Читать онлайн книгу «The Sheriff Wins A Wife» автора Jill Limber
The Sheriff Wins A Wife
Jill Limber
So much had changed since Jennifer Williams had fled Blossom on her wedding night–except her reaction to Sheriff Trace McCabe. Sure it had been silly to think she would be in town all summer and not see him.Without even turning around, she'd recognize the low rumble of his laugh anywhere. And though she hadn't intended on exchanging nostalgic kisses on the Ferris wheel or reliving their romance–two facts were crystal clear. 1) Her feelings for him had never died and 2) It was time Trace knew they were still married!
She hadn’t seen Trace McCabe since the night they’d gotten married.
Recollections of his smile flashed through her memory like summer lightning. Memories of the hurt and confusion her decisions had caused stung like the sparks coming off a Fourth-of-July sparkler.
Her stomach flipped and her hands began to sweat.
Trace McCabe.
The reason Jennifer had stayed away from her hometown for eight years.
Then she turned, and his easy grin became a look of disbelief, shock—followed by a flash of anger.
Dangerous thoughts and emotions shook her. Her stomach jittered just as it used to when she was seventeen.
Perhaps her feelings hadn’t been buried as deeply as she’d thought.
Dear Reader,
To me, September is the cruelest month. One minute it feels like just another glorious summer day. And then almost overnight the days become shorter and life just hits. It’s no different for this month’s heroes and heroines. Because they all get their own very special “September moment” when they discover a secret that will change their lives forever!
Judy Christenberry once again heads up this month with The Texan’s Tiny Dilemma (#1782)—the next installment in her LONE STAR BRIDES miniseries. A handsome accountant must suddenly figure out how to factor love into the equation when a one-night stand results in twins. Seth Bryant gets his wake-up call when a very pregnant princess shows up on his doorstep in Prince Baby (#1783), which continues Susan Meier’s BRYANT BABY BONANZA. Jill Limber assures us that The Sheriff Wins a Wife (#1784) in the continuing BLOSSOM COUNTY FAIR continuity, but how will this lawman react to the news that he’s still married to a woman who left town eight years ago! Holly Jacobs rounds out the month with her next PERRY SQUARE: THE ROYAL INVASION! title. In Once Upon a King (#1785), baby seems to come before love and marriage for a future king.
And be sure to watch for more great romances next month when bestselling author Myrna Mackenzie launches our new SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE miniseries.
Happy reading,
Ann Leslie Tuttle
Associate Senior Editor
The Sheriff Wins a Wife
Jill Limber
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Matthew and Zachary: my newest little heroes
Books by Jill Limber
Silhouette Romance
The 15 lb. Matchmaker #1593
Captivating a Cowboy #1664
Daddy, He Wrote #1756
The Sheriff Wins a Wfe #1784
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Secrets of an Old Flame #1266
JILL LIMBER
lives in San Diego with her husband. Now that her children are grown, their two dogs keep her company while she sits at her computer writing stories. A native Californian, she enjoys the beach, loves to swim in the ocean, and for relaxation she daydreams and reads romances. You can learn more about Jill by visiting her Web site at www.JillLimber.com (http://www.JillLimber.com).
THE BLOSSOM BEE
The Buzz About Town
By: Harriet Hearsay
We’ve got the dirt…straight from the pigpen!
It seems Jennifer Williams, now of Dallas, is back in town and helping her niece with Petunia the pig. But don’t you know, this girl is clueless about hogs and she nearly landed flat on her behind the first time in the pen. Surprise, surprise—guess who was there to pull her out of the muck and straight into his arms? Her old flame, Sheriff Trace McCabe! This columnist is definitely ready to watch the mud fly between these two!
Contents
Chapter One (#ud598feba-e5d5-5668-a0d4-b92dba349e07)
Chapter Two (#u0d075f5b-24ff-5a7d-88a3-7a08291af00d)
Chapter Three (#u6ac2786d-10ae-5a40-8880-97ff9394481c)
Chapter Four (#ub48a1c25-d4c3-5679-815e-6a0c769deb3b)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Jennifer Williams tried to avoid breathing through her nose.
It had been eight years since she’d been to the Blossom County fair, and she’d forgotten how bad the smell of the animal barn could get during the heat of the day.
She’d never been involved in 4H in school. Her mother hadn’t allowed her or her sister to participate. Ellen Williams had declared that no daughter of hers was going to lower herself to clean up after an animal. Jennifer had felt left out; all her friends had raised 4H animals. But now, standing beside the smelly pen that held her niece Kelly’s 4H entry, Jennifer thought perhaps her mother had had a point.
Petunia the pig was large, pink and cranky. As far as Jennifer was concerned, Petunia was a three-hundred-pound porcine nightmare that was not going to end anytime soon.
This was not how Jennifer had anticipated spending her summer. But when her older sister, Miranda, called three days ago asking for help with a difficult pregnancy, Jennifer had taken vacation time from her job as a forensic accountant, packed up her seven-year-old son, Zack, and left Dallas.
She’d moved from Blossom the summer after high school, and aside from brief visits home to see her sister and bury her mother, she’d stayed away. There were too many bad memories here. And she wouldn’t have come back now, but Miranda and her daughter, Kelly, were family—outside of Zack, the only family Jenn had.
Petunia gave a squeal of displeasure, pulling Jenn out of her reminiscences. She watched as the very pregnant pig struggled to her feet and knocked over her water bowl.
The last thing Jenn wanted to do was climb into the pen with a grouchy pig, but Kelly and Zack had gone to get sodas twenty minutes before, leaving Jennifer to wait for Kelly’s 4H adviser.
Jennifer smiled, remembering the scowl on Kelly’s face when Zack had signed that he’d go with his cousin and Jennifer had translated for Kelly. No teenager wanted to haul a little boy around with her when she might run into her friends, but Kelly would have to get used to it, at least for a few months. Jennifer would need Kelly’s help looking out for Zack, especially after the baby arrived.
It was important that Zack learn to get around despite his deafness. He was usually shy about straying from her side, and when he showed some independence, Jennifer encouraged it. She just wished her niece had been more open to Jenn’s offer to teach her sign language so Kelly could communicate with her cousin.
Petunia nosed at her water bowl, her squeals escalating. She sounded as if she was being mistreated in some horrible way.
With no sign of Kelly, Jenn had little choice but to go into the pen and refill the water bowl. She had never raised a pig, but she knew from growing up in Blossom, Texas, that an overheated animal, especially a sow close to giving birth, could spell trouble.
The problem was that Petunia hated to be penned and had become an escape artist. Jenn found the bag of dog biscuits in Kelly’s canvas bag, slipped a few into her pocket, then tossed a handful across the pen to lure Petunia away from the door.
While the pig rooted in the hay for the treats, Jennifer let herself inside and closed the gate behind her. Just as she was congratulating herself on keeping the pig penned, she stepped in a soft pile of droppings hidden under the straw. Petunia chose that moment to sniff at Jenn’s pocket, smearing her white shorts with a mixture of mushy dog biscuit and pig saliva.
Jennifer heard the low rumble of male laughter right behind her and froze. Without even turning around she knew who that laugh belonged to. Trace McCabe. The one person she had hoped to avoid during her stay in Blossom.
Recollections of his smile and laugh flashed through her memory like summer lightning. Memories of the hurt and confusion her decisions had caused stung like the sparks coming off a Fourth-of-July sparkler.
Her stomach flipped and her hands began to sweat.
Trace McCabe.
The reason she’d stayed away for eight years.
She hadn’t seen him since the night they’d gotten married.
She knew she’d been silly to think she could be in Blossom all summer and not see him, but she hadn’t wanted to face the memories and feelings she’d avoided for so long.
What had happened between them should stay in the past quietly buried. She had no inclination to dig it up.
She took a deep breath and reached for her composure, plastering on what she hoped was a neutral expression.
Her hesitation cost her as the annoyed pig gave her a shove that sent her stumbling against the side of the enclosure. Petunia moved in quickly and pinned Jenn in the corner.
A big pair of warm hands grasped her upper arms, lifted her and hauled her backward, clear over the top of the pen.
She turned, and knew the moment he recognized her. His easy grin turned into a stunned expression.
She looked up at him, forcing a smile. Dangerous thoughts and emotions shook her. He was bigger, more handsome and so dearly familiar. Time had been very kind to Trace. The trim khaki sheriff’s uniform showed off his lean, broad-shouldered body.
Darn! Why couldn’t he have gotten fat, or bald?
Her stomach jittered just as it used to when she was seventeen. Perhaps her feelings hadn’t been buried as deeply as she’d thought.
Expressions of disbelief and shock chased across his face, followed by a flash of anger. He quickly recovered his composure and gave her a forced smile that didn’t look as if it belonged on his tanned face.
The air between them seemed to shimmer.
“Hey there, Trace,” she said, amazed her voice sounded so normal.
She could feel her heart racing. She fought the urge to simply turn and walk away from him, get in her car and head for home.
Not an option, she thought. Not this time. She’d run from her responsibilities—from him—once before. She wouldn’t run again.
Time for plan B, she thought, resigned. Maybe she could act as if they were just old friends. She forced a smile and said, “How’s it going?”
Trace let go of Jenn and stepped back. He felt as if he’d gotten hold of a live wire. He was having trouble getting a deep breath past the ball of anger that flared in his chest.
When he’d walked into the stock barn at the end of his shift and spotted the woman standing in the pigpen, he’d had no idea it was Jenn. She was wearing clothes that belonged at a country club, not in a pigpen. Her sophisticated hairstyle hadn’t come from the local beauty shop, and she had sandals on.
Anyone who grew up in Blossom knew you wore boots in a stock barn.
She’d changed a lot in eight years. Her body was more slender and she wore her once-long hair in a tousled, streaked style.
After all this time, thinking about her and wondering, she was standing right in front of him, smiling and greeting him as if they’d seen each other yesterday. As if they’d been casual friends.
Fury streaked through him.
He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “Hey, Jenn. What brings you back to Blossom?”
He struggled to match her casual attitude and give himself a moment to round up his feelings. It was going to take some doing, but if that was how she wanted to play this first meeting, he’d go along. His emotions were in such a turmoil he honestly didn’t trust himself to do otherwise. She looked sophisticated and snooty. Dallas had rubbed off on her.
He realized he was slapping his hat against his leg, and he stopped the motion.
Her eyes were just the same. A deep amber color. The same color as the topaz earrings he’d bought her on his way back to Blossom, before he’d known she’d run off to Dallas and left him behind. He kept those earrings in a box in his dresser. They served as a reminder of his lack of judgment where women were concerned.
She shrugged one tanned shoulder and said, “Miranda needs some help this summer, so I decided to spend my vacation in Blossom.”
He’d known she’d stayed in Dallas after college. In a small town like Blossom he didn’t need to ask questions about her. Everybody’s business was common knowledge, shared regularly at the Bee Hive Cafe, the Dairy Dream and the Alibi Saloon.
He gestured to her shorts with his hat. “I never thought I’d see you in a pigpen.”
“Momma is probably turning in her grave. But you know Miranda. If Momma didn’t like it, my big sister was all over it,” she said, her voice holding a hint of sadness.
