Waiting for the Wedding

He poured milk into the bottle, then frowned. Warm or cold? Damn. He was clueless when it came to these kinds of things.

He placed the bottle in the microwave for a few seconds to take off the chill, then sat down at the table and offered the bottle to Kathryn.

Magically her crying stopped. Her big blue eyes widened and her fingers opened and closed as if urging him to place the bottle where it counted.

Clint did just that, and sighed in relief as she gulped the liquid hungrily. Now that her cries had stopped, Clint was faced with his remorse over Sherry.

It had been thoughtless of him to call her, foolish not to think about how painful this all might be to her. Hell, he’d thought she’d come to terms a long time ago about not being able to have children.

He sighed, remembering her pale face as she’d driven away. Her pain-filled eyes haunted him. But he hadn’t known what else to do. He hadn’t dated anyone for a month, had no family members he could call upon for help.

It had been sheer instinct to contact Sherry for help. He’d called her when he’d had the flu. She’d been there for him when his best friend had died. For the past five years Sherry had helped him through each life crisis that had come his way. It had only been natural that he’d called her for this particular crisis.

She would be back. Despite his guilt, despite her parting words to him as she’d driven away, he knew she’d return. She wouldn’t let him down. She never had.

“Is she yours?”

The question Sherry had asked him returned to haunt him. He’d consciously not thought about the possibility from the moment he’d seen the baby on his porch. Now he could think of little else.

He stared at the little girl, whose eyes stared back solemnly. Was she his child? Had Candy had a baby, his baby, and never even told him?

He couldn’t imagine a woman doing such a thing—having a baby and not informing the father. But Candy had been nothing if not unpredictable. Besides, who understood the forces that drove women to do what they did?

He touched one finger to a chubby little cheek, his heart constricting with an alien emotion. “Are you mine?” he asked softly. The only reply was soft sucking sounds and a single blink of those wide, blue eyes.

She drank almost the entire bottle, then her eyes drifted closed and she fell back asleep. For a few minutes Clint simply stared at her, trying to see if the mark of his fatherhood showed anywhere on her features.

She had blue eyes, like his own. But his hair was dark and Kathryn’s was a pale strawberry blond. Of course, Clint had been told that he’d been born with a headful of blond ringlets.

He sighed. It was impossible to tell if she looked like him. At the moment she simply looked like a content baby.

Knowing that she was sleeping soundly, Clint got up from the table and went into the spare bedroom. He’d done nothing with this room since moving in two weeks before. The bed was bare, the dresser and old rocker dusty.

Knowing in his heart Sherry wouldn’t let him down, he quickly made up the bed with fresh sheets, then dusted the few pieces of furniture the room contained.

He’d just finished with the room when he heard a knock on the front door. Sherry stood on the front porch, a small suitcase in hand.

“Three days,” she said as she stepped inside. Her delicate features were pulled taut in a combination of rebellion and determination. “That’s all I’m giving you. Three days, then you’ll have to figure something else out.”

“Sherry—”

She held up a hand. “Don’t thank me. I’m not happy about this, but I can’t stand the thought of that baby being turned over to Social Services, or worse, baby-sat by you and that dingbat deputy of yours.”

He nodded, knowing better than to say anything. He was just grateful she’d come. “I’ll show you to the spare bedroom,” he said, gesturing her to follow him down the hallway.

He opened the door to the room, and she stepped in. She sniffed, then turned and eyed him accusingly. “I smell lemon wax. You just dusted. You knew I’d be back.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I hoped.” He could tell it annoyed her. Her jaw tightened, and her green eyes blazed a warning.

She set her suitcase on the bed. “Three days, Clint. I swear that’s it. You find that man-eater Candy and figure out what’s going on.”

“No problem,” he agreed instantly. Together they walked back into the kitchen. Sherry barely looked at the sleeping child.

