The Last Bridge Home
Linda Goodnight
Zak To The Rescue Doing the right thing always came easily to firefighter Zak Ashford. So he can't refuse taking in the dying wife he thought divorced him long ago - and watching over her three troubled children. The only person Zak can turn to is his cute neighbor, Jilly Fairmont, who helps him and the children through their loss. And not just because she secretly cares for Zak. Yet it isn't long before Zak realizes what this honest, compassionate woman means to him, too. Can he convince Jilly that his life would be complete if she agreed to share his future? Redemption River: Where healing flows.
Zak To The Rescue
Doing the right thing always came easily to firefighter Zak Ashford. So he can’t refuse taking in the dying wife he thought divorced him long ago—and watching over her three troubled children. The only person Zak can turn to is his cute neighbor, Jilly Fairmont, who helps him and the children through their loss. And not just because she secretly cares for Zak. Yet it isn’t long before Zak realizes what this honest, compassionate woman means to him, too. Can he convince Jilly that his life would be complete if she agreed to share his future?
Redemption River:
Where healing flows….
“You have a wife. You’re married.”
Zak dropped his arms, shoulders sagging, and on a long sigh said, “Yes. Technically, I guess I am.”
Jilly wondered if God believed in technicalities, but figured now was not the time to ask. Zak was more than freaked out. She gripped his forearm with her fingers. He was trembling. Or was that her?
“I don’t even know where she lives,” he said numbly. “Or what she’s been doing for the past ten years. But it’s obvious she doesn’t have much. She’s broke and sick and alone.”
Compassion, usually welcome, rose in Jilly. As much as she hated saying the words, she forced them out. “She needs your help. You have to give it.”
“I know.” Zak took her hand, a casual gesture, though he’d never done so before. He lifted her fingers one by one, traced a spray of freckles across the back, and then gripped her hand with such force, Jilly knew he was about to say something momentous.…
The Last Bridge Home
Linda Goodnight
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
So do not throw away your confidence;
it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere
so that when you have done the will of God,
you will receive what He has promised.
—Hebrews 10:35–36
For Diane in Dallas (You know who you are, girl!), who always reads the ending first
and who can make me laugh with her warm,
witty, encouraging emails.
Contents
Chapter One (#u5f99d433-f80b-50cb-891f-58aabc259f3e)
Chapter Two (#u9b24543b-b528-590b-af2d-e6cc45aaa55f)
Chapter Three (#u1dbc8dbc-edbc-5dc8-9f7b-925226df139d)
Chapter Four (#u1ce77ede-8dad-5ff0-a903-e784cae54400)
Chapter Five (#uafe56d01-34bf-5e47-9fff-fb2f09d7ecd8)
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 Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
A guy ought not to look that good in baggy old shorts and a holey T-shirt, but Zak Ashford did.
Jilly Fairmont yanked the rope on the cantankerous lawn mower and tried not to stare at her neighbor, cocked back in his lawn chair, shades in place, taking it easy on a sunny summer Saturday. She was surprised he wasn’t playing baseball.
Yes, she noticed the comings and goings of her single neighbor. They were friends, buddies, pals. If she hollered, he’d come running. If he wanted someone to watch the game with, she’d be there in a flash. Zak didn’t know it, would be shocked to even think it, but his best pal, Jilly, was in hopeless, unrequited love with him.
She yanked the rope again. No luck.
Across the quiet street and the rise of lush green lawn separating her home and his, Zak’s voice called, “Hey, Jilly, need some help?”
No, she needed a new lawn mower. And a life. And she needed to stop mooning over her firefighter neighbor.
“I’m good. Thanks anyway.” She backhanded the sweat from her eyes and yanked once again, muttering words like “trash heap” and “salvage yard” to the old mower. The incantation must have worked because the motor roared to life and shot black smoke and grass flecks from underneath.
With a wave toward Zak, she struck out across the thick, sweet-scented grass just as an unfamiliar car turned down her street.
Certain days in a man’s life should come with warning labels. For Zak Ashford, that particular sunny day turned his world upside down, and nothing—not one single thing—was ever the same again.
He saw the battered old Chevy—a white Cavalier with a dented fender and one brown door—round the corner and rattle down the street in front of his house. Cars came and went. No big deal.
Kicked back in his lawn chair with a cold Pepsi at his side and fantasy baseball on his iPod, he focused on Jilly’s dog of a lawn mower expecting it to wheeze and gasp to a stop at any moment. She’d need him over there pretty quick. Not that he minded. That’s what friends were for.
