Читать онлайн книгу «Daddy′s Home» автора Debra Kastner

Daddy's Home
Debra Kastner
WHAT KIND OF MAN WAS HE?Dr. Jasmine Enderlin had once loved Christopher Jordan with her whole heart. And he'd betrayed that love by marrying her sister and then abandoning his pregnant bride. Christopher's actions had made her question her faith. But now her sister was dead, Jasmine was the mother of their child and the prodigal daddy had returned to claim his son….Christopher wanted to explain what he had done, but Jasmine's hurt and anger prevented her from listening. Until she found her sister's well-worn Bible and learned that appearances could be deceiving. Was God trying to tell her that Christopher deserved a second chance?



Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u42381e89-6af9-51d3-ab9e-020332b0d2b3)
Excerpt (#u0bca05cc-2d77-5c1a-8da4-4ce65bac7a3f)
About the Author (#u7c0a694e-b39e-5f0b-9c46-20a45546a917)
Title Page (#u7198cafd-1c00-5a6f-91a1-63b8b7c0b094)
Epigraph (#u59bccb27-f3ea-596b-a79b-ecfa3b64cc05)
Dedication (#ua84b2ff6-bb78-5076-a3f3-5325a721e272)
Chapter One (#u009ef9f8-08c8-59d8-8b19-79f95f4135f3)
Chapter Two (#u60d6d187-f8fc-5726-893c-1411f807b93f)
Chapter Three (#ufa74b447-3e0b-5b6b-b29b-f2cb1b2851a3)
Chapter Four (#ucb92ffbd-c100-5cef-8086-97c7b3616f11)
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)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“Where is he?” Christopher’s low voice resonated in her ears.
“Get out of here,” Jasmine said, hurt and anger warring within her.

“Not until I’ve seen my son.”

“Your son? Your son is doing very well without you. When did you decide to be a daddy, Christopher? Yesterday?”
Some things hadn’t changed, Christopher thought. Jasmine Enderlin was as pigheaded as she’d always been. If she hadn’t jumped to conclusions a year ago, he wouldn’t be standing here like a stranger on her front porch. If God had been willing, they would have been married.

But God wasn’t willing. And Jasmine wasn’t budging.

He’d been so certain he was meant to come back. He loved Jasmine. He always had. And though he knew he had a long way to travel to get back in her good graces, it had to be done. He needed Sammy in his life.

Sammy—and Jasmine.

DEB KASTNER
The wife of a Reformed Episcopal minister, Deb naturally found her niche in the Christian/inspirational romance market. She enjoys tackling the issues of faith and trust within the context of a romance. Her characters range from upbeat and humorous to (her favorite) dark and brooding heroes. Her plots fall anywhere between, from a playful romp to the deeply emotional.

When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her husband and three girls and, whenever she can manage, attending regional dinner theater and touring Broadway musicals.

Daddy’s Home
Debra Kastner


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
He has showed you, O man, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly
with your God.
—Micah 6:8
To my daddy, Jim Larkin,
for never letting me give anything but my best.
And for my girls’ daddy, Joseph C. Kastner, Jr.,
who never stopped believing.

