The Detective's 8 lb, 10 oz Surprise (16 page)

Not wanting to interrupt Dylan at work, especially with the big boss right there, Nick didn't stop in the kitchen to say hi and instead went inside the parlor where Georgia had said she'd wait for him. She was sitting on the floral love seat, looking...miffed. Again, what was he missing? He was staying in Blue Gulch. Yes, he felt obligated. But at least the feeling of obligation overpowered his old, bad feelings about the town. That was a good thing. And a start.

“Thanks for watching him,” Nick said. “I have to get a search warrant and go check out a lead. I'm not sure what time I'll be back.”

“That's fine,” she said, her expression neutral.

“We're okay, right?” he asked.

She stared at him. “What else would we be?”

Ugh. What wasn't he getting there? He thought he understood Georgia, knew what she needed. He'd worked toward making that happen—he, father of her child, would be staying in town to help raise their son.

She picked up Timmy's carrier and headed out of the parlor. He wanted to run after her, demand to know what was wrong. But he had to get John Martin's ring back. He and Georgia would talk tonight.

If she was talking to him at all by then.

* * *

Nick sat at his desk in the police station, filling out a police report for the Martin burglary and also entering the information into the new digital system he was trying to get going, despite the chief's old-fashioned ways.

Warrant in hand, Nick, with the help of Officer Midwell, had searched Edward Huffingwell's car, finding the diamond ring in two seconds in his own glove box. Huffingwell had said that slick bastard pizza boy deserved all the unhappiness in the world. Now Huffingwell had joined Farley Melton, back for his eighth disturbing-the-peace arrest of the year, in the jail cell.

With that settled, Nick planned to pick up Dylan, who should be just about finished with his lunch shift, and show him around the area: the home goods store for basic necessities for the new house, towels and linens and that kind of thing, plus the shortcut to the supermarket, then a brief tour of Blue Gulch. He hoped Dylan's first morning at Hurley's was a good one, that he was happy, that Essie was happy with him. Based on what he knew about Dylan and the diner manager's glowing review, Nick had a feeling all would be very well for Dylan at Hurley's.

As Nick stood, so did Farley Melton, his gnarled hands wrapping around the bars of the jail cell. “Oh, look, he's back with that screaming baby,” Farley said, looking past Nick's desk, a scowl on his lined face.

Confused, Nick turned around to see Dylan, who'd just come through the door with Timmy in his stroller. Perfect timing, Nick thought, not that shopping was one of his favorite things to do. But he wanted to make sure Dylan was comfortable in town, knew his way around, and that his aunt would have comfortable sheets and pillows for her bedroom at the new house.

But then a thought struck him. Nick turned to Farley. “What do you mean
back
?”

“He's the one who left that squawker on your desk last week,” Farley shouted, jabbing his finger toward Dylan. “A man can't get a minute's peace in this place. I should file a complaint.”

Nick glared at Farley. “You said you didn't see anyone leave the baby!”

Farley shrugged. “I was half-asleep and wanting to get back to it. Just make sure he doesn't start crying.” He shot a frown in Timmy's direction and lay down on his cot. Fifteen seconds later, he was making the racket by snoring.

Nick should charge Farley for withholding information. If Farley had told him a tall, lanky teenage boy had left the baby, Nick would have come up with Dylan Patterson in two seconds.

Shaking his head, he turned to Dylan. Was it his imagination or was Dylan looking kind of pale and clammy. “Everything okay?”

“I don't know,” Dylan said, his blue eyes looking sort of glassy.

Nick stepped toward him, noting that Dylan looked very pale.

Dylan gripped the stroller bar as if for support. “My shift ended, so I thought I'd take Timmy for a short walk before leaving him with Georgia so we could take that tour around town. But when I started walking, I got dizzy.” He let go of Timmy's stroller and gripped the side of a desk for support.

“Dylan?” Nick said, rushing over.

The precinct secretary got to him first and caught him before he hit the floor, but Dylan was limp and unconscious. Nick called for an ambulance, his heart pounding out of his chest.

Nick squeezed shut his eyes and threw up a prayer, then glanced at Timmy, his little mouth quirking up, his white-socked foot kicking out in a stretch.

