A Baby For The Deputy

Her nieces came bounding back from showing off to their mother, balloons bobbing in the air behind them as if filled with jumping beans and not helium. Ronnie warned them to be careful, her tone a decent imitation of Frankie’s. Dolores chatted amiably while putting the finishing touches on the centerpieces.

Soon, they’d leave for their respective homes to change and freshen up before the party. In Frankie’s case, she’d pack the barbecued beef for transport and arrive early to start warming it.

Mel stepped forward, intending to gather the balloon supplies, when all at once her stomach lurched and the floor seemed to ripple beneath her feet.

Convinced she was about to embarrass herself, she muttered, “Be right back,” to Ronnie and speed-walked across the patio to the café’s main building.

By sheer force of will, she made it to the empty restroom and one of the stalls before losing her lunch. Waiting a few moments to be on the safe side, she slowly rose, the sensation of weakness persisting.

She felt her forehead. No fever. Or sore throat or runny nose. Other than intermittent nausea, she exhibited no other symptoms of the flu bug.

What was wrong with her?

Was it possible...? Could she be...?

No. She and Aaron had always been careful about using protection. Mel could not be pregnant.

Nonetheless, she counted backward. How many days since her last period? The answer sent a spear of alarm slicing through her. How had she not realized she was late? She wasn’t that busy.

Oh, God! Mel sucked in air, unable to catch her breath. Her skin burned as if she did indeed have a fever.

What would she do if she was pregnant? How would Aaron react? Would he be angry? Disappointed? Blame her? Accuse her of trapping him?

She stumbled out of the stall toward the row of sinks along the wall. Turning on a spigot, she splashed her face with cool water. It didn’t alleviate the panic building inside her. Staring at her worried reflection in the mirror only worsened things.

Drying her face with paper towels from the dispenser, she told herself not to cry. There could be any number of reasons she was late and nauseous. Working ridiculous hours, skipping meals and not getting enough sleep, to name a few. Plus, Mel had a history of being irregular. No sense freaking out until she knew for sure.

With a whoosh, the restroom door flew open and Dolores breezed in. Seeing Mel, she stopped midstep.

“Are you okay?”

“I think I have a touch of the flu.”

“Oh, no. I’d hate for you to miss the party, but maybe you should stay home and get some rest. You look awful.”

Mel tried to wave off her stepmom’s concern, only to rush to the stall she’d vacated minutes earlier. When she finally emerged, shaky but in one piece, it was to find Dolores waiting, arms crossed and brows raised.

“How far along are you?”

Mel’s knees, already wobbly, threatened to give out. “What?”

“I have three children of my own. I’m very familiar with morning sickness, even when it comes in the afternoon or evening.”

Mel started to object. Dolores’s kind expression changed her mind. The older woman wasn’t her mother. But she was Mel’s friend and, she hoped, a confidant.

“Please don’t say anything to anyone. Especially Dad. Until I know for sure.”

“Then it’s possible?”

“We’ve been careful.”

“I was, too. Both the second and third times.” Dolores reached for Mel and gave her a quick but warm hug. “Does the father know?”

Again, Mel thought of Aaron. How would he take the news? When would be the best time to tell him? “No. Not yet.”

“Do you love him?”

Mel had expected Dolores to ask the name of the father. This question left her nearly as shaken as the bout of nausea had.

Unable to answer, Mel mumbled an excuse and hurried past Dolores. It was one thing to contemplate her changing feelings for Aaron. Another thing altogether to voice them aloud.

* * *

MEL GAVE HERSELF a figurative pat on the back for surviving the past few hours. Shortly after escaping the restroom and Dolores, she’d returned to the patio and been immediately recruited to hang paper lanterns. Thank you, Frankie. After that, they’d all gone home to change clothes and then returned before the party started.

Mel didn’t typically procrastinate. It wasn’t her style. But her father’s birthday just wasn’t the time for dealing with potentially huge problems. Like, for instance, a missed period. Not even with someone as compassionate as Dolores.

Seeing the party went off without a hitch, celebrating with her family, those were her priorities. Tomorrow, she’d purchase the home pregnancy test—in Scottsdale where no one knew her—and hopefully eliminate one potential reason for her nausea.

Now that was Mel’s style. Every move was calculated in advance and every contingency explored. She liked it that way. Order and purpose equaled confidence and a sense of security.

If she turned out to be pregnant, a highly unlikely probability, she’d talk to Aaron and together they’d devise a new plan using the same equation. A plan that didn’t throw both their lives into complete and utter chaos.

“Here’s my girl!”

The next instant, Mel was swept up in a fierce embrace.

“Dad!” She giggled and squirmed, not unlike her nieces.

“Thank you for the party,” he said, releasing her.

“I can’t take the credit. It was Frankie’s idea, and she did most of the heavy lifting. But you can thank me for not allowing any Over the Hill and Grim Reaper party favors.”

“She couldn’t have pulled it off without your help.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased.”

His gaze traveled the room. “Who knew I had this many friends?”

His daughters, for one. Mel’s dad had lived and worked in the valley for over thirty-five years. He was liked, if not loved, by many.

Not all the guests had arrived. Most noticeably absent was Theo McGraw, Ray Hartman’s boss and owner of The Small Change Ranch. Mel hoped the older gentleman would make it. He suffered from Parkinson’s disease, and some days were harder than others.

Also absent, and of more concern to Mel, was Aaron and his family. Perhaps he’d gotten called away on a last-minute emergency. Or, something had happened to his daughter. Mel tried not to obsess, which also wasn’t her style. But lately, he was constantly on her mind.

“You’re being modest.” She patted her father’s generous beer belly. That, and his gray beard, had made him the perfect choice to play Santa Claus at his granddaughters’ preschool. “You have lots of friends.”

“I’m a fortunate man.”