Chapter One (#ulink_2e18bd9e-dbff-5ac7-86f3-9d648cf545cc)
“Christopher’s back in town.”
Jasmine Enderlin stiffened at the statement. Keeping a carefully neutral expression on her face, she met her grandmother’s shrewd gaze. “And you’re telling me this because…?”
“Don’t be obtuse,” Gram snapped, shaking a wrinkled finger under Jasmine’s nose. “Don’t you pretend I need to spell it out for you. I’m not buying. You know exactly what I’m saying, and you know why. Now, do you want to know the details, or don’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered, not even sure Gram would hear her. She released an audible sigh and turned back to the thick olive-colored sweater she’d been folding moments before.
Jenny’s sweater.
Brushing the soft material across her cheek, she caught a whiff of Jenny’s light, breezy scent on it.
She wouldn’t have thought something as simple as the smell of her sister’s perfume would set her off, but for some reason, today it did. Her eyes pricked with tears, and she brushed them away with a hurried swipe of her fist, hoping Gram wouldn’t notice the furtive action.
Why would Christopher come back to Westcliffe at all, and especially now of all times?
As if to answer Jasmine’s unspoken question, Gram shrugged her age-bent shoulders. “He wants his son.”
“What?” She sprang from the bed, tipping a pile of freshly folded blue jeans into a heap at her feet. “What do you mean he wants Sammy? He can’t have him,” she added vehemently, hugging her arms to her chest as if protecting an infant there. Her infant.
A moment more and she would have dashed from the room to snatch up the baby boy sleeping soundly in his bassinet in the next bedroom, but Gram held up a finger in protest. “You haven’t heard the story.”
I know the story, she thought, her heart clenching. Love. Betrayal. Desertion.
That chapter of her life was over, she reminded herself, fiercely determined to remain in control of her emotions. She shook her head to detour the advancing thought, but it came anyway.
Jenny’s dead.
Ugliness folded over her like quicksand. God didn’t help Jenny. He could have, but He didn’t. Guilt stabbed at her conscience, and she briefly wondered if her thoughts constituted blasphemy.
Maybe they did.
But how could she change the way she felt, the way she viewed things? What else was she to think? Three months ago when she hadn’t been able to save Jenny. Not with all her years of medical training, not with so much love that she would have willingly taken her sister’s place.
And God had done nothing.
“It isn’t your fault, my dear,” Gram said as she hobbled over to a high-backed Victorian chair and seated herself with the sluggishness of age. “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”
Gram, she reflected with an inward wince, had the annoying ability to read her mind. Even as a child when Jasmine lost both parents to a tragic car accident, Gram had known what she was thinking and feeling. Gram had raised her, knew better than anyone what she suffered now.
“Because Christopher came back all of a sudden, after a year away?” she asked, knowing full well it was not the question Gram was answering.
Her keen silver eyes fixed upon Jasmine. If she was disturbed by her granddaughter’s persistent avoidance of the obvious, it didn’t show in her gaze.
“I had my hair set in the salon today,” she said, relating the story as if it were of no consequence. As if Jasmine’s world hadn’t come crashing to a halt the moment she’d heard Christopher’s name. “Lucille Walters came in for a perm. She told me everything she knew. Said since it’s January and all, he’s looking for a new beginning. Clean slate, you might say. Seems he’s bunking with her boys at the Lazy H.”
“He’s rooming with ranch hands?” she asked, surprise sounding in her voice. His parents, like hers, were with the Lord. And as an only child, he had no family to return to. But ranch hands?
“Seems a bit peculiar to me.” Gram raised a gray eyebrow and cocked her head to one side.
Her laughter was dry and bitter. “Yeah, for someone who’s scared to death of horses, I’d say it is.” How quickly the old anger returned to course through her. Righteous indignation swelled in her chest. She embraced it, welcoming the heat that surged through her bloodstream like electricity.
It was her way of dealing with what she couldn’t stand to face. Anger filled the empty spaces, leaving no room for more painful, tender emotions to surface.
It was a welcome relief. “Did you talk to him?” she queried, her voice unusually low and scratchy.
“No.” Gram leaned forward and cupped a hand to her mouth as if to whisper a secret. “But he told Lucille he wants his son.”
“Sammy is not his son!”
Sammy! Would Christopher take him away from her? That sweet baby had given new meaning to her life, given her a reason to live when all she wanted to do after Jenny’s death was crawl into the nearest hole and die.
And Christopher could take it all away. The thought pierced her heart like a stake. Sure, she had the papers that said she was Sammy’s legal guardian, but Christopher was related by blood. She pumped her fists open and closed to release the tension swirling through her.
Oh Jenny. Why did God take you away from us?
“Sammy’s my son,” she said again, more to reassure herself than to answer Gram.
“Not sure the law will see it your way.” Gram’s age-roughened voice broke into her thoughts. Her eyes were full of compassion as she reached forward to squeeze her granddaughter’s hand. “Seems to me Christopher had some part in making that baby.”
Jasmine didn’t want to think about that. “Jenny’s will makes me his guardian. Besides, a romp in the sack doesn’t make a man a father.” She snorted her derision. “He doesn’t deserve to be a father to baby Sammy, as I’m sure the courts will agree. He abandoned Jenny long before his son was born. What kind of a father does that make him?”
Gram held up her hands as if to ward off a blow. “I’m not disagreeing with you, honey. No-sirree! I’m just concerned that he’s going to fight you every step of the way. Mark my words! You know as well as I do that Christopher Jordan is a strong, stubborn man. He won’t stop until he gets what he wants.”
She knew. Better even than Gram did. Once, she’d known his heart and soul. Or at least she thought she had. “He won’t get Sammy,” she vowed, her voice tight.
Gram raised an eyebrow. “Well, girl, I’ve gotta say you can be just as determined as any ol’ man when you put your mind to it.” She chuckled. “My money’s on you.”
“Thank you for your confidence,” she replied with a wry smile. “I’ll fight him if I have to.” No one would take Sammy away from her. No one. He was her baby now. And he was all she had left of Jenny.
Sammy’s cry pierced the gray haze of rage and frustration that flooded Jasmine’s mind. She dashed into the other bedroom and tucked the crying baby to her chest, speaking to him in an incoherent, soothing whisper.
At three months old, Sammy was already well able to make his desires known, she reflected with a smile. Not all the anger in the world could dim the gentle glow of love that filled her heart every time she held this sweet, precious child.
With the palm of her hand, she smoothed the tuft of light brown hair covering his head. He had a cowlick on the left side of his forehead. Just like his father.
Christopher.
She shook the thought away. “Gram, if I change Sammy’s diaper, will you take him for a while? I want to go through the rest of Jenny’s clothes before I quit for the night.”
Gram came around the corner, smiling and cooing as she approached Sammy. “Let’s get you changed, little fellow, so I can take you. Your Mommy needs to get some work done.”
Mommy. Jasmine felt less awkward after three months, but still the term hovered in the corner of her consciousness, taunting her to prove herself. She wrapped a fresh diaper around Sammy’s waist and pinned it securely, barely giving a thought to her actions.
Some things, at least, were beginning to come easier for her.
It was she who rose each night for the two o’clock feeding, she who burped and cuddled and changed the boy.
She hadn’t planned to be anyone’s mother. Not for years yet, in any case. If only…
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough for one day?” Gram asked, reaching for the infant and bouncing him against her shoulder, patting his back in an age-old, soothing rhythmic gesture. “You have to go to work early tomorrow. Besides, you’ve been called out three evenings in a row. Can’t the people around here stay out of trouble for a single night?”
She chuckled. “I don’t mind, Gram. Really. That’s why I went to medical school. I survived my residency with far less sleep than I get here. This town rolls up the carpet at six o’clock in the evening! In Denver, our worst hours were late at night.”
“Be that as it may,” Gram argued, “things have changed. You’ve got a little one dependent on you. You need to keep yourself healthy. For Sammy’s sake, Jasmine, if not your own.”
She laughed. “Gram, I’ve never been sick a day in my life, and you know it. I rarely even catch a cold!”
“For Sammy’s sake,” the old woman repeated, kissing the infant’s forehead.
Jasmine sighed. “For Sammy’s sake. Everything I’m doing is for Sammy’s sake. Not that I regret a minute of it.” She stroked one finger down his feathery cheek, enjoying the loud giggle that erupted from him. Staring down at him now, her heart welled with love.
“Take care of my baby.”
Her sister’s voice echoed through her head as if it were yesterday, and not three months past. Would that fluttery, empty feeling in the center of her chest ever really go away, or would she eventually learn to live with it? It caught her unawares at the oddest moments.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to steady her quivering nerves. “I’ve got to get back to these sweaters, or I’ll never get this done.”
Gram settled herself on the rocking chair in the corner of the baby’s room and adjusted Sammy on her lap. “We’ll be fine, dear. Just don’t be too long. I think he’s hungry.”
“I’m not surprised. That baby eats more than most kids twice his size,” she commented as she moved into the opposite bedroom. “There’s a bottle ready in the fridge if he gets too restless.”
She eyed the open closet defensively. Jenny’s clothes—blouses crammed haphazardly onto hangers, blue jeans rolled and stuffed on the shelf top above, the one dress she owned to wear for special occasions—beckoned to her.
She’d already put off this unpleasant task too long. The time had come for her to finish packing Jenny’s things away and to sell the bungalow.
