The Sheriff's Nine-Month Surprise

by Brenda Harlen

  Or it had until today when a client’s child-from-hell had screamed like a banshee for the whole forty minutes she was in Kate’s office.

  She followed the familiar path up the stairs and down the hall to the nursery, peeking in to see that Keegan had pulled himself up on the bars and was gnawing on the rail, drool dripping off his chin.

  He looked up and grinned when he recognized his godmother.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Kate said. “Look at all those teeth.”

  He smiled again, showing them off.

  “Aren’t you such a big boy now?”

  He released his grip on the rail and lifted his arms toward her, a silent request to be picked up. But without the support of the rail, he lost his balance and immediately fell down onto his bottom. His little brow furrowed.

  “Oopsie daisy,” she said, and he giggled. She reached into the crib and lifted him out. “Kiss?”

  He puckered up and touched his lips to her cheek.

  “A little sloppy, Keeg,” she said. “Hopefully you’ll fix that before adolescence.” She patted a hand against his bottom. “And give some consideration to potty training, too.”

  “Do you want me to change him?” Emerson offered.

  “I can handle a wet diaper,” Kate assured her.

  Emerson settled into the rocking chair in the corner of the room, content to let her friend handle the diaper duties. “Remember—he’s a boy.”

  Kate nodded. The first time she’d ever changed Keegan, she hadn’t thought to cover him when she pulled the wet diaper away and he’d sprinkled like a fountain. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget.”

  Clean diapers and wipes were within easy reach, and she had everything ready before she unsnapped the fasteners of his romper. He immediately twisted, trying to roll away from her.

  “Get over here, Mr. Wiggly Worm,” she chastised, splaying her hand across his belly to hold him in position.

  “He certainly is that,” Emerson agreed. “I remember how thrilled I was when he finally rolled over at five months—now I just wish he would hold still every once in a while.”

  “My grandmother says that new parents spend the first year of a child’s life eager for him to walk and talk—and the next sixteen wishing he’d sit down and shut up.”

  Emerson laughed. “I’m sure there’s some truth in that.”

  When Keegan tried to roll over again, Kate reached for one of his favorite teething toys. She jingled the plastic keys, immediately snagging his attention. He kicked his chubby legs and stretched his arms out for the toy.

  She jingled the keys again, then let him take them from her so she could secure the tabs of his diaper and fasten the snaps of his romper. When that was done, she dropped the dirty diaper into the bin beside the table and picked up the baby, propping him against her hip.

  “I’ve figured it out,” Emerson said, when they were once again reclining in the loungers by the pool, Keegan sitting in Kate’s lap. “What you’ve been holding back.”

  The baby tossed the keys to the ground, and Kate reached to scoop them up—a familiar game between them. “What do you think I’ve been holding back?”

  “You’re pregnant.”

  This time the plastic keys slipped out of her hand.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Emerson said, retrieving the toy for her son.

  It wasn’t just the words but the absolute conviction in her friend’s voice that warned Kate any effort to deny the truth would be in vain. And maybe she’d come here for this—to talk to somebody who knew her better than anyone else and who knew what it meant to be a mother.

  “Am I wearing a sign?” she wondered aloud, a little unnerved that first her sister and now her best friend had so readily uncovered her secret.

  Emerson smiled. “There are all kinds of signs if someone knows you—especially if that someone has recent experience with pregnancy.”

  “What kind of signs?”

  “You’re pale and fatigued and your boobs are practically spilling out of your bra.”

  Kate’s gaze immediately dropped to her chest. “Apparently you know me even better than I realized,” she remarked.

  “But does he know?” Emerson asked.

  She nodded.

  “How’d he respond?”

  “He thinks we should get married.”

  Her friend’s brows lifted. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t think a broken condom is the first stop on the road to wedded bliss.” Kate rubbed Keegan’s back. “If and when I get married, I want it to be because I’ve fallen in love. Maybe that’s selfish under the circumstances, but I want what you and Mark have,” she said, imploring Emerson to understand.

  “Anyone would have reservations in your situation,” her friend acknowledged. “But you wouldn’t be pregnant if you and the sheriff didn’t have some powerful chemistry.”

  “And if that was a valid reason for a legal union, the traditional wedding vows would forgo mention of love, honor and cherish in favor of lots of really hot sex.”

  “The love, honor and cherish stuff is easier to do when there’s lots of really hot sex added to the mix,” Emerson said.

  Which wasn’t all that different from the argument Reid had made but still didn’t hold much sway for Kate.

  “I had a client—a young, single mom—come in today with a six-month-old. She wants an order to compel a DNA test so she can get financial support from the baby’s father. She also said she wouldn’t mind if Dad wanted to take the baby off her hands some of the time.

  “Which seemed an odd comment to me, at first,” Kate noted. “Until the baby, suddenly and inexplicably, started screaming. The mom checked her diaper, offered a drink and a snack, but nothing soothed the kid. The baby kept screaming until even the mom was crying, and...I’m terrified that’s going to be me in the future.”

