“Who is this Delaney person?” he asked.
The two golden retrievers, Sundance and Champ, who belonged to the ranch, came charging down the hall, tails wagging.
“Just a gal in town,” Roy said.
Dottie poked her head out of the kitchen, where she was still cleaning up the dinner dishes, judging by her wet hands. “Are you talking about Delaney Lawson?”
“She sent him a pie,” Roy volunteered.
“Bless her heart.” Dottie dried her hands on the towel slung over her shoulder. “That little Delaney’s a dear thing. And she makes the best-tasting pie you’ll ever want to eat. She used to win every baking ribbon at the fair and—”
“What does she look like?” Conner interrupted, too impatient to wait through what promised to be a litany of praise.
“She’s pretty, but she’s getting up in age and it doesn’t look as though she’s ever gonna marry. Spends all her time at the library or baking.”
Delaney certainly wasn’t “getting up in age” and didn’t seem the type to closet herself away in a library. Besides, she’d said she was in Boise on business. He could be wrong, but he didn’t think librarians traveled on business. At least, he wouldn’t expect a librarian from a small town like Dundee to do so.
“Does she have any siblings?” he asked, racking his brain to remember the details he’d learned about his mystery woman’s family.
“Not a one,” Dottie answered. “Our little Laney was raised by Millie and Ralph Lawson. They’re a gentle old couple who owned the drugstore for years and years. I remember stopping by there on my way home from school to buy candy when I was just a girl. They’re retired now. Sold the store to the Livingstons, but Ralph and Millie still live in the same house they’ve always lived in, right off Front Street.”
“They don’t own a large farm?” Conner asked, finally giving in to the dogs’ persistence and bending to give them each a pat. “They don’t have any ties to Jerome?”
“Jerome?” Dottie echoed.
“They don’t own a farm. They don’t have any ties to Jerome,” Roy insisted, still poised at the front door. “Laney’s the town librarian, and she’s the type that likes to look after people. She wanted to make you feel welcome, so she sent you a pie. That’s it. Don’t read anything more into this,” he said, and the screen door slammed behind him.
“Roy’s right,” Dottie agreed. “I don’t think Millie and Ralph have any kin in Jerome. And they’ve certainly never owned a farm.”
“Of course.” Conner straightened, feeling silly for pressing them so hard—and strangely disappointed at the same time. Dundee’s Delaney probably wore thick glasses and thick-soled shoes. The townsfolk considered her too unappealing to find a husband. And now that he thought about it, the bold, loopy handwriting on the note that had arrived with the pie looked nothing like Delaney’s neat “Thank you.” Obviously, he had the wrong person.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Armstrong?” Dottie asked, and Conner realized he was still standing in the hall, staring off into space, picturing the Delaney he’d wanted it to be, the one with the smile he’d never forget.
“No, nothing,” he said and forced a congenial nod before shooing Sundance and Champ away and turning back to his office. “Just thought I recognized the name.”
“SO? WHAT DOES IT SAY?” Rebecca demanded, and Delaney knew, from the sound of her voice that she was hovering just outside the bathroom door.
“Nothing yet. You’re supposed to give it a few minutes,” she said, gnawing anxiously on her bottom lip. She’d waited three weeks to take the in-home pregnancy test they’d driven nearly all the way to Boise to purchase. Now, at long last, the moment of truth had arrived. In less than two minutes, the little plastic indicator would turn pink—if Delaney was pregnant.
“I don’t think you’re pregnant. Your br**sts haven’t been sore, have they?” Rebecca said through the panel.
Delaney’s br**sts had seemed a little more sensitive than usual, but she couldn’t exactly claim they’d been sore. Considering how badly she didn’t want to be pregnant from that encounter at the Bellemont, it was entirely possible that her mind was playing tricks on her.
“I don’t think so,” she hedged. “But it’s only been three weeks. Is there supposed to be a difference in so short a time?”
“I don’t know. But my sisters complained about being tired right from the start, and you’ve had your normal energy.”
“I guess,” Delaney said. Actually, she’d been exhausted, but that was probably because she hadn’t been sleeping well at night. She couldn’t stop worrying about the possibility of a baby. She was going to feel terrible—even worse than she already did—about the way she’d deceived Conner if she found out she was indeed pregnant with his child. “What other signs are there?”
“I don’t know,” Rebecca responded.
“I bet some people don’t experience anything noticeable, not so soon,” Delaney said. Now dressed, she braced herself emotionally and opened the door to let Rebecca in so their collective willpower might influence the results. “Please don’t turn pink. Please don’t turn pink,” she muttered as they both stood by the small vanity and stared hard at the plastic indicator.
“Pink means there’s a baby?” Rebecca asked.
“Pink means there’s a baby,” Delaney breathed.
“Isn’t there a part of you that wants it to turn pink?”
“Not anymore. I just want to forget that I could ever—”
“It’s turning pink,” Rebecca interrupted.
Delaney gripped the sides of the sink. “No, it’s not,” she said, “because if it is, I’m going to go crazy with guilt. And if I go crazy, I’m going to come and live with you and Buddy and drive you crazy. And—”
Rebecca grabbed Delaney’s arm so tightly it hurt. “It’s turning pink!” she cried again. “Look at it!”
Delaney leaned closer. What was at first barely a tinge became more obvious as she watched. “Oh my gosh,” she muttered and had to feel behind her for the toilet before her knees gave out. “I’m pregnant.”
Rebecca stared at her. “Don’t look so glum. This is—”