As he turned onto the highway, Ferg downed the rest of the beer and tossed the empty can out of the car. To hell with the family drama he’d left behind. He was ready for some fun tonight, and he knew exactly the kind of fun he wanted.
It was early yet, the sunset painting blood-red streaks above the escarpment. Bonnie wouldn’t be off work until after ten. But he could hang out at the Blue Coyote, have a few drinks, and play some pool while he waited for her.
Sooner or later, he supposed, Susan would give in to pressure and agree to be engaged again. Now that Bull Tyler was out of the picture, she was bound to come around. This time, when it happened, he would be expected to behave himself. But for now, he was a free man.
The Burger Shack was busy tonight. The high school baseball team had played a rival school that afternoon. The long game had gone extra innings. Most of the fans had left the ballpark hungry.
Bonnie and the high school boy who worked evenings were hustling. Unable to find an empty seat, Ferg stood by the door. A few minutes passed before he caught her eye. She gave him a tired smile as she hurried to a booth with a tray full of food and drinks.
At last she found a free moment to talk to him. He followed her down the hall toward the restrooms. For a moment they were alone.
“So when are you off tonight?” he asked her.
“Ten. But tonight won’t work, Ferg. Danny’s home.”
So much for fun. But Ferg wasn’t ready to give up. As far as he knew, Bonnie was the only game in town. “My car’s outside,” he said. “We could do a quickie when you get a break.”
“Does that look like a break to you?” She glanced back down the hall to the swarm of customers who crowded the counter.
“I can wait till closing.” Ferg didn’t like taking no for an answer, especially when he was feeling the itch for a woman.
She shook her head. “Forget it, Ferg. I’ll be dead on my feet by closing time. And my husband’s waiting at home. You’ll have to find your fun someplace else.”
Rejection roused his mean streak. “You know, I’ve always wondered, Bonnie. Does your husband have any idea how you carry on when he’s on the road?”
Her gaze hardened. “Let’s just say he understands me. And as long as I’m there waiting when he gets home, he doesn’t want to know.” She stepped closer. “I might as well tell you now. I’m pregnant—it’s Danny’s baby, and I want it. I’m ready to be a mother. That’s why I’m done fooling around with the likes of you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got customers to wait on.”
She turned and strode away, her shapely haunches ripe and tempting beneath the thin, pink skirt of her uniform.
“Bitch!” Ferg muttered as reality sank in. Bonnie was pregnant! Pregnant! He knew better than to suspect the baby was his. She’d insisted that he use protection every time. But her husband, easygoing Danny Treadwell, had enjoyed special privileges.
So, no more fun and games with Bonnie. Damn!
Now what was he going to do?
He drove down Main Street to the Blue Coyote, where he had a couple of beers and played some pool. But it wasn’t how he’d planned to have the evening turn out. He left forty-five minutes later, still in a sour mood. With no place else to go, he took a back road that circled the outskirts of town and eventually joined up with the highway that led to the ranch.
He should’ve known better. Reverend Samuel Timmons lived on that road, in a sprawling clapboard house with his fruitful wife and eight children, counting the one his firstborn daughter had contributed to the family. That daughter was sitting alone on the front steps, under the porch light, when he drove past. Recognizing his car, she stood and gave him a timid wave.
Ordinarily Ferg would’ve ignored her and driven on past. This time he slowed the car and then pulled to a stop on the opposite side of the street. She hesitated. Then, glancing back at the house, she crossed the street and came down the walk.
Ferg lit a cigarette and waited. Edith Timmons wasn’t a bad-looking woman, he reflected. With some makeup and the right hairstyle and clothes, she could be passably attractive. As it was, she was too pale and thin for his taste, with dowdy clothes and a shy manner.
Ferg knew she still liked him, and even nourished hopes that he’d come back one day to claim her and their son. Fat chance of that. But tonight he was desperate.
As she came closer, he reached across the seat, unlatched th
e passenger door, and shoved it open. That would be all the invitation she needed.
“Hi, Ferg.” She slid onto the seat and closed the door. She was wearing a shapeless dress, its pale color indistinguishable in the dark.
“Hi.” He tossed his cigarette out of the car and started to drive. “How’re you doing, Edith?”
“Fine. So is Garn. He’s getting big—maybe he’ll be a football star like you.”
Garn. Lord, how he hated that name.
“I wish he could meet you,” she said. “You know, just as a friend.”