From Dare to Due Date

by Christy Jeffries

  This was his father’s usual way of minimizing the video presence, trying to get everyone to act natural and forget the cameras were even there. As if Garrett could ever forget.

  A man Garrett had seen tying his horse to the hitching post in front of the restaurant stood up. Garrett hadn’t been formally introduced to the old coot, but he knew Scooter and his old mare were permanent fixtures around town. “I think you misunderstood Miss Freckles, Doctor. She said that your man here would need to wait outside. See, us backwoods types don’t take too kindly to cameras filming us here in Sugar Falls.”

  “But I’m not filming you.” His dad’s teeth smiled brighter than the puka shell necklace around his neck. Uh-oh. This wasn’t going the way his father must have anticipated, and Garrett couldn’t help but relish in the man’s sudden shift of power. “I’m filming my son.”

  “Seems to me like the young doc here doesn’t really want to be filmed,” Freckles said. “And seeing as how he’s now one of us—what was it, backwoods types?—I think it’s best if you gentlemen skedaddle on outside. But let me know if you want to order some biscuits and gravy or one of my famous maple-glazed cinnamon rolls and I’ll be happy to box it up for you.”

  Garrett glanced at Mia, who now had her face completely turned away from the camera and was slowly lifting an open menu higher in front of her.

  Enough was enough. He needed to get his father out of here. But before he could tell his old man to hit the road, several more business owners rose from their chairs without much fanfare and slowly found their way in front of his and Mia’s seats until they’d fanned out around them, forming a human barrier of sorts.

  Garrett blinked several times. Never in his life had he seen anyone—besides himself, that is—stand up to famed television producer Gerald McCormick. Yet these small-town strangers were pulling rank around not just Mia, but Garrett, as well.

  It was a nice gesture, but honestly, Garrett didn’t need anyone to fight his battles for him. He scooted his chair out from the table, but before he could walk toward the chaos, he felt a sharp tug on his starched oxford shirt sleeve.

  “It’s best not to make a big scene and draw more attention in this direction,” Maxine whispered. “Besides, they’ve got this under control.”

  It was true. Nobody uttered a single rude or threatening word. In fact, they were being just as cordial as one would expect small-town folk to be. A woman Garrett recognized from the local market asked for an autograph, distracting his old man even further. “Make it out to Marcia Duncan, please.”

  “Is this thing still running?” Jonesy, a cowboy who was usually seen riding his horse around town with Scooter, stood directly in front of the camera, thereby ensuring any footage contained only the image of his dusty, sweat-stained Boise State cap. “You know I was Special Forces back in ’Nam. They should do a reality television show about us vets.”

  “Special Forces? You don’t say.” Garrett could now only hear his dad’s voice, which had taken on a note of frustration, but couldn’t see much around the growing group of protective townspeople. He didn’t dare look at Mia to see how she was reacting.

  “Yep,” Jonesy continued. “Learned a lot of life skills back in the corps. Did you know they taught me over a hundred ways to kill a man?” Okay, so maybe that was a bit threatening. But the cameraman lowered his equipment and shook his head toward his boss. “Anyway, just wanted to come on over to meet you and say I’m really looking forward to watching your show next season.”

  When the offending camera was finally switched off, the crowd opened up a little and Garrett was able to move closer to his dad. “Listen, son, I’ll be in town a few more days. I’m staying at the Snow Creek Lodge if you want to give me a call.”

  “I’ll talk to you later, Dad. But not with cameras nearby.”

  “I’ll take whatever I can get. But just to give you a little warning—my producers weren’t the only ones that got wind of you resurfacing and the pregnancy rumors. Besides me, nobody knew you were actually living in Idaho. Yet. All I’m asking is that you talk to me before the rest of the media figure things out and you have news vans parked up and down this charming little main street.”

