Firefly Glen: Winter Baby (Harlequin Signature Select) (7 page)

He clicked his teeth irritably. “They even had to cut a new road through the pass just so they could fit all their fancy furniture and gew-gaws. That's why the loggers named it Vanity Gap, because it was the hole those rich fools squeezed their egos through.”

Sarah chuckled. She'd heard the story before, but she never tired of it. It always amused her to hear her
uncle's indignation, as intense and righteous as if he'd been one of the original loggers himself—when, in fact, he was a direct descendent of one of those pesky millionaires.

“And what exactly does this have to do,” she said, nudging him gently, “with the ice festival?”

“Oh, I don't know. I guess it's just more of the same. More change.” He sighed heavily. “Too much change. You know, your aunt hasn't been gone a full year, but I wonder whether she'd even recognize some things around here today. They're building a new subdivision in the woods where I asked her to marry me.”

He squared his jaw hard. “I look around, Short Stuff, and I wonder how long it will be before there's nothing left. Nothing left from before.”

“I know how much you must miss her,” Sarah said quietly, beginning to understand her uncle's fierce opposition to change. “I miss her, too. She was always so happy. She made everyone around her happy, too. You two had the most beautiful marriage I've ever seen.”

“She was too damn good for me, and that's the truth.” Ward finally turned to Sarah. “Listen. It's none of my business, but I've just got to say something. Just this one thing, and then I'll shut up, I promise.”

“You don't have to,” Sarah broke in, anticipating where he was heading. “I already know what you're going to say.”

Ward looked grim. “I doubt it. You don't use words like this.”

She chuckled. “Really, I
do
know. And it's okay. I'm not going to.”

He tilted his head. “Not going to what?”

She smiled. “I'm not going to marry a constipated son of a bitch who doesn't give a flying flip about anything except himself.”

Ward whooped with laughter. He gathered her up into his arms and swung her around until she felt lightheaded, just as he had done when she was only thirteen. “Well, darn it, Short Stuff. Why the hell didn't you say so?”

“Y
OU TELL YOUR UNCLE
I want to know how he likes that book,” the tall, slim, silver-haired owner of Black Bear Books said as she handed Sarah her change. “Tell him he's overdue for a visit. I've been keeping hot chocolate ready for him ever since Christmas.”

Sarah smiled. She'd been in Firefly Glen only three days and she was already getting used to this. Every spinster and widow in town seemed to have a line out, hoping to catch her rich, rugged Uncle Ward. As soon as they realized Sarah was Ward's great-niece, these women turned relentlessly chummy. They tucked little treats under her arm and whispered little messages into her ear, all sent with love to the owner of Winter House.

Somehow Sarah managed to get out of the shop without committing her uncle to anything. She'd learned that, too—the women might be angling for him, but Ward had no intention of getting snagged on any of those sugary hooks.

Sarah wasn't due back at Winter House until lunch-time, so she walked slowly, browsing the shop windows. It was cold, but the air was crisp and clean, and the sunlight was neon-white. She'd had to buy a
pair of sunglasses. Naively, she had never guessed that a cold New York sun shining on snow was every bit as blinding as a hot Florida sun reflecting off the water.

Shifting the load of Ward's novels to her other arm, she paused at the entrance to
Bewitching Stitchery.
A nursery display had been set up in the window, with a beautiful rainbow of yarns cascading over the lacy canopy of a gleaming white cradle.

The colors were enticing, and Sarah was tempted to go in. She hadn't ever knitted much—there was little need for sweaters and mittens in Florida. But suddenly she could imagine what fun it would be to create pale pink booties, or baby-blue blankets, or soft, doll-sized caps with fuzzy pompoms on top.

She had her hand on the doorknob before her better judgment pulled her back. That idyllic nursery in the window was just fantasy. And Sarah didn't have time for fantasy. This vacation was supposed to be an opportunity to face reality calmly. A chance to sort things out and make some tough decisions.

Like…what on earth did she think she was doing? Was she strong enough to meet the challenge of single parenthood? She didn't feel strong. She felt downright cowardly. She couldn't even bring herself to tell Ward. How was she going to tell her co-workers, her friends?
Her mother?

And, when the truth was admitted, then what? She had arranged a six-week leave from Groveland High but was she really going back? What was the point
in that? As soon as her contours began to change she would undoubtedly be fired.

And yet, if she didn't go back to Florida, didn't go back to teaching—what
would
she do? How would she support herself and this new life, too?

She felt a tightening of anxiety in the pit of her stomach, a sensation that was becoming all too familiar. She hadn't realized she was still holding on to the knob until the door lurched under her hand and another customer rushed out of the store, clutching bulky shopping bags stuffed with packets of blue and green yarn.

