As though sensing her distress, Jack turned around and looked in the same direction. Fran stared him down, but then disappeared into the recesses of her kitchen like a groundhog popping back into its hole. His dark eyes cooled a degree. “Don’t let old Fran get to you. She’s always been a nosy one.”
“She’s only looking out for me,” Felicity defended.
About to object, he seemed to think better of it, nodding instead. Returning focus to her plate, she picked up a French fry, dropping it three fries over. It was awkward to be alone with him. Well, not alone-alone but without sight of her mother. Felicity didn’t remember the last time it happened.
“So how about dinner?”
She glanced up. “Huh?”
“Dinner with your old man, catch up on old times?” The breath caught in her throat and he chuckled. “You can’t avoid me forever. I have a right to visit my own daughter, don’t I?”
A million responses flew through her brain, a million reasons no, a million reasons yes, but none of them made it to her lips.
“Your grandparents would like to see you.”
“Grandparents? As in the Fosters?”
He nodded. Setting a hand to the counter he leaned his weight into it. With a fleeting glance toward the kitchen he said, “They’ve invited you to dinner at the house.”
“Why?”
He laughed. “Because you’re their granddaughter? They care about you and want to know how you’re doing.” He dipped his head near. “Is that so strange a concept?”
The man spoke with an intimacy he hadn’t earned. He hadn’t been in her life all these years, hadn’t cared what she was doing, cared to help her in any way. He never called, hardly wrote. Why now? “They never asked my mom to see me before.”
“Probably because they were afraid to ask.” Jack glanced askance and then, as though sharing a secret, said, “She’s kind of thorny, if you know what I mean.”
“She is not—she’s protective.”
His brow rose, lines forming across his forehead. “Well, that’s a nicer way to say it but the point remains. She hasn’t thrown down the welcome mat for my folks, and because they’re nice people, they haven’t pushed.”
But he was. Felicity stared at him, mesmerized by the ease with which he spoke to her. It was like he’d forgotten the past between them, preferring to resume his role as wonderful and loving father. Felicity never fully understood why her parents split. Her mom said it was because they didn’t see eye-to-eye on things. Her dad once commented it was because her mom was uncompromising. Several years back, Felicity had heard someone say it was because of his drinking. When she asked her mom about it, she acknowledged that he drank and that was part of the problem, but lots of people drank. Didn’t mean they ended up in divorce.
Whatever the truth, Felicity knew her mom could be difficult. She was demanding and a bit on the controlling side, but it was only because she was looking out for her daughter. Whether it was forcing Ernie to stand by his promise regarding the property rights to Ladd Springs or waiting at the cabin every day when she arrived home from school, her mom didn’t cut any slack.
It was possible she didn’t invite the Fosters to spend time with her because it would bring up too many painful memories. Felicity could imagine the same would be true if it were her and Travis were in the same situation. Once you loved someone, that love never went away. It changed or dulled, but Felicity couldn’t imagine ever hating Travis. It would always hurt to be apart from him, whatever the cause. Take Casey and Troy. If Felicity were carrying Travis’ child and he left her?
It would kill her.
“So what do you say? Dinner tomorrow night?”
Glancing away, she pushed at her coke. “I don’t know.”
“What’s to know? You need to eat, right?”
She allowed herself to look at him. No horns were popping out of his head. She detected no demonic glaze in his pupils. “Yes.”
“You don’t have anything against my parents, do you?”
Her neck and cheeks flushed warm. “No, of course not!”
“Well, then. What’s holding you back?”
What always held her back. “I have to ask my mom.”
“What?” He dropped his head back and laughed. “You’re eighteen, the owner of hundreds of acres of land, the proud landlord to the fanciest hotel property in Tennessee—you don’t need your mother’s permission to do anything anymore. You’re your own woman.”
Felicity cast her gaze to the plate of fries, her discarded novel. Distant thoughts wondered if Fran’s eyeballs were focused on her at the moment. Contemplating her father’s statement, Felicity disagreed. She might be her own woman in theory, but in reality her mom still called the shots. “She won’t be happy if I go without telling her.”