She reached up to the shelf above her head and tugged on a pile of jeans, which came fluttering down on top of her. Something solid hit her head, making a loud, clapping noise and stinging her skin where it slapped. She instinctively threw her arms over her to protect herself from being beaned with further projectiles, but none were forthcoming. It was just one book.
A book had been rolled up in a pair of jeans? That was something she didn’t see every day. Curious, she reached to retrieve the errant missile.
A Bible. Jenny had a Bible, hidden away like a treasured possession. Somehow she’d assumed Jenny had left the faith, if her actions were anything to go by.
Curious, Jasmine thumbed the pages, recognizing the flowing loops and curves in the margins as Jenny’s handwriting. Even though Jenny said she hadn’t made peace with God until the end of her life, this Bible obviously had held some significance for her. Bits of paper were carefully folded into the book, as well as a single white rose, carefully pressed and dried, softly folded onto the page with the family tree.
Jasmine brushed her fingers over the crisp, dry calligraphy. “February twenty-fifth. Jennifer Lynn Enderlin married Christopher Scott Jordan.”
Tears burned in her throat, and she bit her lip to keep them from flowing. Would the pain never lessen?
She ran a finger over the black ink, the carefully formed letters. Jenny’s handwriting had always been so much neater than her own. It had been a source of endless amusement for Jenny to be able to harass her older sister about the chicken-scratching she passed off as handwriting. It was, she had often teased, God’s sure sign to her that Jasmine was meant to be a doctor.
She curled up on the floor against the edge of the bed, staring at the Bible. It was a tangible piece of Jenny. She could run her fingers down the cracked leather binding, read the notes Jenny made in the margins about the Scriptures she read.
Slowly, almost reverently, she opened the Bible, silently flipping page after page, pausing to read a comment here and a highlighted Scripture there. Jenny had obviously spent a lot of time in the Word before her death. Jasmine’s throat constricted around her breath.
The doorbell sounded. She snapped the book shut and stuffed it under Jenny’s pillow. Her thoughts whirlwinded as she considered who might be at the door. Perhaps someone was here to look at the bungalow, even though it wasn’t listed yet.
“I’ll get it!” she whispered, peeking into the extra bedroom. Sammy was sound asleep in Gram’s arms, and it appeared Gram, too, had taken the liberty of a small nap. Her chin nestled against the baby boy, and her mouth had dropped open with the light buzz of snoring.
Jasmine chuckled quietly and moved to the front door. It was only when her hand was already on the knob and she’d half opened the door that it occurred to her who might be waiting.
“Christopher!” Jasmine confirmed, staring up at the tall, ruggedly handsome man before her. “What are you doing here?”
Her heart skipped a beat, then thumped an erratic tempo in her throat, blocking her breath. Anger, shock and a dozen other emotions buzzed through her like a swarm of angry bees.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which gleamed like cold, gray stones. Despite herself, Jasmine remembered how those eyes used to twinkle, changing in shade from a deep gray to a cobalt blue whenever he was happy.
He clearly wasn’t happy now. The quirk of a smile changed into a frown, matching the twin creases between his light brown eyebrows.
“That’s a fine welcome for an old…friend,” he commented slowly, his scowl darkening.
“What do you want?” she snapped, her voice cold. She felt a stab of guilt for her rudeness, but she brushed it away.
The man didn’t deserve better. In her book, anyone who deserted his family didn’t deserve much of anything. Except maybe a swift kick in the backside.
“Cut to the chase, Christopher.” The determined gleam in his eyes left no doubt he wasn’t here for a social call. And the sooner he was gone, the better.
Every muscle in her body had tensed to the point of physical pain, but that was nothing in comparison to the wrenching agony of her heart at seeing him again. She had no idea it would be this difficult to face the man she’d once loved with all her heart. She clenched her fists, her fingernails biting into her palms.
I’m not ready.
She knew she’d eventually have to confront him, but she’d hoped to be doing it on her terms, in her time, on her own turf. Three strikes and she was out before she even got a chance to bat.
He was taller than she remembered, with a lithe frame and broad shoulders. He curled a steel gray cowboy hat in his fists, leaving exposed the cowlick that made his light brown hair cock up just over his left eyebrow. She remembered once telling him it gave him a roguish appearance. He’d just laughed and shaken his head. Maybe if he’d known just how much she’d wanted to spend her life with him—to marry him and raise a family with him—things might have been different If only…
“Medical school has done wonders for your manners,” he commented gruffly. “What do they teach you there? How to offend your neighbors in one easy lesson?”
The barbs found their mark. “You’re not my neighbor.” She scratched out the words, since her throat had suddenly gone dry.
He raised one eyebrow. “No? Whatever happened to the Good Samaritan? Or didn’t you learn that one in church?”
Jasmine cringed inwardly. It wasn’t like him to throw Scripture at her that way. He possessed a strong, quiet faith, which he neither took lightly nor tossed in someone’s face like pearls before swine.
She wondered where that faith had gone. The past few months were proof of his decline. Choosing to marry Jenny over her without even the courtesy of a phone call, then up and abandoning the poor girl once she was carrying his child—the change was too great to fathom. The icy-eyed man standing before her was a virtual stranger.
“Maybe you haven’t heard,” he continued. “I’m living at Lucille’s place now.” He rolled the brim of his hat once more, then jammed it on his head.
“With the ranch hands,” she added dryly.
“Mmm. So you did know, then. I was wondering how long it would take for the news to get back to you. Small town and all.” He peered over her shoulder into the room. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
She heard Sammy cry out, and wondered if Christopher heard it, as well. With lightening swiftness, she stepped out onto the front porch and quietly but firmly closed the door behind her.
“No. I’d rather not.” She wondered if he heard the quavering in her voice, and determined to control it with all the force of her will.
Christopher appeared unaffected by her intentional rudeness. He placed a hand on the door frame above her right shoulder and leaned into her, his face only inches from her own.
Her head spinning, she tried to inhale, tried to steady herself mentally. Instead, she breathed a heady whiff of his western-scented cologne.
Her favorite. The brand he used to wear especially for her.
Panicking, she stepped backward until her shoulders hit the solid strength of the door. This furtive movement was no deterrent for Christopher, who simply crooked his elbow to narrow the distance between them.
The brim of his hat touched her forehead, and he tilted his head to move in closer. His breath mingled with hers, his steel gaze never leaving hers for a moment.
She felt the way a mouse must feel when hypnotized by a snake’s haunting eyes—knowing she would be consumed, yet powerless to look away.
He was going to kiss her. The snake wasn’t even going to ask. Just take. And she wouldn’t be able to stop him, so mesmerized was she by his gleaming eyes that looked so serious beneath the brim of his hat.
She closed her eyes. Despite her head screaming to the contrary, her heart beckoned him closer. It wasn’t rational; in fact, it was quite out of the question. But knowing that didn’t stop her from wanting his lips on hers just one last time. Perhaps it was a move toward resolution. She leaned closer, anticipating the moment their lips would meet.
“Where is he?” His low voice resonated in her ears.
Her eyes snapped open to meet his amused gaze. The twinkle had returned, and the dimple in his left cheek was showing. He was completely relaxed, and he was smirking at her!
Hurt and anger warring within her, she pushed both hands into his chest and shoved as hard as she could.
Christopher stepped back, but only because he wanted to. He didn’t want to admit that his feelings hadn’t changed, not in all these years, and not with all that had happened between them.
But now was not the time to pursue his feelings, though surely that time would arrive. He would make that time come, one way or another.
There were bridges to be built to gap the distance between them, and that would take some time. He’d known from the moment he decided to return to Westcliffe that it wouldn’t be easy. Not for him, and most definitely not for Jasmine.
She could be one stubborn woman, he thought, pressing his lips together. But then again, he was a stubborn man. He clamped his teeth down hard and stared her down.
“Get out of here, you snake.” Her voice was a low rasp.
Snake? He cringed inwardly at her animosity. He’d hoped her anger at the situation would have dulled enough with time for her to listen to reason, but it was obvious she was no closer to being ready to accept the truth than she’d been a year ago. He set his jaw and narrowed his eyes on her. “Not until I’ve seen my son.”
“Your son? Your son is doing very well without you, thank you very much. When did you decide to be a daddy, Christopher? Yesterday? It’s not like a hat that you can put on whenever you please. What right do you have to waltz in and demand to see him? He’s a twenty-four-hour-a-day responsibility, which I have been facing alone, I might add. He’s a flesh-and-blood human being, not some toy you can play with whenever the urge strikes you!”
“Yeah,” he agreed, tipping his hat backward and raking his fingers through his hair. Some things hadn’t changed.
Jasmine Enderlin was as pigheaded as she’d always been. If she hadn’t jumped to conclusions a year ago, he wouldn’t be standing here like a stranger on her front porch. God willing, they would’ve been married.
But God wasn’t willing. And Jasmine wasn’t budging.
“Give me a break, Jazz. I’ve been busting my tail to get back here.”
“Is that so?” she snapped. bracing her arms on her hips. “And I’m supposed to feel sorry for you because you worked so hard to get back here?”
He leveled his gaze on her and stepped forward. “That’s so,” he said, his tone hard. “And at the moment, I don’t give a wooden nickel how you feel about me. I want to see my son. Now.”

