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Waiting for the Wedding
Carla Cassidy
They'd waited for their wedding night…the night that never happened. And five years later Sherry Boyd still held fast to her virginity. But it seemed her former fiance, Clint Grahan, had not–the "evidence" lay nestled against his broad chest. Now, the irresistible sheriff came to her–of all people–for help in caring for the beautiful baby who had been dropped in his lap. Well, the man had nerve! Sherry had locked bittersweet memories of Clint in a box with her engagement ring. But here they were, crashing back…and here she was, on her once-beloved's doorstep, taking the child in her arms, her heart fluttering the way it used to…
Dear Reader,
To me, there is something intensely romantic about a heroine who experiences for the first time the wonder of lovemaking with the hero—the man who will be her first, her last, her only.
Sherry Boyd is a special heroine, a woman who has given up her dreams of a wedding, a family and a future with small-town sheriff and ex-boyfriend Clint Graham. How wonderful it was for me to get to play matchmaker and see that these two loving people got their happily-ever-after.
I hope you enjoy their story and that you will find your own special happily-ever-after.
Best wishes,
Carla Cassidy
Waiting for the Wedding
Carla Cassidy
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CARLA CASSIDY
is an award-winning author who has written more than fifty books for Harlequin and Silhouette Books. In 1995 she won Best Silhouette Romance from RT Book Reviews for Anything for Danny. In 1998 she also won a Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series.
Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.
To Kathryn and Carlee, I love you!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Chapter One
The last thing Sheriff Clint Graham expected to see when he opened his front door on an early April morning was a baby on his doorstep. Yet, there she was, a bundle of sleeping baby wrapped in a pink blanket and resting in a car seat. Next to the car seat on the wooden porch was a small diaper bag.
Clint looked around. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, promising another glorious spring day. The light of a new dawn painted the tidy homes on his street in a lush, golden light. It was the kind of day that reminded him why he loved the small town of Armordale, Kansas.
He eyed the house on the left, then the house on the right. He knew his neighbors on both sides, knew they probably weren’t responsible for the surprise package. He studied the shrubs and trees, seeking the person who’d left the baby.
Nobody. There was nobody around, no cars parked on the street, no strangers lurking in the shadows. Nothing seemed amiss. Except there was a baby on his porch.
Unsure exactly what to do, Clint carefully picked up the car seat and carried the baby into the kitchen. He set the seat on the kitchen table and stared at the cherubic little face.
Pale wisps of blond hair adorned the top of her head. Her cheeks were rounded, her lips little rosebuds that trembled slightly with each breath. He had no idea who she was, how old she was or why she’d been left on his porch.
It was then he noticed the white edge of a folded piece of paper tucked into her blanket. Gingerly he pulled it free, not wanting to awaken her.
He opened the note, frowning as he read.
I’ve never asked you for anything since Kathryn was born. I’ve never asked you to be a husband to me or a father to her, but now I need your help. I’m in danger and must be gone for a week or two. Please keep her safe for me. When things are back to normal, I’ll return for her, then she and I will once again disappear from your life.
His heart thudded to a halt. The note wasn’t signed.
Was it possible? For a brief moment crazy thoughts filled his head.
No, surely not. He’d have heard something. Somebody would have told him. Somehow he’d have known. He shoved aside his momentary, outrageous thoughts.
He stared at the letter again. It was written on plain white notebook paper. There was no clue as to who might have written it. He set it aside, his frown deepening.
Danger. The note said there was danger. Had the mother dropped the baby off here because Clint was sheriff? Before he had time to fully assess the situation, there was a knock on his door.
He hurried to answer, afraid the discordant noise would awaken the slumbering infant. He opened the door and held a finger to his lips.
“What’s the matter?” Andy Lipkin, Clint’s deputy whispered. He held two foam cups in his hands, steam rising from the hot coffee.