Jack dipped his head and peered up into her eyes. “See what I mean?” He winked. “Thorny.”
“Sweetheart, there’s nothing to worry about.” Annie patted her daughter’s thigh as they sat in a brightly lit patient room, waiting for the doctor to appear.
Casey sat on the raised bed, idly swinging booted legs to and fro, careful not to hit her mother who stood beside her. The room smelled of alcohol. A small corner sink counter was covered with exam supplies—a clear jar filled with cotton balls, a box of latex gloves along with some instruments she couldn’t identify. An instruction sheet was taped to an upper cabinet. On the wall were posters depicting the female body, one showing a baby inside, the other without. Casey thought it weird how babies were tucked inside the womb, squashed in the cramped confines of a woman’s womb. She looked around the stark white office, a bit unsettled. This wasn’t her favorite part of pregnancy.
“Your weight is on the light side,” her mother continued, “but it’s not out of range. Your blood pressure is a little high, but that could be stress. You’re taking your vitamins, right?”
“Yes,” she replied glumly.
“Okay, then there’s nothing to worry about.”
Except the funny feeling she had. Insistent, gnawing, she felt like something wasn’t right. Not like she’d ever been pregnant before, but she was starting to sense things before she thought them. Know them before they happened. It was weird. She was beginning to feel like she had a sixth sense. Did all pregnant women feel this way?
“You’re anxious. It’s normal. This is your first pregnancy. It happens to a lot of new mothers. I was anxious when carrying you.”
Casey looked into her mother’s face, searching for what she wasn’t saying. Did she know something? Was she keeping something from her?
The door opened and the doctor walked in. Older, his hair receding, his midsection rounded from lack of exercise, the man reminded her of a grandfather type. A good thing. Casey wasn’t sure if she’d feel comfortable with the new guy in town. What if he didn’t know what he was doing yet?
With a manila file folder in his hand, he greeted, “Good morning, Casey. Mrs. Foster.”
“Hello,” her mother replied. Casey remained mute.
“How’s momma feeling?”
“Good.” Shifting position, the stiff paper bed cover crinkled beneath her.
Nodding, he flipped through pages in his folder, made short grunting sounds. He didn’t say anything, only uttered his noises as he thumbed through his notes. Casey and her mother exchanged a look. Were they supposed to ask questions right now? Wait? Casey fidgeted with the hem of her dress. It was a simple white cotton shirt dress with a bright floral pattern, a mix of blues and yellow. It wasn’t bad, but none of the maternity clothes appealed to her. They were frumpy, dowdy. Then again, she didn’t expect them to be fashionable or trendy. Comfortable. That’s what she needed from her maternity clothes. Large tent dresses—as she had come to call them—weren’t attractive but they suited her needs.
Peering at her over black-rimmed reading glasses, he asked, “Do you have a history of high blood pressure?”
Casey looked to her mother. “No,” Annie respo
nded for her. “Mine is normal. So is my sister, Lacy’s. I don’t recall any trouble with my parents.”
Centering on her mom, the doctor asked, “What about on the father’s side?”
“I don’t know,” came the automatic reply.
The doctor raised a brow. When her mom didn’t elaborate, he looked to Casey. “Is there a way we can find out?”
“Is there a problem?” Annie asked, her posture stiff.
“Casey’s pressure is on the high side. It’s not unusual, considering the added stress on her body, but with her lack of weight gain and elevated heart rate, I’d like to rule out anything more serious.”
Annie sent a sketchy gaze to her daughter. Casey swallowed. Neither of them knew anything about her father’s family history, other than Ernie had been a grumpy old man. He died of cancer. His brother Albert was still alive, living in a small cabin Nick Harris had built for him in a private wooded section of the property, just beyond and out of sight from the hotel. Albert was a loner, his two sons long since gone from Ladd Springs. Casey’s throat constricted. Were they even alive?