He set his Pepsi aside ready to jog across the street to Jilly’s just as the Cavalier chugged up the slight incline of his driveway, shuddered a couple of times and died. He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, leaned forward in the chair and squinted.
“Who—”
The driver’s gaunt, pale face turned to stare at him. His belly went south. An electric current zipped from his brain to his nerve endings.
“No way. No possible way,” he was muttering as he slowly rose for a better look. When he did, three small heads popped up from the backseat. Kids. A tiny blonde girl and two boys with dark hair. Not one of them had a child safety seat.
The adrenaline jacking through his blood centered on that one thought. No matter who the driver, she was irresponsible. And she was breaking the law.
The brown door of the white Chevy groaned open before Zak reached it. A too-thin woman with short, curly hair—dirty blond—gripped the door and levered herself to a stand.
“Zak?” she said. “Zak Ashford?”
His belly did that dipping thing, like the time he’d fallen down a flight of stairs into the belly of the beast, a roaring fire. This could not be who he thought it was.
“Yeah, I’m Zak. Who’s asking?” And why don’t you have those kids in child restraints?
As he started around the car ready to give his fireman lecture, the woman met him at the headlights. “Remember me? Crystal?”
So it was her. She looked different—older, harder and more desperate, if there was such a thing—but here she was. His most humiliating moment.
Suddenly, the subject of car seats was not paramount.
Before he could open his mouth to ask why she’d come for this unexpected visit, she took two steps in his direction and crumpled like a wet paper sack.
With driveway concrete looming up fast, Zak’s paramedic training kicked in. He lurched forward to stop her fall but missed. She collapsed against his bare knees and slid down to the top of his Converse All Star slip-ons. Gently, he eased to a squat and turned her over, going through the ABC protocol. Airway, breathing, circulation.
“Crystal. Crystal, can you hear me?” he asked, his hands and eyes assessing. Pale and gray, she looked like warmed-over death. A cloud passed between him and the sun. He shuddered, vaguely aware of car doors opening and people moving around him.
A small voice said, “Mama’s dead.”
The statement yanked Zak’s attention from Crystal to a thin-faced boy. Maybe eight or ten, he stood solemnly, almost passively in front of Zak, staring down at his mother.
“No,” Zak reassured. “She fainted. She’ll be fine.”
“Nu-uh,” the boy insisted in that same tired, matter-of-fact voice. “She has cancer.”
The word slammed into Zak’s head as all the tumblers rolled into place. Crystal’s ghastly gray color, her skeletal body, the ultrashort, curly hair all pointed to someone who’d spent recent time on chemo. Lots of chemo.
Another boy, this one a few years younger, started to howl. Weirdly, not one of the three kids standing in a semicircle touched the woman lying on the concrete. The third, a tiny blonde girl with wispy ponytails, stared with undisguised interest at Zak.
By now, Jilly had arrived, panting and breathless. “What happened?”
“She passed out.”
“I saw that much.” She leaned forward, hands on her knees to stare at his patient. “Should I call 9-1-1? Anything?”
“I am 9-1-1. Give me another second.” He hitched a chin toward the kids. The yowler had escalated to something just short of siren velocity while the little girl had wandered off toward the street. “The kids.”
“Oh, sure.” Good old Jilly herded the toddler back to the fold. With one hand on the little one’s arm, she hunkered beside the yowler and stroked his back. “It’s okay. She’ll be okay. Zak’s a fireman. He’ll take care of her.”
The yowler wasn’t impressed. The older boy was. His flat expression livened up a tad. “A real fireman?”
“Real deal,” Jilly said. “He rides in a fire truck and everything.”
Too concerned about his patient to bask in firefighter adoration from a grade-schooler, Zak checked Crystal’s pulse again. Her eyelids fluttered. “She’s coming around.”
With a moan, Crystal opened her eyes and blinked blankly at her surroundings. She licked dry lips and managed a whisper. “What happened?”
“You passed out.”
As she struggled to sit up, Zak offered his strength. At six feet three and one-eighty-five, he could have shot-put Crystal across the street. Careful lest he break her matchstick arms, he assisted her to her feet. She was light. Scary light.
“We should get you to the hospital.”
She made a face. “Absolutely not. I’ve had my fill of those.”
