Angel's Rest(53)

Gabe. Her fist tightened around the receiver as she calmly said, “Hello.”

“I, uh, returned to Colorado last night. I left in a hurry and forgot my phone. Thanks for picking up the dog, by the way. My trip came up out of the blue. I hope you’ve been able to find a home for him since I’ve been gone. Anyway, now that I’ve recharged my cell, I see that you called?”

Only two dozen times. At least. Nic’s gaze fastened on the water bowl on her floor as she asked, “Can we talk? In person?”

Again, another pause. “Okay.”

“I’m making cookies for an event at the high school the day after tomorrow, so I’m tied to my kitchen for a while. Can you come by here?”

“Sure. When?”

“As soon as possible.”

After a moment’s pause he said, “I’m in town. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Nic closed her eyes. Okay. All right. She was ready.

No, she needed more time.

You don’t need more time. You’ve been trying to reach him for the past two weeks. “Good. I’ll see you then.”

She thumbed the disconnect button, then stood for a moment, staring at the phone. “Heaven help me.”

Like a prisoner approaching the gallows, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. There she made a quick swipe through her hair with a brush and added a little blush to her uncommonly pale cheeks. She glanced down at her shirt, frowned at the icing smudges, then moved to her closet and perused her choices. She picked black. It suited her mood.

When the doorbell rang, she straightened her spine, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. You can do this. You know what you want, know what you need. You can do this.

He wore faded jeans and a blue chambray shirt. He’d had a haircut since Christmas and he looked tanned and rested. Rested! He was rested, and she hadn’t slept for weeks.

“Hello, Nic.”

“Gabe. Come on in.” As he stepped inside, Nic was tempted to slam the door behind him. He paused in the entry hall, and while his expression remained impassive, she recognized his discomfort at being here. It was obvious. He looked anywhere but at her.

Tiger came galloping down the stairs from his favorite afternoon lying-in-the-sunshine-spot in front of the window in her bedroom. He jumped excitedly around Gabe, who looked happy for the distraction of the dog.

“Hey there, boy,” he said, scratching the boxer behind the ears. “How you doing? Have you been behaving while I was gone?”

It was the most attention she’d seen Gabe pay the dog since the first day she’d met him. The boxer’s tail wagged so fast it stirred up a breeze.

As Nic waited for the lovefest to end, the timer buzzed on her oven, so she turned and headed for the kitchen. The pale yellow tile and muted green cabinets dated to the fifties, and while not the epitome of fashion, the room served as the very heart of her home. Here she was comforted. From here she drew strength. Strength she knew she’d need in the moments to come.

Gabe trailed after her and stood poised in the doorway as she set a hot tray of cookies on a rack to cool. He folded his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “Cookies smell good.”

If that was a hint, she was ignoring it. He could just starve.

He tried again. “I heard that y’all solved the big mystery and identified the Cellar Bride. Good work.”

Nic wasn’t in the mood for small talk. “Where have you been?”

“The Caribbean, then South America. I tagged along with Jack Davenport on his work trip. It took longer than we expected.” He took a deep breath, then added, “Nicole, about what happened Christmas Eve—”

“Don’t.” She cut him off. “Please, just let me say this. I’ve been trying to reach you the past couple of weeks. I didn’t know how to find you. I began to think this would be a rerun of Sarah’s situation. I need to tell you …” She closed her eyes, exhaled a heavy breath. Say it. Now. Just say it. Nic squared her shoulders, stared him straight in the eyes, and announced, “I’m pregnant.”


Gabe closed his eyes. The unacknowledged dread that had swirled in his gut since he’d turned on his phone to see he’d missed a number of calls from Nic swamped him. No. Please, no.

Maybe he’d heard her wrong. Hadn’t he heard her wrong? Or could it be a joke? A really bad joke?

He looked at her. She didn’t look like she was joking. She looked upset. Annoyed. A little scared.