  Garrett knew he’d had good reason to be suspect of Cammie Longacre when she’d spotted him with Mia in Patrelli’s. This had the potential to be a media debacle of epic proportions. But before he could think of his next step, the horseshoe-shaped wind chime tinkled above the door and a fifty-something-year-old woman with bleach-streaked hair and a rhinestone-studded denim jacket walked in. She yanked her dark glasses off her overly made-up face so quickly, they got stuck in one of her giant fuchsia hoop earrings.

  “Oh, my!” the newcomer said, still trying to get untangled. “Nobody told me they were filming in Sugar Falls.”

  “Mom?” Mia suddenly spoke up. “What are you doing over here?”

  Chapter Nine

  Seeing the cameras had been shock enough for Mia, but hearing her mother’s forced cheerful voice was more than even she could bear. How many embarrassing introductions was she expected to endure in one morning?

  Or puzzles, for that matter. From what she’d been able to piece together in the past five minutes, the father of her baby’s father was some sort of reality television mogul with a sense of fashion that was best described as surftastic. When the man called his son rebellious, Mia had to cover her mouth to keep from bursting out in nervous laughter. Gerald McCormick could easily be referring to his son’s preppy appearance, but most likely he was discouraged that Garrett didn’t share the same media objectives.

  In fact, judging by his reaction just a few moments ago, Garrett seemed to be just as freaked out about being caught on camera as she was. Sure, he had Hollywood good looks and she’d correctly assumed that he came from money. But she knew firsthand that people didn’t relocate their lives from Hollywood to a town so small that horses took up parking spaces.

  Instead of answering her question, her mother was chatting up the famous plastic surgeon and Mia’s stomach dropped. Rhonda Palinski had always kept her acrylic manicured finger on the pulse of the entertainment industry and clearly recognized Garrett’s dad.

  Mia’s posture was so stiff, her solid oak chair felt like a sagging life raft. Why hadn’t she stayed home this morning and told her mom about the baby?

  Now that the woman was here in the flesh, it wouldn’t be long before she figured out that not only was she going to be a grandmother, she was going to be a grandmother to a baby with a famous pedigree that obviously came with its own publicity.

  This was a nightmare and Mia needed to wake up—and get the heck out of there. And by there, she didn’t just mean the Cowgirl Up Café. She meant the town of Sugar Falls. It’d been easy enough to run before. She looked at the distance from her seat to the kitchen.

  “Simmer down, Mia,” Maxine whispered. “Don’t get spooked and do something you’ll regret.”

  How could her best friend be so calm?

  “That’s your mom?” Garrett had the audacity to ask, as if today’s version of “Surprise Your Offspring at the Chamber of Commerce Meeting” was reserved for him alone.

  “Yep. Looks like it’s turning into one big unhappy family reunion around here,” Mia said under her breath. Her eyelid began to shudder and she couldn’t stop her foot from tapping on the tacky turquoise paisley carpet. Oh, no. The nervous twitching was spreading to her other extremities.

  Her mother, most likely sensing she was about to miss her prey, finally looked her way.

  “Mia, the dance studio was closed when I went by so I knew I’d find you here.” Rhonda looked down at the barely touched bagel smeared with peanut butter. “Eating, of course.”

  Don’t think about the dancing hippo. Think about sure-footed bunnies hopping their way to freedom. “Mom, I left a note telling you I’d be back af
ter my meeting.”

  “I know. But when I saw the news vans, I was worried sick.” Funny, her mom didn’t look too sick. Or too worried. “I thought maybe Nick had gotten out of prison and come after you again.”

  “Who’s Nick?” Garrett asked at the same time Rhonda Palinski stepped around Scooter, the kindly old man who’d quickly jumped up to protect both her and Garrett’s privacy. “So, what’s going on with all the cameras?” she asked.

  That figured. Her mom was so worried that instead of rushing across the street to check on her only child, she’d gone straight toward the celebrity limelight, her large knock-off designer tote bag bumping into the nervous twenty-year-old kid holding the video recorder at his side.

