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What precisely did he mean by “dig”?
Whatever it was, she would avoid it. He could be a friend, and that would be easy enough because she got the feeling he’d be leaving just as soon as he satisfied himself about Tony Amati for whatever reason.
That made everything pretty simple.
He stood, reaching out a hand to help her to her feet. When she grabbed it, a blast zipped up her fingers, heating her hand, her arm. Her chest.
Everywhere.
“I’m off work tomorrow if that suits you,” he said. “Maybe I could drop by sometime early?”
Based on his regular appearances at the diner, he had to know that tomorrow was her day off, too. But she had some baby furniture being delivered at nine, and she didn’t want him there to see proof of her condition. Not before she was ready for the dirt to hit the fan in this town and for her to have to tidy up all the growing lies she would have to tell.
“How about eleven?” she asked, going for something a little later than an early-rising cowboy probably had in mind.
“Sounds like a plan.”
They hadn’t disconnected hands yet, and when she realized it, she stepped away, finally distancing herself.
Her skin still burned, though. Wanting, needing.
She gave him back the journal, and when he started to walk away, the hunger didn’t ease off, as her stomach tumbled with what had to be a thrill.
Suddenly she found herself asking him something better left unasked.
“Just why is it so important that you find out everything you can about Tony?”
His shoulders stiffened as he paused. But then he shrugged, and he almost pulled it off, too, except for the way his smile seemed strained.
“It’s not important,” he said as he lifted a hand in farewell, then sauntered toward his truck parked near the entrance to the mercantile, where he’d probably be filling it with supplies for the Harrison ranch.
It was the first obvious lie he’d ever told Annette, but she reminded herself that it was for the best.
She should be grateful for the distance he was putting between them, step by step.
And heartbeat by wistful heartbeat.
* * *
After Jared had banked some hours on the Harrison ranch, doing maintenance around the stables, he headed for dinner at Gran’s house.
She lived in what he thought of as a gingerbread cottage, with brown planked walls and white trim around the doors and windows. He’d found out that the hand-painted decorations on the flower boxes under the windows had been done by his grandpa, back in the day, before his heart attack had left Gran alone for going on ten years now.
When he knocked, it took her a few minutes to answer, but he knew she’d get around to it just fine.
And when she did, she had a smile on her face as she opened her arms to him and gave him a great big hug.
“It hasn’t been but a few days, but I missed you silly,” she said as she pulled away, lifting her hands to pat his cheeks.
Jared hadn’t ever had his cheeks patted like that before, and he felt his face going red. Gran thought that was pretty funny, and she had a good laugh.
He waited her out, still cautious around her because he’d never had a grandma before. His adoptive mom and dad had been older, both orphaned, and that’s why Uncle Stuart, who’d never planned to have kids, had taken him in. In his own way, he had shown Jared that he wasn’t very wanted.
He supposed that’s why Tony held such an appeal for him—the man wasn’t here to ever turn him aside, whereas a real-live grandma just might turn Jared away someday.
When she was done with her chuckles, she waved him inside, where it smelled like gingerbread, too. And casserole. And mothballs. But it was a comforting combination of smells that had already grown on him as much as he would ever allow it to.
“Take a seat,” she said, gesturing to a battered recliner that had seen better days.
She settled on the worn doily-decorated sofa next to him, pouring sodas into waiting glasses, just as efficient as always.
She’d already donned a flowery housedress, as if it was a gown she used for entertaining guests—or, conversely, as if she’d become so used to him that she didn’t mind what she wore when he came over. Her silver hair was in a low ponytail, and she was far too delicate to resemble a cowgirl who’d once helped to run a ranch with her husband before they sold it off years ago.
He set the oilcloth-wrapped journal on the table, and she stopped pouring.
“I thought I saw you bearing a gift, Jared, but I’m more of a roses or chocolates woman.” She touched the oilcloth. “Just what is this?”
“I asked the same thing yesterday when a friend brought it to me.” He explained who it belonged to and why his friend had found it in her garden.
It didn’t take Gran but a second to pounce on the item. Her creased forehead told him that she was worried about the contents.
“Don’t fret,” he said. “I didn’t find out a whole lot about the man.”
“I’m not fretting.” But she used her finger to help her speed through each line of each page anyway.
While she did that, Jared drank his soda. He even grabbed the remote to turn on the old TV and flip through the channels.
He wanted to ask Gran if she wouldn’t mind getting out all the old photo albums she’d shown him over the months. Pictures of her wedding to his grandfather, images of Grandpa as a dimple-cheeked blond child.
Photos of Grandpa’s mom, Tessa Hadenfield, in particular, with her blond hair and dimpled, spritely smile.
When Gran was done reading, she took the remote from him and turned off the tube. She was no longer frowning.
“Find anything worrisome?” he asked.
“Hardly. I kept a diary when I was younger, too, but I was a teenager. Tony must not have had many friends to talk to.”
“Just the journal.”
“He was terribly sweet on whoever this girl was, though. That’s clear.”
And doesn’t that make you connect any dots? Jared thought. Isn’t there a possibility that Tony and this girl got together even outside of marriage and had a kid, and that kid had their own child, and then...that child had him?
Even more to the point, because the P.I. who’d directed him to Gran had told him that she was his maternal grandmother, Jared suspected that Tony had perhaps fallen in love with his great-grandmother Tessa, who’d been the sheriff’s daughter.
And the woman who’d gotten married to someone who wasn’t Tony.
Was that what Tony meant whenever he mentioned terrible sins?
But Jared knew it was fruitless to ask Gran about all this because, for whatever reason, she wouldn’t talk about Tony in anything but broad strokes.
