Once done with her appointment with Doc, she had driven to the diner. For the first time in weeks, she felt hungry for a full meal before noon. She’d barely gotten down a piece of toast at breakfast.
Inside, she found warmth and cheerfulness and more than a few friendly faces.
She made her way past the high counter stools, stopping here and there to return the greetings of people she’d met at Doc Thompson’s party. By the time she found a vacant booth, she was blinking hard against a sudden threat of tears.
In all the places she had lived over the years, she had never met people who were this nice to her. Had her mother’s behavior—her lousy taste in men and fondness for loud brawls—influenced them? Or were the citizens of Dillon just much more welcoming than the rest?
Growing up, she’d always wished for a hometown like this one, filled with people who’d known each other practically since birth and who genuinely cared about one another. Now, after one introduction at one party, this small Texas town offered her the opportunity to have that wish fulfilled.
Yet one thing stood in her way. The one person who mattered most, who could make her dream of a happy family come true.
Her husband.
With a heavy sigh, she slid into the booth and grabbed the plastic-coated menu tucked between the salt and pepper shakers.
The diner’s owner approached, carrying a coffee carafe. Marissa had met her, also, at Doc’s party.
“Morning, Mrs. Miller. Nice of you to happen in.” Delia hoisted the carafe.
Marissa shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ll have orange juice, please, and pancakes.”
“Bacon or sausage on the side?”
“N-no. Just the pancakes.” She stared down at the closed menu, willing her stomach to settle.
By the time breakfast arrived, she felt fine again—and suddenly ravenous. Without even waiting for Delia to depart, she dug in.
“Delicious,” Marissa told her after a forkful of fluffy pancake.
“Thank you kindly. Around here, I’m known for good home cooking. Not fancy, but filling.”
Marissa froze. Had that been an intended insult to her cooking? And why did she feel hurt at the idea of it?
Maybe because her cooking success was all her father found in her worthy of praise. Maybe because her skill in the kitchen was all that made her useful on Gabe’s ranch.
“Wish I had your talent with the gourmet goods, though,” Delia continued, “especially those fancy desserts. Any chance you’d whip me up some for the diner for the next little while?”
For a long moment, Marissa sat speechless. Guilt at her earlier suspicion made her want to cringe, while surprise and pleasure threatened to reduce her to tears again. “I would love to do some baking for you.”
Delia beamed.
They arranged the business details and shook hands—very different from the way Gabe had insisted on settling their deal.
Marissa pushed the thought away, then watched as Delia headed back toward the counter. To her amusement, Delia gave a thumbs-up and hissed a long, drawn-out, “yessss.” Quite an enthusiastic reaction over an order of pastry.
Still smiling, she returned her attention to the pancakes.
A few minutes later, Sarah Jones entered the diner and headed straight to her booth. “What brings you to town this early, Marissa?”
“Breakfast, for one thing.” She indicated her almost-empty plate. “Join me?”
At the party, she’d felt an immediate connection to Sarah. Yet, as much as she would love to talk about her pregnancy with the other woman, a mother herself, Marissa hesitated.
No matter how rocky their relationship, Gabe was the father of her child. He had the right to share in the announcement about the baby on the way when—if— she ever felt ready to share the news. She didn’t want people congratulating them, asking for updates, watching her grow, until she and Gabe were prepared for that.
She tried to focus on Sarah, who slid into the bench seat opposite her.
“I can’t stay but a minute,” the other woman said. “The store opens at nine-thirty.” She smiled. “On my morning walk, I spotted you through the window. If you’re finished and looking to while away some time, why don’t you come and visit?”
“That would be nice.” She left a tip and went with Sarah to the cash register.
Delia set her spatula beside the sizzling griddle and shuffled down the narrow aisle behind the front counter to take her bill. “Now, don’t forget those cream puffs ’n’ such for me.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Marissa assured her. “I’ll see you on Wednesday afternoon.” She followed Sarah out to the sidewalk. “Delia hired me to make some desserts for her over the holidays,” she explained.
“Delia’s a shrewd businesswoman—knows a good thing when she sees it. Folks will flock into the diner when they hear the news. Maybe I ought to get you to do a few sweets for the bookstore, too, if you can handle the volume.”
Marissa held back a smile, remembering the Women’s Club Tea and Social—sandwiches and dessert for two hundred—that she’d prepared single-handedly a month earlier.
They passed Doc Thompson’s house with its first-floor office, then a pharmacy and several other storefronts.
“Not much to Main Street,” Sarah said. “The town of Dillon itself isn’t large. Most of the acreage sprawls outside the town proper into ranch land.”
Marissa glanced down the length of the commercial section. Just a few blocks long, it took up less space than the property of her father’s Chicago hotel.
“How do you manage to run a—?” She stopped, warmth tingling her cold cheeks. “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”
Sarah laughed. “You must not come from a small town or you’d know everything that goes on is everyone’s business. And it’s a darn good question. Fortunately, sales pick up for me in the wintertime. When there’s not much else to do, books are always there for people, especially the older folks. Most of the younger ones aren’t big readers, not when they’re working most daylight hours.”
