Making It Right

by Kathy Altman

  Kerry Endicott.

  It pissed him off royally that some small part of him was pleased to see her.

  Though if she’d come to manipulate him some more, you’d never know it from her face. Her faded jeans and dark gray sweater, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, did nothing to add color to skin nearly as white as Sheetrock. Her hair was scraped back into its usual ponytail, emphasizing eyes weighted with purple shadows. Maybe that was her plan, to rouse his sympathy.

  “Why are you here?” he asked bluntly.

  “We need to talk.”

  He snickered. “That might scare me, if we meant anything at all to each other.”

  “Could we talk in the back, in case someone comes in?”

  He frowned. She didn’t sound smug or the slightest bit dastardly. Instead she sounded...worried.

  Oh, shit.

  “Everything okay with your dad?”

  “As far as I know. He’s still not talking to me.”

  “Eugenia?”

  “This isn’t about anyone else, okay? Just...us.”

  A sense of foreboding made his heart rate pick up. He pushed at his glasses. “Want to tell me what this is about?”

  “I’m trying to.”

  “Fine.” He led her past the small break area and into his office, leaving the door open so he could hear the bell out front. He leaned his hips against the edge of his battered metal desk and gestured to a chair in the corner.

  She remained standing. She shoved at the sleeves of her sweater, and he felt a sudden burst of self-sympathy because whatever she was about to say was sure to make this day suck worse than the day he’d learned she was Harris’s daughter.

  “To be honest...” she started.

  “That would be refreshing.” When she sucked in a breath, he tugged at his ear. “That was uncalled for,” he muttered. “I apologize.”

  She didn’t rail at him. Instead she raised her chin. “I’m pregnant.”

  “What?” He grabbed at the edges of the desk so he wouldn’t end up on the floor. “What?” He scanned her face, which showed nothing but sincere trepidation. He wild-eyed her stomach. “Are you sure?”

  “I need to schedule a doctor’s appointment, but I took two tests. I’m sure.”

  “Jesus,” he said. Pregnant. He raised both arms and stacked his hands on the back of his head. Paced out to the breakroom and back. Finally he lowered his arms and met her gaze. “How do you know it’s mine?”

  She flinched, but when she spoke, her voice remained even. “Because you’re the only man I’ve had sex with in well over a year. But I have no objection to a paternity test.”

  Her reasonableness shamed him. Then again, she’d had more time to absorb the news. This frickin’ unbelievable, heart-stopping news.

  He dug his fingers into his hips.

  “When did you find out?”

  “Last night.”

  Carefully he blanked all emotion from his expression. “What do you want to do about it?”

  “I was hoping,” she said slowly, “we could figure it out together.”

  “You must have some idea.”

  She moved then, shifting sideways to stand behind the chair in the corner. She gripped the back as if she needed help staying upright. Her knuckles paled.

  “I want to keep this baby. I want to raise him or her on my own, here in Castle Creek. I’ve done a lot of dumb things, but I’m smart enough to know I’ll need a support system. I’m hoping you’ll want to be involved. With the baby, I mean.”

  When he said nothing, just stared, she spoke again, in an unruffled tone that served as a stark contrast to the panic in her wide green eyes.

  “You’re freaked out. I get that. I am, too. I didn’t take advantage of you and I’m not trying to trap you. Since it seems at least one of the condoms was defective, the only way we could have prevented this was to abstain from having sex that night.” She didn’t say what they both knew. They would have had sex even if the apartment had caught fire.

  Hell, when they’d had sex, it had felt like the apartment was going to burn to the ground.

  He rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re going to keep the baby.”

  She nodded.

  “You’re going to raise the baby alone.”

  Another nod, a little less decisive than the first.

  “Here in Castle Creek.”

  The motion of her head barely qualified as a nod. She must have picked up on the skepticism that was so thick in his throat, he could practically taste it.

  “And how am I supposed to trust you’ll really do that?” he demanded. “Your father told us something about what landed you in prison. You’re reckless and irresponsible and at the first sign of trouble, you bury your head under the covers.”

  She paled.

  “And I’m supposed to trust you with my child?” His chest throbbed. His heart was breaking. For the baby, for Harris and for his own dreams, which he’d only just goddamn finally acknowledged. Now they had as much chance of being realized as he had of winning a throwdown with Seth.

  And Kerry. If she’d truly meant to pay off her debts, she’d never manage it now.

  Raise the baby alone. She had no frickin’ clue.

  She came out from behind the chair, shoulders rigid, eyes sparking in protest. “I would never do anything to hurt my child.”

  “Yeah? Look what you did to your own father.”

  She faltered, then snapped into perfect posture. “I’m not that person anymore.”

  He started to laugh, but the sound was all ugly. He ran both hands through his hair and dropped back down onto the desk. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

  She pulled at the sleeves of her sweater, hiding her hands. Or maybe warming them.

  “You don’t have any other family to go to? Anyone else who could lend a hand?”

  “My father is all the family I have. I can’t help hoping he’ll come around. If he doesn’t, well, then, this baby and I will create our own family. It’s just... I don’t ever want my child thinking she’s the reason he and I never reconciled.”

