The Detective's 8 lb, 10 oz Surprise (4 page)

“Or alone,” Nick said.

“Exactly. It's as if he was compelled to sit outside in his car and watch, check up on me. Like being with me wasn't the point. Just making sure no one else was. That's when I realized I had to put an end to our romantic relationship. And he got even scarier. He told me we were meant to be, that I was his dream woman, and when we were married, I'd make him the happiest man on earth. The word
marriage
scared me to death. I told him we were through. And he grabbed me and said we weren't through until he said we were through, that I belonged to him. I quit my job to get away from him—that's how freaked out he made me.”

“Please tell me you went to the police for a restraining order,” Nick said.

“I did. It made him even angrier. He'd come to my condo and by the time the police came, he'd be gone and I'd be unable to prove he was there. The police said that until he physically hurt me in some way, there was really nothing they could do.”

Nick knew all about that.

She stood up and walked over to the window, still clutching the pillow. “And then one day I came home and found him in my bedroom, going through my things. He had old address books, letters, keepsakes. He started saying things like ‘How nice that your grandmother owns a restaurant in a small town. One phone call and Granny will have an accident, poor thing. And your sisters. I know how much you care about them. Small towns just aren't as safe as they used to be. You never know who's creeping around waiting to attack a pretty redhead like Annabel. Or a dark-haired former foster kid named Clementine.'” Her voice broke and she turned around, her head dropping.

Nick wanted to rush over to her and pull to her him, comfort her, but he knew from experience that when people were telling their stories—whether victims or witnesses or criminals—you had to let them finish, not rush them, not lead them, not hug them. It took everything in Nick to stay seated, to let her finish when she was ready.

She sat back down, the pillow on her lap. “I didn't know what to do. He was threatening me, and the police said they couldn't help me until he actually hurt me—or my family. So I panicked and just went along with him, figuring I could give myself some time to figure out what to do, how to get help.”

“Why the hell didn't you tell me?” he asked, his voice practically a whisper. “I was right there.”

“I wanted to,” she said, finally looking at him. “I wanted to tell you everything. You can imagine how much of a comfort you were. Not only were you a police officer, but you were home—you were Blue Gulch. I let myself have that beautiful night with you, Nick. I was so afraid to tell you for fear of bringing you into it. He'd go after you and God knows what would happen and suddenly your whole world is upended because of me.”

“Georgia, I would have taken that risk.”

She shook her head. “I couldn't let you.”

I was right there. I was right there
. The words kept repeating his head.
I could have done something.

She shifted a bit to face him. “The night we met, he'd told me he was going out of town for a couple of days. When he returned in the morning I panicked and pretended I just ran into you. You have no idea how desperately I wanted to run into your arms and tell you to help me. But I was so scared, fearing for your life, for my family's. For
your
family's. What if to hurt you, he went after your teenage sister?”

Nick dropped his head into his hands. He'd been right there, he thought again and again and again. Right damned there. And he'd let her down.

Just as he'd let his mother down as a teenager, unable to help her, unable to stop his father's tirades and threats.

She closed her eyes for a moment. “I'll never forget the look on your face when I allowed you to believe the night meant nothing to me, that that monster was my boyfriend. I was half numb, half terrified and found myself frozen. But when I discovered I was pregnant, I knew I had to get away before I started to show.”

His heart was starting to thud. “You were going to go into hiding?”

She shook her head. “If I ran, it was going to be to you. And that would just bring him right to your doorstep—to your sister's doorstep. I couldn't, wouldn't risk that. I decided to go back to the police and beg for help. But very early that morning, the police came to my door. James Galvestan was found dead in my backyard, having fallen from the roof and twisted his neck. They found all kinds of cameras and surveillance bugs on him.”

She stood up and walked to the windows, wrapping her arms around herself. He wanted to go to her, but he stayed put, wanting her to finish, to cry if she needed to.

She turned to face him. “It's a terrible, terrible feeling to be glad someone is dead, Nick.”

“I know,” he whispered, but wasn't even sure he'd said it out loud. He stood and walked over to her, jabbing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I hate that I let you walk away with that monster.”

She was quiet for a moment, then said, “The reason I'm so sure the baby is yours and not his is that he refused to consummate our relationship until marriage. He wanted everything to be his version of perfect.”

The baby was Nick's.

What kind of father could he be? What the hell kind of detective was he that he missed the signs, thought the worst of her?

