Baby Makes a Match Read online

  “Just a little while ago,” Hypatia confirmed.

  Chandler thumped himself in the chest, asking stupidly, “For me?”

  “Of course, dear,” Hypatia said. “We hung your clothing in the cloakroom until you decide which suite you want.”

  Chandler turned around and walked out into the foyer again. He stalked past the staircase and partway down what was referred to as the “east” hall to the first door on the left. Chandler opened the door and stepped inside the cluttered space. There, along one wall, hung a dozen pairs of neatly pressed jeans and almost twice that many shirts, all his.

  Shock morphed into a confused, unwieldy amalgamation of emotions, the only one he could identify being anger. Whirling, he stepped back into the hall. And nearly bowled over Mags. She shoved her thick, iron-gray braid off her shoulder and folded her arms, making the short sleeves of her dark plaid, shirtwaist dress cut into her surprisingly pronounced biceps. She looked up at him, a frown on her wrinkled, work-hewn face, her cleft chin thrust forward mulishly.

  “What’s going on, Chandler?” she demanded.

  “I don’t…I…”

  Her expression softened, and she clamped a spotted, surprisingly strong hand onto his forearm. “You can tell us, dear,” she said. “Obviously, since you had Kreger bring your things here, you know we’ll help in any way we can, though hopefully it won’t mean choosing sides between you and your father.”

  His father. Chandler pushed away any consideration of that situation and focused on the part that had to do with his supposed partner.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Mags, but I have to find Kreger.” He looked past her toward the foyer, determination hardening his jaw. “Right now.”

  He sidestepped around her and strode to the front door, which he went through without a word of farewell. Whatever Kreger was up to, Chandler told himself, the explanation had better be a good one. He saw nothing of Bethany and the gardener, but at the moment his thoughts were centered on his own problems. Bethany Willows and Garrett could take care of themselves.

  The rumble of the engine preceded the sound of tires on gravel by less than two seconds. Bethany rose from her seat on the brick steps at the side of the house beneath the carport, or porte cochere, as Garrett called it, and hurried toward the front drive. She arrived just in time to see Chandler’s rig completing the loop as it headed for the street. She glanced to the side and saw that her luggage waited for her on the front walk. The truck turned right onto the street and accelerated. Unaccountably deflated, Bethany sighed.

  “Guess he got tired of waiting.” She turned back and retraced her steps, dragging her toes in the gravel.

  “Is that a problem?” Garrett asked. “You said he’s not your husband.”

  “I said I don’t have a husband,” Bethany corrected softly.

  “Actually,” Garrett pointed out, his gaze skimming over her distended belly, “I think you said that you’ve never had a husband.”

  Bethany stepped up next to him, turned and sat on the rough edge of the brick. “That’s right.” She repositioned her handbag on the step, keeping her gaze averted.

  “So when you wrote me to say you’d eloped to Las Vegas…” Garrett prodded.

  “Wasn’t true,” she admitted tersely, propping her elbows on her knees and resting her chin in the cradle of her upturned palms. She’d only thought it true at the time, but Garrett didn’t need to know that. No one did.

  “And this Jay Carter?”

  “Never existed.” True again, as far as it went.

  “Then why,” Garrett demanded, spreading his hands, “did you let me believe all this time that he did?”

  Bethany bowed her head, debating with herself. If she told Garrett the truth, he’d want to go after Jay, just the way he’d gone after their stepfather for hurting their mom; yet, she couldn’t quite bring herself to outright lie to him. Closing her eyes, she whispered another part of the truth, “I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

  When she turned her head, she found his piercing blue gaze trained on her from beneath his dark brows. He shoved both hands through his dark, spiky hair. Like her, he had a bit of a pointed chin, but his strong, square jaw was perpetually shadowed with the soot of a heavy beard that he’d struggled to keep cleanly shaved since the age of fourteen. At six-one, he wasn’t as tall as the cowboy, she mused, but Garrett was a bit more bulky. He’d muscled up in prison, but he’d always been stronger than average and of a protective nature.

  “If I hadn’t been in prison, you wouldn’t have had to lie to me,” he muttered.

