BLAME IT ON BABIES

by Kristine Rolofson

  Her eyes widened when she recognized him, but she was behind the screen door and didn't open it.

  "Yes, can I help you?"

  "I'm Jess Sheridan," he said. "And we have met." He paused, hoping he was going about this in the right way. "I wanted to apologize for that evening."

  "You don't have anything to apologize for," she said, and he noticed she held a white bed pillow in front of her. She wore a fluffy blue robe and her hair was damp.

  "This isn't a good time to drop by, I guess." He waited, hoping she would invite him inside. It was damn hard to talk while standing on the other side of a door. He started to feel uneasy, like he was making a big mistake.

  "Not really," she agreed. "It's a little embarrassing. How did you find the house?"

  "I'm the sheriff," he said. "I got your name from Charlie and the rest was easy."

  "I know who you are. I knew who you were last July, too."

  Once again he felt an unaccustomed heat tinge his face. "There isn't much I remember about that night. I was hoping you could fill me in. How drunk was I?"

  "You were a perfect gentleman," Lorna said. "You helped me out of a jam and you got yourself conked on the head for it. So I brought you home to recover."

  "To recover," he repeated, remembering the way she'd felt in his arms. He'd recovered just fine, and when he'd put himself inside of her he'd thought he'd found heaven. Now it was Lorna's turn to blush.

  "Could we just forget about that night?" she asked, those big blue eyes imploring him to end the conversation. "Please? I don't expect you to believe me, but I don't pick up drunks and bring them home after work. You were the first."

  "And I'm not usually a drunk," Jess said. "I guess that was an unusual night for both of us." He'd believe anything she told him, Jess realized. Including that the earth was flat, the sky green and the state of Texas bordered the Atlantic Ocean. But he still had the nagging sense that there was something more, something else she hadn't told him. He hadn't been a cop for all these years for nothing. He fingered the prickles on the back of his neck and remembered the lump. "Who hit me?"

  "Texas Tom." She crushed the pillow tighter against her body and he could see her fingers digging into the fabric. "The Barbecue King. I was working for him during the wedding reception."

  Jess struggled to remember. "Was there something about garbage?"

  "Yes." She smiled, just a little. But it was enough to make Jess's heart beat faster. He wished she'd smile at him all the time, wished she'd come out from behind the screen and invite him inside. "Tom wasn't behaving very well, and you defended me and made him give me the money he owed me for working at the wedding. I – uh – couldn't leave you lying there by the garbage, especially because I was the reason you were hurt in the first place."

  That made sense. But what was she hiding? "I'd like to take you to dinner," he said, sounding as casual as he possibly could while he thought he might be having a heart attack. "To thank you for helping me out. And to apologize for not sticking around the next morning to, uh, thank you in person." There. He'd gotten all the words out, but it hadn't been easy. Not when he knew what that body felt like, or how heavy her breasts were in his hands. And how sweet she tasted when she parted her lips for his kiss.

  "It's not necessary," she replied. "Honest."

  "I'd like to anyway."

  "I can't," she said. "But thank you for coming."

  "Can't or won't?"

  She looked startled. "What?"

  "Are you involved with someone else?" He'd assess the competition for himself, Jess decided, ignoring a fierce stab of jealousy. He'd like to know if the other guy was worthy of her.

  "Um, no. I'm not really going out with anyone right now."

  "Then you're free to have dinner with me Friday night," Jess declared, figuring he'd put up with enough dillydallying around for one evening.

  "Mr. Sheridan, I really can't go out with you."

  "Call me Jess," he said. "I'll pick you up at seven." He turned quickly and went down the porch steps toward his vehicle. He didn't want to hear her objections, didn't want to hear her refuse his invitation. He would stay away from the Coffee Pot for the rest of the week so she wouldn't have a chance to tell him she couldn't go. If she called the sheriff's office, he would have Chelsea say he wasn't available.

  He was a patient man. He could wait until Friday.

