Their Surprise Daddy

“No, the Gallagher family. At Chief Gallagher’s house. I married his oldest daughter, Kimberly.”

“The Gallaghers, as in the holier-than-thou schoolteacher I just met?”

“That’s Rory.” Drew sounded almost cheerful about it. “Anyway, Kimberly and I are in our new house, the apartment is in great shape, and if you really don’t want to stay with your mother, this could give you some peace of mind and a clean pillow. I know the town is booked up. Summer is a crazy-busy vacation time here.”

It was vacation time in New York City, too, which was the only reason he was able to be here, and not in the city. His boss would no doubt go ballistic when he returned from his three-week European vacation and found Cruz still in Grace Haven. But with Rodney Randolph, ballistic was often the status quo. He’d deal with that as needed. “I don’t want to be an inconvenience to anyone, Drew.”

“The place is empty, you’re inconveniencing no one, and if you and Rory are sharing kid duty until we figure things out, you might as well be geographically close.”

That part made sense, and was about the only thing in this convoluted mess that did.

“Were you able to find a room for tonight?”

Cruz couldn’t lie. “No.”

“Then use it, man. One forty-seven Creighton Landing, just beyond the turnoff for The Square, in walking distance of everything. Just like Manhattan.” Drew laughed, and Cruz was glad someone found humor in this situation, because he hadn’t stopped frowning since the reverend’s phone call that morning.

“You sure no one will mind?”

“Positive. I’ll call Rory and let her know so you don’t surprise her or the kids. Or Mags.”

“Is Mags one of the sisters?” Somewhere in his brain he remembered several Gallagher sisters.

“She’s a member of the family, all right,” Drew finished cryptically. “The key is hanging inside the carriage house, to the left of the door when you walk in. The apartment is the second floor.”

Cruz hesitated, then accepted. “Thanks, man. I was ready to sleep in the car.”

“Glad to help. I’m hoping this all looks better in the morning.”

“It couldn’t look any worse.”

* * *

Wrong again.

He’d driven to Creighton Landing, found the key like Drew said and thrown open a couple of windows in hopes of a lake breeze.

Nope.

Too tired to care, he’d fallen into bed, then got up crazy early like he always did and set up his laptop in the steamy apartment.

No air-conditioning.

No Wi-Fi.

He stared at the screen, searched for networks and didn’t find any. He pulled out his smartphone to set up a hot spot to relay internet service.

It didn’t work. His phone indicated internet service in the area, but couldn’t command a strong enough signal to relay Wi-Fi to the laptop.

He needed to punch someone. And find coffee.

Coffee. A coffee shop with Wi-Fi. Perfect.

He stepped outside with his small laptop bag. The town lay before him, and the lake spread out to his left, just beyond Route 20.

He’d be silly to drive because he was already in town, so he crossed the yard and circled The Square, a local old-time shopping area that looked much more upscale than he remembered, and hunted for coffee.

Nothing was open.

He glared at his phone. It was 6:05 a.m. on a Tuesday. He’d passed two coffee shops, neither of which opened for nearly an hour. In Manhattan, he’d have been connected and working already. Here?

Nothing.

He was about to retrace his steps, get into the car and head toward the thruway, when lights flickered on at the diner just ahead. “You lookin’ for coffee?” A copper-skinned, middle-aged woman with dark hair in a bun poked her head around the corner of the stoop.

“Hunting would be more apt,” he told her as he strode forward. “And Wi-Fi. Do you have that, too?”

She laughed and swung the door wide. “We’re connected, though I’m not sure it was a good idea. Come on in. You looked like a wanderin’ pup out there. It’s always the same with big-city types. It takes a day or two of bein’ in Grace Haven to realize it’s okay to relax. To let go and let God shape the days.”

“Well, I’m in town for a while, but I’m not sure relaxing enters into the equation.”

“Never does at first,” she called back as she bustled around the counter. “But we get to it, eventual-like. If we stay ’round long enough.” She set a second pot brewing, then toted four mugs and a glass coffee carafe to his table. “Here you go.” She filled his cup, then paused. “Room for cream and sugar?”

“Nope. Black.”

She sighed as if she expected him to say that, then plunked the other three mugs down on a table kitty-corner from him. She filled the mugs, added a little aluminum pot of cream to the table and strode behind the old-style counter just as three older gentlemen walked in.

“Mornin’, Sadie!” crowed the first one in the door.

The next man in seemed just as happy to be there. “Sadie, my sweet Southern belle, you’ve got us all set up!”

The third man saluted the waitress with his Grace Haven Eagles baseball cap as he came through. “Coffee and Sadie—my mornin’s complete!”

“Mornin’, boys.” She waved a hand as she stuck a paper onto an old-style order ring suspended between her and the kitchen beyond. “I’m orderin’ you the usual, speak now or keep it to yourself when you get same old, same old.”

“Why mess with success?” the first man wondered aloud. The three men settled at the table to Cruz’s right, jawing about baseball.

Cruz opened his computer and brought up his email. One message in, the second guy stood and came up alongside Drew’s table. “You got box scores on that thing?”

“Excuse me?” Surprise toughened Cruz’s voice. Either surprise, or his Wall Street, tough-as-nails attitude. Bright blue eyes under faded brows gazed back at him from a face that had known years of weathering. “I expect they’re accessible.”

“Bring ’em up, why don’t you, so I can show these yahoos what I mean ’bout the All-Star break makin’ a difference.”

“He’s workin’, Badge,” Sadie scolded the older man from her spot at the counter. She was slicing big, thick wedges of pie, wrapping them gently and placing them in a tall rotating cooler. Seeing them made Cruz remember the mouth-watering pie at his mother’s table, thick and sweet. There was no such thing as good pie in Manhattan. In a city that claimed to boast everything good, pie hadn’t made the list. “I don’t think he lugged that machine in here to jaw about the American League East with you. Best leave him to it, don’t you think?”

“I get your point, Sadie. Smart as always.” The old man accepted her advice and moved back across the aisle to his table. “I’ll let you get on with your day,” he added to Cruz.

“If we had one of them smartphones, we’d know what’s up,” said the tallest man. “My Kimmie’s got one of them, and it’s law-awful how quick she can get on things.”