Oh, Trace remembered Jenn’s mother, he thought with bitterness. Not an easy woman. Jenn’s sister had fought her mother every inch of the way, but Jenn had always gone along with whatever her mother wanted. Including breaking it off with him.
Eight years ago he’d blamed her mother for what had happened between them. He’d had plenty of time to grow up and realize Jenn had made decisions, too. The annulment might have been Mrs. Williams’s idea, but Jenn hadn’t fought against it. She’d never even answered his letters or phone calls or made any effort to contact him.
No matter how he’d felt about or her daughter, he knew his manners.
Mrs. Williams hadn’t thought much of Trace, and she’d let him know he wasn’t good enough for her daughter, but Trace knew losing a parent was hard. “I was sorry to hear about your mother passing.”
Jenn’s smile faltered. “Thanks.”
They stood awkwardly for a few heartbeats. He wanted answers to so many questions. Answers that would help him let go of the feelings he hadn’t realized until now he’d been hauling around for eight years.
The squeal of the pig reminded him they were standing in the middle of a barn. Now was not the time or place to bare his soul to Jenn.
“So, you’ll be in town for a while?” He needed to talk to her, but he wasn’t going to open their can of worms here in the pig barn.
She nodded. “For the fair. Miranda is off her feet until the baby comes, so I’m going to take on Kelly and Miss Cranky here.” She gestured to the pig, who was busy scooting her empty water dish around the pen and complaining.
He wondered if it was hard for her to see her sister pregnant, if it made her think of the child they had lost that summer after she’d graduated from high school. Maybe she’d been able to move on, but the unfinished business between them still gnawed at him.
He reached into the enclosure and grabbed the dish as the pig went by. He handed it to Jenn. “Well, I’ve got to get along. You staying with Miranda?”
She nodded, her head bent down, looking at the stainless steel bowl as if it held some fascination for her.
“I’ll be in touch.”
She glanced up at him with a resigned look on her face. “Okay.”
They both knew they needed to have a conversation they should have had eight years ago.
Chapter Two
Trace strode away from Jenn, still trying to get his emotions under control. He wanted to put his fist through a wall.
Hey, Trace, how’s it going? What kind of a greeting was that after almost eight years? He jammed his sunglasses back on and stomped out of the swine barn into the blazing sunshine.
They had been as close as two people could be. He had loved her so much he’d ached with it. Was he the only one who remembered that? Had he been harboring the remnants of some adolescent crush all these years? Obviously his emotions had been deeply buried, surfacing to smack him unexpectedly now. Now he had no idea what to do about them.
He stepped into the judging barn and headed for the fair offices. He needed to find Stan, the 4H adviser. Trace had offered to help out with checking in the projects, but he wasn’t going to deal with Kelly’s pig—or Jenn–until he had some time to figure out what was going on in his head and how he was going to handle it. Stan would have to check in Kelly’s project.
Over at the stock pens, where animals waited for the vet, a child climbing up the slats had Trace changing direction.
The boy, his back to Trace, was on a pen that held a particularly nasty bull from the rodeo herd. He had a broken horn and a bad attitude, along with a habit of charging the fence.
“Hey, kid, get down off there!” Trace broke into a run as the bull turned and spotted the child.
When the boy didn’t respond, Trace hollered again. “You, kid, in the red shirt, jump down!”
The boy continued to ignore him. The bull’s head was down and Trace could hear him snorting from twenty feet away. Trace closed the distance in record time and snagged the little boy around the waist, jerking him off the pen.
The sound of ripping fabric was quickly drowned out by the bull crashing into the fence, his horns raking the wood with a splintering screech.
Trace backed up, set the boy down and spun him around. “What were you thinking?” he yelled. The boy’s terrified freckled face didn’t look familiar.
The child looked up at Trace, but said nothing. His whole body shook.
“Who are you here with?” Trace moved the child another few steps away as the bull readied himself for another run at the boards. Whoever was supposed to be supervising this boy was doing a bad job.
The child turned to bolt, then flinched when Trace reached down to keep him in his place. Just as he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder someone called his name.
“Trace, stop!”
He saw Jenn ran toward them, looking as scared as the boy.
“Don’t hurt him.”
Hurt him?
She arrived panting and out of breath, and scooped the boy into a hug. His little arms went around her shoulders and his legs gripped her waist as he buried his face against her neck.
“What did you think I was going to do? Give him a beating?”
“No, oh, no. Sorry. I was scared.”
He nodded, but the notion that she thought he would hurt a child stung.
“Thank you,” she said, gulping air as she patted the boy on the back.
“Who is this kid?”
“My son, Zack.” She continued to stroke the boy’s thin little back.
For the second time that day Trace felt as if he’d been smacked by a two-by-four. Jenn had a child?
She smoothed a hand over Zack’s curly brown hair, as if to reassure herself he was all right. “He was supposed to stay with Kelly, but she came back alone.”
How come he’d never heard that Jenn had a child? Feeling as twisted up as old hay wire, Trace shoved his hands into his pockets. “I yelled at him to get down, but he ignored me.”
Jenn’s big hazel eyes filled with tears. “He didn’t hear you. Zack is deaf.” She lowered the boy back onto his feet, and used sign language to ask him something. Zack pointed to the front of his red shirt, where there was a big hole.
Jenn looked up at Trace. “He was trying to get down, but he got stuck.”
There was a piece of the boy’s shirt hanging from a splinter on the fence post. “He never should have been there in the first place.”
Jenn nodded, and had started to say something when Zack shook her hand to get her attention. He pointed to his shirt and then signed something.
Jenn laughed and nodded, signing back and speaking to him. The child watched her lips. “I know it’s your favorite. We can get you another one.”
Trace took another look at the boy’s red shirt and realized it had the Chicago Bulls’ mascot on the front.
The boy made some motions with his hands, and Jenn translated.
“Zack said he’s sorry. He wants to thank you.”
Trace nodded at the boy, then looked up at Jenn, still trying to absorb the fact that she had a child.
She gave him a wobbly smile and said, “I want to thank you, too. I’ll keep him with me in the future.” She took Zack’s hand and walked away.
Trace watched them leave, and slowly withdrew his hands from his pockets. He wasn’t very good at guessing ages, but the boy looked as if he could be about seven.
The same age the child they had supposedly lost would be.
Trace started after them. He needed answers. Now.
His phone beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket, saw the “911” designation and swore under his breath. As much as he needed to confront Jenny, his job called. He flipped open the phone and barked, “What?” He didn’t take his eyes off Jenn or Zack until they disappeared from sight.
There was a moment of silence and then his dispatcher, Henrietta, said, “Sheriff?”
Trace ran a hand over his face. “Sorry, Henrie. What’s up?”
“Accident on the highway, four miles south of the fairgrounds. Butch thinks one driver might be drunk.”
“Any injuries?” Trace glanced at his watch. Geez, it was ten o’clock in the morning.
“Doesn’t look too bad, but one of the passengers is trapped in the car. I already dispatched an ambulance, but Butch needs help. And there was another vandalism call, but that can wait until you get in.”
Henrie had managed the sheriff’s office since before Trace was born. He trusted her judgment completely.
“Tell Butch I’m on my way.” Trace shoved his phone into his pocket and headed to his cruiser.
Gripping Zack’s hand, Jenn hurried away from Trace and the feelings he awakened in her.
For so long she had tried not to think about him or any of the memories that went with him, but seeing his concern for her son brought those unwanted emotions flooding back. She tried to push them away into the back of her mind where she’d locked them. They didn’t seem to fit any longer.
Zack made a growling noise tugged and tugged free of her grasp. “Are you angry with me?” he signed.
She shook her head. “No. Why do you think that?”
He rubbed the hand she’d been holding. “Because you were smashing my hand.”
In her agitation she’d had too strong a hold on him. She scooped him up, reveling in the little-boy smell of him. He wiggled out of her grasp as she set him down again. “I’m not angry at you.” But she was furious at Kelly. Jenn had given her niece strict instructions to keep an eye on Zack.
Zack signed again. “The man was angry.”
“He was frightened for you.”
Zack shook his head in disbelief. “Policemen don’t get scared.”
She nodded, amused by Zack’s childlike view of the world, and took him more gently by the hand. She didn’t want to talk about Trace. Or why, if Trace was angry at anyone, it was her. Instead, she walked Zack back to the pigpen.
Kelly was sitting on a stool beside Petunia, talking on a cell phone. She didn’t look up at them.
Jenn pointed Zack to the empty pen opposite them, where he had been playing earlier with his assortment of action figures. Once he was absorbed, she said. “Kelly, I need to speak to you.”
Kelly rolled her eyes and pointed to the telephone.
Jenn barely resisted the urge to rip it out of her hand. “Tell them you’ll call them back.”
Kelly turned away and said something Jenn couldn’t hear, then disconnected the call. When she turned back she had a sullen look on her face. “What?”
Jenn wondered briefly what had happened to the sweet girl who had stayed at her house in Dallas last summer. Kelly had changed from a sunny child to a sullen teenager in the course of a few months.
“I told you how important it was to keep an eye on Zack. He’s not like other children.”
Kelly shrugged. That insolent lift of her shoulder was becoming a familiar thing. “It’s not my fault. I thought he was right behind me.”
“Well, he wasn’t. He wandered away and was almost gored by a bull.”
Kelly glanced over at Zack. “But he wasn’t.”
“No. Thanks to Trace.”
“He should stay with you. I can’t talk to him.”
“Yes, you can. He’s getting good at lip-reading.
“I didn’t want him to tag along.” Kelly’s pretty face got red and blotchy.
“This summer really sucks. I don’t see why you even had to come. I can take care of myself.” The girl stood up so quickly she knocked her stool over. “It is, like, so disgusting.”
Jenn didn’t know what she was referring to. “What is?”
Kelly did the eye roll that was becoming annoyingly familiar. “Mom having a baby. She’s, like, so old. And just because she has to stay home doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself.”
Jenn could tell Kelly was trying hard not to cry. Poor kid was having a rough time since her stepfather had walked out on them, but Jenn couldn’t let Kelly take it out on her or Zack. “Well, Kel,” she said gently, “it would be tough to haul a three-hundred-pound pig to the fairgrounds on the city bus.”
Kelly glared at Jenn. “You’re as bad as Mom!”
Ah. A truly teenage insult, Jenn thought as she watched her niece turn and run toward the sunlight streaming through the stock-barn doors.
Kelly had been through so much during the past few months. Her stepfather, the only father she remembered, had run off with another woman. According to Miranda, Roger hadn’t even said goodbye to Kelly before he moved out, nor had he talked to her since. Add all that to a raging case of hormones, and this was not shaping up to be Kelly’s finest summer.
Jenn had nothing but sympathy for her niece’s situation. She suspected this was not going to be her best summer, either.
“Jennifer?”
A male voice startled her out of her thoughts. She looked up at a vaguely familiar face.
He held out a hand. “I’m Stan. Stan Donnely. I was in Miranda’s class.”
She hadn’t seen him for years, but she remembered him. He had been a close friend of Miranda’s first husband. When Rob had died, Stan had helped with the arrangements. “Of course. Stan. How are you?” She shook his hand.
“I’m fine. How’s Miranda?”
