Fall Into Me: Hearts of the South

by Linda Winfree

  She smiled against his lips, the first genuine smile she’d had in nearly two days. “And another, right?”

  “Exactly.” Sighing hard, he wrapped her close. “I can do it if you can, Angel baby. We’ll make it work. I promise.”

  ***

  “Hear that?” Dr. Padgett ran the small transducer over Angel’s belly. A rapid whomp-whoosh-whomp filled the exam room. “That, my dear, is your baby’s heartbeat.”

  Awed, Angel drank in the sound. “That’s amazing.”

  “It’s also a very healthy heartbeat.” Dr. Padgett lifted the wand, the pulse stopping as she did so. The nurse wiped the clear gel away from Angel’s skin and offered a hand to help her sit up. “Your blood pressure is good, and everything looks great so far.” She consulted Angel’s chart. “Since the heartbeat is audible, I think we’re looking at a nine-to-ten, maybe eleven week pregnancy, which means sometime in July, you’ll be a brand-new mom.”

  Still the dratted two-week gap. Angel tugged her skirt into place over her thighs. “I don’t suppose we can narrow that down yet?”

  “I wish I could.” Dr. Padgett shrugged in apology. “I’d like to use both crown-rump length and the biparietal diameter to get a more accurate date with an ultrasound. That’ll be at your next appointment, when you’re over the thirteen-weeks range.”

  Which meant more weeks of uncertainty. Lord, the last month had been bad enough, as she lay awake, next to Troy Lee or not, wrestling with the right thing to do where Jim and Cookie were concerned. Running circles in her head hadn’t gotten her anywhere but exhausted; she was no closer to an answer now than she’d been at the beginning.

  “So you’re good until I see you again in early January. I’d like you to limit the lifting at work, maybe have someone do that for you, but otherwise, there’s no problem with continuing your normal activities.” Indulgence colored Dr. Padgett’s smile. “Including sex, if you’re so inclined.”

  Oh, she was, with Troy Lee hanging around, constantly touching, even if they had held back sexually ever since she’d discovered her pregnancy. He remained his normal affectionate, hugging, kissing self.

  “Do you have any questions for me?” Dr. Padgett’s gentle voice pulled her free of the reverie.

  “Um, not really.” She tucked her hair behind her ears.

  “If you have any later, don’t hesitate to call.” Dr. Padgett scribbled across a prescription pad. “This is for prenatal vitamins. See Lynne at the desk on your way out to set up an appointment for next month.”

  “Thanks.” She slipped the prescription into her purse, took a moment to tug on her boots, then walked through to see Lynne.

  While Christmas music played softly in the background, Lynne hit a few keys at the computer, printed off an appointment card and slid it across the counter. “All right, you’re good to go. We’ll see you January tenth.”

  Outside, an icy wind tossed dried leaves about the parking lot under low gunmetal clouds. Shivering, she flipped open her phone and tapped in a quick text message to Troy Lee, a simple “everything okay”. By the time she’d reached her car and slipped into the driver’s seat, he’d responded with his characteristic “good deal” message. Suffused with the sense of warm well-being he always inspired, she rubbed her thumb across the screen before folding the phone and dropping it on the passenger seat. She wished he were here, that he could have shared in the absolute joy of listening to that incredibly rapid little heartbeat.

  Except she couldn’t be sure he wanted to be that involved in her pregnancy. He was concerned, caring, solicitous…about her. Still, the fact he hadn’t attempted to broach the subject of her pregnancy or accompanying her to this appointment ate at her, taking little bites out of her confidence.

  Why should he? The nasty little doubt whispered in her head. It’s not his baby. You think he’s going to want to be involved, to really stay around?

  She bit her lip and fought down the uncertainty.

  “One second,” she murmured, finally inserting the key in the ignition and firing the engine. “Remember that. One second at a time.”

  A smile tugging at his mouth, Troy Lee returned his cell to his belt and relaxed into the diner booth, letting Cookie’s own quiet cell-phone conversation drift over him. He hated that he’d not been at this appointment, her first official prenatal check, but hadn’t been sure about asking to go, either. He wasn’t this baby’s father, although he found himself awed by the subtle changes taking place in her body already.