Chapter Two (#ulink_6921a997-c2c9-5b7e-8206-79667dfeb0fc)
Jasmine’s breath came in short, uneasy gasps. Her head swirled with emotion. To have to see Christopher again, to face not only what he’d done to her heart, but to her family, was enough to daunt the strongest of women. But to have him waltz into town and demand to see his child with all the arrogance of the perfect father was positively the last straw.
Anger welled in her chest.
“What right do you have to demand anything?” she growled through clenched teeth, willing her throbbing heart to slow before it beat a hole through her chest.
Christopher pulled the hat down low over his brows and leaned toward her, his posture firm and menacing. For a minute he just stared at her, the ice in his gaze freezing her insides. When he finally spoke, it was in a whisper. “I’m his father, Jazz.”
His voice cracked on her name, and for the briefest moment, she saw a flicker of pain cross his gaze, so deep and intense she almost felt sorry for him.
Without even realizing what she was doing, she reached out a hand to stroke his strong jaw, then withdrew it just as quickly, curling her fingers into her chest as if she’d been burned.
She didn’t feel anything for Christopher Jordan, she reminded herself harshly. Not anymore. He didn’t deserve her pity, or her compassion. Scriptural verses flooded her mind, words about mercy and forgiveness, but she refused to concede. Not for him.
It didn’t take a genius to read the change in her demeanor, and his eyes quickly shaded, resuming the tint of frosty steel.
“I have rights,” he reminded her, his voice as cold as his gaze.
Jasmine steeled her heart, preparing to do mental battle with the man who’d once been the love of her life. She’d fight him tooth and nail for Sammy, and in the end, that was all that mattered. Not the past. The good or the bad. She wouldn’t let her heart betray her a second time.
“You lost any rights you had the night you left Jenny alone and pregnant,” she snarled.
His lips thinned. He opened his mouth to speak, then abruptly shut it again.
“You aren’t Sammy’s father,” she added abruptly, sensing her advantage.
The barb met its mark, if his sharp intake of breath was any indication. She rushed on before she lost her nerve.
“You can threaten me with a lawsuit if you want, but I’m not backing down. Jenny made me Sammy’s guardian. I’ve got papers to prove it—papers that will stand up in any court of law.”
Jasmine wasn’t as certain of her claim as she sounded, but she wasn’t about to let on. She made a mental note to speak with the family attorney, feeling pleased that she’d struck Christopher dumb, at least for a moment.
He swept off his hat, his gaze genuinely hurt and confused. “Who said anything about a lawsuit?” he demanded, blowing out a breath. “Shoot, Jazz, don’t you know me well enough by now to know I wouldn’t do that to you? Or to Sammy,” he added, under his breath.
Hat in hand, he reached out his arms to her, beseeching her with his gaze as well as his posture. “Just let me see him. I won’t stay long. I just want to see that he’s safe and—” His voice choked, cutting his sentence short. “Please, Jasmine. Just for a minute.”
She felt herself relenting even as her answer left her lips. “Forget it. Not now, and not ever. Go back from whatever rock you crawled out from under, Christopher. There’s nothing here for you now.”
Her heart felt like it had been through a paper shredder, and she whirled away from him before she gave in to the earnest pleading in his tone. She had to get away from him until she could think things through, knowing she couldn’t put two straight thoughts together when he looked at her that way.
How could she not remember the man Christopher once was, the strong, gentle man she loved? But that man was gone, her dreams shattered by the same disheartening reality that was responsible for creating the sweet little boy in the bedroom.
Which only served to prove that good really could come from something bad.
No matter what, she had to protect Sammy. She opened the screen door and slipped inside, glancing behind her shoulder in time to see Christopher punch his hat on his head and move to follow her.
Her heart pounded as she reached for the door and slammed it behind her, barely locking Christopher out before he began pounding.
“And good riddance,” she whispered, leaning her forehead on the door.
Jasmine was terrified Sammy would wake up and start wailing. If that happened, and Christopher heard his baby, he’d never leave. She slid down against the wall, cupping her hands over her ears. Why wouldn’t he just go away and leave them alone?
After ten minutes, when she’d finally concluded he’d never quit pounding, she heard him stomp back to his truck and slam the door. She felt both relieved and yet strangely desolate now that she was once again alone.
Her heart was still in her throat as she peeked from behind the front curtain and watched him drive away in his old Chevy truck, relaxing only when she knew for sure he was gone.
He would be back. Christopher Jordan was a stubborn, vigorous man who actively pursued what he wanted. He wouldn’t let this episode stop him from seeing Sammy. But at least it would give her time to think, to sort out her feelings so she could face him again without the emotions that earlier clouded her judgement.
Running a palm over her hair to smooth it, she took a deep breath and forced a smile to her lips. She knew Gram would see right through it, but she had to try.
Head held high, she walked as quietly and serenely as possible into the bedroom. Gram sang softly to the baby, rocking slowly back and forth with Sammy tucked in the crook of her arm.
It was such a peaceful scene, and so much at variance with the frantic pace of Jasmine’s heart, that she nearly turned tail and walked out again. But Gram caught her eye and smiled.
“He’s sleeping soundly, dear,” she said softly, continuing to rock. “I fed him the whole bottle. He’s probably down for the count. Can you help me lay him in the bassinet?”
Jasmine nodded and moved forward, holding Sammy a moment longer than necessary, inhaling his sweet, baby scent and enjoying the feel of his soft skin against her cheek. It was only the threat of losing him that made her realize that she couldn’t live without him.
It was more than just the schedule changes, the responsibility that came with having a newborn. More even than knowing there was someone completely dependent on her for his every need.
It was the space in her heart that grew larger every day, ebbing and flowing with love for this little one.
There was no way she was going to let Christopher take him away. She’d once thought the gaping hole he rent in her heart would never be mended. But loving Sammy forced her to open up her heart once again, to feel and live and hope.
She kissed the infant on his soft forehead and pushed the thatch of downy hair from his eyes. She wouldn’t let the little guy down. No matter what.
“Is he gone?” Gram asked gently.
With an audible sigh, she took her grandmother’s elbow and led her to the kitchen, where she seated the elderly woman on a foldout chair. Jenny’s financial straits were obvious by the card table she used in place of a regular kitchen table.
Sammy had the best of everything, most of which had been bought by Jenny before her death. She had sacrificed everything for her unborn son, showing the kind of sweet, giving person she was all the way up to her last breath. She would have done anything for her Sammy.
Jasmine felt a tug of grief, and made a pretense of looking through the cupboard in order to have a moment to fold those feelings back into her memory. She already knew what was in the cupboards, which amounted to a box of peppermint tea and a box of saltine crackers.
“Do you want some tea?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound as high and squeaky to Gram as it did to her own ears. It annoyed her to betray her feelings in her voice, especially to Gram, who was already much too perceptive. With a determined effort, she steadied her voice and continued. “I think I’ll have a cup, myself.”
“Are you okay?”
She took her time pulling two mugs from a shelf and filling them with water, before turning to face her grandmother. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I can’t imagine,” Gram replied dryly.
She set the cups in the microwave and turned it on, then sat down across from her grandmother. “You’re too wise for your own good.”
Gram met Jasmine’s gaze over the top of her spectacles and chuckled. “I haven’t been alive for eighty years without learning something.”
Jasmine reached for Gram’s hand and squeezed it. “You’ve been so much help to me these past months,” she admitted, her voice quavering with emotion. “I couldn’t have made it without you.”
“What’s family for?” Gram said, waving off her comment with a slight grunt of protest.
The microwave buzzed, and Jasmine jumped up. As she dipped the tea bags into the mugs, she took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “It was Christopher at the door.”
“Who else would it be? Didn’t sound like he was in a hurry to leave, either.”
“That’s the understatement of the year,” she agreed quietly. “I should have realized he’d be back, that he’d want to see Sammy at some point. I just wasn’t prepared for him to show up today.”
“And you sent him packing.” It was a statement rather than a question, punctuated with a dry chuckle.
Jasmine laughed, but it didn’t reach her heart. “You could say that. I slammed the door in his face.”
“He’ll be back.” Gram nodded her head as if confirming her own words.
The flatness Jasmine felt when Christopher left wound itself more tightly around her chest. “I know,” she whispered.
“What are you going to do about him?”
Gram was nothing if not direct, she reflected. No games. No beating around the bush. She just said what she thought and was done with it. One of the perks that came with age, Gram always said just before blurting out something outrageous.
Jasmine shook her head. “I don’t know yet. Seeing him again confused me. I thought it would be easier. I thought…”
“That you hated him?” Gram queried gently, finishing the sentence for her. “Love doesn’t give up so easily, my dear.”
She shook her head fiercely. “No. I’m not in love with Christopher anymore.” If her heart believed that, she wouldn’t be quaking in her shoes, she thought acerbically. But she’d never admit it, not even to herself. “I’ve been over him for a long time.”
“Have you?” Gram’s questioning gaze met hers, and she looked away, afraid her grandmother would read the truth she knew must shine through her tears.
She couldn’t love Christopher! Not after all these years, and especially not after everything he’d done to her and her family.
Then why did her heart leap when she saw him again?
She’d loved him since they were both in high school, she rationalized. For years they’d been inseparable. He’d been the man to whom she pledged her life, with whom she was ready to tie the knot.
Was it any wonder she would have such a polar reaction at seeing him again?
How could she not? It was only natural, after all, for her to have lingering feelings for a man who was such a large part of her past. Some of her happiest memories were with Christopher Jordan, and that was something his recent actions couldn’t take away.
“My feelings don’t matter,” she said at last, shaking her head. “This isn’t about me.” She paused and took a deep breath, giving the bassinet a pointed look. “He wants to see Sammy. For all I know, he wants to take him away. And somehow, I’ve got to figure out a way to stop him.”
Gram slowly stood and stretched, then shuffled to Jasmine’s side, placing a consoling arm around her shoulders.
That the arm around her didn’t have the power of former years mattered not a bit. Strength flowed from the elder to the younger with an intensity that only came from inner peace.
“I know this is hard for you, dear,” she said, patting Jasmine’s shoulder as she would to comfort a child. “But don’t ignore your feelings. They are God given. Pray about it. Search your heart. And, Jasmine?”
“Mmm?”
“Talk to Christopher.”
“Talk to him?” she screeched, her anger returning in spades. “Gram, I never thought you’d be on his side, after what happened to Jenny! Why should I talk to him?”
Gram’s eyebrows creased as she frowned. “Don’t you speak to me that way, young lady,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “I may be eighty, but I can still take you over my knee!”
Jasmine stepped back, surprised, then broke into a tired laugh, serving as a valve for the release of her anger. Gram was right, of course.
She hugged her grandmother as hard as the older woman’s frail bones would allow. “I’m sorry,” she said, her heart contrite. “I’m just confused. I’m sure I’ll be all right after I pray about it.” The words slipped out of her mouth from years of training, and she just wanted to bite her tongue. Pray about it, indeed.
Gram nodded, not appearing to notice the grimace Jasmine made. “I’ll pray, too. It’s the best we can do. The first thing, and the best. It’ll all work out. In God’s way, and in God’s timing. We just have to look to Him and trust that He knows what’s best.”
Well, on that point, anyway, Jasmine couldn’t agree more. God, if there was one, must certainly have something spectacular planned, or else He had a very peculiar sense of humor. If only she knew what He had in mind—and what role she was to play.

