Waiting for the Wedding

by Carla Cassidy

  “It’s hard to know, since I don’t know how old Kathryn is,” he replied.

  Sherry shifted the baby from one arm to the other. As she did, she felt the warmth of a soggy diaper. She stood and placed Kathryn on her back on the table, then reached into the little bag and withdrew a diaper.

  “I’d say she’s about six months old,” Sherry observed as she wrestled to change Kathryn, who laughed and kicked her feet. “So, who were you dating about fifteen months ago?” she asked.

  Clint walked from the sink to the window. For a long moment he stared outside, his broad shoulders blocking the warm stream of sunshine. When he turned back to look at her, his brow was creased in thought. “It had to have been Candy.”

  Sherry grimaced. Candy. The sexy divorcee from Kansas City. Sherry had hated the attractive, flirtatious woman the moment she’d met her. “Well, the note says the mother is in danger, that’s certainly not out of the question where Candy is concerned. She’s probably being threatened by some poor wife whose husband Candy was sleeping with.”

  The left corner of Clint’s mouth rose upward. “You never did like Candy,” he observed.

  “That’s probably the understatement of the year,” she returned. She finished with the diaper, then set Kathryn on her belly on the floor next to the table. “She was a man-eater, and you were her main dish.” Sherry closed her mouth, not wanting to say anything more, aware that the woman she was talking about just might be the mother of Clint’s child.

  “Right now this is all speculation,” Clint said, his gaze on Kathryn, who was on her hands and knees and rocking as if by will alone she could scoot across the floor. He looked up at Sherry. “It’s possible the mother chose to leave her here because I’m sheriff, not because I’m related in any way.”

  “Yeah, and it’s possible tomorrow I’ll be voted mayor of this town,” Sherry replied dryly.

  She stood, needing to escape from this conversation, from the little girl who sat looking up at her as if somehow Sherry was her salvation. “She’s stopped crying now, her diaper is clean. Looks like you’re on your own, Sheriff Daddy.” She started for the kitchen door.

  “Sherry…wait!” His voice held a note of utter panic. “I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

  “No. Whatever you’re about to ask, the answer is no. You can cook me biscuits and gravy every morning for the rest of my life and the answer is going to be no.” She left the kitchen and headed for the front door.

  “Sherry, please wait a minute. Hear me out,” he called after her.

  She didn’t stop. She left the house and walked hurriedly toward her car. She had a feeling she knew exactly what he wanted, and there was no way, no how.

  She’d just slid behind the steering wheel when Clint came barreling out of the house, Kathryn crying in his arms.

  He raced to her open window. “Sherry, I need your help,” he said, once again having to raise his voice to be heard about Kathryn’s cries. “I need somebody to help me with her until I can figure out what’s going on. I need you to take off work a couple of days, stay here and help me out.”

  “You’re crazy,” she exclaimed, trying to ignore the plea in his gorgeous blue eyes. “What do I know about taking care of a baby?” she asked, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice.

  “You knew which end to diaper,” he returned evenly. “I imagine you can figure out which end to feed. What else do you need to know?”

  Sherry said nothing.

  “I’ll pay you for your time…whatever your average earnings at the bar are, I’ll double them. Sherry, I’m desperate here. I can’t stay home for the next several days and leave this town without a sheriff.”

  Sherry wanted to tell him it was his problem, that it was really none of her concern. She wanted to slam the car into reverse and escape, but she didn’t. She sighed wearily and rubbed the center of her forehead—a headache was just beginning to send tentacles of pressure around her head.

  “Sherry.” Clint leaned down, so close she could see the silvery flecks that made his eyes so startlingly blue, close enough that she could smell the familiar scent of his pleasant cologne.

  “Sherry, please. If you care about me at all, do this for me.” He lightly stroked the top of the baby’s head. “If…if she is mine, you’re the only one I’d trust to watch her.”

  Something in his eyes, something in their soft appeal, touched her in places in her heart she thought no longer existed.

  In an instant of staring into his eyes’ blue depths, she remembered too many moments from the distant past, too many dreams that would never come true.

