Baby On The Way

CHAPTER ONE: SURPRISE DELIVERY

You are Invited

To a Baby Shower

For: Elizabeth Sinclair

Place: Susan Doyle’s House

Time: 8 p.m., Friday Night,

September 18

Shhhhh! It’s a SURPRISE!

“Del” A. Delaney paused in the act of chugging milk straight from the carton, his attention caught by the custom-made pink card tossed carelessly atop the gift boxes on his sister’s kitchen table.

His gaze brushed over the coy stork posing with a blanketed bundle in its beak, and fastened on the name penned in below. Elizabeth. Elizabeth Sinclair.

Libby? His jaw clenched. It couldn’t be.

Slamming the carton down, he snatched up the card. “Chris!” he shouted. “Christine Delaney! Get out here this minute.”

“You bellowed, brother?” his sister asked, strolling into the kitchen. Her gaze–the same dark blue as his own–fell on the open carton of milk. Shaking her fashionably tousled dark hair in disapproval, she said, “Darn it, Del, if you don’t use a glass I’m going to—”

“Never mind that.” He thrust the card at her. “What the hell is this?”

Christine’s slim brows lifted at his harsh tone. She took the card from him and studied it, pursing her lips thoughtfully. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it’s an invitation for a baby shower—another term for a party celebrating the arrival of a small human being sometimes referred to as a B-A-B-Y.”

“Damn it, I know what a baby is.” Del snatched the card away. “Are you saying Libby is pregnant?”

Chris beamed, patting his arm. “You’ve finally got it. I always knew there was a glimmer of intelligence in there somewhere. Now step aside while I gather a few more things together. I told Susan I’d get there early and help with the decorating.”

She bustled around, opening cupboards while Del stood frozen to the spot. “How far along is she?” he demanded.

“Hmm?” his sister replied absently.

Del glared at the back of his sister’s head, resisting the urge to shake her. He spaced out each word. “How. Far. Along. Is. She?”

Christine glanced up. “Libby? About seven or eight months.”

She turned away while Del, overcome with the urgent need to sit down, straddled a kitchen chair. He felt like he’d been pole-axed, a familiar feeling he’d had once before: the first time he’d looked into Elizabeth Sinclair’s startled brown eyes.

Seven and a half months ago.

“Where is she?” he growled.

“Still at work,” Chris said, her voice muffled as she burrowed in a cavernous cupboard. “I already told you that when you got here. ”

Yeah, Chris had told him. In fact, it was the first question he’d asked her when stepping into his family’s Victorian house where Libby rented the third floor rooms. Actually he’d known that Libby wasn’t home, even before Christine told him so. The big old house had an empty feeling.

His jaw clenched. Damn it, he should have contacted her—he’d planned to contact her. Yet, it was precisely the strength of his need to do so that had kept him from doing it. He stared down at the invitation in his hand. And now Libby was pregnant. He couldn’t quite believe it. The memory of slender white limbs and soft curves floated through his mind.

Christine emerged from the cupboard and checked her messages one last time. She tucked her device in her bag, and glanced over at him. “Now, Del. I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

Del’s gaze whipped up, meeting his sister’s. Christine was watching him as she sat back on her heels, cradling a large yellow bowl in her lap. “You do?” he said.

“Yep, I sure do.” She nodded decisively, making her curls bounce. “You’re thinking I made a big mistake, taking Libby on as a boarder—that she’s some kind of irresponsible flake. But you’re wrong. She’s not like that at all. Once you meet her, I know you’ll see right away Libby is a good person. Why, everyone in town loves her. Okay, probably not Sally Watson—she doesn’t really like anyone—but even Mrs. P mentioned…”

Christine chattered on, while Del’s frowning gaze returned to the paper. So Libby hadn’t told anyone about him…about them.

“…And with all the traveling I do for my job, and all the traveling you do for yours…”

But why not? Libby had to know they’d find out now that she was pregnant.

