with you?”

  Oooonnneeekk! Insistent. Determined.

  “Oh, my gosh,” she gasped. “There’s something wrong.”

  She broke into a run. Behind her, she heard Rambo galloping after her, followed by Garrett’s footsteps on the path.

  “What is it?” Garrett shouted, trying to keep up with Charity. She was as agile and quick as a receiver on a long passing route to the goal line. Wherever the hell that might be on a pig farm.

  She raced into the pig parlor and made a beeline for the pen where Garrett had seen the pregnant sow. She knelt beside the shuddering animal just as a piglet, all slippery and wet, slid out of its mother.

  Looking up at Garrett, breathing hard, Charity said, “It’s Sweet Pea.” She soothed the animal’s head as she spoke. “She wasn’t due to deliver for a couple of days yet. I guess Rambo thought I ought to be here in case anything went wrong.”

  The damn hog knew? “Is she okay?”

  “I think so.”

  As she said the words, the sow oinked and out plopped another slippery little creature, its ears pulled back, its umbilical cord still tethering it to its mother. In a fascinating rhythm of grunt, oink and plop, another two babies arrived. They groped blindly through the bedding straw for their mother’s teats and latched on.

  Charity continued to stroke the sow’s head, murmuring soft words of encouragement. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Oddly enough, the sow did look... Well, Garrett wouldn’t describe her as beautiful. Content, perhaps. And more so with each little creature that popped out of her distended belly.

  What was truly beautiful was the ethereal look of joy on Charity’s face. She was seeing the moment of birth as only another mother could, each offspring perfect, each worthy of her devotion. Oddly it struck him as awe-inspiring that a big lummox like Rambo and Sweet Pea could create such perfect little replicas of themselves.

  A lump tightened in Garrett’s throat as he wondered if he and Charity had done the same in one careless, passionate evening of making love. Could they have created something even more stunning? A child? Donnie?

  If they had, he should have been there with her at the moment of birth. It was too extraordinary an event to miss.

  With the ease of experience, Charity picked up each piglet in turn—there were eight in all now—and whispered what sounded like a welcome as she tied off its umbilical cord. She worked a moment more on each little creature before returning it to its mother’s side.

  When she looked at Garrett, she glowed with pride. His heart nearly seized.

  “Charity...” Emotion thickened in his throat, making him hoarse. He forced himself to say the words. “Is Donnie my son?”

  She paled and glanced away. Her fingers trembled as she placed the last of the piglets back in the pen. “Why would you ask a strange question like that?” Her voice lacked any trace of emotion. An automaton’s response. And phony as hell.

  A muscle pumped at Garrett’s jaw. She was lying. But why? Why would a woman lie about who had fathered her child?

  “We made love, Charity. Or don’t you remember?” His jaw ached from clenching it so hard waiting for her answer.

  She stood, and an irritating little shrug lifted her shoulders. “Of course I remember. That doesn’t mean you got me pregnant. You used a condom, didn’t you?”

  Had he? Dammit, he couldn’t remember. It had been so long ago. But he’d always been careful. He’d never wanted any accidents, any encumbrances. Having kids had never been part of his agenda. “Condoms aren’t foolproof,” he reminded her.

  “Don’t worry about it, Garrett. If I’d been eager to nail you with a paternity suit, I would have done it a long time ago.”

  “I’m not talking about suing anybody. I want to know the truth.”

  Eyes never meeting his, she walked out of the pig parlor with her spine ramrod straight. “You’re not Donnie’s father.”

  He followed her. He could feel her lies; they washed over him like an acid bath. “The timing was right.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I can count.”

  “Well, count again,” she said, turning. “You’re not the only man in the world, Garrett Keeley. You never have been.”

  A jealous rage thrummed through him. Another man? He didn’t want to believe it. He wouldn’t believe it. “What if I demanded a blood test?”

  “I wouldn’t permit it. That’s invasion of privacy, and you’d need my permission to so much as prick Donnie’s little finger.”

  “I could get a court order.”

  “On what basis? Because you think he might be your son? He doesn’t exactly resemble you, does he? He doesn’t have some unique birthmark that only appears on a long line of Keeley males. Get real! There’s nothing to say you are in any way related to him.”

