A Baby For The Deputy

That didn’t lessen his loss, relieve his guilt or diminish his hurt.

A few weeks after learning she was pregnant, Robin began having severe headaches that over-the-counter pain relievers wouldn’t touch. Two weeks later, she was seeing a specialist and undergoing all manner of tests. Aaron would never forget sitting in the doctor’s office and hearing the diagnosis: inoperable brain tumor. And then hearing the prognosis: terminal.

Robin refused any treatment that might have extended her life because it would harm the baby. At thirty-four weeks pregnant, she’d delivered a small but healthy baby girl. Unfortunately, it was too late for her. The treatments she’d previously refused had no effect on her rapidly growing tumor, and she lost the battle when Kaylee was just a few weeks old.

Robin’s wish to be a mother had been fulfilled and, in the process, she’d given Aaron a last precious gift. He would do nothing to jeopardize Kaylee’s safety and happiness.

“Why don’t you talk to Mel,” Joanna suggested. “If you’re having doubts.”

“Or, I could just end things.”

“You could. Except that isn’t what you want.”

Should he tell his sister what he really wanted was to date Mel and not just sleep with her? No, Joanna would have a field day with that one, and Aaron wasn’t in the mood.

“Pickle, can I call you later? I’m almost at my next stop.” Not entirely a lie; the Sanfords were less than a mile down the road.

“Tomorrow. I’ve got plans later,” she added with a teasing tone.

“Have fun.”

“Oh, I intend to.” She laughed again.

Aaron disconnected, his thoughts a jumble. He really did like Mel and hated the thought of ending things. But he was being grossly unfair to her. She may think she preferred whatever this was they had, but deep down, she was a forever and ever kind of gal. Aaron wasn’t fooled for one minute.

A quarter mile up the road, he spied an older model pickup and rusty horse trailer pulled off to the south side of the road. The truck hood was up, signaling trouble, and someone sat in the driver’s seat.

He slowed, determining the driver to be a young woman. As he passed, she rolled down her window and waved at him. Aaron executed a swift U-turn and parked behind the trailer. A reddish-brown tail hung out over the rear gate and swished aimlessly.

Before getting out, he radioed the station, then proceeded with caution all the while making mental notes. The situation didn’t appear dangerous, but he took nothing for granted.

Nearing the driver’s door, he realized the young woman was on the phone.

“Good afternoon.” He looked her over. “Having some trouble?”

“I broke down. The engine light came on and then smoke started coming out from under the hood.”

“License and registration, please.”

“Have I done something wrong?” Her voice quavered.

“Just routine.”

Producing the required documents, she passed them through the open window, still clutching her phone. Aaron decided she must have maintained an open line as a precaution. Smart move. She wasn’t very old, maybe not even out of high school, and pretty, even with her torn jeans, faded tank top and ratty old ball cap. Add to that her disabled vehicle, and she was a potential sitting duck.

Aaron reviewed the documents, noting the eighteen-year-old’s name and home address of Flagstaff. He compared her face to the tiny picture. Something about her struck a familiar chord, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Be right back.” In his vehicle, he ran her name and license plate. Nothing significant came back. What had he expected?

Returning to her truck, he handed over the documents. “You’re a long ways from home.”

“I’m staying with my...with friends in Mustang Valley.”

“Are they on their way to help you?”

“Uh...no. I wasn’t able to reach them.”

“I see.” Aaron suspected she was coloring the truth and didn’t know why. “Do you have a roadside assistance service?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What about your parents?”

“My mom can’t help.”

“Because she’s in Flagstaff,” Aaron stated.

“Yeah. And at work. I’m not supposed to call her unless it’s an emergency.”

“This might qualify.”

The girl, Samantha, according to her driver’s license, shook her head. “I’m not calling. She’s busy.”

“And your friends aren’t available?”

In response, her mouth firmed to a thin line.

There was definitely more going on than she was telling him, and he didn’t trust her. Nonetheless, she’d broken no laws and was in distress. Not to mention her truck and trailer were a potential hazard and the horse would need water soon. Aaron had a duty to help her.

“Sit tight,” he said, and walked to the front of the truck where he inspected the engine. Heat wafted off in waves, and it made a soft hissing sound. The smoke she’d claimed to see was probably steam.