Jenn didn’t miss the look of genuine concern on Stan’s face. “She’s on bed rest.”
“I’ll stop by later and see if she needs me to do anything around the place.”
Jenn nodded. “Miranda would appreciate that.” Stan had always been a nice guy. He’d never married, and Jenn had suspected he’d had a crush on Miranda since high school.
“Where’s Kelly?” He motioned with his clipboard to Petunia. “I’m here to check in her project.”
Stalling, giving herself time to think, Jenn said, “Are you the 4H adviser?”
He nodded and smiled. “Yup.”
Jenn decided to cover for Kelly. “I sent her to get me a soda. Does she need to be here, or can you do this without her?”
“She needs to be here. I can get started, but I’ll bet she’ll want to be here for the birth.”
Jenn looked at him blankly. Miranda was not due for weeks. “Birth?”
He gestured toward Petunia, who lay on her side panting. “Unless I miss my guess, she’s in labor.”
In the wake of everything that had happened in the past hour Jenn had forgotten the pig was pregnant. What did you do for a pig in labor?
Stan chuckled and said, “Relax. She knows what to do.”
“I hope so.” Jenn glanced at Zack, who was still playing across the aisle, then dug her cell phone out of her bag and dialed Kelly’s number, praying the girl would pick up.
On the fourth ring Kelly answered, with a rude “What?” Obviously she’d recognized her aunt’s number on the incoming call.
Jenn said cheerfully, “Kelly, sweetheart, you’ll have to forget my soda. You need to hurry back. Mr. Donnely is here to check Petunia in and he thinks she’s in labor.”
She heard a yelp and then the line went dead. Jenn smiled up at Stan. “She’s on her way.”
As they waited for Kelly they chatted about her job in Dallas and how hot the weather was getting. Then the conversation, as it tended to do with old acquaintances, turned to the past.
“You used to go with Trace McCabe, didn’t you?”
Jenn tried not to wince at the question. The last thing she wanted was to discuss Trace. “Yes, for the last two years of high school.” People in small towns never forgot anything, Jenn thought.
“Have you seen him since you’ve been back?”
She nodded and struggled to keep her tone light. “Sure did. He stopped by just a bit ago.” She actually managed to make it sound as if it had been no big deal.
She wanted this conversation to be over. It was hard enough to keep her thoughts away from Trace without any reminders.
Stan droned on about the sheriff and the great job he was doing while Jenn kept a pleasant look plastered on her face.
After all, that is what her mother had taught her, she thought with a feeling of rising panic. Self-control. No matter what was going on, keep your face composed and don’t give anyone “something to talk about.” As if being talked about was the worst thing that could happen to a person.
Jenn’s pleasant expression was about to crack when Kelly finally ran toward them, straw and dust flying as her feet pounded the dusty corridor.
Breathless, she said, “Mr. Donnely. I was just getting my aunt a soda.” She threw Jenn a grateful look and let herself into the pen.
Jenn led Zack to the end of the pen, and they settled down on a bale of hay to wait for Petunia to get through her ordeal.
Her son, always full of questions, was bound to be asking some interesting ones today. Jenn sighed and put her arm around Zack. Her quiet summer in Blossom had developed into a whole lot more than she had anticipated.
Chapter Three
Jenn sat on the porch swing in the dark, enjoying the quiet night sounds. It was so comfortable in the house she’d grown up in, and so different to what she’d become accustomed to, living in the city.
Miranda and her second husband, now referred to by the sisters as Roger the Rat, had moved in a few years ago after their mother died. Miranda had, surprisingly, changed very little about the house. In fact, Jenn thought, the entire neighborhood had changed very little since she’d been away.
A light went on in the house across the street. She could see the rooster wallpaper in Mrs. Kincade’s kitchen. She smiled at the sight.
Her neighborhood in Dallas was so impersonal. She hardly knew the people who lived on either side of her and had never been in their homes. A week ago she hadn’t thought anything about the fact that her neighbors weren’t a part of her life. Now, with memories of a different lifestyle pressing in on her, she wasn’t so sure her neighborly distance was a good thing.
If she was already questioning her choices, then she’d obviously needed this time to unwind. She took a sip of her lemonade and watched headlights turn into the driveway.
Whatever peace she’d hoped to find tonight was gone. She knew it was Trace even before she saw the light rack on top of the sheriff’s car.
He’d always been a bulldog when it came to seeing things through to the end. It was one of the qualities about him she’d always admired, and one that had made the pain eight years ago even worse.
Wouldn’t a man as determined as Trace have come after her when she’d left without saying goodbye? Since she’d been the one to leave, it had been childish of her to feel hurt. But back then she’d expected him to come after her—if he’d truly loved her. He must have been relieved when she’d left. He was off the hook. No more playing at husband or father.
But that was eight long years ago. Now all she felt was an odd ambivalence. She didn’t want to dredge up the past. She’d buried it, and she intended it to stay that way. No one in Blossom knew of her less-than-two-week marriage to Trace. The secret had died with her mother.
Jenn had told Miranda about losing the baby, but couldn’t bring herself to mention the quick trip over the state line to get married. It had been a childish mistake she wanted to forget.
The night they’d married, Trace had dropped her off at her house, then made the long drive back to San Antonio to his summer job. They’d agreed she’d live with her mother and keep the marriage a secret until he’d earned enough to rent an apartment. Then he’d come home and find a job in Blossom.
But everything had changed when she’d lost the baby a few days later.
Her mother had found out what they’d done. They’d forged a note saying Jenn had her mother’s permission to wed, then snuck over the state line and gotten married in New Mexico. Jenn’s mother had insisted she get an annulment, and, in the emotional aftermath of the miscarriage, Jenn had agreed.
Now Trace’s car pulled up to the front of the house. He killed the lights, but didn’t get out. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he was staring at her. She could feel his eyes. He knew she was in the shadows of the porch, just as she’d known it was him in the car. They’d always had that kind of connection. It seemed they still did, in spite of everything.
He opened the door and unfolded his tall frame from the driver’s seat. He walked slowly up to the porch.
She recognized his rolling gait. He had grown taller and filled out since high school, but she’d know his walk anywhere. To her annoyance, her heart speeded up.
He stopped at the steps without walking up.
“Hey, Trace,” she greeted him in a soft voice.
“Jenn.”
Just her name, that was all. From the way he said it she could tell he was angry.
He continued to stand there, staring at her. In the old days he would have taken the stairs two at a time, sat down beside her, pulled her into his lap and kissed her breathless.
The thought made her breasts tingle, and a stab of yearning went through her. She had to fight the urge to invite him to sit down beside her.
No one had ever made her feel like Trace had. But she didn’t want or need the feelings, and she hadn’t, not for a long time.
Finally he cleared his throat. “Is he mine? Is Zack my son?”
Jenn nearly fell off the swing in surprise. “No. Why would you think that?”
He ran his hand over his face. “He’s about the right age, isn’t he?”
The fact that he was right about Zack’s age didn’t stop the hurt welling up inside her. Did he really think she could do that to him? Have his child and not tell him?
“I lost our baby, Trace,” she said in a shaking voice.
She saw his shoulder lift in a tired shrug. “I hoped—I had to know. He looks like me.”
Her anger fizzled, leaving her feeling tender and bruised. Zack did look like Trace. Jenn had noticed that about the little boy immediately. She’d had to admit, even at the time of the adoption, it was one of the reasons Zack had quickly become so dear to her.
He let out a soft huff of breath. “Your mother told me about the baby, but she never liked me. I couldn’t trust—When I came back to Blossom you’d already gone. She told me she was taking care of the annulment, too, because you were underage.”
Only now, as an adult, did Jenn realize how much it must have hurt him, that she’d left without an explanation. “I’m sorry.”
She felt sadness wash over her for what they’d lost to their youthful mistakes and her mother’s schemes. She wanted Trace to hold her so she could feel the comfort of his strong arms and wide chest.
But she stayed where she was. Those days were long over.
She and Trace were so different now. She was a mother, living in a city she loved. He was a bachelor, and a small-town boy. He’d always lived in Blossom. He hated cities.
Most likely, even if they’d stayed together, their relationship wouldn’t have worked. She didn’t question why she’d held fast to that belief.
Trace’s voice drew her out of her musings.
“I called your mother’s house, but she wouldn’t talk to me. Then I heard you’d gone off to school. When I found out you’d left for college I went to find you.”
“You came to SMU?” She hadn’t known he’d tried to contact her after she’d left. It didn’t change the present, but knowing he’d come after her untied one of the little knots of sadness she’d held on to for years.
“Yeah. But when I came to my senses and realized you’d left me, I gave up and came home. I got good and drunk, and then the next day I joined the marines.”
“Miranda told me you enlisted.”
After a long silence he said, “Nothing went the way we expected, did it?”
His voice held a quiet sadness that tore at Jenn’s heart. She resisted the pull. She built a life that fit her needs. She had everything under control. She loved her job, and her son was in a good school. They were a family. They belonged in Dallas, not here in Blossom or with Trace.
“We were so young. I don’t think it would have worked,” she said softly
Even in the dark she saw the tension in his body. “Why don’t you say what you really mean, Jenn?”
She flinched at the anger and resentment in his voice.
“An unplanned baby, an unplanned wedding. What happened between us wasn’t planned at all. For you, everything worked out for the best.”
His words stunned her. “Do you think I wanted what happened?”
“No. But I think you wished none of it had ever happened at all.”
She wanted to disagree with him, but he’d hit on a secret guilt she’d carried for eight years.
After a long silence he said sadly, “Well, we’ll never know if it would have worked, will we? Good night, Jenn.”
He turned and walked back to his car.
For eight years she’d been telling herself things had turned out for the best. But now she wondered, if that was the case, why did she wish deep down, that things had turned out differently?
The next morning, as Zack watched cartoons in the living room, Jenn listened as her sister pointed out the things she wanted removed from the room that was going to be the baby’s nursery.
This had been Roger’s den, and Miranda was trying to remove every trace of her husband. Jenn didn’t blame her. He’d run off with an eighteen-year-old hairdresser, and neither Jenn nor Miranda were in a particularly forgiving state of mind.
“What do you want me to do with the stuff he left behind?” Jenn asked as she surveyed the fishing equipment, piles of magazines and baseball shoes, gloves and bats.
“Put it at the curb. Tomorrow is garbage day.”
“I don’t know, Miranda. Do you really want to throw it away?”
Miranda rubbed her belly and laughed, but the sound held little humor. “That’s exactly what I want.”
“Okay.” Jenn bit the inside of her cheek to keep from telling Miranda that the contents of their trash pile would be talked about all over Blossom. Jenn hated it when she heard her mother’s words coming out of her own mouth. “You go put your feet up. I’ll dig in here,” she said instead. She was worried for her sister. Miranda tired easily, and last night Jenn had heard her crying. From the dark circles under Miranda’s eyes, Jenn was sure her sister was sleeping badly, when she slept at all.
Now Miranda didn’t even argue. She turned and left the room.
Jenn spent the next hour piling things by the door. From the back of the closet she dragged out an old dress box from a Dallas store that had gone out of business years ago. It was sealed with tape, coated with dust and marked with their mother’s name.
