Cop's Secret Baby: This Secret Baby, #5

By Rachel Foster

Chip Curtis is recently divorced and not ready for another relationship. His wife Jennifer left him after she decided she didn't want kids with him because of his career as a police officer. It made her too scared. Sophia is recently widowed with a two year old daughter, Madelyn. Her husband left her enough money from his passing to have her dream hair salon. Now one of his friends has broken into her salon and the businesses around it. Chip not only helps catch him but also helps bring her peace and comfort. Now they're falling for each other and just when Sophia is ready for Chip to meet Madelyn, his ex shows up. Will Chip be able to fight for Sophia or will he try to fix his failed marriage with his now ex wife? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: 3rd Publishing
• Release date: Mar 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798201035976

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Cop's Secret Baby

Rachel Foster

Copyright © 2018 by Rachel Foster

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

1. Chip

2. Sophia

3. Chip

4. Sophia

5. Chip

6. Sophia

7. Chip

8. Sophia

9. Chip

10. Sophia

11. Chip

12. Sophia

13. Chip

14. Sophia

15. Chip

16. Sophia

17. Chip

18. Sophia

19. Chip

20. Sophia

21. Chip

22. Sophia

23. Chip

24. Sophia

25. Chip

26. Sophia

27. Chip

28. Sophia

29. Chip

30. Sophia

31. Chip

32. Sophia

33. Chip

34. Sophia

35. Chip

36. Sophia

37. Chip

38. Sophia

39. Chip

Epilogue – Sophia

1

Chip

I

pulled into the back parking lot at the police station and turned off the unmarked cruiser. I sat there for a little while, listening to the engine groan softly before dying into silence. The outside heat began to invade the vehicle almost immediately, erasing the hard-won coolness obtained by blasting the air-conditioning on high for the whole ten hours I’d been on duty. I grunted and grabbed my keys and stepped out into the dull, suffocating heat of Minnesota summer. The heat hung in a haze in the air and rose from the concrete, forming a distortion in the middle ground. Crows cawed from a nearby cornfield, but even their calls were stifled, as if they lacked the energy to truly vocalize.

I wiped a thin, clammy layer of sweat from my brow and headed into the station. The air in there was even cooler than it had been in the vehicle, almost frigid. I sighed with relief as I headed to the computer room to fill out my time sheet. At other stations, cops had roll call, or a time clock, or an automated number they needed to call to verify when they went on and off work. But this was a rural station and there were only about fifteen beat cops total, and most of them were part-timers. They operated mostly on the honor-system. This was a small town. If someone lied about their time, the shift supervisor could easily find out by asking around at the local grocery store.

Why grocery stores were such a wealth of knowledge, I had no idea. Maybe because plenty of people passed through there on a daily basis, and the bored clerks had nothing to do except chat while mechanically swiping items across the scanner.

But that was the way of small towns. Everyone knew everything eventually, and secrets never stayed secrets. For instance, it was no secret that there was a new hair salon opening up in town. The owner was said to have moved in only a couple months ago. An outsider.

I had yet to drop by, though I would like to when I had the opportunity. Even if some of the other cops didn’t take their jobs too seriously, I did. I wanted everyone who worked and lived in Sweetwater to know they were safe and protected, that they were more than nameless, faceless numbers. They were real people whose lives he was sworn to guard.

Well, if it isn’t the big city detective come to show us in the hamlet how it’s done.

I ignored Nelson until I finished filling out my time sheet. I put the sheet back in its folder, and put the folder away in the holder on the wall, where the shift supervisor could review it. Finally, I turned back to Nelson and raised my eyebrows. Someone around here had to take the job seriously.

Nelson snorted. Too seriously, Chip. Maybe you ought to stop watching those late-night cop shows.

Keep your voice down, I warned. My guilty pleasure shows weren’t a secret, but at least things could be forgotten about if they weren’t brought up. Last thing I wanted was to have another cop overhear and harass me about it once again. Anyway, you never daydream about making a big bust? Pulling a heroic move and getting all the praise for it?

There’s old cops and bold cops. No old bold cops, Nelson recited. I’m not pulling some theatrics just so people know my name. Trudy would never forgive me. She’d rather I be alive and unknown rather than famous and dead.

Have you asked her?

Don’t have to.

Nelson was my best friend and one of the part-timers. When he wasn’t at the station, he was crunching numbers for his family’s farm. Trudy was his girlfriend, had been since high school, which was a long, long time ago. Word was that Trudy was one of those hipster types who didn’t believe in marriage as a system. Whatever that meant. They were happy and that was all that mattered.

I left the computer room and headed into the locker area to grab my things to head home. I had work to do and I wasn’t looking forward to it. Best to get it done as soon as possible and then get a beer to help forget the unpleasantness.