Surprised, Sarah backed up, but her feet slipped on a patch of ice that coated the sidewalk. She had no experience with ice. As if in slow motion, she sought her footing, but she had on the wrong shoes, and there wasn't enough tread to help. The armload of Ward's books unexpectedly tilted her center of gravity. Her arm grabbed for the rapidly closing door—and missed.

She fell helplessly into an undignified heap on the icy sidewalk.

The exiting customer was horrified.

“Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there! Oh, dear. Let me help you up.”

Sarah tried to smile, though her elbow was already aching and she knew she looked ridiculous. “It's nothing. My own stupidity. Don't worry, really. It's nothing.”

But as she tried to pull herself to her knees, something in her stomach protested. A white knife of pain
shot from her ribs to her hips. Startled by the intensity of the pain, she froze.

“Are you all right?” The woman looked worried. She dropped her bags. “Have you broken something?”

Stay calm,
Sarah told herself. She had probably just strained a muscle. She tested her legs and found that she could, indeed, find her way to her feet. But the pain was still there, intensifying as she straightened up completely.

Her mind throbbed, too, registering a formless, wordless fear. She put her gloved hands across her stomach numbly, not even thinking to help as the other woman picked up the scattered books and handed them to her.

She took the books. Her fingers were trembling.

The woman clearly wanted to go, but apparently something in Sarah's face stopped her. “Gosh. I just—are you sure you're okay?”

Sarah nodded numbly. “I'm fine. But could you tell me—” She paused. “Is there a doctor nearby?”

 

A
N HOUR LATER
, as she redressed behind the cheerful, soft blue paisley drapes at the ob-gyn's office, Sarah had begun to feel silly.

Not that the obstetrician, a surprisingly young, auburn-haired beauty named Heather Delaney, had said anything to embarrass her. Dr. Delaney had been nothing but soothing and supportive. The office staff had worked her in immediately, and the doctor had checked her out thoroughly, finally pronouncing that
the baby was just fine. It was merely a strained muscle. It probably would be better in a couple of days.

But Sarah felt stupid anyhow. She knew that she had foolishly overreacted. She'd panicked at the first small mishap. She'd let the first twinge of pain send her rushing to the doctor, who, in spite of her warm, professional bedside manner, probably thought Sarah was a hypochondriac.

She was buttoning up her green corduroy jumper, arranging the ivory turtleneck sweater beneath, when Dr. Delaney came back into the room, holding a small piece of white paper.

“If you need something for pain,” the doctor said, “this should help.” She smiled. “Though of course you probably already know that the less medication you take, the better. The baby gets a dose of whatever you swallow, whether it's alcohol or aspirin.”

Sarah smiled back. “I don't need anything,” she said. “It doesn't really hurt all that much. I was just—” She tugged on the sleeves of her sweater self-consciously. “I guess I'm just so new at this. Everything about it scares me.”

Dr. Delaney leaned against the edge of the counter, which was filled with parenting magazines, tissues and silver jars of mysterious instruments. Though Sarah knew the doctor had a waiting room full of patients, she acted as if she had all day to address Sarah's concerns.

“It's pretty overwhelming, isn't it? The idea that you're responsible for creating anything as complex as a human being, somehow insuring that it comes
out perfect.” She chuckled. “But you know what, Sarah? The baby is definitely in the driver's seat on this one. And believe me, he knows what he's doing. All you have to do is make sure you don't interfere.”

Sarah laughed, imagining this determined little being, intently steering his way into existence. Into her life. What a delightfully fantastic image! It made her feel strangely lighthearted about the whole thing for the first time since she had glimpsed that terrifying little pink
x
on the test strip.

“Wow.” She raised her eyebrows. “You mean I'm not the boss here, Dr. Delaney? In a way, that's kind of scary, too, isn't it?”

“You bet!” The doctor grinned. “Because from what I hear, the little darlings are pretty much in control for the next twenty years or so.” She wadded up the painkiller prescription and lobbed it into the gleaming silver trash can in the corner. “But you really have to call me Heather. Everyone does. And I'm a good friend of your uncle's, so—”

“You are?” Why on earth hadn't Sarah thought of this possibility? She obviously hadn't fully absorbed just how
small
a small town really could be. “Oh, I see. I hope you'll—” She wasn't sure how to put this. “Dr. De—I mean, Heather. I—I hope you won't mention that I've been here. You see, I haven't told my uncle about the baby yet.”

Heather's green eyes widened, and she looked younger than ever. Her skin was as pale and flawless as if it had been made of ivory satin. But her gaze was intelligent and probing. “I'm a doctor, Sarah, not
the town gossip. But do you mind telling me why you haven't said anything to Ward? I've known him all my life, and I'd be willing to bet he'll be absolutely thrilled.”

