“She was a couple of years younger than me,” Kate said. “Didn’t she date Boone Randall while she was here?”
Hettie nodded. “Yes, she did. She’s my granddaughter. Her mother didn’t know she was here, but it was such a joy to have her with me, if even for a little while. Now you know why I’m so glad the times have changed.”
The door opened and Dusty stepped inside. “Is the food ready?” he asked, rubbing his hands together and eyeing the table. “What?” he asked when they all looked at him. “A man has to eat.”
All four women burst into laughter. “Oh, Dusty,” Kate said, going to slip her arms around his neck. “Your timing is, as always, perfect.”
The table was quickly loaded with ham, sweet potato casserole and green beans from the garden. Talk turned to spring and a summer filled with babies. Trish joined in, but her mind was busy. Looking around the table, she knew she could count on the people dearest to her. She also thought maybe someday Morgan would tell her what had happened in his life to make him change his mind about marrying her.
Chapter Eleven
It was late when Morgan let himself in the front door of the Commune. After Dusty had left him at Lou’s Place with some things to think about, he’d ordered a sandwich and concentrated on what he needed to do. That would have been easier if he’d known what he wanted to do. He didn’t.
As he started up the stairs to his apartment, he heard someone close one of the doors down the hall. He stopped, suspecting it was Ernie. He was right.
“Come on into my office,” his uncle said when he saw him. “We need to talk.”
Tired, Morgan hesitated. “Can we do whatever this is tomorrow? It’s been a long day.”
Ernie peered at him over the banister. “Whatever you think,” he said with a shrug and then turned to start back down the hall. “But you might find it interesting.”
“Okay,” Morgan answered, but even he heard the frustration behind the word. Ernie wouldn’t bother him about anything that wasn’t important, so he followed him down the hallway to the Commune’s office. “What are you doing up so late?”
Ernie opened the door and stepped inside. “Hettie wanted me to tell you something.”
Morgan followed, but stopped just inside. Hettie was probably still angry that he hadn’t joined her at the Claybornes’ for Dusty and Kate’s welcome-home dinner. Pulling off his hat, he raked his hands through his hair. “I don’t need to hear Hettie’s latest lecture, even if it’s watered down through you.”
He turned and put his hand on the doorknob, ready to leave, until his uncle spoke. “I think you need to know about this.”
Morgan looked over his shoulder and saw that his uncle was serious. “Okay, what is it?”
“Hettie knows Trish is pregnant, and so does Aggie.”
Releasing the doorknob, Morgan faced his uncle. “Is that supposed to be good or bad?”
“Don’t ask me,” Ernie said, raising his hands in surrender. “But she wanted you to know.”
Morgan nodded, relieved that Trish had told her aunt. “I’m glad they know. Maybe they can talk some sense into Trish. She doesn’t seem to want to talk about the expenses.”
He turned again for the door, but Ernie hadn’t finished. “Maybe somebody should talk some sense into you.”
This time, Morgan jerked his head around to stare at his uncle. “I’m the only one acting like a rational adult about this. For some reason, Trish doesn’t want to include me on this. I just want to make it easier for her to provide for the baby.”
“Is that all you plan to do?” Ernie asked.
Morgan shrugged. This was becoming more difficult by the day. He tried not to think about the things Connie had said to him. It only made him think about what it would be like not to be involved in his child’s life. He still wasn’t convinced he should be. He’d kept telling himself they’d be better off without him. Once the baby came, he would give the baby anything it needed. But he couldn’t be involved in their lives any other way.
“It’s what I’ve planned all long,” he finally answered.
“How will you do that?
“You know,” Morgan answered. “Medical expenses, clothes and things for the baby. Education expenses.”
“But is that what you want to do?” Ernie asked, watching him closely.
“Of course,” Morgan answered, but he couldn’t meet his uncle’s eyes.
“I get the feeling it isn’t.” Ernie took a seat behind his small desk, littered with memorabilia from his travels. “Why do you think that is?”
Morgan hated it when his uncle started asking questions like this. It reminded him of his mother, who could nail a person with guilt by doing nothing more than raising one eyebrow. “Because I still love her,” he admitted.
“Ding, ding, ding. Give the sheriff the prize.”
Morgan stared at his uncle, but saw no humor in his eyes. “All right,” he said, throwing up his hands and dropping to a nearby chair, “I give up. What do you want me to do?”
“What I want isn’t important,” Ernie answered. “What is important is what you want—and I mean really want—and what Trish wants. The only way I see that you can get to that point is by being honest, both with yourself and with her. So in as few words as possible, tell her that what happened in Miami and what happened here in Desperation with John is what led you to cancel the wedding.”
Morgan considered it for a brief second, and then shook his head. “I can’t.”
Ernie shook his head, too, as he got to his feet. “Then I guess we’re done here.” He reached his hand across the desk, and Morgan took it. “I wish I could do more, but good luck.”
After thanking him, Morgan walked out the door. Taking Ernie’s advice was the worst thing he could do. There was no reason to scare Trish with the past, when what he was trying to do was make sure her future was peaceful and without worry. Hers and the baby’s.
