Stephanie Dees - Their Secret Baby Bond

By the time she got to the task of unlocking the doors, it had been an hour and a half. Six a.m. straight on the dot. And Mr. Haney and Mr. Donovan were waiting outside the door, just like they always were.

Mickey, the cook, let himself in the back door and made his way into the kitchen, lifting his apron off the hook and dropping it around his neck.

“Cutting it close, aren’t you, Uncle Mickey?”

His bushy gray eyebrows lowered even farther over his eyes. “Where’s your mother?”

“She’s out at the farm helping Claire get the kids ready for school. Joe had an emergency callout in the middle of the night. Don’t worry, I didn’t mess anything up.”

He slid his hand into a pot holder and pulled out the biscuits before sending her a sideways glance. “Never said you did, girlie. Now get out there and see what the customers want. Lanna doesn’t come in until seven today.”

Armed with a pot of coffee, Wynn rounded the counter with a smile for Mr. Haney and Mr. Donovan. “Hello there, gentlemen.”

Mr. Haney looked up from squinting at the menu, his reading glasses tucked into the front pocket of his overalls, as usual. “Well, hello, darlin’. I’m going to be back here tomorrow if I get to look at that pretty face.”

“You’re here every day, Mr. Haney.” Wynn sent him a wink, filled his mug and dropped a handful of creamers onto the table for her favorite farmer.

Mr. Donovan nodded to her as she poured his coffee. “I’ll have the blueberry pancakes.”

“Cinnamon roll and bacon on the side for me, Wynn.” Mr. Haney slid his menu back into the holder. “I don’t know why I look at the menu. I get the same thing every day.”

“I’ll keep the coffee coming.” She turned back toward the counter and discovered that when she’d been in the kitchen with Mickey a couple more men had settled in a booth toward the front.

The practiced smile firmly in place, she started toward them, her feet stumbling to a stop as she realized one of them was her brother’s friend Latham Grant. He’d practically grown up in the room next door to hers, and when they were teenagers she’d had the most miserable crush on him, one which left her stuttering over her words and tripping over nonexistent things.

They’d been friends, too, until they weren’t. She closed her eyes for a brief second. There were so many things she needed to do here, so many relationships to repair. Nothing like returning home to give you some clarity about all the people you’d hurt along the way.

She hadn’t seen him around in the month or so she’d been back. Maybe it was wishful thinking to have hoped it would stay that way. He was just as ruggedly good-looking as he always had been, with muscles from actual work and not the gym, and that lock of dark hair that curled onto his forehead as he studied the menu.

She took a deep breath and stepped forward with a brisk smile. “Hey, Latham. Good to see you again.”

He looked up, an easy grin on his face. “Wynn Sheehan. I heard you were back in town. Never thought I’d see the day.”

When he stood to hug her, tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back with a pathetic attempt at a laugh. “Yeah, neither did I.”

Those dark chocolate eyes, which had always been just a little too perceptive, narrowed in on hers.

She stepped away from him, away from the temptation to linger and rest her head on his broad shoulders, and turned to his grandfather. “Hey there, Mr. Grant. Coffee?”

“You know me too well.” The twinkle in his gray eyes matched his grandson’s. “Bertie, how is it that you never get a day older?”

She glanced at Latham, the smile on her face wavering a little bit. He shook his head just slightly.

“Good genes, I guess, Mr. Grant. You ready to order?”

He stuck the menu back in the top of the napkin holder. “I’ll have my regular. You know just how I like it.”

Latham cleared his throat. “We’ll both have grits and biscuits with two eggs, over easy.”

His grandpa scowled at him. “You don’t like your eggs over easy.”

“You’re right, Pop. My mistake. I definitely want mine scrambled instead.”

Wynn made a little note on the order sheet and shot them a smile. “Got it. I’ll be back around with more coffee in a few minutes.”

Wynn stuck the Grants’ order into the wheel and spun it around for Uncle Mickey before grabbing the plates for Mr. Haney and Mr. Donovan. The bell on the door jingled, the first wave of the before-school crowd coming in.

The woman in the door, Wynn’s friend Molly, had a baby drooling on one shoulder and her preschool daughter with a death grip on her hand.

“Oh, Wynn. Thank God. Here.” She shoved the baby at Wynn and ran for the bathroom with the little girl.

“Molly, wai—” Wynn stared wide-eyed at the infant in her arms. The baby stared back, big blue eyes slowly filling with tears. Wynn started swaying. “Oh, no. No, you don’t.”

A loud wail followed the tears. She gave the infant, who was rapidly turning red, an awkward pat on the back. “Come on, baby, please don’t cry. Your mama will be right back, I promise.”

Latham appeared at her side, digging in the diaper bag and coming up with a pacifier. He popped it in the baby’s mouth and she stopped crying, although she continued to stare accusingly at Wynn.

Latham laughed, a deep warm chuckle. “There you go.”

Molly returned from the bathroom, blowing her bangs off her forehead. “Whew. Never let a potty-training three-year-old wear tights. Never.”

Wynn’s pulse raced, her breath catching in her throat. She pushed the baby back into Molly’s arms and tore through the kitchen, pulling off her apron as she went. Lanna was in the office hanging up her purse. She looked up at Wynn, and the welcome on her face changed to concern. “You okay?”

“No. I’ve got to get out of here. You’ll be okay?”

“Yes, go.”

Wynn grabbed her keys off the hook and slammed out the back door, falling back against it after it closed. She dragged air into her lungs, willing herself not to pass out.

Unwanted tears, nausea, panic attack. Lost career, lost love, lost nerve. She closed her eyes, her hands settling over her belly.

The person in high school voted “most likely to change the world” had come home in shame, and now? The only thing she’d be changing was diapers.

* * *

Latham unlocked the door of the sunroom from the outside, his two German shorthair pointers bumping up against his legs. “Okay, fellas, calm down. You got a lot of work to do today, Pop?”

“It’s been kind of slow lately, but there’s always some dusting to be done.” His grandpa patted the newspaper under his arm. “I’ve always got the crossword if I get bored.”

“Okay, then. Some boxes came for you and I stacked them by the door. I’m going to work, but I’ll see you later.”

His grandfather was already pulling open the boxes to unload the same cans he’d unloaded the day before. Every night after Pop was tucked into bed, Latham took a few cans off the shelves he’d made for the sunroom, and every day Pop restocked them. The small thing made Pop feel like he was doing something useful and made Latham feel like he was doing something—anything—to make Pop’s quality of life just a little bit better.

Latham unlocked the door to the main house. The dogs tried to nose their way past him, and he nudged them back with his knee, an unnecessary act as a car in the driveway caught their full attention.

Pop’s caregiver, Fran, slammed the car door shut and shooed the dogs back toward him. “Hooligans, the lot of you. Latham, you need to teach these boys some manners.”

“Agreed,” Latham said mildly. Fran was a whole lot of bluster. “If you’d quit feeding them treats all the time, they might leave you alone. Pop’s in the sunroom, and I’ve just put a pot of coffee on for you. I’ll be in the barn for a little while, and I’ve got a couple of small jobs today. Nothing else until I teach my class at the college at five. I’ll have my cell phone on me if things change.”