  “I’ve been there,” Emerson confided. “There are times when it seems nothing I do will soothe Keegan, then I start to doubt everything I’m doing and feel like a total failure as a mother.

  “I can only imagine how much harder it would be if I didn’t have Mark to help out, so if you came here for reassurance, I’m not sure I can give it,” her friend said. “Don’t get me wrong—I love Keegan with my whole heart and I love being a mom, but there are days I’m so overwhelmed, I don’t realize until Mark gets home that it’s dinnertime and the breakfast and lunch dishes are still in the sink because I haven’t had a chance to empty the dishwasher. And I’m still in my pajamas because I didn’t have time to get dressed—or even notice that I wasn’t.

  “It’s even worse when Mark’s out of town on business. Last week, he was gone for three days. When he finally got back, as soon as he walked through the front door, I handed him the baby and walked out. I just needed some space, just five minutes by myself, so that I could hear myself think.”

  “Thanks,” Kate said drily. “I feel so much better now.”

  “I wouldn’t be a true friend if I told you it was all smiles and giggles,” Emerson said. “Although those smiles and giggles do have a way of making you forget about poopy diapers and projectile vomit—at least in the moment.

  “Still, I know how much you’ve always wanted a real family of your own,” her friend continued in a gentler tone. “So before you make any final decisions, you need to consider all your options—including saying ‘I do’ to the sexy sheriff.”

  Chapter Ten

  Katelyn wanted to be at the Circle G around four o’clock. Reid had mapped the route on his phone and discovered it was about a thirty-minute drive from her apartment, so he was at her door promptly at 3:30.

  She was ready when he arrived and immediately came out rather than buzzing him in. She was wearing a sleeveless white V-neck top printed with tiny blue flowers over a pair of slim-fitting navy capri pants with white leat
her slip-on sandals. Her hair tumbled in loose waves over her shoulders, the ends dancing in the light summer breeze.

  She looked cool and casual and far too sexy for his peace of mind. Certainly no one looking at her would ever suspect that she was pregnant.

  “Boy or girl?” Katelyn asked, fastening her seat belt.

  “Huh?” he said.

  She smiled as she slid a pair of dark sunglasses over her eyes. “I assume your ex-wife had the baby by now—I was wondering if it was a boy or a girl.”

  “Oh. Yes, she did. A boy,” he told her. “Henry.”

  “Are you hoping our baby is a boy or a girl?” she asked.

  He pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto Page Street. “I can’t honestly say that I’ve given the matter any thought.”

  “Think about it now,” she suggested.

  * * *

  Thinking about her pregnancy was scary enough without imagining the baby that would come at the end. Reid didn’t have a lot of experience with kids, but he knew infants were completely dependent on their parents for everything—food, clothing, shelter, attention and affection.

  “Or is it too soon to be thinking about the sex?” she wondered.

  “I’m always ready to think about sex,” he told her.

  A smile tugged at her lips as she shook her head. “I meant the sex of our baby.”

  “Oh. Yeah, it’s too soon to be thinking about that,” he agreed.

  Definitely too soon.

  He wasn’t ready to be a father, and he didn’t imagine himself being any more ready in seven months.

  Maybe seven years.

  Yes, that might work.

  Or, better yet—never.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t really an option.

  “I’ve thought about it,” she admitted. “I don’t have a preference, but it’s fun to imagine what our son or daughter will look like.”

  He considered for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t want to imagine what our daughter would look like.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because now I’m picturing her with dark hair and blue eyes like her mom, so breathtakingly beautiful that my badge and gun will be my only hope of keeping the boys at a distance.”

  “And then she’ll sneak off for a weekend, somewhere away from the watchful eye of her overprotective father, and get knocked up,” Katelyn warned.

  He slid her a look. “Not my daughter.”

  “I’m sure that’s what my father would have said, too,” she agreed. “If anyone had suggested the possibility to him.”

  His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “He’s going to want to kill me, isn’t he?”

  “Wanting and doing are completely different things,” she said, as if to reassure him. “And I’m not planning to tell him today.”

  “What are you going to tell him?” Reid wondered. “Will you be introducing me as the new sheriff or your boyfriend?”

  The way she nibbled on her bottom lip before responding suggested that she hadn’t considered any of the details. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to give them the impression that we’re dating,” she admitted. “It would certainly make it easier to explain a baby later on—but no PDAs.”

  “What about sneaking up to the hayloft?” he asked, only half teasing.

  “That would be another no,” she said firmly.

  He wasn’t surprised by her response, but he was disappointed. “Anything else I should know before I meet your family?”

  “Just don’t mention the name Blake and everything should be fine.”

  “Are the Gilmores and the Blakes still feuding?”

  “The Hatfields and McCoys of Nevada,” she told him.

  “I’ll have to remember not to get on your bad side,” he mused. “Apparently Gilmores know how to hold a grudge.”

