Megan's Hero (The Callahans of Texas Book #3): A Novel Page 15

  “Nope. Can’t live on fries alone. Gotta have that red meat.”

  “Yes, Dr. Callahan.” With a wink and a smile that went straight to his heart, she picked up her plate and drink and headed toward the living room. “Do you want the recliner?”

  “Nope. You go ahead and put your feet up.” A few days earlier, she’d mentioned her feet swelling, and that worried him. Jenna and his mom told him it was pretty normal. But they thought it was sweet of him to be concerned.

  “Talked me into it.” She popped a fry into her mouth before she even reached the chair and sighed contentedly. “You’re spoiling me.”

  “Doin’ my best.” The best he figured she’d let him do at that point. He wanted to shower her with gifts, have her relax in a recliner all day long, and not do a lick of work. Sleep, read, knit baby booties, or anything her heart desired except work so hard that she had dark circles under her eyes.

  He took a seat on the couch as she settled in the chair. After they’d both eaten for a few minutes, he asked, “When is your next appointment with Cindy?”

  “In a couple of weeks. Why?”

  “You look tired.”

  “Of course I’m tired. I’m pregnant.” She made a face and stuck three fries in her mouth.

  “You’re working too hard.” He half-expected her to hit him with a pickle.

  She glared at him and took another bite. Chewed it, swallowed, and leaned her head against the backrest. Suddenly, tears rolled down her cheeks.

  He practically tossed his plate on the coffee table and hurried over to her, kneeling beside the recliner. “Sugar, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m worn out, my back hurts, and the wedding is tomorrow. I have to finish the cake, and I just want to sleep.” She met his gaze, her eyes filled with tears. “You were right, Will. I shouldn’t have taken this on. It’s too much. I’m not good enough. I’m too slow, and I won’t get it finished on time.”

  He took her plate, carefully leaned across her, and set it on the end table. Sliding his arms around her, he held her close. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. You’ll get the cake done, and it will be beautiful.”

  “How do you know? You haven’t even seen it.”

  “I’ve seen the roses—”

  “Rosettes. They’re different.” She sniffed loudly.

  “If you say so.” What she’d made looked like roses to him.

  She pulled back a little and frowned up at him. “Roses have petals. They’re a lot harder to make. At least for me they are. You have to make the petals one at a time, building up the flower.”

  “Then it’s good you’re doing a cake with rosettes.”

  She nodded, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. “I can’t do it.”

  He drew her close again, gently rubbing his hand up and down her arm. “Yes, you can. You just need to take a nap. What time did you get up this morning?”

  “Five,” she mumbled against his chest, snuggling a little closer. Her tears dampened his shirt, the spot cool on his skin. He wished he could hold her forever and never let anything make her cry.

  “When did you start working?”

  “Five-thirty.”

  “Did you take any breaks?” He brushed a light kiss on the top of her head.

  “A couple. Short ones.” She sniffed and swiped her nose with a napkin.

  So much for pacing herself.

  “Okay, Master Cake Lady, here’s the plan. You finish your dinner, then you take a nap. Here in the chair, in bed, wherever you want to stretch out.”

  “I can’t. I’ll sleep too long.”

  “I’ll make sure you don’t.” He slowly released her, and she straightened, easing away from him. Resting his hands on the chair arm, he asked, “Is an hour good enough? Or two hours?”

  “An hour will do it. But don’t you need to go to work?”

  He grinned unrepentantly. “I’m the boss, remember? I can set my own schedule.” He stood and pointed to her plate. “Now eat up.”

  “I’ll never finish all these fries.” She picked up her plate and ate a few of them. “Even if they do taste wonderful.”

  “It won’t bother me. The burger is healthier anyway since it’s broiled.”

  “I’ll probably have to change my eating habits soon. The doctor said I may start getting indigestion a lot when Sweet Baby is a little bigger.”

