One Night Standoff - By Delores Fossen Page 0,27

murder. And there were also the notes she’d read about Clayton’s childhood. It’d been miserable. But then, so had hers.

“I didn’t know my dad,” Lenora said without thinking. It definitely wasn’t something she volunteered often, but somehow it seemed less awkward than discussing her own pregnancy or Clayton’s qualifications as a father. “My parents never married, and my mom never even told me my dad’s name until after he’d died.”

Clayton looked at her from the corner of his eye. Frowned and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

Yes. So was she, and unfortunately her mother’s actions had affected Lenora’s own. Sometimes for the good. Others, not so much. She’d gone through life needing her father, and she had learned his identity too late.

“I’m hiring a surrogate,” Wyatt said out of the blue.

It was suddenly so quiet, Lenora could hear her own heart beating. Judging from everyone’s expression, this was unexpected news. But at least the attention was off her for the time being.

“Before Ann died, we’d planned on having kids,” Wyatt went on. His gaze swung to Lenora’s. “Ann was my wife, and she passed away years ago from a rare blood disorder.”

“I’m sorry.” And she was. She didn’t know Wyatt well, but she could see the pain still in his eyes.

“I’ve always wanted a kid,” Wyatt added. Not defensively. He had a smoothness about him. Not just in his voice but his expression. “I figured I might never find another woman like Ann. In fact, I’ve decided I want to quit looking, so I’m hiring a surrogate.”

“You think the timing is wise?” Harlan asked. “We’re all pretty much suspects as an accessory to Jonah Webb’s murder. And unless his wife comes out of a coma and clears our names, we’re likely to stay suspects.”

With everything else going on, Lenora hadn’t given that investigation much thought, but it was clearly a dark cloud hanging over all of them.

“The Rangers could be investigating Webb’s death for years,” Wyatt argued. “After that, it could be something else. The job, the ranch, you name it. I figure there’s no perfect time to be a father, and I don’t want to put my life on hold.” He paused. “Besides, next week would have been Ann’s thirty-second birthday, and that’s when we’d planned to start our family.”

Stella made a sound of agreement, but that was the only response for several moments.

“How many embryos did Ann and you store before her treatments started?” Kirby asked.

Now Wyatt looked uncomfortable. “Only one was viable.”

Lenora guessed that one viable embryo might not be enough to assure a pregnancy. She felt for Wyatt, but her level of discomfort went up a notch for another reason. This was a family discussion about a private matter, and she shouldn’t be part of it. Still, it didn’t seem right to just stand up and excuse herself.

“So there’s to be two kids. Yours and Clayton’s,” Harlan grumbled. He was opposite of the smooth Wyatt. His voice was a rusty growl, and his sheer size made him intimidating.

“He’s just worried he’ll have to change diapers,” Stella joked and gave Harlan’s beefy arm a playful jab with her finger. Her expression turned more serious when she looked back at Wyatt, then Clayton. “News like this is good for the family and for you. Isn’t that right, Kirby?”

Kirby made a sound that could possibly have been agreement. Everyone’s attention came back to Clayton and Lenora again. Maybe because everyone was waiting for them to verify they would indeed be a family.

Something she couldn’t verify at all.

Thankfully, the sound of the footsteps gave her a reprieve. But when she saw that it was another marshal brother, Dallas, Lenora wasn’t sure it was much a reprieve this time.

“Sorry to interrupt your dinner.” Dallas dropped the folder on the table next to Clayton. “Agent James Britt had it delivered to the office. It’s the file on Quentin Hewitt, and I thought you’d want to see it right away.”

“I do.” Clayton pushed his plate aside to make room so he could open the folder.

“Agent Britt’s still not returning my calls, though,” Dallas added, looking at Clayton. “Did you manage to get in touch with him?”

“No.” And Clayton clearly wasn’t pleased about that. Neither was she. Because they wanted answers about James’s association with the dead hit man. “I’ve gone over his head and called his boss. Maybe that’ll get some kind of reaction.”

It would. But Lenora prayed it was a reaction that didn’t lead to another attack.

Lenora pushed away her plate, too, and moved closer