Christine Rimmer - The Lawman's Convenient Bride

“I told you I had help,” she said smugly as soon as Marlie was busy with old Mr. Watsgraff, who came in every Monday to buy a dozen white roses for his wife of forty-nine years.

“I’m staying to carry in the flowers.” He made it sound like a threat.

“Fine. Help out. Be that way.”

“You look tired.”

She leaned toward him across the counter—as much as her giant stomach would allow, anyway. “Don’t start in. Please.”

Was that the beginnings of a grin tipping the corners of his bleak slash of a mouth? “Or you’ll what?”

“I have an in with the sheriff’s office is all I’m saying, so you’d better watch your step.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He said it quietly, and the sound sent a little shiver running down the backs of her knees.

She’d heard he had several feminine admirers in town, nice single women who often showed up at the justice center bringing cookies and wearing bright, hopeful smiles.

Until that moment, she’d never understood what they saw in him. Yeah, he was young to be sheriff. And hot and muscled up and manly and all that. But up till the last couple of check-in calls, she’d also found him overbearing and judgmental, which had pretty much made her immune to his fabled hotness.

But right now, when he almost smiled at her and then said Yes, ma’am, all teasing and low, well, she could see the appeal. A little bit. Maybe.

As soon as old Mr. Watsgraff went out the door with his cone of roses, Jody turned off the Open sign, and Marlie and Seth brought in the stock from outside.

He hung around until after Marlie left and then walked Jody out to her Tahoe in back.

“How about some dinner?” he asked, still holding the door open after helping her up behind the wheel.

She was actually tempted. But she was also uncomfortable with the idea. Would he ask her about Nick, want more details of their supposed romance, which had actually not been a romance at all? She wasn’t ready to get into that with him and probably never would be.

“Thanks, Seth. But I just want to go home and put my feet up.”

He gave a slight nod. “Well, that’s understandable. I’ll follow you, see that you get home safe.”

“Seth.” She looked at him steadily and then shook her head.

He gave it up. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Good night.”

He swung the door shut at last.

At home, she cooked a nice dinner of chicken breasts, steamed broccoli and rice, but when she sat down to eat, she just wasn’t hungry. She felt at loose ends, somehow. Edgy, full of energy.

A little bit nervous.

She wandered aimlessly through her house, which she loved, a cozy traditional one-story, with a modern kitchen, a sunny great room and three bedrooms. Her father had made sure that each of his nine children were well provided for. Jody’s trust fund had matured when she was twenty-one, and a year later, during the housing bust, she’d gotten an amazing deal on her place in a short sale. It was more house than she’d needed at the time, but she’d bought it anyway. Now it was worth three times what she’d paid for it, and with the baby coming, she was glad for the extra space.

In the baby’s room, she lingered. She spent a half an hour admiring everything, touching the tiny onesies and the stacks of cotton blankets, hardly daring to believe that in a month, she would hold her baby in her arms. It was adorable, that room, if she did say so herself, with teal blue walls and bedding in coral and teal, cream and mint green. It had a mural of bright flowers and butterflies on one wall, and the whole effect was so pretty and inviting, all ready for Marybeth, even though she wouldn’t be using it for a while. At first, she’d have a bassinet in Jody’s room.

Eventually, she wandered out to the great room and tried to watch TV, but she couldn’t concentrate.

She called Clara, who was down with the flu, of all things. Her husband, Dalton, had it, too, and so did their two-year-old, Kiera. Jody ordered her to get well, and Clara answered wryly that she was working on it.

After hanging up with Clara, she had the ridiculous desire to call Seth. But that would only encourage him, and that didn’t seem right.

She went to bed at nine thirty and couldn’t get comfortable, even with her body pillow to help support her belly and another pillow at her back. She was just sure she would never get to sleep.

But then the next thing she knew, she looked over at the bedside clock, and it was after two in the morning.

And something was...

She put her hands on her belly, felt the powerful, involuntary tightening, as though her body had a mind of its own.

“Dear, sweet God...”

With an animal growl, she threw back the covers and slithered to the floor, where she crouched like a crab on the bedside rug, groaning and huffing, fingers splayed over her rippling stomach as a second-stage contraction bore down like an extra pair of giant, cruel hands, pushing so hard she would have buckled under the pressure if she wasn’t already on her knees.

She panted her way through it, and when it was over, she realized there was liquid dripping down her inner thighs. Her water had broken.

Her water had broken.

And Clara had the flu, Elise was in New York, and Nellie had gone to Phoenix.

But not to panic. Uh-uh. She’d done this before and she could do it again.

One hand still on her belly, she reached up and grabbed her phone off the nightstand. And then she just sat there, half expecting to wake up in her bed and discover that she really wasn’t in active labor, after all; it was only a dream.

But then another one started.

Okay. No dream.

She used her phone to time that one as she squatted on the floor, moaning and grunting, the pain rising to a peak at thirty-two seconds, after which it faded back down. Once it was over, she estimated she had three to five minutes until the next one hit.

Time to find a ride to the hospital and then get in touch with her doctor—well, past time for both, actually.

But she refused to freak. Because there was nothing to be alarmed about. She was in labor, yes, but she had it under control. Her birth coaches might be unavailable, but at least there were plenty of people she could call. Even in the middle of the night, someone ought to be able to come pick her up and take her to Justice Creek General.

And if they weren’t, well, there was always Uber. Or 911.

She brought up her cousin Rory’s number and almost hit Call.

But then, for no comprehensible reason except that he kept insisting he really wanted to help, she scrolled down to Seth’s cell number and called him instead.

Chapter Three

He answered on the first ring, sounding wide-awake—as though he’d been sitting up with his phone in his hand in the middle of the night, waiting for her to call. “Jody. What can I do?”

Her mind chose that moment to go blank. “I...need...”

“Anything. Yes.” His voice was so calm, so even and strong. She felt she could reach right through the phone and grab on to him to steady herself. “What do you need?”

It was a simple question, and she had the answer ready. Except when she opened her mouth it was like pulling wide the floodgates on a full dam. “Elise and Nellie are out of town, and Clara’s got the flu. I was going to call Rory, but then I thought of you and I...” He started to say something. But she didn’t let him. She babbled right over him. “They all think it’s my first and the first one always comes late, and I never corrected them, never told them. Because that’s kind of how I am, you know? I keep too much to myself, I want to have it together and take care of business, and I end up pushing people away because I’m so self-sufficient. And now here I am on the bedroom floor, dripping all over the rug, without my birth coaches in the middle of the night. It’s like I’m being punished by fate for lying to everyone about the first one, you know?”