He turned her loose. She wobbled. He reached for her again. “Hey.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, and I’m a unicorn.”
She rubbed a shaky hand over her forehead. The three children, all corralled by Jilly, stared up at their mother. The yowler had stopped crying and was now sucking his thumb. The little girl had a very baggy diaper.
“Bella’s wet,” the oldest boy said, a hint of annoyed resignation in his voice as he headed toward the beat-up car. The passenger door opened with a groan and Mr. Serious dragged out a diaper bag, scraping it across the concrete as though it weighed a ton.
Zak’s head buzzed on overload. What was Crystal doing here in his driveway after all these years? How had she found him? And why? She was sick, obviously, but what did that have to do with him? Now that she’d fainted in his front yard, what was he supposed to do with her? He couldn’t stick her back under the steering wheel and send her out into traffic in this condition with a carload of kids. And no safety seats.
The older boy tugged on Crystal’s hand while studying Zak with suspicious brown eyes. “Is this him, Mama?”
“Yes, Brandon. That’s him.”
Him what? Zak wondered, but his conscience kicked in. The woman, regardless of who she was, was sick and weak and shaking like one of Jilly’s rat terriers at bath time.
“Come in the house for a minute,” he offered. “I’ll get you something to drink while you get your bearings.”
He wasn’t sure what else to do. Obviously, Crystal hadn’t tracked him down to faint in his driveway and then go merrily on her way. But what she wanted remained a complete mystery—and from his experience, Crystal always wanted something. That’s what had gotten him into trouble before.
With one hand on the wobbly woman’s arm, Zak led the way into his house. His home was one of the modern few in Redemption, Oklahoma, a small historic town populated with big, beautiful turn-of-the-century Victorians and pretty little cottages. Today, he especially appreciated the lack of tall steps.
Once inside his spacious, slightly cluttered, ultra-male living room, the three children flocked around the mother like chicks around a hen.
“Mama, you want me to change Bella?” Mr. Serious asked, still toting the diaper bag.
“Yes, Brandon.” Crystal took the little girl by the arm and pushed her toward Brandon. “Go over there in the corner, Bella. Brandon will change you.”
Zak felt sorry for the boy, but it wasn’t his place to interfere. “Can I get you some water or a Pepsi or something?”
She shook her head. “Nothing for me. The kids are probably starving.”
Crystal was still Crystal. Needy and unembarrassed to ask. “I’ve got baloney and wieners.” What could she expect? He was a guy. Sandwiches and ’dogs were his mainstay. “Will they eat that?”
“Anything.”
Jilly, who’d helped herd the children inside, spoke up. “I can make sandwiches, Zak.”
Thank goodness for Jilly. He was a little rattled at the moment. “Thanks.”
Jilly disappeared into his kitchen, knowing her way around from the many times they’d hung out. She was a pal like no other. And she made sandwiches and herded unfamiliar rug rats. Great neighbor.
“What’s this little dude’s name?” he asked, chin hitched toward the yowler with a thumb in his face. The boy looked a little old for thumb-sucking.
“This is Jake. He’s almost seven. That’s Brandon. He’s nine. And Bella. She’s three.”
“Cute kids,” he said politely although inside he was going loco. His heart thundered like a spring storm, his palms leaked sweat and every rational brain cell suspected an unpleasant reason for Crystal’s visit. “So what’s going on, Crystal? We haven’t seen each other in what? Ten years?”
“About that.” A ghost of a smile pulled at her gaunt cheeks, more of a grimace than joy. “I was really stupid back then, Zak.”
Wary of apologies at this juncture, his anxiety jacked up another notch. “We were college kids. Stupid is normal.”
She fidgeted; her skinny hands twisted in her lap. From the kitchen came the sound of Jilly digging in the fridge, cellophane crumpling—normal sounds—while in his living room sat the biggest mistake of his life.
“I shouldn’t have gone with Tank that second time.” Her smile was wan. “Or the third. He was a jerk. Just like you said.”
Tank Rogers had gotten her pregnant and dumped her—on Zak. Then, the creep had come back “for his woman.”
“That was a long time ago, Crystal.”
Her sigh was tired and whispery and full of regret. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I don’t want my kids to suffer for them.”
Okay, what did that have to do with him? He sat with hands gripped together between his knees and waited her out, not knowing what else to do.
“I don’t suppose you have a cigarette,” she said.
“No.”
