Free The Sweetest September (Home in Magnolia Bend) by Liz Talley Page B

guilty, guilty enough to want to please him by stopping by the gunsmith and picking up his repaired shotgun.
    He shook his head. No time to think about guilt. No time to dwell on what might have been. He had to decide what to do about Shelby and the baby.
    Telling his folks would be hard. The Reverend Beauchamp was a principled man, and also a good man. He’d never turn away one of his flock during times of trouble, including his own son.
    But John wasn’t ready to bring any of his family, other than Abigail, into this mess...yet.
    First he had to get to know the mother of his child...and convince her he belonged in the child’s life—as more than a check and weekly phone call. Maybe introducing his family to her wasn’t the best way to do that. The Beauchamps were like a straitjacket—the more you fought against them, the tighter the binds got. But there was no way of getting around his family, especially if he took Shelby to dinner on Thursday.
    “I’ll think about this later, Freddy,” John said to the cat.
    Freddy meowed and rubbed against him insistently.
    “Yeah, I’ll do that, too,” John said, and looked at the moon.
    * * *
    S HELBY WAS BORED to tears. Okay, not real tears, but that didn’t matter. Lying in bed was only wonderful when one had a seven o’clock meeting and had to get up. When given permission to wallow via doctor’s orders, it pretty much sucked.
    For one thing, John’s sister had obviously tried to create Old South ambience, and, alas, there was no television hidden in the ornately carved wardrobe.
    To which Shelby said a modern version of “I do declare” that would have shocked Aunt Pittypat outta her hoop skirt.
    And though cold air piped though vents somewhere in the room, there wasn’t a ceiling fan. And Shelby always slept under a ceiling fan, except for that one time in Girl Scouts when she’d gone camping. Emphasis on the one time.
    Fiddle dee damn.
    So Shelby stopped counting the folds in the canopy, rose out of bed and ambled around, finding a copy of The Sound and the Fury in the drawer of the secretary. Of course, she’d rather bite her toenails than read Faulkner. She’d never cared for “the classics”—dusty books recommended by English teachers made her break out in hives. Those, along with snotty historical biographies, were what her sister, Sela, read. When Shelby had professed to loving Christian Grey and being tied up, her sister had literally lifted her nose and given her that look.
    Made Shelby want to take a paddle to her sister...and not in a kinky way.
    So she stared out the window. The Laurel Woods Bed-and-Breakfast was aptly named. Just outside the window, trees knitted together, holding mysterious woodsy secrets. Shelby had stared out, determined to enjoy the rustic peace. So far she’d spied a couple of bright red birds, one frisky squirrel and an ugly buzzard roosting in a huge tree.
    Boring.
    But then Birdie showed up.
    The child wore skinny jeans and a hoodie. Huge binoculars dangled from around her neck. Her brown hair had been scraped back into a messy ponytail, as if she could care less, and on her back swayed a large backpack. Walking intently toward the big tree in which the buzzard sat, she immediately swung up on a lower branch and started climbing. The buzzard took flight, which Birdie didn’t seem to notice. After scampering up half the tree, Birdie plopped down on a thick joint just as casual as she pleased.
    Good gracious. If the child fell, she’d break her neck.
    Surely, Abigail didn’t allow her daughter to sit in trees without...did they make tree seat belts?
    Birdie was partly visible through the half-bare branches. Shelby watched with bated breath as the child pulled off the backpack, sat a sketch pad on her lap and lifted her binoculars, training them on something to Shelby’s right. Adjusting the knob thing on top, the girl grew still and focused.
    Shelby sighed and wondered if she should say something to Abigail about the