A Baby for Dry Creek and A Dry Creek Christmas: A Baby for Dry Creek

Chrissy had told him that he was a fool and she was sorry he was the father of her baby.

No matter how isolated Chrissy had felt in high school, she had never turned to the drug crowd for friends. Jared was using drugs, and he had made it very clear he wasn’t interested in being a husband and or a father.

But as much as Jared wanted to avoid the baby, Jared’s mother was adamant in her desire to know more about Justin. She had given up on Jared ever entering the family business, but she obviously had hopes she could start over and train a baby to be a more obedient heir. So far Jared had refused to tell his mother that Justin was his son, but if Mrs. Bard offered Jared enough money, he might decide to confirm what his mother already suspected and help her try to claim custody of Justin. “You’re sure it’s him?”

“Well, I don’t know what Jared looks like, but there’s a man parked in front of my house who keeps looking over at your house. He even went up and rang the bell once, but no one answered, of course, with you and your mom both at work.”

“You’re sure he isn’t a deliveryman or something?”

“There’s no uniform. Besides, he’s young and good-looking. No one else comes to your house who is young and good-looking.”

“I guess it could be Jared. Or someone else his mother has hired.”

Mrs. Bard made Chrissy nervous. Mrs. Velarde had already told her that a private investigator had been asking questions about Chrissy in the neighborhood. It had to be someone working for Jared’s mother.

“You want me to call the police?” Mrs. Velarde asked.

“He hasn’t done anything yet, has he?”

“He sits out there.”

“Does he look like someone on drugs?”

“No. He just sits.”

“That’s probably not Jared, then. Maybe he’s a salesman and will go away in a minute or two. Just keep Justin inside until I get home.”

Mrs. Velarde grunted. “I’ll keep my baseball bat by the door, too. Nobody comes to see our Justin without his mama here.”

“Call if you need me.” Chrissy said goodbye and flipped her cell phone shut before she saw the concerned frown on Pete’s face.

“Trouble at home?” Pete asked.

Chrissy didn’t bother to deny it. He knew that much already. And the trouble would only get worse. Mrs. Velarde was scheduled to leave for Florida next week to move in with her daughter, and so far Chrissy had not found someone else to take care of Justin while she worked.

“My neighbor who is watching Justin is worried. I may need to leave for a few minutes and go home if she calls again.”

“You’re welcome to use the delivery car to drive home. Take as much time as you need.” Pete rubbed his hands over his head. “I’ve never been able to offer the best salaries in the business, but I’ve always tried to be flexible.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I’ve always looked at the staff as family, which is why it’s so hard to—”

Chrissy wanted to put her hands over her ears. She didn’t want to hear what was coming next. “But business has been good.”

“Business has never been better,” Pete agreed. “And your idea with the salt substitute is one of the reasons.”

Chrissy decided she didn’t need her hands over her ears after all. Maybe the reason Pete had called her into his office was to thank her for the suggestion.

“It was a simple idea,” Chrissy said.

Pete nodded. “But it has made all the difference. That’s why I wanted you to be the first to know the news.”

Chrissy felt a sudden unease. A thank-you would be nice, but it wasn’t actually news. “Are we changing the menu again?”

Pete chuckled. “I don’t think I’d live long enough to do that even if I weren’t moving to Arizona.”

“What?”

Pete winced. “I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that. I never was any good at things like this. Actually, I wanted to thank you. The extra business we have because of the salt substitute must be what finally made the diner look attractive enough to find a buyer. A real estate agent called me last week.”

“I see.”

“The offer is just too good to turn down.”

“Will the new owner keep the place a diner?”

“They’re thinking along the lines of a tea shop. Crumpets. Scones. That kind of thing.”

“I see.”

“They’ve promised they’ll have a job for every one of my staff. I wouldn’t sell otherwise.”

Chrissy started to breathe again. She’d already lost two waitress jobs because business was bad; she didn’t want to lose another because business was good. “Do the others know?”

“I’m going to tell them when the shift changes at three this afternoon. That way, everyone will be here.”

Chrissy heard a bell in the kitchen. “That must be my last order. I better get out there.”

Pete nodded.

For the next hour Chrissy was too busy with hamburgers and chicken strips to worry. And then she got a second call from Mrs. Velarde.

“I’ve got to go,” she said to Pete as she walked to the door of the diner.

He nodded and tossed her a set of keys. “Take the delivery car.”

Reno decided everything he had ever heard about crime in Los Angeles was true. Here he was in broad daylight, parked in a residential area, and it sounded as if a dozen police sirens were all going off at once. It had been enough to wake him up from his nap, and he was tired enough to sleep through an earthquake.

Tonight he’d check in to a hotel by the ocean and get a good night’s sleep before he left to go back. He’d pulled into Los Angeles early this morning and had gone directly to the office of Joseph Price, Esquire. Reno didn’t know why he’d decided to visit the lawyer. Maybe he just wanted to be sure Chrissy hadn’t already accepted the offer before he went to the trouble of trying to find her with the address he had.

He hadn’t been in the lawyer’s office five minutes before Reno regretted stopping. Chrissy was no match for the man, and Reno would have been happier not knowing that fact.

Reno’s distrust of the man only deepened when the lawyer talked about the educational opportunities Mrs. Bard was hoping to give Chrissy’s baby.

“She’s prepared to pay the costs for a private education, from military boarding school to graduate school at Princeton or Yale—she’s even got her eye on some kind of exclusive kindergarten for the gifted in Boston,” the attorney said as he offered Reno coffee in a china cup.

“No, thanks,” Reno said. “I thought Mrs. Bard lived in Los Angeles. Is she moving to Boston?”