The Pregnant Bride

The old man’s mouth twitched, then he grunted and left the building. The bells echoed through the air, mocking Nick with their laughter.

“That was Mr. Chaney,” said Meggie. “You probably remember him.”

Was that accusation in her voice? Of course. When they’d hauled him out of town, with Spencer and his buddies snickering behind the sight of red-and-blue cop car lights, Nick had never gotten the chance to talk to anyone—not his foster mom or dad…not even their son, Sam.

Or Meggie.

He’d never been able to explain that Spencer had invited him to Chaney’s Drugstore to fight, but, instead, had set off a homemade bomb. Everyone in Kane’s Crossing had believed Spencer when he accused Nick of exploding the device. Nick had been there, he’d seen it destroy the building, and who was going to believe the rantings of the town hard-luck case when the town golden boy was accusing him of a crime?

His foster parents had been so sick with disappointment, they’d refused to see him; they’d even called off their plans to adopt him into their family. Even Sam, whom Nick had just about worshiped with a younger foster brother’s devotion, had refrained from contacting him. The state of Kentucky had moved Nick to another home after he’d served some time in a juvenile delinquent facility.

But now he was back in town to right some wrongs. The car crash he’d lived through mere months ago had given him some perspective, had made him realize that there was a little town in the middle of America that still thought the worst of him. He couldn’t live with himself knowing that he’d never erased this falsehood. Clearing his name and serving justice to Spencer on one of his own silver spoons became top priority.

He gritted his teeth. What the hell, Meggie deserved at least some explanation. “I see this place hasn’t forgotten my name.”

“How could they? You’re an urban legend in a provincial town. Almost a celebrity.”

Her tone teetered on the edge of sarcasm, and his crusade against Spencer increased twofold. Even Meggie had been infected by Spencer’s lies. Nick felt something in the area of his heart crack, but he stiffened his jaw and narrowed his eyes to fight the feeling. “You’ve made up your mind.”

Meggie’s eyes flashed, and she stepped to the end of the counter. For the first time, Nick saw the slight roundness of her stomach. He felt the wind get knocked out of him.

Do ya feel like buyin’ a magical cupcake from Chad’s castoff?

Say, Witchy Poo, where ya hidin’ that bundle of joy?

Dear, God, please have him be wrong.

She said, “It’s pretty easy to form an opinion over the course of years. Have you finally come back to explain yourself, Nick?”

Explain himself? He didn’t play the explaining game. “Whatever I have to say would fall on deaf ears.” He couldn’t stop his gaze from straying to her belly.

A short laugh cut the air when she noticed his scrutiny. “Oh, great. You’re curious, too. Don’t even ask.”

He kept his mouth shut. It’s what he knew how to do best, and it frequently kept him out of more trouble than he was worth.

“So?” She reached up to skim a red curl away from the corner of an eye, but she couldn’t hide the tremble of her finger. “Why did you come back?”

Why? Because he wanted to see justice done. Because he wanted to find his foster family, to see if they’d come to forgive him for a crime he didn’t commit in the first place.

Yes, he was guilty of never trying to contact them—their rejection had stung too much the first time to give them another chance to hurt him again—but surely the passage of years had lent them some sense of leniency.

He clenched his jaw, unwilling to answer her simple question. Simple. He almost laughed at the word. Nothing was ever simple.

Meggie chuckled, but the accompanying smile was far from happy. “I assume your return has something to do with your childhood buddy. Why are you looking for Chad?”

She’d whispered the name, but somehow it seemed to crash through the room like a wrecking ball. “No reason.”

“Right.”

He didn’t want it to be like this with Meggie. He wanted summer rains experienced from the shelter of a small cave. He wanted cool dips in the local swimming hole and long talks about the future as the sun braided the sky into a bluish-orange sunset. He wanted the girl who laughed in the face of anyone who dared call her “Witchy Poo.” But that girl was gone.

Meggie sighed, and he related to her frustration. He’d never suffered a tied tongue around her because she’d always understood him.

“Have you gone by your old home?”

Evidently, she’d given up her attempt to wheedle information out of him. “No one was there.”