  Bethany groaned, feeling lower than dirt. “You’ve got to be kidding! My situation is not your fault. How could you even think it?”

  Garrett came up off the steps. Whirling to face her, he thumped himself in the chest. “I was the one in prison! I should have been here for you—and Mom.”

  Bethany stood and went to him, placing her hands on the hard bulges of his biceps. “You went to prison because you tried to help Mom.”

  Their father had died in a ditch collapse when Garrett was seven years old and Bethany four. Ten years later their mom, Shirley, had remarried. Doyle turned out to be a controlling, abusive brute who regularly beat their mother. Three years into the marriage, he had beat Shirley so severely that she’d been hospitalized for nearly a week. The day that Doyle had gotten out of jail on bail, Garrett had gone after him, giving the brute a taste of his own medicine. The result had been Garrett’s own arrest. Unable to make his bail for himself, Garrett had languished in jail for several months. During that time, Doyle convinced Shirley to forgive him and drop all charges. In frustration, Garrett had pleaded guilty to a reduced charge and gone to prison, telling Bethany that they were all better off that way, for Doyle would surely beat Shirley again and it would be safer if Garrett couldn’t get his hands on the man. He was too right. Not two years later, Doyle had beat their mother to death.

  “That doesn’t change the fact that I wasn’t here for you,” Garrett insisted.

  “You couldn’t help Mom or me,” Bethany insisted, “and I’m glad you were out of it.” She had escaped herself as soon as she could. Pushing away thoughts of the past, she looked to her brother. “I’m so glad to be with you again.”

  He hugged her. “Ditto.” After a moment, he went on nonchalantly, “So, is the cowboy the baby’s father?”

  Stunned, Bethany pulled back. Denial leaped to the tip of her tongue, but for some reason she clamped her lips against it. Maybe because she wished the cowboy was the father. At least he was kind to her and true to his word. Better him than a scheming liar and cheat. Besides, it was best to say nothing at all about the baby’s father.

  “Tell and I’ll take that kid you want so much. Don’t think I can’t.”

  Shivering, she said, “It doesn’t matter who the father is. This is my baby, mine alone.”

  “Why’d you break up with him?”

  She looked down at her toes. “He doesn’t want to be a father.”

  Garrett shifted his weight, his feet scuffing in the gravel. “That why you came here, Bethy?” he asked, using her childhood nickname.

  She turned back to him, her eyes filling with tears. “I came because I wanted to see you, and because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I don’t have enough money to get my own place or any way to pay the rent just now. I hoped you’d be able to help us out until the baby comes.”

  Nodding, he asked, “When is that?”

  “Middle of October.”

  “So about three and a half months.”

  “Yes.”

  “I think we can work out something.” He slipped an arm about her shoulders and walked her across the redbrick stoop and through a bright yellow door into a long, dark hallway.

  “The misses will probably be in the front parlor waiting for dinner,” he told her. They walked on to the end of the hall past a TV room on one side and a kitchen on the other, according to the aromas emanating from that room. “Food’s grea
t here,” Garrett told her with a smile. “This is the west hall,” Garrett informed her as they turned right. “There’s a real ballroom off the east hall, along with a music room, library and study. Dining room’s on this side.” He waved a hand.

  They came to the end of a broad, sweeping staircase in what was obviously the front foyer of the house. They stopped, and Garrett turned his gaze upward, pointing toward the ceiling. Bethany gasped at the mural overhead and took in the sparkling crystal chandelier. Garrett ushered her through the wide door of a large room crammed with antiques and flowers.

  An older woman rose from an armchair placed at a right angle to them. Short and sturdy, she wore a dark shirtwaist dress with penny loafers. Her gray hair hung across one shoulder in a thick braid, the tip brushing a pair of reading glasses in her breast pocket. Her oval face, while wrinkled and sagging a bit, showed a lean strength. She regarded Bethany with bright amber eyes, tilting her cleft chin to one side.

  “Hello,” she said, curiosity ringing in her voice.

  “Bethany,” Garrett said, “I’d like to introduce you to Miss Magnolia Faye Chatam. Miss Magnolia, this is my sister.”