A moment later, she disobeyed his order and joined him, anxiously watching as if he might sabotage the engine rather than repair it.

“You have an old rag I can use?”

“In the, uh, trailer.”

“I’ll wait.”

She didn’t take long.

Aaron rolled up his sleeves and, using the rag to remove the radiator cap, inspected the water level. No surprise, the radiator was bone dry.

“You might have a leak,” he told her. “You should get this serviced right away. There’s an auto shop in town. Conroy’s. Ask your friends, they’ll tell you where he is.”

“Okay.”

Would she do it? She wouldn’t get far otherwise.

After filling her radiator with water from the five-gallon jug he carried in the back of his SUV for just this reason, he had her try to start the truck. Luck was on her side, and it turned right over, chugging like an old man having a coughing fit. She definitely needed to see Conroy.

Leaning her head out the window, she removed her ball cap. “Thanks for your help.”

Aaron slammed the hood closed and, wiping his hands on the rag, started for his vehicle. “You be careful, you hear?” He stopped and flashed her a smile.

She didn’t return it.

Reaching his SUV, he sat behind the wheel and waited for her to pull ahead. Once she had, he radioed in, giving an update and advising the other deputies to keep a lookout for her. That accomplished, he executed a second U-turn and made for the Sanford place.

Even though the girl’s name and license plate had checked out, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was exactly what Aaron had warned Mel to watch for: a stranger in an unfamiliar vehicle. The idea that a slip of a girl was involved with horse rustlers seemed preposterous. Appearances, however, were deceiving and something thieves might use to their advantage.

Turning onto the Sanford’s private road, he recalled the young woman removing her ball cap and nearly slammed on the brakes. That was it! The reason she’d looked familiar to him. Her physical description was almost an exact duplicate of Mel’s. Blond hair. Brown eyes. Five foot two in her boots. They even had a similar small cleft in their chins.

What were the odds of that?

Chapter Two

“Over here. Another three feet. Wait. No. Up against the wall.” Frankie Hartman barked orders in her customary bossy voice.

Mel exchanged looks with her younger sister, Ronnie. As if on cue, they both rolled their eyes and shuffled the table to the exact spot their older sister wanted. Which, it turned out, wasn’t so exact.

“Centered beneath the window.” Frankie motioned with her hands to demonstrate.

After two more shuffles with the table, Mel and Ronnie were released from their task and instructed to undertake another. There was still a lot to do before the party started at six, including all the decorating.

Mel had brought streamers, a banner, party favors, confetti and a case of champagne. Ronnie’s job had been to create a photo collage depicting their father’s life from birth to now. Frankie brought the barbecued beef, a family favorite and her specialty dish.

The owner of the Cowboy Up Café, and Frankie’s employer, had been kind enough to let them use the covered outdoor patio free of charge. With its built-in misting system, the patio was reasonably comfortable even in ninety-plus-degree temperatures.

The sisters were grateful. With several dozen people expected to attend, they’d definitely needed a large venue, equipped to feed so many mouths. And as if the location wasn’t perfect enough, the owner was giving them a discount on the side dishes and beverages.

“Napkins!” Frankie ripped open packages as if the success of the party depended on guests being able to wipe barbecue sauce off their faces and hands.

Mel and Ronnie took their sister’s theatrics in stride. Besides being the oldest of the Hartman sisters and a single mother, she was the Cowboy Up Café’s head waitress and self-appointed organizer of their dad’s party. She’d also stepped in—to the best of her twelve-year-old ability—when the sisters’ mother had died over twenty years ago in a horse riding accident. “We’re here,” a high-pitched voice trilled. “Sorry we’re late.”

Mel’s stepmom was accompanied by two very excited little girls: Frankie’s twin daughters.

“We got balloons,” Paige announced.

“And string,” Sienna added, holding up her booty.

They were dressed alike in matching shorts and tees but were as different as night and day in personalities and features. Tiny, fair-haired Paige took after the Hartmans while tall, doe-eyed Sienna resembled her father, who wasn’t and had never been in the picture.

“You wait until Mommy can help,” Frankie called from the chair on which she stood, hanging the Happy Birthday banner with Ronnie’s assistance.