  “She?”

  A glimmer of humor softened Kerry’s mouth. “I would think you’d appreciate a statistical probability. But in my head, I’ve been alternating pronouns.”

  He managed a nod. His head was starting to pound.

  “Gil?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I need a job.”

  “You have a job.”

  “I won’t when Snoozy gets back.” Her gaze couldn’t have been more earnest. “You’ve seen for yourself I’m a hard worker. I don’t know anything about working in a hardware store, but I know about retail. And I’m a quick learner.”

  “You expect me to trust you with my store, too?”

  Another ghost of a smile. “What’s that compared to trusting me with your child?” She sobered. “I had a hard enough time getting the job at Snoozy’s. It’ll be even harder to find work now, once any potential employer learns I’m pregnant.”

  “Shit,” he said tiredly.

  “I’ll leave you alone so you can process.” She stopped at the door, and reluctantly turned back. “You deserve to know what I did to earn a felony conviction. Not even Dad knows all of it. He didn’t want to. But if we’re going to make this work, we have to be honest with each other.”

  He couldn’t help a snort.

  “It was selfish not to tell you who I was,” she said. “I already apologized for that.”

  He rubbed his forehead. At least she hadn’t said she’d never lied.

  “My ex-husband, Trent, was a car salesman. When I realized we were living beyond our means, I didn’t question it. Trent kept telling me about these big commissions he had c
oming, so I started borrowing money to cover the bills. I was desperate to get us back into the black. Neither of our families had been thrilled about our marriage in the first place, but I was determined to prove them wrong.”

  “What was really going on?”

  She pushed her hair behind her ears, her fingers trembling. Gil sat, deliberately impassive, resolved not to let her manipulate him into sympathy.

  “He was recruiting wealthy women to report their sports cars stolen,” she said, “then shipping the cars to China, where luxury vehicles command much higher prices. The women would get the insurance money and half the proceeds from the sale. When I discovered the truth, I didn’t report him. I tried to cover it up. Even worse, I used my expertise in database and online research to help locate other car owners he could pull into the scheme.”

  The office fell quiet, the only sound the rustle of paper as Gil shifted on the desk.

  Kerry shoved her sleeves back up to her elbows. “I was convicted of receiving stolen property and conspiracy to commit fraud. Trent was furious that his sentence was so much longer than mine, but when they approached me with a deal, I didn’t hesitate to take it.”

  “And despite all that, you expect me to trust you with a job?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Would you, if you were me?”

  Her chest rose and fell. “I have to get to the bar.”

  She left. The clank of the cowbell echoed through the vacant store.

  Damn it, he was still paying for all the crap his brother had pulled. And here he was, about to invite another thief into his life.

  Gil’s vision blurred and his pulse grew loud and jagged. No room for air in his lungs, as if he’d breathed in a truckful of sawdust. He pushed his index finger and thumb up under his glasses and pressed them to his eyes, counted to ten before letting go.

  A baby.

  He pushed a half-hearted laugh through his nose. His mom would be ecstatic.

  He shifted sideways and lay down on the desk, hands behind his head. The tape dispenser bit into his shoulder blade so he shoved it, and it hit the floor with a satisfying crack.

  How the hell was he going to pay child support, let alone wages for Kerry? And what about doctors’ bills? He didn’t even know if she had insurance.

  Diapers, food, crib, clothes... He took off his glasses and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

  A baby. His lips curved on their own accord.

  He wouldn’t be lonely if he had a baby.

  A muffled ringing from under his ass alerted him his brother was calling again. He had every intention of ignoring the summons, until Kerry’s words floated back into his brain.

  I don’t ever want my child thinking she’s the reason he and I never reconciled.

  Shit. Not only was Gil going to be a dad, but Ferrell was going to be an uncle.

  Would it kill him to try again? He’d let things lie for six years. Punished his brother and his mother both. Ferrell, for doing his damnedest to drive the store into the ground and his mother for not being more bitter about it. But they’d all been grieving for his father, and for their crumbling family, and Gil had played the martyr long enough.

  Maybe he should follow Kerry’s example and get back to working toward a reconciliation.

  Provided Ferrell was off the drugs. That shit he would not have around his kid.

  He jerked upright and slid to his feet, taking half the items on the desk with him. Frowning, he put his glasses back on and answered his phone.

  “Guess you got my number, now, don’t you, G?”

  Yeah, in more ways than one. “You sound sluggish,” he said. “You still using?”

  “No. But that doesn’t mean I’m not struggling.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  A beat of silence on his brother’s end. “You almost sound like you mean it.” Then the note of wonder in his voice soured. “Valerie Flick says you’re not returning her calls.”

  Gil kicked at the papers he’d scattered on the floor. “Give it up. I’m not selling.”

  “I wanted to give you one more chance to reconsider.”

  “Or what?” When Ferrell didn’t answer, Gil sighed. “What’s going on with you? Why the sudden urgency?”

  “Now you care. You hear what sounds like a threat, and—”

  “Was it? A threat?”