Curious, she wiped the box with a rag, then carried it upstairs to Miranda’s bedroom. Her sister looked up from the book she was reading.
“There’s a box with Mom’s name on it. I thought we went through everything after she died.” Jenn put the box on the bed.
Miranda pushed herself up against the headboard. “Roger found that in the rafters in the garage about a year ago and brought it into the house. I kept meaning to go through it, but never got around to it.”
“Are you up to it now?”
“Sure.”
Jenn went back downstairs to the office and began to scrub the walls of the closet.
A few minutes later Miranda appeared at the office door holding a large manila envelope. “Jenn, you need to see this.”
Jenn dropped her sponge into the bucket and wiped her wet hands on her jeans. She took the envelope from her sister and slid out the papers. The date on the cover sheet was eight years old. It was a checklist of information that would be needed to complete an annulment. And the original, completed forms filled out with Trace’s and her names. Jenn’s knees felt weak and she sat down on the desk chair. As she stared at the form, the realization of what she held in her hand sank in.
The final papers for her annulment had never been filed.
Miranda lifted the papers from Jenn’s numb fingers, then picked up the envelope and studied the postmark. “This must have come the week Mom was diagnosed. I remember, because we went to the doctor on Kelly’s birthday.”
Jenn nodded. She’d never forget that phone call. “You called me at school to tell me about Mom. I was studying for midterm exams.”
She covered her mouth with both hands and mumbled through her fingers. “Oh, my gosh. Do you know what this means?”
Miranda skimmed the papers again and gave Jenn an evil little smile. “I suspect you and Trace McCabe are still legally married. So what are you going to do?”
Jenn reached for the phone. “First of all, I’m going to make sure I’m not legally married,” she said in a voice full of bravado.
Then, she thought with a sinking feeling, if her instincts were right, she was going to have to tell her husband the truth.
Chapter Four
Jenn sat in her car outside Trace’s house. It was old, but the wood siding and trim sported a fresh coat of paint, and the walk was bordered with neatly tended flower beds. The sheriff’s car was parked in the driveway.
Catching Trace at home was better than meeting him at his office. After all, she wanted privacy when she dropped her bomb, didn’t she?
She got out of her car and nervously smoothed the skirt of her yellow sundress. Taking a deep breath, she rang the doorbell and listened to it chime inside the house. When there was no response, she rang again. All she got was an unnerving silence. Butterflies churned in her stomach.
Had he seen her arrive and decided not to answer the door? The thought bothered her. Even though she’d begun her visit to Blossom wanting to avoid him, she irrationally didn’t want him treating her the same way. Especially now that they’d crossed paths and exchanged words.
She had raised her hand to knock, to give it one last try, when she heard the unmistakable cough and sputter of a gas lawn mower starting up.
She listened for a moment. The noise was coming from the back of the house. She blew out a little sigh of relief. He wasn’t ignoring her. He must be mowing his yard.
She stepped down off the front porch and walked across the lawn to the driveway, headed toward the uneven growl of the mower. As she cleared the side of the house and got a full view of the backyard, she stopped dead.
Trace had his back to her, pushing an ancient mower through tall grass. He wore nothing but a pair of shorts that sat low on his hips, and sneakers without socks. The muscles of his arms and shoulders stood out as he wrestled the mower. Glistening, sweaty muscles that had not been on his lean frame eight years ago.
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.
The body she remembered had belonged to a lanky twenty-year-old boy on the brink of manhood. The body that held her attention now was fully matured, filled out and beautifully sculpted.
As he turned the mower to make another pass, he didn’t look up and she stayed in the shadows, watching.
He had grown quite a lot of hair on his chest. It was curly like the hair on his head. She swallowed again and felt the tips of her fingers tingle as she remembered how she’d loved to touch him.
Dangerous, forbidden feelings surfaced like hot water bubbling out of a thermal spring. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him or forget no other man had ever made her feel the way Trace had.
She’d told herself over the years that she’d exaggerated her memories of him. It was only normal. After all, Trace had been her first love and she’d been an inexperienced teenager with overactive hormones. Of course he’d seemed exciting, passionate, wonderful.
So why did she suddenly think he might still all of those things, and possibly more?
She looked down, fiddling with the tie at the waist of her dress as she tried to compose herself.
She didn’t need those kinds of thrills. She didn’t want them. A relationship with that much passion was too complicated, too messy and took up far too much time.
She had her life right where she wanted it. And it didn’t—couldn’t—include Trace.
The sound of the idling mower caught her attention. Trace had spotted her.
He stood in the middle of his yard like a bronzed statue. His large hands clutched the handle of the unmoving mower, and he was staring at her.
She couldn’t read the expression on his face. He seemed distant. It shouldn’t bother her, but it did.
Jenn pasted on a smile and stepped into the sunshine, hoping he would think she had just arrived. “Hey, Trace.”
He leaned over the mower and shut it off. The sun glistened in his hair, and bits of grass clung to his sweaty skin. He straightened, and the silence that stretched between them seemed very loud.
She took a hesitant step forward, then said in a rush, “I need to talk to you, but you’re busy. I can come back.” Chicken, she scolded herself.
He shook his head, then wiped his arm across his forehead. “Now is fine. I could use a break.”
He left the mower in the middle of the yard and picked up a hose, dousing himself with water and then shaking like a dog.
He’d always been so at home with himself, a quality Jenn, who usually felt self-conscious, admired.
As Trace picked up a T-shirt hanging from the back porch railing and dried himself off, she tried her best not to stare. What was she doing, alone with a half-naked man? She could almost hear her mother’s often-voiced refrain: what will the neighbors think?
Jenn glanced around and realized Trace had no neighbors within sight. She could grab him right here, outside, and there would be no one to see.
Now she had managed to shock herself.
“Jenn? Something wrong?” Trace pulled the rumpled shirt over his head.
“No! Everything’s fine.” She shook her head. At least he had removed the visual temptation.
“Well, not exactly fine,” she said. Where did she begin?
Politely, still keeping his distance, he motioned toward the back door. “Come on in. Let’s get out of the sun. I’ve got cold sodas in the fridge.” He climbed the back steps and toed off his grass-caked shoes.
He held the door for her and she stepped past him into a tiny utility room. He smelled like sunshine and grass and sweaty man. A tempting combination.
Trace ushered her into a tidy kitchen with clean white counters and white appliances. A row of windows looked out on the backyard and a round wooden table sat on the terra-cotta tile floor. The only thing that looked out of place was the holstered gun sitting in the middle of the table.
“Soda?” He was still watching her with that unreadable expression on his face.
She wanted to tell him she didn’t plan to be here that long, but manners had her saying, “Thank you. Diet if you have it.”
He looked her up and down, and her temperature rose several degrees. He shook his head as he reached in and pulled out two red cans. “No diet.”
Did he mean he didn’t have diet, or she didn’t need it?
He popped the lid on one of the cans and handed it to her, then propped his lean hips against the counter next to the stove and opened his own can.
She was staring down at his bare feet, wondering where to start, when his voice brought her back.
“Do you want to sit down?”
Abruptly she met his gaze. “No. This will just take a minute.” Like ripping off a bandage, it would be better to get it done quickly.
Jenn took a deep breath and said, “Miranda and I were cleaning out a room for the baby and I found a box of papers in a closet.” She stopped and took a sip of soda, needing to wet her suddenly dry throat.
He nodded, a puzzled look on his face.
She lowered the can of soda and said, “There was an envelope from the state of New Mexico.”
At that, his expression and body language changed. He stood up a little straighter and his brow furrowed. He didn’t speak, but made a little motion with his hand, encouraging her to continue.
She took a deep breath and let the words rush out. “My mother never completed the forms for our annulment.”
He stared at her for so long she had to fight not to squirm. She babbled instead. “I called the number on the form. They checked and…” She let the sentence trail off, not wanting to say the words out loud.
His voice was very quiet. “And what, Jenn?”
She cleared her throat. “We’re still married.”
Neither one of them moved.
Finally Trace shook his head and set his soda on the counter beside him. He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression still unreadable. “So now what do we do?”
She pasted on a plastic smile. “It’s not really a problem. We can file the papers ourselves. There are grounds.”
“Desertion?” Trace gave a hard bark of laughter.
“That would work.” Yes, it fit. For both of them.
There was a hint of anger in him she’d never seen before. She took a step back, feeling uncertain of this Trace, this man she couldn’t read.
Immediately he relaxed against the counter. “Do you want me to take care of it?” he asked in that neutral voice she was beginning to hate.
“No. I’ll do it.” She headed for the door, needing to get away from him and the feelings that crowded her head. “Thanks for the soda,” she said over her shoulder. How inane to be polite after what had just transpired.
“You’re welcome,” Trace replied just as politely to her back.
She went through the utility room and out the back door, squinting into the bright sunlight. She made her way back to her car, fighting against the urge to cry.
They’d never really been married. He’d stepped up because she was pregnant. They’d never even spent even one night together as Mr. and Mrs. Trace McCabe. So why did she feel as if she’d just lost something?
Key in hand, she slid onto the hot upholstery of the driver’s seat and had to blink away her silly tears to find the ignition.
It was done, and over. Grow up and stop being so maudlin, she told herself. What had happened was eight years in the past.
She had her life in Dallas, the job she’d always wanted and her son. She was happy.
She pulled away from the curb. Telling Trace the truth had gone better than she’d hoped. Very civilized. He’d been…like a stranger.
Instead of feeling elated, she felt as if she’d just lost her lover all over again.
Trace got to the living-room window in time to see Jenn walk down his driveway. How could he be so physically attracted to her when she made him so furious?
He watched her slim hips sway in a purely feminine walk as she made her way to her car. He’d always loved to watch her move.
She walked like a person who had places to go. And she had. She’d gone to Dallas and she’d never come home.
As he watched her pull away from the curb he thought about what she’d just told him. Even though he’d believed the annulment had been finalized years ago, her casual offer to end their marriage had been damn hard to hear.
He turned away and headed toward the bathroom and a shower. As much as he would love to go back out to the yard and work the anger out of his system, duty called. But as he lathered up, his thoughts drifted into dangerous territory.
What if Jenn hadn’t lost the baby?
Their child would be the same age as Zack.
Would they have had a successful marriage? More children?
Or was she right? Had they been too young to have it last?
When they had first started dating, Jenn had had big plans for college and a career. He’d been a part of those dreams.
The unplanned pregnancy had upset her, made her feel out of control. He’d never seen her so distressed. And when she lost the baby, she’d gone back to her plans, minus him.
He stuck his head under the spray and called himself a fool for wanting things that could never be.
He had other things he needed to think about, things he could actually do something about. Like the frustrating investigation into the land swindle that had cost several residents of the county thousands of dollars. And the Committee for Moral Behavior was driving him crazy with their demands to make changes “for the good” of Blossom. He knew they meant well, but they didn’t seem to understand there was only so much he could do without treading on other people’s civil rights.
He dressed, grabbed his weapon and wallet and was stopped twice on his way to his meeting with the mayor.
The town’s gardener had found two garden trolls sitting on the bench in front of the courthouse. He wanted Trace to know they were in his shed.
Then Trace ran into the clerk of the court, who needed to show him pictures of her latest grandchild.