Mel went over to the girls and scooped them both into her arms. They squirmed and giggled and squealed, loving the attention while pretending not to.

“Let us go,” they protested.

“Kisses first.”

The girls gleefully obliged.

“Can I help?” Mel asked. Blowing up balloons and taping them to the backs of chairs sounded more fun than laboriously writing out name tags.

“No scissors,” Dolores admonished.

Mel relieved her stepmom of the plastic sack and small helium tank she’d carried in. “Does that apply to me, too?”

“Depends. They’re sharp.” Dolores wagged a finger at her. “Can I trust you?”

“We’ll be careful.” Mel winked at the girls and then led them to one of the tables where they set up a balloon inflation station.

“Me first,” Paige insisted.

Mel distributed a package of colorful balloons to each girl while keeping the scissors for herself. “Remember to share and take turns.”

Ha! Like that was going to happen.

Of course, the pair was more trouble than help, but that didn’t matter. They were having a blast. Mel, too.

As luck would have it, Dolores excelled at writing name tags, and between the four of them, the room quickly took shape. Then again, they were old pros, having done this before. Most recently, they’d organized a wedding reception—for Ray Hartman and his new bride.

Ronnie came to stand beside Mel, having finished with bringing in extra chairs from the storeroom. “This is going to sound terrible.”

“What?” Mel asked.

“Is it wrong to miss Mom today?”

“No. Of course not. It’s Dad’s birthday. A milestone birthday.”

“I mean, Dolores is wonderful. I adore her.”

“Me, too.” Mel didn’t think there was a more perfect stepmom around.

Ronnie linked arms with her. “Sometimes, I have trouble remembering Mom. I hate that.”

“We were young. Don’t feel bad. It happens.” Mel surveyed the room. “I think she’d approve of this party. I also think she’d like Dolores.”

“She’d be proud of us,” Ronnie said with conviction. “And of how Dad always supported us. You know the date of their anniversary was one of the numbers Dad used for his lottery tickets.”

Mel laughed. “And to think we gave him such grief for buying tickets every week like clockwork.”

“None of us ever thought he’d win.”

But, then, he had. Last winter. The amount of the jackpot wasn’t staggering, about two hundred thousand dollars after taxes. But for the Hartmans, it was a fortune.

Livestock foremen didn’t typically earn a lot. Mel’s father gave all he had to his daughters, providing a comfortable, if modest, home and the basic necessities. After he won, he’d divided the money equally between the four of them, using his share to pay for his wedding to Dolores and their honeymoon.

“I almost refused the money,” Mel said.

Ronnie drew back. “Me, too.”

“He didn’t tell me that.”

“Because he wanted us to take the money. And, frankly, we needed it. You couldn’t have bought Doc Palmer’s practice otherwise.”

“Probably not.”

Shortly after the elderly veterinarian announced his retirement, he’d approached Mel about buying his practice. She’d had to tell him no at first. Calling him the following month had been a dream come true.

“And forget Frankie buying that new house,” Ronnie said. “It wouldn’t have happened.”

“True.”

Frankie had been desperate to move out of their dad’s place. What new bride wanted to share her home with a stepdaughter and two rambunctious stepgranddaughters? Frankie had used the money from their dad for a down payment on a cute house in town and some new furniture.

“Mom would be really happy for us.”

Ronnie sighed contentedly. “She did always call us her fairy princesses.”

If not for a lack of handsome suitors, Mel thought, she and her sisters were living fairy-tale existences.

Did Aaron count? Not at the moment. She didn’t let herself imagine “someday” and what the future might hold for them if circumstances changed. Her energies were best focused on making the monthly payments to Doc Palmer and all those pesky necessities like food, clothes, repaying college loans and rent on the house she shared with Ronnie.

The simple and straightforward arrangement she had with Aaron was enough for both of them. At least, that was what Mel repeatedly told herself. Every time she caught herself falling a little harder for him, she remembered that he wasn’t ready or able to fall for her.

Her nieces came bounding back from showing off to their mother, balloons bobbing in the air behind them as if filled with jumping beans and not helium. Ronnie warned them to be careful, her tone a decent imitation of Frankie’s. Dolores chatted amiably while putting the finishing touches on the centerpieces.

