“Thank you, no.” His answer was civil, if short.
“Not even for five minutes, Sheriff? I’m sure the ladies would love to hear all about your latest adventures.”
His gaze flickered her way—wearing a look that reminded her of Pecan or Praline when they were being stuck in the cat carrier for a trip to the vet. Trapped. Panicked. Ready to gnaw off a limb to get away. “Just got off a double.” He eyed the door.
“You should go, get some sleep,” Charity suggested, hoping to help his escape.
“Now, now, if you’re just getting off, you should eat.” Widow Rainey hooked arms with the sheriff and all but yanked him inside.
Charity stared after them, a wave of sympathy washing over her. That didn’t mean she wasn’t about to laugh, a lot, but she felt for Braden all the same.
“What’s in the bag?” Nick asked, still freaking out.
She peered inside. “It’s…ice cream.”
“That’s a lot of ice cream,” Nick said, pulling the two tubs out. “Two more in there. Who likes cherries jubilee?” He frowned, dropping the containers back into the bag.
She did. It was her favorite. “He remembered.” The tiniest flutter teased her stomach. She smiled, running her hand over her stomach. “I can’t believe it, either.”
She carried the bag into the kitchen, ignoring the widows as she packed her beloved ice cream into the freezer. Braden Martinez had grown into a strange man, in a good way. He wasn’t a talker; that was clear from the way he was staring into his tea, stoic, while the widows chattered on around him. And no one would ever accuse him of being the emotional sort. But there was something real about the man. Solid. And good. He was a decent guy—so decent he’d stayed with her until she’d been released from the ER, taken her back to her car, and followed her home.
Decent, as in checking on her and bringing several surprise tubs of cherries jubilee ice cream.
If she stole a glance his way a few times, it was only because she wanted to thank him. And he was hot. Like big, brooding, muscle-y, quiet, and manly sort of hot. She fanned herself with the kitchen towel in her hand.
Pregnancy hormones.
Her father hurried into the kitchen, carrying a bag of brisket. That coupled with the overpowering scents of perfume and tuna salad, and the claustrophobic heat of extra bodies in what suddenly felt like a small space was all it took to have her running. She had no choice. There was no way she’d make it to the guest bathroom. So right there, in front of the widows, Sheriff Martinez, and pretty much her entire family, she threw up her sister’s lovely lemon pound cake into Felicity’s pristine sink.
She was vaguely aware of many My goodnesses being declared, but that didn’t stop her vomiting. Oh, so much vomiting.
“Charity, honey.” Her mother pressed a cool cloth to her head. “You ate too much.”
“Want some water?” Felicity asked.
She shook her head, cupping water and splashing her face. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Charity girl.” Her father was all concern. “You’re under the weather.”
“Let’s move our party to the dining room,” Widow Rainey announced, encouraging the others to carry tea and cups and all the plates of dainty finger foods Filly had made for them. As soon as the room emptied, Charity could breathe.
And that tiny, delicate little flutter happened again. She smiled, running her hand over her stomach. She glanced at Felicity, too excited by the flutter to hide it.
Felicity was all smiles.
“What is it?” her mother asked. “What’s going on? I can tell when you two are up to something. And you, Charity Ann, are definitely up to something.”
She shrugged. “I guess I am. I’m not sick. Mom, Dad…I’m pregnant.”
“My goodness,” her mother gasped, sinking into her chair.
…
There was a long stretch of silence. Felicity held her sister’s hand, more than a little surprised that she decided to share her news now. It would have been nice to have some sort of heads-up, to prepare. But there was no angry outburst, were no tears. There was more silence. Her mother sat, staring vacantly at the tile floor. Her father kept opening his mouth, then closing it—a deep furrow creasing his brow.
“It will be fine,” Felicity interjected before her parents could collect themselves. “She has a job; there’s plenty of room here for them both. We’re going to share baby duty, with Jack and whoever else joins the family.”