  * * *

  Lorna didn't put the pillow down until the sheriff had driven off and she heard the engine fade down the street. Lucky for her she'd been making her bed when he knocked and had the pillow in her hand when she went to the door.

  She couldn't keep it from him forever, of course. Maybe not even for another day. But Lorna wanted to delay that particular confrontation for as long as possible. She was a coward of the worst kind, and she hated conflict. There would be a scene. She hated scenes.

  Lorna stood at the door and watched the kids across the street play in their front yard. Something in the grass had caught their attention and the two oldest children appeared fascinated. The Bennetts were fun to watch, especially the toddler. Emily Bennett stepped outside, the little girl tucked against her hip, and told the others to go inside and take their baths. Lorna smiled at the look of disgust on the boy's face, but he did what he was told.

  Emily glanced over toward her and waved, so Lorna waved back and the redheaded woman started across the street. "Lorna!" she called. "How are you?"

  She swung the door open as Emily and Elly came up the steps. "I'm fine. Just very pregnant, that's all."

  "Is everything okay?"

  "Sure. Come on in." Visiting with Emily always made her feel like part of the neighborhood.

  "I saw the new sheriff at your door and I wondered…" Emily's brows rose. "Do I sense a mystery here? You're blushing."

  "I'm just a little warm, that's all," she fibbed, and turned her attention to the toddler. "Hi. Do I get a kiss?" The baby obliged with a loud smack that didn't land anywhere near Lorna's cheek, but Lorna thanked her.

  "I have baby clothes for you," Emily announced. "I finally got George to go up in the attic and dig out the boxes."

  "I appreciate that, but are you sure you won't be needing them?"

  Emily grinned and perched on the arm of an overstuffed chair. "You're a few months ahead of me. By the time I have this next baby, yours will have outgrown a lot of them."

  "I'm wondering how to deal with one child," Lorna said. "I can't imagine four."

  "It's easier if you don't have them all at once," her neighbor chuckled. "Do you know if you're having a boy or a girl?"

  "Not yet. Some days I think I should ask the doctor and other times I'm glad I don't know. Is that silly?" She lowered herself onto the couch and smoothed the robe over her belly. "I suppose I should be a little more prepared."

  "I have plenty of baby clothes for you," Emily assured her, "whether it's a boy or a girl. I'll just bring them all over and you can use what you want."

  "I don't know how to thank you—"

  "We'll trade baby-sitting some day," Emily said, keeping Elly from grabbing the leaves off Lorna's trailing ivy plant. She looked around the living room. "I see you've been painting."

  "Aunt Carol loved pink and I'm still trying to get rid of it."

  "The white's much nicer," Emily said before she stood. "I'd better go. You look like you're ready for bed. Are you going to keep working at the Coffee Pot much longer?"

  "As long as I can," Lorna replied. "I have three more months before the baby comes, and I'm going to try to work right up until my due date."

  She walked Emily to the door, waved goodbye to the toddler and then shut the door on the world. She had a job, she had a friend, and she was about to have a child. Jess Sheridan didn't fit into the picture anywhere at all.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  «^»

  "Miss Lorna Walters on the phone," Chelsea whispered, giving Jess a curious look. His new secretary, fresh out of business schoo
l, wore purple-painted fingernails two inches long and platinum blond hair that hung straight to her chin. He figured she spent hours on her makeup every morning, and she wore the shortest skirts he'd ever seen. Carter, the young deputy, could barely take his eyes off her when he came into the office, but Jess wished she'd lose the purple nails and stick to something more conservative. "You changed your mind yet?"

  Jess prayed for patience. If the twenty-one-year-old hadn't scored the highest marks on the secretarial exam, she would never have gotten this job. It had become necessary to hire someone after Dot Jacobs retired when Matt Morrison decided he was ready to stop being sheriff and start traveling to visit his eleven grandchildren. Fortunately Chelsea Higgs was some kind of computer whiz and hadn't met a computer program she couldn't operate.

  "No," he said. "Tell her I'm not available and don't offer to take a message."

