A Baby For The Deputy. Cathy Mcdavid

      “Then it’s possible?”

      “We’ve been careful.”

      “I was, too. Both the second and third times.” Dolores reached for Mel and gave her a quick but warm hug. “Does the father know?”

      Again, Mel thought of Aaron. How would he take the news? When would be the best time to tell him? “No. Not yet.”

      “Do you love him?”

      Mel had expected Dolores to ask the name of the father. This question left her nearly as shaken as the bout of nausea had.

      Unable to answer, Mel mumbled an excuse and hurried past Dolores. It was one thing to contemplate her changing feelings for Aaron. Another thing altogether to voice them aloud.

      * * *

      MEL GAVE HERSELF a figurative pat on the back for surviving the past few hours. Shortly after escaping the restroom and Dolores, she’d returned to the patio and been immediately recruited to hang paper lanterns. Thank you, Frankie. After that, they’d all gone home to change clothes and then returned before the party started.

      Mel didn’t typically procrastinate. It wasn’t her style. But her father’s birthday just wasn’t the time for dealing with potentially huge problems. Like, for instance, a missed period. Not even with someone as compassionate as Dolores.

      Seeing the party went off without a hitch, celebrating with her family, those were her priorities. Tomorrow, she’d purchase the home pregnancy test—in Scottsdale where no one knew her—and hopefully eliminate one potential reason for her nausea.

      Now that was Mel’s style. Every move was calculated in advance and every contingency explored. She liked it that way. Order and purpose equaled confidence and a sense of security.

      If she turned out to be pregnant, a highly unlikely probability, she’d talk to Aaron and together they’d devise a new plan using the same equation. A plan that didn’t throw both their lives into complete and utter chaos.

      “Here’s my girl!”

      The next instant, Mel was swept up in a fierce embrace.

      “Dad!” She giggled and squirmed, not unlike her nieces.

      “Thank you for the party,” he said, releasing her.

      “I can’t take the credit. It was Frankie’s idea, and she did most of the heavy lifting. But you can thank me for not allowing any Over the Hill and Grim Reaper party favors.”

      “She couldn’t have pulled it off without your help.”

      “I’m glad you’re pleased.”

      His gaze traveled the room. “Who knew I had this many friends?”

      His daughters, for one. Mel’s dad had lived and worked in the valley for over thirty-five years. He was liked, if not loved, by many.

      Not all the guests had arrived. Most noticeably absent was Theo McGraw, Ray Hartman’s boss and owner of The Small Change Ranch. Mel hoped the older gentleman would make it. He suffered from Parkinson’s disease, and some days were harder than others.

      Also absent, and of more concern to Mel, was Aaron and his family. Perhaps he’d gotten called away on a last-minute emergency. Or, something had happened to his daughter. Mel tried not to obsess, which also wasn’t her style. But lately, he was constantly on her mind.

      “You’re being modest.” She patted her father’s generous beer belly. That, and his gray beard, had made him the perfect choice to play Santa Claus at his granddaughters’ preschool. “You have lots of friends.”

      “I’m a fortunate man.”

      She noticed him watching Dolores. He often did, and the look in his eyes softened as if the mere sight of her melted his heart.

      Someday, maybe someone would look at Mel like that. Welcome her home after a hard day at work. Slip into bed with her and wind his arms around her. Someone who didn’t cling to the memory of his late wife.

      Oh, God! Had she really just thought that? Mel was ashamed of herself. She wasn’t normally shallow and unkind. Naturally, Aaron grieved his late wife. It had taken her father years to get over her mother’s death.

      A group of nearby guests burst out in raucous greeting, distracting her. The source of the commotion became quickly apparent. Aaron, his mother-in-law, Nancy, and daughter, Kaylee, had finally arrived.

      A grinning Aaron held Kaylee in his arms, balancing her against his broad chest. The shy little girl buried her face in his shirt when one too many people tugged on her silky curls or pinched her chin. Aaron patted her back with his strong hand and, bit by bit, Kaylee’s face emerged.

      Aaron could do that. Make a person feel safe and sheltered. Mel had experienced it firsthand.

      “Hey, there, birthday boy.” One of her father’s buddies hailed him. “Get over here before all the barbecued beef is gone.”

      “See you later, honey.”

      “Enjoy yourself,” Mel said to his retreating back, her attention remaining riveted on Aaron.

      Eventually, their eyes locked. That was the usual outcome when someone stared long enough. She should step away. Engage the Powells or other clients of hers in conversation. Help Frankie with the food or Dolores with hosting duties.

      She and Aaron had agreed not to draw attention to themselves in public, and here she was doing exactly that. Except, she didn’t break eye contact and neither did he. The connection Mel had been feeling lately intensified more and more until it practically sizzled.

      Was it the same for him? If so, he gave no indication.

      Mel’s nieces skipped over to Aaron and Kaylee, high on sugar from fruit punch and blobs of icing swiped from the birthday cake.

      “Kaylee, play with us,” Paige pleaded with her friend. “We have balloons and bubbles and prizes.”

      The little girl’s features lit up like a ray of sunshine after a storm, and she insisted her father put her down.

      Aaron relented, holding her hand as if not quite ready to part with her. Mel was close enough to hear him say, “Don’t go far, okay?”

      “Okay, Daddy,” she parroted in her sweet angel voice.

      Mel’s nieces immediately grabbed her, and the preschool buddies scampered off, disappearing from sight.

      “Are you sure she’ll be all right?” Nancy asked Aaron, ready to follow the girls.

      Aaron waylaid her by saying gently, “She’ll be fine. Frankie Hartman is right there.”

      The creases permanently etched into Nancy’s forehead deepened. “I’m going to get some punch.”

      By sheer coincidence, or not, the punch bowl was located within a few feet of the game area where the girls were playing. If Aaron realized that, and he probably did, he chose not to address it.

      Mel admired him for picking his battles. Nancy could be formidable. A self-defense mechanism, no doubt, from losing her only child at a young age.

      Funny that Nancy and Dolores had become close. Then again, Dolores was the nurturing kind, taking the lost and lonely into her care. Hadn’t she done that with Mel’s father and, a few hours ago in the restroom, with Mel?

      What if she was pregnant? Mel had tried hard to keep the thought at bay, but it crept back every few minutes, shouting, “You can’t ignore me,” in her ear.

      As if sensing her distress—was he that tuned in to her?—Aaron glanced her way again. Confused and emotionally overwhelmed, Mel turned and snuck away in search of a quiet place.

      Five minutes. That was all she needed. Time enough to collect herself and calm her frayed nerves.

      Heading outside the café,