  “Then you should enjoy it while you can.” He sat back down across from her and took a sip of soda before picking up his plate. “I talked to a friend of Dalton’s this morning about your van. He might be interested in it for a parts car. He’ll be out Monday to take a look at it.”

  “Will he pay more than the salvage company?”

  “Maybe. Gotta get you the best deal I can.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  They finished the meal, chatting occasionally, and Megan went to nap in her bedroom, after making Will promise again to wake her in an hour. He rested in the recliner for about fifteen minutes, not wanting to make any noise that would keep her from going to sleep.

  Then he quietly went into the kitchen and peeked into the refrigerator to see how her project was coming along. Practically the whole fridge was full of cakes.

  The groom’s cake was a large sheet cake with chocolate icing and chocolate shavings covering all the sides. A replica of Dalton’s deputy sheriff badge, a five-pointed silver star with bands of red and blue and “State of Texas” decorated the top.

  Will had never studied Dalton’s badge closely, but he figured the emblem on the cake was right on the money. From what he’d seen, Megan strove for perfection in everything she did.

  There were four graduating tiers of the wedding cake, all covered in smooth white icing. She had already decorated the two largest ones. Rosettes were placed in a row around the side at the top of each layer, extending slightly above the edge. Alternating rows of beaded icing draped from one flower to the next like pearl necklaces of two and three strands. A compact row of slightly larger beadlike balls circled the bottom of each layer.

  It was one of the prettiest wedding cakes he’d ever seen, and he had seen plenty. He’d heard the girls discussing the flavors. Megan was doing something different with each tier. He couldn’t remember all the combinations, but they included chocolate and white cakes, and strawberry, pineapple, and chocolate mousse for the fillings. His pretty little baker already had people talking about her creations, but she was definitely going to make a name for herself with this one.

  She wouldn’t be able to do anything else so grand until after she had the baby and recovered, but he expected she’d be able to keep as busy as she wanted after that. The bakers at Miller’s Grocery did fine with doughnuts, cookies, and everyday cakes, but neither of them had the time or inclination to do more than write a few lines on one of the regular cakes if someone wanted something for a special occasion.

  He closed the refrigerator door, staring at the orderly rows of rosettes on the counter. Megan claimed that she was utilizing only things she’d learned in the classes, but she was as much an artist as someone who painted on a canvas or created a sculpture.

  Will washed and dried all the dishes that were in the sink. He could have put some of them in the dishwasher, but this way they’d be clean if she needed to use any of them again right away.

  When he heard a distant rumble of thunder, he walked out onto the back porch to check the sky. A line of thunder-bumpers were forming to the north, so he rolled up the windows on the pickup and checked the carport to make sure the ones on Megan’s car were closed.

  He went back inside and used the laptop to check the WunderMap on Weather Underground. The weather forecast had called for thundershowers. The interactive radar showed him that they were moving in their direction. No warnings or alerts were posted, so hopefully it would be a pleasant rainy afternoon. A good day to take the afternoon off and stay inside, preferably right there.

  Turning on the television, he kept the volume low and watched a show on the Discovery Ch
annel about sunken treasure in the Caribbean. He was about to go tap on Megan’s door when she came wandering down the hall.

  “Did you sleep?”

  “Yes. You had a good idea. I feel a lot better. I thought I heard thunder.” She paused and looked out the window. “Looks like the weather guys got it right this time.”

  “I checked the radar. It should be raining in a few minutes. But nothing serious.”

  “Good. I don’t have time to go hiding out in a cellar.”

  “I should check the one out back. Dalton never used it. One of his duties is weather spotter, so if it’s nasty, he’s out in the thick of it. The pest control folks come around on a regular schedule. They spray outside the houses and in the cellars. That normally takes care of the spiders, scorpions, and everything else. From spring to fall, I inspect the one at headquarters about once a month anyway. Don’t want to make a mad dash to safety in a storm and race right back out again.”

  “I think I’m glad we never had a cellar. Now I’m not sure I’d want to go down there.”

