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

“Okay,” he said, entwining his arms around Logan's neck. The little boy bit his lip; then his attention caught on Georgia's sister Clementine past his uncle's shoulder. “Hi, Clementine!” Henry called. “I didn't find a frog. But Harry did.”

Clementine smiled at the boy, but if Nick wasn't mistaken, she looked on the verge of tears.

“All's well that ends well,” the chief said, calling off the search. He thanked everyone for coming out, shook Nick's hand on a job well done, then tipped his hat to Clementine, Georgia and Annabel as he headed back toward the fence.

Nick watched Logan Grainger hug his nephew tight, Logan's eyes glistening. Detective that he was, he caught Logan blink them away, slide a glance at Clementine that was full of tension and then turn away to face the small crowd. He thanked everyone for coming out.

“Detective Slater, I owe you one,” Logan said.

“Just glad to see your boy safe and sound.” As the search party dispersed, Nick glanced over at Georgia, but she and Annabel were deep in quiet conversation with Clementine, who looked very upset.

Ah. Something was going on—or not—between Clementine and Logan.

“I love you so much,” he heard Logan say to Henry, wrapped in his arms. “You and your brother mean everything to me. Don't scare me like that again, okay?”

“Okay, Uncle Logan,” Henry said.

As Logan headed toward the fence and crawled back through the ripped opening, a posse had already formed to mend the fence. There was Joe, Logan's nearest neighbor. The owner of the hardware store with wire. Even Officer Midwell, who couldn't seem to concentrate on anything because of his crush on a coffee-shop barista, was rolling up his sleeves, ready to help.

“This town really knows how to pull together,” Georgia said from behind him. “I can't believe I ever moved away, that I ever thought I'd be happy in the city. This is what I want. This is what I want for our son.”

Our son. Nick thought of that grainy image on the monitor, then stared at the ground, looking over at the tree where Henry had been hiding. What if he didn't have that fierce love in himself that he'd just witnessed in Logan Grainger? What if his son went missing and Nick acted like his own father? What if caring, really caring, wasn't part of his DNA? Yeah, he cared about his sister. But a kid sister wasn't the same as a baby to raise.

He'd learned in dealing with his sister that parenthood—older brotherhood—was hard. That Avery was a separate person with her own ideas, thoughts, opinions and that those didn't necessarily mesh with his own. He said this, she said that and suddenly they were arguing. As if a sixteen-year-old girl should be staying out late and going to parties where who knew what was going on.

“You're too strict for no reason!” Avery would screech, and slam her door, the rattle reverberating in his head for hours.

He just wanted her safe, wanted her to get to adulthood. So yes, he'd been strict. He'd followed something of a rulebook that made sense to him. Unfortunately, that book had made little sense to Avery, so a few times she'd admitted she'd heard through the grapevine that something had happened and she was relieved not to be somewhere Nick hadn't let her go.

He could barely parent a teenage girl for two years. He was going to start from scratch with a newborn? And stay in Blue Gulch?

“See you later at home,” he said to Georgia as though she'd been talking about the weather or what she'd baked that morning.

The disappointment on her face poked at his chest. An hour ago, her expression had been blissful, full of wonder, as she'd looked at their baby on the ultrasound monitor, as she'd learned they were having a boy. One conversation with Nick and whammo, strain and sadness.
Jerk
, he chastised himself for the third time that day. He was grateful when she gave him one last look, her chin lifted, then turned and headed back to where her sisters waited for her.

He watched her for a moment, almost unable to tear his gaze away from her, the sway of her hips, the sun shining on her light brown hair.
I'll break your heart
, he thought, wanting to scream it at her back, to tell her to run far away from him.
I'm beyond repair. Stay away for your own good.

Sometimes he thought she knew that. But other times, like last night, when he'd rushed into her bedroom, when she'd looked at him with such trust, when she'd handed Timmy over to him as though he were the kind of man you handed a baby to, he realized she couldn't know. Because if she did know what a stone wall he had for a heart, she wouldn't try so hard.