No matter what he did, Trish was his every reason. When he’d canceled the wedding, it was to save her from the risk of leaving her a widow. When she’d said she would raise the baby without him, he was relieved and had offered financial support. It was the only thing to do that would assure her a life without constant worry. He’d seen that with Connie, long before Ben had been killed.
But could he remain on the outside looking in, as he’d planned, missing all the joys of being a real father?
He thought of all these things later, as he lay in bed, unable to sleep as conversations and images tumbled through his mind. No matter what he did, it wouldn’t be the best thing. None of his options were. After he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of the wedding that wasn’t.
Saturday morning dawned bright and cold. After calling Stu to let him know he’d be late, he drove to the Clayborne farm. Now that Aggie knew about the baby, maybe he could get some help from her to convince Trish that they needed to start making arrangements. Once that was done, he would step out of Trish’s life.
“Good morning, Miss Aggie,” he said, when Trish’s aunt answered the kitchen door after he’d knocked.
“Same to you, Sheriff Rule,” she answered. “Trish is at Kate’s if that’s who you’re looking for.”
“No, I wasn’t looking for Trish.”
“Then what is it I can do for you this fine winter morning, Sheriff?”
He tried for a smile but found it difficult. “This isn’t an official visit, Miss Aggie. It’s personal business.”
“Ah,” she said, and then nodded. Holding the door open, she waved him inside. “Come on in, then.”
He’d been inside the Clayborne kitchen hundreds of times, but this time he felt uncomfortable in the usually cozy surroundings.
“Go on, take a load off,” Aggie said, indicating a chair with a nod. “Coffee?”
He cleared his throat as he slipped off his hat and shrugged out of his jacket. “Don’t mind if I do, thanks.”
After she’d poured him a cup, she brought it to the table and se
t it in front of him, then lowered herself to her chair. “This is about Trish, I take it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He wrapped his hands around the hot cup and hoped for the best. “You see, Miss Aggie, I understand this is a difficult time for Trish.”
“Is it?” she asked. “Why do you think that, Morgan?”
“The new doctor explained it,” he began. “She said changes in the body—hormones and things like that—could bring on some instability. With emotions. Like Trish’s crying,” he hurried to explain.
“Or maybe it’s difficult because it was only a few months ago that you canceled the wedding.”
“Well, I—” He didn’t know how much Trish had told her, but he wanted her to know that he was more than willing to help. “I want to make it easier for her, raising the baby on her own.”
“Trish will be fine. Don’t you worry about that,” Aggie said, picking up her cup to take a sip of coffee.
Morgan realized he should have been prepared for this. “I want to do what’s right.”
“As in financial support, but other than that, she and the baby are on their own?”
“Yes,” he said, and then realized that wasn’t right. Shaking his head, he corrected his answer. “No.” Even that didn’t seem right, but he plunged ahead. “If you’d help me make Trish see that I want to do this for her and the baby, that it’s the right thing to do—”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
Aggie put the cup down and studied him from across the table. “For who?
“For Trish. For the baby,” he answered, unsure what Aggie was getting at.
Leaning back in her chair, Aggie crossed her arms. “And what about you? Is this right for you?”
He hesitated for a moment, and then chased the doubts away. “Yeah, I’d say it’s the right thing for me.” At least that’s how he saw it. Most of the time. “But Trish and the baby come first.”
He waited for Aggie to say more, even ask more questions. When she didn’t, a cloak of unease fell over him. “You have a lot of sway with Trish, Miss Aggie. If you’d only help her see that—”
“Morgan Rule, you’re a good man, but there are a lot of things you don’t know about women.”
“I’m aware of that, Miss Aggie, but I’d venture to say the same can be said about most men.” He had to try one more time. “So will you help me?”
Aggie’s chair scraped on the floor when she moved it back. Getting to her feet, she looked at him. “No.”
“But—”
“Trish knows Kate and I are here for her,” she said, her voice quiet but strong. But it also held kindness, as did her blue eyes. “We’ll help her with whatever she needs. We’re Claybornes. We know how to be a family. Do you?”
“It was Trish’s decision to raise the baby without me,” he pointed out in his defense.
“And you agreed to it.”
She had him on that. “It’s the only thing I could do,” he admitted. “There are…reasons.”
He could tell by the look on her face that it wouldn’t do to argue or try another tactic. Aggie was not willing to help. “If it’s all right,” he said, giving up, “I’ll come by to see Trish this evening, after she gets back from Kate’s.”
“Suit yourself,” Aggie said with a shrug. “But you’re on your own where Trish is concerned.”
Nodding, he stood. “Thanks for listening to me, at least.”
Aggie walked him to the door and placed a hand on his arm. “You’re a good man, Morgan, but sometimes we have to put ourselves in the other person’s shoes to understand.”
“Yes, ma’am.” All he knew was that sometimes the shoes of that other person pinched.
“TRISH, MORGAN’S HERE.”
Morgan stood in the Clayborne hallway with Aggie and waited for Trish to come downstairs. He’d given it a lot of thought, and if it came down to telling her about what happened in Miami, then he would. He’d even tell her about John, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to. Miami was far away, but John was right here in Desperation, and Morgan didn’t want her to worry. That was his job, not hers.
