“No, just the opposite,” she answered. Then, because her reply probably raised more questions for him, she said, “Cole seems okay with my being here.”
“Sure. Why shouldn’t he be?” he asked. Cole wouldn’t have said anything to her to make her feel unwanted. This had to be something in her head.
“I was just worried that he might think I was taking advantage,” she said.
“Of what? Hospitality?” he asked, confused. “That’s free and it goes without saying.” She should know that, he thought.
“No, of you,” she said. Because he didn’t look as if he understood, she tried to explain it better. “Of our, um, friendship. You are putting me up.”
“Not a hardship,” Connor assured her. “And this is one-quarter my house.”
She supposed that was what was bothering her. “Doesn’t that mean that the others have something to say about who you take in?”
“They do,” he agreed. “And the word they would say is ‘yes.’”
He was just being kind and she didn’t want to be the cause of any family discord. She still wasn’t convinced that the others would welcome her being there, even if they all had their own homes now.
“But—”
“Amy, you’re overthinking this,” he told her. He saw her opening her mouth and he anticipated that she’d raise more nonexistent objections. “Stop thinking,” he ordered with a smile. “Now see if your son likes his new sleeping arrangements—” he nodded at the infant in her arms “—and I’ll see you later.”
“Later,” Amy murmured, watching him walk out.
She had to admit, the word had a definite good feel about it.
Chapter Six
It was a full week before Connor was finally able to make a trip into town. In that time, Rita had made two trips to the general store for food, but between his trying to be there for Amy to help her acclimate to her new life and keeping the ranch running and productive, Connor had just been too busy to make the trip to Forever himself.
His list of things he needed kept growing until he couldn’t put off going to town any longer, so he went one morning right after breakfast.
Once he’d picked up everything he needed from the general store, as well as from its adjacent hardware store, Connor allowed himself a few minutes of luxury by making a quick stop at Miss Joan’s Diner.
The diner, with its redheaded firecracker of an owner, was thought by one and all to be the very center of Forever, even though logistically it was a little right of the center of town. But perfectly centered or not, the diner—and Miss Joan—was considered to be the veritable heartbeat of the town.
When his father had died and he had been faced with trying to provide for his siblings, as well as keeping the ranch from going under and being taken over by the bank, it was Miss Joan who had supplied his family and him with more than a few hot meals. And when money was particularly tight, the woman found part-time jobs for them and placed them on her payroll for however long it took to get the struggling family back on their feet.
And somehow, she managed to do it all without making it feel like charity. With her whiskey voice and her sharp, abrupt manner, she made them feel as if they were working for everything they received.
Throughout it all, with all she had to do, Miss Joan still made sure they never did without. Over time, he and his brothers and sister had all come to regard her as a surrogate mother. Surly, but nonetheless loving in the ways that counted.
Mindful of the fact that he had to be getting back soon, Connor walked up to the counter and planted himself on a stool.
“Morning, Miss Joan,” he said as she turned around to make eye contact with him. “I’ll have a cup of your strongest coffee, please.”
To his surprise, Miss Joan said nothing in response to his greeting or his request. Instead, the woman silently poured a cup of coffee from the urn and then placed it right in front of him.
Still silent, she stood on the other side of the counter, studying him.
The woman had eyes like a laser, going right through him, Connor thought.
“Something wrong, Miss Joan?” Connor asked, keeping his voice mild.
Rather than answer his question, Miss Joan made an observation. “You know, I never thought of you as being the strong, silent type.”
“I never thought of you that way, either,” Connor responded, doing his best to keep a straight face as he lobbed the ball back into her court.
Connor had no idea why Miss Joan had said that or where this was going. He’d only been gone a week, he thought. Things couldn’t have changed that much in one week. If anything major had taken place in Forever, or with Miss Joan, he was fairly confident that one of his brothers or Cassidy would have mentioned it to him over the course of the week.
Miss Joan’s penetrating hazel-green eyes narrowed as she pinned him with a look. “Very funny, boy.” Letting out an exasperated sigh, she became more blunt. “When were you going to tell me?”
About to raise his cup to his lips for another long, bracing sip of the pitch-black brew, he paused to look at her, utterly confused.
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, I should hope so,” Miss Joan retorted. “But that still doesn’t answer my question.” Her lips pursed as she waited for a response. When she didn’t get one, Miss Joan shook her head and then slowly enunciated each word of her question. “When were you going to tell me that Amy was back in town?”
It was an oversight, he silently admitted, but it hadn’t been done deliberately. Now that he understood what was bothering her, he found a way to technically bail himself out and remain in her good graces.
“I didn’t think I had to.” He saw her thin lips deepen in a displeased frown. “You’re Miss Joan—you know about things happening before they even happen.”
“Flattery is not going to save you, boy.”
He smiled at her gamely. “All right. What will?”
