The Pregnant Bride

One, two, three—

As she whipped around, purse flying, Gary Joanson jumped away from her.

“Ah! Wait, Meg!”

She stood, legs apart, ready to defend herself. “What do you want, Gary? Didn’t you and your friends hurl enough insults at me this afternoon?”

He hung his head. “Sorry about that. You know how Sonny and Junior get when they’ve been drinking.”

Yes, she knew. She’d experienced the lash of their taunts several times over. “What do you want?”

“Well, you closed up shop before I could catch you there.” Shuffle. “I was just wondering if you could fix the missus one of your baby cakes?”

The urge to roll her eyes consumed her. “Gary, I’ve told you guys—”

“I know. But she believes all that hooey about your spells and magic. She says Valentine passed on her witch skills to you, Meg. And last time Jemma Carson ate one of your baby cakes, she got pregnant the next week. Just like Judy Henry and Sheri Duarte and…”

The list went on. Somehow the good people of Kane’s Crossing had gotten it into their heads that she had a magic touch. Eat one of her blueberry pies, and you’d find a boyfriend. Eat a simple chocolate cake baked by her supernatural hands, and you’d become pregnant within the month. Kane’s Crossing didn’t like her much, but they sure held great respect for her eerie baking skills. And Meg took advantage of the awe. It was the only way she made money, besides the tourists.

“Okay, Gary. I’ll make one tomorrow. May I go home now?”

At the mention of her “house on haunted hill,” Gary’s eyes bulged. Meg was the only one in town who didn’t feel the need to cross herself as she walked past, what with its thunderous gables and legendary widow’s walk. Even the windows looked like eyes watching the town with contempt.

“Thank you, Meg. Sure I can’t walk you—” he gulped “—home?”

“I’m fine.”

He scampered out of sight. Silly, henpecked man. Gary Joanson had always been a follower, never standing up to Chad’s antics.

Maybe she could bake a pie and tell him it made one grow a backbone. He’d probably believe it, as would his fuss-budget wife.

A low voice startled her. “Have you been slipping mickies to this town?”

She turned around, fingers spread over her heart. “I thought you’d left.”

Nick Cassidy ambled into the circle of light made by a street lamp, thumbs resting in his belt loops. Her heart beat double time, punching her chest with a voodoo cadence.

Yeah, he’d grown up good. Her gaze strayed to the hole in his jeans.

“I walked around, took another look at my old home.” His eyes were eclipsed by some dark memory. “Did some more thinking.”

She must’ve been trembling something awful, because he reached out, fingers twining around her coat collar, and he pulled the material closer together. She flinched, unsure of what his intentions were, but all he did was smile a little. It transformed his face, as if a ray of light had suffused his soul. Just as quickly, the image vanished.

She grinned, warming at his proximity. He was watching out for her again, just as he’d done when they were kids. The thought twisted her heart around.

“What did you think about?” She almost regretted asking, wondering if the question would push him away once again.

“Everything. Mostly my reasons for coming to Kane’s Crossing.” He paused. “Do you walk home by yourself every night?”

“Sometimes my friend Rachel drives me. You wouldn’t know her since she moved into town about two years ago.” Meg laughed. “She hasn’t had time to develop a fear of me yet.”

They started walking, matching each other step for step, the sound of his booted feet shooting off the whitewashed buildings. It almost seemed as if he were aiming bullets into the sky, announcing his presence.

Meg reveled in his nearness, in the way she came just to above his shoulder, in the way he smelled of leather. She couldn’t believe she was walking with Nick Cassidy again, but, instead of feeling like a best friend, she felt entirely different. What would he do if she wrapped an arm around his lean waist, held him to her, stood on tiptoe to bury her nose in the crook of his shoulder and neck?

She passed a hand over her belly. It’d never happen, especially after Chad’s treatment of her.

He spoke first, a cloud of air trailing from his lips because of the crisp weather. “When I came back here, I didn’t expect to find you. I thought you’d be back in San Diego.”

Thank goodness he was talking to her again. Really talking. Not using monosyllabic words as he had in the bakery. She tried to smile and failed. “I can’t go back there.”

“Don’t your parents live on the coast?”

She couldn’t bring herself to talk about her parents, the pain, the agony of what she’d done to be kicked out of the house at the age of fourteen. It’d been something so horrible that she woke up with nightmares even now.

She absently touched her belly, the life within. “Yes, they do. I suppose. I’ve lived with Aunt Valentine since shortly after you left…” She hesitated, hoping he’d elaborate on that fateful night at Chaney’s Drugstore. She wasn’t really surprised when he kept his silence. Well, at least she’d tried.

“After Aunt Valentine passed on, she left everything to me. And I decided to stay here.”

“I’m sorry to hear she’s gone. Valentine was great.”

Meg couldn’t hold back a smile. “Remember how she’d invite you over for dinner and, ‘Oh, by the way, would you weed my garden, Nick, dear?’”

“I was a sucker for her pot roast at any cost.” Nick chuckled, sending waves of contentment through Meg’s body. She stiffened, fighting the warmth, making sure she didn’t give him an opportunity to hurt her.

They’d left the lights of Main Street and had turned onto the dirt road that led past the graveyard and toward Meg’s home. Hovering over the stark, white tombstones, the shape of the house on the hill was visible even in the dark. It loomed with the profile of a sorcerer’s hat topping a bald head. No wonder all the kids told scary stories about her and Aunt Valentine.

She saw a pale object stretching along the side of the road. When she went over to investigate, Nick grabbed her hand. The contact sent a shock wave up her arm, the zing shivering into her lower stomach.

“What’re you doing?” she asked, breathless.

He let go of her, as if he’d touched a live electrical wire. “You’ve got to be careful, Meggie. You can’t go traipsing into ditches.”

“We knocked-up damsels are pretty much able to make our own decisions.” She lifted her chin into the air, watching Nick from the corner of her eye. “Whether they’re good or bad.”

He was grinning again, for heaven’s sake. She hadn’t been sure she could get another one out of him.

He used the advantage of his long legs to move ahead of her, and she stood back, as he lifted the object.

Clouds uncovered the moon as he spread it wide. “We miss you, Chad” was painted in red and blue lettering. One of those darn banners the ladies’ auxiliary had been hanging all over town. She wondered if the wind had blown this particular sign away from Main Street, or if someone felt as strongly about Chad as she did, tearing down the banner and tossing it into what Nick would’ve called a “ditch.”

Nick stared at it a moment, then crumpled it to the ground, stepping on it as he clutched her hand again. His grip almost smashed her finger bones.

“That hurts,” she said, keeping her voice as level as possible.

He glanced at her hand, lifted it, and ran his fingers over hers. Meg almost melted to the dirt with a rush of liquid heat.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice purring down her skin. Then, he patted her hand as if she were a five-year-old. They started walking again.