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Jill Limber
So much had changed since Jennifer Williams had fled Blossom on her wedding night–except her reaction to Sheriff Trace McCabe. Sure it had been silly to think she would be in town all summer and not see him.Without even turning around, she'd recognize the low rumble of his laugh anywhere. And though she hadn't intended on exchanging nostalgic kisses on the Ferris wheel or reliving their romance–two facts were crystal clear. 1) Her feelings for him had never died and 2) It was time Trace knew they were still married!
She hadn’t seen Trace McCabe since the night they’d gotten married.
Recollections of his smile flashed through her memory like summer lightning. Memories of the hurt and confusion her decisions had caused stung like the sparks coming off a Fourth-of-July sparkler.
Her stomach flipped and her hands began to sweat.
Trace McCabe.
The reason Jennifer had stayed away from her hometown for eight years.
Then she turned, and his easy grin became a look of disbelief, shock—followed by a flash of anger.
Dangerous thoughts and emotions shook her. Her stomach jittered just as it used to when she was seventeen.
Perhaps her feelings hadn’t been buried as deeply as she’d thought.
Dear Reader,
To me, September is the cruelest month. One minute it feels like just another glorious summer day. And then almost overnight the days become shorter and life just hits. It’s no different for this month’s heroes and heroines. Because they all get their own very special “September moment” when they discover a secret that will change their lives forever!
Judy Christenberry once again heads up this month with The Texan’s Tiny Dilemma (#1782)—the next installment in her LONE STAR BRIDES miniseries. A handsome accountant must suddenly figure out how to factor love into the equation when a one-night stand results in twins. Seth Bryant gets his wake-up call when a very pregnant princess shows up on his doorstep in Prince Baby (#1783), which continues Susan Meier’s BRYANT BABY BONANZA. Jill Limber assures us that The Sheriff Wins a Wife (#1784) in the continuing BLOSSOM COUNTY FAIR continuity, but how will this lawman react to the news that he’s still married to a woman who left town eight years ago! Holly Jacobs rounds out the month with her next PERRY SQUARE: THE ROYAL INVASION! title. In Once Upon a King (#1785), baby seems to come before love and marriage for a future king.
And be sure to watch for more great romances next month when bestselling author Myrna Mackenzie launches our new SHAKESPEARE IN LOVE miniseries.
Happy reading,
Ann Leslie Tuttle
Associate Senior Editor
The Sheriff Wins a Wife
Jill Limber
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Matthew and Zachary: my newest little heroes
Books by Jill Limber
Silhouette Romance
The 15 lb. Matchmaker #1593
Captivating a Cowboy #1664
Daddy, He Wrote #1756
The Sheriff Wins a Wfe #1784
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Secrets of an Old Flame #1266
JILL LIMBER
lives in San Diego with her husband. Now that her children are grown, their two dogs keep her company while she sits at her computer writing stories. A native Californian, she enjoys the beach, loves to swim in the ocean, and for relaxation she daydreams and reads romances. You can learn more about Jill by visiting her Web site at www.JillLimber.com (http://www.JillLimber.com).
THE BLOSSOM BEE
The Buzz About Town
By: Harriet Hearsay
We’ve got the dirt…straight from the pigpen!
It seems Jennifer Williams, now of Dallas, is back in town and helping her niece with Petunia the pig. But don’t you know, this girl is clueless about hogs and she nearly landed flat on her behind the first time in the pen. Surprise, surprise—guess who was there to pull her out of the muck and straight into his arms? Her old flame, Sheriff Trace McCabe! This columnist is definitely ready to watch the mud fly between these two!
Contents
Chapter One (#ud598feba-e5d5-5668-a0d4-b92dba349e07)
Chapter Two (#u0d075f5b-24ff-5a7d-88a3-7a08291af00d)
Chapter Three (#u6ac2786d-10ae-5a40-8880-97ff9394481c)
Chapter Four (#ub48a1c25-d4c3-5679-815e-6a0c769deb3b)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Jennifer Williams tried to avoid breathing through her nose.
It had been eight years since she’d been to the Blossom County fair, and she’d forgotten how bad the smell of the animal barn could get during the heat of the day.
She’d never been involved in 4H in school. Her mother hadn’t allowed her or her sister to participate. Ellen Williams had declared that no daughter of hers was going to lower herself to clean up after an animal. Jennifer had felt left out; all her friends had raised 4H animals. But now, standing beside the smelly pen that held her niece Kelly’s 4H entry, Jennifer thought perhaps her mother had had a point.
Petunia the pig was large, pink and cranky. As far as Jennifer was concerned, Petunia was a three-hundred-pound porcine nightmare that was not going to end anytime soon.
This was not how Jennifer had anticipated spending her summer. But when her older sister, Miranda, called three days ago asking for help with a difficult pregnancy, Jennifer had taken vacation time from her job as a forensic accountant, packed up her seven-year-old son, Zack, and left Dallas.
She’d moved from Blossom the summer after high school, and aside from brief visits home to see her sister and bury her mother, she’d stayed away. There were too many bad memories here. And she wouldn’t have come back now, but Miranda and her daughter, Kelly, were family—outside of Zack, the only family Jenn had.
Petunia gave a squeal of displeasure, pulling Jenn out of her reminiscences. She watched as the very pregnant pig struggled to her feet and knocked over her water bowl.
The last thing Jenn wanted to do was climb into the pen with a grouchy pig, but Kelly and Zack had gone to get sodas twenty minutes before, leaving Jennifer to wait for Kelly’s 4H adviser.
Jennifer smiled, remembering the scowl on Kelly’s face when Zack had signed that he’d go with his cousin and Jennifer had translated for Kelly. No teenager wanted to haul a little boy around with her when she might run into her friends, but Kelly would have to get used to it, at least for a few months. Jennifer would need Kelly’s help looking out for Zack, especially after the baby arrived.
It was important that Zack learn to get around despite his deafness. He was usually shy about straying from her side, and when he showed some independence, Jennifer encouraged it. She just wished her niece had been more open to Jenn’s offer to teach her sign language so Kelly could communicate with her cousin.
Petunia nosed at her water bowl, her squeals escalating. She sounded as if she was being mistreated in some horrible way.
With no sign of Kelly, Jenn had little choice but to go into the pen and refill the water bowl. She had never raised a pig, but she knew from growing up in Blossom, Texas, that an overheated animal, especially a sow close to giving birth, could spell trouble.
The problem was that Petunia hated to be penned and had become an escape artist. Jenn found the bag of dog biscuits in Kelly’s canvas bag, slipped a few into her pocket, then tossed a handful across the pen to lure Petunia away from the door.
While the pig rooted in the hay for the treats, Jennifer let herself inside and closed the gate behind her. Just as she was congratulating herself on keeping the pig penned, she stepped in a soft pile of droppings hidden under the straw. Petunia chose that moment to sniff at Jenn’s pocket, smearing her white shorts with a mixture of mushy dog biscuit and pig saliva.
Jennifer heard the low rumble of male laughter right behind her and froze. Without even turning around she knew who that laugh belonged to. Trace McCabe. The one person she had hoped to avoid during her stay in Blossom.
Recollections of his smile and laugh flashed through her memory like summer lightning. Memories of the hurt and confusion her decisions had caused stung like the sparks coming off a Fourth-of-July sparkler.
Her stomach flipped and her hands began to sweat.
Trace McCabe.
The reason she’d stayed away for eight years.
She hadn’t seen him since the night they’d gotten married.
She knew she’d been silly to think she could be in Blossom all summer and not see him, but she hadn’t wanted to face the memories and feelings she’d avoided for so long.
What had happened between them should stay in the past quietly buried. She had no inclination to dig it up.
She took a deep breath and reached for her composure, plastering on what she hoped was a neutral expression.
Her hesitation cost her as the annoyed pig gave her a shove that sent her stumbling against the side of the enclosure. Petunia moved in quickly and pinned Jenn in the corner.
A big pair of warm hands grasped her upper arms, lifted her and hauled her backward, clear over the top of the pen.
She turned, and knew the moment he recognized her. His easy grin turned into a stunned expression.
She looked up at him, forcing a smile. Dangerous thoughts and emotions shook her. He was bigger, more handsome and so dearly familiar. Time had been very kind to Trace. The trim khaki sheriff’s uniform showed off his lean, broad-shouldered body.
Darn! Why couldn’t he have gotten fat, or bald?
Her stomach jittered just as it used to when she was seventeen. Perhaps her feelings hadn’t been buried as deeply as she’d thought.
Expressions of disbelief and shock chased across his face, followed by a flash of anger. He quickly recovered his composure and gave her a forced smile that didn’t look as if it belonged on his tanned face.
The air between them seemed to shimmer.
“Hey there, Trace,” she said, amazed her voice sounded so normal.
She could feel her heart racing. She fought the urge to simply turn and walk away from him, get in her car and head for home.
Not an option, she thought. Not this time. She’d run from her responsibilities—from him—once before. She wouldn’t run again.
Time for plan B, she thought, resigned. Maybe she could act as if they were just old friends. She forced a smile and said, “How’s it going?”
Trace let go of Jenn and stepped back. He felt as if he’d gotten hold of a live wire. He was having trouble getting a deep breath past the ball of anger that flared in his chest.
When he’d walked into the stock barn at the end of his shift and spotted the woman standing in the pigpen, he’d had no idea it was Jenn. She was wearing clothes that belonged at a country club, not in a pigpen. Her sophisticated hairstyle hadn’t come from the local beauty shop, and she had sandals on.
Anyone who grew up in Blossom knew you wore boots in a stock barn.
She’d changed a lot in eight years. Her body was more slender and she wore her once-long hair in a tousled, streaked style.
After all this time, thinking about her and wondering, she was standing right in front of him, smiling and greeting him as if they’d seen each other yesterday. As if they’d been casual friends.
Fury streaked through him.
He took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “Hey, Jenn. What brings you back to Blossom?”
He struggled to match her casual attitude and give himself a moment to round up his feelings. It was going to take some doing, but if that was how she wanted to play this first meeting, he’d go along. His emotions were in such a turmoil he honestly didn’t trust himself to do otherwise. She looked sophisticated and snooty. Dallas had rubbed off on her.
He realized he was slapping his hat against his leg, and he stopped the motion.
Her eyes were just the same. A deep amber color. The same color as the topaz earrings he’d bought her on his way back to Blossom, before he’d known she’d run off to Dallas and left him behind. He kept those earrings in a box in his dresser. They served as a reminder of his lack of judgment where women were concerned.
She shrugged one tanned shoulder and said, “Miranda needs some help this summer, so I decided to spend my vacation in Blossom.”
He’d known she’d stayed in Dallas after college. In a small town like Blossom he didn’t need to ask questions about her. Everybody’s business was common knowledge, shared regularly at the Bee Hive Cafe, the Dairy Dream and the Alibi Saloon.
He gestured to her shorts with his hat. “I never thought I’d see you in a pigpen.”
“Momma is probably turning in her grave. But you know Miranda. If Momma didn’t like it, my big sister was all over it,” she said, her voice holding a hint of sadness.