She made a wry face. “I thought about quitting, but now I figure, what’s the use? I’m sick, Zak.” She drew in a shuddery breath. Hollow eyes focused on the boy in the corner changing his sister’s diaper. “The doctors stopped treatment last week. I have cancer. I’m dying.”
Even though he barely remembered this woman, other than the humiliation he’d received at her hands, the pitiful statement made him ache. He was a certified paramedic/firefighter, a serve-and-protect kind of guy, who liked people and wanted the best for them. Crystal was too young to die and leave behind three kids.
He shifted, cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.” Sorry seemed a pathetically useless word in the face of death.
“That’s why I looked you up, why I’ve driven across the state to find you. You have to help me.”
Now they were getting down to the purpose of her visit, although he was still clueless. The sweat on the back of his neck said her reasons wouldn’t be good. “You need money? I don’t have a lot but maybe I can manage something.”
She shook her head. Her gaunt body sagged against the fat pillow of his napping chair. “No.”
“You sure you don’t want to go to the E.R.?” Even a paramedic was limited in what he could do without equipment.
She brushed away the suggestion like a gnat. “No time, Zak. Please hear me out.”
“Okay. Talk, but if you pass out again, you’re going.”
With effort, she gripped the chair arms and straightened. “Remember those days at college when you and I first got together?”
“Sure.” How could he forget? She was pregnant with some other guy’s baby, helpless and clingy, and he was an eighteen-year-old who thought he was the answer to her problems. She’d come to him, crying and needy, and he’d let her tears convince him to do something stupid.
Jilly reentered the living room, bearing a tall glass of orange juice, which she handed to Crystal. “You should drink something.”
Zak noticed the grass stains on Jilly’s shoes and the blades of grass stuck to the back of her shorts-clad legs. She’d raced to the rescue without a thought, leaving behind her uncut grass.
“Thanks,” Crystal said wanly. She wrapped skinny fingers around the glass but didn’t drink.
“I have sandwiches at the table if your kids are hungry.” Jilly barely got the words out of her mouth when the trio launched themselves toward the dining room. Eyes wide, Jilly looked to Zak who shrugged. What did he know about Crystal’s brood? Jilly hunched her shoulders and made a cute face. “I’ll make sure they wash their hands,” she said and hurried after them.
Crystal waited until the noise died down and Jilly’s voice drifted between the rooms. Then she said, “You were the only person who ever treated me with respect.”
What could he say except, “Thanks, I guess.”
She smiled again, that odd stretching of cheeks too thin to handle the movement. “I should have stayed with you, Zak. I’m sorry for what I did. For the way I did it.”
The unexpected visit was beginning to make sense. Crystal was seeking closure before she died. She wanted to make amends for her past mistakes, to the people she’d wronged. He couldn’t help but wonder if there were others besides good old Zak Ashford on her list.
“If you came all this way to apologize,” he said, “consider everything forgiven and forgotten. I have no bad feelings if that’s what’s worrying you.” In fact, he never thought of her at all. Hadn’t in years. “We did a dumb thing, but you took care of it and we both moved on.”
Crystal set the untouched juice on his ottoman. Her hand shook. She grasped it with the other in her lap and squeezed, her fingers turning white as a hospital sheet. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Zak. I didn’t take care of it. Never did.” She swallowed. “We’re still married.”
Chapter Two
Jilly lost her breath. She grabbed hold of the table edge to keep from crumbling the way Crystal had and strained to hear the voices coming from the living room.
Zak was married?
She put a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. She was in love with a married man?
Oh, Lord, what have I done? Why hadn’t Zak told her? They’d been fast friends since the day he’d moved in across the street and she’d loaned him a pipe wrench. How could he keep such a thing from her?
“Can I have more milk?” the smallest boy asked, holding up an empty glass.
With horror, she considered the three kids gathered around Zak’s small, round table, cramming food into their mouths by the fistful. Were these Zak’s children?
“Sure.” The word came out in a croak. Numbly, she went to the fridge and poured more milk.
The blood that had drained from her head came roaring back to pound at her eardrums. She had to get out of here. She had no business listening in on this conversation, although she wanted every sickening detail. Common courtesy and the desire not to make a fool of herself kicked in. She slapped a package of Zak’s favorite cookies on the table. “You can each eat three. Okay?”
The oldest boy, Brandon, nodded. “I’ll pass them out.”