“Like Gabe.” She thought of the magazines in his living room, all related to ranching and farming.
Sarah nodded.
Granted, he spent more time with her now, but three months ago he had seemed driven to work on the ranch as soon as they returned to it the week after their impromptu Las Vegas wedding.
Still, that hadn’t excused him from cutting himself off from her, from communicating only once a day and in only one way. In that king-size bed with the feather mattress and cozy quilt.
In Las Vegas, at first meeting, Gabe had seemed so different. Yes, as typical newlyweds and new lovers, they could barely keep their hands off each other. Could hardly find time to speak. But when they did, Gabe had seemed so willing, so interested. He’d listened to her. He’d loved her.
Yet again, she realized how wrong she had been about that.
Because they had come to the ranch and everything had changed.
Their lovemaking had continued, between bouts of separation and silence. But it was emotional closeness they lacked.
“There it is,” Sarah announced, startling Marissa from her thoughts.
She pointed to a three-story frame house painted buttercup-yellow with green shutters and white trim. The business took up the lower level, Sarah told her, with living quarters above.
The wooden sign hanging from a post set into the narrow front yard proclaimed it The Book Cellar.
“Home sweet home,” Sarah said.
They went down slate steps to the glass-front door flanked by picture windows.
Inside, floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined each of the side walls. Tall wooden cases also took up most of the floor space in the front half of the store.
Sarah led her down the center aisle and past a cozy collection of overstuffed chairs and mismatched end tables. Behind a waist-high counter draped with Christmas garland, a doorway opened into an office.
When they ente
red it, Sarah indicated a wooden rocker with paisley cushions for Marissa and took the swivel chair in front of a large oak desk for herself.
“Gabe’s a hard worker.” Sarah picked up their conversation from where they had left it before the bookstore tour.
Marissa wavered, caught between discussing her private life with a near-stranger and longing to know more about the man she had married. But she felt comfortable with Sarah, who had grown up with Gabe.
“He works too hard, I think,” Marissa offered.
“That’s natural when you love the land. And he does, same as his daddy and granddaddy. They raised Gabe alone on that ranch since before he was the age of my Kevin. But you know that.”
Marissa shook her head. “Gabe told me both his parents were gone,” she said quietly. “But he hadn’t explained that he’d lost his mother so young.”
No wonder he’d been so adamant about raising a child in a two-parent household. Why couldn’t he just have told her his reasons?
She stared down at her hands, where her fingers twisted in her lap. “We’ve been married such a short time. There’s so much about Gabe that I don’t know.” That he refused to share.
“Sometimes,” Sarah said, “you can think you know a person, and life still throws you some surprises. Like reading a good book, where you never can figure what’ll happen next. Trust me, Marissa. I know. Tanner and I grew up together, but we still had a lot to learn about each other. And we weren’t even married yet when Gabe brought you home as his bride.”
Marissa looked up in surprise.
Sarah nodded. “It’s a long story, a lot of it sad. But I’ll tell you some other time. Right now, you’ve got your own troubles. As for Gabe,” she continued, “he’s not used to having a woman in his life. Or…a baby.”
Marissa froze. “Doc told—?” Her words froze, too, as she saw the gentle understanding in Sarah’s expression.
“No, nothing to do with Doc. Or anyone else. I just took a wild guess.”
“But I’m not showing at all. I’m not even due for another six months.”
Sarah eyed her midsection. “You’re carrying small, like I did. I doubt you’ll even show till six.”
“Then how could you possibly have known?”
“Honestly?” Her face lit with a sudden grin. “I saw your breakfast plate at Delia’s.”
Marissa stared. Then, unable to help herself, she laughed. Indignation turned to relief that her privacy hadn’t been violated—and that she could trust her instincts about Sarah.
“What?” she asked. “Doesn’t everyone put mustard on their pancakes?”
Sarah laughed. “Oh, I could go on and on about what I craved when I carried Kevin.” Serious again, she leaned forward and spoke very softly. “That’s why you came back to Dillon, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Gabe knows about the baby?”
Marissa nodded, a lump catching in her throat.
“He’s a good man, Marissa. Maybe not easy to know, surely not easy to live with. But raising a baby alone’s not easy. Believe me. Work things out with each other, if you can.”
Could they?
Would they ever find their happy ending, as Sarah and Tanner so obviously had?
Tears rose to her eyes. She blinked them away.
When she had first come to live on the ranch, she had failed to reach Gabe. And he had neglected to reach out to her.
What hope did she have that they could solve their problems now, when it seemed nothing had changed?
Chapter Eight
Courting his own wife.
Gabe grimaced as he stomped into Delia’s. All day, the idea had run wild in his head but he still couldn’t get it roped and tied. Why should a man have to put himself through that when he was already married?
He couldn’t work worth a damn, either, and finally he gave in to the feeling he ought to talk things over with Doc. Warren was his oldest friend, but Doc’d always been the one he’d taken his troubles to when he didn’t want them known on the ranch.
