Harlequin Heartwarming May 2016 Box Set (77 page)

CHAPTER NINE

J
ACK
ANGLED
INTO
a parking space in front of the newspaper office, checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, ran his knuckles along his stubbled jaw. He hoped Emily could live with a little scruff. The session with Rose Daniels had taken a lot longer than anticipated, but he had managed to wrap things up at the police station just before the time he had arranged to pick up Emily. He couldn't afford to be late. He already had plenty to atone for without having her add another no-show to her growing list of his faults.

This had been a day like no other. His spur-of-the-moment trip to Riverton had delivered a lot of unexpected results. A baby, a job offer, a cooperative witness. A baby. With an uncooperative mother.

Over dinner, he would share the epiphany he'd had during his interview with Rose. That poor kid, born to a drug addict who had managed to stay clean during her pregnancy but had relapsed by the time the child was a toddler. Rose's father had taken off as soon as he'd found out she was on the way. Somehow, in spite of the drugs and a series of failed relationships with unsuitable men, Scarlett Daniels had managed to keep her life and the baby's life together for nearly a year and a half before Rose had been taken into foster care. Who did these things when they were responsible for a defenseless child? To a baby too small to do anything for herself, too vulnerable to know how to ask for help?

A lot of people, he reminded himself. During his years with the Chicago PD, he'd seen more than his share of neglected, abused and discarded children. He'd wanted to believe that once those kids were in the hands of the authorities, social services would take care of them. Any kind of foster home had to be better than where they'd come from. For many, he supposed that was true, but not for Rose Daniels. Not for a lot of kids.

He needed Emily to know that when it came to this baby...
their
baby...he was in. One hundred percent all in. His instincts told him she was going to be an amazing parent, just like her sister and her father. He thought about his own family—growing up with both parents, the comfortable home, every opportunity possible, never wanting for anything. He had his own perfect role model for being a great dad, and a big pair of shoes to fill.

Growing up in Riverton, Jack hadn't encountered many families that weren't like his and his friends. But after he'd moved to the city, he'd seen the difference almost immediately. At the first domestic dispute he'd attended as a rookie, he'd been sickened by the sight of two runny-nosed kids in disheveled clothes and dirty diapers cowering in the back of a bedroom closet. Riverton was an ideal place to raise a family. That thought set off a quiet voice in the back of his head reminding him of Gord Fenwick's job offer, but as he'd pointed out to the chief, he wasn't cut out for that kind of work. Besides, plenty of people raised healthy, well-adjusted kids in Chicago.

Jack stepped out of his Jeep and reached into the back seat for a small package. He'd figured that flowers would seem as though he was trying too hard, so he'd made a quick stop at the hardware store after leaving the barbershop that afternoon. Before second-guessing the appropriateness of the gift, or whether any gift was appropriate at this stage of their relationship, he tucked the box under his arm and knocked on Emily's door. He heard footsteps on the stairs, and then there she was on the other side of the glass. She unlatched the door and pushed it open for him.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

“You're right on time.”

“I didn't want to give you a reason to cancel our dinner plans.”

“I wouldn't have done that.”

“Good to know.”

“Do you want to come up? I need to get my purse and a jacket.”

“Sure.” He followed her up the stairs, eye level with some enticingly feminine curves. He shook his head. Tonight was about building trust. However, that wouldn't stop him from looking. He stepped into the living room behind her and immediately his attention was drawn to the cage on the bookshelf and the squeak, squeak, squeak of the wire wheel where a small rodent doggedly ran a race to nowhere.

Emily faced him with a smile that was both tentative and guarded.

“I have something for you,” he said, offering the package. It was personal, but not too personal, and he hoped she'd see the humor in it.

“Oh. You didn't need to get me anything.”

“Well, I did.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, held his breath while she quickly tore off the gift wrap, then felt himself relax when she laughed. “A new hamster wheel. Thanks.”

“No problem. I remembered this one squeaks.”

“It does, as you can hear, so thank you. From me and Tadpole.” She picked up a gray jacket draped over the back of her desk chair.

“Let me help with that.” He held the jacket so she could slip her arms into the sleeves, settled the garment onto her shoulders and resisted the urge to touch the soft earlobe she exposed by tucking her hair behind it.

“Did you say Tadpole?” he asked.

“Yes, that's my hamster's name.”

“Interesting.”

“My nephew came up with it. My sister let him get one for a pet, and about two weeks later his new pet gave birth to five pups. He named them after his favorite things—Firefly, Caterpillar, Ladybug, Tadpole and—” She paused as she tried to remember the fifth name. “And Pumpkin. They were born right before Halloween.”

Jack laughed. “Sounds like he has a good imagination.”

Emily's sudden smile was filled with fondness. “He does. Dinosaurs are his new favorite thing, so if she'd been born more recently, her name might have ended up being
Gigantosaurus
. Not exactly hamsterish.”

“Not exactly,” he said, glancing at the tiny honey-colored creature on the squeaky wheel. Neither was Tadpole, but it was oddly fitting at the same time.

Emily picked up her keys and a small black handbag off her desk. “I'm ready.”

She didn't sound ready.

“After you.” He followed her down the stairs, waited while she locked the street-level door, and held open the passenger door of his Jeep. The gift had served as a momentary icebreaker, but now that they had covered her nephew's pet-naming conventions, neither of them seemed to know what to say. Emily was keeping her head down and eyes averted.

He slid behind the wheel, keyed the ignition, started the engine. He couldn't think of the last time a situation had made him feel this awkward, and now he felt he needed a knife to slice through the tension. Whether she liked it or not, he was in her life now, and if she needed time to get used to the idea, he was fine with that. He was a patient man and willing to give her time. Within reason.

“I thought we'd drive across the river to the Minnesota side, have dinner in Wabasha. Is that okay with you?”

