TV and drinking beer,” Connor said bluntly, as he slathered petroleum jelly on Poppy’s bottom to protect her delicate skin before fastening the Velcro tabs on the new diaper.
“I guess you didn’t miss him much when he left,” she remarked.
He lifted the baby, cradling her gently against his chest as he carried her over to the bed. “I certainly didn’t miss being knocked around.”
She felt her skin go cold. “Your stepfather hit you?”
“Only when he was drinking.”
Which he’d just admitted the man spent most of his time doing.
“How did I not know any of this?” she wondered aloud, as she unfastened her top to put the baby to her breast.
He shrugged again and turned away, as if to give her privacy.
If the topic of their conversation hadn’t been so serious, Regan might have laughed at the idea of preserving even a shred of modesty with a man who’d watched the same baby now suckling at her breast come into the world between her widely spread legs.
“It’s not something I like to talk about,” he said, facing the closed blinds of the window.
“So why are you telling me now?” she asked curiously.
It was a good question, Connor acknowledged to himself.
He’d tried to bury that part of his past in the past. He didn’t even like to think about those dark days when Dwayne Parrish had lived in the rented, ramshackle bungalow with him and his brother and their mother. To Dwayne, ruling with an iron fist wasn’t just an expression but a point of pride most often made at his stepson’s expense.
He turned back around, silently acknowledging that if he was going to have this conversation with his wife, they needed to have it face-to-face.
“Because part of me worries that, after living with him for seven years, I might have picked up his short fuse,” he finally confided.
Regan immediately shook her head. “You didn’t.”
“We’ve only been married for six months. How can you know?”
“Because I know you,” she said. “You are gentle and generous and giving.”
“I hit him back once,” he revealed.
She didn’t seem bothered or even surprised by the admission. “Only once?”
“I never thought to fight back.”
As a kid, he’d believed he was being disciplined for misbehavior. By the time he was old enough to question what was happening, he was so accustomed to being smacked around, it was no more or less than he expected.
“Not until he backhanded Deacon,” he confided.
His little brother had been about seven years old when he’d accidentally kicked over a bottle of beer on the floor by Dwayne’s recliner, spilling half its contents. Deacon’s father had responded with a string of curses and a swift backhand that knocked the child off his feet.
“You wouldn’t stand up for yourself, but you stood up for your brother,” she mused.
“Someone had to,” he pointed out. “He was just a kid.”
“And how old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
“Still a kid yourself,” she remarked. “What did he... How did your stepfather respond?”
“He was furious with me—that I dared to interfere.” And he’d expressed his anger with his fists and his feet, while Deacon cowered in the corner, sobbing. “But I guess one of our neighbors heard the ruckus and called the sheriff.”
Faith had arrived home at almost the same time as the lawman. Connor didn’t know if his mother would have found the strength to ask her husband to leave if Jed Traynor hadn’t been there with his badge and gun. But he was and she did, and Dwayne opted to pack up and take off rather than spend the night—or maybe several years—in lockup.
“He left that night and never came back,” Connor said.
“Is that when you decided that you wanted to wear a badge someday?” Regan asked.
“It was,” he confirmed. “I know it sounds cheesy, but I wanted to help those who couldn’t help themselves.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think it sounds cheesy. And that’s how I know you’re going to be an amazing dad.”
“Because I finally stood up to my stepfather?”
“Because you didn’t hesitate to do what was necessary to protect someone you care about,” she clarified.
“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my brother,” Connor acknowledged.
And apparently, that included lying to his wife about the reasons he’d married her.
As Regan climbed the steps toward the front door of the modest two-story on Larrea Drive that had been her home since she married the deputy, she knew that she should be accustomed to surprises by now. Over the past eight months, her life had been a seemingly endless parade of unexpected news and events.
It had all started with the plus sign in the little window on the home pregnancy test. The second—and even bigger surprise—had come in the form of not one but two heartbeats on the screen at her ultrasound appointment. The third—and perhaps the biggest shock of all—Connor Neal’s unexpected marriage proposal, followed by her equally unexpected yes.
She hadn’t known him very well when they exchanged vows, and if she hadn’t been pregnant, she never would have said yes to his proposal. Of course, if she hadn’t been pregnant, he never would have proposed. And though marriage had required a lot of adjustments from both of them, Connor had proven himself to be a devoted husband.
He’d been attentive to her wants and needs, considerate of her roller-coaster emotions and indulgent of her various pregnancy cravings. He’d attended childbirth classes, painted the babies’ room, assembled their furniture and diligently researched car seat safety. And in the eight days that she’d spent in the hospital since their babies were born, he’d barely left her side.
But when she finally stepped inside the house, after fussing over the dog, whose whole back end was wagging with excitement as if she’d finally returned from eight weeks rather than only eight days away, she found another surprise.
The living room was filled with flowers and balloons and streamers. There was even a banner that read: Welcome Home Mommy, Piper & Poppy!
She looked at him, stunned. “When did you—”
“It wasn’t my doing,” he said, as he set the