The cowhands had been surprised, but certainly not sorry, considering his mood, when he’d announced he had to head into Dillon for supplies. He hadn’t even stopped by the house, just went straight into town.
At this hour, too early for supper, the diner held only an older couple sharing one of Delia’s Texas-size burgers. He greeted them, then slid onto a padded stool and dropped his Stetson on the vacant seat beside him.
“What’s the matter, Gabe?” Delia stared at him.
“Nothing. I want coffee.”
“Uh-huh.” She pulled a pot from one of the burners behind her. “I’m giving you high-test, ’cause you look like you need some get-up in you.” She filled his mug to the brim. “Got some news for you.”
He sipped the dark brew and waited. Delia would tell him what was on her mind in her own good time. Ought to take about three seconds.
“Your missus and me are in business.”
Did it in one, and the announcement nearly caused him to spit out his mouthful of coffee. He set down his mug in a hurry.
Did this mean Marissa had decided to stay? His heart gave a funny sideways lurch. That had to be Delia’s high-test, which got stronger as the day wore on.
“Talked to her this morning,” she confirmed. “She’s going to be doing some baking for me through the holidays.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Through the holidays. So, it didn’t mean anything permanent, after all. Why he’d expected more, he didn’t know.
The door opened, and they both turned to look. With relief, Gabe saw Doc enter the diner.
“I’ll have the usual, Delia.”
That meant the high-test, double-strength, hold the sugar and cream. Doc drank more coffee than anyone in town.
“C’mon back, Doc,” Gabe told him. “We need to talk.”
He led the way toward Doc’s regular booth in the far corner.
Gabe put his mug down, slid onto the bench, then waited as the older man settled across from him. He bided his time till Delia had delivered Doc’s coffee and departed. Then he started in.
“Doc, you’ll never believe this one.”
“What is it, son?”
“It’s Marissa, that’s what. Marissa and her foolish ideas. She says we never had a regular relationship because we went and got married so fast. Never had a chance to get to know each other well enough. So she wants all that now.” He shook his head. “She wants me to court her, Doc.”
To his surprise, her crazy notion didn’t seem to faze the other man.
Gabe tried not to growl. “It’s just not natural.”
Doc almost choked on his coffee.
“Well, it isn’t,” Gabe insisted.
“How are things going out at the ranch?”
He shrugged. “Fine.”
“It’s just a week now since Marissa came back, isn’t it?”
That started him off again. “Yeah. Just a week since she started cooking for me and the boys and taking care of the house. And now she’s starting up in business with Delia.”
Doc’s white eyebrows shot up. “What’s this?”
Gabe explained the arrangement.
“Well, that sounds promising. And what are you doing to help the relationship?”
“Me?” Gabe glared. “Same as I did before. Same as I’ve always done. I work to provide for her. Guess that’s not enough.”
Though she did do the cooking now, his hard labor put that food on the table. And though she’d turned him down cold, he’d offered to share his bed with her. What more could he do?
Doc sighed. “I hear what you’re telling me, son. But it’s different for women. They like their men to show ’em how they feel. Courting is a traditional way of doing that.”
Yeah. He hadn’t told Doc about how, the morning she’d come back, he’d shot off his big mouth about being old-fashioned. And how she’d later used it as ammunition, a double barrel right between the eyes.
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p; “I don’t know what she’s looking for.” He put his head in his hands.
“It’s not hard to figure, Gabe. A nice dinner out sometime. A few compliments. Some surprises. Candy, flowers, or maybe something special to her.”
Gabe rolled his eyes. “Damn, Doc. Courting my own wife?”
“Gabe, Marissa seems a woman who knows her mind.” Doc shook his head. “My advice, no charge today, take it or chuck it. Best think hard about what she’s asking.”
Gabe focused on his Stetson on the seat beside him and ran his thumb along the brim. “You saw her this morning, Doc?” he asked, voice low.
“I did.” Doc’s tone matched his.
“Then you know…” He swallowed hard.
“That she’s pregnant.”
“Is she?” He looked up now, as if not meeting his friend square in the face had made his question less straightforward. Less blunt and cold than he knew it to be. But he didn’t know how else to put it.
And he had to have an answer.
Doc studied Gabe. Was he bracing himself to relate some bad news?
Gabe’s fingers clamped onto the Stetson’s brim.
“Now, what would cause you to ask a question like that?”
He shrugged. “Face it, Doc. She’s been gone for months. How do I know she’s telling the truth?”
The older man stared him down, his gray eyes as piercing as the bright penlight he used during his medical exams, revealing all Gabe’s ills, as he always did. Following up with strong medicine as needed.
“You could start by trusting her.”
His dry, humorless laugh made his throat ache. “Forget trust. I need facts.”
Doc sighed and shook his head. “All right, then. The facts are, yes, your wife is pregnant. And the timing’s right for the baby to be yours.”
GABE STARED at the bunkhouse kitchen windows, where he could see Marissa fixing supper.
So she had told the truth about carrying a baby. He was going to be a father—and to him that meant also being a husband. He’d left Delia’s determined to give Doc’s ideas a try, to find a way to start courting Marissa and give her reason to stick around.
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