“It’s too bad, you know. It used to be such a neat house, all comfy with those flower beds and the huge lawn. Now it’s just…”

Her eyes had gone all dark, almost like water from a Venetian canal, littered with so much beneath the surface. In all his travels, weighed by a rucksack and too many painful memories, he’d never seen a green like Meggie’s eyes. He’d done his damnedest to erase his memories after he’d earned his way through college, crossing Europe in second-class train cars, crashing night after night in youth hostels. But instead of filling his head with the beauty of new experiences, his adventures had only succeeded in feeding his hate for Spencer. After all, he’d never have run away from his real world if he hadn’t been thrown out in the first place.

All those roads he’d walked only led to one place— Kane’s Crossing. Back to a tiny, loving home he’d lived in for one shining year, enough time to know he was capable of having a chance to be loved by foster parents and a brother who would’ve hung the moon for his younger sibling.

He rehooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “What do you mean my house ‘used to be’ so cozy?”

“You don’t know?” Her eyes widened, teared up.

Nick shook his head, steeling himself for bad news.

“I thought somehow someone would’ve told you. Your foster parents died about five years ago.”

It felt as if an invisible force had jump-kicked him square in the chest. Stunned, he could only think to look away, to hide the pain he knew was marking his face like a bloody wound. Gone? He’d always meant to come back someday, to thank his foster parents for their glimmer of hope and acceptance. And now it was too late.

“How?” He hoped to God his voice had come out strong.

She paused. “There was an accident at the Spencer Factory. After your dad died there, your mom carried on for about a year longer. Then she caught pneumonia and—”

He held up a hand, stopping her explanation. Why had he asked for details? He should’ve known their deaths had something to do with Chad Spencer. The man dirtied every portion of Nick’s life.

Spencer would pay for this. In blood, if need be.

Meggie continued. “And I don’t know about Sam. Nobody’s heard from him since he left town. Some people say he became a cop in Washington, D.C., got married.” She paused. “He had steel in his eyes after your parents died. He blamed the Spencer Factory.”

So Sam was bitter, too. Nick remembered spending long nights with his foster brother, sitting on the roof of their home, talking about a world filled with beautiful girls and fast cars.

Maybe Sam would’ve even supported the plan Nick had created to ruin Chad Spencer’s life. He wished he could see his foster brother’s crooked grin again, to draw strength from its sticks-and-stones-may-break-my-bones slant.

He swallowed, collected himself for a moment. Hands fisting, he nodded at her rounded belly. “Are you carrying Spencer’s child?”

“That’s none of your damned business.” She stepped behind the counter again, grabbing a nearby cloth to wipe down the Formica counter. “It was great seeing you again, Nick. Feel free to leave.”

He stood there for a moment, wondering if he should let down his guard, explain to her why he was back in town. He wanted to ask if she’d married Spencer, but, from the sound of the teasing he’d heard earlier, he knew that wasn’t the case. In all likelihood, Meggie was going to be a single mother.

She’d betrayed Nick without even realizing it.

He waited for Meggie to say something else. Anything. Yet, except for the friction of cloth on the counter, there was only silence.

Nick slipped on his shades and walked toward Meggie. Her eyes grew wide, and she froze. Her fear felt like a slap to his ego. She’d never looked at him with wariness before today.

To hell with it. Why should he care if she’d gotten herself in trouble with a scumbag like Spencer? She was a big girl now, old enough to take care of her problems without Nick Cassidy galloping to her rescue.

He reached into his pocket and tossed the contents by her wash rag. A pile of bills. “For all the people my attitude chased out,” he said, turning around to leave.

She didn’t stop him, not that Nick expected her to. Coming into the bakery had been a bad idea, because now he knew more about Spencer than he ever wanted to.

Chad’s castoff.

He left the bakery, hating himself, hating Kane’s Crossing, yet hating what Chad Spencer had done to Meggie even more.

Chapter Two

M eg tried her best to stop shivering, but she couldn’t.

Nick Cassidy, here again. She hadn’t seen him since she was twelve, running around exploring abandoned houses with him, hiking along the length of train tracks to see where they led.

She pushed through the swinging door that led to the back of the bakery. There, she started to gather ingredients for some of her infamous chocolate cakes. Anything to keep her mind off Nick’s return to Kane’s Crossing.

