“Depends. They’re sharp.” Dolores wagged a finger at her. “Can I trust you?”
“We’ll be careful.” Mel winked at the girls and then led them to one of the tables where they set up a balloon inflation station.
“Me first,” Paige insisted.
Mel distributed a package of colorful balloons to each girl while keeping the scissors for herself. “Remember to share and take turns.”
Ha! Like that was going to happen.
Of course, the pair was more trouble than help, but that didn’t matter. They were having a blast. Mel, too.
As luck would have it, Dolores excelled at writing name tags, and between the four of them, the room quickly took shape. Then again, they were old pros, having done this before. Most recently, they’d organized a wedding reception—for Ray Hartman and his new bride.
Ronnie came to stand beside Mel, having finished with bringing in extra chairs from the storeroom. “This is going to sound terrible.”
“What?” Mel asked.
“Is it wrong to miss Mom today?”
“No. Of course not. It’s Dad’s birthday. A milestone birthday.”
“I mean, Dolores is wonderful. I adore her.”
“Me, too.” Mel didn’t think there was a more perfect stepmom around.
Ronnie linked arms with her. “Sometimes, I have trouble remembering Mom. I hate that.”
“We were young. Don’t feel bad. It happens.” Mel surveyed the room. “I think she’d approve of this party. I also think she’d like Dolores.”
“She’d be proud of us,” Ronnie said with conviction. “And of how Dad always supported us. You know the date of their anniversary was one of the numbers Dad used for his lottery tickets.”
Mel laughed. “And to think we gave him such grief for buying tickets every week like clockwork.”
“None of us ever thought he’d win.”
But, then, he had. Last winter. The amount of the jackpot wasn’t staggering, about two hundred thousand dollars after taxes. But for the Hartmans, it was a fortune.
Livestock foremen didn’t typically earn a lot. Mel’s father gave all he had to his daughters, providing a comfortable, if modest, home and the basic necessities. After he won, he’d divided the money equally between the four of them, using his share to pay for his wedding to Dolores and their honeymoon.
“I almost refused the money,” Mel said.
Ronnie drew back. “Me, too.”
“He didn’t tell me that.”
“Because he wanted us to take the money. And, frankly, we needed it. You couldn’t have bought Doc Palmer’s practice otherwise.”
“Probably not.”
Shortly after the elderly veterinarian announced his retirement, he’d approached Mel about buying his practice. She’d had to tell him no at first. Calling him the following month had been a dream come true.
“And forget Frankie buying that new house,” Ronnie said. “It wouldn’t have happened.”
“True.”
Frankie had been desperate to move out of their dad’s place. What new bride wanted to share her home with a stepdaughter and two rambunctious stepgranddaughters? Frankie had used the money from their dad for a down payment on a cute house in town and some new furniture.
“Mom would be really happy for us.”
Ronnie sighed contentedly. “She did always call us her fairy princesses.”
If not for a lack of handsome suitors, Mel thought, she and her sisters were living fairy-tale existences.
Did Aaron count? Not at the moment. She didn’t let herself imagine “someday” and what the future might hold for them if circumstances changed. Her energies were best focused on making the monthly payments to Doc Palmer and all those pesky necessities like food, clothes, repaying college loans and rent on the house she shared with Ronnie.
The simple and straightforward arrangement she had with Aaron was enough for both of them. At least, that was what Mel repeatedly told herself. Every time she caught herself falling a little harder for him, she remembered that he wasn’t ready or able to fall for her.
Her nieces came bounding back from showing off to their mother, balloons bobbing in the air behind them as if filled with jumping beans and not helium. Ronnie warned them to be careful, her tone a decent imitation of Frankie’s. Dolores chatted amiably while putting the finishing touches on the centerpieces.
Soon, they’d leave for their respective homes to change and freshen up before the party. In Frankie’s case, she’d pack the barbecued beef for transport and arrive early to start warming it.
Mel stepped forward, intending to gather the balloon supplies, when all at once her stomach lurched and the floor seemed to ripple beneath her feet.
Convinced she was about to embarrass herself, she muttered, “Be right back,” to Ronnie and speed-walked across the patio to the café’s main building.
By sheer force of will, she made it to the empty restroom and one of the stalls before losing her lunch. Waiting a few moments to be on the safe side, she slowly rose, the sensation of weakness persisting.
She felt her forehead. No fever. Or sore throat or runny nose. Other than intermittent nausea, she exhibited no other symptoms of the flu bug.
What was wrong with her?
Was it possible...? Could she be...?
No. She and Aaron had always been careful about using protection. Mel could not be pregnant.
Nonetheless, she counted backward. How many days since her last period? The answer sent a spear of alarm slicing through her. How had she not realized she was late? She wasn’t that busy.
Oh, God! Mel sucked in air, unable to catch her breath. Her skin burned as if she did indeed have a fever.
What would she do if she was pregnant? How would Aaron react? Would he be angry? Disappointed? Blame her? Accuse her of trapping him?
She stumbled out of the stall toward the row of sinks along the wall. Turning on a spigot, she splashed her face with cool water. It didn’t alleviate the panic building inside her. Staring at her worried reflection in the mirror only worsened things.
Drying her face with paper towels from the dispenser, she told herself not to cry. There could be any number of reasons she was late and nauseous. Working ridiculous hours, skipping meals and not getting enough sleep, to name a few. Plus, Mel had a history of being irregular. No sense freaking out until she knew for sure.
With a whoosh, the restroom door flew open and Dolores breezed in. Seeing Mel, she stopped midstep.
“Are you okay?”
“I think I have a touch of the flu.”
“Oh, no. I’d hate for you to miss the party, but maybe you should stay home and get some rest. You look awful.”
Mel tried to wave off her stepmom’s concern, only to rush to the stall she’d vacated minutes earlier. When she finally emerged, shaky but in one piece, it was to find Dolores waiting, arms crossed and brows raised.
“How far along are you?”
Mel’s knees, already wobbly, threatened to give out. “What?”
“I have three children of my own. I’m very familiar with morning sickness, even when it comes in the afternoon or evening.”
Mel started to object. Dolores’s kind expression changed her mind. The older