“Nick, listen. I want to put all that behind me. For so many months, he controlled me. He kept me from my family, from being able to come home when my grandmother got sick, when Annabel and Clementine desperately needed my help with the restaurant. Early on, before I knew what he was, he'd talked me into investing all my savings into a business venture that ended up not existing, so I'm completely broke. I lost everything. I'm not letting him invade my thoughts anymore. I have a baby to think about.”

Their baby. She was carrying his child. Nick Slater was going to be a father. And given everything Georgia had just been through, there was no way he'd let her down. He'd be there for her—as far as he could. He'd make sure she was safe, pay for her health insurance, be an ear, build her a crib—whatever she needed. He never wanted her to feel a moment's fear again.

She put a hand on her belly, then smoothed the blue material and clasped her hands in front of her. “I want to babysit Timmy for you while you work and search for his mother.”

The tension was gone from her shoulders, he saw. The shame and sorrow that had clouded her green eyes as she talked about what had happened in Houston—also gone. She was doing everything she could to move on, to not let it infect her. The determination in her expression was impressive.

He wanted to tell her that. He also wanted to put off talking about the possibility of her being his nanny for the week. “Georgia, I—”

“After I left the police station earlier today, I went to see my grandmother and sisters and told them everything,” she interrupted. “I let them know I want to focus on the future, not the past. Hurley's Homestyle Kitchen is doing very well now that Essie is healthy again and back in the kitchen. I'm going to be baking for Hurley's, but that will only require my mornings. I need this job as Timmy's nanny because I'm worried about my ability to be a good mother. I was always focused on my career, climbing the corporate ladder, and never thought I had maternal instincts and now here's my chance to learn in the field.”

Nick could hear Timmy beginning to fuss. He turned to head down the hallway. “Exc—”

“I'll get him,” she said, picking up her basket of supplies and following the sound of Timmy's cries.

A few minutes later she was back with the baby in her arms. “Wow, I didn't need to use anything I brought. You have everything he needed.”

“I drove over to Baby Center after getting Timmy checked out at the clinic. He's healthy. Five weeks.”

She smiled. “Well,” she said, nuzzling the infant in her arms. “You're all changed, Timmy. Is someone hungry?” she cooed.

The baby cried harder.

“There, there,” Georgia said, rocking Timmy a bit. But he still fussed and squirmed.

Her cheeks flamed and she looked as though she might cry. “If you want to hire a professional nanny or someone with a clue about babies, I'll understand.”

Nick looked at the case files on the table. Looked at the baby squirming in Georgia's arms. He thought of everything she'd just told him, everything she'd been through.

He watched as she held Timmy up against her chest and gently patted his back and he calmed down, his tiny hand opening and closing.

She smiled and kissed the top of Timmy's cap. “I'll bet you're hungry, aren't you?”

Timmy let out a wail, his little face turning red. Georgia rocked him and he squirmed harder, so she brought him back up against her and patted his back again and he let out a burp, then calmed down again. Then started fussing again.

She needed this. He needed this. So that was that.

“You're hired,” he said. “I'll show you the guest room. Are your bags still in your car?”

“Wait. What?” she asked.

“The job is live-in,” he said. “I need you round-the-clock.”

She stared at him as though he had five heads.

Maybe he did. Georgia—live here? A woman he wanted to grab to him and run from at the same time. A woman he'd said too much to. A woman who'd been through hell and back herself.

A woman pregnant with his child. His child. Would that ever sound right to his ears?

He liked the idea of knowing she was safe in the next room, that a wall separated them at night. No one and nothing would ever hurt Georgia Hurley again.

Especially not him. Which meant keeping his distance. After what she'd been through, the last thing she needed was a man with no interest in love or marriage or family life. He'd support her, support their child, be there as best he could, but Nick knew his limits, knew how shut down, closed off he was.

“Is that a problem?” he asked. “It's just a five-minute walk to Hurley's from here, so you can easily go between there and here. And if I don't find Timmy's mother before she comes back, it'll be just a week that I have responsibility for him.”

“Not a problem,” she said, lifting her chin.

“So you'll start tonight?”

“I'm here. So I might as well. I'll take him over to Hurley's tomorrow morning while I bake. My grandmother and sisters will go nuts over him.”

He nodded. “The guest room is down here,” he added, leading the way. “Right next to my bedroom. If you need anything, just let me know.” He watched her walk in and look around. “The basics are in here. Bathroom is right across the hall.”