  Damn him. She knew exactly what he was attempting to do. He was calling not only on their friendship, but on the love they’d once felt for each other.

  And in that instant she thought she might hate him just a little bit, for knowing her well enough to be able to try to manipulate her emotions.

  He reached out and curled his fingers around her wrist. His fingers were warm against her skin—skin that she knew was frigid and achingly cold.

  “Please, Sherry,” he entreated. “You’ll never know how much it will mean to me,” he said. “I’ve never really asked you for anything before now.”

  She jerked her arm away from him, her anger returning to sustain her original decision. “And you, of all people, should realize just what you’re asking of me,” she returned, trying to keep her tone cool and even. “You, of all people, should know I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

  Without waiting for any reply, she shifted the car into reverse and pulled out of the driveway.

  Chapter Two

  C lint stared after the disappearing car, Kathryn’s cries a resounding siren in his ears. He looked at the baby in his arms. Once again her face was red, her eyes squeezed shut as high-pitched noise spewed from her little mouth. How could something so small make such an incredible amount of noise?

  Her cries momentarily overrode Clint’s feeling of guilt. He carried the baby back into the house, trying to avoid thinking about the look on Sherry’s face as she’d driven off.

  A bottle. Maybe the baby was hungry. He mentally corrected himself. Kathryn…her name was Kathryn. He placed her back in her car seat, buckled her in, then rummaged through the diaper bag. “Ah-ha!” he proclaimed in triumph as he pulled out an empty plastic bottle. Milk. Didn’t all babies drink milk?

  He poured milk into the bottle, then frowned. Warm or cold? Damn. He was clueless when it came to these kinds of things.

  He placed the bottle in the microwave for a few seconds to take off the chill, then sat down at the table and offered the bottle to Kathryn.

  Magically her crying stopped. Her big blue eyes widened and her fingers opened and closed as if urging him to place the bottle where it counted.

  Clint did just that, and sighed in relief as she gulped the liquid hungrily. Now that her cries had stopped, Clint was faced with his remorse over Sherry.

  It had been thoughtless of him to call her, foolish not to think about how painful this all might be to her. Hell, he’d thought she’d come to terms a long time ago about not being able to have children.

  He sighed, remembering her pale face as she’d driven away. Her pain-filled eyes haunted him. But he hadn’t known what else to do. He hadn’t dated anyone for a month, had no family members he could call upon for help.

  It had been sheer instinct to contact Sherry for help. He’d called her when he’d had the flu. She’d been there for him when his best friend had died. For the past five years Sherry had helped him through each life crisis that had come his way. It had only been natural that he’d called her for this particular crisis.

  She would be back. Despite his guilt, despite her parting words to him as she’d driven away, he knew she’d return. She wouldn’t let him down. She never had.

  “Is she yours?”

  The question Sherry had asked him returned to haunt him. He’d consciously not thought about the possibility from the moment he’d seen t
he baby on his porch. Now he could think of little else.

  He stared at the little girl, whose eyes stared back solemnly. Was she his child? Had Candy had a baby, his baby, and never even told him?

  He couldn’t imagine a woman doing such a thing—having a baby and not informing the father. But Candy had been nothing if not unpredictable. Besides, who understood the forces that drove women to do what they did?

  He touched one finger to a chubby little cheek, his heart constricting with an alien emotion. “Are you mine?” he asked softly. The only reply was soft sucking sounds and a single blink of those wide, blue eyes.

  She drank almost the entire bottle, then her eyes drifted closed and she fell back asleep. For a few minutes Clint simply stared at her, trying to see if the mark of his fatherhood showed anywhere on her features.

  She had blue eyes, like his own. But his hair was dark and Kathryn’s was a pale strawberry blond. Of course, Clint had been told that he’d been born with a headful of blond ringlets.

  He sighed. It was impossible to tell if she looked like him. At the moment she simply looked like a content baby.

  Knowing that she was sleeping soundly, Clint got up from the table and went into the spare bedroom. He’d done nothing with this room since moving in two weeks before. The bed was bare, the dresser and old rocker dusty.

