Joss was sitting at the small breakfast table, crying into a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Before he could escape, she looked up and saw him, so he reluctantly continued into the room.
“Hey,” he said, and tried to inject interest into his voice.
In truth, he was weary of Joss’s theatrics. At her age he’d traveled halfway around the world to fight a war. But she seemed stuck in high school, and the way her family treated her, she was liable to be trapped there forever. Still, he wasn’t unsympathetic. He’d had his low times, too. “What’s up, Buttercup?” Seeing she’d left the PBJ makings on the counter, he built one for himself. “Is it Grady?”
She nodded. “Him and the baby. I don’t know what to do.”
That didn’t surprise him. He finished making his sandwich, set his plate across from hers, then went back and hunted up two glasses. “Do you care about him?” he asked, filling them with milk and taking them back to the table.
“I’m pregnant with his baby, aren’t I?”
Not much of an answer, but he let it pass. He sat down and started on his sandwich. “Do you think he cares about you?” he mumbled as he chewed.
“He says he does.”
“Do you believe him?”
“He’s not a liar, just a nag. But yes, I believe him.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
She gave one of those rolling-eye things women do so well. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yeah, Joss, it is. You either care about each other enough to try and work it out, or you don’t.” But these Whitcomb girls sure made that hard.
Another eye roll, accompanied by a long-suffering sigh.
Dalton finished his sandwich, got up, and went to the refrigerator. He rummaged around, found two apples in the vegetable bin, asked if she wanted one—which she didn’t—then brought both of them back to the table. They were small apples. “Have you talked to him? Told him what’s bothering you?”
“I tried.”
He took a bite of apple and studied her. “Try harder.”
“He won’t listen.”
“If you were crying when you talked to him, he probably couldn’t. A guy sees tears, it shuts off the listening part of his brain.”
Before she made herself dizzy with another eye roll, he said, “Look, Joss. Most men try to do the right thing. Where we get into trouble is not knowing what the right thing is. But not wanting to admit that, we punt, and usually miss the ball. If you want this to work, you need to tell Grady straight out what you want, what you don’t want, and what you expect from him. Then he can either take the ball and run with it or fumble and lose the game.”
“Neatly put, Coach.”
Dalton shrugged and bit into the apple. He’d done his best. If he was going to hold anybody’s hand through a crisis, it would be Raney’s.
He wondered if she was sleeping. And what she was wearing while she did it.
“I don’t know what to do about the baby, either,” Joss said, breaking up a really nice picture in his head of her naked sister. “I want to stick with my music, but I want to be a good mother, too. I don’t know if I can do both.”
Dalton figured that was a dilemma most mothers faced at one time or another. He didn’t have any answers, but he suspected Grady Douglas would take his role as father pretty seriously, which might lighten the load for Joss. He finished off the first apple and started on the second. “Which is more important to you?” he asked. “Music or the baby?”
She gave him that glare. “The baby, of course.” Then she sighed, and added, “But music is important to me, too. It’s not fair that I have to choose one over the other. But I’m afraid if I try to do both, I won’t be any good at either and probably end up like Crystal, alone and boozing it up just to get through the night.”
Dalton smiled. “You won’t do that. Your mama would never allow it.”
“Then what do I do?”
“You try. And if it doesn’t work, you try a different way. You’re smart, Joss. You’ll figure it out. Although it would be a damn sight easier if you had someone at your back. And not just your mama.”
“Grady?”
“That’s for you to decide.”
She thought for a moment, then nodded. A resigned nod, but with a hint of enthusiasm, too. “Maybe I should talk to him. Thanks for the advice.”
He took a last bite of apple and grinned. “Just part of the service.”
She studied him. “Speaking of servicing, what are your plans for my sister?”
Dalton almost choked. He was either the most transparent guy in history, or the Whitcomb women were all psychics. They should start their own psychic hotline.
“Here’s my advice.” Joss pushed her plate aside, leaned forward, folded her arms on the tabletop, and looked him hard in the eye. Hard enough to make him lean back in his own chair.
“Raney doesn’t hold grudges. You lie to her or screw her around, she’ll toss you out like a moldy grape and never think of you again. Be like you were never born. She would never think of retaliating. But Mama would. And the last guy who hurt one of her baby girls is now facing bankruptcy and a broken career. And if that’s not enough, I can always come up with a dozen creative ways to ruin a man’s social life.” She sat back, a scary smile on her tearstained face.
Dalton stared. “Who are you? And where is the gentle-hearted, crybaby airhead I’ve grown so fond of?”
Boom.
