To Catch A Wife

“They did. I kind of lied.”

Fred leaned back and stared down at her, momentarily confused. “You told them it was somebody else’s?”

She glanced up at him but couldn’t bring herself to confess. She didn’t have to.

He let go of her and abruptly stepped back. “You didn’t. Emily, tell me you didn’t tell your sisters that this...”

She lowered her head and fixed her guilty gaze on the toes of her beige ballerina flats.

“You did. You told them... You told them...” His voice had risen a full octave. He stabbed the fingers of both hands through his hair, held them there. He had a tendency to blush when he was embarrassed or angry. Right now even his ears were crimson, and he was looking a little wild-eyed, too. “You told them it was mine? That I...? That we...? Why would you do that?”

Her sisters would find out the truth soon enough, but since she had humiliated her best friend in the whole world, she owed him an explanation now.

“I don’t know. It was all so unexpected. I drove over to Wabasha early this morning and went to the pharmacy there.” If she’d bought the test in Riverton, half the town would know by now that she might be pregnant.

“On my way back to town, I stopped at the farm for my usual Saturday-morning coffee date with my sisters. I had no intention of actually doing the test while I was there. I was going to wait till I was alone at home, but then my phone rang and CJ opened my bag to look for it and...surprise.”

Fred’s color was gradually returning to normal, and he’d stopped pulling at his hair. Now he stood, arms folded, silent and waiting.

“I was hoping I wasn’t pregnant,” she continued. “I was hoping I was late, you know? It happens a lot, but I’ve never been this late—”

Fred’s color deepened again. “Stop. Too much information. I don’t need to know how late or how often you’re... Geez, Em. That’s just...”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Too much information. She was feeling woozy all of a sudden, which made no sense, and she reached for the back of one of the barber chairs for support. The chair pivoted away from her, and she lost her balance.

Fred caught her.

“Can we sit down?” she asked. “I brought lunch, remember?” She pointed to the brown bag on the counter. Maybe she’d feel less light-headed if they were having this conversation on a full stomach.

“You thought you could butter me up with lunch?”

“Annie made sandwiches. Ham and Swiss on rye, with extra mustard.”

He narrowed his gaze, but she could see she had his attention. It was one of his favorites. “She sent some of her apple strudel, too.”

His features softened a little. “You sort of had me at extra mustard, but no sane person ever turned down your sister’s strudel.”

Emily smiled. Given Fred’s appetite and the universal appeal of Annie’s pastries, she’d known the strudel was her ace in the hole.

“Come on,” he said. “We can sit in the back office. Just don’t think that one of your sister’s killer lunches gets you off the hook.”

Fred led her into the cramped office-slash-storage room off the back of the barbershop and sat her in a chair. He unpacked the sandwiches and two generous slices of strudel and set them on the narrow wooden table, then pulled two bottles of water from the mini-fridge.

Emily found the small, familiar space vaguely reassuring. She’d always liked this little room, couldn’t begin to count the number of hours she and Fred had spent in it over the years—playing Go Fish when they were kids, working on high school assignments, catching up on town gossip during her brief visits home from college. These days they usually met for lunch at the Riverton Bar & Grill down the block, but today’s conversation was not for public consumption.

Fred sat across from her, peeled the plastic wrap off Annie’s signature sandwich, bit off a mouthful and slowly chewed while he studied Emily through narrowed eyes.

She didn’t know what to say, and Fred was in no hurry to fill the awkward silence. This must be how a criminal felt, sitting in an interrogation room, trying not to squirm beneath the steely gaze of a hardened detective. Like Jack. He would be cool and collected, in spite of feeling disillusioned about his job. Over dinner that night he had told her being a homicide detective was taking a toll on his work life, his personal life...his life. Still, he had been surprised when she’d asked if he had considered making a change. Never, he’d said. He had known since he was a kid that he was going to be a big-city cop. He had invested everything in his career. Change wasn’t an option.

Well, Jack Evans was in for a surprise. Emily Finnegan, the one-night stand who hadn’t been interesting enough or attractive enough to warrant so much as a phone call, now had some news that would change his life forever. Forget calm, cool and collected. Jack Evans was going to go ballistic.

“So here’s what I don’t understand,” Fred said. “After all this time, you finally got what you wanted, but you didn’t say anything to anyone. Not me, not even your sisters.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve never, ever said anything about wanting a baby.” She’d never said she didn’t want one, either. Having a baby had always been one of those someday things that would happen eventually. Someday.

“I’m not talking about kids. I’m talking about Jack Evans.”

Emily’s face heated up. “I had a crush on him in high school.”

“And now?” Fred challenged her with his unwavering gaze.

She shrugged. “He has an interesting job. He’s smart and he’s...”

“Hot?”

That made her laugh. “Yes,” she conceded. She could always be honest with Fred. “No one’s going to argue with that, but for me he’s always been...you know. Haven’t you ever felt that way about someone? Your head is telling you this person is completely wrong for you, but your heart goes all wobbly, and your brain turns to mush every time you see her?”

He solemnly shook his head, and her heart broke for him a little. He was a great guy, and he deserved to find a woman who would fall completely head over heels for him. “It’ll happen,” she said.

“In Riverton?”

“Stranger things have.”

“I suppose. And nice try, by the way.”

“What did I do?”

“Shifted the subject from you to me. You do that all the time.”

It was true. It was the reporter in her.

“Sorry.” And she was, sort of, as she gave him a long look. Really looked at him, willing herself to feel something more than sisterly affection. Fred was a nice guy, and he’d be a great dad. They’d been best friends for such a long time. It could work, maybe. Couldn’t it?

“Em?”

“What?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re going to try to talk me into being part of whatever crazy story you told your sisters.” He was blushing again. “Not going to happen.”

She dropped her gaze, nibbled at the crust of her sandwich.

“You know I’m here for you,” Fred said. “Always have been, always will be.”

She tipped her head back and took a sip from her water bottle, then hastily dropped her gaze, so Fred couldn’t see her eyes getting watery. More tears? This was getting ridiculous.