Oh, Trace remembered Jenn’s mother, he thought with bitterness. Not an easy woman. Jenn’s sister had fought her mother every inch of the way, but Jenn had always gone along with whatever her mother wanted. Including breaking it off with him.
Eight years ago he’d blamed her mother for what had happened between them. He’d had plenty of time to grow up and realize Jenn had made decisions, too. The annulment might have been Mrs. Williams’s idea, but Jenn hadn’t fought against it. She’d never even answered his letters or phone calls or made any effort to contact him.
No matter how he’d felt about or her daughter, he knew his manners.
Mrs. Williams hadn’t thought much of Trace, and she’d let him know he wasn’t good enough for her daughter, but Trace knew losing a parent was hard. “I was sorry to hear about your mother passing.”
Jenn’s smile faltered. “Thanks.”
They stood awkwardly for a few heartbeats. He wanted answers to so many questions. Answers that would help him let go of the feelings he hadn’t realized until now he’d been hauling around for eight years.
The squeal of the pig reminded him they were standing in the middle of a barn. Now was not the time or place to bare his soul to Jenn.
“So, you’ll be in town for a while?” He needed to talk to her, but he wasn’t going to open their can of worms here in the pig barn.
She nodded. “For the fair. Miranda is off her feet until the baby comes, so I’m going to take on Kelly and Miss Cranky here.” She gestured to the pig, who was busy scooting her empty water dish around the pen and complaining.
He wondered if it was hard for her to see her sister pregnant, if it made her think of the child they had lost that summer after she’d graduated from high school. Maybe she’d been able to move on, but the unfinished business between them still gnawed at him.
He reached into the enclosure and grabbed the dish as the pig went by. He handed it to Jenn. “Well, I’ve got to get along. You staying with Miranda?”
She nodded, her head bent down, looking at the stainless steel bowl as if it held some fascination for her.
“I’ll be in touch.”
She glanced up at him with a resigned look on her face. “Okay.”
They both knew they needed to have a conversation they should have had eight years ago.
Chapter Two
Trace strode away from Jenn, still trying to get his emotions under control. He wanted to put his fist through a wall.
Hey, Trace, how’s it going? What kind of a greeting was that after almost eight years? He jammed his sunglasses back on and stomped out of the swine barn into the blazing sunshine.
They had been as close as two people could be. He had loved her so much he’d ached with it. Was he the only one who remembered that? Had he been harboring the remnants of some adolescent crush all these years? Obviously his emotions had been deeply buried, surfacing to smack him unexpectedly now. Now he had no idea what to do about them.
He stepped into the judging barn and headed for the fair offices. He needed to find Stan, the 4H adviser. Trace had offered to help out with checking in the projects, but he wasn’t going to deal with Kelly’s pig—or Jenn–until he had some time to figure out what was going on in his head and how he was going to handle it. Stan would have to check in Kelly’s project.
Over at the stock pens, where animals waited for the vet, a child climbing up the slats had Trace changing direction.
The boy, his back to Trace, was on a pen that held a particularly nasty bull from the rodeo herd. He had a broken horn and a bad attitude, along with a habit of charging the fence.
“Hey, kid, get down off there!” Trace broke into a run as the bull turned and spotted the child.
When the boy didn’t respond, Trace hollered again. “You, kid, in the red shirt, jump down!”
The boy continued to ignore him. The bull’s head was down and Trace could hear him snorting from twenty feet away. Trace closed the distance in record time and snagged the little boy around the waist, jerking him off the pen.
The sound of ripping fabric was quickly drowned out by the bull crashing into the fence, his horns raking the wood with a splintering screech.
Trace backed up, set the boy down and spun him around. “What were you thinking?” he yelled. The boy’s terrified freckled face didn’t look familiar.
The child looked up at Trace, but said nothing. His whole body shook.
“Who are you here with?” Trace moved the child another few steps away as the bull readied himself for another run at the boards. Whoever was supposed to be supervising this boy was doing a bad job.
The child turned to bolt, then flinched when Trace reached down to keep him in his place. Just as he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder someone called his name.
“Trace, stop!”
He saw Jenn ran toward them, looking as scared as the boy.
“Don’t hurt him.”
Hurt him?
She arrived panting and out of breath, and scooped the boy into a hug. His little arms went around her shoulders and his legs gripped her waist as he buried his face against her neck.
“What did you think I was going to do? Give him a beating?”
“No, oh, no. Sorry. I was scared.”
He nodded, but the notion that she thought he would hurt a child stung.
“Thank you,” she said, gulping air as she patted the boy on the back.
“Who is this kid?”
“My son, Zack.” She continued to stroke the boy’s thin little back.
For the second time that day Trace felt as if he’d been smacked by a two-by-four. Jenn had a child?
She smoothed a hand over Zack’s curly brown hair, as if to reassure herself he was all right. “He was supposed to stay with Kelly, but she came back alone.”
How come he’d never heard that Jenn had a child? Feeling as twisted up as old hay wire, Trace shoved his hands into his pockets. “I yelled at him to get down, but he ignored me.”
Jenn’s big hazel eyes filled with tears. “He didn’t hear you. Zack is deaf.” She lowered the boy back onto his feet, and used sign language to ask him something. Zack pointed to the front of his red shirt, where there was a big hole.
Jenn looked up at Trace. “He was trying to get down, but he got stuck.”
There was a piece of the boy’s shirt hanging from a splinter on the fence post. “He never should have been there in the first place.”
Jenn nodded, and had started to say something when Zack shook her hand to get her attention. He pointed to his shirt and then signed something.
Jenn laughed and nodded, signing back and speaking to him. The child watched her lips. “I know it’s your favorite. We can get you another one.”
Trace took another look at the boy’s red shirt and realized it had the Chicago Bulls’ mascot on the front.
The boy made some motions with his hands, and Jenn translated.
“Zack said he’s sorry. He wants to thank you.”
Trace nodded at the boy, then looked up at Jenn, still trying to absorb the fact that she had a child.
She gave him a wobbly smile and said, “I want to thank you, too. I’ll keep him with me in the future.” She took Zack’s hand and walked away.
Trace watched them leave, and slowly withdrew his hands from his pockets. He wasn’t very good at guessing ages, but the boy looked as if he could be about seven.
The same age the child they had supposedly lost would be.
Trace started after them. He needed answers. Now.
His phone beeped. He pulled it out of his pocket, saw the “911” designation and swore under his breath. As much as he needed to confront Jenny, his job called. He flipped open the phone and barked, “What?” He didn’t take his eyes off Jenn or Zack until they disappeared from sight.
There was a moment of silence and then his dispatcher, Henrietta, said, “Sheriff?”
Trace ran a hand over his face. “Sorry, Henrie. What’s up?”
“Accident on the highway, four miles south of the fairgrounds. Butch thinks one driver might be drunk.”
“Any injuries?” Trace glanced at his watch. Geez, it was ten o’clock in the morning.
“Doesn’t look too bad, but one of the passengers is trapped in the car. I already dispatched an ambulance, but Butch needs help. And there was another vandalism call, but that can wait until you get in.”
Henrie had managed the sheriff’s office since before Trace was born. He trusted her judgment completely.
“Tell Butch I’m on my way.” Trace shoved his phone into his pocket and headed to his cruiser.
Gripping Zack’s hand, Jenn hurried away from Trace and the feelings he awakened in her.
For so long she had tried not to think about him or any of the memories that went with him, but seeing his concern for her son brought those unwanted emotions flooding back. She tried to push them away into the back of her mind where she’d locked them. They didn’t seem to fit any longer.
Zack made a growling noise tugged and tugged free of her grasp. “Are you angry with me?” he signed.
She shook her head. “No. Why do you think that?”
He rubbed the hand she’d been holding. “Because you were smashing my hand.”
In her agitation she’d had too strong a hold on him. She scooped him up, reveling in the little-boy smell of him. He wiggled out of her grasp as she set him down again. “I’m not angry at you.” But she was furious at Kelly. Jenn had given her niece strict instructions to keep an eye on Zack.
Zack signed again. “The man was angry.”
“He was frightened for you.”
Zack shook his head in disbelief. “Policemen don’t get scared.”
She nodded, amused by Zack’s childlike view of the world, and took him more gently by the hand. She didn’t want to talk about Trace. Or why, if Trace was angry at anyone, it was her. Instead, she walked Zack back to the pigpen.
Kelly was sitting on a stool beside Petunia, talking on a cell phone. She didn’t look up at them.
Jenn pointed Zack to the empty pen opposite them, where he had been playing earlier with his assortment of action figures. Once he was absorbed, she said. “Kelly, I need to speak to you.”
Kelly rolled her eyes and pointed to the telephone.
Jenn barely resisted the urge to rip it out of her hand. “Tell them you’ll call them back.”
Kelly turned away and said something Jenn couldn’t hear, then disconnected the call. When she turned back she had a sullen look on her face. “What?”
Jenn wondered briefly what had happened to the sweet girl who had stayed at her house in Dallas last summer. Kelly had changed from a sunny child to a sullen teenager in the course of a few months.
“I told you how important it was to keep an eye on Zack. He’s not like other children.”
Kelly shrugged. That insolent lift of her shoulder was becoming a familiar thing. “It’s not my fault. I thought he was right behind me.”
“Well, he wasn’t. He wandered away and was almost gored by a bull.”
Kelly glanced over at Zack. “But he wasn’t.”
“No. Thanks to Trace.”
“He should stay with you. I can’t talk to him.”
“Yes, you can. He’s getting good at lip-reading.
“I didn’t want him to tag along.” Kelly’s pretty face got red and blotchy.
“This summer really sucks. I don’t see why you even had to come. I can take care of myself.” The girl stood up so quickly she knocked her stool over. “It is, like, so disgusting.”
Jenn didn’t know what she was referring to. “What is?”
Kelly did the eye roll that was becoming annoyingly familiar. “Mom having a baby. She’s, like, so old. And just because she has to stay home doesn’t mean I can’t take care of myself.”
Jenn could tell Kelly was trying hard not to cry. Poor kid was having a rough time since her stepfather had walked out on them, but Jenn couldn’t let Kelly take it out on her or Zack. “Well, Kel,” she said gently, “it would be tough to haul a three-hundred-pound pig to the fairgrounds on the city bus.”
Kelly glared at Jenn. “You’re as bad as Mom!”
Ah. A truly teenage insult, Jenn thought as she watched her niece turn and run toward the sunlight streaming through the stock-barn doors.
Kelly had been through so much during the past few months. Her stepfather, the only father she remembered, had run off with another woman. According to Miranda, Roger hadn’t even said goodbye to Kelly before he moved out, nor had he talked to her since. Add all that to a raging case of hormones, and this was not shaping up to be Kelly’s finest summer.
Jenn had nothing but sympathy for her niece’s situation. She suspected this was not going to be her best summer, either.
“Jennifer?”
A male voice startled her out of her thoughts. She looked up at a vaguely familiar face.
He held out a hand. “I’m Stan. Stan Donnely. I was in Miranda’s class.”
She hadn’t seen him for years, but she remembered him. He had been a close friend of Miranda’s first husband. When Rob had died, Stan had helped with the arrangements. “Of course. Stan. How are you?” She shook his hand.
“I’m fine. How’s Miranda?”
