Chapter Four #2
“You know, now that I’ve had some time to think about it, I do recall Leighton mentioning a sister...and referring to her as a stick-in-the-mud.”
“That would be me,” Beth agreed.
Now he frowned. “It’s no fun to take a shot at someone who doesn’t shoot back.”
“Why would you expect anything different from a stick-in-the-mud?” she asked him. “And, for the record, she’s also referred to me as a worrywart, a spoilsport and a killjoy.”
“And the one who always does the right thing,” he added.
“What?”
“I forgot that,” he said, speaking almost to himself. “I guess she talked about you more than I realized, because I can remember her telling me that you were the one who always did the right thing. ‘Little Miss Perfect’—cleaning up the messes she made.”
“Not a term of endearment,” she acknowledged wryly.
“I’m not so sure,” he mused. “I think she really looks up to you, her older-by-twenty-two-months sister.”
That earned him a hint of a smile. And he couldn’t help noticing how pretty she was when she smiled.
But apparently she’d said everything she intended to on the subject of her sister, because the next time Beth spoke, it was to ask a completely random question.
“Aren’t you supposed to be ranching?”
The vagueness and broadness of the question proved to Wilder that she was as unfamiliar with the responsibilities of a rancher as he was those of a parent.
“I wish,” he said.
At her lifted brow, he shrugged. “Although ranching is a year-round job, things slow down a little in winter. Aside from feeding the cattle and livestock every day, we mostly focus on maintenance of buildings and equipment and perimeter fence checks, cutting and collecting firewood, and clearing snow.”
“That sounds busy enough to me,” she remarked.
“It is,” he agreed. “But my dad assured me that he had plenty of hands to do the chores that needed to be done and that my hands should be taking care of the baby.”
“Obviously he hasn’t seen you try to change a diaper,” she teased.
“Kids aren’t really my thing,” he acknowledged. Not that there was any chance she might have assumed otherwise.
“You know there’s an easy way out of your dilemma,” she said. “You could let me take Cody back to Dallas and pretend the last forty-eight hours never happened.”
“Don’t think I’m not tempted, but I don’t walk away from my mistakes.”
Beth bristled. “Cody is not a mistake.”
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he said, immediately regretting his unthinking response.
“Then what did you mean?” she challenged.
“Let me just say that I wasn’t thrilled to learn that I might be a father to a baby I didn’t know anything about,” Wilder told her. “And your questions about his paternity make me wonder how many other men Leighton was dating while we were together.”
“I don’t know,” Beth admitted. “She didn’t share those kinds of details with me.”
Except to point out that Leighton, unlike Beth, had a personal life. Or remark that Beth was such a killjoy no one would ever be interested in her.
Beth never let her sister know how much those comments hurt. Because as much as Leighton could be kind and generous at times, she could also be hard and cruel, and—like a shark scenting blood—any sign of weakness could escalate her attack.
Beth pushed those uncomfortable memories aside to refocus on her conversation with Wilder. “And I didn’t mean to suggest that there were others...during the time that she was with you. She didn’t juggle men like that.”
“That’s a relief, I guess,” he noted.
But the glance he sent in the direction of the now sleeping baby suggested to Beth that he was still more wary than reassured.
“My dad seems convinced that he’s a Crawford, but I’m not quite willing to let myself be put on the hook on the basis of his gut feeling.”
“If that’s your attitude, then I really hope you’re not Cody’s father,” she said.
“You don’t think I should want proof?”
“Of course you should want proof,” she said. “But instead of worrying about whether you’re ‘on the hook,’ you might consider fatherhood as an opportunity rather than an obligation.”
“I guess there’s only one way to decide our next step,” he said, and reached for his cell phone.
“Who are you calling?” Beth asked, as she dipped her fork into her pie again.
“The medical clinic—as soon as I can find the number,” he said, searching for the listing.
“For a paternity test?” she guessed.
He nodded.
She chewed as Wilder connected the call, but her attention was no longer on the pie.
“Okay,” Wilder said, when he’d set his phone aside again. “We’ve got an appointment at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“That was quick,” she said, surprised.
“The sooner we get the test done, the sooner we can get the results,” he pointed out.
She nodded her agreement, eager to know the truth and still a little bit worried about what that truth might be.
“If it turns out that the baby isn’t mine, I won’t object to you taking him back to Dallas,” Wilder continued. “Until then, however, he isn’t going anywhere.”
“But...the results will probably take several days. Maybe even longer.”
“I guess that’s possible,” he acknowledged.
“You can’t expect me to stay in Rust Creek Falls that long,” she protested.
“You can leave anytime you want,” he said. “But you’ll leave without the baby.”