“The father?” Their dad looked devastated.
Charity shook her head. “No.”
Felicity squeezed her hand, relieved the rest of the story could wait. One thing at a time. Besides, it’s not like it would change anything. Charity would still be pregnant and raising this child alone. As far as Felicity was concerned, those were the only two things that mattered.
“Clearly there was one,” her mother argued. “Unless… Don’t tell me you went to one of those, those sperm places, Charity Ann.”
“Maybe we should hold off on questions for now,” Felicity suggested. “Especially since Widow Rainey is here.”
“What does that mean?” her mother asked.
“The woman can’t keep a secret,” her father answered, nodding.
Hands on her hips, her mother faced her father. “Now, Herb, she’s a delightful woman. You be nice.”
“She is a delightful woman. But she can’t keep a secret to save her life.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Filly’s right. This can wait. Your guests won’t.” He held the door wide for his wife.
But her mother hesitated, looking more than irritated.
“He’s right, Mom.” Felicity smiled. “Let’s get a few things figured out here before we share Charity’s news.”
Her mother sighed, scowled at her husband, and left—their father following.
“That’s done.” Charity sighed, looking relaxed for the first time in weeks. “And the baby’s moving.” She pressed her hands to her stomach. “Or I have serious indigestion..” She shrugged, laughing.
Felicity hugged her tight. “Enjoy every second.”
“Except the throwing-up part.” Her sister wrinkled her nose.
“Except that,” she agreed. “You okay?”
Charity nodded.
“Should I be worried that Sheriff Martinez was here?” Had Nick done something else? It was always there now, that doubt and fear. He seemed less angry and more in control of his emotions since he’d started working out with Owen. But the potential was there.
“Only if you have a fear of cherries jubilee ice cream,” Charity answered. “He brought some to me.”
“Your favorite.” Felicity studied her. Did she know what Braden Martinez had been through? As much as she adored Charity, her sister’s experience with real relationships was limited. Poor Braden deserved more than another broken heart. “Your vomiting has earned you a get-out-of-widows’-group pass. Go directly to your room.”
“I’m fine.” She grabbed a plate of lemon pound cake and disappeared.
Felicity picked up the chocolate éclairs and backed through the kitchen door, heading for the dining room.
“Éclairs?” Nick followed.
“For the ladies.” She held the tray aside, out of his reach.
“Are you joining us, Nick?” Her mom smiled up at Nick and patted the seat beside her. “We could use some male companionship to balance out all the estrogen in the room—now that Sheriff Martinez all but ran out of here.”
The women laughed.
Felicity couldn’t. Poor Braden. When it came to an emergency situation, there was no better person to have around—that’s why he’d been promoted to sheriff at such a young age. That, plus his absolute dedication to the job. But noncrisis hero situations had always made him uncomfortable. Something Charity had been completely oblivious t
o when they’d been dating.
In high school, Charity had dragged him home for a few family dinners. If not for her ability to fill silence with cheerful banter, things would have gotten super awkward superfast. As it was, he’d blushed, limited his responses to one-word answers, and stared adoringly at her sister until the dessert plates were cleared away.
Now, faced with the widows, Nick wore an expression similar to the one Braden Martinez frequently sported: absolute panic. The struggle between his desire to escape and his need for sugar was plain to see. “You got this.” Felicity winked at her son, then handed him a plate with three éclairs.
Nick smiled, grinned at his plate, and settled back in the chair beside his great-grandmother.
“I’m not sure who he was talking about,” one of the women was saying. “All I know was he said he was in love and he couldn’t possibly go for a coffee with anyone else.”
Felicity made the rounds, placing the éclairs on the table and refilling cups.
“Thank you, Filly, dear,” Grams said, patting her hand. “Do you know who it might be?”
“I need more details. Who might be what, Grams?” she asked, passing the small ceramic pitcher of cream around the table. “I’m late to the conversation.”