Please, please, please, let Dylan be okay.

Chapter Fifteen

G
eorgia, Gram and her sisters were in the bedding section of Baby Center, Annabel oohing and aahing over crib sheets with tiny climbing monkeys. Clementine pointed at a set with seashells against a pale orange background, and they all smiled; the color immediately brought Hurley's Homestyle Kitchen to mind, and Georgia loved the idea of a bit of the sea in her little one's nursery.

“Is it wrong if I buy the same set?” Annabel asked. Very innocently.

Georgia, Clementine and Gram all stared at her. “Wait a minute,” Georgia said. “Are you saying—”

“Yes!” Annabel exclaimed. “I'm expecting!”

There was much cheering and hooting in the bedding section of Baby Center. Gram was crying. “Two great-grandchildren! Four generations of Hurleys.”

Annabel filled them in on the details—the baby was due in February. Her husband, West, had already put together his daughter Lucy's old sleigh crib and was painting it a pale yellow. Annabel said they'd decided not to learn the baby's gender, but they might be unable to resist knowing when the time came.

Georgia noticed Clementine staring at a big stuffed giraffe. “You okay?” she whispered.

Clementine touched the giraffe's soft fur. “I'm so happy for you and Annabel. But I had this crazy fantasy that I would marry Logan Grainger, that we'd have a whole house full of kids. Now he doesn't even want me two feet near him.”

“I'm so sorry, Clem,” Georgia said. “There has to be some reason, something that clamped him up tight. This letter you mentioned. Maybe he got some bad news?”

“I wish I knew. But he won't tell me. He won't even talk to me. And I miss the twins.”

Why was love so danged difficult? Georgia wished she had the right words for her sister, but she could barely figure out her own love life, not that she had one. “You could try talking to Logan one last time. Maybe invite him and the boys to Hurley's for dinner.”

Clementine barely managed a shrug. “I'll give it one last try. Then I think I'd better listen when someone tells me I'm not wanted.” Her expression turned sad and grim, but as they heard Gram oohing and aahing over an impossibly tiny onesie that read My Grandmother Rules, Clem smiled. “I love how happy Gram is. I'm just grateful both my sisters are home, that we're all together. I have my family. A little perspective,” she added, knocking herself on the forehead.

Georgia smiled. “You always will have your family.”

Her cell phone rang. Nick. Before she could even say hello, Nick explained that Dylan had collapsed at the police station and that Timmy was fine.

Georgia's heart started racing. “Will Dylan be okay? What's wrong?”

“We don't know yet,” he said. “Can you come?”

“Of course. I'm at Baby Center with my grandmother and sisters, but I'll leave right away.” Georgia had driven over herself, since she'd wanted to stop at the maternity shop and buy a few pieces of clothing before meeting her family at Baby Center. She let her grandmother and sisters know what was going on and they all rushed out, Annabel driving Georgia's car with Georgia in the passenger seat so she wouldn't have to drive while so worried.

Twenty minutes later, they were in the lot of the Blue Gulch Clinic, Gram and Clementine pulling up next to them. Inside was Nick, Timmy in his carrier on the chair beside him, and Dylan's great-aunt Helen on the other side, worry etched on her face. Essie immediately sat beside Helen and took her hand, lending some quiet comfort.

“No word yet?” Georgia asked, sitting down beside Nick.

“They're running tests is all I know,” he said, dropping his head between his hands. “He's got to be okay. He has to be.”

They all glanced at Timmy, so sweet and innocent. So recently reunited with the father who loved him so much.

“Detective Slater?” a doctor said. “Dylan told me that I could relay his medical information to you. He's going to be fine. Low blood sugar is all. He appears to have been under stress lately.”

Nick visibly relaxed. “We've got him settled into a good place right now. All that stress is part of the past.”

The doctor nodded. “That's what he said. I think it just caught up with him. You can see him now.”

Nick thanked the doctor, then walked up to Aunt Helen and sat on her right side to explain the good news. Helen Patterson was so depleted from worry that Essie, Annabel and Clementine offered to bring her back to Nick's house and get her settled and stay with her until Nick or Dylan returned.