Soon, they’d leave for their respective homes to change and freshen up before the party. In Frankie’s case, she’d pack the barbecued beef for transport and arrive early to start warming it.

Mel stepped forward, intending to gather the balloon supplies, when all at once her stomach lurched and the floor seemed to ripple beneath her feet.

Convinced she was about to embarrass herself, she muttered, “Be right back,” to Ronnie and speed-walked across the patio to the café’s main building.

By sheer force of will, she made it to the empty restroom and one of the stalls before losing her lunch. Waiting a few moments to be on the safe side, she slowly rose, the sensation of weakness persisting.

She felt her forehead. No fever. Or sore throat or runny nose. Other than intermittent nausea, she exhibited no other symptoms of the flu bug.

What was wrong with her?

Was it possible...? Could she be...?

No. She and Aaron had always been careful about using protection. Mel could not be pregnant.

Nonetheless, she counted backward. How many days since her last period? The answer sent a spear of alarm slicing through her. How had she not realized she was late? She wasn’t that busy.

Oh, God! Mel sucked in air, unable to catch her breath. Her skin burned as if she did indeed have a fever.

What would she do if she was pregnant? How would Aaron react? Would he be angry? Disappointed? Blame her? Accuse her of trapping him?

She stumbled out of the stall toward the row of sinks along the wall. Turning on a spigot, she splashed her face with cool water. It didn’t alleviate the panic building inside her. Staring at her worried reflection in the mirror only worsened things.

Drying her face with paper towels from the dispenser, she told herself not to cry. There could be any number of reasons she was late and nauseous. Working ridiculous hours, skipping meals and not getting enough sleep, to name a few. Plus, Mel had a history of being irregular. No sense freaking out until she knew for sure.

With a whoosh, the restroom door flew open and Dolores breezed in. Seeing Mel, she stopped midstep.

“Are you okay?”

“I think I have a touch of the flu.”

“Oh, no. I’d hate for you to miss the party, but maybe you should stay home and get some rest. You look awful.”

Mel tried to wave off her stepmom’s concern, only to rush to the stall she’d vacated minutes earlier. When she finally emerged, shaky but in one piece, it was to find Dolores waiting, arms crossed and brows raised.

“How far along are you?”

Mel’s knees, already wobbly, threatened to give out. “What?”

“I have three children of my own. I’m very familiar with morning sickness, even when it comes in the afternoon or evening.”

Mel started to object. Dolores’s kind expression changed her mind. The older woman wasn’t her mother. But she was Mel’s friend and, she hoped, a confidant.

“Please don’t say anything to anyone. Especially Dad. Until I know for sure.”

“Then it’s possible?”

“We’ve been careful.”

“I was, too. Both the second and third times.” Dolores reached for Mel and gave her a quick but warm hug. “Does the father know?”

Again, Mel thought of Aaron. How would he take the news? When would be the best time to tell him? “No. Not yet.”

“Do you love him?”

Mel had expected Dolores to ask the name of the father. This question left her nearly as shaken as the bout of nausea had.

Unable to answer, Mel mumbled an excuse and hurried past Dolores. It was one thing to contemplate her changing feelings for Aaron. Another thing altogether to voice them aloud.

* * *

MEL GAVE HERSELF a figurative pat on the back for surviving the past few hours. Shortly after escaping the restroom and Dolores, she’d returned to the patio and been immediately recruited to hang paper lanterns. Thank you, Frankie. After that, they’d all gone home to change clothes and then returned before the party started.

Mel didn’t typically procrastinate. It wasn’t her style. But her father’s birthday just wasn’t the time for dealing with potentially huge problems. Like, for instance, a missed period. Not even with someone as compassionate as Dolores.

Seeing the party went off without a hitch, celebrating with her family, those were her priorities. Tomorrow, she’d purchase the home pregnancy test—in Scottsdale where no one knew her—and hopefully eliminate one potential reason for her nausea.

Now that was Mel’s style. Every move was calculated in advance and every contingency explored. She liked it that way. Order and purpose equaled confidence and a sense of security.