“I’ll have to think on that,” the woman informed him in a tone a judge used when deliberating over a prison sentence for a convicted offender. “In the meantime,” she continued, her voice dripping with disapproval, “you can tell me if that girl finally came to her senses and left that no-account, flashy two-bit Romeo she ran off with.”
“She did,” Connor replied quietly, trying to keep the conversation just between the two of them despite the fact there were more than a few of the regular patrons in the diner.
Miss Joan snorted with approval. “Glad to hear that,” she pronounced. “Did he ever bother to marry her?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Connor answered even though it obviously pained him to say it.
“But she divorced him” were the next words out of her mouth. It wasn’t so much of a question as an assumption.
“I’m not sure,” Connor admitted. When Miss Joan looked at him sharply, he told the diner owner, “I didn’t ask.”
“Well, ask, boy,” the woman ordered. “And if she hasn’t, you see to it that she does, you hear me? Otherwise, there’s going to be trouble,” Miss Joan predicted.
“It’s not my place to tell her to get a divorce if she didn’t,” Connor pointed out. Amy was her own woman, and as such, she was able to make her own decisions. And while he would have wanted nothing more than to have her free, he felt that in all good conscience, he couldn’t tell Amy what to do one way or another.
Miss Joan obviously saw it differently. “Then whose place is it?” she asked. Before he could say anything to deflect her question or construct any sort of a defense, Miss Joan had leaned in closer and lowered her voice even more. “Sometimes, boy, you have to step in and help the people you care about even if they resist your efforts. Now go home and have that conversation with Amy. And then bring her by the next time you come into town. I’d like to see her. It’s been a
long time.”
“Longer than you think,” Connor commented under his breath, thinking of Jamie.
He should have realized that he was underestimating the older woman’s ability to hear things.
“Oh,” Miss Joan said by way of parting just before she made her way to another part of the counter and another customer who needed her attention, “and have her bring that baby of hers, too. We’ll be doing our annual tree decorating in the center of Forever. Might do her good to feel like she’s part of something again. The baby, too.”
The woman never ceased to amaze him. “You know about the baby?”
Miss Joan paused only long enough to answer his question. “Of course I know about the baby. Like you said, I’m Miss Joan. I know everything, remember? Bring her.” This time, it sounded more like a command.
One he should listen to because if anyone had the ability to bring Amy around and set her on the right path, it was Miss Joan.
Connor had no doubt that when Amy left Clay, she’d had every intention of leaving him for good. But he also knew that time had a way of softening all the rough edges and burying the bad memories while highlighting the good ones. He was afraid that would happen in Amy and Clay’s case. Especially if Amy was still married to the man.
Miss Joan was right, he thought as he climbed back into his truck. He needed to find out if Amy had gotten a divorce or if she was still married to Clay. While he would protect her with his dying breath if it came to that, he didn’t relish the idea of coming between a husband and his wife.
Which was why, if she hadn’t already, Amy needed to get a divorce.
* * *
ALL THE WAY home from Forever, Connor rehearsed what he was going to say to Amy. But the second he pulled up in front of his ranch house and turned off his truck’s engine, the words he’d been going over became all jumbled up in his head.
This was definitely not going to be easy, he told himself as he got out of the reliable vehicle.
He’d gotten all the way up to the front door when he had to stop abruptly and double back to his truck. He realized that he’d left the supplies he’d gone into town to buy in his truck.
Or maybe he didn’t forget, he thought. Maybe he was just trying to stall.
Either way, he knew he could only drag his feet for so long. He needed to ask Amy if she’d just left Clay, or if she’d divorced the man.
He crossed his fingers, hoping it was the latter.
Damn, he hated to feel like he was prying, Connor thought as he opened the front door and walked in, juggling bags of supplies. Putting everything down on the coffee table, he looked around.
He didn’t see Rita, which was just as well. He wasn’t up to being subjected to her questions and Rita always had questions when he came back from town.
At first, he didn’t see Amy, either.
He thought she might be in the downstairs guest room, or maybe upstairs in her room. But the sound of splashing and Amy’s laughter coming from the kitchen drew him there. Even though he didn’t relish what he was about to ask, hearing Amy laugh brought a smile to his lips before he reached the kitchen.
He’d missed hearing her laugh. Missed, he admitted, everything about her.
He found Amy at the sink because she was bathing Jamie.
She had one of her arms underneath his little torso and the baby seemed to take exceptional delight in splashing up a storm. For a long moment, Connor just stood there, watching them and thinking how incomplete his life had seemed only a week ago. And now, taking in this scene, it felt amazingly full.
Knowing he couldn’t continue just standing there indefinitely like some hidden observer, Connor finally spoke up.
“Need a hand?”
Amy gasped. Automatically pulling her baby against her, she turned to look over her shoulder. “Oh, Connor, you startled me.”
“Sorry,” he apologized, coming forward. “I can be pretty scary.”