She looked through the steam-shrouded window, catching a shape just outside.

Nick. Her gaze took a leisurely stroll over him—one she’d been too stunned to enjoy earlier.

He cast a long shadow in the dusty, autumn-leaf-strewn street, his black sunglasses barricading a gaze that seemed to be trained on the sign above her bakery’s rear entrance. Under the dark brown leather jacket that matched his scuffed cowboy boots, a flannel shirt flapped in the breeze, covering broad shoulders and a wide chest. In spite of all this darkness, he had hair the color of shaded wheat—earthy, begging for a hand to skim through its bounty. The ends curled up, as if in need of a good trim.

Most acutely of all, Meg again noticed his faded blue jeans, how he wore them like a badge of apathy, obviously not concerned that the raggedy hole allowed her a taunting peek of one tanned knee. The patch of skin against the threadbare denim nudged at Meg’s imagination. It was a chink in the rest of his armor—a heart-tugging flaw. She pictured herself sliding her hand into the frayed hole, running her thumb over his kneecap, skimming her fingers over the skin behind his knee.

He lowered his shaded gaze to meet hers, seemingly sensing her scrutiny. The black-ice mask of his sunglasses revealed no emotion. Meg pulled back from the window, her blood pounding so hard it crashed in her ears.

Nick backed up a step, then ambled down Main Street to disappear behind a red-and-blue Welcome Home, Chad banner that hung with a lopsided sneer between the side of the Mercantile Department Store and Darla’s Beauty Shop. He moved with the purpose of a gunslinger, slow and easy, with the sleekness of a knife’s edge.

Gone, from her life again, just like that.

She wondered what he wanted in a dinky one-horse town like Kane’s Crossing, what he wanted with Chad Spencer. If she didn’t have so much at stake here, she would’ve tipped her own hat to the place months ago. Before all the trouble. Before she’d made a complete and utter disaster of her life.

Meg sighed. Men in dark clothing with an equally dark posture—the stuff of fantasy. A safe flirtation locked inside her. Grown-up Nick had been a man to strike fear into every good-girl cell of Meg’s body, not that there were many of those left. She’d spent the last of her innocence five months ago and, yet, here she was, lesson unlearned, salivating over the hole in a man’s jeans.

Meg mixed the ingredients into a bowl, frustration making her stir a little too zealously. And if she was miffed by Nick’s return, Deacon Chaney would no doubt feel a million times worse. It was hard enough for the elderly man to live through all the slings and arrows of town without having to face the man who’d been accused of destroying his store sixteen years ago.

She was getting to be pretty good at shouldering the town’s gibes, as well. But the sharp-tongued speculation about who the father of her baby might be still smarted. And it scared her to death. If anyone found out who’d fathered her unborn child, she’d lose her expected family for certain.

But Meg wouldn’t let that happen.

What are you afraid of? she asked herself. Was she afraid her child would someday reject her, much like her own family had? Would she feel as much pain as she had when Aunt Valentine had died? Or would it be a dull ache, like she’d felt when the baby’s father had told her she hadn’t meant anything to him? That she’d be a memory once he’d left for the far corners of the world the next morning?

Chad Spencer will have no part of this child, she promised herself.

She’d die before that happened.

Two hours later Meg locked up the bakery and wrapped her sheepskin coat around her to ward off the autumn’s night chill. Fire smoke puffed from chimneys just off Main Street, making the air heavy with loneliness. When she got home, nobody would be there waiting for her. After Aunt Valentine had succumbed to a heart attack five months ago, Meg had realized that she’d probably be alone for the rest of her life. But then, she’d gotten pregnant, and she knew she’d always have someone, if Chad didn’t come back to town and claim the baby for himself.

Once again, Nick Cassidy entered her mind. What did he want with Chad?

She reached into her coat pocket, fisting the wad of twenties he’d flipped on the counter to pay for his barely touched coffee. It was enough to get her through a month or two of groceries. How did he come by so much money that he could afford to flick it around as if it were confetti?

Pride tapped her on the shoulder. She couldn’t keep this so-called tip. If she saw him again, she’d have to give it back.

If she saw him again.

