A Baby on the Way by Laura Marie Altom

Author:Laura Marie Altom [Laura Marie Altom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781460389874
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2015-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

While standing in warm midmorning sun, waiting for the verdict on India’s tire outside Mo’s—who was not only the best mechanic in town, but the best chili-dog maker, seeing as how his wife, Monique, ran the chalet-style diner next door—Graydon felt like kicking a tire.

What had he been thinking, asking India to the dance that way? Hadn’t he decided cooling things off would be the most appropriate course? She had a baby on the way—had already been badly hurt by her baby’s father. What this woman needed was a real man stepping up to the family plate. She needed a guy who’d be there for her and her kid 24/7. And obviously, given that he was headed back to New York Monday morning, that guy wasn’t going to be him.

“Now, what we have here,” Earl, Mo’s tire manager, said in his mountain drawl, “is your classic case of a nail shootin’ right through your tread. Pretty big nail, too. This leaves you with two ways to go. Either we can fix your existing tire—a repair that usually lasts fairly well but could open you up for a potential blowout somewhere down the road. Or we could get you a whole new tire. Up to you how you want to go.”

“She’ll take the new tire,” Graydon said. “For safety’s sake.”

“Do you really think that’s necessary?” India asked.

“Hey,” he said softly in her ear while Earl got a jumpstart on the order ticket. “You’ve got a baby on the way. Can you ever be too careful? This burgh might be all flowers and sunshine this time of year, but once winter rolls around, you’ll be grateful to have tackled the issue now.”

In the end, she agreed, which left Graydon feeling like a bigger heel. What right had he to interfere in this woman’s life—be it in making a decision on tires, or anything else?

“How long will it take?” she asked Earl.

“I’m pretty sure we have this model tire in stock, and the only thing standing between you and your tire’s installation is Fred Schmidt’s deluxe oil change, so all in all, not more than an hour.” Graydon watched while India signed the forms on Earl’s busted clipboard. Poor guy, he’d been using the same one for as long as Graydon could remember. Had it duct-taped around the middle. He was the kind of man who could fix damn near anything, be it a car, hot-water heater or his three sons’ bikes. Graydon wanted to be like that. A capable, dependable father. Having been married to Brenda for what seemed like forever, Earl was presumably a great husband, too. Everyone always spoke highly of him. As though he was a man you could trust.

And when they speak of me?

Comments from the past came to mind.

“Dude, that guy’s insane! Have you seen him throw a reverse half-pipe?”

Or, “My man Gray here can chug six beers in sixty seconds.”

“I’m sorry,” Sheriff Holloway had said to Graydon’s folks late one Friday night during his senior year, “but we had to take in your son for vandalism and underage drinking.

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