When he heard footsteps, he looked up to see her descending the staircase, her lips pulled down in a frown and her eyes puzzled. “Hello, Morgan.”
“Trish,” he said, without emotion. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, he glanced at Aggie. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”
“The living room,” Aggie answered, “and I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”
Trish’s eyes widened, but all she said was, “Thank you, Aunt Aggie.”
Aggie turned for the kitchen, and Morgan followed Trish into the living room. The room was seldom used, but he and Dusty had shared many weekends watching football and baseball games, so he felt at home in it. He hoped Trish would, too. They both needed to feel comfortable and at ease with each other. But as Trish took a seat on the big overstuffed chair, she didn’t look at all receptive.
“What’s this about, Morgan?” she asked, as he chose the end of the sofa closest to her.
“It’s time we make some decisions about the arrangements,” he answered, hoping this time she wouldn’t brush him off.
Her chin went up, reminding him of her sister. It hadn’t escaped him how much this pregnancy had changed Trish. He didn’t think it was bad that she was more independent, but it was taking some getting used to.
“What if I’m not ready to talk about finances?” she asked. “There’s plenty of time for that in the next few months. I don’t see why you’re in such a rush.”
He’d expected her to say something similar and he’d decided that if telling her the reason he’d called off their wedding would help, he would. “Maybe you’ll understand my position after I tell you about some things.”
“Like what?”
He was going against everything he believed was right, but he’d started and would have to finish. “The real reason I canceled our wedding.”
Trish’s eyes widened for a moment, and then she settled back in the chair. “All right.”
After wondering all day how to tell her about his experience as a police officer in Miami, he decided to keep it as brief as possible. “I never mentioned anything about my job in Miami,” he began, the words difficult to form, “or my partner or his family. I never told anyone in Desperation, except Ernie.”
Trish leaned forward. “Morgan, did something bad happen in Miami?”
He nodded. “My partner was shot in his front yard in a drive-by shooting, while his wife and I stood watching.”
There, he’d said it. And he felt like he’d reopened a wound. Would it ever heal?
“Oh, my—” she whispered, her eyes wide. “Why didn’t you tell me, Morgan?”
“Because it had nothing to do with you or Desperation, except to bring me here. It was as if it had happened in another lifetime, except that I couldn’t forget.”
“No one else knows?”
He shook his head and dangled his clasped hands between his knees. “Only Ernie and only because he needed to know why I was here.”
“Morgan, that’s so…” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, he could see the tears glistening in her eyes. “Were you and your partner close?” she asked.
“He was like a big brother to me when I first joined the force. He showed me the ropes, helped me hone my skills and made me a better cop.”
“He was older than you?”
“A few years. He made me a part of his family. His wife, Connie, spent hours talking to me about what it was like to be the wife of a cop in a city where there was constant bloodshed of some kind.”
“I’m sure it’s brutal,” she said, reaching out to put her hand on his. “What you went through—” She shook her head and sighed. “Most people couldn’t have gone on.”
“Connie and the kids needed somebody, so I stayed for six months,” he explained, remembering the time as clearly as if it had happened a week ago.
“H
ow old were their kids?”
“Ben Junior was eleven, and Tasha was eight.”
“Did they— Where were they when the shooting happened?”
“Asleep in their beds,” he answered. “It was late. We’d had one of our Saturday-night barbecues.” He looked up and into her eyes. “Ben loved to grill, and Connie would tease him about not knowing how to cook, but he sure could grill a mean steak. Sometimes he’d smoke ribs, but that night, it was the steaks.”
They were silent for a moment, until Trish asked, “Did you see the car coming?”
He shook his head, remembering it as if it was yesterday. “Connie was on the porch steps, and I was standing in the middle of the yard. We were joking about the watermelon-seed-spitting contest we’d had and how Connie had beat us all.” He was seeing it again, as if he was there. The dark road lit only by a few streetlamps, the small gas light glowing in the front yard. A dog barked down the street, and he heard the faint sound of garbage cans being tipped over. “My back was to the street. Ben was telling Connie again that he was sure she’d cheated, but he never finished the sentence. None of us heard the car as it approached.” He clenched his hands together, not realizing Trish’s was still on his. “I should have seen it. Heard it. Something.”
“No, Morgan, you can’t think of it that way.”
He glanced over at her. “I wish I didn’t think of it at all sometimes. I don’t remember if the car’s headlights were on. Probably not. I’ve never been able to answer that question. But I remember the sound of several shots, and then Ben went down. Then the squeal of tires, and I pulled my gun and spun around and started shooting. I know I hit the car and shattered at least one window, but the car just kept going.”
“Did they find out who did it?
Her voice was soft and caring, and he nodded. “Some kids. Gang. Ben had testified against some of their family members who had been put away for a long time.”
“I can only imagine how awful it was for you. And for Connie.”
Nodding, he forced out the words. “She’s a strong woman, but losing Ben was almost more than she could handle. She’d told me so many times how hard it was being the wife of a cop, not knowing if this night or that night would be when she’d get a call that something had happened and Ben was in the hospital or wouldn’t be coming home. She never expected it to happen right in front of her.”
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