  The sheriff department's new secretary did as she was told, and then shook her head. "That's no way to handle women, Sheriff."

  "Really," he said, hoping she would get the message that he didn't need romantic advice. Even if he did need romantic advice, Chelsea would not be the one he'd ask for it. She'd probably advise him to get a tattoo or shave his head.

  She tapped his desk calendar with a purple fingernail. "You should be nicer. You have a date with her tomorrow night. She must be special."

  "How'd you know I have a date with her?" He'd written "L at 7", nothing more.

  "You wrote the appointment in red ink. You never use red ink."

  "It's business," he lied.

  "You don't work on Friday nights."

  "We've worked together for four days, Chelsea," Jess pointed out. "You couldn't know much about my choice of pens, or my schedule." It irked him that she was right.

  "Important things are written in red, phone calls in pencil and meetings in black. Why don't you ever use blue?"

  "Chelsea," he warned, running out of patience. "Stay away from my calendar."

  "Can't," she said, unperturbed by his growl. "I'm putting your schedule into the computer so I can print out daily reminders."

  "I don't need daily reminders." He turned back to the stack of paperwork on his desk. Like he would forget a dinner date with Lorna. He'd spent the past three days trying to figure out how to avoid seeing her, though the sight of the Coffee Pot Café made him slow down the patrol car and long for a glimpse of her. He'd be fine, he told himself, once he'd apologized. Once he'd shown her who he really was, a respectable member of society and a sober dinner partner.

  "Sure you do," Chelsea insisted. "I have a great software program for it Are you going to bring her flowers?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "I don't want to make a big deal out of this," he told her. "It's just dinner. With an old friend."

  "This is the same Lorna Walters who's the pretty blond waitress at the Coffee Pot, right?"

  "How'd you know that?"

  Chelsea shrugged. "She's the only person named Lorna in town. So you see? I know lots of things. Besides, you left the report you got on her on your desk."

  Jess made a mental note to keep his private paperwork locked in his desk drawer.

  "So," she continued, "if she's such an old friend and you're taking her out to dinner, why aren't you taking her phone calls?"

  "Because I don't want to give her a chance to turn me down."

  "Hmm. You're not exactly the overconfident type," she mused. "So you have the hots for her. Has this been going on a long time?"

  "Don't be crude, Chelsea." He pointed to a large stack of manila folders. "Those need to be filed."

  She ignored him. "Does she have the hots for you, too, or is this a first date?"

  "First date." His first in four and a half years. "With Lorna Walters," Chelsea added, as if making sure she was right about the name. "If you want to make a good impression, you'd better bring flowers." Chelsea looked at him as if she wanted to ask him another question, but the phone ringing interrupted her and she had to turn away to answer it. "For you," she said, punching the button that transferred the call to his desk on the other side of the room. "There's a problem at the saloon."

  "Tell them I'll be right over."

  "Jake Johnson wants to talk to you first," she said, so Jess picked up the receiver and greeted his old friend.

  "What's going on?"

  "It's Bobby Calhoun again. He's drunk as a skunk and just rode his horse through the front door. I think the boys out at the ranch have been watching old western videos," Jake explained. "I happened to be in town and saw him, so I'm trying to calm down the bartender and get Bobby out of here before he causes too much trouble."

  "I'll be right there," Jess promised. "He doesn't have a gun, does he?"

  "No, he's not that stupid."

  "Good." He hung up the phone and told Chelsea where he was going.

  "Okay," she said, examining her fingernails as if she was admiring their strange color. "What kind of flowers should I get?"

  He paused halfway out the door. "Flowers?"

  "For your date tomorrow night. If you don't order something ahead, you'll be stuck getting one of those bouquets at the supermarket"

  "No flowers," Jess told her, but as he strode outside to his vehicle he wondered if he should follow her advice. Chelsea was a woman, after all – barely. She had some strange beauty ideas, but still…he ought to think about flowers. He didn't know why it mattered so much, but it did. He didn't remember a lot about that night they spent together, but he did remember the lovemaking. He'd remember that night 'til the day he died.