She didn’t have a clue.
“I can get the information,” Annie said quickly. “I’ll talk to her aunt. She’ll know.”
Her mother was going to ask Delaney? Would she know any details about Jeremiah’s health?
“Are you looking for anything specific?” Annie inquired.
Setting his file aside, he removed his glasses and massaged the red dent of skin at the bridge of his nose. Taking her mother in with gray eyes a shade bloodshot, he said, “I’d ask about any known history of high blood pressure, heart disease, diabetes. Find out if there were any issues with low birth weight, premature delivery.”
Her mother snatched the phone from her purse and began to type furiously into the keypad. Watching her, Casey felt glued to the patient bed. Casey’s bad feeling returned. Jeremiah Ladd was cursing her baby’s existence before the child was even born. As the doctor went on to describe any one of a hundred reasons she could be having these issues, Casey only heard trouble. There was trouble with her pregnancy.
“I’m going to call Delaney,” Annie declared as they walked to the car. “She’ll be able to answer all these questions.”
Casey experienced a blast of heartbeat, a brief sensation of dizziness followed by a swooning rush. Perspiration gathered beneath her dress, inside her boots. Her feet were sweating. Her chest was sweating. The sun was hot. She was hot. Nervous. What made her mother so sure Delaney would know anything? If Casey recalled, Delaney and her uncle weren’t on the best of terms. The old man hated her guts and according to her mom, Ernie’s wife left him and never looked back. How were they going to find out a family history from a family that was history?
Unlocking the car doors, she went on, “Between her mother’s history, Ernie’s and Albert’s, we should be able to get something definitive.”
Casey paused at the passenger door. Staring over the car at her mother, she saw blue eyes that held none of the confidence her lips were describing. It was like her mother had detached from reality. She was saying things as if it would make them so.
What about Troy’s history? Did any of that matter when it came to the baby she was carrying?
She didn’t dare ask. The doctor would probably tell her to get all the information she could and discussing the well-being of her baby would mean revealing the truth. Opening the car door, Casey lowered onto the seat with a thud. What a mess.
Her mother gunned the engine to life and Casey pressed back into her seat. She pulled her seatbelt into place, adjusting the straps around her belly and buckled it secure. Troy was going to find out. Between Delaney hiring him and giving the rundown on Jeremiah’s health history, Troy was going to find out. What was she going to say?
I lied. It’s not Jimmy’s—it’s yours.
Troy would have a fit. Nerves swarmed her stomach. Would he leave town the second she told him? Would he try to marry her?
I made you a promise when I left here and I aim to keep it.
Troy told her he loved her and they were going to have a future together. He was going to prove he was worth the faith she’d put into him. Her pulse scattered, hammered against her ribcage. But that was before she got pregnant. It was before the added responsibility of a baby. Pregnancy changed everything. It ruined everything. Changed everything. Made everything different and new and exciting. Gazing out the window as her mom backed up, she wondered, How could she feel all these things at once?
Chapter Seven
Delaney swung into the diner, stepping aside as a couple entered behind her. The dinner hour was upon them, the air saturated with the rich scent of fried chicken and steak coupled with the sweet aroma of freshly baked biscuits. Most tables were occupied, the senior crowd reliable as clockwork. ‘Course, when Fran offered half-priced meals from four to six, who wouldn’t take the deal? She sighed. Those who had a job. Searching for sight of Fran, Delaney wondered what she wanted. She’d called an hour ago and said to come quick. She had stables to run and dropping everything to come see Fran took some doing. Extending her search to the kitchen, Delaney was surprised to see Fran hustling out so fast she nearly knocked over a waitress in her haste. What could possibly be so interesting that warranted such a hurry?
Fran grasped her arm and corralled her to an empty space near the pie case. Decked out in her customary starched white uniform, red apron tied at her waist, Fran checked for the nearest set of ears, then ducked her head close and whispered, “Sugar, we need to talk.”
“So you said when you called. What’s got you so wound up?”