Maybe she wasn't trying. Maybe she was just being Georgia—kind, optimistic, making the best.

All he knew for sure was that he was standing on the edge of the forest in front of the fence being repaired, thinking long and hard about a woman he planned to walk away from. Had to walk away from. For her benefit.

He needed to focus on finding Timmy's mother.
Blinders on
,
he told himself, forcing himself to turn around.

Chapter Eight

A
s Georgia walked up the pinecone-strewn ground to where Annabel stood, her heart felt so heavy she was surprised she didn't slump over. Maybe it was wrong to try to show Nick that Blue Gulch was a wonderful place to live, that he could take it back for himself, realize there were many good memories here, that he was so important to this town. She was pushing her agenda on him. But that agenda was about him having his hometown back. And yes, having her son's father live right in town was important to her. What if he went back to Houston? Houston was three hours away.

And reminded Georgia of a time she wanted to forget.

Huh. Clearly, Blue Gulch had the same effect on Nick. Maybe she understood more than she realized. She never wanted to go back to Houston, never wanted to see her old neighborhood or her condo, which she would put on the market when she could deal with it. It was hardly fair of her to expect Nick to stay in town when she couldn't imagine stepping foot in Houston ever again. She'd still work on Operation Dad, though. He might not live in Blue Gulch, but he'd be a daddy whether he wanted to be one or not. So helping him along in that department was a necessity.

“Where did Clementine go?” Annabel asked as Georgia approached. “I figured she'd ride home with us, but I don't see her. She didn't leave with Logan and Henry. So where is she?”

Georgia slowly turned, looking around the woods the way she'd seen Nick do. She spotted the silver-blue of Clementine's flip-flops. Clementine was sitting against a tree, her knees up against her chest, her head against her folded hands.

Georgia and Annabel glanced at each other, then walked over and sat down on either side of her.

“Clem?” Georgia said, putting a hand on her arm. “We're here if you want to talk about it.”

Clementine pushed her long dark hair behind her shoulders. “Why do I keep thinking that he's going to change his mind about me? You know the saying ‘Dumb is when you keep doing the same thing and expect a different outcome'? That's me.”

“Clem, honey, are you talking about Logan?” Georgia asked.

Clementine Hurley was well known for being private. But she had the opposite of a poker face, so she gave her broken heart or her anger or her hope away with her expression, even if she very rarely talked about her love life. Or anything to do with her emotions. Was she involved with Logan? All Georgia knew about him was that he was raising his orphaned twin nephews and working hard to keep his cattle ranch going.

“I've been in love with that man since I started babysitting for him,” Clementine said. “And I thought there was definitely something between us. But a few days ago, we kissed—for the first time—and the next day he fired me.”

“Fired you?” Georgia and Annabel asked in unison. “Why?” Clementine babysat for a few families in town, but Logan Grainger had been a regular customer for months, since he'd taken in the twins.

Clementine shrugged. “All I know is that he got a letter in the mail that upset him. I thought we were finally making a little headway, but after he read that letter he wasn't the same. And he fired me, no explanation.”

“Wow, Clem, sorry,” Georgia said. “I wonder what the letter was about.”

Clementine's expression was so sad that Georgia's heart clenched. “I don't know. Something to do with his family, probably, or the twins? He won't talk about it.” She dabbed under her eyes with the hem of her tank top. “When I heard Henry was missing, I got so scared. I love that little boy. I love both the twins so much.”

“Maybe you could try talking to Logan,” Georgia suggested. “Maybe he's had some time to calm down after getting the letter and he'll be more reasonable.”

Clementine perked up a little. “I can try. I'll give him a couple of days to get past today's craziness.” She stood up and took a deep breath.

The three Hurley sisters linked arms and headed back toward where Georgia's car was parked. Love sure didn't come easy. Maybe it really was for the best that Georgia was done with it. Even if every time she thought about how done she was, Nick Slater's handsome face flashed into her mind.

