A Baby For The Deputy

She noticed him watching Dolores. He often did, and the look in his eyes softened as if the mere sight of her melted his heart.

Someday, maybe someone would look at Mel like that. Welcome her home after a hard day at work. Slip into bed with her and wind his arms around her. Someone who didn’t cling to the memory of his late wife.

Oh, God! Had she really just thought that? Mel was ashamed of herself. She wasn’t normally shallow and unkind. Naturally, Aaron grieved his late wife. It had taken her father years to get over her mother’s death.

A group of nearby guests burst out in raucous greeting, distracting her. The source of the commotion became quickly apparent. Aaron, his mother-in-law, Nancy, and daughter, Kaylee, had finally arrived.

A grinning Aaron held Kaylee in his arms, balancing her against his broad chest. The shy little girl buried her face in his shirt when one too many people tugged on her silky curls or pinched her chin. Aaron patted her back with his strong hand and, bit by bit, Kaylee’s face emerged.

Aaron could do that. Make a person feel safe and sheltered. Mel had experienced it firsthand.

“Hey, there, birthday boy.” One of her father’s buddies hailed him. “Get over here before all the barbecued beef is gone.”

“See you later, honey.”

“Enjoy yourself,” Mel said to his retreating back, her attention remaining riveted on Aaron.

Eventually, their eyes locked. That was the usual outcome when someone stared long enough. She should step away. Engage the Powells or other clients of hers in conversation. Help Frankie with the food or Dolores with hosting duties.

She and Aaron had agreed not to draw attention to themselves in public, and here she was doing exactly that. Except, she didn’t break eye contact and neither did he. The connection Mel had been feeling lately intensified more and more until it practically sizzled.

Was it the same for him? If so, he gave no indication.

Mel’s nieces skipped over to Aaron and Kaylee, high on sugar from fruit punch and blobs of icing swiped from the birthday cake.

“Kaylee, play with us,” Paige pleaded with her friend. “We have balloons and bubbles and prizes.”

The little girl’s features lit up like a ray of sunshine after a storm, and she insisted her father put her down.

Aaron relented, holding her hand as if not quite ready to part with her. Mel was close enough to hear him say, “Don’t go far, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” she parroted in her sweet angel voice.

Mel’s nieces immediately grabbed her, and the preschool buddies scampered off, disappearing from sight.

“Are you sure she’ll be all right?” Nancy asked Aaron, ready to follow the girls.

Aaron waylaid her by saying gently, “She’ll be fine. Frankie Hartman is right there.”

The creases permanently etched into Nancy’s forehead deepened. “I’m going to get some punch.”

By sheer coincidence, or not, the punch bowl was located within a few feet of the game area where the girls were playing. If Aaron realized that, and he probably did, he chose not to address it.

Mel admired him for picking his battles. Nancy could be formidable. A self-defense mechanism, no doubt, from losing her only child at a young age.

Funny that Nancy and Dolores had become close. Then again, Dolores was the nurturing kind, taking the lost and lonely into her care. Hadn’t she done that with Mel’s father and, a few hours ago in the restroom, with Mel?

What if she was pregnant? Mel had tried hard to keep the thought at bay, but it crept back every few minutes, shouting, “You can’t ignore me,” in her ear.

As if sensing her distress—was he that tuned in to her?—Aaron glanced her way again. Confused and emotionally overwhelmed, Mel turned and snuck away in search of a quiet place.

Five minutes. That was all she needed. Time enough to collect herself and calm her frayed nerves.

Heading outside the café, she skirted the corner to an old hitching post that was still used today for customers arriving by single horse rather than two hundred of them beneath the hood.

Leaning her forearms on the thick railing, she let the warm breeze blow over her. A thin crescent moon hung in the sky above the mountains, waiting for dusk to fall and the stars to come out. Faint strains of piped-in music drifted to her from the patio.

“Hiding?”

Hearing Aaron’s voice, Mel jumped.

“Are you okay?” He strolled over to her, his eyes roaming her face. “What’s wrong?”

Did he have to look as good in jeans and a cowboy shirt as he did in his uniform? “Just tired. It’s been a long week.”

“You need to take better care of yourself.” He raised his hand and rubbed a knuckle along her jawline. The tender gesture nearly undid her.

It wasn’t like him to break the rules. Her, either. No intimacies away from the motel where they typically met. Boundaries were to be respected.

But, then, she remembered she was two weeks late.

“Aaron.” She suddenly wanted to confess everything. The fact she was late. Her increasing feelings for him. Her constant confusion.

Wasn’t that what couples did? Communicate?

Except, they weren’t a couple. They were sex buddies. At her suggestion and insistence.

“What?” he prodded.

“Nothing.” She pushed off the hitching post. “We should get back to the party.”

At that moment, an older pickup truck going too fast pulled into the parking lot, its tires squealing. Aaron tracked its slightly slower progress to the back row and the only available spaces.

“Someone you know?” Mel asked.

“If it’s who I think it is, I ran into her yesterday.” He was no longer Aaron but Deputy Travers. “Do you recognize the truck?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Just then, she heard the truck door slam and watched a young, slim woman navigate the parked vehicles, purpose in her stride. Rather than enter the café through the main entrance, she went directly to the outdoor patio.

“Maybe she’s someone’s plus one,” Mel mused.

“I’ll be back,” Aaron said, barely acknowledging her.

She’d seen this determination before when he was on the job. Did this stranger have something to do with the horse thefts?

“Wait!” She trotted after him, refusing to be excluded.