Nelson followed. I worry about you sometimes, he said, his voice echo-y in the quiet station. I can’t help thinking that one of these days, you’re going to do something stupid and get yourself hurt. Or worse.

Hurt doing what? I glanced at him as we left the station. We took turns with who got to take the cruisers home and mine had just ended. My truck was around the front, parked almost at the entrance to the building. Am I gonna strain my back putting some farmer’s fence back in place? Get a headache doing an assembly for the schoolkids?

You know what I mean. Nelson got in front of me and put his hands on his hips. It’s a thousand times safer out here than it is in a city, but we all know things can still happen. It’s at a time like that when you’re going to choose to make your big move and I worry about you. You need to get out more. Do something. Have plans that don’t involve you sitting in front of your TV watching hours of reruns.

Plans? I had to laugh. What kind of plans? There’s not much to do around here if you haven’t noticed.

I’m going to assume then that you don’t have any plans for the weekend.

Not at all. I’ll probably ask around and see if anyone needs me to take over their shift. I shrugged.

See? That’s what I’m talking about, Nelson said. You need an activity that doesn’t revolve around cops or being a cop. This could be the time when you start putting yourself back out there, man.

I paused in reaching for the door of my truck and looked at him over my shoulder. Put myself out there? You want me to start dating again. Hell, no. I’ve done the marriage thing, and the divorce thing. I’m nowhere near ready to go through that process again.

Nelson sighed. You’re going to have to try to move on sometime.

Eventually. I’m not ready yet. I pulled the truck door open and lifted one leg in. You’ve got about five seconds to come up with a better idea.

Nelson grabbed the door to prevent me from shutting it. Hold on, now. You can hang out with me if there aren’t any ladies you want to get to know better. We can go to Top Golf.

I looked at him and nodded slightly. Now you’re speaking my language.

Good. I’ll be nagging you about it. Nelson let go of the door and backed up. What are you doing tonight, anyway?

I’ll just be tidying up a couple things and then relaxing, I said, which wasn’t exactly a lie.

Nelson gave me a look that said he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t question me. He headed back inside.

I grumbled to myself under my breath and shook my head. I fished out my keys and turned the truck on. It was sweltering hot inside and still hadn’t gotten below lukewarm by the time I got back to my house.

Or, the house.

I pulled into the driveway of the house across the street and backed into my own. I got out and headed inside. My heart went up into my throat and started pounding. I could barely believe that this used to be my absolute favorite place, my safe haven. It hadn’t been that way for months now, and it never would be again.

I stood at the threshold and looked at the empty house, the bare spaces of carpet where the living room used to be. The kitchen to the right was equally as barren, devoid of all the little gadgets and decorations that gave a kitchen its purpose. The fridge had been emptied out ages ago, and the pantries were all bare.

I turned away from the pitiful, plain kitchen and headed down the hall. The bedrooms were also empty. The furniture had been removed and the floors vacuumed, the indentations on the carpets from where beds and dressers had once stood now entirely erased.

I ducked into the bathroom and used it, careful not to spoil any of the polished splendor of its current state. The mirror gleamed and the sink hadn’t been so spotless since Jennifer’s in-laws had come over for Christmas our first year of marriage. There was a small box on the sink, a jumble of men’s care products inside. Unused razors, a half-emptied bottle of shaving cream, hair gel, beard oil, alcohol wipes for treating any nicks, and vitamins; all were mine and I tucked the box under my arm to carry with me as I left the bathroom and headed on.

The blank walls disturbed me. Not all that long ago, photographs and artwork covered them. There had been framed certificates from my work, and medals and trophies Jennifer won playing sports in high school and college. She’d had a whole case of them, and occasionally she had swapped around which ones were on display, too proud of her achievements to let any of her rewards to grow dusty.

It had been something of a game between us. If I didn’t figure out what she had changed by the end of the day, I’d be making dinner tomorrow. It used to be so much fun and I was good at it, until it transformed into a test, and then a source of pettiness, and I stopped caring so much.

What I would have given now to see a single ribbon, a glimpse of gold or silver.

I descended the basement stairs at the end of the hallway, the automatic lights flickering on as the sensors registered motion. We had been in the middle of working on the basement when everything fell apart and it had been a place of limbo ever since, partly storage and partly a gathering area where we were going to have parties with our friends. The tables, chairs, the bar counter and cabinets, had all been removed. What remained was boxes. Boxes and clutter, and boxes of clutter.

I set the small box down atop another and checked to make sure I could pick it up. No problem. If anything, the box was too light. But that was Jennifer. My chest cramped with sadness as I carried the boxes back up the steps and down the hall to the foyer. I went back down for more.

