A Baby for Mummy. Cathy Gillen Thacker

      And stared, stunned, at what they saw.

      EMILY WONDERED if it was all too much. The linen tablecloth and cloth napkins were nothing special—she’d borrowed them from her store of them at home. The mix of daisies and mums in the vase had come from the farmers’ market.

      As for the meal itself, she’d decided to go with butter-milk-brined fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob and peach cobbler. Comfort foods in the extreme.

      She figured, since the kids had welcomed the spaghetti carbonara she’d been able to throw together the night before, they were bound to like this.

      She was wrong.

      Maybe not wrong, exactly, she decided as the meal wore on with none of the enthusiastic eating of the trial run. But definitely misguided.

      Dan, of course, consumed his meal with gusto. So did Walt. Emily was hungry, so she ate, too.

      Kayla merely picked at her food, and Emily was pretty sure that Ava didn’t actually taste anything. Tommy stripped the breading from the chicken, ate the meat, drank his water, and that was it.

      Dan began to get irritated.

      He regarded his children with the stern exasperation Emily was beginning to know so well. “What’s the problem?” he asked, his tone as impatient as his manner.

      Kayla shrugged. “I think I ate too much hot dogs and birthday cake at the skating rink,” she said.

      That excuse Dan appeared to buy.

      He looked at Ava. “I had two mocha lattes while I was studying. So I’m just not hungry!”

      Caffeine did cut the appetite, Emily knew.

      Tommy shrugged. “I haven’t completely cooled down from running. If I eat too much now, I’m likely to do what, um, Emily did this morning.”

      All eyes turned back to Emily. “Are you sick?” Kayla asked.

      Walt, too, lifted a brow, waiting.

      Dan hadn’t told them, Emily realized. He seemed to not want to reveal it, either. Too bad. If the proverbial mud were to hit the fan, Emily wanted to know it now, before she invested any more in this temporary job.

      “I’m pregnant—that was morning sickness,” she blurted out.

      HIS UNCLE GAVE DAN A LOOK that spoke volumes. Walt could clearly tell from Dan’s bland reaction that he was the only one in the room who wasn’t surprised by Emily’s announcement.

      Kayla spoke first. “Pregnant means having a baby, right?”

      Dan nodded. “Right. Emily is going to have a baby approximately five months from now. And sometimes, when women are pregnant, they have tummy trouble. She had tummy trouble this morning, but that’s okay—it’s all part of expecting a baby.” And, Dan’s glance to his children conveyed firmly, I have no problem with it.

      Nor did they.

      In fact, the news didn’t seem to faze them, either way.

      “Can I be excused?” Ava said. “I really want to study some more.”

      “I don’t feel so good.” Kayla held her tummy. “Maybe I should go lie down on my bed.”

      “The team’s going to a movie tonight,” Tommy said. “I need to get ready.”

      Looking relieved her announcement had caused so little upset, Emily stood. “I’ll clean up.”

      “Actually,” Dan said, “I’ll do it.”

      Emily’s expression turned obstinate again. “It’s my job.”

      He leaned forward and persisted, just as stubbornly. “Not tonight it’s not. You look tired. Why don’t you go on home? We’ll see you Monday evening.”

      Emily squared her shoulders. “Are you sure?”

      Dan nodded. “But you’re going to need a jacket. It’s really cold out there now.” The wind was whipping through the trees, rustling the branches.

      “I’ll be fine.” She moved past him in a drift of orange-blossom fragrance. “The van has a good heater.”

      It didn’t matter, Dan thought. “You’re pregnant,” he reminded her protectively. He paused at the hall closet and pulled out his wind-resistant, fleece-lined hoodie. It would keep her and her baby cozy-warm. “Take this.”

      For once, she didn’t argue. “Thank you. I’ll bring it back on Monday.”

      He held the sleeves while she slipped it on and zipped up.

      Trying not to think how feminine she looked in his jacket, despite it being way too big for her, Dan walked her to the front door.

      Emily seemed flustered by the attention. “You don’t have to keep doing this,” she said. “I’m an employee. Not a friend. Or a—”

      “Date?” Dan finished her sentence before he could stop himself.

      Emily flushed as they stepped outside. In the soft glow of the porch light, she looked even prettier. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

      On the contrary, Dan disagreed silently. It was exactly what she meant, because that was exactly how it felt—like a date. In his attempt to put her at ease, he was handling this all wrong. He swallowed, felt his throat close. “You’d rather I just stay here?”

      Emily dipped her head self-consciously. “Yes.”

      So, with effort, Dan shoved his hands in his pockets, turned and moved to the door.

      Emily got halfway down the sidewalk before she realized, “My keys! I forgot my purse.” She hurried back to the door.

      “I’ll get it,” Dan offered.

      He stepped inside, Emily right behind him. Walt came out of the kitchen, a cup of coffee in one hand, Emily’s leather carryall in the other. Dan recognized the look on the semiretired private investigator’s face and swore inwardly.

      “This what you’re missing?” Walt asked Emily politely.

      “Yes. Thank you. Good night, everyone! See you Monday!” Emily rushed out the door like the hounds of hell were on her heels.

      In the driveway, an engine started.

      Dan waited until the van drove away, then turned furiously back to Walt. “Tell me you didn’t go through that,” he muttered.

      The older man shrugged. “Well, I had to figure out who it belonged to before I could return it to its rightful owner!”

      Bull. “And?”

      “She’s licensed to drive in Texas. Carries two credit cards and a bottle of prenatal vitamins. Nothing incriminating in there.”

      The tension between Dan’s shoulder blades eased. “Satisfied now?”

      Walt ran a hand over his snowy-white buzz cut. “Not without references we can run down.”

      Dan scowled and immediately took the opposite tact. “Not going to happen,” he said.

      Walt looked annoyed. “Did you even ask?” he demanded in a low, disgruntled voice.

      “No. And I told you, I’m not going to,” Dan said, his temper rising. “I trust my gut on this.”

      Walt paused and shot Dan a telling look. “Make sure it’s your gut and not another part of your anatomy you’re following.”

      Dan thought about that as the evening wore on. Why hadn’t he asked for references? He never hired anyone for his architectural firm without a thorough vetting. Walt’s P.I. business was the one that did the work. But in this case, he hadn’t even thought about it and then when prompted, had resisted the idea. Why? Why did he want to just go on emotion