  He was willing to step into that dad’s role, though. He worried about her, wanted to protect her and the tiny life inside her, an emotion he’d not encountered before. Besides, didn’t he know from personal experience with Christine that biology had nothing to do with loving a child?

  Two teenage girls, one wearing a fast-food uniform, the other a grocery-store smock, claimed the adjacent table. The first, a tall blonde, slumped in her chair and picked at the artificial flowers crammed into a mason jar. “I hate him.”

  Her companion brushed auburn hair behind her ears. “Two days ago you loved him.”

  “That was before he asked her to the winter formal.” The blonde’s mouth trembled and she blinked hard. “And before he called me white trash and told me the reason he never took me anywhere was because he was ashamed to be seen with me.”

  “He’s a jerk and you’re not white trash. Maybe you’re not in the same ‘society’ as him”—the redhead made air quotes and grimaced in disgust—“but you work hard and you’re pulling down a four-point-oh. If anybody’s trash, he is.”

  “Easy for you to say.” Genuine hurt lingered in the blonde’s voice. She continued fiddling with the fake daisy. “Your daddy works at the bank and you go to the right church. Nobody’s going to call you trash.”

  Their voices died as Shanna arrived to take their order. Troy Lee frowned, rubbing his thumb around the rim of his mug as Angel’s torn voice echoed in his head.

  A white-trash slut… Isn’t that what everyone is going to say?

  “Yeah, thanks for calling.” Cookie snapped his cell shut and looked across the scarred Formica table at Troy Lee. “You about ready?”

  He nodded and downed the last swallow of coffee he’d added too much sugar to. He slid from the booth and pulled a bill from his wallet, tucking it and their ticket under his empty coffee mug. Over the past few weeks, this had become their routine, Cookie spending part of each shared shift in the patrol car with him, mentoring, smoothing out the rough spots in his techniques, talking out scenarios over a quick meal as they’d done over breakfast that morning.

  With a slight scowl twisting his brow, he glanced back at the girls on his way out. The overheard conversation and Angel’s choice of words niggled. Was that was going on in her head? Stupid small-town classism? Shit. One thing was for damn sure, if that was the issue, he’d find a way to knock down that misconception and fast.

  On the sidewalk, Cookie jerked his head toward the other side of the courthouse square. “Listen, I need to walk down to Hodges Jewelers for a minute. You want to tag along?”

  “No, I’m going to stop in the bookstore, see if that book on conditioning I ordered is in.”

  They skirted the newly sodded courthouse lawn, parting ways at the corner. A wave of lavender and sage wafted over Troy Lee as soon as he opened the heavy glass door of the small bookstore.

  “Be with you in a second.” Lacy Friedman’s voice drifted from the storage room at the rear of the old building.

  He browsed a minute, his footsteps creaking on the polished hardwood floor. He thumbed through a couple of books in the science section before Lacy appeared, smiling. “Hey, Troy Lee. What can I do for you?”

  “I thought I’d see if that book you ordered for me was in.”

  A small frown of concentration wrinkled Lacy’s brow. “I don’t think so, but let me go check this morning’s shipment. Be right back.”

  “Take your time.” He slipped the book he held back on the shelf and
continued looking while Lacy disappeared into the backroom again. The medical section caught his attention and he slid a colorful book on expecting mothers from the shelf. He flipped through, skimming the section on the first trimester. The baby was minuscule, about the size of a lima bean, maybe a large shrimp. He or she would have an audible heartbeat now—damn it, had he missed hearing that this morning? Angel would still be feeling fatigued—yep. She’d fallen asleep, in midsentence, against his shoulder Sunday afternoon while they’d watched a movie. Might still have morning sickness—yep again—although that should be gone by her fourth month or so. Unless the doctor said otherwise, sex was a go too. He’d given Angel a copy of his last blood test results, from his physical in early October. He hadn’t wanted her to worry that he carried anything that posed a threat to her or the baby. She should have the results of her own tests back today and God knew he missed making love to her.

  Except she’d told him at the beginning she needed time to get used to things and he didn’t want to push. He couldn’t keep his hands off her completely, but—

  “What are you reading?” Cookie’s lazy question startled him and he fumbled the book, closing and shelving it as fast as he could.