Christopher pulled a hard right off the gravel mountain road and drove into the brush, not caring that the pine trees were probably scratching the truck’s exterior. When he was in far enough that he couldn’t see the road, he slammed the gear into Park and shut down the engine.
This wasn’t the way he’d meant it to be. He thumped a closed fist against the steering wheel. He hadn’t meant to alienate Jasmine with the first words out of his mouth. What a big lug he was. Talk first, stick his big, dirty boots in his mouth afterward. He could certainly add his first encounter with her in a year to his ever-growing list of failures.
This one, however, he had to take full credit for. Much of what happened to him wasn’t in his control, a part of God’s will he couldn’t understand. But this was completely his own doing, and he’d blown it big time. Not exactly a surprise, with his track record.
He’d been so certain he was meant to come back to Westcliffe. What else could he do? He loved Jasmine. He always had. To think of living without her—and Sammy—was unbearable.
But if his first encounter with her was anything to go by, he had a long way to travel to get back in her good graces. Her closed attitude left him shaken and unsure of himself. She didn’t even try to hide how much she loathed seeing him again.
He lifted his hat and raked his fingers through the short ends of his hair. Frustration seethed through every nerve ending until his whole body tingled.
All he wanted to do was see Sammy, not run off with the boy like some criminal, though that’s how he’d been treated. And Sammy had been in that bungalow. He’d heard the baby’s cry and the soothing sounds of Jasmine’s grandmother coming from the other room. What kind of a fool did she think he was?
The point of it—and that’s what hurt—was that Jazz didn’t want him to see the baby.
He understood her hesitance. He’d done a lot of things that needed explaining. But in the meantime, he’d hoped their years together would count for something.
He wasn’t foolish enough to expect that he would be able to knock on her door and resume their relationship, where it had broken off before she’d gone off to med school, but couldn’t she at least listen to him?
“Ha!” he said aloud, the sound echoing in the small cab of his truck. She hadn’t listened to him then, and she wouldn’t listen now.
Especially now. She wouldn’t trust him any more than any other of Westcliffe’s residents did. Far less, even, for she had more reasons to doubt him than the small town that virtually shunned his existence now that he was back.
The neighbors he could live without. Jasmine, he couldn’t.
He’d hurt the woman he loved most in the world, and the knowledge sat like lead in his stomach. It was a burden he’d been carrying since the day she’d turned away from him and walked right out of his life. The day the world discovered he would soon be a father.
Jasmine thought he’d betrayed her, and mincing words didn’t change anything. Pain seared through his chest.
He wasn’t denying his actions, no matter how questionable the whole thing was in his mind. What else could he have done, under the circumstances? He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought Jasmine would understand, that she’d want him to take the actions he’d decided on for Jenny’s sake.
But she wouldn’t even listen. What she’d learned, she hadn’t learned from him, and he would regret that for the rest of his life. He should have made the trip to Denver as soon as he found out about Jenny. But there was so much to do, and not much time in which to do it.
He’d been so wrapped up in the tailspin his life had taken that he’d put it off, thinking he’d approach Jasmine when the ruckus had died down. After he’d taken care of the necessities, and before she’d heard the truth from someone else.
She still didn’t know the truth. He’d hoped to tell her today.
He’d even hoped she’d forgive him. It was part of what drove him back to town—to ask her forgiveness for his part in the tragedy that had become their lives, and to ask for a second chance.
It was obviously not going to happen that way. He clamped his teeth together until he could feel his pulse pounding in his temples. What he wanted didn’t matter. Not yet, and maybe not ever.
He had another responsibility—Sammy, the baby he’d never seen. He wasn’t going to let that boy down. And if that meant postponing the inevitable confrontation with Jasmine on personal issues, so be it.
His resolution did, however, present a unique set of circumstances, since he had to go through Jasmine to get to Sammy. Emotional issues aside, Jasmine was a formidable woman. If she decided to make things rough for him, there was no doubt in his mind she would succeed.
Which meant he had to convince her otherwise. Make her see reason. They needed to put the past aside, sit down together and discuss the issues like the adults they were.
This wasn’t some high school spat they could just ignore and expect to go away. They were dealing with the welfare of a child. For all intents and purposes, his child.
His throat tightened. He had actually been relieved to hear Jasmine had been appointed Sammy’s legal guardian, though he would never tell her so. He couldn’t think of a better mother for the boy. He could depend on her to take care of Sammy as if he were her own.
And he could leave.
He recognized that the moment he’d seen the determination on Jasmine’s face. He could turn around, walk right out of Westcliffe, and never look back, knowing Sammy was in capable hands. Loving hands.
And he would be doing no less than what everyone expected.
Maybe that would be best. How was he to know? He wasn’t ready to be a father. What did he know about babies? He hadn’t planned to be a father for a few years yet, after he and Jasmine had settled down. Blast it anyway, he didn’t even know how to change a diaper.
What kind of hole had he dug for himself? And all because he was trying to do the right thing.
He blew out a breath and started the engine, gunning it into Reverse and making the wheels spin as he pulled back onto the dirt road. He shifted into gear and put the pedal to the metal.
Heading back toward town.
He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t go without Sammy, even knowing he was in Jasmine’s capable hands. And though he knew he would cause a lot more pain before he could start mending hurts, it had to be done.
He had to go back. He needed Sammy in his life.
Sammy—and Jasmine.