“…this house sits empty ten months out of the year anyway. It’s nice to have someone who’ll be here all the time…”

He’d left her his emergency contact information. Why hadn’t she used it? Surely, getting pregnant was an emergency! Unless…his brows drew together as his initial certainty about the baby’s paternity wavered. “Who’s the father?” he asked abruptly.

“With Libby here—” Thrown off stride by the interruption, Chris paused, her brows lifting in puzzlement. “What?”

“Who does Libby say is the father of her baby?”

“Oh. No one.” Seeing her brother’s darkening frown, Chris added hastily, “I’m not kidding. I know it sounds strange, but she’s honestly never said. Half the town believes she must have been pregnant before she arrived in Cauldron, while the other half suspects the father might be the new doctor over in Vicksville.” She lowered her voice confidentially. “He’s a real babe and I guess Libby’s been seen with him a time or two.”

Del’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, she has, has she? This doctor,” he bit out. “He comes here to see her?”

Chris shook her head again. “No, not that I’m aware of. And Libby doesn’t ever talk about him, which is part of the reason I don’t think it’s him.” She rose gracefully to her feet. Stacking the bowl in a carton next to the gifts, she added, “Besides, he seems like a nice guy. Certainly not the type to get a woman pregnant and then abandon her.”

Del straightened, a flush burning along his cheekbones, his fingers crushing the card in his fist. “Is that what she told you?” he demanded. “That some guy abandoned her?”

Chris picked up her box. “No, that’s just my theory. I told you Libby’s never said a word and I don’t have the nerve to press her. She’s sweet and all, but kind of…reserved, if you know what I mean?”

“No,” Del said bluntly. “I don’t.” The Libby he knew—the Libby he’d gotten to know very well indeed during the three days they’d been snowbound here alone together—hadn’t been reserved. Oh, she’d been aloof at first and a little shy at times, but mainly she’d been warm, and giving, and real. Honest in her actions and reactions. At least he’d thought she had been.

Pushing back his chair, he stood up abruptly and lifted the box from Christine’s arms.

“What are you doing? Where are you going with that?” she demanded as he headed to the door.

“To the baby shower, of course,” he said without pausing. “To meet this brave, sweet, silent paragon you keep talking about. I have a feeling,” he added grimly, “that this meeting is long overdue.”

* * *

“Surprise!”

Libby jumped, her hands flying up instinctively to cover the rounded mound of her abdomen as Susan Doyle’s door flew open. Behind the pretty blonde crowded a group of smiling women while across a far wall a blue banner declared, “Congratulations, Libby, On Your Pending Arrival.”

Libby’s throat tightened. A surprise shower. They’d given her a surprise shower. “Oh, this is just too much,” she said helplessly. They were all so sweet. So excited. A tenseness she hadn’t even been aware of eased within her chest, leaving her ridiculously close to tears.

“Hepzibah McClure sends her regrets,” Susan said warmly, plucking off Libby’s damp rain hat and divesting her of her coat with the ease of an experienced hostess. “The Loft has been swamped—apparently everyone in Cauldron decided they needed a book this week. Her grandniece Prudence usually helps out, but she’s taken on some temporary work and hasn’t been available.” Susan smiled. “Heppy did drop off a gift earlier, though. Said to tell you it’s from her Great Aunt Barbara’s collection.”

While she talked, Susan ushered Libby forward to a huge, overstuffed white armchair. “Now, just sit down and catch your breath a minute. As usual, Christine is late and we can’t get started without her.”

Libby sat down. Way down. The cushions sank beneath her weight until she felt like she was enveloped by a giant marshmallow. Folds of her denim jumper bunched beneath her hips, constricting the heavy material across her stomach. She shifted, trying to rearrange the material while she glanced around at the women chattering in groups. The warmth of belonging stole over her.

Growing up in Beverly Hills, Libby had never known her mother Liz’s neighbors. Thick walls separated Liz’s “mini-mansion” from surrounding properties, but even more isolating was her mother’s approach to life. Liz was an influencer; had started back before the word even existed. As far back as Libby could remember, her mother had obsessively curated her image and online presence while actual human connection withered. Liz talked at her audience, not to her neighbors. Everything was content; nothing was real.