Jenn didn’t miss the look of genuine concern on Stan’s face. “She’s on bed rest.”
“I’ll stop by later and see if she needs me to do anything around the place.”
Jenn nodded. “Miranda would appreciate that.” Stan had always been a nice guy. He’d never married, and Jenn had suspected he’d had a crush on Miranda since high school.
“Where’s Kelly?” He motioned with his clipboard to Petunia. “I’m here to check in her project.”
Stalling, giving herself time to think, Jenn said, “Are you the 4H adviser?”
He nodded and smiled. “Yup.”
Jenn decided to cover for Kelly. “I sent her to get me a soda. Does she need to be here, or can you do this without her?”
“She needs to be here. I can get started, but I’ll bet she’ll want to be here for the birth.”
Jenn looked at him blankly. Miranda was not due for weeks. “Birth?”
He gestured toward Petunia, who lay on her side panting. “Unless I miss my guess, she’s in labor.”
In the wake of everything that had happened in the past hour Jenn had forgotten the pig was pregnant. What did you do for a pig in labor?
Stan chuckled and said, “Relax. She knows what to do.”
“I hope so.” Jenn glanced at Zack, who was still playing across the aisle, then dug her cell phone out of her bag and dialed Kelly’s number, praying the girl would pick up.
On the fourth ring Kelly answered, with a rude “What?” Obviously she’d recognized her aunt’s number on the incoming call.
Jenn said cheerfully, “Kelly, sweetheart, you’ll have to forget my soda. You need to hurry back. Mr. Donnely is here to check Petunia in and he thinks she’s in labor.”
She heard a yelp and then the line went dead. Jenn smiled up at Stan. “She’s on her way.”
As they waited for Kelly they chatted about her job in Dallas and how hot the weather was getting. Then the conversation, as it tended to do with old acquaintances, turned to the past.
“You used to go with Trace McCabe, didn’t you?”
Jenn tried not to wince at the question. The last thing she wanted was to discuss Trace. “Yes, for the last two years of high school.” People in small towns never forgot anything, Jenn thought.
“Have you seen him since you’ve been back?”
She nodded and struggled to keep her tone light. “Sure did. He stopped by just a bit ago.” She actually managed to make it sound as if it had been no big deal.
She wanted this conversation to be over. It was hard enough to keep her thoughts away from Trace without any reminders.
Stan droned on about the sheriff and the great job he was doing while Jenn kept a pleasant look plastered on her face.
After all, that is what her mother had taught her, she thought with a feeling of rising panic. Self-control. No matter what was going on, keep your face composed and don’t give anyone “something to talk about.” As if being talked about was the worst thing that could happen to a person.
Jenn’s pleasant expression was about to crack when Kelly finally ran toward them, straw and dust flying as her feet pounded the dusty corridor.
Breathless, she said, “Mr. Donnely. I was just getting my aunt a soda.” She threw Jenn a grateful look and let herself into the pen.
Jenn led Zack to the end of the pen, and they settled down on a bale of hay to wait for Petunia to get through her ordeal.
Her son, always full of questions, was bound to be asking some interesting ones today. Jenn sighed and put her arm around Zack. Her quiet summer in Blossom had developed into a whole lot more than she had anticipated.
Chapter Three
Jenn sat on the porch swing in the dark, enjoying the quiet night sounds. It was so comfortable in the house she’d grown up in, and so different to what she’d become accustomed to, living in the city.
Miranda and her second husband, now referred to by the sisters as Roger the Rat, had moved in a few years ago after their mother died. Miranda had, surprisingly, changed very little about the house. In fact, Jenn thought, the entire neighborhood had changed very little since she’d been away.
A light went on in the house across the street. She could see the rooster wallpaper in Mrs. Kincade’s kitchen. She smiled at the sight.
Her neighborhood in Dallas was so impersonal. She hardly knew the people who lived on either side of her and had never been in their homes. A week ago she hadn’t thought anything about the fact that her neighbors weren’t a part of her life. Now, with memories of a different lifestyle pressing in on her, she wasn’t so sure her neighborly distance was a good thing.
If she was already questioning her choices, then she’d obviously needed this time to unwind. She took a sip of her lemonade and watched headlights turn into the driveway.
Whatever peace she’d hoped to find tonight was gone. She knew it was Trace even before she saw the light rack on top of the sheriff’s car.
He’d always been a bulldog when it came to seeing things through to the end. It was one of the qualities about him she’d always admired, and one that had made the pain eight years ago even worse.
Wouldn’t a man as determined as Trace have come after her when she’d left without saying goodbye? Since she’d been the one to leave, it had been childish of her to feel hurt. But back then she’d expected him to come after her—if he’d truly loved her. He must have been relieved when she’d left. He was off the hook. No more playing at husband or father.
But that was eight long years ago. Now all she felt was an odd ambivalence. She didn’t want to dredge up the past. She’d buried it, and she intended it to stay that way. No one in Blossom knew of her less-than-two-week marriage to Trace. The secret had died with her mother.
Jenn had told Miranda about losing the baby, but couldn’t bring herself to mention the quick trip over the state line to get married. It had been a childish mistake she wanted to forget.
The night they’d married, Trace had dropped her off at her house, then made the long drive back to San Antonio to his summer job. They’d agreed she’d live with her mother and keep the marriage a secret until he’d earned enough to rent an apartment. Then he’d come home and find a job in Blossom.
But everything had changed when she’d lost the baby a few days later.
Her mother had found out what they’d done. They’d forged a note saying Jenn had her mother’s permission to wed, then snuck over the state line and gotten married in New Mexico. Jenn’s mother had insisted she get an annulment, and, in the emotional aftermath of the miscarriage, Jenn had agreed.
Now Trace’s car pulled up to the front of the house. He killed the lights, but didn’t get out. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he was staring at her. She could feel his eyes. He knew she was in the shadows of the porch, just as she’d known it was him in the car. They’d always had that kind of connection. It seemed they still did, in spite of everything.
He opened the door and unfolded his tall frame from the driver’s seat. He walked slowly up to the porch.
She recognized his rolling gait. He had grown taller and filled out since high school, but she’d know his walk anywhere. To her annoyance, her heart speeded up.
He stopped at the steps without walking up.
“Hey, Trace,” she greeted him in a soft voice.
“Jenn.”
Just her name, that was all. From the way he said it she could tell he was angry.
He continued to stand there, staring at her. In the old days he would have taken the stairs two at a time, sat down beside her, pulled her into his lap and kissed her breathless.
The thought made her breasts tingle, and a stab of yearning went through her. She had to fight the urge to invite him to sit down beside her.
No one had ever made her feel like Trace had. But she didn’t want or need the feelings, and she hadn’t, not for a long time.
Finally he cleared his throat. “Is he mine? Is Zack my son?”
Jenn nearly fell off the swing in surprise. “No. Why would you think that?”
He ran his hand over his face. “He’s about the right age, isn’t he?”
The fact that he was right about Zack’s age didn’t stop the hurt welling up inside her. Did he really think she could do that to him? Have his child and not tell him?
“I lost our baby, Trace,” she said in a shaking voice.
She saw his shoulder lift in a tired shrug. “I hoped—I had to know. He looks like me.”
Her anger fizzled, leaving her feeling tender and bruised. Zack did look like Trace. Jenn had noticed that about the little boy immediately. She’d had to admit, even at the time of the adoption, it was one of the reasons Zack had quickly become so dear to her.
He let out a soft huff of breath. “Your mother told me about the baby, but she never liked me. I couldn’t trust—When I came back to Blossom you’d already gone. She told me she was taking care of the annulment, too, because you were underage.”
Only now, as an adult, did Jenn realize how much it must have hurt him, that she’d left without an explanation. “I’m sorry.”
She felt sadness wash over her for what they’d lost to their youthful mistakes and her mother’s schemes. She wanted Trace to hold her so she could feel the comfort of his strong arms and wide chest.
But she stayed where she was. Those days were long over.
She and Trace were so different now. She was a mother, living in a city she loved. He was a bachelor, and a small-town boy. He’d always lived in Blossom. He hated cities.
Most likely, even if they’d stayed together, their relationship wouldn’t have worked. She didn’t question why she’d held fast to that belief.
Trace’s voice drew her out of her musings.
“I called your mother’s house, but she wouldn’t talk to me. Then I heard you’d gone off to school. When I found out you’d left for college I went to find you.”
“You came to SMU?” She hadn’t known he’d tried to contact her after she’d left. It didn’t change the present, but knowing he’d come after her untied one of the little knots of sadness she’d held on to for years.
“Yeah. But when I came to my senses and realized you’d left me, I gave up and came home. I got good and drunk, and then the next day I joined the marines.”
“Miranda told me you enlisted.”
After a long silence he said, “Nothing went the way we expected, did it?”
His voice held a quiet sadness that tore at Jenn’s heart. She resisted the pull. She built a life that fit her needs. She had everything under control. She loved her job, and her son was in a good school. They were a family. They belonged in Dallas, not here in Blossom or with Trace.
“We were so young. I don’t think it would have worked,” she said softly
Even in the dark she saw the tension in his body. “Why don’t you say what you really mean, Jenn?”
She flinched at the anger and resentment in his voice.
“An unplanned baby, an unplanned wedding. What happened between us wasn’t planned at all. For you, everything worked out for the best.”
His words stunned her. “Do you think I wanted what happened?”
“No. But I think you wished none of it had ever happened at all.”
She wanted to disagree with him, but he’d hit on a secret guilt she’d carried for eight years.
After a long silence he said sadly, “Well, we’ll never know if it would have worked, will we? Good night, Jenn.”
He turned and walked back to his car.
For eight years she’d been telling herself things had turned out for the best. But now she wondered, if that was the case, why did she wish deep down, that things had turned out differently?
The next morning, as Zack watched cartoons in the living room, Jenn listened as her sister pointed out the things she wanted removed from the room that was going to be the baby’s nursery.
This had been Roger’s den, and Miranda was trying to remove every trace of her husband. Jenn didn’t blame her. He’d run off with an eighteen-year-old hairdresser, and neither Jenn nor Miranda were in a particularly forgiving state of mind.
“What do you want me to do with the stuff he left behind?” Jenn asked as she surveyed the fishing equipment, piles of magazines and baseball shoes, gloves and bats.
“Put it at the curb. Tomorrow is garbage day.”
“I don’t know, Miranda. Do you really want to throw it away?”
Miranda rubbed her belly and laughed, but the sound held little humor. “That’s exactly what I want.”
“Okay.” Jenn bit the inside of her cheek to keep from telling Miranda that the contents of their trash pile would be talked about all over Blossom. Jenn hated it when she heard her mother’s words coming out of her own mouth. “You go put your feet up. I’ll dig in here,” she said instead. She was worried for her sister. Miranda tired easily, and last night Jenn had heard her crying. From the dark circles under Miranda’s eyes, Jenn was sure her sister was sleeping badly, when she slept at all.
Now Miranda didn’t even argue. She turned and left the room.
Jenn spent the next hour piling things by the door. From the back of the closet she dragged out an old dress box from a Dallas store that had gone out of business years ago. It was sealed with tape, coated with dust and marked with their mother’s name.