Chapter Three (#ulink_72e809a3-8600-5183-87d5-135f74f656a9)
Three days later, Jasmine stared over the rim of her coffee cup at the soft-spoken cowboy across from her. The term cowboy used loosely, she thought wryly. Christopher had been born and raised in this mountain town, but he couldn’t ride a horse to save his life. Ranching wasn’t in his blood.
He looked the part, though, with his form-fitting western jeans, snap-down western shirt and a steel gray cowboy hat. Of course, he’d taken off the hat when he’d entered the café, exposing his thatch of windblown brown hair.
Another cowboy trait.
Her mind was being perversely obtuse this afternoon, she thought. How she could find anything humorous to laugh about in her present state of mind was beyond her comprehension. It was as if her subconscious were seeking to avoid the inevitable confrontation.
The determined gleam in Christopher’s eyes and the hard set of his jaw gave him away. Why else would he have asked her to meet him in a small café in Wetmore, a half hour’s drive from their home town and well out of the public eye?
She’d been surprised when he’d called yesterday and asked to meet her, but now she was as prepared as she’d ever be for whatever he would throw at her, though she still couldn’t come up with a single acceptable reason for a man to abandon his wife and unborn child. And then return to claim his son after Jenny was dead. If he didn’t want the boy before…
The familiar swell of anger rushed through her, but she tamped it down. She would listen. She owed him that much, whatever sort of torn and twisted man he’d become. He claimed he wanted Sammy, and today he would attempt to explain why.
Not that his words would make any difference. She already knew what her answer would be, despite anything he told her.
He couldn’t have the baby. Not in a billion, trillion years.
Sammy was her son now. The papers declaring it so were firmly in her possession and valid in a court of law.
She’d fight him tooth and nail in court if she had to, but she prayed it wouldn’t come to that. That was her true objective—to reason with him, to try to touch the man she once knew, the man buried deep inside the monster sitting across from her.
To make him leave quietly. And alone.
“What’ll ya’ll have?” said a waitress, tapping her pencil against her pad of paper. Her cheek near her bottom gum was plump with tobacco. Jasmine had heard of gum-chewing waitresses, but the thought of a tobacco-chewing waitress was more than her stomach could handle.
“A cup of hot tea for me,” she said weakly, shifting her attention from the woman to focus on her queasy insides. “Peppermint, if you’ve got it.”
She wasn’t sure she could swallow even tea, but it occurred to her the peppermint might settle her stomach a little. She’d used it on Sammy’s colic to good effect, so she could only hope it would ease some of her own distress.
“Double cheeseburger with everything, onion rings and a chocolate shake,” Christopher ordered, smiling up at the waitress as if his entire life weren’t hanging in the balance of this conversation.
Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he didn’t care. Jasmine didn’t know whether to feel relieved or annoyed.
It was obvious his appetite, at least, wasn’t affected by their meeting. And he wasn’t keeping his hands clenched in his lap to keep them from quivering, either. She pried her fingers apart and put her hands on the table.
Christopher cleared his throat and ran the tip of his index finger around the rim of his mug. “Remember when we used to sneak up here on Friday nights?” he asked, chuckling lightly. His gaze met hers, the familiar twinkle in his light gray eyes making her heart skip a beat.
Jasmine felt her face warm under his scrutiny. She knew what he was thinking, the memories this café evoked. Two carefree youths, so much in love, their lives filled with laughter and happiness. And hope.
“We thought we were being so underhanded, slipping out of town.” His light, tenor voice spread like silk over her. “Remember? We were so sure nobody noticed we were gone. We really thought we were pulling one over on everyone. And all the time, they were probably laughing and shaking their heads at us.”
Jasmine laughed quietly despite herself. “I’m sure Gram knew all along. She had such—” She was going to say high hopes for the two of them, but the thought hit her like a slap in the face, so she left the end of her sentence dangling sharply in the air.
How ironic that he’d picked this location to meet today. She’d been so wrapped up in dealing with her crisis that she hadn’t realized the poetic justice in his choosing this café. She swallowed hard, trying in vain to keep heat from suffusing her face.
It was the place where they’d first said I love you. The night they’d pledged themselves to each other forever. The night he’d asked her to be his wife. Before med school. And before Sammy.
She could see in his eyes that he was sharing her thoughts, reliving the memories right along with her. Her chest flooded with a tangle of emotions. Anger that he had brought her here. Hope because he remembered, too.
Had he brought her here on purpose, she wondered, as a way to have the upper hand? Or was this simply a convenient spot to meet, away from the prying eyes of the world? Did he mean to remind her of their joyful past, to taunt her with what could never be? She pinned him with her gaze, asking the question without speaking.
In answer, he swiped a hand down his face. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head regretfully. “It was thoughtless of me to bring us here. I should have realized—”
“It’s okay,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “Better here than in Westcliffe, where we might be seen.” She closed her eyes and eased the air from her lungs. At least he wasn’t trying to rub her nose in the past, and for that, she was grateful.
He let out a breath that could have been a chuckle, but clearly wasn’t, from the tortured look on his face. “I prayed about this meeting before I called you,” he admitted in a low voice.
He clenched his napkin in his fist and looked out the window, allowing Jasmine to study his chiseled profile. There were small lines around his eyes, and dark furrows on his forehead. They weren’t laugh lines, she noticed sadly. He looked ten years older than his twenty-eight years.
“Truth be told,” he continued, still avoiding her eyes, “praying is about the only thing I’ve been doing for weeks.”
His admission wasn’t what she expected, and it took her aback. She remained silent for a moment, trying to digest what he was telling her.
She’d assumed from his actions that he’d played his faith false, that he’d given up on God and was taking his own way with things.
Abandoning his family was hardly the act of a man walking with his Maker. But now he was telling her, in so many words, that his faith was still intact. That he believed God was in control. That he believed prayer would help this wretched situation. That God was here.
She barely restrained the bitter laugh that desperately wanted to escape her lips. Irony seethed through her. How had he kept his faith in God when hers so easily disappeared?
He smiled, almost shyly, as if his revelation had taken great effort. It probably had, though there was a time when there had been nothing they couldn’t share between them.
In so many ways, she wanted to close her eyes, embrace his belief, wipe the slate clean and start all over again. To return to the time in her life when she believed, and when her belief had given her hope.
But that was naiveté. She wasn’t a child, to believe in miracles. To believe in a close, personal God who would help her through life’s problems. Her faith was ebbing and flowing like waves on rocks.
She wasn’t even sure she believed in God, at least in a personal God who watched over His flock like a shepherd watching over His sheep.
She couldn’t—and didn’t—pay Him more than lip service, and at this point she was hardly doing that. Although she hadn’t denied her faith outright, she hadn’t set foot in a church in months.
The subject humiliated and frustrated her. All those years she considered her faith strong, yet it wilted with the first attack of trial.
Some Christian she was. Or maybe she never had been. She was too confused to know.
How could she believe in a God who would allow Christopher to get away with what he’d done?
And Jenny—what about Jenny? If God was there, why hadn’t He helped her? Why hadn’t He healed her? He’d forced Jasmine to stand helpless and watch her sister die, her head crammed full of medical knowledge and unable to do a thing to save her.
“Would you pray with me?” he asked when she didn’t answer.
Prayer. Gram suggested it before, and now Christopher was bringing up the issue. Her heart clenched. It wasn’t as if she never tried.
She had. Last night on her knees beside her bed. But the words wouldn’t come, and the space between her and the heavenly realm seemed unbridgeable. God wasn’t listening. Or He had cut her off. As she had once cut off Christopher.
She shook her head. “We’re in a public restaurant, Christopher. Let’s just get down to business.”
She cringed inside as she said the words. It wasn’t business. It was a baby’s life they were talking about.
He looked vaguely astonished, but he didn’t argue. Instead, his gentle smile tipped the corner of his lips as he reached for her hand, which she quickly snatched from his grasp.
Shrugging, he plunged into the reason they were meeting. “You know what I want. I want to see Sammy. I want to—”
“Take him away from me?” she snapped, heedless of the fact that she hadn’t given him a chance to finish his sentence. Suddenly she felt completely unsure of herself as Sammy’s guardian, of her ability to provide what he needed. Without thinking, she took her insecurity out on the man sitting across from her. “I don’t think so, Christopher.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she gestured for him to stop.
“You need to understand something,” she continued, her voice crackling with intensity. “You weren’t around when Sammy was born. You didn’t walk him up and down the hall at all hours of the night because he had colic and didn’t want to sleep. You haven’t changed him, fed him or bathed him.”
“I haven’t even—”
She pinned him with a glare. “I have. I was the one there for Sammy. And I am going to be the one to raise him.”
“But I want—” His voice closed around the words and he coughed. “I want to do all those things. I want to be there for the boy. My…” He hesitated. “My son.”
He looked petulant, and his eyes pleaded for her mercy.
Why, oh why did his mere physical presence affect her so? He once used those very same big bluegray eyes to get his own way with her when they argued over which movie to see or where to go for dinner.
This wasn’t one of those times. Nor was it a debatable issue.
“Let me explain something to you,” she said, her voice splintering with restrained anger. “I very frankly don’t give a snip what your story is. I don’t even want to hear it, though I’m sure you’ve spent many hours rehearsing for my benefit.”
His scowl darkened and he grunted in protest.
“No, really. It doesn’t matter. Nothing you say matters. What matters is that I’ve bonded with this baby, and nothing is going to convince me to give him away. Most especially to you.”
With a sharp intake of breath, he sat back in his seat and pounded a fist on the tabletop, making the silverware rattle.
Water from her cup splashed onto the surface of the table, and she quickly wiped it with the edge of her napkin, her face flaming with anger and embarrassment. She hazarded a glance at the neighboring booths, wondering if anyone had noticed his outburst.
“Even before you’ve heard what really happened?” he asked through clenched teeth, his chest rising and falling with the exertion of each angry breath.
She lifted one sardonic brow. “Astonish me. You were abducted by aliens. You’ve been in a coma. You had amnesia. What, Christopher? What’s your story?” As much as she tried to keep her voice low, it lifted with each word to a higher crescendo until she’d reached well beyond shrill and piercing.
Now she was the one causing the scene, and it was his fault. She didn’t care how irrational and childish the thought was. She clamped her jaw shut and glared defiantly at Christopher, and then at the patrons staring at her. Life had freeze-framed, with everyone’s attention on her.
She blew out a frustrated breath, furious that he had provoked her to make a display of herself.
“Jazz,” he began, reaching out with both hands in a conciliatory gesture.
She threw her napkin down on the table and stood. “I thought this meeting was a good idea when you first suggested it,” she said slowly, articulating each syllable in a low, precise tone. “I was mistaken.”
She looked blindly out the window, then back to Christopher. “I love Sammy, and he’s staying with me. End of subject.” She met his gaze briefly, willing her strength to hold out until she could flee from his presence. “Goodbye, Christopher.”
She turned and walked away from him, holding her chin high and staying steadfastly determined not to look at the patrons she felt were staring at her.
Christopher could pick up the tab on the check. It served him right. Her blood boiling, she wished momentarily that she’d ordered a full-course steak dinner instead of just hot tea.
When she exited the café, she pulled in a deep breath of mountain air, closing her eyes as fresh, cool oxygen flooded her lungs. If only she could dissipate the heat in her brain as easily.
Walking away from Christopher was the hardest thing she’d ever done. He was suffering in his own way, she realized, and her presence affected him as much as his did her.
All the more reason for them to stay away from each other, she decided, fortifying her decision with every justification available to her.
Her heart said a father should be with his son. Her mind said Christopher forfeited that right when he walked away from Jenny and his unborn baby.
She had to cling to reason, no matter what her emotions were doing. Sammy’s well-being depended on it. Probably her own happiness, too. She loved that baby. And for now, maybe for always, that love would have to be enough.