From the time she was a teenager, Libby had rejected that world entirely. No Instagram, no TikTok, no carefully filtered version of herself for strangers to consume or criticize. She’d always craved the messy, unedited reality of face-to-face conversation—the kind Liz preferred to avoid. Libby had never felt at home in Beverly Hills, but Cauldron was different. Cauldron was the kind of small town she’d dreamed of, filled with people who actually cared about one another. Who interacted with each other in real time, face-to-face.

“So, were you surprised, Libby? Did you really believe Susan was just having a jewelry party?” Anabel Royce demanded.

Libby abandoned the battle with her skirt to answer the slim brunette. “I was completely surprised.”

“Didn’t you think it was odd I made you work overtime at the store tonight after you’d asked for the evening off?”

“I certainly did.” But she really hadn’t found it surprising at all. Anabel, who had hired her to clerk at the department store, hadn’t been pleased when her new help had turned up pregnant after only a couple of months on the job, grumbling a bit about having to find someone to replace Libby while she was on maternity leave. Libby had assumed tonight’s overtime was simply an expression of her boss’s displeasure. She’d been doubly sure of it when Anabel had arranged for old Bill, one of the janitorial staff, to drop her off at Susan’s instead of waiting for Libby herself.

How wrong she’d been—how wrong about them all. As out-of-date as the town seemed at time, everyone accepted without comment that she was single and pregnant with no sign of the baby’s father in sight. They’d all been more than kind, not even questioning her about the baby’s father once they learned—via Christine—that she preferred not to talk about him.

“Did you hear we’ll be having a sale in the infants’ department this week?” Brooke Coffman asked softly, and Libby brushed a strand of rain-damp hair off her cheek, turning to smile up at the younger woman perched on the arm of her chair. Brooke worked in the store, too, and as soon as she’d learned Libby was expecting, she’d made it her business to keep her informed of upcoming sales. “They have some darling outfits discounted,” Brooke added. “Even cheaper than you can find online.”

Libby’s mouth turned down ruefully. “I think I’d better stock up on the more practical stuff like diapers.”

“But Libby, your baby can’t run around in diapers all the time,” Anabel interjected, smoothing her designer dress. She lowered her voice, “I might be able increase your employee discount some. The right clothes are so important.”

Not to a child, Libby thought. She’d had plenty of the ‘right’ clothes growing up—and all she’d craved was love. Still, it was nice of Anabel to worry about it. She smiled up at the woman, saying, “Thanks, Anabel, but once my mother hears about the baby, I’m sure I’ll have more outfits than the baby could ever wear.”

“Why Elizabeth Sinclair, you told me weeks ago you planned on telling your mother about the baby immediately. You mean you still haven’t done it yet?” a shrill voice inquired.

Her mother wasn’t the only one she hadn’t told, Libby thought involuntarily. For a moment, a pair of piercing blue eyes flashed in her mind.

She blinked, dispelling the vision as Brooke whispered, “Uh oh, you’re in for it now. Cauldron’s most notorious know-it-all is headed this way.”

Libby looked up to find Pamela Peyton, with her silent shadow of a daughter Dorrie in tow, elbowing her way toward Libby’s chair. Libby said admonishingly, “C’mon, Brooke, she’s not that bad.”

“No, she just can’t understand that not everyone wants her advice on their private business,” her friend whispered, and moved discreetly away as the pair approached.

The other women standing nearby followed suit and cowardly, Libby wished she could escape also. Not that she disliked Mrs. Peyton, she assured herself hastily. It was just that she received a lecture from Christine’s nearest neighbor every time they met, her attempts to avoid the older woman meeting with no success. Libby always got caught.

She forced a welcoming smile as Mrs. Peyton planted her stout body in front of Libby’s chair while Dorrie hovered timidly in the background. The matron’s pointed nose seemed to quiver in her round face as she declared, “Goodness gracious, Elizabeth. I’d let my Dorrie Jean know a thing or two if she didn’t tell me the moment she was expecting.”