  “Oh, my dear!” Magnolia exclaimed. “What a surprise!” She hurried forward, reaching out for Bethany’s hand and clasping it firmly. “You are as pretty as your brother is handsome.”

  Bethany smiled. “Thank you. He says you’ve been very kind to him.”

  Magnolia waved that away. “He’s been a great help to me.”

  “Ma’am, I already owe y’all more than I can ever repay,” Garrett said solemnly, “but I hope you don’t mind if I ask a favor of you. My sister needs a place to stay. I’d like her to stay with me for a while, if you and the other misses don’t mind.”

  Magnolia seemed slightly taken aback. “In that tiny attic room?”

  “We can manage,” Garrett insisted. He clasped a hand onto Bethany’s shoulder. “She doesn’t have anywhere else to go, ma’am.”

  Two new heads popped up then, and two more pairs of amber eyes turned Bethany’s way. Another woman rose from another wing chair. She turned fully to face them, her manner almost regal. Despite her leaner, paler face, she looked very like Magnolia, her silver hair coiled in a heavy, figure-eight chignon at the nape of her neck. Her collarless tan suit called attention to the strand of pearls at her throat, and she held in one hand a pair of gold-rimmed half-glasses.

  The third sister wore a flutter of rainbow organza. Plumper than the other two, she wore her stark white hair in short, fluffy curls with a big, floppy, soft pink bow tied atop her head and a pair of large, brightly colored organza butterflies affixed to her earlobes. It was all Bethany could do not to laugh with delight.

  Tearing her gaze away from the butterfly lady, Bethany looked to Magnolia.

  “My sisters,” she said. “Miss Odelia Mae Chatam and Miss Hypatia Kay Chatam.” Bethany nodded at each in turn.

  “Sisters,” Magnolia said, “I have the privilege of introducing Garrett’s sister, Bethany…” Her voice trailed off.

  The moment of truth had arrived, the moment when they would know what a fool she had been. Would they look down on her? Would they judge? She gulped and lifted her chin.

  “Bethany Sue. Bethany Sue Willows.”

  Not a Mrs. Nor a miss. Just Bethany Sue Willows. And more pain and shame than she knew how to bear.

  Chapter Three

  The sisters traded looks.

  “Ms. Willows,” Hypatia said, inclining her head. “Welcome to Chatam House.”

  Bethany nearly collapsed with relief. “Thank you, but won’t you please call me Bethany?”

  Hypatia Chatam smiled serenely. “Thank you. Given names are always easier with three Miss Chatams about.” She beckoned them closer with a wave of one hand, saying, “Join us, please.”

  Magnolia crossed over and took a seat next to Odelia on an elaborately carved settee upholstered in a lush floral damask. Hypatia returned to the gold-striped wingback and nodded Bethany toward its twin. Garrett stood beside her, his arm stretched across the chair back.

  “When is the baby due?” Odelia warbled eagerly, butterflies dancing.

  “Eighteenth of October,” Bethany answered cautiously.

  “So,” Magnolia said to her sisters, “the master suite, do you think?”

  “What?” Garrett exclaimed. “No, no, that’s not necessary.”

  They blithely ignored him.

  “Hmm, yes, I think that would be best,” Hypatia mused.

  Odelia clapped her hands again. “Room for the two of you and the baby!”

  Without warning, Bethany burst into tears. “I’m sorry! Garrett said you were kind, but I never dreamed…I never expected…”

  “Now, now,” Hypatia said calmly.

  “It has become clear to us,” Magnolia put in, “that the good Lord has ordained Chatam House as a place of sanctuary for those in need. We are only following His dictates, dear.”

  “And babies are such fun!” Odelia chirruped.

  Bethany laughed, blinking away her tears. “I don’t know how to thank you. I promise I won’t abuse your hospitality. I intend to look for a job right away.”

  “Is that wise in your condition?” Odelia worried aloud.

  “I was working until I came here,” Bethany told her staunchly. “I can certainly continue.”

  “That might not be so easy,” Garrett warned. “It’s one thing to continue working at a job after you become pregnant. It’s another to get someone to hire you when you’re almost six months along.”