Christopher ate his food in silence, ignoring the curious stares and speculative talk around him. His mind was so preoccupied with his troubles that he barely tasted his food, and had to order a second milk shake to wash the hamburger down his dry throat.
He loved Jasmine more than ever. He thought the feelings had faded some with time, but sitting across from her today, he knew he was fooling himself. The ache in his chest only shaded his deeper feelings. He would do anything to wipe the pain from her eyes, and it was the ultimate irony to know he’d been the one to put it there in the first place. Sure, Jasmine was being harsh and stubborn, but who could blame her? He knew it was her fear of losing Sammy that was speaking for her. She’d always been an all-or-nothing kind of woman, a fact Christopher admired. Her obvious devotion and loyalty to her nephew only made him love her more.
Pain lanced his temple, and he reached a hand up to rub it firmly across his brow. Nothing was going as he had hoped.
He knew without a doubt that when she walked away today, she wouldn’t meet with him again, at least not intentionally. She’d run the other direction whenever she saw him, screaming inwardly if not in reality.
Which meant his next move must be furtive. He’d have to follow her around until an opportunity presented itself to speak with her again—in a time and in a location where she had no place to go except into his arms.
God would give him that opportunity. Or maybe he’d have to make his own.

Jasmine didn’t immediately return to Gram’s apartment, where she was staying with Sammy. She knew Gram would take care of the baby as long as necessary. And right now, Jasmine needed to be alone, to have time to think.
Not entirely conscious of where she was going or why, she found herself parking in front of Jenny’s cottage. There was still a lot of work to be done, she supposed. And it was quiet here, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of the medical clinic.
Once in the small cabin, she started to absently box up Jenny’s things, beginning with the books in her room. She picked up an empty apple box from the pile and began stacking various romance novels spine up, mixed with some hardbacked classic literature.
Jasmine laughed to herself, trying to picture her flighty sister reading the classics. Fashion magazines were more her style.
Had been her style. Jasmine quickly sobered. How well had she really known Jenny? She suspected not as well as she should have, especially in the last few years.
They’d been close as children, though there was four years difference between them. But they had drifted apart when Jasmine reached high school and got interested in friends, makeup and boys.
In Christopher.
And when Jenny caught up, she’d taken a different road than Jasmine, who’d been class president and received straight A’s. Jenny hung out with the flashy crowd, the ones with too much money and too much time. Jasmine had always wondered what Jenny could have in common with her friends.
She didn’t have money, and she wasn’t collegebound. She just didn’t seem the type. But she appeared to be happy, and Jasmine had left it alone. How she’d ended up with a simple cowboy like Christopher was beyond Jasmine.
And then she’d gone off to college herself, thanks to the grant from the city, increasing the emotional distance between the two sisters. As far as she knew, Jenny had grown into a beautiful, self-assured adult, a relative stranger she greeted with a kiss on the cheek when she came home from the holidays. Had Jenny been seeing Christopher even then?
There was always laughter in the house during vacations and holidays. Jasmine puckered her brow, straining to remember if her sister had been part of the joyous festivities. Or had she been off with friends? Jasmine couldn’t remember. Probably, she’d been too busy with Christopher to notice, a thought which gave her a guilty start.
Shaking her head to clear her introspection, Jasmine carried the box of books into the living room, where the rest of Jenny’s boxed goods were stored, and went to Jenny’s room to begin stripping the bedclothes. Her sister’s sweet, airy scent still lingered on the sheets, and she brought a pillow to her face, inhaling deeply.
“We never said goodbye,” she whispered aloud, hugging the pillow to her chest. She wished she had one more minute, just one, to give Jenny a hug and tell her how much she was loved.
Jasmine shook herself from her melancholy with some effort. Funny how grief hit her at the oddest moments. She’d think her emotions were under control, and then in a second’s time, grief would wash over her and overwhelm her, sometimes for no apparent reason.
Those were the toughest times, the moments before she found the strength to tuck her grief back away and go on living, because that’s what she had to do. Because she was here and Jenny was not, and baby Sammy depended on her.
She reached for the other pillow, but when she yanked at the corner to pull off the pillowcase, Jenny’s Bible fell to the floor.
Jasmine had forgotten all about it. She’d slipped it under the pillow when Christopher had shown up. She was relieved to find it now. It was a part of Jenny she wanted to keep.
Heart in her throat, she reached down and scooped it up, tenderly smoothing the bent pages before closing the cracked leather. Sitting on the stripped bed with one leg tucked under her, she ran a hand across the front of the Bible, considering whether it would be right to read more of the notes Jenny had written in the margins.
She was so confused, so hurt. And she missed her sister terribly. Would it be a breach of trust to read a little, to bring Jenny near through her words, her thoughts and dreams and faith? Who knew but that maybe, in some small way, it would help her know what to do about Christopher and Sammy.
She could only hope for such a miracle, even if she didn’t believe in miracles anymore.