  Knowing in his heart Sherry wouldn’t let him down, he quickly made up the bed with fresh sheets, then dusted the few pieces of furniture the room contained.

  He’d just finished with the room when he heard a knock on the front door. Sherry stood on the front porch, a small suitcase in hand.

  “Three days,” she said as she stepped inside. Her delicate features were pulled taut in a combination of rebellion and determination. “That’s all I’m giving you. Three days, then you’ll have to figure something else out.”

  “Sherry—”

  She held up a hand. “Don’t thank me. I’m not happy about this, but I can’t stand the thought of that baby being turned over to Social Services, or worse, baby-sat by you and that dingbat deputy of yours.”

  He nodded, knowing better than to say anything. He was just grateful she’d come. “I’ll show you to the spare bedroom,” he said, gesturing her to follow him down the hallway.

  He opened the door to the room, and she stepped in. She sniffed, then turned and eyed him accusingly. “I smell lemon wax. You just dusted. You knew I’d be back.”

  He smiled sheepishly. “I hoped.” He could tell it annoyed her. Her jaw tightened, and her green eyes blazed a warning.

  She set her suitcase on the bed. “Three days, Clint. I swear that’s it. You find that man-eater Candy and figure out what’s going on.”

  “No problem,” he agreed instantly. Together they walked back into the kitchen. Sherry barely looked at the sleeping child.

  “I fed her a bottle of milk. It seemed to satisfy her,” he explained. He grabbed his keys from the holder next to the refrigerator. “I’ve got to get to work. Andy’s holding down the fort, and who knows what he’ll mess up.”

  He waited for one of her smiles in return, but none was forthcoming. He sighed, wondering how long she would punish him. “I’ll be home for supper by six.”

  Minutes later as Clint drove to the Armordale Sheriff’s Office, his mind whirled with thoughts of Sherry and the baby.

  If he were honest with himself, he’d admit that he’d never understood the depth of Sherry’s pain when she’d discovered that a severe case of endometriosis had left her unable to have children. In any case, that had been five years before. He’d thought she’d come to terms with that pain, but the look in her eyes when she’d seen baby Kathryn told him otherwise.

  Clint had never thought much about having kids. Years before, when he and Sherry were making lifetime plans together, he’d talked theoretically about having children, but it had never been a driving, burning need inside him.

  When Sherry had called off their wedding plans, he’d tried to convince her that he didn’t care whether or not she could have children, that he would be satisfied just having her in his life. But that hadn’t been enough for her. She had insisted that her feelings for him had changed, that she no longer loved him. He hadn’t been enough for her.

  He shoved these thoughts away. They came from a distant past, one he rarely thought of anymore. He and Sherry had managed to put aside their romantic feelings for each other and build a caring, special friendship.

  He parked before the small, brick building that was his home away from home. As he got out of the car, he only hoped he hadn’t in some way jeopardized that special friendship by asking her this latest favor.

  Sherry stood at the kitchen window, her back to the sleeping infant, wondering why in the heck she had agreed to this.

  When she’d pulled out of Clint’s driveway earlier, she’d been adamant that she wouldn’t return, that he was asking far too much of her.

  She’d gone back to her apartment and had desperately tried to ignore thoughts of the little girl, those sweet chubby cheeks, those trusting blue eyes, the natural way the infant had snuggled into Sherry the moment she’d taken the baby in her arms.

  Before she knew what she was doing, Sherry had packed a bag and called her boss at the bar to request the next week off. Madness. Sheer madness.

  She turned away from the window and stared at the sleeping child. Wispy blond hair adorned the top of her head, and her tiny lips were curved into a smile, as if her dreams were pleasant.

  Sherry would change her diapers, feed her when she was hungry, but she refused to allow her heart to get involved. It was the only way she would be able to get through the next couple of days. She had to keep a high, impenetrable barrier around her heart.

  She frowned, remembering his parting remark—that he’d be home for supper around six. What did he think? That he’d suddenly acquired a wife for the next three days? If he thought she was going to cook and clean for him as well as look after the baby, he had another think coming!