“Thanks.” Not wanting Zak to know how upset she was, she took a minute to regain her composure, straightened her back and patted her hot cheeks. Then she walked as calmly as possible into the living room. The conversation ceased. “The kids are eating. I’ll be at home if you need anything.”
To his credit, Zak looked as he had the day he’d taken a line drive in the gut—stunned and speechless, like a fish out of water, his mouth open, searching for air. Clearly, he was not expecting Crystal to show up and reclaim their wedding vows. But she had. Without another word, because she wasn’t sure she could say anything sensible, Jilly bolted out the door and raced home.
Mind in a muddle and heart pounding as hard as her sneakered feet, she blasted into the safe confines of the tidy frame house, the family home she shared with her mother. Two rat terriers met her, going airborne with excitement as though they hadn’t seen her in a week. She caught Mugsy in mid-jump as he bounded to her knee and then catapulted against her chest. Satchmo, older and less excitable, plopped at her feet and looked up in adoration. Behind the wiry duo of terriers came her mother.
“What in the world is wrong? Did you get stung? Let me get the spray and I’ll show those wasps a thing or two.” Diane Fairmont waged an ongoing battle with a horde of red wasps that had taken residence years ago inside the eaves of her home. At fifty-six with ash-blond hair, much darker roots and too many cheesecakes on her hips, Diane also battled diabetes and high blood pressure. Jilly did not want her mother getting in a tizzy for any reason, certainly not red wasps.
“No, Mom. No wasps. I’m fine. Just…” She clapped her mouth shut, not wanting to discuss Zak’s personal life. She already took enough guff from her mom and two younger sisters about her friendship with the handsome fireman across the street. They would have a field day with this information. Living at home with her mother had its good points but the overinterest in Jilly’s love life was not one of them.
“Then what is it?” Mom insisted. “You’re white as a ghost.”
Which meant every freckle on her face stood at rust-colored attention. Had Zak noticed?
“Maybe I got too hot.”
“I thought you went over to Zak’s.” Mom went to the window and pulled back the curtain to gaze out. “Didn’t I see a woman and some kids in his yard?”
Great. Mom had seen Crystal. Zak’s wife. Jilly’s insides started to shake. A wave of nausea pushed at the back of her throat. Zak had a wife. “I need some water.”
Hurrying past her frowning mother, Jilly ran a glass of tap water and kept right on going through the laundry room and out the back door. She needed time to think about the stunning revelation. Time to peel the pieces of her shattered heart off the sides of her chest cavity.
Mugsy and Satchmo trotted along, eager for a run in the backyard. “Stay inside. Back.”
The terriers skidded to a halt, dejected but obedient. Sorry to disappoint her two babies, she reached down and picked up the Frisbee from the back porch step and tossed it through the house. The two dogs zipped off after their favorite toy, happy again. She wished she could be that easily mollified.
Glad to be alone, Jilly walked to the left corner of the fenced backyard. Beneath a sprawling, thirty-foot maple, planted years ago by her now-deceased father, three pairs of pink eyes gazed out at her from a rabbit hutch. Fat, fluffy and friendly, all of them rescue rabbits dumped after Easter when they were no longer tiny and adorable, the trio awaited her attention.
People thought she was a soft touch, especially her sisters, but with a career as assistant to Dr. Trace Bowman, veterinarian, what did they expect? She loved animals.
She also loved Zak Ashford.
With a distressed moan, she opened the hutch, lifting each one to the grass. Then she plopped down beside them for a cuddle. Faith and Hop wiggled from her lap to explore. Lucky, the one-eared mini-lop who’d had a close encounter with a cat, remained where he was, snuggled safe in Jilly’s arms. She pressed her face into his silky silver fur.
“He’s married, Lucky,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”
Lucky, the good listener, sniffed the side of her face, whiskers tickling.
“Why didn’t I know? Why didn’t he tell me?” The shock had begun to wear off, but she still felt as if she’d swallowed a hot brick. She was in love with a married man. The bold fact of that statement went against everything she believed in. Wanting someone else’s husband was a sin, a direct violation of the Ten Commandments.
And Lord help her, she didn’t know how to stop.
Zak stared into the face of his past, stomach churning, sweat beading and wished he could run out the door and follow Jilly. He wanted to be anywhere but here with Crystal.
“You can’t be serious,” he said, incredulous. “You left me a note. You said you had filed for divorce.”