Jennifer, whom I loved above all, used to amuse me to no end with her many contradictions. She was a hard-working athlete, a perfectionist when it came to form, a determined idealist who believed she could push herself a little harder and reach a new personal best. But perhaps idealist wasn’t the right word. She was, instead, a realist, as she often did reach the goals she desired so much.

And then there were other times when she was as lazy as a cat. She knew what she wanted to put effort into and if she didn’t want to, she wouldn’t. There were no in-betweens. She packed everything as lightly as humanly possible. Suitcases, backpacks, grocery bags, moving boxes. Even knowing that I would be the one to move the boxes, she’d stuck to her old habits.

That was the agreement. Because I worked more than she did, she packed up. I moved everything. It had been a long process, but soon the house would be totally empty and we could sell.

Sorting through my feelings was more than a little difficult. As I finished my fourth trip up the stairs, my thighs beginning to ache, I decided I wasn’t exactly sad. The whole process had been sad, of course, as there wasn’t usually anything happy involved with divorce, but what I felt was a general sadness that had more to do with the idea of losing a marriage than with losing my specific relationship. Divorce was a long and messy process, especially when a home was involved, and I was ready for it to be over.

I tired of going up and down the steps to the basement and switched to taking the boxes out to the truck to see how many more could fit. I considered doing some repacking but that was too much effort.

I went back to the basement and kept bringing boxes up until I couldn’t fit any more in the truck bed or inside the vehicle. As I locked up the house behind me, I realized how tired I really was. Not just my body but also my spirit.

I’ll come by again in a few hours. Maybe. Maybe tomorrow.

I drove home. The streets were quiet. Even so late in the day, approaching sunset, it was too hot to sit outside. The fireflies had to be watched from indoors. Pretty much the only person I saw outside was my neighbor. She was outside in a sundress and a sunhat, looking absolutely miserable while watering her flowerbeds.

H’lo, Chip, she said, without looking up from her wilting blossoms.

Hullo, Hannah, I replied. Props to you for trying to keep flowers alive in this weather.

Keeping them alive or prolonging the inevitable? she replied sourly. Need some help with those boxes? I can holler for Don.

I waved my hand. They’re light. Thanks, but no.

Well, let us know if you need anything. She moved off slightly, muttering something to herself about water temperature. Could water that was too cold shock a flower and kill it? I had no idea. I’d never been one for gardening. Neither was Jennifer. We used a service to keep our grass green and hired local kids to mow it, and that was the extent of our lawn-related efforts.

As I was moving the boxes from the truck to the garage, I thought idly on what Hannah had said. Prolonging the inevitable. I was glad Jennifer and I hadn’t done that. When the end came, it had come fast. The only part that took a while was having our lawyers communicate with each other. Busy people, lawyers, even out in the middle of nowhere.

The thing was, I always wanted kids. Jennifer also wanted kids, but not with me. She worried about me in my life of work. Presumably, she worried about exactly what Nelson did, that I would get myself killed trying to be a hotshot like they had on TV. She didn’t want to be left to raise the kids on her own. Cops weren’t paid too well, but I was good with money and had made quite a bit from various investments. She would be taken care of. But raising kids by herself? No amount of money could save her from that.

When we’d gone our separate ways, we hadn’t really said goodbye. We just didn’t go home one day. Jennifer went to stay with her sister, and I took up space on Nelson’s couch before paying for this rental house where I was currently staying.

I grabbed the last box out of the truck and took it into the garage. As I went to place it down, the bottom of the box fell open and the contents spilled out. I swore at the sound of glass breaking. It was a bunch of picture frames in there. Nothing but pictures, by the look of it. I tossed the ruined box aside and opened another one. One by one, I began to pick up the frames and inspected them for damage. They all seemed fine, much to my surprise, except for the last one, which had a big crack running sideways across the glass.

I sighed and started to put that frame aside as well when I noticed exactly what picture was inside. It was myself and Jennifer on our wedding day, kissing under a maple tree while our family and friends watched us. The angle was wide and made the crowd seem more impressive than it already was, as if we were being enveloped on our most special of days.

The urge to put that frame in the trash, picture and all, was almost overwhelming. I made myself hold back. Just because I didn’t want anything to do with that life didn’t mean I should erase all traces of it. It was impossible to do that with a person, anyway. Unlike a house, a person couldn’t be cleared out and scrubbed down. What I had gone through, what we had gone through, was part of us.

Take what you learn and move on, I mumbled to myself, quoting the old police chief. He had trained both myself and Nelson before retiring; the joke was that we were the reason he quit.

Damn, I really wanted a beer.

2

Sophia

"G

o ahead and lean back now so I can rinse your hair," I said to the elderly woman in the chair before the sink.

Catch me if I fall, she replied, her crackly voice filled with wry amusement.