Her body warmed just thinking about Nick. Boy, he’d grown up good. She’d always loved being with him, climbing trees, eating snowcones as they watched stream water ripple over their shoeless feet. The summers she’d visited Kane’s Crossing had been some of the best times of her life, but when Nick had come to live in town… Those had been the glory days.

He’d been gracious about allowing a pip-squeak like her to run around with him for a couple of months. Then again, he’d been “the new boy,” friendless. But they’d clicked automatically that day when Chad had been trying to lift her skirt with a stick. Nick had walked right up to him and defended her. No one else had done that before. He was her instant hero.

She’d returned the next summer, and they’d fallen into a daily groove together, experiencing everything Kane’s Crossing could offer two lonely kids.

But now… Now he was so different. Edged with bitterness, his eyes almost empty with disappointment.

Her body warmed with the very thought of his eyes, the way they’d roamed over her body with the heat of a falling star. Ever since he’d left the bakery, she’d wondered what it’d feel like to have his hands follow the paths his gaze had taken, to have his hands slip under her sweater, rub her skin, push her against his hard chest.

Stop it, Meg, she thought. It was no use. She’d never even see him again. The thought left an empty place inside her. If only they could’ve been friends again. She was in need of someone to talk to.

She shivered and started walking past the closed boutiques and stores that lined the street, Halloween colors trimming the displays. As she passed the barbershop, she held back a wave of nausea. A picture of Chad in his high school football uniform graced the window, his slick smile adding to the image of blond perfection.

How could she have been that stupid?

She was so lost in thought that she’d all but ignored the sound of footsteps behind her. Meg clutched at her coat and purse, ready to belt whomever was trailing her.

One, two, three—

As she whipped around, purse flying, Gary Joanson jumped away from her.

“Ah! Wait, Meg!”

She stood, legs apart, ready to defend herself. “What do you want, Gary? Didn’t you and your friends hurl enough insults at me this afternoon?”

He hung his head. “Sorry about that. You know how Sonny and Junior get when they’ve been drinking.”

Yes, she knew. She’d experienced the lash of their taunts several times over. “What do you want?”

“Well, you closed up shop before I could catch you there.” Shuffle. “I was just wondering if you could fix the missus one of your baby cakes?”

The urge to roll her eyes consumed her. “Gary, I’ve told you guys—”

“I know. But she believes all that hooey about your spells and magic. She says Valentine passed on her witch skills to you, Meg. And last time Jemma Carson ate one of your baby cakes, she got pregnant the next week. Just like Judy Henry and Sheri Duarte and…”

The list went on. Somehow the good people of Kane’s Crossing had gotten it into their heads that she had a magic touch. Eat one of her blueberry pies, and you’d find a boyfriend. Eat a simple chocolate cake baked by her supernatural hands, and you’d become pregnant within the month. Kane’s Crossing didn’t like her much, but they sure held great respect for her eerie baking skills. And Meg took advantage of the awe. It was the only way she made money, besides the tourists.

“Okay, Gary. I’ll make one tomorrow. May I go home now?”

At the mention of her “house on haunted hill,” Gary’s eyes bulged. Meg was the only one in town who didn’t feel the need to cross herself as she walked past, what with its thunderous gables and legendary widow’s walk. Even the windows looked like eyes watching the town with contempt.

“Thank you, Meg. Sure I can’t walk you—” he gulped “—home?”

“I’m fine.”

He scampered out of sight. Silly, henpecked man. Gary Joanson had always been a follower, never standing up to Chad’s antics.

Maybe she could bake a pie and tell him it made one grow a backbone. He’d probably believe it, as would his fuss-budget wife.

A low voice startled her. “Have you been slipping mickies to this town?”

She turned around, fingers spread over her heart. “I thought you’d left.”

Nick Cassidy ambled into the circle of light made by a street lamp, thumbs resting in his belt loops. Her heart beat double time, punching her chest with a voodoo cadence.

Yeah, he’d grown up good. Her gaze strayed to the hole in his jeans.

“I walked around, took another look at my old home.” His eyes were eclipsed by some dark memory. “Did some more thinking.”

She must’ve been trembling something awful, because he reached out, fingers twining around her coat collar, and he pulled the material closer together. She flinched, unsure of what his intentions were, but all he did was smile a little. It transformed his face, as if a ray of light had suffused his soul. Just as quickly, the image vanished.