“I meant to.” She shrugged. “But you know how I am. I got busy and things happened…”
He recalled the helpless girl who couldn’t remember to pay her electric bill, but a marriage dissolution was a tad more important. She’d wanted Tank Rogers, not Zak Ashford. That should have been enough to help her remember.
At the time, he’d been embarrassed by her betrayal, humiliated to have been duped by her pretty face and the way she’d wrapped him around her finger with her sob stories. He’d felt sorry for her. She’d been raised in the foster system, had no one to turn to, and Zak’s ego was stroked by being her savior, the go-to guy who could make everything better. So much so that he’d followed her to the courthouse and married her to, as she’d put it, “give her baby a name.”
The memory struck terror in him. “Your kids?” The chatter in the dining room made him lower his voice. “Whose—” He didn’t know how to ask if his name was on their birth certificates. “Do you still use my name?”
“It’s my name, too, Zak, so yeah, sometimes.” Zak could hear the “when it’s convenient” behind the words. That’s the way Crystal had done everything. Whatever was easy and convenient. “But Brandon and Jake have Tank’s last name—Rogers. He insisted.”
Zak nodded, so relieved he thought he’d slither off the couch. “Good.”
“Bella has yours.”
An electric shock went through him. “What?”
She shrugged again and smiled, a glimmer of the charming-as-sin young woman she’d been coming through. “I had to put something.”
“What about her father?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t sure. He wasn’t around. I wanted her to have someone good—”
Zak grabbed his head with both hands to keep it from exploding. “Whoa, Crystal, this is insane.”
“I didn’t think it mattered. You wouldn’t know.”
“You didn’t think it mattered?” This woman was a nut job. And he was married to her!
“I wouldn’t have come to you now if I hadn’t been desperate.”
He’d heard that before. The day she’d showed up at his apartment with bruises on her cheek crying that Tank had left her for good. He’d fallen for it then, but he was older and wiser now.
“Okay,” he said, heart leaping around like one of Jilly’s terriers. “Let’s deal with this and get it over with. I’ll pay for a divorce.” He wrestled with that for a moment but won. As a man of faith, he didn’t believe in divorce but this was different. Wasn’t it? “An annulment would be better. We weren’t married that long. What, a few weeks? A month?”
“Nearly ten years now.”
“Stop it, Crystal. We’re not married, never were. We had a piece of paper, and I gave you a place to stay and a sympathetic shoulder. We weren’t in love. I filled a need until Tank wanted you back.” He felt like a jerk for saying these things to her, but they’d been in the back of his head since the day he’d come in from class and found a note propped with a banana against his pillow.
“I never meant to hurt you, Zaky.” The old, juvenile endearment grated on him. He’d fallen for it back when he was a boy, but he was a man now.
This was the way with Crystal. Charming and manipulative in an innocent way, she never intended any of the foolish things she did.
Zak studied her ravaged body, a shell of the vibrant, self-seeking kewpie doll that had crooked her finger and had him running. Zak searched his heart, his conscience, and prayed. Had he loved her? He’d been eighteen. He didn’t know. He’d been in…well, not in love. Playing the knight in shining armor had made him feel like an adult, a man.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“I told you. I’m dying.”
That tiny niggling in the back of his brain started up again. Something buzzed around like a gnat, pestering, warning. “And you wanted to clear your conscience?”
“That’s not why I’m here, Zak. I don’t have time.”
“What if I’d gotten married to someone else, Crystal? Do you realize what that would have made me?”
“No one would have ever known.” She frowned, clueless. “I guess. I don’t know. I didn’t think about it.”
She never had.
“Why didn’t you contact me a long time ago? I would have dealt with this.”
“Maybe it was fate.”
Even for a guy who remained laid-back and calm when fighting a raging fire, he wasn’t particularly surprised when sweat rolled down his back. “It wasn’t fate, Crystal. There is no fate. There are only people making dumb decisions.”
Crystal sagged back again, expression wounded. “I’m sorry. This is not going the way I’d hoped. I’m so tired. Sometimes I say things wrong.”
Instantly contrite, Zak wanted to kick himself. She had cancer. She’d told him she was dying. What kind of jerk berated a dying woman?
Crystal’s three children trailed in from his kitchen, munching on his Chips Ahoy! He looked at the little girl, dismayed and bewildered to know she bore his surname. His name was on her birth certificate. Was that even legal?