  The day passed quickly. The baby slept until almost noon, then Sherry fed her another bottle, set her on the floor of the living room on a blanket and gave her some plastic spoons, lids and small bowls to play with. However, the baby eschewed the makeshift toys in favor of playing with her toes.

  Sherry knew what she was doing…thinking of the baby as “the baby” instead of as Kathryn. She was keeping her distance, refusing to allow her heart to get caught up in the wonder of a child.

  Kathryn was a good baby. She occupied herself, playing first with her toes, then attempting to catch the afternoon sunbeams that shone through the window.

  When she fell asleep once again, Sherry covered her with a light blanket, then stroked the fine, downy hair atop her head.

  Was she Clint’s baby? Sherry’s heart jumped a bit at the thought. There had been a time when she’d dreamed of carrying Clint’s child, a time when the possibility had filled her with joy and awe.

  Clint had said it was possible Kathryn was his. That meant Clint and Candy had slept together.

  Sherry frowned, wondering why that should bother her. She’d long ago quit fantasizing about making love with Clint. She’d long ago quit fantasizing about making love to anyone.

  She figured she was probably the oldest living virgin in Armordale. Twenty-eight years old and she’d never been lost in mindless passion. Twenty-eight years old and she’d never experienced the total possession of a man’s lovemaking.

  It wasn’t that she hadn’t had offers to rectify that particular condition. Every night at least one half-drunk cowboy professed his undying love for her and offered to take her home and show her delights beyond her imagination. Unfortunately, she had too good an imagination.

  She figured maybe someday she’d meet an older, divorced man, one who’d already had his family and wanted no more children. In the meantime she wasn’t holding her breath.

  By five o’clock Kathryn was fussy and Sherry assumed it was probably hunger. Wit
h the baby once again safely buckled into the car seat, Sherry stared at the contents of Clint’s refrigerator.

  It definitely showed the eating habits of a bachelor. Milk…mustard…ketchup and a pound of hamburger thawing in plastic wrap. She knew Clint ate most of his meals down at the Armordale Café, but he’d obviously planned on something with the hamburger for dinner.

  Fine. He and the hamburger were on their own. In the cabinet she found a can of tuna, canned peas and peaches. She made herself a tuna sandwich, then mushed up peas and cut the peaches into tiny pieces for Kathryn. She made a mental note to tell Clint to pick up some baby cereal and food.

  As she fed Kathryn, the little girl opened her mouth like a baby bird awaiting a worm. She tried to help Sherry, grabbing for the spoon, laughing when she managed to grasp it.

  “Don’t be so cute,” Sherry said, finding the little girl’s laughter infectious, her antics far too adorable to ignore. Kathryn kicked her feet and grinned, displaying the tiny white nub of a first tooth.

  Sherry was grateful when dinner was over. She wiped Kathryn’s face, cleaned the kitchen, then deposited the baby back on the blanket in the center of the living room floor.

  “I’m only here for a couple of days,” she said to Kathryn, who sat facing her, a wide grin still curving her rosebud lips.

  Sherry turned her head away from the smiling little girl. “I don’t want to care about you,” she whispered to herself, as if afraid the child might hear, might understand and be hurt.

  Kathryn laughed, as if to get Sherry’s attention. Sherry felt a sudden sting of tears. “If I let you, you’ll break my heart. I can’t let that happen.” Kathryn laughed again, as if Sherry had just said something extraordinarily witty.

  The distant sound of a car door slamming prompted Sherry to get up from the sofa and go to the front door. She sighed in relief as she saw Clint’s car. She watched him as he walked around to the back of the car and opened the trunk.

  The late-afternoon sun played on his dark hair, pulling forth highlights of deep mahogany. Clint was one of the few men she knew who wore a uniform well. The dark-brown slacks fit his long legs and lean hips as if tailor-made just for him. The tan shirt stretched taut across his broad shoulders as he reached into the car trunk and withdrew what appeared to be the wooden parts of a crib.