She grinned, warming at his proximity. He was watching out for her again, just as he’d done when they were kids. The thought twisted her heart around.

“What did you think about?” She almost regretted asking, wondering if the question would push him away once again.

“Everything. Mostly my reasons for coming to Kane’s Crossing.” He paused. “Do you walk home by yourself every night?”

“Sometimes my friend Rachel drives me. You wouldn’t know her since she moved into town about two years ago.” Meg laughed. “She hasn’t had time to develop a fear of me yet.”

They started walking, matching each other step for step, the sound of his booted feet shooting off the whitewashed buildings. It almost seemed as if he were aiming bullets into the sky, announcing his presence.

Meg reveled in his nearness, in the way she came just to above his shoulder, in the way he smelled of leather. She couldn’t believe she was walking with Nick Cassidy again, but, instead of feeling like a best friend, she felt entirely different. What would he do if she wrapped an arm around his lean waist, held him to her, stood on tiptoe to bury her nose in the crook of his shoulder and neck?

She passed a hand over her belly. It’d never happen, especially after Chad’s treatment of her.

He spoke first, a cloud of air trailing from his lips because of the crisp weather. “When I came back here, I didn’t expect to find you. I thought you’d be back in San Diego.”

Thank goodness he was talking to her again. Really talking. Not using monosyllabic words as he had in the bakery. She tried to smile and failed. “I can’t go back there.”

“Don’t your parents live on the coast?”

She couldn’t bring herself to talk about her parents, the pain, the agony of what she’d done to be kicked out of the house at the age of fourteen. It’d been something so horrible that she woke up with nightmares even now.

She absently touched her belly, the life within. “Yes, they do. I suppose. I’ve lived with Aunt Valentine since shortly after you left…” She hesitated, hoping he’d elaborate on that fateful night at Chaney’s Drugstore. She wasn’t really surprised when he kept his silence. Well, at least she’d tried.

“After Aunt Valentine passed on, she left everything to me. And I decided to stay here.”

“I’m sorry to hear she’s gone. Valentine was great.”

Meg couldn’t hold back a smile. “Remember how she’d invite you over for dinner and, ‘Oh, by the way, would you weed my garden, Nick, dear?’”

“I was a sucker for her pot roast at any cost.” Nick chuckled, sending waves of contentment through Meg’s body. She stiffened, fighting the warmth, making sure she didn’t give him an opportunity to hurt her.

They’d left the lights of Main Street and had turned onto the dirt road that led past the graveyard and toward Meg’s home. Hovering over the stark, white tombstones, the shape of the house on the hill was visible even in the dark. It loomed with the profile of a sorcerer’s hat topping a bald head. No wonder all the kids told scary stories about her and Aunt Valentine.

She saw a pale object stretching along the side of the road. When she went over to investigate, Nick grabbed her hand. The contact sent a shock wave up her arm, the zing shivering into her lower stomach.

“What’re you doing?” she asked, breathless.

He let go of her, as if he’d touched a live electrical wire. “You’ve got to be careful, Meggie. You can’t go traipsing into ditches.”

“We knocked-up damsels are pretty much able to make our own decisions.” She lifted her chin into the air, watching Nick from the corner of her eye. “Whether they’re good or bad.”

He was grinning again, for heaven’s sake. She hadn’t been sure she could get another one out of him.

He used the advantage of his long legs to move ahead of her, and she stood back, as he lifted the object.

Clouds uncovered the moon as he spread it wide. “We miss you, Chad” was painted in red and blue lettering. One of those darn banners the ladies’ auxiliary had been hanging all over town. She wondered if the wind had blown this particular sign away from Main Street, or if someone felt as strongly about Chad as she did, tearing down the banner and tossing it into what Nick would’ve called a “ditch.”

Nick stared at it a moment, then crumpled it to the ground, stepping on it as he clutched her hand again. His grip almost smashed her finger bones.

“That hurts,” she said, keeping her voice as level as possible.

He glanced at her hand, lifted it, and ran his fingers over hers. Meg almost melted to the dirt with a rush of liquid heat.