A Baby for Dry Creek and A Dry Creek Christmas: A Baby for Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad

worked. The two had become friends, and Reno could understand why.

      If Chrissy was upsetting to him, it was only because she reminded him of his mother. Both women had that high-wattage, bright-color sway that went with a place like Las Vegas. They wore fancy sequin dresses with the same ease that women in Dry Creek wore their aprons.

      It was clear that neither his mother nor Chrissy belonged in Dry Creek, and that’s why Chrissy had bothered him. Really the only reason she still bothered him, he told himself.

      Nicki looked at him as if she didn’t believe him. “You’re not still afraid to get married, are you?”

      “Huh?”

      Nicki had the grace to blush. “I know we both said we would never get married, but we were kids. What did we know?”

      “We knew what Dad told us.”

      “Ah, well, he only saw one side of being married. If he’d known there were people out there like Garrett, who can really love someone, he wouldn’t have wanted us to stay single all our lives.”

      Reno decided he shouldn’t argue with his sister on this one. “I suppose he might have been okay with you marrying.”

      Nicki looked relieved. “And you, too.”

      Reno doubted all of it. He had known his father. But he held his tongue.

      “Anyway, here’s Chrissy’s address and phone number,” Nicki said as she pulled a piece of paper out of her jeans pocket and set it on the kitchen counter. “You could at least call and talk to her—or write her a letter or something.”

      With that, Nicki turned and walked away.

      She might as well have left a stick of live dynamite on the kitchen counter.

      Reno just stared at the paper.

      He didn’t tell his sister that he didn’t need to call Chrissy or write her a letter to find out if the two of them were destined for some kind of wedded bliss. For even a little bit of bliss to happen, the woman would have to like him, and it appeared the very thought of dating him made Chrissy Hamilton want to cry.

      Even someone as lovestruck as his sister would have to agree that was not a good sign. Fortunately, no one knew about him and Chrissy.

      When Chrissy had been at the ranch last fall, he’d decided to invite her to eat dinner at the café in Dry Creek with him. He hadn’t thought it was any big deal. He’d spent the afternoon convincing himself that just because her green-gray eyes made him want to take up painting storm clouds, that was no reason to think he was interested in anything but getting to know someone who could tell him more about his mother.

      He’d even stopped himself from wondering about Chrissy’s lips once he decided they looked as soft as they did because of some sort of Las Vegas beauty trick.

      No, he’d put all that aside. Dinner was just a logical thing. Hamburgers and fries for two hungry people at the café in Dry Creek. Maybe spaghetti and garlic bread, if they had it. He’d started out by saying there was no reason to go to any trouble and change clothes and they both had to eat, so would she like to come with him to eat at the—

      That’s as far as he’d got before she’d given him a stricken look and started to cry. He hadn’t known what to do but take her in his arms and let her sob against his last clean shirt. After the first burst of tears had ended, she’d pulled back and looked embarrassed. Her cheeks had been pink, and her eyes had dared him to ask about her tears.

      Before he could say anything, she’d thanked him for the invitation in a businesslike voice and added she was sorry she couldn’t date him. She was also sorry about the shirt, she said, and added that a little bleach should take the mascara out.

      By then he couldn’t say he hadn’t been asking her out on a date, so he’d just thanked her for the laundry tip. He hadn’t added that he was surprised. He’d never figured someone like Chrissy would know anything about laundry.

      Fortunately, no one knew about any of this, and Reno wasn’t about to tell anyone. He picked up the slip of paper from the kitchen counter, intending to crumple it up and throw it away. He should be glad Chrissy wasn’t interested in him.

      Reno was cautious when it came to women. Even if he hadn’t had his father to remind him of how fickle women could be, his mother had taught him that some women just weren’t meant to live on a ranch.

      Life on the Redfern Ranch could never compete with the excitement of a big city. Ranch life was plain, good living, and that was all Reno wanted, but he knew there was no theater, no fine dining, no museums, no upscale shopping.

      A Vegas cocktail waitress like Chrissy would never stay in a place like Dry Creek any more than his mother had. Oh, Chrissy might think it was quaint and amusing enough for a week or so, but in the long term she’d leave. Dry Creek would never be enough for her.

      Yes, throwing away that piece of paper his sister had left on the counter was the only sensible thing to do. Reno said those words to himself, but for some strange reason he didn’t listen. Instead, he folded the piece of paper into a small square and put it in his shirt pocket.

      He told himself he’d throw it away tomorrow. When tomorrow came, he told himself it wouldn’t hurt to wait until the next day.

      That was two weeks ago Monday, and he no longer even bothered to lie to himself. Every day when he changed his shirt, he moved that piece of paper to the new pocket.

      Reno shook his head. This past Saturday he’d actually looked at a map to see which freeways he’d need to take if he drove down to Los Angeles. He’d gone so far as to remind himself he’d never seen the Pacific Ocean and had a good reason to drive down to Los Angeles, quite apart from seeing Chrissy. A man ought to see the ocean some time in his life.

      Reno scraped his feet on the porch of the hardware store. At least no one in Dry Creek knew about that slip of paper in his pocket or the foolish thoughts going around in his head. He wouldn’t have had any peace if they did. Sometimes it felt as if he had a dozen grandparents, each one of them anxious for him to date someone so they could plan a wedding and then begin the more serious business of knitting baby booties.

      Reno didn’t know why the seniors in Dry Creek were so set on babies. But all he heard these days were wistful remarks that, given all the marriages in Dry Creek lately, it sure was a shame there weren’t any babies.

      No, he didn’t want the people of Dry Creek to know he was even thinking of visiting Chrissy. They’d start putting their hopes on him, and he’d only let them down.

      Chapter Two

      Reno opened the door. The hardware store was silent, and for a brief second the light was such that Reno thought no one was inside. Then he saw all his neighbors, and they saw him. It was a toss-up as to who was more startled.

      “It’s that clay mud,” Reno finally said as he stepped inside. They were looking at him as if he were covered with tar or something toxic. “I guess I look a little odd.”

      “You look just fine,” Mrs. Hargrove declared stoutly as she smoothed down the skirt of her checked gingham dress. Mrs. Hargrove had to be eighty years old, and she’d worn the same set of gingham dresses since the late 1950s. She had one in every color of the rainbow. A good dress, she told folks, never wore out as long as you took care of it. Over the dress she wore a black wool sweater that had been stretched out by too many washes. She had rubber boots on her feet and a paperback mystery stuffed into the pocket of her sweater.

      Reno stopped and stood still. If Mrs. Hargrove had to defend him that strongly, he must look worse than he thought. She’d been his Sunday-school teacher years ago, and she was loyal to her students. He’d been in the first grade when he’d realized that she fussed with her hair or her dress on the few occasions she was nervous. She’d done it when Randy McCall asked where Eve got her babies from, and she was doing it now.

      Mrs. Hargrove reached up and patted