“No, I meant that I thought you weren’t home. When I heard that deep voice, I thought—I thought—” Not wanting to finish her sentence and spoil the moment by saying that she’d thought Clay had caught up to her, she shrugged. “Never mind what I thought. Did you get everything in town you wanted?” she asked brightly, changing the subject.
He didn’t want to talk about something so trivial as a shopping trip into town. The scared expression on her face had gotten to him.
“Never mind that right now. You looked frightened just then. If you thought I wasn’t in the house, who did you think had just come in?” Connor asked, although he had his suspicions.
“It’s not important,” Amy told him, dismissing the subject. “Right now, I have to finish giving Jamie his bath.”
“I’ll help. And whatever’s responsible for that terrified look on your face is very important,” he stressed. “Level with me, Amy. Did you think it was Clay?”
“No,” she denied quickly, and then, because she didn’t want to lie to him, she amended, “Yes.” Amy sighed. “Just for a second. But I’ll get over it.”
Since she’d come here with her son, she hadn’t talked very much about Jamie’s father. She’d given him the bare bones of the situation and he’d had to fill in the blanks. But this was about more than a woman leaving a man who cheated on her.
“Are you afraid that Clay is going to come looking for you?” he asked.
This was not a conversation she wanted to have. But then, she couldn’t bring herself to lie to Connor, either. “I did tell you that he doesn’t give up easily.”
Connor thought of what Miss Joan had said to him earlier in the diner. “Amy, did you just leave Clay, or did you also divorce him?”
“Is that important?” Amy asked defensively, her eyes meeting his over the baby she was bathing. “I mean, to you?”
In the sum total of things, he didn’t care. He was there for Amy and her son no matter what. But there was the legal aspect to consider—for her sake. “It’s important because if he’s your ex-husband, I can throw him out on his butt if he comes anywhere near you.”
Did that mean the reverse was true, too? “But if he’s still my husband, you can’t?”
Connor patiently explained it to her. He didn’t want to add to her burden by telling her that he loved her enough to walk through fire for her even if she had rejected him by running off with Clay. Instead, he focused on the facts.
“If he’s still your husband, he could try to say I’m interfering in his marriage, but he’s still not coming anywhere near you,” Connor promised her. “I just need to know if you two are divorced or not.”
“It’s complicated,” Amy confessed. “I didn’t come directly to you when I left Clay. I stayed in a motel for a couple of days and got in touch with a lawyer I found online. I filed for a divorce through him and he was supposed to send the papers to Clay. As far as I know, Clay still hasn’t signed the papers—not because he cares about me or the baby, but because he just likes being controlling.”
“Then we’re going to have to take care of that,” Connor said decisively. “As long as you still want to go through with it,” he qualified. “I don’t want to talk you into anything.”
“You’re not,” she assured him. There were only so many excuses she could make for Clay before she had to face the truth. The man didn’t love her; he never had. He’d just amused himself with her—until she ceased to be amusing. “Clay did that all on his own.”
“Okay, then maybe you should make an appointment with either Olivia Santiago or Cash Taylor,” Connor suggested, mentioning the town’s only two lawyers, “and tell them about your situation. They’ll help you.”
“They’re not divorce lawyers, are they?” Amy asked hopefully.
“They’re lawyers,” Connor said. “And since they’re the only two in town, they handle pretty m
uch everything. They’ll look into getting the divorce finalized for you. Olivia’s the sheriff’s wife and Cash is Miss Joan’s stepgrandson. You couldn’t be in better hands to resolve this situation.”
Amy smiled up at him. “I’m already in good hands,” she told him.
“You still have that lawyer?” Connor asked.
“No, I think that maybe he just took advantage of my situation. But I have you,” she told him. “And there’s nobody that I trust in this whole wide world more than you.”
“Then if you trust me, listen to me. We’re going to make an appointment and go see Olivia or Cash—or both of them for good measure, and get this taken care of once and for all.”
“Only one problem,” she told him.
“What?” he asked guardedly.
“I can’t pay them,” Amy said. She’d barely had enough money for the gas it took to get here.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I can.”
Her sense of pride had her telling him, “I can’t ask you to do that.”
He wasn’t about to be dissuaded from this. “You’re not asking. I’m volunteering.”
She wanted to stand on her own two feet, even if those feet tended to be rather wobbly at the moment. “But—”
Jamie was happily kicking his feet in the sink, sending water over the side.
“And right now, you have a dripping son to take care of,” Connor pointed out, shutting down her protest. “They get really pruney if they stay in the water too long.”
Laughing at the image, Amy raised the little boy out of the sink. “Can’t have that,” she told Connor.
“See?” he asked, wrapping a towel around the wet baby. “We’re in agreement—again.”
Yes, Amy thought, they certainly were. More than Connor could possibly know.
Chapter Seven
Rita wiped her hands on the apron that she wore almost perpetually around her waist and looked up at the two people who had walked into what she considered to be her kitchen. It was a little more than an hour after breakfast and she was in between routines when Connor approached her with a question.
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