  “Only as well as Blakes,” she retorted.

  “And all because one guy got the prime land and the other ended up with some precious metals.”

  “Wars have been fought over less,” she remarked. “And then there was the ill-fated love affair between Everett Gilmore’s daughter, Maggie, and Samuel Blake’s youngest son, James.”

  “I haven’t heard that part of the story,” he admitted.

  “It’s not unlike so many other forbidden love stories. Boy meets girl, their families disapprove, they run away together. Then the families come together, at least temporarily, to track down their missing offspring and drag them home again.”

  “Something must have happened to widen the rift again after that,” Reid guessed.

  She nodded. “Eight months later, Maggie died pushing her stillborn son into the world and James, overwhelmed by grief and guilt, set off on horseback and was never seen again. That story has been retold to each successive generation of Gilmores—and probably Blakes, too—as a warning of the kind of tragedy that results whenever the families forget that they’re enemies.”

  “Just don’t tell it to the little bean as a bedtime story,” Reid suggested. “It’s kind of dark.”

  “It is,” she agreed. “And yet, my brother Caleb managed to forget the ending for a while.”

  “He fell in love with the daughter of your father’s archenemy?” he guessed.

  “I don’t know if he loved her,” she said. “But for a few weeks, he was married to her.”

  “Now that sounds like an interesting story.”

  “It’s not even a unique one. They were young, they screwed around, Brielle got pregnant and Caleb took her to Las Vegas for a quickie wedding. She lost the baby, they got a quickie divorce—end of story.”

  “Really?” he said dubiously. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” she confirmed. “After that, Brielle went away to school in New York City, and I don’t think she’s been back more than once or twice since.”

  “Maybe she’s still in love with your brother,” he suggested.

  “Or maybe she’s happy in New York,” she countered.

  “What about your brother—is he happy?”

  “He’s never given any indication that he’s not,” she said. “Liam, on the other hand, makes no secret of the fact that he has ambitions other than waking up at the Circle G every morning for the rest of his life.”

  “What does he want to do?”

  “Renovate the old Stagecoach Inn and reopen it as a boutique hotel and spa.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” he said. “Aside from the Dusty Boots Motel out by the highway, Haven doesn’t have a hotel.”

  “I don’t disagree that a hotel is a good idea—if somebody else wanted to tackle the project, but ‘Gilmores are ranchers,’” she said, deepening her voice in what was clearly intended as an imitation of her father.

  “Did he object when you decided to go to law school?”

  She shook her head. “My dad might have strong opinions about—well, he has strong opinions about everything,” she acknowledged. “But he appreciates that everyone, even ranchers, need lawyers.”

  Reid turned where she indicated, passing through the open gates under an arched metalwork sign announcing Circle G Ranch.

  The paved highway gave way to a gravel road and stones kicked up under his tires, pinging against the undercarriage. He trusted that she knew how to get to the ranch, but the road he was on seemed to go nowhere. Every direction he looked, there was nothing but open fields dotted with cattle and, in the distance, the Silver Ridge Mountains speared into the cloudless blue sky. It was a full three minutes after he’d pulled off the highway before the house—two impressive stories of timber frame and cut stone—came into view.

  He parked his truck, noting that there were five pickups, three SUVs and two ATVs ahead of his vehicle in the driveway.

  “Good,” Katelyn said, already reaching for the handle
of her door. “It looks like everyone’s here.”

  “You told me that you had a sister and two brothers,” he reminded her, as he unhooked his belt.

  “That’s right,” she confirmed, exiting the truck.

  He followed suit, albeit less eagerly. “So who do all these vehicles belong to?”

  She laughed at the obvious trepidation in his tone. “The gray truck is my dad’s, the red one belongs to my grandparents, the pimped-up Jeep is Caleb’s, Liam usually drives the green truck and Sky the blue SUV. The others belong to my uncle and cousins and the ranch foreman.”

  “This is a usual family dinner?”

  “Pretty much,” she confirmed, then nudged him with her shoulder. “Come on—I’ll introduce you.”

  * * *

  She did so, and though she’d given Reid a brief heads-up with respect to everyone else in attendance, it was apparent that Katelyn’s family had received no advance warning that she’d be bringing a date.

  “Trust me,” she said later, when they moved toward the paddock to check out the foal born a few days earlier. “It’s better that they didn’t know you were coming, because they didn’t have a chance to prepare an interrogation.”

  “Thank you, I think.” Then, as he looked around the property, he had to admit, “This place is impressive.”

  “Six generations of Gilmores have worked to make it a success.”

  “It must have been quite an experience to grow up here, surrounded by all of this.”

  “It was,” she agreed.

  “And a big adjustment—moving from one of the biggest ranches in Haven to an apartment in town.”

  “It was,” she said again.

  “You don’t miss this?”

  She shook her head. “I miss my family sometimes, although it seems as if someone always has an excuse to make a trip into town to check up on me, but I don’t miss the ranch.”