Brenda Harlen - Double Duty For The Cowboy

There were still some residents who pretended they didn’t see him when he walked by. People like Joyce Cline, the retired music teacher whose disapproval of “that no-good Neal boy” went back to his days in high school. And Rick Beamer, whose daughter Connor had gone out with exactly twice, more than a dozen years earlier.

But he was pleased to note that the Joyce Clines and Rick Beamers were outnumbered in the neighborhood. The day that Connor moved in, he’d barely started to unpack when Darlene and Ron Grassley were at his door to introduce themselves—and to give him a tray of stuffed peppers. An hour later, Lois Barkowsky had stopped by with a plate of homemade brownies—assuring him that they weren’t the “funny kind,” even though recreational marijuana use was now legal in Nevada. He told her that he was aware of the law and thanked her for the goodies.

Over the next few weeks, he’d gotten to know most of the residents of Larrea Street. When he’d taken in Baxter and started walking on a regular basis, he’d met several more who lived in the surrounding area.

Estela Lopez was one of those people, and as he and Baxter turned onto Chaparral Street, they saw the older woman coming toward them. At seventy-nine years of age, she kept herself active, walking every morning before breakfast and every evening after supper—and apparently also at other times in between.

“Oh, this is a treat,” she said, clearly delighted to see them.

In response to the word treat , Baxter immediately assumed the “sit” position and waited expectantly. She chuckled and reached into the pocket of her coat for one of the many biscuits she always had on hand. Baxter gobbled up the offering.

An avid dog lover who’d had to say goodbye to her seventeen-year-old Jack Russell the previous winter, Estela worried that she wasn’t able-bodied enough to take on the responsibility of another animal. Instead, she gave her love and doggy biscuits to the neighborhood canines who wandered by.

“How are you doing, Mrs. Lopez?” Connor asked her.

“I’m eager to see pictures of your girls,” the old woman told him.

Connor dutifully pulled out his phone. “They came home today.”

“Eight days later.” She shook her head. “I remember when they kicked you out of the hospital after only a day or two. Of course, most people couldn’t afford to stay any longer than that.”

Which they both knew wasn’t a concern for his wife, whose family had not only paid the hospital bill but made a significant donation to the maternity ward as a thank you to the staff for their care of Regan and the twins.

He opened the screen and scrolled through numerous images of Piper and Poppy—a few individual snaps of each girl, others of them together and a couple with their mom.

“Oh, my, they are so precious,” Estela proclaimed. “And Regan doesn’t look like she labored for twenty-something hours.”

“Twenty-two,” Connor said. “And she did. And she was a trouper.”

“You’re a lucky man, Deputy Neal.”

“I know it,” he assured her.

Baxter nudged her leg with his nose, as if to remind her of his presence. She obligingly reached down and scratched behind his ears.

“I heard your sister-in-law made a surprise visit from New York City.”

“Well, there’s obviously nothing wrong with your hearing,” Connor teased.

“I was at The Daily Grind, having coffee with Dolores Lorenzo, when she stopped in to pick up a dozen oatmeal chocolate chip cookies,” Estela confided.

“Regan’s favorite.”

“I almost didn’t recognize her—Brielle, I mean,” Estela clarified. “Of course, she’s only been back a few times since she moved out East—it’s gotta be about seven years ago, I’d guess. And even when she came back for Spencer and Kenzie’s wedding, she only stayed a couple of days.”

“She’s only here for a few days now, too,” Connor noted.

“Is she staying with you or at that fancy house up on the hill?”

That fancy house up on the hill was the description frequently ascribed to the three-story stone-and-brick mansion owned by his in-laws. The street was called Miners’ Pass, and it was the most exclusive—and priciest—address in town.

“With us,” he said. “She wants to spend as much time as possible with Regan and the twins.”

“Of course she does,” Estela agreed. “I can’t wait to take a peek at the little darlings myself, but I’ll give your wife some time to settle in first. Although my kids are all grown-up now—and most of my grandkids, too—I remember how stressful it was in those early days, trying to respond to all the new demands of motherhood—and I only had to deal with one baby at a time.”

“Regan would love to see you,” Connor said. “Especially after she’s had a chance to catch up on her rest.”

“Well, I’m not waiting until the twins’ second birthday,” she told him, sneaking another biscuit out of her pocket for Baxter.

“Please don’t tell me it’s going to be that long before Piper and Poppy sleep through the night.”

“Probably not,” she acknowledged. “But dealing with the needs of infants requires a special kind of endurance—which I don’t have anymore, so I’m going to get these weary bones of mine inside where it’s warm.”

“You do that,” he said.

She started up the drive toward her house, then paused to turn back. “But don’t let those babies exhaust all your energy—” she cautioned, with a playful wink “—because new moms have needs that require attention, too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Connor promised, then he waited to ensure his old neighbor was safely inside before heading on his way again.

But the truth was, if his wife had any such needs, Connor would likely be the last to know. Although he and Regan presented themselves as happy newlyweds whenever they were in public together, they mostly lived separate lives behind closed doors. Sure, it was an unorthodox arrangement for expectant parents, but it had worked for them.

Until his brother came home for the Christmas holidays.

Because, of course, Deacon expected to sleep in his own room. He had no reason to suspect that his brother’s marriage wasn’t a love match—although he was undoubtedly smart enough to realize that his sister-in-law’s rapidly expanding belly was the reason they’d married in such a hurry—and Connor didn’t ever want him to know the truth.

So for the sixteen days—and fifteen nights—that his brother was home, Connor moved his belongings back into the master bedroom to maintain the charade that his and Regan’s marriage was a normal one.

The days hadn’t really been a problem—especially as Regan continued to work her usual long hours in the finance department at Blake Mining. But the nights, when Connor was forced to share a bed with his wife, were torture.

He made a valiant effort to stay on his side of the mattress, to ignore the fragrant scent of her hair spread out over the pillow next to his own, and the soft, even sound of breath moving in and out of her lungs, causing her breasts to rise and fall in a steady rhythm. But it was impossible to pretend she wasn’t there, especially when she tossed and turned so frequently.

She apologized to him for her restlessness, acknowledging that it was becoming more and more difficult to find a comfortable position as her belly grew rounder. Connor knew she was self-conscious about her “babies bump,” but he honestly thought she looked amazing. He knew it was a common belief that all pregnant women were beautiful, though he’d never paid much attention to expectant mothers before he married Regan. But he couldn’t deny that his pregnant wife was stunning.