Crystal closed her eyes, a hand to her forehead. He hoped she didn’t pass out again. But whether she did or not, he had a responsibility—not because they were still legally married, if that was even true, but because he wasn’t the kind of man who could live with himself if he didn’t offer aid to a dying soul.
“Let’s start again,” he heard himself saying. “Tell me what you need, Crystal. Is there some way I can help?”
Her eyes opened, still as blue as summer but without the spark of energy that had melted him years ago. She looked old and haggard. “That’s why I’m here. I knew you’d help me.”
“Help you what? I know a good doctor. Some nurses. I have some money put back. What do you need?”
“My kids.” The three settled around her on the couch, painfully alert to the serious adult conversation. Weakly, she stretched an arm to each side like wings and covered them, a hen sheltering her chicks.
“When I die,” she said, “I want you to take my kids.”
Chapter Three
Zak wanted to say she was crazy. He wanted to yell, “No way!” He wanted to rewind to that blissfully ignorant time when he’d been admiring Jilly’s jaunty lawn mower grit and Tim Lincecum’s earned run average. If he could pitch like that he’d be in the majors.
Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to get himself under control while praying for a quick and easy resolution. None was forthcoming.
“This is sudden,” Crystal said.
“Sudden” was a major understatement that left him gaping. Sudden was when the runner on first took off for second. Sudden was when he’d pitched a no-hitter and his teammates dumped the ice bucket over his head. This wasn’t sudden. This was catastrophic.
“I wish I didn’t have to spring it on you this way, but…” The remainder trailed away, lost in the facts. Crystal was running out of time. He wasn’t cynical enough or cruel enough to question that part of her story. All he had to do was look at her ashen color, the black circles under her eyes and her emaciated body.
He tried to get a grip, tried to ignore the rampaging elephants in his chest and the shock ricocheting through his head to focus on the most important portion of this bizarre conversation. Crystal was dying. “The doctors can’t do anything?”
“They’ve done a lot. More than two years’ worth. Nothing worked. I waited too long.” She lifted one very thin shoulder, puckering the dragon logo on her pink pullover. “I thought the lump would go away. Instead the cancer spread.”
He could see her doing that. Crystal didn’t want anything to be wrong, so she pretended it wasn’t. This time, ignoring the problem would cost her everything.
“That’s why you have to take my children. They’re sweet kids, Zak. Not perfect, but you know what will happen if I don’t find them a home.”
“Foster care.” He knew how much she’d hated growing up in the social system and how she’d wished for a family she’d never gotten. Now, she had one, in these children, and she was losing them. “What about Tank?”
She rolled her eyes. “I haven’t seen Tank in a long time.”
That figured, but still. “They’re his boys.”
“He’s mean. He hit Brandon a lot.” Probably Crystal, too, from what Zak recalled of Tank Rogers. “I left him after Jake came along. I’ve made a mess of my life but I love my kids. They deserve better.”
The middle boy began to sniffle. The older one scowled and stared at the wall, a robot of a boy.
“Maybe the kids should go outside and play while we talk?” Zak suggested.
“Sure.” Weakly, she pushed at Brandon. “Take Jake and Bella outside. Stay in the yard.”
The stiff-backed boy trudged out, gripping his sister’s hand. Jake trailed them, sucking his thumb.
When the back door snapped closed, Zak held out his palm as an olive branch. He intended to be kind but firm. “I’ll help you in some other way, Crystal, but I can’t do this. I don’t know anything about raising children, especially a little girl.” The daddy word gave him cold chills. Maybe she’d see the folly of her suggestion if he laid out the facts about himself. “First of all, I’m single. They need a mother. And I’m gone a lot. My firefighter job comes with a crazy schedule. Plus, I play a lot of baseball.”
“Still?”
What did she mean “still”?
“Dreams die hard.” Hey, he was only twenty-seven. Roger Clemens won a Cy Young Award when he was forty-two. The majors could still come calling.
“The job, baseball, being single, none of that matters, Zak. My kids need you.”
All those things mattered to him! “They need a caring family, Crystal. There are people out there who will adopt three cute kids. A family, not some single guy without a clue about raising them.”
“Who? Name one person who would adopt three kids all at once.”
“I don’t know,” he said, exasperated. “Someone.”
If he told her to call child welfare, she’d go ballistic. He wouldn’t do that anyway. But what could he do? He was not the daddy type.
“You’re the only person I’d trust with them.”
Oh, man. She was killing him. He wished like crazy Jilly was here to help him out. She’d know what to say. “Ask me for something else, but not this. I can’t.”
