Waiting for the Wedding. Carla Cassidy
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her another bottle, set her on the floor of the living room on a blanket and gave her some plastic spoons, lids and small bowls to play with. However, the baby eschewed the makeshift toys in favor of playing with her toes.
Sherry knew what she was doing…thinking of the baby as “the baby” instead of as Kathryn. She was keeping her distance, refusing to allow her heart to get caught up in the wonder of a child.
Kathryn was a good baby. She occupied herself, playing first with her toes, then attempting to catch the afternoon sunbeams that shone through the window.
When she fell asleep once again, Sherry covered her with a light blanket, then stroked the fine, downy hair atop her head.
Was she Clint’s baby? Sherry’s heart jumped a bit at the thought. There had been a time when she’d dreamed of carrying Clint’s child, a time when the possibility had filled her with joy and awe.
Clint had said it was possible Kathryn was his. That meant Clint and Candy had slept together.
Sherry frowned, wondering why that should bother her. She’d long ago quit fantasizing about making love with Clint. She’d long ago quit fantasizing about making love to anyone.
She figured she was probably the oldest living virgin in Armordale. Twenty-eight years old and she’d never been lost in mindless passion. Twenty-eight years old and she’d never experienced the total possession of a man’s lovemaking.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t had offers to rectify that particular condition. Every night at least one half-drunk cowboy professed his undying love for her and offered to take her home and show her delights beyond her imagination. Unfortunately, she had too good an imagination.
She figured maybe someday she’d meet an older, divorced man, one who’d already had his family and wanted no more children. In the meantime she wasn’t holding her breath.
By five o’clock Kathryn was fussy and Sherry assumed it was probably hunger. With the baby once again safely buckled into the car seat, Sherry stared at the contents of Clint’s refrigerator.
It definitely showed the eating habits of a bachelor. Milk…mustard…ketchup and a pound of hamburger thawing in plastic wrap. She knew Clint ate most of his meals down at the Armordale Café, but he’d obviously planned on something with the hamburger for dinner.
Fine. He and the hamburger were on their own. In the cabinet she found a can of tuna, canned peas and peaches. She made herself a tuna sandwich, then mushed up peas and cut the peaches into tiny pieces for Kathryn. She made a mental note to tell Clint to pick up some baby cereal and food.
As she fed Kathryn, the little girl opened her mouth like a baby bird awaiting a worm. She tried to help Sherry, grabbing for the spoon, laughing when she managed to grasp it.
“Don’t be so cute,” Sherry said, finding the little girl’s laughter infectious, her antics far too adorable to ignore. Kathryn kicked her feet and grinned, displaying the tiny white nub of a first tooth.
Sherry was grateful when dinner was over. She wiped Kathryn’s face, cleaned the kitchen, then deposited the baby back on the blanket in the center of the living room floor.
“I’m only here for a couple of days,” she said to Kathryn, who sat facing her, a wide grin still curving her rosebud lips.
Sherry turned her head away from the smiling little girl. “I don’t want to care about you,” she whispered to herself, as if afraid the child might hear, might understand and be hurt.
Kathryn laughed, as if to get Sherry’s attention. Sherry felt a sudden sting of tears. “If I let you, you’ll break my heart. I can’t let that happen.” Kathryn laughed again, as if Sherry had just said something extraordinarily witty.
The distant sound of a car door slamming prompted Sherry to get up from the sofa and go to the front door. She sighed in relief as she saw Clint’s car. She watched him as he walked around to the back of the car and opened the trunk.
The late-afternoon sun played on his dark hair, pulling forth highlights of deep mahogany. Clint was one of the few men she knew who wore a uniform well. The dark-brown slacks fit his long legs and lean hips as if tailor-made just for him. The tan shirt stretched taut across his broad shoulders as he reached into the car trunk and withdrew what appeared to be the wooden parts of a crib.
She knew she should go out and help him with the load, but she still harbored a touch of resentment that he’d managed to involve her in this whole situation. He’d manipulated their friendship and her genuine caring for him, and she was—exactly where she didn’t want to be.
However, her irritation with him didn’t stop her from opening the door for him as he stepped up on the front porch.
“Where did you get that?” she asked as he maneuvered the wooden railings and child-size mattress through the door and into the living room.
“Etta Mae let me borrow it.” He leaned the pieces against the wall and threw a smile in Kathryn’s direction. “I’ve got more stuff out there,” he said. “Be right back.”
Once again she watched as he raced back out to the car. He waved at one of his neighbors, then opened the back car door and pulled out several plastic shopping bags.
As he walked back toward the house, Sherry wondered what it was that had kept him single all these years. He was a handsome man, with clean-cut features and blue eyes that promised intelligence and humor. He was considered the major catch of Armordale, yet rarely dated and had never come close to marriage other than with her.
“Etta Mae made me a list of things I’d need,” he said when he was back in the house and unloading the shopping bags.
Etta Mae was the fifty-six-year-old woman who worked as a dispatcher at the sheriff’s office. She was combination co-worker, mother and confidante to the men she worked with, calling out codes and procedure with the same confidence she offered wisdom and advice.
“Rice cereal, baby food, more diapers…” He crouched and pulled each item from the bags and placed them on the floor next to him. “Rattles, teething ring, sleepers.”
Sherry eyed the array of items. “This doesn’t look like a two-week stay,” she observed.
Clint stood and shrugged. “Babies require a lot of stuff.” He pulled the last item from the bag, a stuffed white bear with a bright pink bow.
“Ah, yes, that definitely looks like a must,” she observed dryly.
He shrugged again and smiled sheepishly. “I couldn’t resist.” His blue eyes danced with pleasure as he set the soft bear next to Kathryn.
Of course he couldn’t resist, Sherry thought with a pang to her heart. Every daddy should buy their daughter their first teddy bear. “I already ate supper and fed her. Her diaper has just been changed so she shouldn’t need anything for a little while. Since you’re home now, I’ll go unpack and get settled into the spare room.”
He looked at her in surprise, his dark brows pulling together. “You already ate? I thought maybe we’d, you know, eat dinner together.”
“You can’t fool me, Clint Graham,” she replied as she picked up the baby paraphernalia from the floor. “You assumed you would come home to a nice, home-cooked meal—a meal I would have slaved over all afternoon.” She grinned at him knowingly. “I always suspected you harbored a latent streak of chauvinism in your heart.”
He laughed and raised his hands in surrender. “All right. I’ll confess, I did have a little fantasy of walking in this evening and smelling the savory scent of dinner cooking. As I remember, you used to make a mean hamburger casserole.”
“That was a long time ago. I don’t do much cooking anymore.” Sherry carried the teddy bear and other items into the kitchen, aware of Clint trailing behind her. “I’m here to take care of the baby while you’re at work,” she said as she placed the baby food in the cabinet. “But I’m not here to take care of you.”