  “Well, it’s a matter for prayer,” Hypatia said in a tone that clearly indicated the subject was closed for the moment. “Bethany, I’m sure you’d like to freshen up before dinner. Garrett, will you show her the retiring room, then ask Carol to set two extra places at the dining table.”

  Garrett nodded. “I’ll get your bags in, too, sis.”

  “Chester will help you both settle into your new space later,” Hypatia decreed.

  “Father would be so tickled, don’t you think?” Odelia said as Bethany rose and hurried from the room at Garrett’s side.

  “The master suite was old Mr. Chatam’s room,” Garrett whispered to Bethany. “He died at the age of ninety-two in nineteen-ninety-nine, and they still speak as if it was yesterday.”

  “I don’t care if they set a place for him at the dinner table!” Bethany whispered back. “They’re not that eccentric, and they’re sharp as razors, believe me.”

  “Oh, Garrett,” Bethany cried, laying her head on his shoulder, “I’m so glad I came!”

  Maybe, she told herself, the Willows family was finally going to come right.

  “Well, my dears,” Hypatia said, keeping her voice low, “it looks as though we’re going to have a full house.”

  Magnolia nodded, oddly satisfied. She’d known Garrett as a child. After his father had died, Garrett had come around occasionally asking to mow the yard. She’d let him mow for an hour or so, paid him and sent him on his way. After his mother had remarried, he’d started showing up with bruises, but he would never answer Magnolia’s questions about how he’d obtained them. She’d heard rumors, but once she’d asked outright if his stepfather had hit him, Garrett had stopped visiting. Later, when she’d learned that Mrs. Benjamin had been hospitalized and Garrett had assaulted his stepfather, she’d expected the boy to get off with a reprimand. Instead, he’d gone to prison. She had always considered that a grave miscarriage of justice, so when he had approached her in the yard just over two months ago, Magnolia had hired him on the spot. Garrett had quickly become a household favorite. Now, his pregnant sister, Bethany, had come to them. Magnolia definitely felt the hand of God at work.

  “Even with Chandler here,” she said, “I don’t see what else we could have done.”

  “Oh, of course Bethany has to stay!” Odelia gushed. She bit her lip. “But I know I heard Kaylie say that Garrett’s sister was married.”

  Hypatia nodded. “Yes. I recall the
same thing.”

  “Perhaps they’ve divorced,” Magnolia suggested.

  “Perhaps,” Hypatia murmured. “I confess to some curiosity, but all will undoubtedly become clear in time.”

  “What God wishes us to know, He will reveal,” Magnolia added with a nod.

  “I’m more concerned about Chandler, frankly,” Hypatia went on.

  Magnolia, too, was concerned about their nephew. They had hoped at first that his moving in here had signaled a compromise of sorts with his father, who disapproved of both Chandler’s occupation and his partner, Kreger, but something else was obviously afoot, and Chandler hadn’t seemed to know what that was.

  “We’ve prayed a long time for him to make certain things right in his life,” Magnolia pointed out. “Maybe the good Lord is forcing his hand a bit.”

  “True,” Hypatia agreed.

  “Or,” Odelia exclaimed, hunching her shoulders with excitement, “we could have another romance brewing! Wouldn’t that be lovely? Chandler and Bethany and a baby! What fun that would be!”

  Magnolia rolled her eyes at her sister. “That’s a stretch.”

  “Why? Don’t you think she’ll like Chandler?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “I’m sure he’ll like her, and they’ll be living in the same house, after all. Once they get to know each other, anything could happen.”

  “Now, now,” Hypatia cautioned sternly, holding up a hand. “We’re getting just a bit carried away here, don’t you think?”

  Odelia turned a vexed gaze on her. “You’re the one who always says that God has a reason for everything.”

  “Those reasons don’t have to be romantic, though,” Magnolia interjected.

  Odelia blinked. “But they could be.”

  Hypatia sighed. “Let us leave this subject, please. We don’t want to be assigning motives to God now, do we?”

  “I suppose not,” Odelia mumbled. Then she brightened. “But it will still be fun to have a baby in the house. Maybe we can babysit!”