Carrie Weaver - The Secret Wife

He patted his breast pocket. “Nope. Didn’t think to grab any on my way out. I was busy.”

“Maybe we could meet you there. At that diner you mentioned?”

“Not on your life.”

She finally managed to maneuver the baby’s arms through the safety straps. Leaning forward, her headache went postal as a little fist latched onto a hank of hair. She bit back an oath. Tears threatened as she fought for patience.

“It’s okay sweetie,” she soothed.

David screamed louder. He didn’t want nice words. He wanted food. A bottle. And a nice long nap.

Or was that simply what she wanted?

They’d been together so long, it was hard to separate their needs.

The baby’s cries worked on her like fingernails on a blackboard. It underscored how really helpless she was. Her breasts ached with the need to comfort. If she hadn’t weaned David a couple months back, she could provide the sustenance and comfort he needed.

The ache intensified. But it was like phantom limb pain, real in her head, but not her body.

“It’s gonna be loud,” she warned the man.

“Yeah. I noticed. I’m J.D., by the way.”

“I’m Maggie. The diner’s not far?”

“Nope. Couple miles.”

“Get in.” Please don’t let me run out of gas.

He tucked his legs and somehow managed to wedge himself in the front seat. He twisted to the side, eyeing her dash.

He shook his head and grunted.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Gas station. Take a left out of the parking lot. It’ll be on your right.”

“I don’t need gas—”

“Like hell you don’t.”

“I…um…don’t have my debit card.”

“They accept cash. Most places still do these days.”

Maggie fumbled through her purse, even though she knew there weren’t any nickels or dimes left in the bottom. Not even pennies. She’d double-checked a couple hundred miles back.

She laughed uncertainly. “Whoops. Guess I’m out of cash, too.”

“I’ll buy. Just drive. That kid’s giving me a headache.”

J.D. SUCKED IN A BREATH of heavy, humid air and thanked his lucky stars for a reprieve from that screaming baby. And from Eric’s latest escapade come back to haunt him.

Fluorescent lights bathed the food and sundries in a greenish glow. He looked at the bursting shelves with a new appreciation. The gas station looked like a fully stocked grocery store in miniature. The solution to at least a few of his more immediate problems.

Maggie was flat-busted broke. That much was obvious.

He grabbed diapers, formula and baby biscuits. Baby food? The little boy looked to be about the same age as his buddy Kirk’s boy—eight, maybe nine months. Little Brandon ate everything in sight, including mouthfuls of cat hair. Freshly plucked cat hair.

As J.D. juggled jars, cans and diapers, he wondered how he’d gotten himself into this predicament.

The answer was a no-brainer. Habit. A long habit of cleaning up Eric’s messes. And this mess wasn’t much different from all the rest, except the woman. She was younger, her hair a shiny mass of copper curls. Freckles sprinkled across her nose made her look like a farm girl.

Eric must’ve digressed from his usual predilections—bleach-blondes with boobs the size of Texas. The last one might as well have had Stripper stamped in the middle of her forehead. Or tattooed on the impossibly huge chest she’d forced into a corset kinda thing.

Nope. This woman was different.

But the same.

Same old story. “Eric got me knocked up. I need money. I’ll go away if you help me get back on my feet.” This one was lying, just like the others. But it’d kill his grandmother to go through it again. She always hoped it was the truth, even though she knew it was impossible. Hoped Eric had passed along his perfect blond, blue-eyed genes and given her a McGuire great-grandchild to cherish.

J.D. dumped the stuff on the counter.

“This and fifteen bucks on pump three.”

David’s mom was pumping gas when he returned. Her gaze was fixed on the gas pump, her face flushed. She acted as if she might have some pride and the bundles in his hand eroded it. Interesting.

The sound of pissed-off hollering pervaded the air around the car. The ungodly noise made him sorely tempted to retreat to the relative peace of the service station.

Squaring his shoulders, he opened the door, taking the full brunt of the baby’s displeasure. The little guy’s face was darn near purple. His hands were clenched, and he squirmed to escape the confining car seat.

“Um…David…shhh.” It felt odd to say the name. His own middle name.

Nothing, just more screaming.

He flipped the seat forward and patted a chubby, dimpled leg.

That only made the kid madder.

Then inspiration hit.

He ripped open the box of baby biscuits and offered him one.

The kid gave him a look that said, “It’s about time, stupid,” and snatched the cookie from his hand.

Furiously gumming the goody, he surveyed J.D. with interest. Waving a little fist, his squirming changed to a happy wriggle. Legs and arms bounced, never still. David cooed his approval.

It kinda made J.D. feel good.

He twisted and withdrew from the back seat, sure he’d need to see a chiropractor the next morning. Straightening, he grinned at the woman.

“I got him to stop crying.”

She nodded her head but didn’t meet his eyes.

His accomplishment left her monumentally unimpressed.

Silence surrounded them as she replaced the nozzle. Crickets tuned up for their evening encore.

Then she looked up and met his gaze.

Something about her eyes disturbed him. They were green. Deep. Sincere.

“Thank you.”

He grunted some sort of reply, Lord only knew what, and got back in the car.

They headed to the diner in silence, broken occasionally by a contented gibberish from the baby.

When they pulled into the parking lot, he gestured toward the back seat. “There’re diapers in the bag, if you think he might need a change.”

The woman looked away for a moment, brushed her eyes. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged.

Charity. Might as well get it over with in one big horse pill to swallow. He didn’t like to give it, couldn’t imagine taking it and completely understood how hard it was to accept. For a gold digger, Maggie seemed unusually sensitive about asking for help.

“There’s formula and some other stuff, too.”

Her eyes locked with his, her pretty little mouth turned down at the corners.

He held up a hand forestalling her protest.

“Now that’s the way we are around here. Southern hospitality, nothing more. And you can pay me back when you find your debit card.”

“Yes. I’ll pay you back.”

A cold day in hell.

“Why don’t you change the baby. I’ll go on ahead and order us some food. Burgers okay?”

She nodded. He watched as she flipped the seat forward, contorted her spine and reached for the car-seat latch. Her faded T-shirt inched up toward her ribs. A ribbon of skin peeked out of the gap, pale and vulnerable.

J.D. turned and headed for the restaurant before he did something stupid. Like placing his palm against the warm, bare small of her back. Somehow he didn’t think she’d buy his pretext of helping.

He found a booth and watched her lumber toward the restroom door, her child on one hip, an enormous diaper bag banging against the other.

She was thin. Way too thin. Eric didn’t normally go for the anorexic type, though J.D. had to admit there was a certain charm to her wide-eyed, heart-shaped face.

He accepted the menu from the waitress while mentally castigating his brother. Disgust and disappointment got all tangled together in one messy package.