“Romi Takahashi told me that she’d stopped by Dr. Graham Murphy’s house—with a cake, mind you. She’s set her cap for him. Very determined, let me tell you.” Widow Rainey shook her head in disappointment.
Graham? They’re talking about Graham? Tightness pressed in, making it hard to breathe.
“Graham turned her down,” Grams finished.
Breathing. I remember how to do that. First a deep, cleansing breath, followed by an intense urge to smile. An urge she had to fight. She had to. But couldn’t.
“He didn’t just turn her down.” Widow Rainey covered her mouth with her napkin, enjoying another bite of éclair before adding, “He told her he couldn’t go for coffee because he was in love with someone.”
In love? Knowing Graham, he was looking for a way to dodge Widow Rainey’s good intentions. If there were someone he was interested in, what happened between them wouldn’t have happened. He would have said something. Unless… She suspected she knew the answer to that.
Oh God. Oh God. Don’t ask. Do. Not. Ask.
“He… He said that?” Felicity almost dropped the sugar bowl Grams offered her. “That he’s in a relationship?” Stop talking. Don’t act interested. Just smile and nod. Say, “My goodness” or something. But the words kept coming. “With this mystery woman?”
“No, no, he said something about doing whatever he could to win her over.” Widow Rainey sighed. “Now that is a true romantic for you. I always said Graham Murphy was the sort of man a woman would be lucky to have.”
Felicity set the sugar bowl down and wiped her hands on her skirt. He was kidding. He must be. It was a way to avoid this Miss Takahashi and her cake. He was not, under any circumstance, talking about her.
“Any ideas?” Grams asked again.
“Me?” she asked, beyond flustered. But if he was serious… They’d never talked about feelings. What had happened between them was wonderful. Incredible. No, he was being smart. But, because he was smart, he’d know putting that sort of puzzle out and about would have the widows’ group on the hunt. They would never rest until they knew who he was talking about. “No.” But she was chewing the inside of her lip, her mind spinning and her heart… Her heart…
Graham. The pressure was back, warm and fluid and full of hope.
Her gaze darted to Nick, who was watching her like a hawk.
“No. But I wish him well,” she added.
“You know…” Widow Rainey leaned closer to her. “I once had high hopes that your sister would wind up with Graham. They’d be a good match, I think.”
Would they? She couldn’t picture it. Probably because she didn’t want to picture Graham with anyone else. Anyone other than her.
Pull it together, Filly. This was not the time to let her emotions get the best of her. Not with the widows watching—and Nick. She forced a smile. “More tea?”
“No, Filly, I think we’re all set.” Her mother smiled. “Can you sit a while?”
“I’m going to check on Jack.” There was no need. He was a champion napper. He napped for two hours every day but still had trouble at night. But she needed a moment to process what she’d just heard and what the hell she was feeling. Because there was a very real possibility that she might want, more than anything, for Graham Murphy to be in love.
With me. And… I love him.
“I’ll go,” her father offered.
Great. She wanted to argue but couldn’t think of a thing. “You sure?”
He nodded. “You sit and enjoy your company.”
“Thanks, Dad.” She sat, smoothing her skirt into place, then fiddling with the end of her apron tie.
Nick was watching her. She knew it.
And if she started acting weird, he’d get suspicious. Sometimes, Nick was too intuitive for his own good. Like now.
She wouldn’t lie to him. She would always pick her son first, always. But that didn’t stop the way her heart reacted. When it came to Graham, there were a lot of reactions. Some of them she wasn’t sure she was ready to deal with yet. Others, she welcomed. With Graham, she was happy. Was it wrong to want happiness?
“Where is Honor?” Grams asked.
They chattered on about Owen Nelson, his impending departure for boot camp, and what solid stock the Nelsons were. Felicity liked Owen well enough but worried a long-term separation would lead to her daughter’s first heartbreak. They were so young. And college and the military were different worlds.
