The Cowboy's Pregnant Bride

What precisely did he mean by “dig”?

Whatever it was, she would avoid it. He could be a friend, and that would be easy enough because she got the feeling he’d be leaving just as soon as he satisfied himself about Tony Amati for whatever reason.

That made everything pretty simple.

He stood, reaching out a hand to help her to her feet. When she grabbed it, a blast zipped up her fingers, heating her hand, her arm. Her chest.

Everywhere.

“I’m off work tomorrow if that suits you,” he said. “Maybe I could drop by sometime early?”

Based on his regular appearances at the diner, he had to know that tomorrow was her day off, too. But she had some baby furniture being delivered at nine, and she didn’t want him there to see proof of her condition. Not before she was ready for the dirt to hit the fan in this town and for her to have to tidy up all the growing lies she would have to tell.

“How about eleven?” she asked, going for something a little later than an early-rising cowboy probably had in mind.

“Sounds like a plan.”

They hadn’t disconnected hands yet, and when she realized it, she stepped away, finally distancing herself.

Her skin still burned, though. Wanting, needing.

She gave him back the journal, and when he started to walk away, the hunger didn’t ease off, as her stomach tumbled with what had to be a thrill.

Suddenly she found herself asking him something better left unasked.

“Just why is it so important that you find out everything you can about Tony?”

His shoulders stiffened as he paused. But then he shrugged, and he almost pulled it off, too, except for the way his smile seemed strained.

“It’s not important,” he said as he lifted a hand in farewell, then sauntered toward his truck parked near the entrance to the mercantile, where he’d probably be filling it with supplies for the Harrison ranch.

It was the first obvious lie he’d ever told Annette, but she reminded herself that it was for the best.

She should be grateful for the distance he was putting between them, step by step.

And heartbeat by wistful heartbeat.

* * *

After Jared had banked some hours on the Harrison ranch, doing maintenance around the stables, he headed for dinner at Gran’s house.

She lived in what he thought of as a gingerbread cottage, with brown planked walls and white trim around the doors and windows. He’d found out that the hand-painted decorations on the flower boxes under the windows had been done by his grandpa, back in the day, before his heart attack had left Gran alone for going on ten years now.

When he knocked, it took her a few minutes to answer, but he knew she’d get around to it just fine.

And when she did, she had a smile on her face as she opened her arms to him and gave him a great big hug.

“It hasn’t been but a few days, but I missed you silly,” she said as she pulled away, lifting her hands to pat his cheeks.

Jared hadn’t ever had his cheeks patted like that before, and he felt his face going red. Gran thought that was pretty funny, and she had a good laugh.

He waited her out, still cautious around her because he’d never had a grandma before. His adoptive mom and dad had been older, both orphaned, and that’s why Uncle Stuart, who’d never planned to have kids, had taken him in. In his own way, he had shown Jared that he wasn’t very wanted.

He supposed that’s why Tony held such an appeal for him—the man wasn’t here to ever turn him aside, whereas a real-live grandma just might turn Jared away someday.

When she was done with her chuckles, she waved him inside, where it smelled like gingerbread, too. And casserole. And mothballs. But it was a comforting combination of smells that had already grown on him as much as he would ever allow it to.

“Take a seat,” she said, gesturing to a battered recliner that had seen better days.

She settled on the worn doily-decorated sofa next to him, pouring sodas into waiting glasses, just as efficient as always.

She’d already donned a flowery housedress, as if it was a gown she used for entertaining guests—or, conversely, as if she’d become so used to him that she didn’t mind what she wore when he came over. Her silver hair was in a low ponytail, and she was far too delicate to resemble a cowgirl who’d once helped to run a ranch with her husband before they sold it off years ago.

He set the oilcloth-wrapped journal on the table, and she stopped pouring.

“I thought I saw you bearing a gift, Jared, but I’m more of a roses or chocolates woman.” She touched the oilcloth. “Just what is this?”

“I asked the same thing yesterday when a friend brought it to me.” He explained who it belonged to and why his friend had found it in her garden.

It didn’t take Gran but a second to pounce on the item. Her creased forehead told him that she was worried about the contents.

“Don’t fret,” he said. “I didn’t find out a whole lot about the man.”

“I’m not fretting.” But she used her finger to help her speed through each line of each page anyway.

While she did that, Jared drank his soda. He even grabbed the remote to turn on the old TV and flip through the channels.

He wanted to ask Gran if she wouldn’t mind getting out all the old photo albums she’d shown him over the months. Pictures of her wedding to his grandfather, images of Grandpa as a dimple-cheeked blond child.

Photos of Grandpa’s mom, Tessa Hadenfield, in particular, with her blond hair and dimpled, spritely smile.

When Gran was done reading, she took the remote from him and turned off the tube. She was no longer frowning.

“Find anything worrisome?” he asked.

“Hardly. I kept a diary when I was younger, too, but I was a teenager. Tony must not have had many friends to talk to.”

“Just the journal.”

“He was terribly sweet on whoever this girl was, though. That’s clear.”

And doesn’t that make you connect any dots? Jared thought. Isn’t there a possibility that Tony and this girl got together even outside of marriage and had a kid, and that kid had their own child, and then...that child had him?

Even more to the point, because the P.I. who’d directed him to Gran had told him that she was his maternal grandmother, Jared suspected that Tony had perhaps fallen in love with his great-grandmother Tessa, who’d been the sheriff’s daughter.

And the woman who’d gotten married to someone who wasn’t Tony.

Was that what Tony meant whenever he mentioned terrible sins?