Sarah threaded the straps of her purse around her fingers. This was the difficult part. It was going to be the difficult part for rest of her life, admitting that she had made a terrible mistake, a mistake she and her child were going to have to pay for forever. How could she explain it to others when she hardly understood it herself?

And how could a woman like Heather Delaney understand what a muck-up Sarah had made of her life? After watching her for a mere twenty minutes, Sarah already knew that Dr. Delaney didn't make mistakes. She was serene and beautiful, focused and professional, educated and successful. She wouldn't in a million years have allowed a faulty condom to derail her life plans.

But, as the sages always said, it wasn't the falling down that was the problem. It was the
staying
down. The mistake was made. Sarah's job now was to face the consequences. And to do it with at least some semblance of grace.

She straightened her shoulders and met the doctor's serious gaze steadily.

“I am going to tell him. Soon. But it's complicated. As you may have guessed, this pregnancy was unplanned. My fiancé and I just broke off our relationship. He's very angry that I intend to keep the baby.”

Heather frowned gently. “I'm sorry,” she said simply. “That must be difficult.”

“Yes. It is.” Sarah cleared her throat. “I need a little time to get used to it privately before I share the news with other people. Having a baby alone is a huge responsibility. I honestly don't even know how
I
feel about it yet.”

The doctor's frown smoothed out, transforming slowly into a wide, engaging smile. “Oh, I think you know, Sarah.” She laughed softly. “I think you know exactly how you feel about it.”

For a second, Sarah didn't answer, surprised by the absolute confidence of the other woman's voice. Then she tilted her head. “Really? What makes you think so?”

“The fact that you're here.” Heather shrugged, undaunted by the chill in Sarah's tone. “Tell me. What went through your mind when you fell? How did you feel when you thought you might have harmed the baby?”

Sarah swallowed, remembering. “Terrified,” she said. “Panicked.”

“And why were you so frightened?”

Sarah put her left hand over her stomach. She stared down at the bare hand, with its naked line of untanned skin where Ed's ring used to be.

“Because I thought I might lose the baby. Because I thought this—this miracle—might be taken away from me.”

She shook her head, almost unable to believe the words she was saying, or the sudden clarity that was
sweeping through her like rain, cleaning out the fog and the fear.

Sarah looked up, and she knew her surprise was registered on every feature. She could hardly see around the sudden rush of warmth behind her eyes. “Because I can't imagine the rest of my life without this baby.”

When her gaze cleared, she saw that Heather Delaney was grinning, and that her lovely green eyes held a hint of moisture, too.

The doctor held out her hand. Still feeling slightly weak with the unexpected emotion, Sarah did the same.

“Congratulations, Ms. Lennox,” Heather said, shaking Sarah's hand with a firm, bracing warmth. “You're going to be a mother.”

 

T
HE
F
IREFLY
G
LEN
Sheriff's Department was a fairly modern red-brick annex attached to the east side of City Hall. It looked kind of silly, actually. The architect had decided to get creative with the roofline, which tilted up against the bigger building like a tired youngster leaning against its mother.

But Parker wasn't complaining. About a hundred and fifty years newer than City Hall, the department was comfortable and up-to-date. And it was generously proportioned, especially considering the fact that Firefly Glen had almost no crime.

Four deputies, one secretary and a part-time file clerk shared the large main area, which was flanked by Parker's office on one side, and the holding cell
on the other. More than fifteen hundred square feet total. There should have been plenty of room for everyone.

But the way Harry Dunbar and Parker were getting along these days, Yankee Stadium itself probably wouldn't have been big enough for both of them.

Parker had taken to scheduling the two of them in different places, on different days, as often as possible. He didn't want to hear Harry talk to Emma on the phone anymore. He didn't think he could stand listening to Harry's cold, distant tone without wanting to plug the son of a bitch. Who the devil did he think he was, treating Emma like that?

Unfortunately, creating distance hadn't been possible today. Their new budget was due at City Hall tomorrow, and it would take both of them to prepare it. Consequently, by four-thirty in the afternoon, the air in the Sheriff's Department stank of tension.

Suzie, who had come in after school to dismantle her manger, sized the situation up the minute she opened the door.

“Oh, great,” she said, dropping her electric-purple backpack on her desk in disgust. “Both tigers in the same cage. I guess it'll be a laugh a minute around here.” She adjusted her eyebrow ring. “You know, I could have had a job at the Sweet Shoppe,” she reminded them.

Harry ignored her, but Parker looked up from his paperwork with his best attempt at a smile. “I'll be glad to write you a reference,” he offered.