He hoped she liked it. The guest room wasn't much, since he and Avery rarely had guests. They had no family except each other. There was a queen-size bed with a dusty-orange quilt embroidered with seashells. Across was an antique bureau with a big round mirror above it. Two windows with a view of the backyard were covered by pale yellow drapes.

“I'll move in Timmy's stuff,” he said as she glanced around the room.

“I do like the idea of living with a cop. I know my ordeal is over, but having an officer of the law in the next room is a comfort nonetheless.”

“I can certainly understand that.” He was glad she still felt that way even though the police hadn't been able to help her. “I'll go get your bags,” he added, heading out, his shoulders relaxing just slightly as he left the room. In a minute he was back, set her bags by the closet, then began moving in Timmy's bassinet and everything else he'd bought from Baby Center.

“I can't believe you bought all this,” she said, glancing at the blue-and-white gingham bassinet and the pastel mobile suspended above it.

He looked at Timmy, his big cheeks quirking around the yellow pacifier. “I want him to be comfortable.”

Huh. He hadn't realized that until he said it. He'd had a few—more than a few—of those kinds of moments with Avery the past couple of years. Moments of...whatever it was called that always caught him by surprise. Tenderness, maybe. He'd certainly experienced it and then some with Georgia in Houston.

His skin felt...tight. “I'll be in the kitchen with the case files and a pot of coffee if you need me,” he said quickly, and shot down the hall.

A week of Georgia here. Given everything he'd been through—everything he was about to go through with Timmy—having Georgia in the next room might be the hardest of all to deal with.

Chapter Four

T
he baby had woken up a few times during the night, but the last time, at 4:30 a.m., Georgia changed him, gave him his bottle and then very quietly left Nick's house. It was just five o'clock now and except for one lone jogger, she and Timmy were alone on the short walk to Hurley's Homestyle Kitchen, dawn still an hour away. For the first time in months, she felt no fear as she walked, even as the only person out. She was safe. She was home.

The sight of the old apricot-colored Victorian made her heart leap in her chest. She loved this place. And now that she was back and the restaurant's official baker, Georgia felt she was exactly where she belonged.

She quietly opened the gate of the white picket fence and headed up the porch steps and inside, taking in the scent of lemon cleanness—her sister Clementine's doing, she knew—and the faintest scent of barbecue sauce and biscuits, which always permeated the air at Hurley's. She carried Timmy into the big country kitchen and showed him around, including the baking section where all the supplies were kept. They'd be watching the sunrise in that section for the next several days.

She then took him into the hallway and showed him the family photos lining the walls, of her parents and her grandparents and sisters and Hurley's throughout its fifty years. Hairstyles and clothing might have changed, per the photos of customers in the dining room, but the menu was pretty much the same as it always had been. Good, traditional, home-cooked comfort food from recipes handed down through the generations. From steaks and chops and meat loaf and ribs in Gram's amazing barbecue sauce, to macaroni and cheese, and chicken fingers for the little ones, all served with delicious sides—spicy slaw, potato salad, corn on the cob. Hurley's was open Tuesday through Sunday for lunch and dinner and was a Blue Gulch institution. Everyone in town loved Hurley's.

And because of her, because she'd been unable to come home and help back in April, Gram had almost lost the restaurant she'd started fifty years ago. Well, Georgia would never, ever let that happen again. A man would never come between her and family again, between her and her own values again. She knew that for sure because she was done with men, done with romance. She had a baby on the way. Nothing would get in the way of Georgia being the best mother she could possibly be.

Given how not interested Nick Slater was in marriage and fatherhood, Georgia knew she didn't have to worry about falling in love with him. About hoping for something that couldn't be. Because she wouldn't go there in the first place.

Had she thought about him last night as she lay in his guest bed, so aware of him in the room next door? Yes. Had she lain awake, tossing and turning as she remembered how he'd held her, how he'd made her feel, how he'd made love to her? Yes. And knowing he was right next door, in bed, brought back every moment of their night together. But Nick certainly had no romantic interest in her anymore, not after everything that had happened, everything that would happen five months from now. And she wouldn't let herself have any interest in him. They would be coparents. Though Georgia accepted that she'd be doing the lion's share.

Timmy stirred and Georgia moved on down the hall toward the parlor, finding herself lost in memories of her childhood as she looked at all the family photos on the walls and atop the old piano. “Time to start baking,” she whispered to Timmy, careful not to wake up her grandmother, whose room was on the first floor, or Clementine, who had their childhood room on the third floor. She brought Timmy over to the big window with its view of Blue Gulch Street and some shops and other restaurants. Then she brought him back into the kitchen and settled him into his carrier on the table by the window, ready to get to work.