Chapter Four (#ulink_d9c8f417-4198-5e12-9db3-ecef900ca62a)
The next morning, Christopher eyed the two-room log cabin, turning over the possibilities in his mind. After leaving the diner, he’d phoned an old high school football buddy, who’d lent him this place for the weekend. If God was willing and he planned right, it would be his and Jasmine’s for at least one completely uninterrupted, if not happy, day.
Loose gravel and pine needles crunched under his feet as he approached the cabin, his friend’s fishing hideaway. Nothing spectacular—it didn’t even have electric heat. But for what Christopher had in mind, it was perfect.
He’d purposely picked a cabin tucked up just far enough into the Sangre de Cristo mountain range to keep the clinic from sending in emergency equipment right away, yet far enough from town to warrant Jasmine’s personal attention.
Not to mention high enough in altitude to get a good snow, if the weather cooperated.
He eyed the sky critically, wondering when the snow would start. The weather forecast indicated a major storm heading their way. It could snow five feet in a day here, given the right conditions.
He only hoped these were the right conditions, external and internal. And that Jasmine would come when he called, even if she knew about the impending snowstorm. If they sent a couple of paramedics from Wetmore after him, he was in a world of hurt.
He laughed despite his sour mood.
She would come. Jasmine Enderlin was the singularly most compassionate woman he’d ever known. She wouldn’t give a second’s thought to risking her own life and health in order to help someone who needed her, a quality that made her a terrific doctor and an even better person.
His respect for her was only superseded by his love.
If he could just blurt out the truth of the past and wipe the slate clean, things would be much simpler. If she would listen. If she would believe him.
And if he had only himself to consider. He wouldn’t waste a second before telling her everything. And he sure wouldn’t be at 9500 feet constructing ridiculous undercover adventures better suited to spy novels than to an old-fashioned man who couldn’t give up his dreams.
But right now he’d do just about anything—including spy novel antics, in order to see her again.
Again he glanced at the sky, wondering how long he had left to prepare. He had wood to chop, dinner to make and a leg to break.
He chuckled softly at his own joke, then quickly sobered, drawing in a breath, clenching his jaw and pressing his lips together as he determinedly went to find an ax.
I married Christopher tonight. Mrs. Christopher Jordan. Jenny Jordan. How awkward that sounds!
I still can’t believe things worked out the way they did. Everything seemed so hopeless, and then there was Christopher and…
He gave me a rose at the altar. A single, beautiful white rose. I’ve pressed it into this Bible as a keepsake—the only one I really have of my wedding day.
It all happened so fast. No photographer. No wedding cake. No guests. Except for Gram, who stood up for me, and Christopher’s brother from Texas, his only living relative, for him. Jasmine was there in the back, but she didn’t say anything.
Jasmine cringed inwardly. She’d only gone because she thought it would be spineless not to. And she wanted to show them she was bigger than that.
Oh, she was bigger, all right. Pouting in the back and glaring at everyone. She’d never even wished the couple happiness.
She shook herself from her thoughts and continued reading, picking up where she’d left off.
But at least I can keep this rose. I know what he was trying to communicate with a white rose rather than a red one. He doesn’t love me. He loves Jasmine, and he always has.
But he’s committed himself to me, now. Me and my baby. And Christopher is an honorable man. He won’t go back on his word.
I hope, in time, he’ll learn to love me, though I know it will never be the kind of love he has for Jasmine. But no matter how he feels about me, he’ll love the baby. And he’ll be a good daddy. If there was ever a man who was meant to be a father, it’s Christopher.
Jasmine barely restrained herself from crumpling the piece of paper in her hands. She’d found it tucked into the page with the family tree, where Jenny had carefully written hers and Christopher’s names on the appropriate lines. She’d drawn a heart where their baby’s name would go.
She tucked the paper deep into the binding and closed the Bible with a pop. Her throat constricted until no air could pass through, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t breathing anyway. Constrained air lodged squarely in her chest, throbbing mercilessly against her rib cage.
Christopher still loved her, even when he married Jenny? Oh, sure, but Jenny was carrying his child.
She was more confused now than ever. Nothing Jenny had written made sense! She stared at the Bible for a moment, then tossed it away with a frustrated groan.
Jasmine nearly launched herself off the bed at the sound of her pager. Placing a palm to her chest to slow her rapidly beating heart, she reached her other hand for her pager and turned it off.
The sweet strength of adrenaline pumped through her, clearing her head. While she wasn’t like some of the residents she’d linked up with when she was in Denver, to whom the excitement of the moment was their reason to serve, she couldn’t deny the pulse-pounding anticipation of being needed. It thrilled her to have something to give back to the little town that had given her so much.
She reached the phone and dialed the clinic number. Jill, the county nurse, gave Jasmine a quick rundown. A man had called from a mountain cabin just above Horn Lake. He’d been fishing, apparently, when he slipped off a wet log and fell.
“He’s all alone, and he’s afraid to drive. And Jasmine—he says he doesn’t have insurance and can’t afford a hospital. Or a doctor.”
Jasmine made a noise from the back of her throat that signaled her compassionate understanding of his situation.
She pictured a gray-haired widower finding solace fishing in a mountain lake, afraid even to call the clinic because of the expense. An old man, all alone, with a broken leg and no one to help him.
The picture in her mind was too much for her heart to take. She’d work for free if she must, knowing that her actions would open a whole other can of worms should she be discovered dispensing her charity.
“What are the coordinates?” she asked, balancing a pad of paper on her hip so she could write them down.
Jill gave her the exact location of the cabin, someone renting the old Wallaby place. Then she paused expectantly.
“I’m going up there,” Jasmine said, answering Jill’s unspoken question. She reached into her jeans pocket for the keys to her four-by-four. “I have my bag with me. As long as it’s not too major, I can handle a broken leg on my own. If it’s too bad, I’ll drive him back to the clinic myself. An ambulance crew wouldn’t want to hike up into the lake area anyway.”
“It’s starting to snow, Jazz. The weather forecast says we might be in for a blizzard,” Jill warned. “You never know how bad it’s going to be. Maybe you ought to let Wetmore’s EMT take care of it.”
There was more than one EMT, and they were all men. Jill didn’t have to say it for it to be true. And she was probably right.
But this was Jasmine’s call, and an inner prompting was telling her to go.
“No, it’s okay. I can get there faster. The poor old guy is probably in a lot of pain.” And it would give her something to do to keep her mind off Christopher and her problems, she added silently. “I have my cell phone. If I have any problems, I’ll give the guys in Wetmore a ring. I promise.”
“Jazz, I didn’t say—” Jill began, but Jasmine didn’t let her finish as she put down the phone and raced to her car. Checking her sports utility vehicle for gas and equipment, she quickly got on the road. It took her half an hour to drive the dirt road as far as it ran toward Horn Lake.

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