I won’t let you fall, I promised. As she started to lean back, I moved the chair with her until she had most of her hair over the sink. Normally gray and curly, it was now covered in coils of foil. The dye I had used had settled, showing up as a vivid bright blue. It looked exactly like the color she had wanted when she pointed it out and I was filled with pride. Mixing colors could sometimes be tricky, especially when a client came in with an exact example instead of saying a blue-purple would be nice.

And there was the fact that I was in a completely new salon. I had only been open for business for a few days and my nerves were crazy. Even though I had put everything in place and knew where everything was and had selected my own equipment, I was still in unfamiliar territory. Mistakes were likely. I was being very careful to try and minimize the chances of messing up and thus far had been successful, but it was still a bit of an ego boost whenever things went right.

This isn’t too hot, is it? I briefly brought the warm water to the old woman’s scalp. In my nervousness, I kept forgetting her name.

That’s fine. It feels very nice, she said.

Then I realized that I had forgotten to take the foils out of her hair. It was only the work of a couple moments to take them out, thankfully, and she didn’t appear to have noticed anything amiss. I started to really rinse her hair then, taking my time to get all of the color out. At my old salon, I had earned a reputation as the best hair-washer and everyone had wanted me to be the one to do theirs. I didn’t do anything special. I just really took my time with it and massaged the scalp, working the hair in sections until it was all done. The massaging was an important part. It encouraged hair growth, as well as got any dye off the skin in such a sensitive area. Nothing was worse than an itchy scalp after a hair coloring, and then scratching and finding the dried, crusty crud all up under the nails.

My twin sister, Olivia, was working at a chair across the room. We both used to work at the same place and when I moved on, I brought her with me. I couldn’t pay her nearly as much as she was used to earning at the old place, but she had told me that she would follow me anywhere. We were twins. That was what twins did. We stuck together, by each other’s sides, through thick and thin. And besides, stylists usually didn’t get the job they had because they knew it would bring them loads of cash. They did it because they were passionate about their work and wanted people to look good and feel good about themselves; hair could be such an integral part of a person’s identity.

Funnily enough, I could remember the name of Olivia’s client instead of mine. June. June was another old lady, though not as old as my client, and chatty as a five-year-old. She was giving Olivia all the gossip of the day, telling stories about people that we didn’t know.

But would know soon, presumably. Everyone had to get their hair cut at some point. I figured since we were new in town and conveniently located, we would be getting a lot of business before long. People who had been putting off making the longer trip to other salons would come to us instead.

It was only a matter of time, I was sure. I hoped, at least. I had never owned a business of any kind before and was really playing this whole thing by ear.

I shampooed and conditioned the old woman’s hair. While I focused on her hair, I couldn’t avoid getting a good look at her face, since the two areas just so happened to be relatively nearby. Her skin was very pale and the veins were rather visible, their paths distorted by the wrinkles and saggy patches of skin. Yet, it was obvious that at one point in time she had taken pride in her skincare. Perhaps she still did. Her skin was smooth, without blemishes, without scars from previous blemishes, and her lips were moisturized and covered in a thin, dainty layer of gloss. Her eyelashes were long, though sparse, and the bone structure of her face was fantastic.

I had a feeling that, in her younger days, she had been quite the talk of the town. She was nothing short of magnificent.

Okay, now let me help you sit up so we can dry your hair.

I held the back of the chair and prepared to shift it up, while also holding the towel behind her neck in place.

She didn’t move. Her eyes remained shut.

Sweat broke out on my brow. It couldn’t be. Things like this didn’t happen in real life, did they?

Miss? I reached for her shoulder and shook it. Her head appeared to loll loosely on her shoulders.

What’s wrong? Olivia asked.

Before I could say anything, June barked, Patty!

The old woman in my chair jerked awake and blinked around. Is my hair done?

She was only sleeping. Why do I have to jump to conclusions like that?

I was just about to dry your hair and get you to a chair for your trim. So, you’re almost done!

Oh, goody, Patty said.

I helped her sit up and towel-dried her hair. Her formerly gray locks were now a bright and vivid blue, which gave new meaning to the phrase blue-haired old lady. I thought it made her look ten years more youthful, somehow without subtracting those years from her age. That was the power of hair. She looked brighter and more energetic now. She would look even better when I performed a little more of my magic and gave her a neat little trim.

I helped Patty to the chair next to June’s and dried her hair a little more, then started snipping away. Olivia and June were still chatting up a storm. Patty seemed content to enjoy her care, making occasional idle hums at the back of her throat whenever I tilted or turned her head. I got her all neatened up while continually resisting the urge to look at the clock on the wall. It was late, later than the hours I had posted up on the front door. I didn’t mind, though. Making special little allowances like this were all but necessary. We didn’t fit anywhere into