  “Nothing.” Face hot, he rolled his shoulders in an awkward shrug. “Get what you needed at Hodges?”

  “Yeah.” A grin quirked at Cookie’s mouth, his eyes glinting with good humor.

  “Hey, Troy Lee.” Lacy stopped in the doorway, her expression apologetic. “It’s not here. I’m sorry. I’ll call you as soon as it arrives, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Thanks, Lacy.”

  “Let’s hit the road.” Cookie gestured toward the door. “I’m supposed to meet Tori at her mama’s for dinner and I promised I wouldn’t be late this time.”

  Glad the discussion of his reading material seemed dropped, Troy Lee followed him outside, with one last wave at Lacy. “You should know better than to go making promises like that.”

  “Listen, I can hope for a quiet day. Right?”

  “I guess.”

  Cookie rode along for his first uneventful patrol round. After that, he dropped Cookie back off at the department and began round two. The quiet of Chandler County when there was absolutely nothing going on drove him nuts, giving him too much time to think about Angel, to worry that the way they felt wouldn’t be enough to overcome her fear.

  He turned left onto 19 and pulled off into the median. Radar log on his lap, he took his calibration reading. With the required check out of the way, he sat back and waited. This area of the four-lane highway didn’t produce many tickets—he spent enough time in this spot most of the locals had learned to slow down, which was his intent on this stretch anyway, not revenue generation. Dale Jenkins rumbled by in his farm truck and waved. A couple of the local girls, ones who came out on Saturday nights to watch him and Clark and the boys play did likewise. He chuckled to himself. Why he even calibrated the radar for this area was beyond him. He couldn’t write a ticket here if he tried.

  Twisting his wrist, he checked his watch. Almost eleven thirty. Man, it was going to be a long, tedious day.

  A red Ford pickup topped the slight hill and the radar-unit numbers flashed—eighty-one, eighty-two, eighty-one. He locked in the speed and shifted into drive to pull out behind the truck as it screamed by. Brake lights flared, about the same time the vehicle’s familiarity sank in. Shit, Paul Bostick again. Troy Lee flipped his blue lights on and for a moment thought the kid would rabbit. However, after that brief pause, the brake lights shone again and the Ford pulled to the shoulder.

  Stopping behind him, Troy Lee considered the vehicle for a moment, Paul’s darkly mutinous expression plain in the outside mirror as the boy lowered the window. Troy Lee’s instincts whispered that this wasn’t going to go well. Checking to make sure the dash-cam was engaged and recording audio, he lifted the mike, calling in his time and the tag number. Still eying the mirror reflection, he keyed the mike once more. “C-13 to C-3.”

  “Go ahead, C-13.”

  “You busy?”

  “No.”

  “Request your presence for a stop, about a hundred yards north of the Gethsemane Church of Christ.”

  “En route, C-13.”

  Troy Lee grabbed his ticket book, pushed the door open and settled his campaign hat atop his head. As he approached, Paul stared sullenly up the highway.

  “I need to see your license and proof of insurance, please.”

  “I wasn’t speeding.” Malevolent discontent poisoned the just-changed-to-manhood voice.

  Keeping his stance relaxed yet authoritative, making sure his expression was damn-well impassive, Troy Lee held the boy’s gaze. “I need your license and proof of insurance, please.”

  “I called my daddy before you even got out. He’s on his way, so you might as well climb back in your little police car and leave me the hell alone.” A sneer twisted Paul’s mouth. “He’s gunning for your badge anyway, asshole.”

  Troy Lee swallowed the bile of anger created by the blatant disrespect. He flipped open his ticket book. Engines sounded in the distance, Cookie’s unmarked unit topping the hill right before Bubba Bostick’s truck appeared at the Flint crossroads and headed for them.

  Cookie stopped behind Troy Lee’s unit. He paused, bending down to study the radar unit through the driver’s window as he passed. Bubba turned sideways across the median, leaving his truck in the grass, and hustled across the blacktop.

