Another Woman's Baby. Joanna Wayne
I’m here alone, and I was just wondering how safe it is in this area.”
“Exactly where are you?”
“Are you familiar with the Lancaster house?”
“Pelican’s Roost? Sure am. Hey, is this Megan?”
“Yes. Do I know you?”
“I reckon you do. Class of ’88. Hey, hey, hey.”
“Roger Collier?”
“The one and only.”
Talk about a blast from the past. They had gone to high school together, but it had been two years since she’d seen or heard from Roger. He’d looked her up when he’d been job hunting in New Orleans, but she hadn’t been able to help him. Still, it was good to hear his voice now.
She’d had a terrific crush on him for most of her junior year, but he’d been going steady with Jackie at the time. She’d dated him for a while after he and Jackie broke up, but had broken up with him after a few dates. The only time she’d gone out with him after that had been to the senior prom, when neither of them were dating anyone steady. “How have you been?”
“Terrific. Still single and hanging easy. Will you be in town long?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Everybody’s been wondering what you were going to do with that place since your grandmother passed away. If you fixed it up a bit, you could probably sell it for a mint of money. Beach property’s like gold these days.”
“That’s what I hear.”
“Anyway, good to have you back. Now, what’s this about trouble?”
“I ran into a man on the beach when I was out walking just after sunset and he stopped to talk to me. To make a long story short, he made me a little nervous.”
“Did he say something out of the way?”
“Not really.”
“Was he drunk?”
“No.”
“Just a ragged old beach bum, huh?”
“Not that either.” Now she felt foolish. “It’s nothing I can put my finger on. He just made me a little nervous and I thought I’d see if there had been any trouble in the area.”
“The usual stuff. Kids throwing bottles on the beach, getting loud and rowdy, but we haven’t even had a complaint of that since the summer crowd left.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Yeah. You know how it is on the beach. The setting breaks down barriers. People who wouldn’t speak to you in town stop and chat. I can send someone out to take a look around if you like, but if he was just out jogging, I doubt they’d find him.”
“No. I’m sure it’s nothing,” she repeated.
“Probably just a guy looking for a good time. Orange Beach is the safest place in the country. But I’ll be here all night. If you change your mind about having an officer come by and check out the house, just let me know.”
“I appreciate that.”
They talked a few more minutes about people they both knew from high school. It always surprised her that so many of her classmates still lived in Orange Beach. It had never occurred to her to settle here, but then this had never really been her home. No place had. She’d only lived here her last two years of high school while her mother lived in Spain with her third husband.
The baby kicked as she started up the stairs. So alive, so much a part of her and yet not a part of her at all. She’d carry it for one more month, and then…And then she’d give it up to strangers.
Pushing open the door, she stepped into the bedroom that had been hers for as long as she could remember. The bed was made, the coverlet pulled back to reveal crisp white sheets and fluffy pillows. All it had taken was one call to Fenelda and the house had been readied for her return. The furniture dusted, the cobwebs brushed from the corners, the wooden floors swept clean and the carpets vacuumed. And all six bathrooms had fresh towels on the racks.
Crossing the moss-colored carpet, she opened one of the sliding doors. When she’d been young, the sound of the surf had always served as an unending lullaby, soothing her to sleep almost before she had time to say her prayers. Tonight might be more of a challenge.
She turned off the light in the bedroom, and let the moonlight provide the illumination as she slipped out of her clothes. With the light off, she could see the outline of the thatched-roof gazebo that sat between the house and the beach, see the swing beneath it swaying in the wind. All peaceful.
The moon ducked behind a cloud. She looked away and took a robe from the closet. When she turned back, her heart slammed against her chest. Someone was out there, standing just past the gazebo. All she could see was the outline of a body, but she could picture the man she’d seen earlier on the beach, imagine him watching her house, knowing she was there alone.
A second later the figure headed off down the beach and out of sight. The baby picked that time to give her a swift kick. She splayed her hands across her stomach. “Don’t worry, little one. I’m not off the deep end, not yet anyway. Just a little paranoia playing games with my overwrought nerves.” Turning away from the balcony, she headed for her bath.
December 5
MEGAN WOKE to the jangle of bells, but it took her a few seconds to realize that it was actually the doorbell and not part of her weird dream. She’d been running across the sand, her feet sinking into it, slowing her down so that whatever she was chasing stayed just beyond her reach.
The bell chimed again. She stretched, kicked out from under the covers and eased her legs over the side of the bed, combing the carpet with her feet until she located her slippers. Grabbing her robe, she tied it around her loosely and headed down the steps, wondering who in the world would come calling this time of the morning.
One peek through the peephole and she breathed a sigh of relief. She should have known Sandra Birney would waste no time coming by to check on her.
She swung the door open, pushing her long dark bangs off her forehead as she did and realizing that she probably looked a total mess. “Come in.”
“I will, as soon as I get a look at you.” She scrutinized Megan from the top of her head to her toes. “My, you are pregnant.”
“I told you.”
“I know, but I just couldn’t picture it.” Sandra brushed past her and set a cloth-topped basket that smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg on the table, before she came back to offer a hug. Southern women always hugged.
“I want to hear everything about the pregnancy, especially how you let someone talk you into it. Will the biological parents be here for the birth?”
“No. I’m going to deliver all by myself—just me and Dr. Brown, and maybe Santa Claus.”
“And me. You know I’ll be there.”
“You like suffering, do you?”
“I don’t mind, as long as it’s not mine,” she teased. “And I love babies.”
Megan started the coffee while Sandra caught her up on news of the happenings in Orange Beach. The high-school football team had won the regional playoffs, the elementary-school principal had retired and the Baptist church was building a new sanctuary.
Megan excused herself to go to the bathroom and brush her teeth while the coffee finished perking. She ran a comb through her hair as well and washed her face. The questions would start as soon as they sat down to coffee and muffins, but everything was under control. She had her story down pat, the details worked out so that no one would suspect that the baby she carried belonged to Jackie Brewster, not even the intuitive Sandra Birney.
The delightfully