“Jack was here. Jack was here and he was talking to Felicity.”
Alarm bells sounded in her skull. “What? What was he doing with Felicity?”
“I don’t know. It was after the lunch rush, but you know that man is meaner than a flea-bitten hound dog. I don’t know what he was saying ‘cause I didn’t want to venture too close, you know what I mean? But I know it couldn’t have been good.”
“Did Felicity look upset?”
“No, no, she didn’t look upset, but he looked mighty happy when he left so you can see why I’m concerned.”
“I hear you.” A happy Jack Foster meant a miserable someone else—usually her. Delaney dumped her gaze to the racks laden with perfectly baked pies, mostly peach. Peach pies were Fran’s specialty and Felicity’s favorite.
Fran cupped a hand over her hair net, brown eyes sharper than a hawk on the hunt. She was all too familiar with the Ladd-Foster history and liked Jack Foster least of all. If she could, she would have banned the lot of them but there were rules against such things. not to mention it wasn’t good for business. Looking at Delaney intently, Fran said, “Now you know I don’t want to be upsetting you with your new marriage and all but, Lord a’mercy, I don’t like him poking around Felicity.”
Delaney placed a hand to Fran’s shoulder. “I know you don’t. I know you’re looking out for her and I appreciate it.”
Somewhat mollified by the comment, Fran gave a small smile. “You know I love that girl like she’s my own flesh and blood.”
“I know you do. I’ll talk to her.”
“You do that but keep it close to your heart, will you?”
“Because she fussed about it the last time?” Delaney asked.
Felicity had made a point of objecting to the last time Fran “told” on her, stating she was old enough to make her own decisions and didn’t need her mother or Fran spying on her every move. But Jack talking to Felicity could only spell trouble—the kind of trouble Felicity couldn’t understand.
“Well, yes but...” Fran hedged, acting a bit too dodgy for Delaney’s comfort. It wasn’t like Fran to dance around a point. She was like an archer with a bow.
“When I asked Felicity about the meeting with Jack after he left, she said it was nothing, really, something about the Fosters wantin’ to see her.”
“Jack’s parents?”
&nb
sp; Fran nodded. “You see what I mean? He ain’t playin’ fair if he’s willing to use his folks to get to Felicity.”
Delaney stroked a hand over top of her head, wrapped her hand around her ponytail and wanted to pull her hair out. “You can say that again!”
“I don’t blame Felicity. It’s only natural for her to be curious, you know what I mean?”
“I hear you. Felicity shouldn’t be a pawn in this game.”
Fran’s eyes leapt to the front door. At the clang of bells, Delaney turned. Her heart lurched. Casey walked in, alone, looking like she’d lost her best friend.
“Oh, that poor child!” Fran cried under her breath. “She’s nothin’ but a bag of bones, I tell you. Wait until I get a hold of that mother of hers—she isn’t eating a morsel of that food I’m sending home with her.”
Delaney had to admit Casey looked thin. The cotton dress hung stick-straight from her body, her stomach no more than a bump beneath the floral material. Could be those skinny white legs of hers, disappearing into a pair of black boots. The combination made her legs look all the thinner. Casey’s lack of weight gain rivaled that of Lacy’s, but at least Lacy looked healthy during her pregnancy. Casey looked drawn, stressed, and Delaney had a feeling she knew why. “I need to talk to her,” she murmured to Fran.
“You do that, sugar. And get her to eat while you’re at it, will you? I’ll bring you anything you want.”
Delaney smiled. “I’ll try.” But she had a feeling food was the last thing on Casey’s mind. Undoubtedly Troy would be front and center and probably sole occupant.
Approaching Casey slowly, Delaney winced at the purplish tint beneath her eyes. Her skin was so fair, tiny blood vessels were literally visible through the translucent flesh. It couldn’t be good for the baby. “Hey, Casey.”
“Hi, Miss Delaney.”
“Are you meeting your mother for dinner?”
“No.”
“I could use some company. Are you hungry?”
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