Undeserving (Undeniable #5)(85)

Quickly straightening, Willis started the car.

"We're gonna tail some broad?"

Pulling the car onto the street, Willis shrugged. "Why the fake papers? What's she hiding? I want to find out who the hell she really is."

"And then what?"

"She's pregnant, Jim. I'm willing to bet this one means something to him." He shrugged again. "Who knows …  maybe we can use her."





Chapter 27


"More cookies, please?"

Tiny fingers beckoned Debbie from just below the edge of the countertop. Leaning over, she found a pair of dark eyes framed in long, thick lashes blinking up at her from beneath a messy mop of brown hair.

"Frankie," she cooed, grinning at the toddler. She crooked her finger. "Come here, you."

Little legs, thick with baby fat, wobbled around the kitchen counter. Scooping Frankie into her arms, Debbie set him down on the countertop. After a quick glance toward the hall, ensuring no one would catch her, she slipped her hand inside a large metal tin and handed Frankie another cookie, which he promptly put in his mouth.

"Good?" she asked, ruffling his hair. Frankie smiled around a mouthful of cookie. Eyes wide, he nodded vigorously. 

"Aw, Debbie!" Storming into the kitchen, Sylvia sent Debbie a scathing look. "Those are for the church potluck tomorrow!"

Balancing her son Trey on her hip, Sylvia began checking through the numerous tins full of goodies she'd spent the entire weekend preparing. "God bless Ginny and this giant kitchen. Or thanks to you two, I wouldn't have any cookies left!"

The clubhouse kitchen was spacious, with ample counter space, wall-to-wall cupboards, and every appliance under the sun. It was also oddly mismatching, with country wooden cupboards, green tiled walls, and a red linoleum floor. Ginny's unique, colorful tastes had even extended to her kitchen.

"I could never do all this in my kitchen at home," Sylvia continued. "You hear that, Joey? Can't even cook a decent lasagna in that glorified closet you call a kitchen!"

Both Debbie and Frankie cringed as Sylvia's voice turned shrill. Trey only opened his tiny mouth in a wide, toothless yawn.

"I swear that man is hidin' from me," she muttered. "Only time I ever see him anymore is when he's crawling into bed at night wantin' somethin'. He gets his rocks off and all I get is pregnant."

Sylvia glanced sideways at Debbie. "Not that I need to tell you about that."

Reflexively, Debbie's hand went to her stomach. Whereas Sylvia was only two months pregnant and couldn't stop talking about it, Debbie was nearly six months along and still having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that she was pregnant at all.

She didn't want a baby. She was only seventeen and didn't know the first thing about being a mother. She couldn't even think about the birth or what would come after without feeling anxious and breaking out in a cold sweat. What if she was as horrible a mother as her own had been?

Debbie shuddered through her next few breaths. This pregnancy wasn't fair to either of them-her or the baby growing inside her.

Worse, she was alone in her feelings. Preacher seemed …  almost happy about it.

Maybe because it served as a distraction from the ugly things that often plagued his thoughts. Most nights Debbie would find him wide awake and pacing the hallway in their tiny apartment. Debbie would go to him, and Preacher would pull her into his arms. Eventually, his hands almost always ended up on her belly, and his entire expression would shift-the shadows would flee his face and his eyes would brighten.

They never spoke of what bothered them-Preacher didn't talk of what kept him up at night and, not wanting to burden him further, Debbie kept her pregnancy fears to herself. They'd talk only about meaningless things-television sitcoms, whatever idiotic thing Tiny had done recently, and Debbie's frequent outings with the girls.

For the first time in nearly two years, her hair was styled, cut into feathered layers, and enhanced by her natural waves. And her nails were done, painted a soft pink that matched the color of the flower studs in her ears. Her outfit today was simple yet fashionable-a white, long-sleeved peasant top paired with a beige corduroy skirt. Dark tights and knee-high boots completed the ensemble.

Flicking a cookie crumb off her skirt, she couldn't help but smile. A year ago she never would have thought she'd be wearing clothing like this again. A year ago she'd never have imagined this was where she'd be-in New York City, in love with a man, and blessed with all the creature comforts she'd thought she'd lost forever.

And so Debbie took solace in how different things were now compared to a year ago. How incredibly lucky she was and, aside from her pregnancy, how good things were with Preacher.