A Camden's Baby Secret

“Callan Tierney,” she informed him.

That halted the search and Seth glanced up at her with arched eyebrows. “Callan Tierney is the girl’s guardian? You know who he is, don’t you?”

“Why would I know who he is?”

Seth went back to searching through his bag, but said, “I’ve never met him, but Callan Tierney is CT Software. We use his software and so do a slew of other businesses around the world. He’s worth more than we are. I wonder how someone like him ended up the guardian of a kid in Northbridge?”

“I don’t know,” Livi said honestly.

“Ah, that’s what I need for tonight!” Seth exclaimed, pulling a tablet out of the suitcase. Then, turning back to her, he said, “You’ll have to fill me in when you find out.”

“Sure. When I find out,” she parroted.

Seth continued chatting with her, telling her about his time away. Livi did her best to keep up with that conversation. But she was still reeling inside and thinking more about the next day than anything he was saying.

The next day, when she would go into town before picking up Greta Teller.

When she would take the first step to putting denial to rest once and for all.

And buy a home pregnancy test.

* * *

After lunch with Seth on Monday, and a solo trip to the personal care section of Northbridge’s general store that made Livi cringe inside, she picked up Greta from the local school.

The little girl was wearing the scarf Livi had given her the day before, and immediately asked her to tie it “better” because on the playground Jake Linman had pulled on it.

Livi obliged her as Greta launched into another outpouring of admiration for the ballet flats Livi was wearing today, the small leather cross-body purse she was using and the pin-tucked white blouse she had on over a pale blue tank top with navy blue slacks.

But Livi was only partially listening. Her mind was still on that pregnancy test and the results it might show when she took it.

“There you go,” she said when the scarf was retied.

“Dumb Jake Linman,” Greta grumbled. “He’s always bothering me.”

“Maybe he likes you. Sometimes that’s how boys show it,” Livi responded without much thought.

“That’s what my gramma says,” Greta said, as if she was hoping for something else from Livi. Then she added under her breath, “Doesn’t matter. Tomorrow is my last day.”

The last day for what? Livi wondered, before remembering that Greta was being made to move to Denver. That meant leaving her school, her friends, the town that was home to her.

And Livi had been thinking so much about her own problems that she hadn’t recognized Greta’s.

But that’s the reason I’m here! she chastised herself.

She genuinely liked this little girl now that she’d met her, and not only had GiGi assigned her this make-amends project, Livi honestly wanted to help.

So regardless of what was going on in her own life, when she was with Greta, it had to be all about the girl, she realized. She had to take her own problems out of the picture. Greta had to be the center of things.

Which was exactly what Livi did for the remainder of the afternoon as she bought her ice cream and then a pair of new shoes and a matching purse that Greta admired in a shop window.

Apparently new shoes and a new purse had the same effect on little girls as big ones, because by the end of the afternoon Greta was in better spirits, and Livi felt as if she’d done some good.

It was after five when she drove up the dirt lane to the Tellers’ house, passing a truck loaded with bales of hay going in the opposite direction.

She could see Callan in the barn behind the house and that was when her vow to focus only on Greta hit a snag. One look at him and Livi stopped hearing what her young charge was saying.

He was rearranging hay bales, pivoting back and forth, facing her, then facing away.

She wasn’t sure if Callan hadn’t noticed her arrival or if he was merely ignoring it, but he didn’t so much as look in her direction.

And that gave her the opportunity to watch him freely for a moment.

Like the day before, he was dressed in boots, jeans and a work shirt—this one plaid flannel. He looked every inch the cowboy, all rugged and strong. And watching him, she found it hard to think he was anything but a cowboy.

The weather was warm and he had the sleeves of his shirt rolled above his elbows, leaving a hint of biceps and impressive forearms bare to where suede gloves encased big hands. She could see the shift of muscles as he hoisted the bales. Muscles like nothing she’d ever seen in any other computer whiz.

Long legs braced the weight, with thick thighs testing the denim of his jeans. His shoulders were broad and straight and seemed more likely forged by backbreaking farm work than sitting behind a desk.

And that face that had so impressed her alter ego in Hawaii—clean-shaven that evening—was made only sexier with a scruff of day’s beard shadowing his sharp jawline, making him look just gritty enough to be a turn-on.

Not that she was turned on. Livi was clear about that.

But still, there was no looking at Callan, watching him do what he was doing, without appreciating the undeniable appeal of a fit man’s physique.

In a purely analytical way.

Until her traitorous brain zoomed somewhere else.

Back to Hawaii. To that night. She’d insisted on complete darkness, so she hadn’t really seen him naked.

Something she suddenly regretted...

She realized belatedly that she’d completely missed whatever it was that Greta was talking about. She tuned back in as the child unfastened her seat belt and opened the car door, saying, “Let’s go show Uncle Callan my new stuff!”

Oh.

Livi swallowed and got a grip on herself, coming totally into the present again.

What do I do now? she thought.

What was the protocol for two people in this situation? Was there a protocol?

Yesterday had been awkward, but there had been the Tellers and the nurse and Greta to serve as a buffer between her and Callan, plus so much going on that they’d both addressed only what was happening.

But now? If she followed Greta to the barn—as it seemed she should—then what?

Did they just go on acting like strangers?