  “So who is his father?”

  “That is none of your business.”

  They stood glaring at each other, the long rays of the setting sun touching Charity’s hair like a halo and catching in her eyes with glistening, red-gold shards of determination that flashed back at him. He’d never known a woman more stubborn—or one who lied with such beautiful insistence. But why? he kept wondering.

  If he wasn’t the father, what dark secret was she hiding that she wouldn’t reveal even a hint of who the man might be?

  “Hey, Garrett!” Donnie called from across the way near the pond. “Aren’t ya gonna come see? It’s gonna be dark soon.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and back to Garrett again, her eyes both imploring and demanding. “If you so much as breathe a word of this harebrained idea of yours to my son, I’ll be the one doing the suing, and it won’t be about paternity. It’ll be about defamation of character.”

  “Maybe if you sued, I’d learn the truth.”

  “I’ve told you the only truth you need to know. You are not Donnie’s father.”

  CHARITY BARELY MADE IT into the house before her legs gave way and she sank to the kitchen floor, covering her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob.

  She couldn’t tell Garrett the truth. Yet lying to him had been the most difficult, painful thing she’d ever done in her life. Guiltily she knew he had the right to know he had a son. But Douglas Keeley, Garrett’s father, had stolen that right. To protect the Arden farm, to retain the home her grandparents had loved and labored for as they slipped. toward their final rest and to provide a home for her unborn child, Charity had agreed to Douglas Keeley’s terms.

  He’d arranged it so there would be no turning back. No revealing the truth. Ever.

  Not if she wanted to retain the farm. For herself. For Bud and his bride. For her son.

  The strangled sob rose to her throat. Tears filled her eyes. However much she might want it otherwise, she would never be able to acknowledge Garrett as Donnie’s father.

  THE NEXT MORNING Garrett went in search of Agatha Flintstone, owner of the Book Nook, part-time town clerk and inveterate busybody. What she didn’t know about the residents of Grazer’s Comers wasn’t worth repeating.

  He stood on the sidewalk of the town square wondering if she’d be at her store or the city hall. Since the posted hours at both places bore little resemblance to her actual schedule, he had about a fifty-fifty chance of guessing right—or wrong.

  What he was after would be in the town’s records, so he decided to try city hall first. Angling in that direction, he caught the scent of fresh-baked bread from the bakery and his mouth watered. He hadn’t eaten any breakfast; there wasn’t much in the house to eat. He’d have to correct that oversight later, but now he wanted some ans
wers.

  The city hall was laid out like an early California mission with a landscaped courtyard surrounded by offices and a requisite bubbling fountain in the middle. He found the city clerk’s office. To his amazement, it was open and Agatha was at her desk. As she sometimes did, she was reading aloud from a paperback book.

  ‘“Her heart pounded, and the flesh of her breasts flamed from his touch,”’ Agatha read dramatically. ‘“No other man had caressed her so, had made her lose all reason with a single kiss. “Gunther,” she sobbed...”’

  “Excuse me,” Garrett interrupted.

  Agatha’s book flew out of her hand. “Mercy, you gave me a fright.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  Blinking, she appeared to leave her romantic images in the world of make-believe and rejoin those who were confined by the realities of Grazer’s Corners.

  “What a terrible thing happened to you, dear boy,” she said with as much flair as she’d read her book. “Your bride going off with another man. Not that I don’t like Bud, you understand, but you’re such a good catch. Makes a body wonder what got into Hailey’s head, doesn’t it? You’d think there was an epidemic going on in town, what with that sweet Jordan girl going off with a strange man. And Kate before her. Why, I was just reading the most wonderful story about the Normans. They did a lot of kidnapping—”

  “Agatha, do you keep the birth records here?”

  Her eyes widened. “Is Hailey pregnant?”

  “Not that I know of.” Though these days, the most Garrett could be sure of was that Agatha’s sources of information rivaled those of the CIA and were a hell of a lot quicker if not always accurate. “I’ wanted to check through the records for about seven years ago.”

  “Seven years ago?”

  Garrett could almost see the wheels spinning in her retentive little mind, clicking off names and dates with as much speed as her computer would manage. “They’re public record, aren’t they?”