Georgia would stay with Timmy. “Tell Dylan I said hi and that I'm glad he's okay,” she said to Nick. “And that Timmy is in good hands.”

Essie stood up, helping Helen to her feet. “And make sure he knows he's not allowed to come to work for the dinner shift tonight. When he's one hundred percent better, his job will be waiting.”

Nick nodded. “He's a lucky kid to have the Hurleys on his team.”

“And you,” Georgia said, her hand on his arm.

* * *

The moment Nick walked into Dylan's room in the clinic, the teenager burst into tears. He was half-reclined on the cot, a lumpy pillow behind his head, and was wearing one of those loose hospital gowns. He grabbed the box of tissues on the bedside table and wadded up a tissue to dab under his eyes.

Nick hadn't been expecting the tears. “Hey, Dylan,” Nick said, walking over to the bed and sitting down in the chair beside it. “You're okay. Everything is okay. Timmy is safe and with Georgia. Your aunt Helen was here, and Essie Hurley and Georgia's sisters are bringing her back to my house to rest and wait for you when you're ready to be discharged. Child Protective Services has closed the case. You have a good job waiting for you when you're up for going back. You have solid friends here to support you. Everything's okay.”

Tears streaked down Dylan's face. He shook his head. “Maybe they shouldn't have closed the case.”

Nick stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

Dylan jabbed under his eyes with the tissue. “Maybe I'm doing the wrong thing, not putting Timmy up for adoption. I'm eighteen. I don't know anything. I don't know what the hell I'm doing.”

That explained the stress level spiking instead of settling down. Now that Dylan and Timmy were reunited, the worry of keeping him no longer an issue, Dylan could finally focus on the reality of being a father and was now questioning his ability to do so—well. Plus the stress of having to leave Timmy with Nick, not seeing his infant for a week, then being spooked by the sight of Nick in Houston and suddenly moving to Blue Gulch—it must have all taken its toll on the new eighteen-year-old. He was a kid. A kid with a heap of responsibility on his young shoulders.

“Maybe I should let him go, be raised by a good family,” Dylan said, the tears coming again. “I swore I'd never leave him. But maybe I'm doing him a disservice.”

“Do you think you can be a good father to Timmy?” Nick asked.

“I know I can.”

“How?” Nick prompted, hoping to lead Dylan back to confidence.

“Because I love him. I loved him before he was born. I've loved him every minute of his life. I want to be everything that my father wasn't.”

Nick stiffened. Despite having seen his unborn baby on the monitor, despite being overwhelmed by it, Nick didn't feel a connection to his child yet. Because the idea of fatherhood didn't feel real? Or even like a possibility despite being reality? He leaned closer to Dylan, resting his elbows on his thighs, his hands under his chin. “Do you ever worry that it's in your blood?” He wasn't sure he should even put the question out there, but he wanted the answer—for Dylan and for himself.

Dylan sat up, his expression resolute. “No. I'm not my dad. I'm nothing like him. I'm like my mom.”

Nick sat back as something gave way inside him. The words were so simple, yet he'd never thought about his own history in the same way. Nick wasn't anything like his dad either; he never had been.

Nick squeezed Dylan's hand for a moment. “I know that. I believe it.” He waited for Dylan to catch his breath. “You're taking on a big responsibility.”

“Yeah, I am. But I love my son. I'll take parenting classes. I'll do whatever it takes. I won't give him up.”

Nick smiled. “There's the self-assured Dylan from Houston. You're not alone. You'll have Timmy's godparents right here. There are already quite a few people who adore Timmy. You'll have support. I never want you to feel alone, Dylan. I will always be here for you.”

The boy burst into tears, shuddering sobs racking his body. “Really?” he managed to say.

Nick leaned over and pulled Dylan into a hug. Yes, he was eighteen. A legal adult. And a father. But he was a boy who needed a father figure himself, and Nick was going to be that father figure.

“I'm here for you, Dylan,” Nick said. “Always.”

Dylan calmed down and wiped under his eyes.

“And so is Georgia and, from the crowded waiting room earlier, the entire Hurley family.” Nick leaned back. “I want you to promise me something.”

