The girl squealed. “The sheriff?”
“No, sweetheart. We’re not calling the sheriff. You haven’t done anything wrong.” Meg turned to Owen and lifted her chin. When he was young and foolish, that stubborn chin had melted him right to his bones. Good thing he was older and immune.
“I’m out of here,” Shelly declared. She struggled to her feet. “Where’s my stuff?”
Hip stood, towering over her. “Whoa.”
“Got something to hide?” Owen asked.
“Got something to do,” was the snippy reply. “Lots to do.”
“Well,” Owen drawled, conscious of Meg’s protective attitude toward the kid. God forbid he interject some common sense into this situation. “So do I.”
He looked at Meg until she met his gaze. “Her last name is Smith and she’s from Boise. She’s eighteen years old and she has seventy bucks in her wallet. No credit cards, no checkbook.”
“You looked in my bag?”
Owen ignored the girl’s question and looked at Hip. “Call me about the bear.”
Hip nodded. “I can fix it there if Aurora says it’s okay.”
“Who’s Aurora?”
“She bought the place a few years ago,” Hip said.
“What happened to Mick?”
“A woman in Santa Fe.”
Well, that made sense. Mick and his father had been good friends, but the bar owner wasn’t the devoted family man Owen’s father had been. “Keep me posted, then.”
“Will do,” Hip promised, packing up his equipment.
And that, Owen decided, striding across the room to the door, just about maxed out his civic responsibilities for one day. He wouldn’t be coming back to town again anytime soon.
* * *
NOTHING HAD CHANGED, Meg realized, no matter how the man pretended to be pleasant. It had always been easy for Owen MacGregor to walk away. She certainly wasn’t surprised. He was as predictable as the bus driver who figured his schedule came first.
Why he had returned with Hip was a mystery, but Meg supposed he’d been curious about the emergency phone call. Not that he’d been interested in anything to do with Willing for fourteen years. So why now?
Meg knew she’d hear about it eventually. Secrets were hard to keep in this little part of Montana. And secrets there were this morning. She watched Hip guide the girl into a chair and say something to make her smile and shake her head. Jerry moved to stand beside her. “Looks like the crisis is over?”
“For now,” she told Jerry, whose gaze was also on the girl.
“I’ll give her a ride to Lewistown,” he said. “And I’ll personally take her to the clinic.”
“That’s nice of you, but then what?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think she has any family or any place to go. And obviously not very much money, either.”
“I’ll talk to social services then, see what they can do for her.”
“She could end up on the streets,” she worried. Meg didn’t think the girl would go along with that plan. She was a runaway, Meg guessed. In trouble because she was pregnant, possibly, and searching for the man she thought would be the answer to her prayers. That was the part that Meg hated to think about: a pregnant teenager putting all her faith in someone who didn’t tell her his last name or where he lived. “I think she has other ideas, Jer.”
“She certainly didn’t want us to call the sheriff. She doesn’t look like a criminal,” he mused, “but you might want to keep an eye on the cash register.”
“Al has that covered.” The old grump stood with his arms folded across his massive body, as if daring anyone to order anything from the kitchen. “He doesn’t like anything that upsets the routine. And he particularly hates Kermit. The bus passengers are always rushed, which means Al can’t get the food out fast enough.”
“And Al doesn’t like to be rushed?”
“About as much as he likes surprises. Can you keep an eye on the little mother for a few minutes?”
“Sure. And unless I’m going down to Lewistown, I’m going to get posters printed up for the town meeting.”
“You’re not wasting any time.”
“No, ma’am,” he said, imitating a Western drawl. “Y’all have to strike while the iron is hot.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She laughed. With one last glance at Shelly, who looked less pale and sipped water under Hip’s watchful eyes, Meg retreated to the relative privacy of the kitchen and its ancient wall phone.
If anyone knew about being pregnant, it was Lucia. The woman had given birth to three boys in six years and still had a sense of humor. Right now Meg needed an expert opinion.
“Hi, Meg,” Lucia said, answering the call.
“Hi. Can you come over here?”
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“What’s wrong? Are you sick? Is it Al? Did he quit again?”
“No. I need some advice. About being pregnant and—”
“What? Pregnant? You don’t even date!”
“Lu,” she tried to explain, “I’m not talking about—”
“You called me. What do you mean, you’re not talking about it?”
Meg started to laugh. “Luce, I’m not pregnant. But I have a kid here who is, and she fainted and then the bus left and Jerry called Hip and now I need help.”
“Hip? What would he know about pregnant women?” Meg heard the sound of pleading from Lucia’s youngest. “In a minute. Find your boots—the red ones—and get your backpack. Sorry about that, Meg. We’re getting ready to go to Mama’s for lunch.”
“Lasagna or chicken parm?”
“Chicken parm.”
“Nice.” That was an understatement. Lucia had lucked out when she’d married Mama’s only son. “That’s okay, I won’t keep you long. I just needed advice.”
“You’re not going to get a whole lot from Hip.”
Meg agreed. “That’s the point. And I don’t know what to do with her. She’s stranded. And she won’t let anyone drive her to the hospital or the clinic.”
“You said kid. How old is she?”
“Eighteen, but she looks younger than that.”
“How pregnant?”
“Enough to look pregnant, but awfully thin.”
There was silence as Lucia thought this over. “I’ll just bet she hasn’t had any prenatal care. Where’s she going?”
“She’s looking for her boyfriend. Except she doesn’t know where he is or what his last name is...so I’m not thinking she has a great chance of finding him. Montana’s a pretty big place to begin looking for a guy named Sonny.”
“Oh, my.”
“Exactly.”
“Can you talk her into staying and seeing the doctor tomorrow? She’s going to need vitamins and blood tests and an ultrasound. Unless you