he was just being paranoid. She didn’t seem like the sort of person to do that.
He cut a glance at her profile, watched as she scanned the interior of the small-town eatery, with its pale yellow walls and white café-style curtains on the front windows, then focused on the refrigerator display case that sat next to the old-fashioned register. As usual, it was filled with a variety of homemade desserts.
Nate had always had a sweet tooth and was eager to sample one of the pies—looked like they had banana cream again today, which was his favorite. But then again, maybe he’d have a slice of that three-layer carrot cake.
“What’s that mean?” Anna pointed out the blackboard that advertised the daily special.
As usual, What the Sheriff Ate: was written in yellow chalk. Today that was followed by Tri Tip, Mashed Potatoes and Gravy, Green Beans, Butter Horn Rolls and Lemon Meringue Pie.
“Caroline’s husband is retired now,” Nate explained, “but he was once the only law enforcement officer in Brighton Valley. So she and almost everyone in town still refer to him as ‘the sheriff.’”
Margie, who’d worked as a waitress at the diner for as long as Nate could remember, must have heard the bell at the door jangle. Her jovial voice called out from the back room, “Y’all don’t need to wait to be seated. Take any table you like. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Obviously, she hadn’t seen Nate yet, which was just as well. Margie was a nice lady, but as curious as heck and a real talker. The minute she spotted the baby and Anna, she was going to give him the third degree.
Maybe he’d luck out and get one of the newer—and quieter—waitresses, although that wasn’t likely. And even if it was, Margie always made the rounds, checking on all of the diners.
“Come on,” Nate said. “Let’s sit in that back corner booth.”
They’d no more than taken a seat and placed the baby carrier between them when Margie stopped by the table with two menus. Her ruddy complexion gave way to a shock of graying dark hair, piled high on her head. The moment she recognized Nate, she offered him a bright-eyed grin. “Well, if it isn’t our favorite bronc rider.”
At one time, Nate might have beamed at the compliment, but he was no longer on the circuit, and his heart ached at the reminder. He’d learned to deal with it, or so he’d thought, but every once in a while the loss snuck up on him like a charging bull and gored him in the gut.
“Thanks,” he said, “but I’m just a cowhand these days.”
“Oh, pshaw. You’ll always be a champ to me—and to the other folks in town.” Margie winked, then glanced at Anna, taking time to size her up good.
Nate opened his menu and pretended to study his choices, even though he’d already decided what he wanted before he entered the diner. He hoped the sweet but curious waitress would go on about her business. But apparently, he wasn’t going to be that lucky.
“You doin’ okay now?” Margie asked him. “Sam was in here a couple of days ago, along with Joy, that pretty gal of his. He told me that you’ve been released from physical therapy.”
Sam didn’t have a big mouth and didn’t spread rumors, but apparently, he opened up when pressed. Margie, bless her sweet, gossip-prone heart, had a way of mining information from everyone in town then connecting her own dots.
“Yep,” Nate said. “They turned me loose. So no worries. I’m doing fine.”
In a physical sense, that was true. He could still walk and even line dance if he got the whim, but his career options had been severely limited by the accident. He slid his hand over his right hip, the one the docs rewired and bolted back together.
Margie brightened then turned to Anna. “Well, hello there, hon. I didn’t mean to ignore you. It’s just that Nate here has been on everyone’s prayer list ever since that bronc darn near stomped him to death.”
Nate tensed. Dammit. Why’d she have to bring that up here—and now?
As if the news of the accident passed right by her, Anna introduced herself.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Margie said, glancing first at Nate, then at Anna and back to him again. The false assumption she’d made was obvious.
Before Nate could correct her, Jessie let out a cry, and Margie began to connect a whole lot of dots that didn’t exist.
“Oh, my gosh,” the waitress said. “Who is this sweet little thing?”
“This is Jessica,” Anna said. “She’s Nate’s daughter.”
Margie’s eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. In fact, if someone had thrown a soaring plastic disc her way, she could have caught it in her mouth. “Well, now, isn’t that nice.”
Nate had half a notion to object, to clarify how this had all come to be, to offer up the truth of the matter. After all, his name might be on Jessie’s birth certificate, but he wasn’t so sure he was actually her father.
As a multitude of explanations rose up, he clamped his mouth shut. No one needed to know his thoughts and fears. Besides, other than him, who else did she have?
As far as anyone needed to know, he was Jessie’s daddy.
Before he could ponder just how much he wanted Margie—and therefore the entire town—to know, Margie clapped her pudgy hands together and broke out in a big old grin. “Well, I’ll be darned. Nate Gallagher got married. That bit of news is going to break the hearts of all the single girls in town.”
“I’m afraid you misunderstood,” Anna said. “We’re not married.”
Margie’s graying brows shot up, and she covered her mouth with the fingers of her right hand. “Oops. I just assumed...?” She glanced at Nate, clearly chumming for a better explanation.
He’d be damned if he wanted to give her one. This particular waitress was the last person in Brighton Valley he’d want to know his business, even if she was making false assumptions right and left.
When Margie realized Nate wasn’t offering up the info she’d wanted, she said, “Either way, you two have a beautiful little baby. She’s absolutely precious.”
“She’s not mine,” Anna said.
Margie’s forehead creased, and she took a closer peek at Jessie. “Are you sure about that? She looks a lot like you.”
The hell she did. And what mother in the world wouldn’t know whether a baby was hers or not?
Anna shot a glance at Nate. She didn’t have to utter a single word. He could read her question in her eyes: What are you going to do to set this woman straight?
Damn, but he hated to go into detail. He was still pondering an explanation when Margie gasped, “Oh, my! Is that the little baby whose poor mama died a few weeks back?”
* * *
Anna waited for Nate to respond, although he seemed to have clammed up. She, as well as everyone at the hospital and at the sheriff’s
