Their Child?: Lori's Little Secret / Which Child Is Mine? / Having The Best Man's Baby. Christine Rimmer

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      Lori supposed it wasn’t surprising, that he remembered her on sight. He’d once been in love with Lena Lou. Lena was the sparkly one, the popular one. All the boys went nuts for her. Lori had been quieter, a better student, and a little bit shy. Though they were identicals, no one in town had ever had any trouble telling them apart.

      Except for on that one special, magical, life-changing night—which she was not going to think about, at least not right now.

      Tucker said, “It’s been a long time.”

      Lori nodded and gulped to clear her clutching throat. “How are you, Tucker?” It came out sounding pleasant. Cordial in a distant sort of way. Most important, her tone betrayed no hint of the turmoil within.

      Before he could answer, the dog at her feet let out a long, impatient whine—a clear demand for more attention.

      Tucker commanded, “Fargo, you shameless mutt, get over here.” One last whimper for good measure, and the dog waddled over to its master. It plunked itself down next to Tucker’s booted feet as he answered her question of a moment before. “I’m good. Real good.”

      She kept her pleasant smile in place, though it took superhuman effort to do it. She felt giddy, disoriented—and terrified. Nothing seemed real, suddenly, as if when she’d turned to see him standing there, she’d spun into the midst of a strange dream, a dream that hovered on the verge of nightmare. She thought her smile would crack, her lunch rise up and come spewing out her grinning mouth.

      Talk, she thought. Say something. Now. “I, um, heard you did just what you’d always dreamed of doing. Traveled all over the country. And even Europe—Spain and Italy and England…”

      “You heard right.” He bent to give the dog a scratch behind a floppy ear and she thought of all those times, in the early years, that she’d tried to reach him.

      Every time she’d drummed up the courage to make contact, she found he’d moved on. In Austin, a stranger answered his door. The tortured letters she’d written him explaining everything came back with no forwarding address.

      Tucker straightened to his height again. “And look at me now. Right here in Tate’s Junction where I swore I’d never end up.” He grinned wider. “Believe it or not, I did manage to get myself a law degree during my wandering years.”

      “Ah,” she said, as if that meant anything.

      He went on. “Got me the whole South Wing out at my mean old granddaddy’s house and an office on Center Street with a sign out front that says, Hogan and Bravo, Attorneys at Law. And, last but no way least, I’ve got Fargo here.” He grinned down at his goofy-looking dog, then back up at her. “And you know what?”

      She did know. She could tell just by looking at him. “You’re happy.”

      “You bet I am.”

      Behind Lori, the left rear door of the Lexus clicked open. Oh, no, she thought. God. Please. No. Her heart leapt into her throat and got stuck there.

      “Mom?” Brody spotted the mutt. “Aw, sweet. A dog.” He was all the way across the seat and out of the car before she could find her voice to tell him to stay put. The dog, spotting another sucker, gave Brody one of those pleading, hopeful whines.

      Lori cleared her throat. “Brody…”

      But he was already sliding past her, making a beeline for Tucker’s ugly dog. “Hey boy, hey buddy…” The dog whined in joy and Brody dropped to his haunches, right there at Tucker’s feet. The dog licked his face and Brody hugged him and patted him and scratched him behind both ears.

      Lori looked up and found Tucker watching her. A shiver went slicing through her, so cold it burned. “My son,” she said, and she could hardly believe that her voice didn’t so much as waver. “Brody Taylor.”

      “Hey, Brody,” said Tucker.

      “Hey,” Brody replied, hardly glancing up, his whole being focused on petting the dog. “What’s his name?”

      “Fargo,” Tucker said.

      Lori looked from her son to Tucker and back to her son again. Oh, sweet Lord, she could see it. See Tucker in Brody—in the way he tilted his head. In the shape of his jaw.

      In that distinctive cleft in his chin…

      She shut her eyes and dragged in a hard breath. When she opened them again, Tucker was looking right at her.

      He frowned. “You okay, Lori?”

      “Oh, uh, fine. I’m just fine.”

      “Sure?”

      “Oh, yeah. So. You like it here, in Tate’s Junction, after all.”

      “Yes, I do—you’re in town for the wedding?”

      And to tell you about Brody. Before I leave, I will tell you. “That’s right. For the wedding.”

      Lena Lou had finally found the man she wanted to marry. His name was Dirk Davison. Like Heck Billingsworth, Lori and Lena’s father, Dirk sold cars. He owned two big dealerships on the outskirts of nearby Abilene. Dirk had proposed to Lena a year before.

      “Going to be quite an event, that wedding,” Tucker said.

      “Oh, yes.” Ever since she’d got Dirk’s four-carat ring on her finger, Lena had been planning the biggest, most elegant, high-dollar wedding that Tate’s Junction had ever seen. Lori reached into her purse again and came up with her wallet. “And we’d better get moving.” She flipped the wallet open and slid out a platinum card.

      “Well,” said Tucker. “Great to see you again…”

      “Yeah,” she answered, keeping her fake smile firmly in place. “Brody…”

      Brody scratched the dog some more. “Aw, Mom…”

      “Come on. Back in the car.” Lori stuck the credit card in the pump slot as Tucker clucked his tongue at the dog.

      “See you later, Brody,” Tucker said, turning. The dog fell into step behind him.

      “Bye, Fargo.” Brody rose and stared after the man and the dog as they headed around the convenience store, most likely on their way to the pumps on the other side. Once they disappeared, Brody looked at his mother. “Cool dog.”

      Relief flooded through her. She’d made it through meeting up with Tucker again. He’d even seen Brody. And nothing terrible had happened. Her knees felt like strings of overcooked spaghetti. She braced a hand on the gleaming hood of the car.

      “Mom. You okay?”

      She drew herself up. “You bet.”

      “We should get a dog, Mom. I could take care of him. You wouldn’t have to do anything ‘cept pay for his food.”

      “Nice try,” she said wryly, though she was thinking that maybe he was right. Maybe he was ready for a puppy and all СКАЧАТЬ