  “Geez, bro. You’re getting uptight in your old age.”

  Gil stooped to pick up the stapler. When his lower back protested, he rolled his eyes at himself. “It has less to do with old age and more to do with the fact that our legacy is going under because my baby brother got hooked on drugs and started robbing the family business to fund his habit.”

  “Legacy? It’s a goddamned hardware store.”

  “Did you want it to fail?” When his brother went mute, Gil exhaled. “You haven’t contacted me in half a dozen years and now I’ve heard from you twice in one month. What kind of trouble are you in?”

  “You sound like Dad. Before he bailed on us, you know?”

  Yeah. He knew. Their father had bailed on them in more ways than one. Much of that had been due to his deepening depression. Every now and then Gil got a too-close-to-the-edge glimpse of what that might be like. Fifteen minutes ago, for example, when Kerry had delivered her little bombshell. But Gil had always been one to dig in his heels instead of running away.

  “I can’t give you any money,” he said. “You OD and that’s on me.”

  “I said I was clean. Why won’t you believe me?”

  “You know why.” He crouched and started gathering papers. “I’ve heard it before.”

  “Maybe this time you could try and listen.”

  Gil did try, but by the time they put the conversation out of its misery, he was no closer to figuring out how to be a better brother.

  Or how the hell he was going to make a halfway decent father.

  * * *

  AGAINST HER BETTER JUDGMENT, Kerry glanced up. Two more people pressed up next to the bar, necks craning, eyes riveted on her fingers as she carefully garnished the chocolate martini with a long coil of orange peel. She completed her “snake” by adding a destemmed half strawberry for a head, the wide end already decorated with a pair of googly eyes made out of icing.

  Someone clapped, and despite a sleep deficit that was making her feel like she was trying to function underwater, Kerry couldn’t help a grin.

  She buried her sticky fingers in the towel beside the cutting board, swiped her hands down the front of her apron and pushed the drink across the bar. “There you go. One Mitzitini.”

  She’d lost count of how many she’d fixed that evening. Fifteen? Twenty? That was the good news. The bad news? She was in very near danger of running out of the caramel and chocolate syrups she’d piped in meandering rings around the inside of the glass to represent Mitzi’s markings. They were also almost out of strawberries. And whipping cream. And chocolate liqueur.

  The only thing she had plenty of was the googly eyes she’d assembled at dawn, thanks to her insomnia.

  She rang up the drink and smiled her thanks at the tip the customer left in the jar. Another reason to appreciate the success of her special martini. More tips meant a faster paydown of her debt, which meant she could start saving for the baby.

  Her mind shied away from actual figures. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t do any more calculations. They only depressed her.

  She rotated her shoulders. “Who’s next?”

  “We are.” A pair of ladies somewhere in their seventies trotted sideways along the bar until they stood across from Kerry. Their smiles were bright, their makeup brighter. They had matching pixie haircuts, but the taller lady’s hair was snow-white, her friend’s silver. The white-haired lady had paired purple eyeshadow with flami
ngo-pink lipstick. Baby blue served double duty on the silver-haired lady.

  Purple, pink and blue. Like cotton candy. Another cocktail idea for Snoozy’s new and improved menu.

  Improved, not approved. She was taking a chance, serving drinks he hadn’t signed off on, but she couldn’t bother the man on his honeymoon, could she? Besides, she was hoping to surprise him with some impressive sales numbers, on the off chance he’d ask her to stay. She was still hopeful Gil would come through with a job, but things were already tense enough between them. Working together just might push one of them over the edge. And she suspected she could make more money at the bar.

  Though how far into her pregnancy she’d be able to manage fourteen-hour shifts—on her feet—was anybody’s guess.

  Her stomach lurched and she gripped the edge of the sink. Pregnant. Holy Hannah. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

  One single irresponsible night had changed her life—and Gil’s life—forever. She’d come to Castle Creek to make amends and had only ended up making more trouble. She pressed a hand to her belly. Forgive me, baby.

  Pink Lips Lady pointed at the sign Kerry had propped on the bar. “Try the Mitzitini, Snoozy’s newest cocktail.” “We’ll take two of those,” she said. “To begin with.”

  Kerry wanted to hug her for the distraction. “Coming right up,” she said.

  Her friend plucked a credit card from a zebra-striped wallet. “Make mine a virgin, please, dear heart.”

  Kerry was already assembling ingredients. “I like to use coconut crème and lemon-lime soda, if that’s all right with you.”

  Blue Lips Lady bounced on her toes. “Sounds delicious.”

  After mixing the drinks in the shaker, she poured them into prepped martini glasses. She palmed an orange and cut thin strips of zest. She coiled the strips over each drink, to capture any escaping oil, then positioned the peel and added the half strawberry with icing eyes to finish off the garnish.

  Struggling not to panic at the number of customers waiting to order mixed drinks, Kerry finished off Blue Lips Lady’s mocktail with a cinnamon stick and set both glasses on the bar. “Here you are, ladies. Virgin gets the cinnamon.”