Harlequin Heartwarming May 2016 Box Set (82 page)

Like everyone in her family, Emily had been heartbroken when Eric died. “I'm so sorry, Annie. I'm here for whatever you need, whenever you need me. You know that.”

“I know, honey. I'm sorry to be such a downer, and you said this isn't why you called. What's up?”

Typical Annie. Change the subject rather than meet the subject head-on.

“I was thinking about your B & B guest.”

A moment of silence. Then, “Really? Why?”

“How many kids like her have stayed there on their own?”

“I know she's not your typical—”

“How many?” Emily asked again.

“Until now, none.”

“It's weird.
She's
weird.”

“Emily, she's a kid, and she's on her own. She's from Chicago, and she told me she was working in a diner till her mother passed away. Now she has no family and she's looking for a change. She thought a small town might be a better fit for her.”

Emily couldn't imagine having no family, but she was concerned about Annie's desire to help this person. She didn't like to think of anyone taking advantage of her sister, and she hated to think Annie was filling the void in her life by taking in strays.

“Fair enough,” she said. “I have no doubt she could use a little mothering, and because of that she's tugging on your heartstrings. I'm only saying you should be careful.”

“Why are you so concerned?” Annie asked.

“I can't put my finger on it, exactly.” But she needed to be honest. “Like I said, she's not your typical guest. I also thought it was odd you invited her to join us for family dinner. I mean, she's not family, and apparently she doesn't eat, either. She mostly pushed her food around on her plate.”

“I feel sorry for her.”

Emily sighed. Annie had enough people to take care of. Their father, Isaac, CJ. Not that CJ needed to be taken care of, but she was always more than happy to go along with Annie's need to do it.

“Did she say how long she's planning to stay?”

“She paid for a week when she checked in, gave me the cash because she doesn't have a credit card.”

A whole week? Paid for by cash? Again, weird. Who in this day and age didn't have a credit card? Who carried that much money around with them? Better question:
Why
would anyone carry around that much money?

“And you don't find that...odd?” Emily asked.

“No, I don't.”

“What did you say her last name is?”

“Danvers. Rose Danvers.”

“Did you ask to see her ID?” Emily asked, reaching for her laptop and typing into Google:
Rose Danvers Chicago
.

“Of course not. Why would I do that?”

“To make sure she is who she says she is.”

“Don't you think you're overreacting?”

Not even a little bit, she thought, studying the few hits that came up. A young person like Rose Danvers would almost certainly have an online presence. Unless she had something to hide.

“Maybe I am. All I'm asking is that you be careful and not take everything at face value. People aren't always who they seem to be.”

She wondered if Jack could find out something about Rose. Could the police do that? Check into someone's background, even though they weren't under investigation? It couldn't hurt to ask, and if he could, he would do it for her, she was sure.

“I'm always careful, and everything's going to be fine. Rose is only here for a week, and then we'll probably never hear from her again.”

“I hope so.” She truly did, although she still intended to talk to Jack about her.

“It's getting late, Em. You should get some sleep. You're going to need more rest now that you're expecting.”

Emily sighed. “Good night, Annie.”

“Good night, Em. Stop worrying and go to bed.”

Emily set her phone on the table next to the bed and yawned. She couldn't tell if she was more tired than usual, or if she was simply feeling the effects of the whirlwind weekend. She would definitely get some sleep, right after Jack called. He said he would, and she believed him, so she picked up her pen and her journal and snuggled beneath the covers to wait for her phone to ring.

* * *

B
Y
THE
TIME
Jack shut down his computer and straightened the paperwork he had strewn across his desk, his eyelids felt as though they were made of sandpaper. It had been a long, tiring day, and he was ready to head home for some shut-eye. Maybe a bite to eat, too. He checked the time. It was late, and he hadn't eaten since... Oh, no. He smacked his forehead. It was really late, and he had forgotten to call Emily.

What was wrong with him? On the long drive back to the city, he'd thought about little else other than her and the baby. She had been on his mind the whole time he'd been digging through the Scarlett Daniels murder files.

He was a moron. Emily would be furious, and she had every right to be. He grabbed his phone and tapped out a text message.

Too late to call. Hope you sleep well. Talk to you in the morning.

Within seconds, his phone buzzed and her reply flashed on the screen.

I'm still awake.

Which was doublespeak for call now.

Give me five.

He dashed down the stairs to the main entrance and pushed through the doors to State Street where he'd parked his Jeep between two cruisers. As soon as he was behind the wheel, he made the call.

