The Detective's 8 Lb, 10 Oz Surprise. Meg Maxwell

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СКАЧАТЬ in her tracks, eyed him through the leaves of the weeping willow and sat down on the bench by the steps. Based on everything Nick had told her the night they spent together, he wasn’t a father. He’d made it crystal clear that he had no interest in marriage or parenthood. That the bachelor life was for him. Clearly, this baby wasn’t his. She didn’t believe for one second that he’d lied to her, that he was someone’s husband, someone’s father. Georgia might get people wrong sometimes—oh boy, did she—but what had drawn her to Nick was the integrity, the honesty that had enveloped him the night they met. She’d felt it in her bones, seen it in his face, in his eyes as he’d held her, as he’d made love to her.

      As she’d betrayed him the next morning.

      Despite the warm August air, a chill snaked up her spine at the memory. Georgia closed her eyes, her heart clenching as she remembered the look of utter disbelief on his handsome face, her own powerlessness. He probably hates me, she thought—for the hundredth time. How could he not?

      She sucked in a breath and glanced at him again, but his back was to the window.

      Go on in, she ordered herself. It was time to right a wrong. Best she could, anyway.

      He shifted to the side and she could see he was still holding the baby, a half-finished bottle in his hand. He was very likely watching the baby for someone, a coworker, probably. That he was holding a baby, feeding a baby, was a good sign, she reminded herself, given what she was about to tell him.

      A bit more confident, Georgia started toward the steps, but her belly fluttered, and she sat back down on the bench.

      That was only the second time she’d felt the baby move and she brought her hand to her stomach, a feeling of utter wonder spreading through her. The first time happened during the long drive from Houston to Blue Gulch, as if the baby were reminding her of what she had to do upon arrival: tell Nick Slater that he was going to be a father.

      Just a few minutes ago, the three-hour drive finally over, she’d stopped for a red light on Blue Gulch Street and had been able to see the steeply pitched roof of the apricot Victorian that housed Hurley’s Homestyle Kitchen. Home. She hadn’t seen her grandmother, her sisters, since Christmas. Tears had stung the backs of her eyes. More than anything she’d wanted to speed over and tell them everything, finally explain herself. But instead of turning left for the Victorian, for her family, she’d made a right for the police station, knowing she should tell Nick first, that she should let go of the secrets she’d been keeping all these months. Including the awful one.

      Georgia stood up. Okay, get in there. Tell him.

      Hello again, Detective Slater. Nick. You may not remember me, but we met in April in Houston, and without even knowing it, you gave me hope, made me dream again. But the next morning I did something terrible and I can finally explain why.

      Yes, she would start with that and then tell him about the baby. Or should she start with the news of her pregnancy first? Anyone can see you’re pregnant, she reminded herself.

      Georgia bit her lower lip and sat back down on the bench. She didn’t know Nick Slater well. At all, really. But she did know that after hearing the news, he wasn’t going to pull her into a hug and swing her in an excited circle and pass out cigars the way impending fathers used to do in old movies. In the few beautiful hours they’d shared, he told her he’d had a rough childhood and then had barely survived the past two years as sole guardian of his now eighteen-year-old kid sister. All he wanted, Nick had told her, was to do his job, catch the bad guys and keep Blue Gulch a safe place to live. He didn’t even want responsibility for the cat his sister had taken in against his wishes—and would stick him with when she left for college in Dallas in mid-August.

      It was now August 21. Georgia vaguely wondered how Nick was doing with the cat. Maybe the purring bundle of fur had worked its way into his heart and changed his mind about taking care of living, breathing things. But probably not.

      Georgia didn’t love this new cynical side of herself. She used to be so motivated by possibility, by you never know, by the idea that anything could happen. But these days, that was what scared her the most: that anything could happen. Now Georgia only wanted assurances and security—nice words that she was afraid had no meaning anymore.

      She stood and dusted off her sundress, smoothed her wavy, shoulder-length brown hair and walked up the steps. She took a final deep breath and pulled open the door.

      Nick stood there, the baby cradled in the crook of his arm. He was staring at Georgia, his expression stony.

      “This is a surprise,” he said.

      She took in the sight of him, six feet two, the broad shoulders, his intense dark brown eyes, the thick dark hair, his fair skin, a groove in each cheek the only softening of the otherwise hardened countenance of a police detective.

      “Me or the baby you’re holding?” she asked, not daring to step farther in.

      He glanced down at the infant. “Both. I didn’t expect to come back from picking up my lunch to find a baby on my desk. And I definitely didn’t expect to see you of all people walking through the door.”

      Wait—what? “You found the baby on your desk?”

      He shifted the bottle in his hand. “With an anonymous note saying his mother would be back in a week, that she wasn’t abandoning him and could trust me.”

      She froze. “Could you be the father?”

      He stared at her as though that was preposterous. It most definitely wasn’t. “No. No chance.”

      She looked at the beautiful baby in his arms. So sweet and innocent. What it must have taken for this child’s mother to leave him and walk away. Georgia could only imagine what the baby’s mother was going through. “What are you going to do?”

      Nick stared down at the infant. “Give her another half hour before I call Social Services.”

      “No, you can’t do that,” she said. “The mother entrusted this baby to you. Something terrible must be happening and she’s in no position to care for her child this week.”

      Nick stared at her. “And you know this because?”

      Because I know what it’s like to be in trouble. To be threatened. To feel trapped and cornered and have no one to talk to, nowhere to go. God, if Georgia had had a child—a baby—the past several months? She would have had no choice but to have sought a safe haven for the baby.

      “I can imagine,” she said, aware of his dark eyes on her, assessing her.

      “Is there a reason you’re here?” he asked. The baby began fussing and Nick took the bottle from his lips, setting it down on the reception desk.

      Now was hardly the right time to tell Nick he was going to be a father. He had his hands full—literally.

      “Yes, but perhaps I should come back a bit later? Or I could stay and help,” she said, her gaze on the squirming infant. Not that she knew more than he did about babies.

      He stared at her, the expression stonier than before. “Should you be holding a baby in your condition?”

      Her hand flew to her belly. She wasn’t sure he’d noticed. Then again, he was a detective. Of course he’d noticed. “I can handle him. Pregnant mothers have been balancing toddlers СКАЧАТЬ