  A loud crash sounded when the expensive-looking equipment dropped onto a table. Several cowboy boot–shaped water glasses exploded on the ground, sending ice and shards of glass every which way. When the last dish clattered to the floor, the only sound in the room was her mother’s familiar, “Oopsie.”

  How the clumsiest woman in the world could have given birth to a daughter whom dance teachers had praised as “graceful” and “fluid” and “mastery in motion” was beyond Mia. Then again, she herself hadn’t been too poised lately. Maybe that branch hadn’t fallen too far from the genetic tree after all.

  “Is she drunk?” Garrett asked.

  “No. She’s always been a bit accident prone. And extremely dramatic.” Mia leaned toward Kylie, figuring she had precious few moments during the crash’s aftermath to sneak out while everyone’s attention was diverted. “Listen, I really need to get out of here.”

  “Done,” Kylie said as she slipped her keys into Mia’s hand.

  “No good.” Freckles, who had made no move to assist cleaning up the spill, spoke out of the corner of her heavily painted lips. “Your and Maxine’s place will be the first place they look. Doc, you and Mia meet me in the kitchen. On the rack by the back door, I’ve got a spare set of keys to Cessy Walker’s lake house. She’s in Vegas this week for that Barry Manilow show and I’m supposed to be house-sitting. Nobody will look for you two there.”

  “Thanks,” Garrett said as he edged his seat back and reached for Mia’s hand.

  Wait. What? Did he seriously expect her to take off with him? She was trying to get away from the guy and this crazy cast of characters he’d just drop-kicked into her life. Well, not Rhonda. That one wasn’t his fault. She would have to shoulder the blame for that particular character.

  “I’m not going with you,” Mia said quietly, but firmly. She glanced between the scene her mother was causing by gushing all over Garrett’s famous father, and the remaining customers still shuffling around their table, just waiting to pounce again if there was a problem.

  “I’m guessing you didn’t drive yourself across the street, so unless you want to risk having Med TV’s executive producer and your, uh, mom—” a bright flash shot through the restaurant and Dr. McCormick Sr. was now squinting his eyes closed as her mother tried to snap a selfie with him “—follow you back to the dance studio, you might want to think about sneaking out the back door with me.”

  “If you don’t wanna go with the doc here,” Scooter said, his dirty Stetson in his tan, weathered hand, “then you’re more than welcome to ride Blossom on back to my cabin. She’s a real sweet filly. After we distract these folks a bit more, I can hop on the back of Klondike with Jonesy and meet you out there.”

  Jonesy nodded then shifted a wad of tobacco from one cheek to the other.

  Mia weighed her options, but she needed to act fast. Since she’d never ridden a horse, escaping out the back door with Garrett seemed like the lesser of two evils. At least for the time being. She’d have one of her friends come get her as soon as the coast was clear.

  “Thanks, Scooter, but I think it’s in Blossom’s best interest if I go with Dr. McCormick.” The older man widened his eyes and Mia clarified, “Junior. Doctor McCormick Jr. But we will definitely take you up on that offer of distraction.”

  The two cowboy buddies turned back toward her mother and Garrett’s father. “Forget vets. You know what you should do a television program on?” Scooter asked way too loudly, but succeeded in getting everyone’s attention. “Rodeo cowboys!”

  Jonesy sniffed then added, “Let me tell you about the time...”

  * * *

  Mia didn’t wait to hear the story. She silently counted to three then said, “Let’s go, Junior.”

  He stood up and pulled her behind him as several townspeople drew closer together to form a blocking wall that they passed behind on their way to the kitchen.

  “You know, I hate being called that,” Garrett whispered as they slipped by the short-order cook flipping pancakes as if he hadn’t noticed that all hell was breaking loose in the dining room.