The scent of chocolate cupcakes baking brought Gram into the kitchen, followed by Clementine a few minutes later. As it had yesterday, her heart practically jumped out of her chest at the sight of her beloved grandmother, so strong and healthy now, her chin-length white-gray hair pulled back with two pretty clips. And Clementine, her youngest sister, in her trademark yoga pants and long T-shirt and brightly colored flip-flops.

I'm home. I'm really home
, she thought as her grandmother and Clementine beelined for the baby on the table by the bay window.

They marveled over how sweet and precious Timmy was while Georgia texted Annabel that they were all in the kitchen if she was available to come over. Annabel texted back
Yes!!! Be there in a flash
, and ten minutes later, Annabel arrived, her long auburn hair in a ponytail with three sparkly scrunchies, the work of her five-year-old stepdaughter, Georgia figured, smiling.

Annabel peeked at Timmy in his carrier and gasped. “He's so beautiful! Look at those cheeks!”

Georgia laughed. “So pinchable! Not that I would really pinch them. I just love the baby-powder smell of him.”

Clementine put on a pot of coffee and then she, Annabel and Gram sat at the round table after Georgia assured them she didn't want help baking. “I hope we don't wake him up with our gabbing.”

“Well, I've only been his nanny for about twelve hours,” Georgia said, “but he seems to sleep like a champ in three-hour intervals.”

Annabel added cream to her steaming blue mug. “It's so good to see you back here. I still can't wrap my mind around what you went through in Houston.” Annabel's expression turned grim.

Georgia cracked three eggs into the big silver mixing bowl on the center island. She didn't want to talk about Houston, but she knew her family might need to. She'd told them everything yesterday after she left the police station, and their reaction, the fear and worry and sadness in their eyes, brought her to tears now. She blinked them away. It was over; she was here and safe. “Sometimes I can't either. I'm just glad it's behind me and that I'm home.”

Essie stood up and walked over to Georgia, wrapping her arms around her granddaughter. “I know why you stayed quiet, Georgia. I understand you were worried about us. And for good reason. But if anything ever happens to any of you,” she said, looking at each of her granddaughters, “you speak up. If the police can't help, you bring in your own cavalry—family, friends, people who love you. I know it's easy to say in hindsight.”

Each of them promised and Gram sat back down with her coffee, the conversation thankfully turning to Timmy's cheeks again. For Georgia's benefit, she understood. Of all the things Georgia knew for sure, it was that her family knew her inside and out. She'd told them she was pregnant and that Nick Slater was the father. They were giving her space on that too, not peppering her with questions. She sure appreciated that.

She added the cocoa to the batter, closing her eyes and breathing in the fragrant scent that never failed to soothe her. Baking had always had that effect on her—since she was a little girl learning at her mother's hip and then at her grandmother's after her parents had died in a car accident when Georgia was sixteen. Essie Hurley had taken in the three Hurley girls and given them time and space to mourn. Though there were three small bedrooms on the second floor, the three grieving Hurley girls had wanted to share one room, to be close together in the dark of night after having lost their parents, so they'd taken the big attic bedroom. Their beds had been lined up next to one another, with Clementine, the youngest, in the middle.

Like her sister Annabel, Georgia had found herself gravitating toward the kitchen but not watching step by step as Gram made her famed barbecue or pulled pork for po'boys the way Annabel did. Georgia had instead been glued to Hattie's side. Hattie was Gram's longtime assistant who baked for the restaurant. Cakes, pies, tarts, cookies. Back then, though, being a baker or pastry chef wasn't even on Georgia's mind. She had been something of a math whiz and knew she wanted to be involved in business, work in a sky-rise glass building and wear fancy suits with high heels to work the way businesswomen did in movies.

And for a while she'd been happy, working her way up the corporate ladder in Houston. Until she started missing home, missing a quieter, slower, easier, nicer lifestyle. When she'd first gotten involved with James, she thought maybe she was just waiting for the right man. Now she shuddered to even remember that she'd thought he was Mr. Right.

Some judgment.

I promise you, little one
, she said silently to her belly.
You come first. I won't do anything that will jeopardize your future or happiness.

When Timmy started fussing, Clementine gently picked him up from the carrier. Clementine often babysat for folks around town and she held Timmy like a pro. “Someone left this tiny baby on a detective's desk in an empty police station,” she muttered. “Who does that? Why not leave him with a relative?”

