Catch of the Day (Gideon's Cove #1)(88)

“So, Chantal, you gonna come clean with old Dewey? Who knocked you up, girl?”

“None of your business, Paul,” Chantal says coyly.

“Well, I heard a rumor,” Dewey says.

“Oh, really? About little old me?” Chantal asks.

“Ayuh,” Dewey says. “About you and a certain someone who hasn’t been around much lately. Afraid to show his face, apparently.”

Chantal and I exchange looks, her smile fading. “Really,” she says. “Spill, Dewey.”

Dewey does. “Malone. Is he the father?”

I choke on my beer, lurching forward in my seat as tears swamp my eyes and nose.

“No,” Chantal says firmly. “It’s not Malone. I never even slept with him, Dewey, and that’s the truth.”

“Well, that’s not what I heard,” Dewey drawls.

“And yet, wouldn’t I be in a better position to know?” Chantal hisses, eyes narrowing, as I continue to splutter.

“Word on the street is that Malone won’t own up to being the daddy. That he won’t take a DNA test so he can avoid paying child support. Well, don’t you worry, Chantal, honey. We’ll make sure—”

“Dewey, this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” I wheeze, still coughing. “If Chantal says it’s not Malone, it’s not Malone.”

“And it’s not Malone,” she confirms.

“Sure, sure, darlin’. If you say so.” Dewey hauls himself up and lumbers to the bar.

“Shit,” Chantal mutters, patting my back. With her uncharacteristically straight answer, Chantal has cemented the idea that Malone is indeed the father of her baby. “Where did he hear that? Maggie, you didn’t—”

“No!” I protest. “No, I didn’t tell anyone anything.” I consider for a moment. “Well, I told Christy what I thought, but she wouldn’t tell anyone. I’m sure of that.”

“Huh. Well, screw it. Someone else’s name will come up in about five more minutes.” She takes a sip of her juice and rubs her stomach unconsciously.

“Chantal,” I ask. “Are you sure you shouldn’t tell the father? Doesn’t he have rights and stuff like that?”

Her face falls. “Maggie, it’s not that simple. It would completely screw up his life. We only did it once, and I’m not going to saddle him with a kid.”

“Is he married?” I whisper.

“No,” she says. “But he’s…look, I’m just not going to tell, okay? Oh, look. Malone just came in.”

My physical reaction is immediate and dramatic. My face flushes lobster red, my legs go loose and watery, and my heart rate doubles. Malone sees us—it’s hard to miss the only two females in the bar, especially when you’re accused of impregnating one and have slept with the other—and gives a characteristically curt nod in our general direction. Then he sits at the bar and waits for Dewey to notice him.

Dewey ignores him.

“Can I get a beer?” Malone growls after a solid minute has passed.

“Not in my bar, you can’t,” Dewey answers.

“Dewey!” Chantal yelps. “Are you being an ass?” She pushes back from our table and sashays up to the bar. “Hi, Malone,” she says.

“Hi,” he grunts.

“Dewey, is there a problem here?” Chantal asks.

Malone stands up, glances at me and grabs his coat.

“No, no, no,” Chantal says. “Stay, Malone. Dewey, what’s your problem?”

“If a man can’t acknowledge his responsibilities, honey, he can’t expect people not to care,” Dewey begins. “And I’m not the only one who thinks so. Heard you got some lines cut, Malone.”

Oh, shit. A gear war against Malone. When a lobster trap’s lines are cut, the trap sits on the ocean floor and rots. Up here it’s a shooting crime up here to tinker with someone’s pots. But the men of Gideon’s Cove feel very proprietary toward Chantal, who has given many of them a happy night or two, and if they think Malone is shirking his duties, they’re bound to take action. Malone remains silent.

“I already told you, Malone’s not the father!” Chantal barks. “I never slept with him, and it wasn’t for lack of trying. My trying. Okay?”

“Don’t worry about it, Chantal,” Malone says. “See you.”

Without any thought backing my movement, I’m up and across the bar in a heartbeat. “Hi, Malone,” I say.

“Maggie.” He gives me a quick once-over, then stares off over my shoulder. “Have a good night,” he says.

“Malone, hang on.” I put my hand on his arm to stop him, swallowing. Perhaps I should have thought before I acted, but apparently it’s not my way. “People are saying you’re the father of Chantal’s baby,” I announce pointlessly.

“Yeah, I picked up on that. Wonder where they got that idea.”

It’s hard to look him in the face, but I do. The scowl lines are in full force. “I didn’t tell anyone what I thought, Malone. Well, except Christy. But she wouldn’t say a word.”

He just stares at me.

“That’s probably why your lines got cut,” I say stupidly.

“You think?” The contempt in his eyes stings.