  Mia didn’t respond, but neither did she let go of his hand. Apparently, this was another crazy mess they’d have to wade through together. She watched Garrett grab the keys hanging on the small rack by the back door. He glanced out into the alley before ushering her outside.

  The frigid air penetrated her cotton sweater and tights and Mia was reminded she’d left her heavier coat inside. And her purse.

  As far as escape attempts went, this one was certainly the least and worst planned. Sheesh, even when she’d snuck out of the hotel room in Boise, leaving Garrett sleeping in the big king-size bed, she’d had the good sense and the forethought to take her belongings with her.

  They walked between two Victorian structures, and when they’d made their way around the front corner of the building, he paused and she pressed up against his back so she could peek out onto the street, as well. There was an empty white van parked next to the hitching post where Blossom and Klondike stood drinking water out of a tin trough. She spied her mother’s red convertible Camaro across the street—the one that still had Florida vanity plates reading DNCEMOM. Otherwise, there wasn’t much traffic on Snowflake Boulevard. Yet.

  Had his father really said that there would be more news vans coming soon? The ingrained instinct to hide overwhelmed her. It felt as if she’d left her stomach behind in the alley as they ran to his fancy truck and he held the door open.

  She waved him away, but he practically stood at attention, waiting for her to get situated inside the fully loaded cab. Good manners were nice and all, but they needed to hurry.

  “Do you know how to get to Cessy Walker’s house?” Garrett asked when he finally climbed in and started the engine.

  “Flip a U-turn and head north toward Sweetwater Bend.” Mia’s seat belt had barely snapped into place when he gunned the big truck across the double yellow lines. She looked behind her, making sure nobody else had exited the café. She could see him checking out his rearview mirror, but her own nerves told her to keep a lookout, as well. By the time they turned off the main highway, Mia had a permanent crick in her neck and an ache in her knee.

  “I think we made it.” He let out a breath, but didn’t decelerate or otherwise look relieved.

  And why would he? Just because they’d temporarily escaped the eye of the storm didn’t mean they wouldn’t be affected by the aftermath. When she’d lived in Florida, she’d learned that devastation caused by hurricanes lasted long after the harsh gale winds blew through.

  And now they would be stuck doing damage control together.

  She pointed out the turn to Cessy’s gated community. With shelter in sight, Mia finally asked, “Why didn’t you tell me your dad was some famous television producer?”

  “Are you kidding?” He punched in the code written on the tag attached to the house keys, then looked at her incredulously as they waited for the ornate gate to swing open. “How did you not know that?”

  “Why in the world would I even suspect that?” Even as she asked the question, several comments he’d made in the past came back to h
er and things began to click in place.

  “Didn’t you at least look me up on the internet? I looked you up.”

  He’d researched her? Had he found out about Nick? She didn’t want to know. “I did a little bit of research. I even saw a link to your dad, but I guess I was too blind to see the connection. Or maybe my brain just didn’t want to see what was right in front of it all along.”

  He drove through the gate then waited for it to close behind him, one side of his mouth quirked up in disbelief. “Why would you not want to see that? That’s usually the first thing that draws women to me.”

  “Constant media attention and an absolute lack of privacy actually draw women to you?”

  “Isn’t that what drew you?”

  She could feel her brow furrowing as she shook her head. “Your sad eyes, your boyish smile and the way your strong hands circled around that crystal glass of single malt scotch were what drew me to you. But trust me, it didn’t matter how sexy you were or how my body responded to you. If I would’ve known who you were, I would’ve bolted in the opposite direction so fast I’d still be running.”

  He didn’t respond for several seconds. He just stared at her, his hazel eyes trying to read her face as though he was debating whether or not to believe what she’d just said. Either that or he was debating whether or not to kiss her again.

  And God help her if he opted for the latter because even after the hellish morning they’d just had and her claims to the contrary, she really didn’t think she could run too far from him. Or those lips.

  “If that’s the case, then you are the exact opposite of pretty much every single woman I’ve known my entire life.”