Having Justin's Baby. Pamela Bauer
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in Grand Marais.” Paige repeated the story she’d just told Kathy, explaining that she needed to find a place to store the gown as her trailer was too crowded. “I would ask Michael to take it but I’m not going to tempt fate.”
“Oh, noooo,” Kathy drawled. “You definitely can’t leave it with him. That would be bad luck.”
“That’s right,” Rosie agreed. Paige didn’t miss the furtive glances the two women exchanged.
“It’s too bad he’s not feeling well,” Rosie remarked.
“He’s not feeling well?” Paige frowned. That would explain his vacant parking space.
“You didn’t hear?” Kathy asked.
“Hear what?”
Again the two women exchanged glances.
“All I know is that he called in sick today and my David had to go in and cover for him.” Kathy’s husband was semi-retired and substituted for workers at the golf course when needed.
“It’s funny that he didn’t call me,” Paige remarked. “Well, I shouldn’t say that because he may have tried but my cell phone battery died on me today.”
“I’m sure he would have called you if it was anything serious,” Kathy said. “He probably just has a virus.”
“It’s going around,” Rosie added. “Chelsea in housekeeping called in sick today, too.”
“She’s not sick,” Kathy said. “She’s faking it. She went to Las Vegas.”
A chill rattled through Paige. At one time Michael had dated Chelsea Kinseth, an outrageous flirt who thought no man was off-limits. She’d made no secret of the fact that she was still interested in Michael, and Paige suspected that it wouldn’t take much encouragement for her to make a play for him.
Fortunately Michael had assured Paige that he was no longer interested in the woman, whose claim to fame was that for two years running she’d won the wet T-shirt contest at a local bar. Still, Paige had to fight the jealous twinge that made her want to drive over to his place and check on him during her break. She wouldn’t, of course. Michael had given her no reason to suspect the two absences were connected. Besides, she trusted him and knew that it was simply a coincidence that they were both off sick.
The first half of her shift passed quickly as customers waited in line for the opportunity to eat the house special of red ribs and sweet-potato fries. During her break, Paige tried calling Michael’s number, but all she heard was his voice mail. She left a message for him to call her and headed over to the reservations desk to see if she could get the key to the Pinecone Cabin. She planned to stock the refrigerator with beverages and fill the cupboards with snacks.
Behind the counter was a tall slender woman named Stacy Walker, who had been an intern at the resort the summer Paige and the Bulldogs had worked as waitstaff. Now after seven years at the resort, Stacy had worked her way up to manager of customer relations. When she saw Paige, she greeted her with a smile and said, “You’re just the person I’m looking for. I have something for you.”
Expecting it to be the key to the cabin, Paige was surprised when she handed her an envelope with the resort logo on it. Scrawled across the front was her name in what appeared to be her fiancé’s handwriting.
“Was Michael here today?”
“No, he left that last night and told me to give this to you when you came to pick up the key for the Pinecone,” Stacy replied. “You are here for the key, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get it for you in just a minute, but I need to talk to these people first, okay?” She nodded toward the end of the counter where an elderly couple waited patiently for her attention.
Paige looked at the envelope and wondered why Michael hadn’t simply called her and talked to her. Even if her phone battery wasn’t working, he could have left a voice message for her. She stepped away from the counter and ripped open the sealed envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper bearing a note in Michael’s handwriting.
Dear Paige,
By the time you get this I will be on my way to Las Vegas. I can’t marry you. I don’t want you to think that I don’t love you because I do, but I need some time to think over some things. I didn’t want to hurt you, but right now I feel that if we were to marry, it wouldn’t be fair to you.
I’m really sorry. Love, Michael.
P.S. You can keep the ring.
For a moment Paige was too stunned to even breathe. Then she gasped and leaned up against the wall of the lobby. Michael had jilted her? Why? The question banged around in her head like a bad headache. She reread the letter and saw nothing that she hadn’t seen the first time she’d read his note. He needed time to think…he was confused…so why did he have to go to Las Vegas?
“She went to Las Vegas.” Kathy’s words echoed in her head. “She’s not sick. She’s faking it.”
Paige had a flash of memory. She was sitting in the resort’s lounge a couple of weeks ago, having a soda with some of the other waitstaff. Chelsea Kinseth entered and announced to anyone who would listen that someday she was going to go to Las Vegas to take the biggest gamble of her life. Paige had thought she wanted to get a job as a showgirl, but now she wondered if that gamble was running off with Michael.
She shook her head. No, she wasn’t going to jump to conclusions. She gazed at the diamond on her finger. Surely Michael wouldn’t have given her such an expensive ring if he hadn’t planned to marry her. She quickly reread the note, but the message was the same.
“Paige, is everything all right?” Stacy asked.
With unsteady hands Paige folded the note from Michael and shoved it into her apron pocket next to her order pad. Tears misted in her eyes but she wasn’t about to let anyone see them. “You’ll have to excuse me,” she said and rushed out the front door of the lodge and into the parking lot, where she took long, deep breaths of fresh air, willing her body not to give in to the urge to cry.
This couldn’t be happening to her. Michael wouldn’t do this to her. She walked over to the employee section of the parking lot, hoping to see his red Mustang. It wasn’t there. She followed the paved walkway leading to the golf course, her stride brisk as she made her way to the clubhouse. If there was one person who would know what was going on, it was Gus Reynolds. He was the golf-course groundskeeper and Michael’s closest friend at the resort. She found him tending the garden outside the clubhouse, his portly figure bent over a bed of impatiens.
“Well, look who’s here,” he said, getting to his feet to greet her. “I thought you’d be in Vegas by now.”
Any hope Paige had that the letter was some cruel joke was gone. “Michael told you he was going to Vegas?”
“He didn’t exactly tell me. I saw his e-ticket. We both use the same computer.” He winked. “I figured something was going on. Every time I came in here he’d be on the Internet looking at Las Vegas sites. When I saw the list of wedding chapels I figured you two were running off to get married or something.”
“No.”
His voice softened. “I’m sorry. I just assumed.”
“Stacy said he called in sick.”
“Well, I guess that’s one way of getting time off without using vacation days, isn’t it?”
Paige didn’t respond. What could she say? There could only be one reason why Michael had been using Google to search for Las Vegas wedding chapels. He was going to marry Chelsea.
Pain shot through her, making her want to crumble right there in front of Gus. But she didn’t. She simply turned around and headed back up the paved walkway leading to the lodge.
Ever since she’d read Michael’s