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“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 (#ulink_ed2eefc8-786f-5831-ae7a-f14d6a732344)
The 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.”
Georgia smiled. “Thanks. I definitely need this.” She slipped the book into her own tote bag. “Thanks for everything, Annabel. And for sending Nick Slater to me in Houston in the first place. I’m sorry I worried you. I wish now I’d just told you what was going on.”
Annabel nodded. “Well, I understand why you didn’t. But who knew that my sending a detective to check up on my older sister would end up with said sister pregnant with his baby? Not me.”
They both laughed, but then Georgia’s smile disappeared and she wrapped her sister in a fierce hug. “Thank you, Annabel. And I know I’ve said it too many times already, but I am so sorry. You entered into a business-deal marriage to save Hurley’s.”
Annabel smiled. “Well, I would have done that if Hurley’s had been in the black too. I really married West to stop his former in-laws from trying to sue for custody of his daughter. Now we’re all one big happy family, in-laws included.”
“I’m so happy for you.” Georgia loved the joy she saw in her sister’s eyes.
“Now our big happy family is going to get one person bigger,” Annabel said, eyeing Georgia’s belly. She glanced at her watch. “I’d better run. See you later.”
Alone again in the kitchen, except for napping Timmy, Georgia was sliding the last of the pies from the oven when Timmy began to stir and then let out a wail.
Georgia took off her oven mitts and then rushed over to Timmy, scooping him up from the basinet. “I’m here, sweet boy,” she cooed. “Let’s change your diaper. Hey, I am getting the hang of this.”
She glanced at her watch. Just after eleven-thirty. She and Nick hadn’t made any kind of plan for today, and for all she knew, he was off investigating Timmy’s mother. Or maybe he was home, reading through the case files and using the internet and phone to investigate. She’d left him a note saying she’d taken Timmy to Hurley’s and would be back at lunchtime. Maybe he’d be there too. She’d head back to Nick’s and see.
It would be good for Nick to spend time around Timmy. Just as taking care of Timmy would teach her the rudiments of taking care of her own baby, perhaps being around Timmy would soften Nick’s feelings about fatherhood, get him used to having a baby around.
She could hope, anyway.
Chapter Five (#ulink_f06191e9-2324-5fbd-bcaf-d5bc05d5ee54)
Last night, Nick had woken up to the sound of a baby crying and thought he was dreaming, then remembered. Timmy. And when Timmy had magically quieted down, Nick had bolted up.
Georgia.
Right next door. It had taken him a while to fall asleep, but he did, only to wake up a few hours later to the same cries. Then the same magic quiet. Then he heard the very faint sound of her singing some kind of lullaby.
He hadn’t been able to fall back asleep that last time.
He’d wondered what she was wearing. What she was thinking. If he should knock on her door and offer to make some coffee.
But he hadn’t gotten out of bed. He’d sat up, consciously unwilling to check on Georgia and the baby.
Which was interesting, considering that he’d hired her as his live-in nanny.
You want her close but not too close, he knew.
He’d heard her tiptoeing around at five o’clock, heard the front door gently click. Then he’d sprung out of bed. In the kitchen he’d found she’d made a pot of coffee and left a note: Took Timmy to Hurley’s to meet the family and start my first morning as baker. Back at lunchtime.
He glanced at his watch. It was just about lunchtime. For the past several hours, he’d been parked on the living room couch, the box of case files for the past two years on the coffee table. He’d been too distracted to go through the case files last night, but now they were all fresh in his head, his little notebook full of reminders, schedules and any helpful information. This afternoon, he’d start with the most recent and work his way back. First up: a visit to Harriet Culver, whose greyhound eleven-year-old Jason Pullman had dognapped, then the Pullmans. Harriet was in her early sixties, but perhaps she had a relative or a neighbor who liked how he’d handled the case and thought he’d make an excellent babysitter for the week. Or maybe the Pullmans were connected to Timmy—someone who thought Nick had something to do with how Harriet had been so kind to dogless Timmy when it had been Harriet’s own doing.
He pulled the next file, shaking his head. Penny Jergen, a twenty-four-year-old local beauty queen with a mean streak whose entire wardrobe, including shoes, were stolen and never found. The only evidence? Ashes from a bonfire in a clearing on the outskirts of town, a glittery pink scarf left behind with a rock holding it down. Clearly, someone wanted Penny to know all her clothes and shoes were dust. He’d never cracked that case, and Penny Jergen glared at him in town. If she’d had a baby and had had to leave her infant with someone, he doubted it would be him.
But he’d add her to the list. She’d been difficult, to say the least, and he’d been kind and patient, since her demeanor had reminded him of his sister when she’d been hurt and angry or frustrated. Maybe someone connected to her liked how he’d handled Penny and that someone was Timmy’s mother.
He’d have to backtrack through all these people. He sighed. Sounded tedious and draining. But somewhere in these boxes was the key to Timmy’s mother. So he’d do it.
The doorbell rang and he jogged over to open it. It was Georgia with Timmy.
“You don’t have to ring the doorbell,” he told her, again struck by how damned pretty she was. She wore a denim skirt and a pale yellow ruffly tank top, the swell of her belly even more visible in this outfit. “This is now your home for the week.”
“Still seems strange to just walk in.” She set Timmy’s carrier on the coffee table next to the box of case files. “Any luck on finding Timmy’s mother?”
He sat down and slid the Jergen file back into the box. “Not yet. But I have a long list of folks to see today. My not so brilliant plan is to casually ‘run into’ them and conversationally check up on their cases. I’ll look for any signs of nervousness. You can tell a lot by someone’s expression, by what they do with their hands.”
Though he’d certainly misread Georgia’s back in April. He’d tossed and turned last night thinking about it. Why hadn’t he recognized what was right in front of his damned face? He’d allowed her to suffer under that man’s abusive thumb—while pregnant with Nick’s child—for four months. And what if the bastard hadn’t gotten himself killed? Georgia had said she’d had enough, that she was going to ask for help, but that hadn’t gotten her very far before.
He looked at Georgia’s belly. Five months and there would be a little person in her arms, his child, his son, his daughter.
Nick was man enough to admit he’d been scared before in life. But nothing scared him more than impending fatherhood.
“You know,” she said, “maybe Timmy and I could come along. It would probably be easier to get a reaction out of someone who was actually looking at her own baby. Or at a five-week-old relative.”
He considered that. “I don’t know. None of these folks fall into the dangerous category, but I’m not comfortable bringing you and Timmy on police business.”
“Unofficial police business, though.”
He smiled. “I suppose. I guess it would help. Good thing about a small town is you know where people generally are. Harriet Culver will be having her usual 1:00 p.m. lunch at Hurley’s with her sister, Gloria. We’ll find the Pullmans at their son’s baseball practice at 3:30 p.m. And Penny Jergen works at the coffee shop her aunt owns. She’s on till five.”
“Where will you find me on Mondays at ten?” she asked with a smile. A beautiful smile. One he hadn’t seen since their night in Houston, he now realized.
“Well, you’re a newcomer,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. “But I’ll have you profiled in no time.”
She smiled again, but it faltered a bit. “Actually, this Monday at ten I have a checkup at my obstetrician’s office.” She hesitated for moment and added, “Perhaps you could come with me.”
He almost choked on his coffee.
“I can feel the baby kick inside me. It’s what made this feel very real for me. I think you’ll feel similarly if you see the baby on the ultrasound.”
“I don’t know, Georgia,” he said, turning away, his skin feeling tight again.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to. The baby will be here soon enough and then it’ll be very real. I just thought—”