* * *

What a day. As the summer sun began its descent, Nick sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and attacking the slice of chocolate cake Georgia had brought home from Hurley's that morning. Before the ultrasound appointment had twisted his gut in more knots than it had already been. Before a missing three-year-old made him wonder if he'd have the same expression as Logan had when his little nephew was gone. When he'd been found. The cake made Nick think of before all that, so he ate the whole thing, as though he could shift time. As though this morning and yesterday and the day before had been any less unsettling.

Damn, Georgia was a good baker. She was good at everything, it seemed. Babysitting infants. Helping search for a missing kid. Helping him find Timmy's mother. She was also good at driving him wild with desire for her. Sometimes, to clear his head, he'd just concentrate on that, on the sensuality of her pretty face, the almond-shaped green eyes and fringe of long lashes, the long, narrow slope of her nose, her wide, beautiful pink-red mouth. Then there was her body, lush and so irresistible he fantasized about her every night. All day, really.

He could hear her giving Timmy a bath in the bathroom sink, in a little blue contraption he'd bought at Baby Center. He could smell that baby soap from here. He'd always liked that smell. That was something, he supposed, as if “likes scent of baby shampoo” was some kind of plus on the how-to-be-a-father checklist. Groan.

He ate the last bite of cake and drank the rest of the coffee, glancing at his notepad on the table. Many names of possibilities for connections to Timmy had been crossed off.

He was beginning to think he wouldn't track down Timmy's mother before Saturday. What if she didn't come back? What if Child Protective Services came to get Timmy at 12:01 p.m. on Saturday? He'd been hoping to find the mother well before to let whoever it was know she wasn't alone, that he would help, whatever the problem was. She was someone who trusted him, and his gut told him—from how well cared for Timmy was, from the note she'd left, that she'd handpicked him, a cop—that she wasn't a criminal but that she was in some kind of trouble.

Tomorrow he'd “bump” into the next name on his list of cases, local lothario John Martin, and watch for any sign of recognition. But Nick had been all over town with Timmy, and word and gossip spread fast in a small town like Blue Gulch. If anyone knew who Timmy belonged to, no one was saying.

That baby smell he liked was getting stronger and closer. He glanced up to see Georgia holding Timmy along her arm, his eyes open and looking straight at Nick. The slate-blue eyes were curious.

“Would you mind holding Timmy for a bit while I make him a bottle?” she asked.

He stood up, holding out his arms as she transferred the baby to him. He leaned close and breathed in that baby-soap smell. “I guess this is practice for the real thing,” he called out toward the kitchen, wanting to acknowledge that morning's ultrasound appointment, the very real baby on the monitor.

“For both of us,” she said as she returned with the bottle, which she handed to him—eyebrow raised, but not aggressively, at least.

“Okay,” he said. “I can do it. I did that first day when I found him on my desk.” He slipped the bottle in Timmy's mouth and the little guy began suckling away, the utter miracle of him, of how tiny he was, how beautiful, almost knocking Nick off his feet. “Hey there,” he said. “I'll bet your mother is missing you like crazy.”

Georgia gently touched Timmy's little foot. “I'll bet she is.”

“There are a couple more people to see tomorrow, related to old cases, but I'll tell you, I'm
really
worried we're not going to find his mother before the deadline.”

“Me too,” she said, heading into the kitchen. He could hear her filling the teakettle with water. “But I'm already of the notion that nothing is easy.”

That was for sure. Starting with how damned attracted he was to Georgia. And how he refused to do anything about it. Though sometimes he had to stop himself from doing anything about it. As she said: nothing was easy.

She returned and sat down beside him on the couch and crossed her legs, slightly facing him. “So, I've been thinking about how things will work once our son is born.”

“What do you mean, exactly?” he asked.

The kettle whistled and she disappeared into the kitchen again. “Well, how you plan to be in his life,” she called out. “Especially if you're going to move away.”

Nick was glad she wasn't in the room to see his expression, which had to match his twisting stomach. Why didn't anything feel right? Staying. Leaving. Not staying. Not leaving. “We'll work it out,” he called back.

She came back with a mug of tea and sat back down. He could smell the chamomile steeping. “How about now? You're my baby's father. I need to know how you're going to approach fatherhood.”