“Oh, yes.” Her relief was audible. “I hoped you'd suggest something like that. It would be weird to have dinner here in town.”

He would have said uncomfortable, but weird? The conversation they were about to have would be awkward in a public place where everyone knew them, but he decided it best not to remind her they'd had dinner at the Riverton Bar & Grill not that long ago, and there'd been no weirdness. Now the only awkwardness stemmed from the silence filling the Jeep.

“Do you mind if I turn on the radio?” she asked.

“Not at all.”

“What would you like to listen to?” She pushed the start button, and the voice that poured from the speakers made her turn to him. Saturday evening. Garrison Keillor.
A Prairie Home Companion
. “You listen to NPR?”

“Most of the time, yes.”

She leaned back in her seat, and he could tell she was watching him. “Me, too.”

“You sound surprised.”

“No. Well, maybe. I thought...”

But she didn't say what she thought, and he found himself very much wanting to know. Still, they both relaxed a little and the tension eased as they crossed the Mississippi to the Minnesota side and drove onto a main street that resembled Riverton's in a lot of ways, with one exception. Few people here would know them, no one would be surprised to see them together and no one would be nosily straining to overhear their conversation.

He steered into a lot next to a pizzeria on the outskirts of town. He and Emily hadn't had time to talk about the kind of meal they were in the mood for, but based on experience, Italian was a safe bet. Emily climbed out of the Jeep before he made it around to her side. He understood why a woman would want to be independent, but this was a date. He was supposed to open doors and hold chairs and help with coats. If Emily thought he was old-fashioned, then fine. Guilty as charged.

* * *

E
MILY
CAREFULLY
STUDIED
the menu, hoping the time she spent reading each item's description, including the veal parmesan, which she had no intention of ordering, didn't seem to be the obvious pretense it was. She couldn't remember ever feeling this uncomfortable, and that included coming face-to-face with Jack in the barbershop that afternoon. She was on a first date with her baby's father, which felt even more ridiculous than it sounded. She'd been intimate with this man, and now she couldn't make eye contact. Dinner had been a bad idea. They should have started with coffee.

A young man in a white shirt and black pants with a white waiter's apron set two glasses of ice water on the table and the wine list in front of Jack. “Can I get you something else?” he asked. “A bottle of wine? A cocktail?”

“I'll have coffee,” Emily said without looking up. “Decaf, please.”

“Coffee for me, too,” Jack said, setting the drink menu aside. “Not decaf.”

She finally braved an upward glance. “Just because I'm not having anything stronger doesn't mean you can't.”

“I'm driving.”

“Right.” She turned her attention back to the menu. She was ravenously hungry, and the scents of simmering tomato sauce and melting cheese wafting from the kitchen were making her light-headed. Those and Jack's commanding presence across the table. His proximity had her heart racing.

The waiter returned, set down two cups of coffee and a small pitcher of cream, tucked the tray under his arm and flicked a lighter to the candle in the center of the table.

“Are you ready to order?” the young man asked.

Emily nodded. “A garden salad to start. I'd like the spaghetti with marinara sauce, and a couple of meatballs on the side. Does that come with garlic bread?”

“I'll bring a bread basket for you. And for you, sir?”

“I'll have the same.” Jack was smiling, she could tell. It was the same meal they'd had two months ago.

The waiter took their menus and returned a moment later, as promised, with a bread basket and a small plate of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Emily pounced on a slice of warm focaccia, swirled it through the oil and savored the crunch of rosemary and coarsely ground salt as she bit into it.

“I'm so hungry, I could eat a house,” she said.

Jack laughed. “I thought the saying was, ‘I'm so hungry, I could eat a horse.'”

“My sister CJ always flipped out when anyone said that, so my dad changed it to house. I know it doesn't make sense. Eating a whole house is just silly, but we were all little, and we never really gave it much thought.”

“When you think about it, it's not a lot sillier than eating a horse.”

“That's true.”

“So,” Jack said, helping himself to a slice of bread. “Blue. Martin. April seventh.”

Bewildered, Emily set her bread on her side plate and stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“In the spirit of getting to know one another...my favorite color, my middle name, my birthday.”

His directness startled a laugh out of her. “Hmm. I didn't expect getting to know one another to work like a game show. And blue is every guy's favorite color.”

“I guess that makes me predictable.”

“Oh, I doubt it.” But she decided to play along. “So it's Jack Martin Evans. Is that a family name?”

“Jack is short for Jackson, but don't even think about calling me that. Unless you want to sound like my mother after I've done something to annoy her.”

She smiled. “Noted.”

“Martin was my maternal grandfather's name.”

“And your birthday was—” She narrowed her eyes as the memory of that day flooded back. “That was the day of Eric's funeral.”

“It was.”

“But you didn't say anything.”

“That day wasn't about me, although...” He reached across the table and briefly touched her hand. “When we were together, I was definitely thinking,
happy birthday to me
.”

Of course you were.
Emily lowered her gaze and fumbled with the slice of bread she'd been eating, knowing she was blushing every shade of pink imaginable and not wanting him to know her thoughts had taken the same path. Not to mention it had turned out to be the gift that would keep on giving.

“Your turn,” he said.

“For what?”

“Three things about you.”

“Well, I guess I have more than one favorite color. I love green. I never wear it, but I like to be surrounded by it, if that makes sense. I didn't used to like yellow until Annie renovated the kitchen at the farm. Now I love it, too. And red, because it reminds me of my mother.” She had blurted that out without thinking and immediately wished she hadn't. She didn't want to talk about her mother, ever, and especially not tonight. Not with Jack.

“Red was your mom's favorite color?”

“No. I mean, I don't know what her favorite color was...is...but her name is Scarlett.”

A look of surprise flashed across Jack's face, and then it was gone.