It had become routine for the two men to ride together to the sheriff’s station. Andy bought the coffee in the mornings, and Clint bought the sodas on the drive home in the evenings.
“Follow me and be quiet.” Clint motioned Andy into the kitchen. Andy stopped short in the doorway as he spied the baby in the center of the kitchen table. On tiptoe, the big, burly man walked toward the table. “What’s that?” He set down the two coffees.
“Looks like a baby to me,” Clint replied dryly. “She was left on my doorstep a little while ago.” He handed Andy the note that had accompanied the surprise bundle.
Andy scanned the note, then handed it back to Clint. “You know who she is?”
“I don’t have a clue,” Clint exclaimed.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Clint replied. He stared thoughtfully at the sleeping little girl, then looked back at his deputy. He didn’t even want to think of what would happen when she awakened. He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “You go on into the office, and I’ll figure something out here. I’ll try to come in by noon.”
Andy grabbed one of the coffees, and together he and Clint tiptoed out of the kitchen. “You going to call Social Services in Kansas City?” Andy asked.
Clint frowned, thinking of that sweet little baby being swallowed by the system. It was possible if he turned Kathryn in to Social Services, Kathryn’s mother would never get the little girl back. Until he knew the mother’s identity and the circumstances of the temporary abandonment, he hated to do anything so final.
“Not immediately,” he said thoughtfully. “I’d like to try to figure out what’s going on before I go the Social Services route. This is a small town, and usually people know each other’s business. Maybe somebody will know what’s going on with this baby and her mother.”
Andy nodded. “Okay, I’ll get out of here.” He walked to the door and opened it, then looked back at Clint. “So, if anybody calls and needs you, I should just tell them you’re playing nanny for the day?” He grinned.
“You tell anyone that, and I’ll file the points off your badge. Now, get out of here,” Clint said with a laugh. “I’ll call you later.”
After Andy had left, Clint went back into the kitchen and once again stared at the baby.
Who was she? Kathryn who? Where was her mother? What kind of danger threatened her enough to leave her baby on a doorstep?
He couldn’t very well play nanny for the next week or two. If he didn’t intend to turn little Kathryn over to Social Services, then he’d need to make other arrangements.
Sherry. The name instantly came to mind, bringing with it an enormous sense of relief. She would help. After all, she was his best friend.
Without giving himself a chance to think twice, he picked up the receiver and dialed her number.
She answered on the third ring, her voice deeper, husky from sleep.
“Did I wake you?” he asked.
“No. The phone did,” she said dryly. “What time is it?” He heard the rustle of sheets, then a squeal of outrage. “Clint Graham, how dare you call me at seven o’clock in the morning. You know I don’t do mornings.”
“And you know I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important,” he replied.
Again he heard the rustle of bedclothes, and, unbidden, his mind filled with a vision of her in bed. Her streaked blond hair would be tousled and flowing down her shoulders. Her cheeks would be sweetly flushed. Her vivid green eyes would be drowsy with half sleep—sexy bedroom eyes.
“Clint?” Her voice held an edge of aggravation, letting him know she’d probably called his name more than once.
He shook his head, dislodging the crazy image. Where had that come from? It had been a long time since Sherry’d had long hair, and he’d never actually seen her in bed. He’d stopped those kinds of fantasies long ago.
“I’m here,” he said.
“I asked you what’s so important it couldn’t wait until a reasonable hour?”
“Darlin’, for most people seven o’clock in the morning is a reasonable hour.”
“If you don’t tell me in the next ten seconds why you called, I’m going to hang up and go back to sleep.”
Clint could tell by her tone of voice that she wasn’t kidding. “I have a sort of situation here, and I need your help. Can you come over?”
“Clint? Are you all right?” Her irritation was gone, replaced by worry. “You haven’t caught that nasty flu again, have you?”
“I’m fine. Nothing is wrong, I’m not sick and I really hate to get into it over the phone. Come over, Sherry. You haven’t even seen my new place. I’ll make you a big breakfast—biscuits and gravy,” he said.