“Hello.” She sounded sleepy.

“Hey. Sorry to call so late.”

“I thought you'd forgotten about me.”

“Not a chance. I had to stop at the station to tie up a few loose ends, and I lost track of the time.”

“That happens a lot.”

Too often. “It does, but I'm working on making some changes. And you can always call me or send a text.”

“I know, but tonight was a test.” He liked her honesty. And how in spite of her serious tone of voice, he knew she was smiling.

“How did I do?”

“You get a passing grade. Another twenty minutes, though, and you would have been calling me tomorrow.”

“The text message should count for something.”

“I might have given you half marks for effort.”

“Ouch.”

She laughed. “I have high expectations.”

And he hoped to live up to them. “How was the day with your family?”

“Good. I usually don't spend the whole day out there, but it was nice for a change. CJ and I took Isaac for a trail ride this afternoon. That was fun.”

Horseback riding? Really? “Are you sure that's okay? I mean in your—”

“In my
condition
?” she cut in. “Yes, even Annie agreed it's fine, but I'll check with the doctor when I see him this week.”

“How did your sisters take the news?”

“Annie figured it out when the two of you met me at the front door. If she hadn't, she would have caught on when you kissed me. She was watching us from the living room.”

Jack found himself grinning. “And?”

“And what?”

“How did she take it? What did she say?”

“She hadn't believed me when I told her it was Fred's, and neither had CJ. Annie says she's delighted to have you become part of the family, and CJ...” Emily paused, cleared her throat.

“What did CJ say?” He could only imagine.

“She says I need to make an honest man out of you.”

He thought the world of Annie, but CJ was well on her way to becoming his favorite sister-in-law-to-be. “Does that mean you've changed your mind?”

“No.”

He reminded himself that he found her honesty refreshing. He knew it would take more than a few phone calls to change her opinion of him, but having her sisters on his side was definitely promising. “And your father?”

“My dad is completely in the dark about the pregnancy, and he's going to stay there until I'm ready to enlighten him.” There was a pause, and he didn't speak because he knew she wasn't finished. “And heaven help my sisters...
or anyone
...who tells him before I'm ready.”

Jack leaned back in the driver's seat and listened with amusement to Emily's version of trash talk.

“Our secret is safe with me,” he told her. This was the wrong time to remind her in a few months they wouldn't be keeping this a secret from anyone. “I wish I could have stayed for dinner. What did you have?”

“Annie made pork roast with blackberry gastrique and these little oven-roasted potatoes.”

“Sounds amazing. She should open a restaurant.”

“There were buttered peas, too. It doesn't matter what she serves for Sunday dinner, buttered peas are my dad's idea of fancy.”

“Hey, who doesn't like peas? What about dessert? And spare no details.”

Emily laughed. It was a sound he liked to hear because it meant the tension he'd heard in her voice moments ago had dissipated. “Living vicariously, Detective Evans?”

“Completely on the edge. Just, please, tell me she didn't serve doughnuts.”

More laughter. “No. She made another of my dad's favorites—pecan pie with whipped cream. He says her pastry is like shortbread.”

Jack groaned out loud. He hadn't eaten since Madison and that had been hours ago. “You're killing me here. You know that, right?”

“You're invited to dinner next Sunday. If you're in town, of course.”

“I told you I would be, and I'm not backing out.”

“What about the case you're working on?”

“Winding down. I'll be there.”

“That'll be...nice.”

Nice? “Glad you think so.”

“I'm already looking forward to next Sunday. I just hope my sister's houseguest has cleared out by then.”

He knew she was talking about Rose, and he fought back a clawing sense of unease. Play it cool, he warned himself. “What's up with the guest?”

“I don't know, exactly. There's something strange about her, and I can't help thinking how weird it is that a kid her age would want to spend a week at a country B & B.”

He had been thinking the same thing.

“Did you meet her?” Emily asked.

“I did. She and CJ came in from the stable while Annie and I were having coffee.”

“And she's weird, right? Am I right?”

He agreed with Emily, of course, but he needed to choose his words carefully. “You could be.”

“I think she might be hiding something. She paid cash for the week instead of using a credit card, and get this. When I did an internet search for her, nothing came up. Nothing at all. How many young people do you know who aren't online?”

Huh. For more than a month now, Rose Daniels's name had been splashed all over the news. If Emily couldn't find her...

“Her name is Rose, isn't it?” Playing dumb could easily come back to bite him, but he didn't know any other way to fish for information.