  “What did you do now?” Bubba threw out his hands, his features set in a mask of disgust as he glared at his son. Troy Lee shook his head and kept writing.

  “Daddy, I told you—he’s lying. I wasn’t speeding this time.”

  Troy Lee checked off the boxes at the bottom of the ticket for the road conditions: dry pavement, highway. First he was an asshole, now he was a liar. Really, all he needed was Calvert to appear, so he could go for the Triple Crown and be a fuck-up too.

  Bubba turned his attention to Cookie. “Do you know what’s going on here?”

  “Radar is locked in at eighty-one.” Cookie appeared completely unruffled. He cocked an eyebrow at Troy Lee. “Did you calibrate it?”

  “Yes, sir. Log’s on the front seat.”

  “Camera’s on?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cookie nodded. “Bubba, let’s walk back and take a look.”

  Bubba slanted a look at his son. “Come on.”

  At Troy Lee’s car, Cookie checked his calibration log, showed it and the locked radar to Bubba, whose face tightened with each second. Settling in the driver’s seat, Cookie ran the digital recorder back, playing the video from the moment Troy Lee locked his radar on Paul’s truck. For once, Troy Lee was damn glad Calvert had been so hard on him—he’d learned to rein in his emotions, keep them off his face and under control, all of that showing as Paul refused to hand over his license and insurance paperwork.

  Bubba turned a slow, glacially cold glower on his son. “Give him your license and insurance card. Now.”

  “But, Daddy—”

  “Goddammit, I said now.”

  His mouth set in a taut line, Paul passed the items over to Troy Lee. He completed the license check and filled out the remainder of the ticket while waiting for Deb to come back with the license and insurance status. Once that was done, he extended the ticket book for Paul’s signature, jotted a number three in the upper right-hand corner and tore the yellow copy free for the kid.

  Bubba narrowed his eyes at his son. “Go home. We’ll talk later.”

  With a sizzling glare at Troy Lee, Paul stalked to his truck and pulled onto the highway. Bubba ran a hand over his balding head. “I’m sorry about this. I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately.” He pointed at Troy Lee. “He won’t give you any more trouble.”

  With a brief goodbye, he glanced for oncoming traffic and jogged to his truck, pulling off in the opposite direction. Troy Lee stared, made sure his mouth was closed, then shook his head on a rueful laugh. “Did I
just see what I think I did? Did he let the kid drive home?”

  “Damn sure did.” Cookie tucked his thumbs in his belt. “If I ever have a kid…”

  He let the commentary trail away, but the icy reality showered over Troy Lee. Hell, Cookie might very well be having a kid and not know it. The sheer magnitude of what he was helping keep from Cookie tried to steal his breath. Troy Lee rubbed a hand over his nape and tossed his ticket book on the passenger seat. Except he wasn’t helping to keep it a secret, not really. It wasn’t his place to tell.

  He still didn’t know for sure what his place was.

  “Thanks for backing me up.” He glanced at his watch. “Now you’re going to be late.”

  “Anytime. Tori will understand. I hope.” Cookie pulled his keys from the ring at his belt and tossed them in the air a couple of times, watching them with a contemplative expression. “I think you did the right thing, calling me.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He was pretty sure Bubba’s attitude might have been different if Cookie hadn’t been present. Paul’s taunt about his father gunning for Troy Lee’s badge echoed. In his experience, kids didn’t just come up with that kind of stuff on their own. Although it galled him that he hadn’t been able to make Paul comply without intervention, he’d also figured out early on that cops who tried to do everything solo usually ended up in trouble, one way or another.

  And trouble was one thing he was trying his best to avoid.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Angel opened the door to the salon, her newly hyperaware sense of smell recoiling from the layers of hairspray, peroxide and ammonia. Her mama looked up from trimming Miranda Holton’s hair and smiled. “Hey, honey. What are you doing here?”

  “Hey, Mama.” She brushed a kiss over her mother’s cheek and waved at her sister, who was involved in applying foil highlights to one of her regulars. “Just thought I’d drop by and see you on the way to work.”

  Mama made a fake smirk and winked at Miranda in the mirror. “Feels guilty because she’s too wrapped up in her new young man to come see her mama like she’s supposed to.”