If she turned out to be pregnant, a highly unlikely probability, she’d talk to Aaron and together they’d devise a new plan using the same equation. A plan that didn’t throw both their lives into complete and utter chaos.

“Here’s my girl!”

The next instant, Mel was swept up in a fierce embrace.

“Dad!” She giggled and squirmed, not unlike her nieces.

“Thank you for the party,” he said, releasing her.

“I can’t take the credit. It was Frankie’s idea, and she did most of the heavy lifting. But you can thank me for not allowing any Over the Hill and Grim Reaper party favors.”

“She couldn’t have pulled it off without your help.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased.”

His gaze traveled the room. “Who knew I had this many friends?”

His daughters, for one. Mel’s dad had lived and worked in the valley for over thirty-five years. He was liked, if not loved, by many.

Not all the guests had arrived. Most noticeably absent was Theo McGraw, Ray Hartman’s boss and owner of The Small Change Ranch. Mel hoped the older gentleman would make it. He suffered from Parkinson’s disease, and some days were harder than others.

Also absent, and of more concern to Mel, was Aaron and his family. Perhaps he’d gotten called away on a last-minute emergency. Or, something had happened to his daughter. Mel tried not to obsess, which also wasn’t her style. But lately, he was constantly on her mind.

“You’re being modest.” She patted her father’s generous beer belly. That, and his gray beard, had made him the perfect choice to play Santa Claus at his granddaughters’ preschool. “You have lots of friends.”

“I’m a fortunate man.”

She noticed him watching Dolores. He often did, and the look in his eyes softened as if the mere sight of her melted his heart.

Someday, maybe someone would look at Mel like that. Welcome her home after a hard day at work. Slip into bed with her and wind his arms around her. Someone who didn’t cling to the memory of his late wife.

Oh, God! Had she really just thought that? Mel was ashamed of herself. She wasn’t normally shallow and unkind. Naturally, Aaron grieved his late wife. It had taken her father years to get over her mother’s death.

A group of nearby guests burst out in raucous greeting, distracting her. The source of the commotion became quickly apparent. Aaron, his mother-in-law, Nancy, and daughter, Kaylee, had finally arrived.

A grinning Aaron held Kaylee in his arms, balancing her against his broad chest. The shy little girl buried her face in his shirt when one too many people tugged on her silky curls or pinched her chin. Aaron patted her back with his strong hand and, bit by bit, Kaylee’s face emerged.

Aaron could do that. Make a person feel safe and sheltered. Mel had experienced it firsthand.

“Hey, there, birthday boy.” One of her father’s buddies hailed him. “Get over here before all the barbecued beef is gone.”

“See you later, honey.”

“Enjoy yourself,” Mel said to his retreating back, her attention remaining riveted on Aaron.

Eventually, their eyes locked. That was the usual outcome when someone stared long enough. She should step away. Engage the Powells or other clients of hers in conversation. Help Frankie with the food or Dolores with hosting duties.

She and Aaron had agreed not to draw attention to themselves in public, and here she was doing exactly that. Except, she didn’t break eye contact and neither did he. The connection Mel had been feeling lately intensified more and more until it practically sizzled.

Was it the same for him? If so, he gave no indication.

Mel’s nieces skipped over to Aaron and Kaylee, high on sugar from fruit punch and blobs of icing swiped from the birthday cake.

“Kaylee, play with us,” Paige pleaded with her friend. “We have balloons and bubbles and prizes.”

The little girl’s features lit up like a ray of sunshine after a storm, and she insisted her father put her down.

Aaron relented, holding her hand as if not quite ready to part with her. Mel was close enough to hear him say, “Don’t go far, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” she parroted in her sweet angel voice.

Mel’s nieces immediately grabbed her, and the preschool buddies scampered off, disappearing from sight.

“Are you sure she’ll be all right?” Nancy asked Aaron, ready to follow the girls.

Aaron waylaid her by saying gently, “She’ll be fine. Frankie Hartman is right there.”

The creases permanently etched into Nancy’s forehead deepened. “I’m going to get some punch.”

By sheer coincidence, or not, the punch bowl was located within a few feet of the game area where the girls were playing. If Aaron realized that, and he probably did, he chose not to address it.