Curious, she wiped the box with a rag, then carried it upstairs to Miranda’s bedroom. Her sister looked up from the book she was reading.
“There’s a box with Mom’s name on it. I thought we went through everything after she died.” Jenn put the box on the bed.
Miranda pushed herself up against the headboard. “Roger found that in the rafters in the garage about a year ago and brought it into the house. I kept meaning to go through it, but never got around to it.”
“Are you up to it now?”
“Sure.”
Jenn went back downstairs to the office and began to scrub the walls of the closet.
A few minutes later Miranda appeared at the office door holding a large manila envelope. “Jenn, you need to see this.”
Jenn dropped her sponge into the bucket and wiped her wet hands on her jeans. She took the envelope from her sister and slid out the papers. The date on the cover sheet was eight years old. It was a checklist of information that would be needed to complete an annulment. And the original, completed forms filled out with Trace’s and her names. Jenn’s knees felt weak and she sat down on the desk chair. As she stared at the form, the realization of what she held in her hand sank in.
The final papers for her annulment had never been filed.
Miranda lifted the papers from Jenn’s numb fingers, then picked up the envelope and studied the postmark. “This must have come the week Mom was diagnosed. I remember, because we went to the doctor on Kelly’s birthday.”
Jenn nodded. She’d never forget that phone call. “You called me at school to tell me about Mom. I was studying for midterm exams.”
She covered her mouth with both hands and mumbled through her fingers. “Oh, my gosh. Do you know what this means?”
Miranda skimmed the papers again and gave Jenn an evil little smile. “I suspect you and Trace McCabe are still legally married. So what are you going to do?”
Jenn reached for the phone. “First of all, I’m going to make sure I’m not legally married,” she said in a voice full of bravado.
Then, she thought with a sinking feeling, if her instincts were right, she was going to have to tell her husband the truth.
Chapter Four
Jenn sat in her car outside Trace’s house. It was old, but the wood siding and trim sported a fresh coat of paint, and the walk was bordered with neatly tended flower beds. The sheriff’s car was parked in the driveway.
Catching Trace at home was better than meeting him at his office. After all, she wanted privacy when she dropped her bomb, didn’t she?
She got out of her car and nervously smoothed the skirt of her yellow sundress. Taking a deep breath, she rang the doorbell and listened to it chime inside the house. When there was no response, she rang again. All she got was an unnerving silence. Butterflies churned in her stomach.
Had he seen her arrive and decided not to answer the door? The thought bothered her. Even though she’d begun her visit to Blossom wanting to avoid him, she irrationally didn’t want him treating her the same way. Especially now that they’d crossed paths and exchanged words.
She had raised her hand to knock, to give it one last try, when she heard the unmistakable cough and sputter of a gas lawn mower starting up.
She listened for a moment. The noise was coming from the back of the house. She blew out a little sigh of relief. He wasn’t ignoring her. He must be mowing his yard.
She stepped down off the front porch and walked across the lawn to the driveway, headed toward the uneven growl of the mower. As she cleared the side of the house and got a full view of the backyard, she stopped dead.
Trace had his back to her, pushing an ancient mower through tall grass. He wore nothing but a pair of shorts that sat low on his hips, and sneakers without socks. The muscles of his arms and shoulders stood out as he wrestled the mower. Glistening, sweaty muscles that had not been on his lean frame eight years ago.
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.
The body she remembered had belonged to a lanky twenty-year-old boy on the brink of manhood. The body that held her attention now was fully matured, filled out and beautifully sculpted.
As he turned the mower to make another pass, he didn’t look up and she stayed in the shadows, watching.
He had grown quite a lot of hair on his chest. It was curly like the hair on his head. She swallowed again and felt the tips of her fingers tingle as she remembered how she’d loved to touch him.
Dangerous, forbidden feelings surfaced like hot water bubbling out of a thermal spring. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him or forget no other man had ever made her feel the way Trace had.
She’d told herself over the years that she’d exaggerated her memories of him. It was only normal. After all, Trace had been her first love and she’d been an inexperienced teenager with overactive hormones. Of course he’d seemed exciting, passionate, wonderful.
So why did she suddenly think he might still all of those things, and possibly more?
She looked down, fiddling with the tie at the waist of her dress as she tried to compose herself.
She didn’t need those kinds of thrills. She didn’t want them. A relationship with that much passion was too complicated, too messy and took up far too much time.
She had her life right where she wanted it. And it didn’t—couldn’t—include Trace.
The sound of the idling mower caught her attention. Trace had spotted her.
He stood in the middle of his yard like a bronzed statue. His large hands clutched the handle of the unmoving mower, and he was staring at her.
She couldn’t read the expression on his face. He seemed distant. It shouldn’t bother her, but it did.
Jenn pasted on a smile and stepped into the sunshine, hoping he would think she had just arrived. “Hey, Trace.”
He leaned over the mower and shut it off. The sun glistened in his hair, and bits of grass clung to his sweaty skin. He straightened, and the silence that stretched between them seemed very loud.
She took a hesitant step forward, then said in a rush, “I need to talk to you, but you’re busy. I can come back.” Chicken, she scolded herself.
He shook his head, then wiped his arm across his forehead. “Now is fine. I could use a break.”
He left the mower in the middle of the yard and picked up a hose, dousing himself with water and then shaking like a dog.
He’d always been so at home with himself, a quality Jenn, who usually felt self-conscious, admired.
As Trace picked up a T-shirt hanging from the back porch railing and dried himself off, she tried her best not to stare. What was she doing, alone with a half-naked man? She could almost hear her mother’s often-voiced refrain: what will the neighbors think?
Jenn glanced around and realized Trace had no neighbors within sight. She could grab him right here, outside, and there would be no one to see.
Now she had managed to shock herself.
“Jenn? Something wrong?” Trace pulled the rumpled shirt over his head.
“No! Everything’s fine.” She shook her head. At least he had removed the visual temptation.
“Well, not exactly fine,” she said. Where did she begin?
Politely, still keeping his distance, he motioned toward the back door. “Come on in. Let’s get out of the sun. I’ve got cold sodas in the fridge.” He climbed the back steps and toed off his grass-caked shoes.
He held the door for her and she stepped past him into a tiny utility room. He smelled like sunshine and grass and sweaty man. A tempting combination.
Trace ushered her into a tidy kitchen with clean white counters and white appliances. A row of windows looked out on the backyard and a round wooden table sat on the terra-cotta tile floor. The only thing that looked out of place was the holstered gun sitting in the middle of the table.
“Soda?” He was still watching her with that unreadable expression on his face.
She wanted to tell him she didn’t plan to be here that long, but manners had her saying, “Thank you. Diet if you have it.”
He looked her up and down, and her temperature rose several degrees. He shook his head as he reached in and pulled out two red cans. “No diet.”
Did he mean he didn’t have diet, or she didn’t need it?
He popped the lid on one of the cans and handed it to her, then propped his lean hips against the counter next to the stove and opened his own can.
She was staring down at his bare feet, wondering where to start, when his voice brought her back.
“Do you want to sit down?”
Abruptly she met his gaze. “No. This will just take a minute.” Like ripping off a bandage, it would be better to get it done quickly.
Jenn took a deep breath and said, “Miranda and I were cleaning out a room for the baby and I found a box of papers in a closet.” She stopped and took a sip of soda, needing to wet her suddenly dry throat.
He nodded, a puzzled look on his face.
She lowered the can of soda and said, “There was an envelope from the state of New Mexico.”
At that, his expression and body language changed. He stood up a little straighter and his brow furrowed. He didn’t speak, but made a little motion with his hand, encouraging her to continue.
She took a deep breath and let the words rush out. “My mother never completed the forms for our annulment.”
He stared at her for so long she had to fight not to squirm. She babbled instead. “I called the number on the form. They checked and…” She let the sentence trail off, not wanting to say the words out loud.
His voice was very quiet. “And what, Jenn?”
She cleared her throat. “We’re still married.”
Neither one of them moved.
Finally Trace shook his head and set his soda on the counter beside him. He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression still unreadable. “So now what do we do?”
She pasted on a plastic smile. “It’s not really a problem. We can file the papers ourselves. There are grounds.”
“Desertion?” Trace gave a hard bark of laughter.
“That would work.” Yes, it fit. For both of them.
There was a hint of anger in him she’d never seen before. She took a step back, feeling uncertain of this Trace, this man she couldn’t read.
Immediately he relaxed against the counter. “Do you want me to take care of it?” he asked in that neutral voice she was beginning to hate.
“No. I’ll do it.” She headed for the door, needing to get away from him and the feelings that crowded her head. “Thanks for the soda,” she said over her shoulder. How inane to be polite after what had just transpired.
“You’re welcome,” Trace replied just as politely to her back.
She went through the utility room and out the back door, squinting into the bright sunlight. She made her way back to her car, fighting against the urge to cry.
They’d never really been married. He’d stepped up because she was pregnant. They’d never even spent even one night together as Mr. and Mrs. Trace McCabe. So why did she feel as if she’d just lost something?
Key in hand, she slid onto the hot upholstery of the driver’s seat and had to blink away her silly tears to find the ignition.
It was done, and over. Grow up and stop being so maudlin, she told herself. What had happened was eight years in the past.
She had her life in Dallas, the job she’d always wanted and her son. She was happy.
She pulled away from the curb. Telling Trace the truth had gone better than she’d hoped. Very civilized. He’d been…like a stranger.
Instead of feeling elated, she felt as if she’d just lost her lover all over again.
Trace got to the living-room window in time to see Jenn walk down his driveway. How could he be so physically attracted to her when she made him so furious?
He watched her slim hips sway in a purely feminine walk as she made her way to her car. He’d always loved to watch her move.
She walked like a person who had places to go. And she had. She’d gone to Dallas and she’d never come home.
As he watched her pull away from the curb he thought about what she’d just told him. Even though he’d believed the annulment had been finalized years ago, her casual offer to end their marriage had been damn hard to hear.
He turned away and headed toward the bathroom and a shower. As much as he would love to go back out to the yard and work the anger out of his system, duty called. But as he lathered up, his thoughts drifted into dangerous territory.
What if Jenn hadn’t lost the baby?
Their child would be the same age as Zack.
Would they have had a successful marriage? More children?
Or was she right? Had they been too young to have it last?
When they had first started dating, Jenn had had big plans for college and a career. He’d been a part of those dreams.
The unplanned pregnancy had upset her, made her feel out of control. He’d never seen her so distressed. And when she lost the baby, she’d gone back to her plans, minus him.
He stuck his head under the spray and called himself a fool for wanting things that could never be.
He had other things he needed to think about, things he could actually do something about. Like the frustrating investigation into the land swindle that had cost several residents of the county thousands of dollars. And the Committee for Moral Behavior was driving him crazy with their demands to make changes “for the good” of Blossom. He knew they meant well, but they didn’t seem to understand there was only so much he could do without treading on other people’s civil rights.
He dressed, grabbed his weapon and wallet and was stopped twice on his way to his meeting with the mayor.
The town’s gardener had found two garden trolls sitting on the bench in front of the courthouse. He wanted Trace to know they were in his shed.
Then Trace ran into the clerk of the court, who needed to show him pictures of her latest grandchild.
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