“I smell a rat in the house,” Sherry exclaimed. “The last time you cooked me biscuits and gravy you asked me to take care of a ‘little’ of your laundry.”
Clint laughed. “I was sick,” he protested. “I didn’t realize so much laundry had piled up. I promise this involves no heavy work.”
“Okay…give me half an hour and I’ll be there,” she agreed, then hung up.
Clint also hung up, and gave a sigh of relief. Sherry could help him decide what to do. He leaned back in his chair, his thoughts filled with the woman he’d just spoken to.
It was odd. Five years ago he’d believed she was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with, that they would marry and have a family and live happily ever after. It was odd that when their plans hadn’t worked out, they’d managed to put love behind and hang on to friendship.
There was very little left of the Sherry he’d fallen in love with years before. She’d undergone a dramatic transformation, one that had begun the day she discovered she would never have children of her own.
Clint frowned and stared at the baby. Maybe calling Sherry hadn’t been such a great idea. As if in agreement, little Kathryn’s eyes opened wide. She took one long look at him. Her lower lip trembled, her face turned red. She opened up her mouth and wailed.
Sherry Boyd took a fast shower, dressed, then jumped into her car and headed toward Clint’s new place. Two weeks before, he’d moved from an apartment into a nice three-bedroom ranch house on Main.
As she drove, she tried to think of what situation Clint had that would demand her presence, but nothing concrete came to mind.
Turning left on Main, she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. She’d worked until three that morning, and her body felt the effects of too little sleep. Her eyes felt grainy, her feet ached from the long hours of waitressing, and a light headache pounded at her temples.
“This better be good, Sheriff Graham,” she said aloud as she spied his house in the middle of the block ahead.
She and Graham had lived in the same apartment building for the past four years, up until two weeks ago when this gem of a house had come up for sale. Within days Clint had bought the house and arranged his move.
It was a pleasant, white ranch with black shutters adorning the windows. Spring flowers were already pushing up, adding a splash of color against the white siding.
Sherry heard a baby wailing the moment she opened her car door and stepped out. Instantly she tensed and felt a wind blow through her, the desolate wind of barrenness, a mournful cry of what would never be.
The noise couldn’t be coming from Clint’s place, she reasoned. It was just a trick of the wind. Probably one of the neighbors had a small child.
She reached the front door and knocked, the baby cry louder than before. “Clint?” she yelled. When there was no immediate response, she opened the door and stepped inside.
Clint appeared in the kitchen doorway at the same instant, a sobbing baby girl in his arms. “Thank God you’re here,” he exclaimed.
For a few seconds Sherry merely stared at him, her mind working to make sense of the scene. Clint’s dark hair stood on end, and the front of his shirt was wet with what she suspected was either baby spit-up or slobber.
It was difficult to see exactly what the baby looked like. Her face was bright red at the moment, her features all scrunched up with her unhappiness.
“What’s going on?” Sherry asked. She remained standing where she was, refusing to hold her arms out for the baby, even though she knew that was probably what Clint wanted.
For the past five years, Sherry had made conscious choices that would keep her from being in the presence of children. She’d quit her third-grade teaching job and now worked as a waitress in the town’s most popular tavern. She chose her friends carefully, usually people with either no children, or older kids.
“I can’t make her stop crying,” Clint said frantically. As he talked, he jiggled the baby in his arms. Up and down, up and down, the motion made Sherry feel half-sick, and she had a feeling it wasn’t soothing the baby at all.
“Is she wet?” Sherry asked, still not moving a single step forward.
“I don’t know. I’m wet. She must be,” Clint replied, raising his voice to be heard above the sobbing child.
Sherry could stand it no longer. Despite her reluctance, she moved to where Clint stood, and took the baby from him. The little girl snuggled against Sherry’s chest, her sobs ebbing as if she was comforted by the feminine arms.
