Waiting for the Wedding. Carla Cassidy
a tone that told her he’d not only accepted the possibility that Kathryn was his but considered it probable.
As Sherry placed the last of the items in the cabinet, Kathryn let loose a wail from the living room. Sherry turned and looked at Clint. “I’m officially off duty. I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
Without waiting for his reply, she left the kitchen, went down the hallway and into the spare room. She closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, conflicting emotions bubbling inside her.
Baby beds and baby food. Rattles and stuffed bears. They were all things she’d put behind her, wishes that belonged to another woman, a lifetime ago.
She shoved herself away from the door and unpacked the few articles of clothing she’d brought. It’s not Clint’s fault, a little voice niggled inside her. And it isn’t Kathryn’s fault. Neither of them had manufactured the situation, yet Sherry had been subtly punishing them both from the moment she’d reluctantly agreed to help Clint out.
She finished unpacking her few toiletries, then sank down on the edge of the bed. Clint’s baby. It’s what Sherry had wanted for him. It was why she’d broken their engagement years before. She’d wanted him to have all the things she’d never have…like babies.
If the baby did belong to Candy, then what on earth would possess the woman to leave her on Clint’s doorstep with nothing but a vague note?
Of course, in Candy’s case the dire circumstances might be anything from a jealous wife after her hide, to the lure of a Caribbean cruise, where a small child would cramp her style.
In any case she was once again brought back to the fact that none of this was Clint’s fault. When he’d asked for her help, she’d had the option of giving it or not. She’d chosen to be here, but so far had acted rather poorly.
She stood, deciding an apology was in order. Before she could reach the door to leave the room, a knock sounded. “I’m sorry to bother you,” Clint said when she opened the door.
He’d changed out of his uniform and was now clad in a pair of worn jeans and a navy T-shirt. “Could you help me put the crib together? It would be easier with two people instead of one.” He held up a screwdriver and a pair of pliers.
“Of course,” she agreed. “Where are you going to set it up?” she asked as they went back into the living room.
“Uh…” He frowned a moment, thinking. “I guess in my bedroom. If you’ll grab Kathryn, I’ll carry all the parts in there.”
“Okay,” Sherry agreed. She swooped the baby up in her arms, drawing in a deep breath of baby fragrance. The scent created a blend of joy and torment inside her.
Clint’s large bedroom was a study in masculinity. A navy spread adorned the king-size bed, and a heavy, dark-wood double dresser took up much of the length of one wall. Scenic pictures of trout streams adorned the walls. A wooden mallard duck with a scooped-out back for pocket change sat on the dresser amid a variety of cologne bottles.
Clint carried the baby-bed parts to the empty space in front of the single window the room contained. Sherry placed the baby on her back in the center of the bed, where Kathryn cooed and aahed, perfectly satisfied to once again find her toes.
“Clint, I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk,” Sherry said as she held the crib’s side panel against the foot rail.
He smiled, the familiar gesture that created attractive sunbursts of lines at the corners of his eyes. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I’d rather have a cranky Sherry than no Sherry at all.”
His smile faded, and he covered her hand with his own. She’d always loved his hands. Big, strong, capable hands, his all but engulfed her smaller one. “I am grateful for your help, Sherry. I meant what I said earlier this morning. I wouldn’t want to trust her to anyone but you.”
The warmth of his hand on hers seemed to seep up her arm, across her body to embrace her heart. It was not the warmth of a friendly touch, but rather something deeper, more provocative.
She averted her gaze from his, confused by the strange heat that suffused her. She breathed a sigh of relief as he removed his hand from hers and picked up the screwdriver and got to work.
“Did Walt give you a hard time about taking off work?” he asked as his long fingers nimbly placed a brass screw in the appropriate place.
“Walt doesn’t know how to do anything but give me a hard time,” she replied.
Clint laughed. “He’s the biggest curmudgeon this town has ever known. I’ve never seen a man who takes such misery in each and every day.”
Sherry’s laughter joined his as she thought of her boss at the bar. “If Walter isn’t moaning, he’s whining.” She picked up the second railing and held it in place for him.
Clint paused and looked at her, his eyes searching hers. “Don’t you ever miss teaching?” he asked.
She felt the barrier fall into place, the self-protective wall that kept her from feeling the emotions of the woman she’d once been…and would never be again. “Never,” she replied more sharply than she intended. She forced a light smile. “I love working at the bar. I love the nighttime hours, all the people I meet, and I make a pretty decent wage with tips.” She raised her chin a notch, as if defying him to say anything to the contrary.
Clint studied her for a long moment, then nodded and went back to work.
Within a few more minutes the crib was together and the mattress was in place. Sherry placed the sheets Etta Mae had sent with Clint on the mattress as Clint picked up the little girl from the bed.
“I’m going to fry a couple of hamburger patties,” he said as they left his bedroom. “Sure you don’t want something to eat?”
“No, I’m fine. I was up late last night, and I’m exhausted. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just call it a day.”
She didn’t want to sit in the kitchen and watch Clint cook while the baby cooed and kicked in her car seat. It felt too intimate, too domestic.
“Towels are under the sink in the bathroom, and if you need anything else, just ask,” he replied. He looked so darned handsome standing there, the tools in one hand, the baby in his arms.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Sherry replied. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she added, then turned on her heels and headed for her room.
She grabbed her nightgown and robe, then went into the bathroom, intent on a nice long shower to ease the tension that had tugged at her back and shoulders all day.
She hadn’t lied when she’d told Clint she was exhausted. She’d worked until after three the night before, then his phone call had awakened her at just a few minutes after seven. She usually required at least eight hours of sleep to function properly.
As she stood beneath the hot spray of the shower, she thought again of that moment when Clint’s hand had covered hers.
For just a brief moment she’d remembered when the touch of his hand had made her knees weaken, her breath catch in her throat. She’d remembered how Clint’s touch, his kiss, had made it so difficult for her to keep her vow to be a virgin bride.
Definitely a lack of sleep, she decided. Those days of romance and chemistry were long gone where they were concerned.
She took an unusually long shower, relaxing muscle by muscle beneath the warm water. When she finally finished, she dried off and slipped into her nightclothes, then eased the bathroom door open. The scent of cooked hamburger hung in the air, and she assumed enough time had elapsed that Clint had already finished eating.
As she started to open the door to her bedroom, she heard the faint murmur of his deep voice coming from the living room. She peeked around the corner of the hallway and saw Clint sitting on the sofa, Kathryn snuggled against his chest.
“Sweet