So Jared took the less obvious route.
“Who do you think the woman was?” he asked.
“Tony’s dreamboat? I have no idea.”
Uh-huh. Jared knew lies from truths, and this was a prime example of the former. But he also knew his gran by this time, too, because he’d spent several months in her company at their weekly dinners.
She wasn’t going to give up anything to him she didn’t want to.
When she popped out of her seat to see to the meal, Jared took the journal in his hands again, opening it to another passage that he’d lingered over last night.
She’s an angel, and when the sunlight catches her hair, it’s as if I can catch a glimpse of a found paradise....
And, just like last night, Jared couldn’t help but picture a woman who resembled his own blond angel, even though he didn’t have a devil of a chance with her.
Chapter Three
Well, isn’t this the story of my life? Annette thought as Jared arrived moments before the baby furniture delivery guys wrapped up their business in her condo.
Always with the bad timing.
He was at her open door, stopping at the threshold after the delivery man from a store in New Town carried in a box to the second bedroom.
Jared removed his hat, revealing black hair that was so thick and wavy it made her melt.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asked.
All she could do was shrug. “My delivery was late. I was hoping—”
“That I wouldn’t be here to see this?”
“Pretty much.”
A second delivery man saved her when he came up to her with a slip to sign. When they left, she beckoned Jared all the way inside, took his coat and hat, and put them on her dining table.
Capital A awkward, she thought. She’d scheduled the delivery when she knew the bulk of her neighbors, most of whom had jobs in the more modern New Town, would be at work. And, by now, she’d meant to have all the furniture in the baby’s room shut up tight so Jared wouldn’t see it. When the delivery had been delayed, she hadn’t had a phone number for him to put off his coming over.
But her secret was popping out in the shape of her belly, anyway. She knew she’d been lucky it’d happened later rather than sooner in her pregnancy because she’d been dreading having to face the questions.
Why not start with explaining her pregnancy story to Jared? He was the closest thing she had to a friend in town, which was sad. But it’d been her decision to stay private. She still talked to all her old friends—the ones who hadn’t slept with Brett—on the disposable cell phones she bought. She never told them where she’d gone or that she was pregnant, although she assured them she was happy and safe.
Privacy, she thought. And discretion. She didn’t want to do anything to raise a red flag and encourage Brett to find her.
“So,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She was wearing a baggy sweater, but she still felt as if every pregnant part of her—from her buxom boobs to her belly—was on display. She’d also read that most women started feeling unattractive once they hit their third trimester, but...well, she’d liked the bigger boobs. And she liked the roundness of her belly, too. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag.”
He stuck his hands in his jeans pockets, and that’s when she knew for certain that he’d already guessed she was pregnant.
“Not to be fresh, but your cat’s becoming pretty obvious,” he said.
“How many people do you think have noticed?”
“I have no idea. But it was just the other day when I thought I saw...” He made a slight curving motion with his hand in front of his belly.
“Ah.” A flush steamed up her face. Either the good people of St. Valentine hadn’t been looking very hard at her or Jared had been...
Well, looking more than anyone.
She almost fanned herself at the very thought. It was nice to be looked at by him, even though she wanted to discourage it.
“Pardon me for asking,” he said, “but why do you care if everyone finds out?”
Oh, goody, here it went. The big-league lies.
The words rushed out. “I was seeing the baby’s father when I got pregnant, but he passed away before he ever knew.” Liar. “I came here to start over.”
That was definitely the truth.
Even so, Jared was frowning, as if she’d tripped up in her story already and he’d caught onto the snag.
Did the man have a built-in BS detector or something?
He surprised her by circling around the hundred other questions he could’ve asked, but she could tell the subject was still on his mind.
“It looked as if some of that baby stuff needs assembly,” he said.
“I thought I’d take care of that today while you were in the backyard. I want to start arranging the baby’s room before it gets too hard to move around at all.”
“I’ve got time enough to help out.”
But he didn’t move. Instead, he peered around her condo, as if taking in the details that she was so reluctant to give out to anyone.
What did he see in the sparse furnishings, like the sofa and the curtains she’d bought at a secondhand store in New Town? Or the retro pop prints—the Andy Warhol–inspired panel art featuring old-school starlets—she’d seen in a boutique window and which were now hanging on her walls?
Actually she had splurged on those because she hadn’t been able to afford much after leaving the wedding. She’d cut up her credit cards early on, avoiding a paper trail. All she’d been able to do when she’d left Brett was make a quick trip to the bank and empty what she had in her account, which had been meager at best.
Yes, money had always been modest in the Olsen household.
Until she’d met Brett and fallen for him.
Without waiting for Annette to give the go-ahead, Jared brazenly went for the baby’s room, his boot steps heavy on the carpet.
His take-charge attitude sent that thrill through her again, but she banished it. Brett had been a real I’ll-take-care-of-this guy, too, and with every footstep she heard, the reminder was stamped into her.
She followed Jared into the second bedroom, which showed hints of the baby who would make this place into a real home in a short time. A Thumper wall hanging was the first decoration she’d purchased out of her initial waitressing paycheck, and she’d bought something small each time afterward: a mobile that was sitting in the corner and waiting for a crib to dangle over, a pile of soft blankets, a rocking chair she’d found at a yard sale a month ago. She’d finally had enough money to get the real big stuff just last week, and she planned to buy even more when she could afford to after putting aside a chunk of funds for medical bills and maternity leave.
Jared was standing in the midst of the baby paraphernalia, completely out of place, just like Gulliver in Lilliput.