“Okay,” Dylan said.

“If you ever have a problem again, you tell me, okay? Because that's what I'm here for. Hell, I already feel like Timmy is my family. That makes you family.”

Dylan's eyes filled with tears, and he nodded. Nick pulled him into another hug.

“It's gonna be okay, Dylan.”

“I finally believe that,” Dylan said.

* * *

Avery wanted to have a going-away lunch at Hurley's, and Nick was glad for the excuse to run into Georgia. He'd tried yesterday, after stopping at the Victorian with Dylan to pick up Timmy, but Georgia had been polite and reserved with him and focusing her attention on Dylan and how he was feeling. The teenager was 100 percent better, mentally and physically. Nick had taken them on the shopping trip he'd planned for the day before, and once he got the Pattersons settled into their new home, he'd breathed a very long sigh of relief.

He hadn't even realized how much the past week had weighed on him until 99 percent of it had been lifted from his shoulders. He still felt responsible for not only Timmy but Dylan and his great-aunt too, yet Dylan was of sturdy stock and could take care of himself and Timmy, even if he wobbled now and then, even if he needed a hand and one of Nick's weary shoulders.

He'd texted Georgia before he'd gone to bed last night, a simple
Good night, beautiful. Thanks for...everything
, and it had taken her a while to text back. Like almost two hours. He'd just gotten a
Good night
in response. And then had slept as if he were being pecked by imaginary pigeons.

She wanted something from him that he couldn't quite figure out. For him to want to be a father? To feel more connected to her pregnancy? He'd already agreed to attend the next ultrasound appointment. And be her Lamaze coach.

As he arrived at Hurley's, he saw his sister and Quentin at the round table by the fireplace, Mr. Whiskers's carrier under Avery's chair. They were deep in conversation, their faces an inch apart, and the look of utter love on Quentin's face made him stop in his tracks. He knew the guy loved Avery, but seeing it like this, up close and personal, was like a good left hook to the jaw. He was letting his kid sister go, to live her life, to be herself, to find herself. She wouldn't be alone, no matter what. And really, Nick thought, as he finally got his feet moving again, he didn't feel much of a “matter what” because he trusted in Quentin, trusted in their feelings for each other.

All these strange new feelings settled down as he approached the table, truly happy for Avery. He hugged them both, and listened to their excited chatter about Nashville, ate a ton of ribs and still couldn't resist a slice of Georgia's peach pie, just to have a piece of her with him. Finally, he said his goodbyes, to the cat too, foisted a Happy Travels card with some emergency money inside for the two of them and then hugged his baby sister goodbye.

“Next time I see you you'll be a dad,” Avery said, wrapping her arms around him. “That's one lucky little guy.”

“I'll try my best,” he said, realizing how much he meant that.

Avery laughed and looked at him as though he were crazy. “Your worst is still pretty darned good. Granted, I didn't like being told what to do or how to live my life. But it's nice to know you care, Nick.
Really
care. I don't have any family but you. And now Quentin. But you're my big brother.”

“I'll always be that,” he said, squeezing her into a hug.

“Bye, sir,” Quentin said, reaching out his hand.

Nick smiled and said, “I'm not sir to family.” Then he grabbed Quentin into a hug too.

As he watched them leave, drive away in Quentin's little blue car with the crazy bumper stickers, his sister's words echoed in his head.

Your worst is still pretty darned good.

He shook his head, the compliment making him smile. He did care. He cared a hell of a lot. About Avery. Quentin. Georgia. Her family. And their baby, who'd be born in just five months.

A gray cloud didn't form over his head, opening up and drizzling on him the way it always did when the idea of himself as a tiny person's father flashed into his mind. There was just a neutrality when there had been cold fear. He'd call that a big improvement.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Georgia coming around the side of the Victorian, a big floppy hat shielding her eyes and pruning sheers in her hand. She had on shorts that showed her long, beautiful legs, and a T-shirt that couldn't hide the swell of her belly.

That was his baby. His. A little Hurley Slater was coming into the world and he could either stand here, happy enough that he no longer felt as if he were jumping out of his skin, or he could take the opportunity and run with it.