“That's right. Rose Danvers.”

So, the kid was using a phony surname. Interesting. She might be doing it for the very reason Emily suggested—to avoid being discovered on the internet. He'd like to believe that, and he hoped it wasn't something more insidious.

“So, I was wondering... Since she's from Chicago, is there any chance you could check up on her? Find out if she is who she says she is?”

“I'm sorry, Emily. I could get into a lot of trouble. It's one thing if information happens to be part of the public record, but I can't use my connections as a police officer to dig into anyone's private business and then share that information with someone else. That would be a complete breach of privacy.”

“Of course, I get that. I do.” But her voice was thick with disappointment.

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I shouldn't have asked.”

“Emily, you can ask me for anything.” He thought of Rose being pulled over on a suspected DUI early yesterday morning. The kid definitely had her share of problems. “I know you have good instincts, but being weird isn't against the law. If you notice anything specific, though, you can always call the Riverton PD. I keep in touch with Gord Fenwick. I'll let him know about your concerns.” Jack had already briefed the chief with the details of this case, and especially about Rose since she was staying in Riverton. “If you think Rose is up to something, give him a call. He'll listen to you.”

“Good idea. I'll keep that in mind. Oh, and that reminds me, Ken Bartlett is making a big announcement at the town council meeting tomorrow afternoon. Rumor has it he's going to announce Chief Fenwick's retirement. Do you know anything about that?”

“Interesting,” he said, hoping she wouldn't notice that he avoided answering the question. “What time is the meeting?”

“Two o'clock.”

“Will you let me know how it goes?”

“Sure. I'll text you when it's over.”

Of course, Jack already knew what the meeting was about. Gord Fenwick had also encouraged Jack to meet with him and the mayor before Jack left Riverton that afternoon, but he had declined. Figuring out whether or not to accept this job was a big decision. Huge. Could he give up his job here, everything he had worked for? These were not spur-of-the-moment decisions.

“I'll call you tomorrow night, but at a decent hour.”

“Better late than never.” She stifled a yawn. “Good night, Jack.”

“Good night, Emily.” He pictured her as she'd looked that morning in her flannel pajama pants and fuzzy slippers, her hair tousled. She was adorable. She was carrying his child. And he was feeling fiercely overprotective. Decisions would have to be made because the sooner they were together, the better.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

W
ITH
J
ACK
BACK
in Chicago, Emily's days more or less returned to their familiar old pattern. Grudgingly roll out of bed when the alarm sounded, make coffee—decaf—check her blog, start the day's notes in her journal, feed Tadpole, hop in the shower and get dressed. Downstairs, she spent the mornings in the newspaper office, checking the wire service, running a few of the lead stories past her boss, and following up on the emails and telephone messages forwarded to her by the office administrator, Hilde Emerson.

Hilde was a fifty-something-year-old empty nester who had already given up on ever becoming a grandmother. Hilde and Ken Bartlett's wife, Marthe, were twin sisters.

She had worked from ten to two every weekday since her kids were all in school, making sure the
Gazette
's filing was caught up and the bills were paid. In a pinch, she was also an excellent proofreader.

From Emily's perspective, the only drawback to working with Hilde was the woman's tendency to want to be a stand-in mother. Every morning when she arrived promptly at ten, she asked Emily how she'd slept the night before and what she had eaten for breakfast. “A young woman needs to start her day with something more substantial than two cups of coffee.”

Emily seldom ate breakfast, but she had learned to tell Hilde she had eaten a bowl of yogurt and a banana, or granola with blueberries, or a poached egg on toast. Truthfully, Emily had never poached an egg in her life. Lately, food had a lot of appeal, though, and her voracious appetite was a constant reminder she was having a baby and was nowhere near ready to be a mother. Emily didn't want to think about the kind of advice her coworker would dole out once she knew.

Before Hilde left at two o'clock every afternoon, she would impart another piece of matronly wisdom. “You've been at that computer for three hours now. Be sure to take a break.” Or, “Don't forget the interview you have scheduled at three-thirty.”

Emily had never missed an appointment or an interview. The calendars on her computer and her cell phone were synced to give her reminders, but Hilde didn't believe in relying on technology. Mostly, Emily thought, because she didn't have a clue how it worked. So, in spite of the recent turmoil in her life, Emily's daily routines marched along with a certain sameness that was comforting, with the exception of a few new developments.

