Not Quite Married. Christine Rimmer

When Rye asked her if she had something on her mind, she just said she was feeling stressed, that was all, what with the baby coming soon and the restaurant keeping her so busy.

      Rye’s brow furrowed. “But I thought you were feeling good about Renée running things when the baby comes.” Renée Beauchamp was her head waitress and manager.

      She rushed to reassure him. “Renée is a godsend and already she’s handling a lot of extra stuff for me. It’s going to be fine, I know it. I just worry is all.”

      “You need anything, you know to call me.”

      She thanked him and told him he was amazing and promised that yes, she would totally take advantage of his friendship if she needed to.

      But she failed to say a word about the father of her baby.

      The next night, Dalton called. “Astrid tells me you haven’t gotten in touch with her yet.”

      I need to get along with him, she thought. She said, “How many times do I have to tell you that I have no intention of calling your wife?”

      “Ex-wife,” he corrected in a tone that said he was quickly losing patience with her. “You would know that by now, if you would only call Astrid.”

      I need to get along with him. “I’m, um, thinking about it.”

      “Think faster.”

      “Har-har.”

      “Last week, you said the baby was due in six weeks.”

      “Yes. On the sixteenth of May.”

      “Which is five weeks away now.”

      “I may not be a banker, Dalton, but I do know how to count.”

      “We don’t have much time.”

      She pressed her lips together to keep from saying, Time for what?

      And he went on, “I should be with you.”

      Okay, that sounded kind of sweet. She tried to think of something nice and helpful and conciliatory to say.

      But before she could come up with anything, he said, “You could have the baby any time now. What if I’m not there?”

      She had never expected him to be there, so she had no idea what to say to that.

      And then he said, “Are you still on the line, Clara?”

      “Yes.”

      “Call Astrid. I mean it.”

      And then he hung up.

      And she did not call Astrid. But she was thinking about it. A lot.

      The next weekend, Rory and Walker, Ryan’s brother, had a little party out at the Bar-N, their ranch. Clara went. So did Ryan and a bunch of their mutual friends and Clara’s sisters and three of her brothers.

      Rory took her aside and asked her how she was doing, how it was working out with Dalton. And Clara was vague and unhelpful in her answers, causing Rory to ask if she was all right.

      Clara lied with a big, fat smile and said she was doing just fine and no, she hadn’t told Ryan about Dalton yet. She hadn’t told anybody, she confessed.

      “I will,” she promised her favorite cousin and dear friend. “Soon...”

      Sunday night, Dalton called again.

      It was just more of the same. He told her get in touch with Astrid and she said again that she was giving it some thought.

      “Four weeks left until the baby comes,” he said bleakly. “This is wrong, what you’re doing, Clara. It’s wrong and you know it.”

      And, well, after she hung up, she felt really depressed. Mostly because he was pretty much right.

      So she did it. She called Astrid.

      Dalton’s wife—all right, all right, ex-wife—answered the phone on the first ring and sounded quite nice, actually. She said that yes, she would be happy to meet with Clara at Clara’s convenience.

      “Will you come to the house?” Astrid asked. “We can chat in private, just the two of us.”

      Clara took down Astrid’s address and said she would be there at two the next afternoon. Then she called Renée, who said that she would have no problem handling the restaurant tomorrow without her.

      But of course, Clara went in anyway. She might be about to have a baby, but the café was her first baby. She didn’t like deserting her business or her staff with hardly any warning. And it turned out to be another busy day, so she was glad she’d gone in—and hated to just walk out on the lunch rush.

      But Renée reassured her and sent her on her way, adding that she really ought to start cutting back on her hours. She was about to have a baby, and she needed to take better care of herself.

      Clara promised she was fine. And then wondered the whole drive to Denver why she was even going to meet Astrid. She didn’t really believe that Dalton was still married to—or even dating—his ex. He’d been right that she’d totally jumped to conclusions.

      And now she was too proud to give it up and admit that she’d been wrong.

      Astrid lived in an exclusive gated community. And she was every bit as beautiful as the pictures Clara had seen online. She congratulated Clara on her upcoming motherhood and Clara wondered if she knew that the baby was Dalton’s.

      Astrid led Clara into her beautiful home and served her a delicious late lunch of penne pasta with fennel sausage, broccoli, garlic cream and grana padano cheese.

      As they enjoyed the wonderful food, Clara went ahead and admitted, “This is Dalton’s baby.”

      Astrid nodded. “I had a feeling that might be the case. I...wish you both the very best.”

      What to say to that? “Thank you.”

      Astrid confirmed what Dalton had already told Clara, that Dalton had occasionally helped her with her causes and served as her escort at a couple of events. “But that was months ago. I’m actually seeing someone now. Someone very special.” A slight, tender sort of smile curved her perfect lips. “Dalton and I are not getting back together. The marriage is over. It’s been over for a long time.”

      “What went wrong?” Clara dared to ask.

      Astrid only shook her head. “It’s never a good idea to ask the ex what went wrong. You should take it up with Dalton.”

      Clara could hardly picture herself taking anything up with Dalton. But she only nodded and agreed that yes, he was the one she ought to ask about that.

      She left Astrid’s house at a little after four and fought rush-hour traffic until she finally got north of the metro area. All the way home, she stewed over how she needed to get straight with Dalton. She needed to start working with him instead of avoiding him; they needed to begin to adjust to their roles as parents of the same child.

      At home, she dug her phone out of her purse, dropped the purse on the hall table and carried the phone through to the great room, where she sank to the sofa and kicked off her shoes. With a tired sigh, she let her head drop to the sofa back.

      Dalton. She needed to make peace with him for the sake of the baby. But she hated that she was still attracted to him, even though he’d turned out to be nothing like the man she’d fallen for on the island.

      Plus, hello. Extremely pregnant, big as a cow. And tired. Tired to the bone. She just couldn’t talk to him right then.

      And she wouldn’t.

      Tomorrow. Yeah. She’d get a good night’s rest and call him in the morning.

      The phone rang in her hand.

      Dalton Ames, read the display. She put the damn thing to her ear. “What?”