But there was no denying he loved Honor—all she had to do was look at Owen to see it. Her daughter deserved to have someone look at her that way, every day for the rest of her life.
“What about you, Felicity?” one of the women asked. “Wilma’s niece’s cousin works for Mr. Klein. Word has it he’s sweet on you.”
Great. Wonderful. It shouldn’t be a surprise. They’d had dinner in public, after all. Word traveled fast in Pecan Valley.
“A lawyer.” Grams snorted. “Money-grubbers, the lot of them.”
She swallowed a giggle. “No. I mean, Mr. Klein is a very nice man but… No.” She sipped her tea.
Once more, Nick was watching her. She smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. He was studying her closely, too intent, too serious for a boy his age. She nudged his knee with her own and winked at him—earning her a reluctant smile.
“Filly, if I could offer you one piece of advice, it would be to grab on to happiness with both hands whenever it comes your way.” Grams took her hand and cradled it in hers. “I know losing Matt took a toll on you. But he’d left you before he was gone. Things are harder now, complications all over the place—I know. Life’s like that, up and down and every which way. But you hang in there, you keep smiling, and when you find something good, you protect it. You hear me?”
“I hear you.” She pressed a kiss to her grandmother’s cheek, squeezing her hand. “Wise words, Grams.”
“Because I’m a wise old crone.” She slapped her thigh and laughed. “I read a lot of fortune cookies.”
Chapter Nineteen
Nick sat on the blanket his mother had spread along the shoreline. Jack was beside him, stacking up cups, knocking them down, and stacking them up again. He was pretty cool that way—low maintenance. Poor kid, sitting in that cast, dripping sweat in triple-digit heat. But his mom, always prepared, had brought a canopy, and that—with the breeze off the water—made it bearable. Sort of.
But being inside on the Fourth of July in Pecan Valley wasn’t an option. Everyone drove up to the lake; hit the marina shops; rented sailboats, paddleboats, and tandem bicycles; then ate Popsicles and ice cream until the sun went do
wn. Once the campfires sprang up and the s’mores and hot dogs came out, everyone was ready for the big finale: fireworks over the water.
Jack knocked the cups over and clapped, looking to Nick for approval. Nick grinned. That kid was too cute to resist.
A quick glance around told him Dr. Murphy’s black SUV still wasn’t here. They were late. Diana said she’d have her dad here by five. It was almost six. He sighed, running the back of his forearm across his forehead. After three days of texting, and a lot of patience on his part, he and Diana had come up with a way to make absolutely sure that the two families would run into each other.
From there, it was up to his mom and Doc Murphy. He was pretty sure he knew what was going to happen. He was pretty sure his mother was in love with Graham Murphy. And she was missing him.
Because Nick was being a prick.
What the hell was wrong with him? Or, as Diana put it, what gave him the right to stop his mom from being happy? All the bullshit excuses were just that: bullshit.
Graham was the best thing that had happened to his mom—and their family—in a long time. He kept his cool, rolled with whatever life threw at him, and he looked at his mom like she was the only woman in the world.
Had that bothered him? Hell yes, it had, in the beginning.
But that’s how any man who deserved her should look at her. When Diana finally came clean about the level of hell she’d put her father through, Nick had a whole new level of respect for the man. His daughter was messed up, but Doc Murphy would never give up on her. Ever. He loved her, no conditions, no leaving—no matter what.
His mom deserved that. Someone who would always love her.
It was all thanks to Grams. While he’d been stuffing himself on éclairs, she’d been setting him straight. He might be young, but he wasn’t stupid. Grams might use fortune-cookie speak sometimes, all vague declarations and philosophical mumbo jumbo, but other times she was a freaking genius. Like the tea party.
Bottom line, life was hard. But going it alone was harder.
Having Jack at home only proved how much love his mom had to give. Were his mom and Jack getting close? Yes. And he was glad. The little dude needed a mom. And there was no better one in the world.
Accidentally Family Page 25