Fred had started dropping by the office to check on her every morning before he opened the barbershop across the street. “Are you feeling okay?”

Yes.

“Have you given any thought to naming the baby Fred if it's a boy?”

No.

“Have you finally come to your senses and accepted Jack's spur-of-the-moment marriage proposal?”

Absolutely not.

Then there were the emails from Annie.

Have you made an appointment to see Dr. Woodward?

Yes.

Have you started to think about where you're going to live? Your apartment doesn't have room for a nursery.

No.

Have you given any more thought to Jack's proposal?

Absolutely not.

She heard from CJ, too, but her text messages were sporadic, and in typical little sister fashion, she managed to make them about her.

When people find out about you and Jack and the baby, do you think they'll wonder if I'm next?

Yes.

Is having a bunch of nieces and nephews going to make me seem like an old-maid aunt?

No.

When you come to your senses and finally marry Jack, can I be your maid of honor?

Absolutely not. Okay, maybe.

But Emily wasn't thinking that far ahead.

This morning, she was hunkered down at her desk in the newspaper office, after having told Hilde she'd eaten a bowl of instant apple-cinnamon oatmeal—and this time it was the truth because she'd woken up famished and couldn't wait till midmorning to grab a bite—and pretending to focus on her computer monitor. Instead she was looking at her phone and scrolling through the text messages Jack had sent early that morning.

Sleep well last night?

I did. You?

Like a baby. Busy day lined up?

She ignored the baby reference, although it made her smile.

The usual. Any new cases?

Not so far. I'll call you tonight.

And she knew he would. It was often late by the time he called, but so far he hadn't missed a night. They'd had similar text-message exchanges every morning this week, even before her alarm went off, and those had definitely contributed to her reluctance to crawl out of bed and start her day. He had asked about her work, her family and her hamster, even though she knew he wasn't crazy about Tadpole. It had been nice. Nicer than nice. She had never talked to him on the phone before this week, and it was a whole new experience. She'd been able to lie back against her pillow and listen to his voice without being distracted by his cool blue eyes and the temptation to trace his stubbled jawline with her fingertip.

Now it was Wednesday morning, and the week was almost half over. Jack had promised he'd be back for the weekend. She wanted to believe him, but could he get away? Would he?

He had accepted Annie's invitation to Sunday dinner. That was a huge step. He planned to be in town for the whole weekend, and this meant he wasn't planning to rush back to Chicago on Sunday, which in itself was an interesting development. Her sister had also made a suggestion for a Sunday afternoon get-to-know-each-other date and Emily liked the idea—a horseback ride and picnic—a lot. She was reluctant to suggest it to Jack, though, in case he said no. Annie was certain he'd never ridden before, so Emily decided to go ahead with the plan and let him in on it at the last minute. He might be reluctant to get on a horse, but no one in their right mind ever said no to one of Annie's picnic lunches.

Wednesdays were usually slow at the office. The new issue of the
Gazette
had come out that morning, with the announcement at Monday's council meeting in the headline: “Chief Fenwick Retires after 39 Years with the Riverton PD.” Emily often spent her time working on an outline for the next edition. As she sipped decaf from her travel mug and listened to the clack, clack, clacking of Hilde's oddly contoured ergonomic keyboard, she was finding it impossible to focus on anything other than impending motherhood, her date with Jack and food. She needed a break. She would go for a walk, maybe wander by the barbershop to see if Fred was free. Anything but this, she thought.

She shut down her laptop, stood and pulled on her jacket. “I have to run an errand this morning,” she told Hilde. “Is there anything you need me to look at before I go?”

“I'm good. I'm working on the classifieds that came in after last edition's cutoff.”

“Thanks. If anyone needs me, could you have them call my cell phone?”

“Will do.”

Emily slung her messenger bag over her shoulder and left the office, nearly colliding with Mable Potter and her dog. Déjà vu.

“Good morning, Mrs. Potter. We have to stop meeting this way.”

The elderly woman laughed. “I had to go to the bank and pay my phone bill,” she said. “I brought Banjo along because he can always use the exercise. He's a rambunctious little rascal.”

Emily stroked the mutt's scruffy fur and smiled when he gazed up at her with a playful look in his eyes. His tongue dangled out of the corner of his mouth.

“It's nice to see you both,” she said. “Did you have a good visit with your daughter on Sunday?”

“We had a lovely time. She helped me plant my window boxes and then we had lunch with red velvet cake for dessert.”

“That sounds very nice.”