  “As long as the creepy crawlies are vanquished, it’s okay.”

  She headed toward the kitchen. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of spiders.”

  He followed and pulled out a chair from the table. Turning it around, he straddled it and rested his arms on the back. “Only the ones that bite, like black widows and brown recluse. It’s not like I’m going to faint if I see one.”

  “Just run the other way,” she said with a grin. “Smart man. I’d be waddling along right behind you.”

  He slapped his palm against his chest. “I’m crushed that you’d think I’d leave you behind.”

  “There’s no way I could keep up with you.”

  “I’d carry you, silly woman. No fast waddling necessary.”

  “I don’t go anywhere fast lately.”

  “Nothin’ wrong with that. By the way, your cakes look fantastic. I peeked.”

  “Thank you.” She turned toward the sink and stared at it for a second, then met his gaze with wide eyes. “You washed the dishes?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Aren’t you proud of me?” He gave her an impish smile.

  “Yes. Actually, I’m amazed. I assumed you’d never washed a dish in your life.”

  “Honey, I’m a bachelor.” He pretended to pout. “Nobody washes my dishes but me.”

  “You must fill your dishwasher once a week.”

  “That’s about right.”

  “So why aren’t you out counting cows or fixing a fence or something?”

  “It was supposed to rain. No sense starting something where I’d wind up getting wet.”

  She removed a sealed bowl from the refrigerator. “It’s supposed to have rained all week.”

  “But I knew that today it would. Remember that broken leg I told you about when you were in the hospital?”

  She nodded as she dumped the icing from the bowl into the mixer bowl.

  “It gets a little achy when the weather changes. Nothing bad, but enough to tell me when a storm is coming in. It’s more reliable than the forecast.”

  “That’s what my grandpa used to say about his rheumatism.”

  Another family member, another clue. “Does he live in San Angelo too?”

  “He did part of the time. He passed away shortly before I left home.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not.” She turned on the mixer.

  Whoa! Will was glad she didn’t see his startled reaction. That said volumes about the man.

  She ran the mixer for a minute, turned it off, raised the beater, removed it, and placed it on a plate on the counter. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “I guess that’s an awful way to feel, but I’m being honest. He was as mean as a rattlesnake with a headache.”

  Will watched as she tore off about a foot of plastic wrap and laid it on the counter. As she scooped a blob of icing from the mixing bowl, he asked quietly, “Did he beat you, Megan?”

  She froze with the large spoon of icing poised in the air. A second later, she plopped the icing on the plastic wrap and dipped more out of the bowl without looking at him. “How did you guess?”

  “When you got in the truck after the tornado, you said you felt like you’d been beaten up. Something in your tone gave me the impression that you were speaking from past experience.”

  She rolled the plastic into a cone shape with a long tail and dropped it into a pastry bag, also cone shaped. After pulling the clear plastic through the metal tip on the end of the bag, she snipped it off.

  She walked over to the sink, wet a clean dish towel, and wrung it out thoroughly. “We didn’t see him very often. Mom stayed clear of him as much as possible.”

  “He was her father?”

  “Yes. He’d come by occasionally just to give us a bad time. It didn’t take much to make him mad as a hornet and earn a smack. When I was fourteen, I didn’t get him a cup of coffee fast enough, and he beat the stuffin’ out of me before my uncle could stop him.”

  Too bad the old man was dead. Will tamped down his anger. “How bad were you hurt?”

  “A black eye, busted lip, and bruises all over. It could have been worse. He knocked me down and was drawing back to kick me when Uncle Riley tackled him.”

  “I hope he got jail time.”

  She shook her head. “Not for that. Mom was too scared of him to call the cops. I wasn’t hurt bad enough to need a doctor, so it never got reported.”

  Will tightened his fingers around the top of the chair. Calm down. The last thing she needed was to see how angry he could get. He couldn’t believe they hadn’t taken her to a doctor.