“I fed her a bottle of milk. It seemed to satisfy her,” he explained. He grabbed his keys from the holder next to the refrigerator. “I’ve got to get to work. Andy’s holding down the fort, and who knows what he’ll mess up.”

He waited for one of her smiles in return, but none was forthcoming. He sighed, wondering how long she would punish him. “I’ll be home for supper by six.”

Minutes later as Clint drove to the Armordale Sheriff’s Office, his mind whirled with thoughts of Sherry and the baby.

If he were honest with himself, he’d admit that he’d never understood the depth of Sherry’s pain when she’d discovered that a severe case of endometriosis had left her unable to have children. In any case, that had been five years before. He’d thought she’d come to terms with that pain, but the look in her eyes when she’d seen baby Kathryn told him otherwise.

Clint had never thought much about having kids. Years before, when he and Sherry were making lifetime plans together, he’d talked theoretically about having children, but it had never been a driving, burning need inside him.

When Sherry had called off their wedding plans, he’d tried to convince her that he didn’t care whether or not she could have children, that he would be satisfied just having her in his life. But that hadn’t been enough for her. She had insisted that her feelings for him had changed, that she no longer loved him. He hadn’t been enough for her.

He shoved these thoughts away. They came from a distant past, one he rarely thought of anymore. He and Sherry had managed to put aside their romantic feelings for each other and build a caring, special friendship.

He parked before the small, brick building that was his home away from home. As he got out of the car, he only hoped he hadn’t in some way jeopardized that special friendship by asking her this latest favor.

Sherry stood at the kitchen window, her back to the sleeping infant, wondering why in the heck she had agreed to this.

When she’d pulled out of Clint’s driveway earlier, she’d been adamant that she wouldn’t return, that he was asking far too much of her.

She’d gone back to her apartment and had desperately tried to ignore thoughts of the little girl, those sweet chubby cheeks, those trusting blue eyes, the natural way the infant had snuggled into Sherry the moment she’d taken the baby in her arms.

Before she knew what she was doing, Sherry had packed a bag and called her boss at the bar to request the next week off. Madness. Sheer madness.

She turned away from the window and stared at the sleeping child. Wispy blond hair adorned the top of her head, and her tiny lips were curved into a smile, as if her dreams were pleasant.

Sherry would change her diapers, feed her when she was hungry, but she refused to allow her heart to get involved. It was the only way she would be able to get through the next couple of days. She had to keep a high, impenetrable barrier around her heart.

She frowned, remembering his parting remark—that he’d be home for supper around six. What did he think? That he’d suddenly acquired a wife for the next three days? If he thought she was going to cook and clean for him as well as look after the baby, he had another think coming!

The day passed quickly. The baby slept until almost noon, then Sherry fed her another bottle, set her on the floor of the living room on a blanket and gave her some plastic spoons, lids and small bowls to play with. However, the baby eschewed the makeshift toys in favor of playing with her toes.

Sherry knew what she was doing…thinking of the baby as “the baby” instead of as Kathryn. She was keeping her distance, refusing to allow her heart to get caught up in the wonder of a child.

Kathryn was a good baby. She occupied herself, playing first with her toes, then attempting to catch the afternoon sunbeams that shone through the window.

When she fell asleep once again, Sherry covered her with a light blanket, then stroked the fine, downy hair atop her head.

Was she Clint’s baby? Sherry’s heart jumped a bit at the thought. There had been a time when she’d dreamed of carrying Clint’s child, a time when the possibility had filled her with joy and awe.

Clint had said it was possible Kathryn was his. That meant Clint and Candy had slept together.

Sherry frowned, wondering why that should bother her. She’d long ago quit fantasizing about making love with Clint. She’d long ago quit fantasizing about making love to anyone.

She figured she was probably the oldest living virgin in Armordale. Twenty-eight years old and she’d never been lost in mindless passion. Twenty-eight years old and she’d never experienced the total possession of a man’s lovemaking.