“I took some of the leftover cake out of the freezer this morning. Would you like to join me for a slice and a cup of tea?” Mable asked. “Last time I bumped into you, you said you would.”

At the mention of cake, Emily realized she was hungry again. “You know what? I'd love to.” If she wasn't careful, she was going to turn into a whale, but she would worry about that later.

The dog's antics amused Emily as they walked the several blocks to Mable's house, particularly his fondness for sniffing out abandoned objects. He discovered a crushed pop can beneath the hedge in front of the Fenwicks' house, which he carried for half a block, and then dropped it when he encountered a child's blue bouncy ball on the boulevard.

“Oh, no, you don't, Banjo,” Mable admonished, tugging on his leash. “Your ball is at home. This one belongs to the Hubert children.”

Emily picked it up and tossed it over the gate and into their front yard. She picked up the pop can, too, and tucked it into one of the outer pockets of her bag. “I'll carry this to your place, and we can put it in your recycling bin.”

“That's a good idea, dear.”

At the Potter home, Emily opened the gate for the elderly woman and her dog and followed them up the front steps. Once again, the front door was unlocked. In the kitchen, the dog lapped water from the bowl next to his bed, then curled up, chin on his back feet, and closed his eyes.

Mrs. Potter put the kettle on for tea, told Emily where to find the cups and saucers and dessert plates, and rattled on about the weather, her daughter, the neighbors and the news that Chief Fenwick was retiring from the Riverton PD.

Emily watched with amusement and mild concern as Mrs. Potter took a quart of milk out of the refrigerator, filled an old-fashioned, floral-patterned creamer, and then put the milk—and the sugar bowl—away in the fridge. The woman had seemed distracted last Saturday morning when Emily had helped her carry her groceries home, but Emily had attributed that to her being excited about the long-overdue visit from her daughter.

“Why don't you take a seat, Mrs. Potter, and let me finish setting the table for tea?”

“Are you sure you don't mind, dear? You are my guest, after all.”

“I don't mind one bit.” She held a chair for the woman, and then discreetly retrieved the sugar bowl and placed it next to the creamer on the white lace-covered table.

“Well, I don't mind sitting for a spell. My hip has been acting up again. I keep saying I need one of those hip replacements, but Doc Woodward says it's just arthritis.”

Emily wondered if Dr. Woodward had noticed that Mrs. Potter was also getting a bit absentminded. Surely her daughter would have noticed, since she'd spent the whole day with her mother on Sunday.

None of your business, Emily reminded herself. She had plenty of her own family issues to deal with and worry about without taking on someone else's. So she poured the tea and served the red velvet cake. Her hostess had insisted on a thin slice, but Emily served herself a generous portion and savored every mouthful.

Half an hour and another cup of tea later, she excused herself. “Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Potter. This has been lovely, but I have to get back to the office. I'll give you a hand with the dishes, though.”

“You will do no such thing. I'll take care of these myself.”

“Are you sure? What about your hip?”

“I'll manage just fine. Will you come again?”

“Of course I will.” Emily looped the strap of her bag over her shoulder and noticed the crumpled pop can in the side pocket. “Where's your recycling bin?”

“I keep it out on the back porch, dear.”

“I'll let myself out the back door, then.”

Banjo sprang to his feet the instant the door creaked open.

“You can let him out, too,” Mable said. “He goes out there to do his business.”

The delicate reference made Emily smile. “I'll be sure to close the gate, then, so he doesn't get out.”

The dog raced in a wide arc around the backyard while Emily eyed the garden shed again. To satisfy what was probably an unnatural curiosity, she checked the door and found it locked as before. She still found it curious that Mable would lock the shed but leave her home unsecured when she went out, unless she had misplaced her keys. Perhaps they were in the fridge. Ha!

With that thought, Emily let herself through the front gate, carefully latching it, so Banjo couldn't get out. Having tea with Mrs. Potter had been a pleasant diversion, she thought, as she ambled back to Main Street. It was almost lunchtime, and she was hungry, again, so she decided to stop by the barbershop to see if Fred could get away a little early. She usually settled for a light lunch—a salad or maybe a grilled cheese sandwich—but today she was going all out. She could almost taste the Riverton Bar & Grill's cheddar-bacon burger with a chocolate malt and a side of fries. Fred would patiently listen to her self-doubts, and then he would dismiss them and remind her that no matter how things played out, she had a whole village to help her raise her child. She needed to hear that right now. That, and eat a cheeseburger.