  “What did he go to jail for?”

  “A month later, he robbed a convenience store and shot the clerk.”

  “Did he kill him?”

  “No, thank goodness. He wasn’t hurt badly. A patrol car was going by, and the officers saw it happening. When Grandpa ran out with a bag of money in one hand, his pistol in the other, they were waiting for him. We all figured if he died in prison it would be from a fight, but it was a massive heart attack.”

  She leaned against the counter and wiggled a spatula at him. “Enough conversation, Callahan. I have to concentrate on this cake, and I can’t do it with you sitting there yakking.”

  “You’re going to turn me out in the rain?” He gave her his best sad hound-dog look. As if to emphasize his point, thunder rumbled and rain pounded the tin roof.

  “You won’t melt.” A tiny smile lifted the corners of her lips.

  “I might. Since I’m so sweet and all.” He stood and tucked the chair underneath the table. “How ’bout if I wander off into the living room and catch up on world events on the laptop. I’ll be quiet as a church mouse.”

  “Do churches really have mice?” She smiled up at him as he stopped in front of her and rested his hands at her waist. Or what used to be her waist.

  “Can’t say as I’ve ever seen any at ours. They must be sneaky as well as quiet.”

  Did she have any idea how pretty she was? Or that she had a splatter of icing on her cheek? He reached up and gently brushed it off with his thumb. “Icing.”

  “Are you sneaky?” She lifted a delicate eyebrow.

  “Nope. Unless I’m trying to pull a prank on Chance or Nate. Generally, what you see is what you get.”

  Her expression softened as she searched his face. “I like that.”

  Leaning down, he brushed a light kiss on her forehead. “Good.”

  He headed toward the living room, whistling a happy tune.

  “Hush, Will Callahan.” Laughter tinted her voice.

  “Yes, ma’am.” But the tune kept running through his mind.

  17

  That evening they sat together on the couch, their bare feet resting on pillows on the coffee table. Will was surprised but pleased when Megan let him put his arm around her and tuck her in close. The plan was to watch the baseball game
, but five minutes after it started, she was asleep, her head resting on his shoulder. He muted the TV so it wouldn’t disturb her and halfway watched the game.

  His thoughts kept going back to their earlier discussion. Considering her family background, he was amazed that she’d done so well. Striking out on her own had been dangerous, but maybe not any riskier than staying with her mother. As for her grandfather, dying of a heart attack was too merciful.

  Resting his jaw against her hair, he breathed the light flowery fragrance of her shampoo. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the scent to a particular flower. It was more like a mixed bouquet, similar to something his mom might have sitting on the dining room table in the spring.

  Would his wife enjoy putting fresh flowers on the table? What else would she change in his bachelor pad? He liked his house and had done what he could to make it feel like home. But it needed a woman’s touch to give it life. Megan’s?

  His gaze drifted to her round stomach. He could provide well for Megan and her child. She would never have to worry about having a good place to stay, food to eat, or clothes to wear. Sweet Baby could go to the finest college, have a business, or do anything she wanted.

  Equally important, she’d have a daddy who loved her and would keep her safe. Something Megan never had. She’d called him a fixer, and it was an accurate description. Was that what he was trying to do? Fix her life? Was he thinking about marrying her for the wrong reason?

  What were the right reasons? Love, certainly. But falling in love didn’t mean you were right for each other. Jenna had loved her first husband, or thought she did, and he had almost destroyed her. Of course, Jimmy Don was a selfish jerk who loved only himself. Unlike sweet Megan. Even if he hadn’t already seen evidence of a gentle heart and caring soul, the love she had for her baby showed him the kind of woman she was.

  He straightened his neck before he got a crick in it, and leaned his head against the back of the couch. Friendship, respect, and compatibility were important in a marriage. As was shared faith. That ranked at the top of his list. He had known Jesus and God for as long as he could remember. She met God in a bar ditch beside the road, and she had earnestly been seeking to know him better ever since.