  * * *

  "You're as nervous as a cat near water, Lorna." Charlie set two luncheon specials on the serving counter. "You okay?"

  "I'm fine." Okay? She was six months pregnant and her date was going to show up at her door in three hours. Her very unwanted date. She picked up the plates and took them to the two ladies at table six, the same ladies who came for a late lunch every Friday. "Here you go," she said, setting the plates of fish and chips in front of them. "Enjoy."

  "Oh, we will," the older one said. "And how are you feeling, Lorna?"

  "Bigger and bigger ail the time," she said, trying to smile. Instead she felt her eyes fill up with tears, and she turned away before the ladies could offer any sympathy that would make her sob like a two-year-old.

  She hadn't seen him all week, though the day after Jess showed up at the café, she'd jumped every time the bell on the door jangled to announce another customer and braced herself to face the questions that would certainly follow. He'd stayed away, so yesterday she realized he wasn't going to give her a chance to turn down his invitation. She'd even called the sheriff's office, which hadn't gotten her anywhere. Jess Sheridan was going to show up at her door tonight the way he had promised.

  By four o'clock she was finished for the day, so she left through the back door, unlocked her car, which she sometimes parked in the small lot behind the building, and drove home. Emily, pulling weeds from her garden, waved as Lorna pulled up in her driveway, so Lorna walked across the street to say hello.

  "You look like you need a friend," her neighbor said. "Want a cup of coffee?"

  "I don't want to interrupt—"

  "Interrupt gardening? Please," Emily stood, and laughed. "I hate gardening." She stripped off her gloves and tossed them to the ground. "George took the kids to pick out a video for tonight, so we have the house to ourselves for a few minutes."

  Lorna followed Emily around the side of the house and into the kitchen, but she didn't sit down right away. "Emily, how pregnant do I look?"

  "As in months?"

  "Yes."

  Emily tilted her head and studied Lorna's belly. "I guess it depends on what you wear, but right now, in that uniform, you look about six months along. You have one of those basketball pregnancies, so—"

  "Basketball pregnancy?"

  "You know, when it looks like you stuck a basketball under your blouse. Your basketball is pr
etty small right now, but you're wearing that maternity uniform, so it's really not showing much. Why?"

  Lorna sat down and eyed her stomach. Her small basketball pushed against the cotton fabric of her skirt. "Someone wants to take me out to dinner tonight."

  Emily grinned. "You have a date? Good for you."

  "He doesn't know I'm pregnant."

  Her friend forgot about making coffee and sat down at the table across from Lorna. "Wait a minute. You met him on the Internet?"

  "No. I don't have a computer. I met him at the Johnson wedding." She didn't elaborate; Emily didn't need to know the details of her neighbor's mistake.

  "Lorna, honey, he's going to be able to tell," Emily said, her expression still amused. "He's going to be surprised when he discovers his date is wearing a maternity dress." She paused. "Do you have a maternity dress?"

  Lorna nodded. "One."

  "Good. I'd offer to loan you one of mine, but you're a lot smaller than I am. And they're not in very good shape after three pregnancies." Emily propped her head up with her elbow and gave Lorna a searching look. "You're pretty upset about this. You can still say no."

  "He's pretty stubborn." He would show up on her doorstep promptly at seven and he would look at her as if he wanted to devour her and then his gaze would drop to her abdomen and he would guess this baby was his. Or not, she mused. Men didn't know much about pregnancy and he might believe any story she might tell him. And then she'd have turned herself into an unwed pregnant liar.

  "You can still say 'no, my feet are swollen' or something," Emily declared. "Unless you like the guy and you're really hungry for dinner."

  "I like the guy," she admitted. "I've had a crush on him since I was thirteen. And these days I'm always hungry."

  "Then what's the problem?"

  "We've never been out on a date before." Lorna patted her tummy. "My little basketball is going to scare him to death." And he might wonder if it's his and cause all sorts of complications. Which he had a right to, she amended, trying to be fair.