“Clementine, you really can't judge when you don't have all the facts,” Gram said, sipping her coffee. “There has to be a good reason the baby's mother left him with Detective Slater.”

Georgia adored her grandmother, who always did the right thing or the fair thing, depending on the situation. She was so grateful for Essie Hurley. Last night, when she'd let her grandmother know that she'd be staying at Detective Slater's house for the week as a live-in sitter, Essie only told her that sounded like a win-win for all parties. If she had anything else to say on the subject, she'd kept silent and would wait until she was asked.

“Left him on his
desk
,” Clementine reminded them. “And given what Georgia said about the timing—that he'd gone out for fifteen minutes to pick up lunch—obviously the mother waited until he was gone to leave Timmy. She didn't want to be caught. She wants to be anonymous. Why? Because she's trouble.”

“Or
in
trouble,” Annabel said.

“I just hate the way babies and kids are at the mercy of adults who don't give a fig or put themselves in bad situations,” Clementine said, cradling Timmy close.

Georgia walked over to Clementine and put a hand on her sister's shoulder. Charlaine and Clinton Hurley had rescued Clementine from a bad foster situation when she was just eight years old and were able to adopt her when her birth mother severed her parental rights. That day had been both the best and the worst of Clementine's life, Clementine had once said, knowing her birth mother had walked away for good when she was eight, but allowing her to find a permanent home with the Hurleys, to have two older sisters who adored her. Clementine didn't talk often about her birth mother, who'd been a drug addict back then and who'd relapsed several times since. Her birth mother lived right in town in a small apartment above the library but crossed the street when she saw Clementine or any of the Hurleys coming.

“You know, Clem,” Georgia said softly, “you could say the same thing about me. I ended up in a bad situation with my former boss. Was it my fault for falling for him? For not seeing signs? Or was he a master manipulator? I think I'm pretty smart and levelheaded, and even I fell prey. It can happen to anyone. I wish that wasn't true, but it is.”

Tears pooled in Clementine's eyes. “I didn't mean—” She looked down at Timmy and kissed the top of his head, covered in a soft knit yellow hat. “I'm sorry. I know you're right. I'm just...angry about how things work sometimes, how things are.”

“Well, that's both good and bad,” Essie said. “Good if you do something positive with your anger. Bad if you let it seep inside your bones.
Capisce?
”

Even Clementine had to smile.
“Capisce.”
She glanced at Georgia. “Are you really home for good? Not going back to Houston?”

Georgia shook her head. “No way. I'm home for good.”

“I'm very glad to hear you say that,” Essie said. “Because with Hattie gone to help care for her granddaughters, we've sorely needed a baker and I'm overjoyed you've agreed. I do okay and I make a mean biscuit, but no one bakes a chocolate layer cake like you, Georgia.”

Georgia smiled, the compliment from her grandmother nestling in her heart. “I'm just glad to finally be able to help out around here.”

Over the next few hours, as Gram and Annabel got busy making sauces, from Creole to barbecue to white gravy for chicken-fried steak, and Clementine set up the dining room, Georgia baked two chocolate layer cakes, three pies—blueberry, apple and lemon meringue—and two dozen chocolate-chip cookies. They talked and laughed and reminisced and gossiped and it was as if Georgia had never been gone. Then Gram and Clementine left for the farmers' market, and Annabel headed to the door to get home for lunch.

“Do you instinctively know what to do?” she asked Annabel, who was stepmother to her husband West Montgomery's five-year-old daughter. She and West had married back in April in a business arrangement to save both Hurley's and West's family—but the two had realized how much they loved each other and their marriage became very real. “Or have you had to learn as you go?”

Annabel smiled. “I'd say a bit of both. Sometimes I surprise myself. Sometimes I'm so afraid to say or do the wrong thing. But even when I do, it works out because my heart is definitely in the right place. You know?”

Georgia nodded. “But at least a five-year-old can tell you you're braiding her hair too tightly or whatever. With Timmy—and with my own baby—I'll have to figure it out for myself. What if I figure wrong?”

“You'll do fine,” Annabel said. “I don't have experience with babies either, but moms I know always say you'll just figure it out as you go and you can quickly tell the different between cries. One waaah means hunger, another means pick me up, another means wet diaper.”

Georgia bit her lip. “Sounds complicated.”

Annabel dug into her tote bag and handed over a thick book. “I almost forgot! I borrowed this for you from West's bookshelves.
Your Baby 101.
”