“Mother…” Dorrie, blushing fiery red, plucked fruitlessly at her mother’s sleeve.

Mrs. Peyton shrugged her off. “Now, Dorrie Jean, Libby knows I always speak my mind…”

Yes, Libby certainly knew that—Pamela Peyton had a reputation for speaking her mind to anyone in Cauldron who would listen.

“…and I think her mother will be disappointed she wasn’t told sooner.” Mrs. Peyton turned back to Libby. “Don’t you agree?” she demanded.

“I don’t think my mother and I have the same kind of relationship as you and Dorrie,” Libby admitted. At least, not anymore. Mrs. Peyton kept tabs on, and criticized every move her poor daughter made. Libby hadn’t spoken to her mother since she’d moved to Cauldron.

Mrs. Peyton persisted, “Still, not telling her must worry you…”

No, not telling Liz Sinclair was the least of Libby’s worries. Not telling the baby’s father—now that was another story.

“In fact, a girl’s mother should be the first to know…”

Libby shifted uncomfortably. Maybe she should have told him—first thing.

“She might be shocked…”

He’d be stunned.

“…and maybe a little upset…”

Furious was more like it.

“…but I’m sure she won’t blame you…”

Maybe he wouldn’t—at least not completely. The problem was she really didn’t know him well enough to predict how he’d react. All she knew was that he had no interest in settling down—in Cauldron or anywhere else—and certainly no intention of getting married. He’d made that clear enough.

Mrs. Peyton leaned closer. “Tell her, Elizabeth. Tell her right away and get it over with.”

Should she tell him? Libby bit her lip. She’d replayed that morning so many times—the emergency call yanking him away, the rushed goodbye, his promise to “be back when I can.” She’d waited weeks for him to call. Weeks of staring at that emergency number, wondering if her situation qualified. Wondering if he’d think she’d gotten pregnant on purpose to trap him.

And what would telling him accomplish? He’d made his priorities clear: his job came first. He’d either feel obligated to offer marriage—which she couldn’t accept—or he’d offer money and occasional visits, turning their child into another obligation on his calendar. Neither option was what she wanted for her baby.

His strong, determined face flashed through her mind. I never stay in one place too long—my job keeps me constantly on the move. The memory of his words banished her doubts. At least her own father, the first of Liz’s three “ex’s,” had lived close enough to visit frequently.

No, she’d made the right decision. She’d watched her mother marry men who promised to change, to be present—only to disappoint her over and over. And her own father? He’d loved her, but his visits were sporadic, his attention divided. She’d spent her childhood feeling like an interruption in his real life.

She wouldn’t do that to her baby. Better to build a stable life here in Cauldron, where people actually showed up, than to raise a child waiting for a father who might call…when it was convenient.

Besides, he certainly hadn’t made much of an effort to keep in touch. Sure, he’d left her an emergency number, but he certainly hadn’t bothered to call or contact her. Smoothing down her jumper over her stomach, Libby unconsciously lifted her chin. As far as she was concerned, he no longer had anything to do with the matter. Having this baby was her decision, and hers alone.

Mrs. Peyton patted her arm. “I can see that you realize I’m right,” she said, with all the assurance of a woman who couldn’t imagine ever being wrong.

Libby dredged up a smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Peyton,” she said, avoiding a direct answer. “You’ve been a great help.”

Looking satisfied, Mrs. Peyton allowed her daughter to lead her away to the refreshment table as the doorbell chimed again.

Susan hurried in from the kitchen. “That has to be Christine,” she said, striding toward the door. Glancing at Libby, her eyebrows rose. “Good lord, you look tense, Libby! This is supposed to be fun, for goodness sake. Try and relax a little. Lean back and take a deep breath.”

Obediently, Libby leaned back and took a deep breath—then promptly lost it again. Christine entered the hallway and right behind her Libby glimpsed a man with dark rumpled hair, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt.

A tall, broad-shouldered man. A slim-hipped, sexy man. A very grim-faced man.

“Del” A. Delaney.

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