To Catch A Wife

“Be right out.” She tossed the remains of the pregnancy test into the trash and unlocked the door. As her father had often reminded her when she’d landed herself in trouble, it was time to face the music.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_4ae4274c-6337-50db-9141-4426de25d014)

AFTER A RIDICULOUSLY tearful conversation with her sisters, during which Emily extracted promises they wouldn’t breathe a word of her pregnancy to anyone, especially not their father, it was now almost lunchtime, and she was back in town. Standing in front of Morris’s Barbershop, she closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. She opened them again and yanked on the door handle before her courage fled and dragged her away with it. The bell jangled, and the open sign clattered against the glass. No turning back now.

Fred was sweeping the worn black-and-white tile floor as he always did after finishing up with a customer. She had been anxiously watching from the newspaper office across the street, waiting for Elroy Ferguson to leave. Fred was alone now, whisking Elroy’s salt-and-pepper hair clippings into a tidy pile. Her best friend’s familiar, slightly lopsided smile should have made her feel at ease. He glanced at the big clock above the door.

“You’re early. Is that lunch?” he asked, eyeing the brown paper bag she carried.

She nodded and managed a weak smile. She set the bag on the counter. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“What’s up?” he asked, bending his tall, lanky frame to brush the sweepings into an old metal dustpan, its yellow paint chipped from many years of service.

She flipped the lock on the door, turned the sign to Closed and pulled down the roller blind, its frayed edges barely covering the glass. She was a little misty-eyed by the time she turned back to face him. More tears? Seriously, what was the matter with her?

“Wow, must be important,” Fred said, dumping the hair clippings into the trash bin. He leaned the broom in a corner, hung the dustpan on a hook next to it, and then he looked at her, really looked at her. His amusement turned to concern. “Emily? What’s wrong? Is it your family? Your dad?”

She shook her head. Her throat had squeezed shut, and the words wouldn’t come.

Fred crossed the floor in a flash and pulled her into a hug. “Hey. Whatever it is, it’s going to be all right. Just don’t cry, okay?”

“O-o-kay,” she hiccupped, but now that the waterworks had started, she couldn’t stem the flow. What was wrong with her? She never cried.

Fred didn’t say anything more. He simply held her, letting her tears soak into his shirt, patiently waiting for her to compose herself.

He smelled like shaving soap and styling mousse. His shoulder, more bony than muscular, had always been available for her to lean on. They were best friends. She had known him forever. He knew her better than anyone else ever had or ever would.

Dear, sweet Fred. Loyal, down-to-earth, dependable. He’d make a great dad. Perfect, really. He would always be there for his kid, just as her dad had been for her. Steady, patient, reliable. Exactly what every child needed in her life. Or his life, since there was only a fifty-percent chance she was having a girl.

After she stemmed the flow of tears, she gripped his upper arms, tipped her head back and stared up at him.

“You look awful,” he said.

“Gee, thanks. Just what a girl wants to hear. I’m glad I ruined your shirt.” The crisp white cotton was smeared with dark mascara and tan-colored eye shadow.

“That’s okay. I have a clean one in the back.”

Of course he did.

“Just in case,” he added.

This was the Fred she’d always known. Mr. Just-in-case. Mr. Always-prepared.

Why couldn’t he be her Mr. Tall-dark-and-dreamy?

She gave him a long look, taking in his wavy sand-colored hair, unruly eyebrows, gold-flecked hazel eyes and nicely shaped mouth. For the first time in all the years she’d known him, she wanted to feel something when she looked at him, that special something for that one special person. But she didn’t. It just wasn’t there.

What was wrong with her? How could she feel all fluttery for someone like Jack, someone who would never be there for her, when she already had this great guy in her life? Fred would make a perfect father and a wonderful husband...for someone. Not for her, though.

“Em?”

“What?”

“You’re kind of scaring me.”

“Sorry.”

“What’s going on?”

She took a deep breath, held it, exhaled in a rush. “I’m pregnant.”

Fred stared at her, opened his mouth, closed it again, leaving his first thought, whatever it was, unspoken.

She waited.

“Um, wow, I...” He stepped back, looked her up and down, his gaze finally coming to rest on her midsection. “You...you’re having a...”

She nodded. “A baby.”

“Jack Evans’s baby.”

Now it was her turn to stare. “How on earth did you figure that out?”

“The day of Eric’s funeral, I closed the shop for a couple of hours so I could go. Later that afternoon, I came back here, and it was business as usual. Before I closed up, I saw the two of you going into the café down the street. What was that, two months ago? And now you’re...”

Having a baby. Fred seemed unable to say the actual words out loud.

“What did he say when you told him?”

“Well, that’s the thing.”

“You haven’t told him?”

She shook her head.

“Em! Why not?”

“Because I only found out this morning.” Because the thought of telling Jack terrified her, and because some secret little part of her hoped she wouldn’t have to. She hoped having her family and her best friend to support her and this new little person would be enough, even though in her heart she knew it wasn’t the right thing to do.

He hugged her again. “So I’m the only person who knows?”

She shook her head against the soggy mess she’d made of his shirt. “My sisters know, too. CJ found the pregnancy test in my bag, and they made me take it while I was out at the farm this morning.”

“That must have been interesting. How did they react when you told them it was Jack’s?”

“I didn’t tell them.”

“Your sisters didn’t ask? Didn’t try to pry the truth out of you? That’s hard to believe.”