They both laughed. Then Winnie continued, “According to Brock, my first faux pas was serving Maddie Turner at the café.”
“Maddie’s one of your best customers. Why wouldn’t you serve her?”
“Because.” She paused dramatically. “Maddie Turner and Olive Lambert are sisters.”
Mentally Laurel compared the two women. “Impossible.” Olive was fine-boned and elegant, while Maddie was sturdy and down-to-earth.
“Yes. Estranged sisters. I guess it’s an unspoken rule in the Lambert family that no one is to talk to Maddie or even acknowledge the fact that she exists.”
“How bizarre. What happened to cause the rift? Did Brock ever tell you?”
“He didn’t even know. It’s like some big family secret.”
“And is that the whole reason Olive Lambert doesn’t like you? Because you dared to serve coffee and baked goods to her sister?”
Winnie laughed. “Not hardly. Olive had someone else in mind for Brock. A daughter of one of her bigwig ranching buddies. It made her crazy that he picked me instead.”
Laurel never knew whether to believe Winnie when she talked about Olive this way. “Is it really possible, in this day and age, that a mother would think she had the right to arrange a marriage for her son?”
“It sounds crazy. Yes. But you have to see her in action. She never raises her voice or argues—she has this passive-aggressive way of getting her way. Her
children—in particular, her sons—can’t seem to jump high enough trying to please her.”
Laurel didn’t doubt that Winnie believed what she was saying, but at the same time she suspected that Winnie’s point of view was biased. Because Winnie also had a very strong personality. And it was possible that they had suffered from a clash of personalities.
But how unfortunate that they hadn’t been able to move past their differences after Brock’s death. The two women who had loved him most should have been able to share their grief.
“Have you considered selling the Cinnamon Stick and moving closer to your parents permanently?”
“I have,” Winnie admitted. “Mom and Dad have been pushing me to do just that. But this morning I called the real estate agent who sold me the property. Unfortunately, the market has softened in the past year. Even if I was lucky enough to sell the place, I’d never get back what I put into it.”
Laurel took a moment to absorb this. “So you’re stuck here?”
“Pretty much.”
“Then you’ve got to make peace with the Lamberts. Living in Coffee Creek, you won’t be able to avoid them. And think of what it could mean to your baby. He’d have all those uncles and an aunt and a grandmother....”
Another sigh from Winnie. “What you say makes sense. I will try to make nice with Olive. I promise. Just...not quite yet.”
“Don’t put it off too long, okay?”
“I won’t. As long as you promise to get your butt back to New York and that fabulous new job of yours.”
“About that.” Laurel hesitated. Putting this in words was going to make it seem so real. But she had to face up to facts. And who better to trust than Winnie? “I’m not so sure that I can go back to New York just yet. I’ve come up against a bit of a speed bump.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know how I said I’ve been tired? Well, I’ve also been nauseous. And today I realized that I haven’t had my period since I left New York.”
Winnie’s soft gasp was audible. “Really, Laurel?”
“Afraid so. I believe I’m about two months pregnant.”
“So it must have happened right before you left New York. But I didn’t think you were dating anyone seriously back there.”
“I wasn’t.” Here was the tricky part. “Actually, it happened on the night of your rehearsal dinner.”
“Shut up. It did not.”
Laurel let her friend process for a few moments.
Sure enough, it didn’t take Winnie long to come up with the right answer.
“That must mean Corb is the father? The two of you seemed awfully cozy that night, but I never guessed—”
“You were too busy being crazy in love with Brock to notice.”
“Yes. I suppose I was.” Pain registered briefly in Winnie’s voice before she returned to the subject under discussion. “Have you told him?”
“I can’t, Winnie. He doesn’t remember anything.”
“Are you serious?”
“It’s called retrograde amnesia. Apparently he doesn’t recall anything much from the week before the accident. When he came into the café today, he didn’t know my name. He acted like we had never met!”
“How awful for you.”
“It was bizarre. He started asking me questions—the same questions he asked when he was driving me home from the airport. At times I thought he had to be faking it, but he really doesn’t remember me, Winnie. How can I tell him that he got me pregnant?”
“Back up a minute. Are you sure you’re pregnant? Have you taken a test?”
“No. But—”
“You’ve got to take the test.”
“I already checked the general store. They don’t carry those pregnancy test kits. The next time I’m in Lewistown I’ll—”
“No need to wait that long. I bought a couple boxes when I took my own test. In case I screwed it up or something. Look under the bathroom sink.”
Laurel suddenly felt shaky and weak. She realized she was scared silly. It was one thing to suspect you were pregnant.
Quite another to know for sure.
“Want me to call you back?” she asked Winnie.
“Are you kidding? I’ll hold,” answered her friend. “Now get in the bathroom and pee on that stick.”
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Corb took a little longer with his chores than usual. Partly because of the nagging headache that he just couldn’t shake. And partly because of a certain redhead that he wished he could remember.
On his way toward the ranch house, where breakfast would be waiting, he came across Jackson, carrying a sack of feed over his shoulder.
“Why don’t you leave that for a bit and join Mom and me for breakfast?” Corb asked.
Before the accident, a typical day had seen him, Brock, Jackson and Olive eating together every morning after chores. But since Corb had been released from hospital, Jackson hadn’t joined them once.
“Nah. I’d rather finish with the horses. I’ll eat later.”
Jackson was a quiet guy. Though lately he’d been more quiet than usual. Corb paused, wondering if he should insist that Jackson take a break and get some food.
But Jackson had already ducked into the far barn with the special feed they’d purchased for Lucy. They had another equestrian barn on the property for the American Quarter Horses which they bred for sale. The purebreds and the working horses were never allowed to mingle.
Then there was the cattle barn, clear on the other side of the yard, where Corb spent most of his time.
Coffee