Giving Thanks for Baby. Terri Reed

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СКАЧАТЬ watched them together, Aidan’s eyes bright with curiosity and Scott so animated. She felt a pang of sadness and anger for what Kevin had chosen to destroy.

      He’d vowed to have nothing to do with their child if she chose to keep him. So far he’d kept his vow.

      But the disturbing message left on her machine earlier in the week nagged at her. Thankfully, he hadn’t called again and she had no intention of calling him. She was done with that chapter of her life. She and Aidan would do just fine.

      She thanked the girl behind the counter who handed her some lukewarm water. She quickly mixed Aidan’s bottle and went back to the table.

      Scott reached for the bottle. “May I?”

      “Uh, sure.” She watched as Aidan greedily sucked from the rubber tip, drips of liquid leaking from the corners of his mouth. She handed Scott a burp cloth. He dabbed at the corners of Aidan’s mouth and placed the cloth underneath the bottle to catch the dribbles.

      “Your sister must love to have you babysit,” Trista commented.

      Scott chuckled. “I get asked to babysit a lot. Not only by my siblings’ kids but at church, too.” He shrugged. “I love kids.”

      “It shows.” Her heart twisted with yearning for someone like Scott to be an important part of her son’s life. Maybe he could be, as their friend? That might require attending church, but more significantly, letting Scott into her life. She wasn’t sure if she could do either one.

      Chapter Three

      Trista’s attention was snagged by a woman and a young boy as they rose from a nearby table. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was Lynda Matthews—television talk show star Douglas Matthews’s wife—and their son, Logan. Trista gasped softly as the woman turned toward her.

      A dark bruise covered one eye from the bottom of her cheekbone to the top of her eyebrow, masking the spattering of freckles on the left side of her face.

      Trista jumped up and went to the woman. “Lynda? What happened?”

      Lynda’s pale-blue eyes widened in panic. She reached up and tugged at her light-brown bobbed hair as if to cover the mark. Her four-year-old son clung to her hand.

      “I—I, uh…” She tried to smile but it looked more like a wince. “Logan has a great pitching arm.”

      Trista didn’t buy the lie. No way could Logan, a little slip of a boy, throw a baseball hard enough to cause such damage.

      Scott joined them, Aidan propped on his hip as though he belonged there, but his jaw had taken on a hard edge. “Hello, Mrs. Matthews. Logan. Would you care to join us?”

      Lynda shook her head and clutched at the closed neckline of her button-up blouse with her free hand. “We really should go. Douglas has an interview this morning with the paper and he would…like for us to be home when he gets home.”

      Trista had met Douglas Matthews on several occasions. She doubted the self-important man would even notice if his wife and son were home. At the Fourth of July barbecue in Winchester Park, Lynda had indicated she wanted to talk with Trista in a lawyer-client way.

      But Lynda had never called.

      Clearly something was going on, and Trista wasn’t going to let it slide. “Lynda, would you be interested in having lunch with me one day next week?”

      Lynda swallowed. Her gaze shifted around as if checking to see that no one overheard them. Timidly she nodded.

      “Do you still have my card?” Trista asked, even as she stepped back to the stroller to find another one.

      Lynda took the business card Trista held out with shaky hands. “We should go.”

      Trista stopped her with a hand to her arm. Lynda shied away slightly. “Promise me you’ll call. That has all my numbers on it.”

      “I’ll try,” Lynda said softly.

      “If I don’t hear from you by Thursday, I’ll call you.”

      Lynda shook her head. “Oh, no. I’ll call.” She scurried away, her son close to her side.

      “Did you believe that story?”

      Trista turned to Scott. Worry darkened his eyes. “What do your vibes tell you?”

      A muscle ticked in his jaw. “That she’s hiding something. Something not good.”

      Trista nodded. “That, Pastor Scott, is an understatement. I’d say her husband did that to her.”

      Scott frowned. “I wouldn’t go advertising your suspicion unless you have proof.”

      She took offense to his warning to keep quiet. That wasn’t in her nature. She took Aidan from him. “What other explanation could there be?”

      Scott shook his head. “I don’t know. I can only pray that it’s not true and that she will get help if it is.”

      Hugging Aidan close to still the quiet anger running through her, Trista said, “She’ll get help. I’ll make sure of that.”

      Scott smiled. “Spoken like a true avenger.” His expression turned cautious. “Just remember that revenge and vengeance aren’t yours, hers or mine to take.”

      Trista refrained from rolling her eyes. “You sound like my brother. He uses scripture on me all the time and he’s not even a pastor.”

      Scott’s expression looked so stricken that she laughed.

      “Don’t worry, I know Ross is only trying to help me.”

      “He loves you,” Scott stated, his gaze still troubled.

      “Yes,” she agreed. “And I love him, so I tolerate it.”

      “But you won’t tolerate it from me?”

      She grinned. “Not yet. We’ve only just met.”

      “Would you…” He had the sweetest look of indecision on his face that made Trista want to say yes to whatever he was going to ask just to put him out of his misery.

      “Would you want to go to a movie with me tomorrow night?” he finished quickly

      Warning bells went off in her head. She wanted to refuse, but her lips wouldn’t let the words out. Wasn’t she planning on going to the theater tomorrow anyway? “Are you asking me on a date?”

      For a beat he looked stunned, then slowly shrugged.

      “Is that allowed?”

      His eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

      “I mean, you’re a pastor. Can you date?”

      He chuckled. “Yes. I have a special dispensation.” He winked.

      “Oh.” A date? With him? Not a good idea СКАЧАТЬ