Laurel took a sip of her sparkling water. “No. We’ll wait until the second trimester. I’m not ready to share the news with anyone else yet.”
Her mother studied her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” Laurel said, and then quickly decided to be truthful. “I don’t think I can be the mother that you are.” There, she’d finally said the words.
Deidre shocked her by laughing. “Of course, you won’t be the mother I am. You’ll be the mother you are. You can’t compare yourself to anybody else, Laurel. I believe you learned that a very long time ago.”
The truth in that statement caught Laurel. “Yes, but children require affection and fun and goofiness and love. Everything I do comes from the brain, not the heart.”
Deidre tilted her head. “So? Maybe your kid will be the same.”
Laurel took another drink. “What if I’m more like Abigail than like you?” She wasn’t one to express fears because there was no logic in doing so. Yet this one would not leave her alone.
Deidre slapped a palm on the weathered table. “That’s one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard. Abigail is a crazy psychopath, and you are a sweetheart, as am I.” She grinned. “This baby will get the best of all of us, including Huck, who seems like a fairly sentimental guy.” Not many people in town would consider Huck to be anywhere near sentimental, but Deidre saw things in people that Laurel never did.
“He has become rather overprotective. I imagine he’ll be so with his child as well.”
“I imagine so,” Deidre said dryly. “I’m rather surprised he hasn’t popped the question.”
Laurel blinked. “Why would he do that?”
Deidre stared at her for a moment. “Because you’re having a baby together. He seems like a rather old-fashioned guy. Isn’t that what normally happens?”
Laurel gently nudged Fred off her foot, stood, and took her plate to the sink. “I have no idea.” She cared about the captain, but she’d never envisioned herself being married—or having a child for that matter. Yet here she stood, pregnant.
Her mom brought over her own plate and slipped an arm around Laurel’s waist. “I didn’t say that to cause you concern. The idea just popped into my head.”
“I know.” Laurel leaned into her mom.
“Plus, look at the bright side,” Deidre said. “Hopefully, the baby will get Huck’s height or even mine. I’m not sure why you’re so short.”
Laurel elbowed her, understanding intellectually that her mom was trying to lighten the mood. “I’m not short.” Yet every available metric showed her to be shorter than the average woman. Such a silly and inconsequential thing should not bother her to the degree that it did. “I need to buy more heels.”
Her mom chuckled. “Good one.”
Laurel took a deep breath, noting her mother’s clear eyes and strong posture. Now was a good time to discuss a difficult topic. “How are you doing now that Zeke Caine is back in town?” The pastor had raped Deidre, and it couldn’t be easy knowing he was close. That he was Laurel’s father.
Deidre’s chin lowered. “I’m fine. Mostly because my daughter, the brilliant FBI agent, is going to discover one of his more recent crimes and put him away.”
That was absolutely Laurel’s plan. The statute of limitations had run out on the crime against her mother, but certainly the bastard had committed other ones. “I am going to do exactly that.”
Deidre smiled. “I know. For now, why don’t you go get started with your knitting and I’ll do the dishes.”
“I can do the dishes,” Laurel said.
“Go.” Deidre gently nudged her.
Laurel happily wandered to the back of the house where they’d set up a knitting room. In college she’d discovered a need for knitted boots and hats for premature babies and so had created a nonprofit organization that now served hospitals all over the country. To relax, she and her mother both knitted, and then sent the results to the warehouse for distribution. She sat in a comfortable recliner chair and reached for light blue yarn to begin a new set of booties. Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her back pocket. “Agent Snow.”
“Hey, it’s Huck. Did you get a good dinner?”
Her stomach felt full. “I had pot roast. You are welcome to come over and have a plate, if you like.”
“Thanks,” he muttered. “But I’m going to take the dog home. We both need to run for a while.” Huck often jogged to keep in shape and stave off stress.
She pursed her lips. “You’ve been working out a lot lately.”
“I need to run off the interview with Rachel,” he retorted.