So much for nonaggression, though she had every right. And if he was honest, he liked that she was demanding to know. She was standing up for herself. Given what she'd been through with that bastard in Houston, she'd been unable to do so for quite a while. Nick owed her a real answer. An honest answer. “I'll be there for you and the baby. That's what I know.”

She put down the mug and turned to face him, glancing at Timmy, then back up at Nick. “I want you to know something, Nick, something I believe in with all my heart. And something I've been thinking about since we left the baseball field.
You
choose what kind of father you'll be. Your past doesn't dictate who you are.
You
dictate that.”

This was a conversation he didn't want to have right now. Or ever, really. He wanted to get up and go for a run or take a shower. Just disappear and not...deal. But Georgia was staring at him, her expression soft, and he saw something in her eyes that troubled him: hope.
Don't hold out too much of that hope for me
, he wanted to tell her.

Mr. Whiskers, Avery's cat, appeared out of nowhere and sniffed at his feet, then padded over to the window and jumped up on the sill.

He shifted Timmy in his arms; the little guy was almost done with his bottle. “A person's past is a part of him, Georgia. I can't shake off what's gone on in my life. And trust me, I'd like to.”

“You're so gentle with Timmy,” she said kind of dreamily, looking at the baby in his arms.

Timmy stared up at him, so trusting. Nick wouldn't let him down, but—since he did believe, deep down, that he'd find Timmy's mother—the baby was going home in a few days. This wasn't forever. Nick couldn't do much damage in a week. And it wasn't as though taking responsibility for a baby for a week required a lifetime commitment. His entire life wasn't going to change.

“He's falling asleep,” Georgia said, shaking him out of his thoughts. She gently took Timmy from him and brought him into the bedroom, then came back into the living room with a basket of laundry.

And a change of subject, he hoped.

“You really saved the day today,” she said, setting the basket on the coffee table and taking out a tiny onesie to fold. “Thank God you saw that flash of silver.”

Nick shook his head. “I'm no hero. I just did my job.”

“Well, your job makes you a hero.”

The last thing he was was a hero. Heroes weren't afraid of babies who weren't even born yet.

“Every day I'm here with you makes me feel stronger,” she said, holding his gaze. “I know that the man who tried to take over my life—who did take over my life—is gone. But sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I forget where I am and for a second I feel that same fear. Is that crazy?” She clutched the burp cloth she was folding, tears coming into her eyes.

He leaned toward her, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Not crazy in the slightest. Very normal, Georgia. You went through a very serious trauma. You can't expect to be over it just because the threat is gone. Every day you wake up and feel scared is your brain and body's way of dealing with what you went through. And every moment later, when your mind adjusts to the fact that you're here, that you're safe, that no one and nothing will ever do what that bastard did to you, you'll feel safer every day. Soon enough, you'll wake up the way you did before he ever came into your life.”

She closed her eyes for a second, then dropped the burp cloth back in the basket. “I hope so. Before the baby comes. Do you think it'll go away before then?”

He took her hands in his and held them. “Yes, I do. And it would happen without a six-foot-two-inch cop with a gun in the room next door, Georgia. It'll happen because you're strong, one of the strongest people I've ever met.”

Both her eyebrows shot up. “Strong? Me? I'm just living day by day, dealing with what comes. That doesn't feel strong. It feels...like coping.”

“That's part of being strong,” Nick said. “
Not
coping is a different story. Hiding. Staying under the covers. I get why some people are driven to that kind of desperation. But you're here, Georgia. You're full of determination to put your past behind you and move on. To be the best mother you can be. To be hopeful and positive about people and human nature. Here you are, helping me with Timmy, when you've got a lot on your emotional plate. That's strength.”

She burst into tears and he reached for her, drawing her against his chest. “So much for strength.” She dabbed under her eyes with the burp cloth.

“The strongest people cry,” he said. “When you cry, you're hurting. When you're hurting, you feel. When you feel, you're
alive
.” He lifted her chin with his finger and looked at her. “I'm proud to know you, Georgia Hurley.”