Crystal pressed shaky knuckles to her mouth but didn’t cry. For that he was grateful. A crying woman was a powerful force.
On wobbly legs she rose, and with more dignity than he’d imagined she said, “I’m sorry to have bothered you. You aren’t the man I remembered, after all.”
Jilly heard car doors slam. She pushed off the grass, scratched at the itch on the back of her leg and carried Lucky to the corner of the house. From there she could see Zak’s driveway. She rubbed Lucky’s velvet ear and watched as Zak reached into his pocket, took out his wallet and offered Crystal some money. She must have refused because he leaned into the window to say something and tossed the bills inside.
The battered Chevy backed down the drive, children’s faces pressed against the windows, and left Zak standing with arms dangling at his sides as they drove away.
Had there been some sort of ghastly mistake? Was she Zak’s wife or not? If they were married, where was she going? And why was he tossing money into her car?
Hope sprang up like a tenacious weed. Maybe they weren’t married. Maybe she’d misunderstood the conversation. After all, she’d been in the kitchen with three talking children. She’d made a mistake. Thank goodness.
Or maybe the woman was a nightmare from Zak’s past and he’d paid her to go away. Maybe she’d come to extort money. Maybe…
Curiosity getting the better of her, she put Lucky and the other rabbits back in the hutch and went inside to wash her face and hands. She had to know. Yes, she was nosy, but Zak was her best friend. He needed her.
And she’d go crazy if she didn’t know the truth.
Please let the conversation be a misunderstanding on my part. Zak could not be married.
“You look better.” Her mother stood in the laundry room, folding towels into a green plastic basket. The smell of lavender fabric softener, moist and hot from the dryer filled the narrow space.
“I’m going over to Zak’s. Don’t get too hot back here. I can fold these later.”
Mom, who worried less about her blood pressure than her daughter did, said, “I saw that woman leave. I wonder who she was. All those children.”
“You had three children.” Jilly snagged a clean washcloth.
“Mmm. Didn’t seem that many back then.” Mom kneed the drier shut with a metallic bang. “You don’t think she’s Zak’s girlfriend, do you?”
Jilly’s stomach lurched. She fisted the washcloth into a wad. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Did you watch that movie on cable last night? The one I told you about?”
“Yes, Mom.” She’d watched the DVD a long time ago. The movie, about a girl who was always a bridesmaid and never a bride, could have been the story of Jillian’s life. Except for the part about finding the guy of her dreams. Or rather him finding her. Jilly had found hers five years ago when Zak bought the house across the street. Beyond sharing pipe wrenches and hamburgers, he hadn’t bothered to notice.
“That could happen to you if you’d stop jumping every time he calls.” Mom handed her a stack of clean, fragrant towels. “Zak likes you. That woman is the first one I’ve ever seen over there other than his mother and you.”
“Mom, let it go.” Jilly hid her reddening face behind the stack of terry cloth. “Guys don’t find me attractive in that way. Zak likes me for a friend.”
“Maybe he’d like you for more if you played hard to get. Men are intrigued by a woman they can’t have.”
Jilly chanted her mantra, the one she’d used since she was sixteen. “When the time is right, the Lord will send someone.”
Someone who didn’t mind her freckles or red hair, someone who saw the real Jillian Fairmont. Not some jerk like Clay Trent who’d called her “Spotty” in front of the entire junior class. “Men don’t find me attractive.”
“You’re too hung up about your looks, Jillian. You’re a beautiful woman.”
Even though her mother repeated the words often, Jilly didn’t believe a word. Years of playground torment had told her the truth. Boys weren’t attracted to her. They wanted to be her friend, her pal, but not her date to the prom.
“Bye, Mom.”
“Take some of those muffins. The way to a man’s heart…”
Jilly made a rude noise but dumped the towels in the linen cabinet and grabbed the muffins as she threaded her way around a pair of squirmy dogs.
With Mugsy and Satchmo at heel, she jogged across the street, her mother’s words ringing in her head. She wanted to believe Zak found her attractive, but he’d never treated her as anything but a pal.
She hammered on his front door. “Hey, open up. I brought Mom’s muffins and two of your buddies.”
The dogs alone usually brought Zak roaring to the door to engage in a mock battle with the terriers.
“Come on in. I could use a friend.”
Uh-oh.
Jilly gave the door a push and stepped in. Sprawled on the couch, a dejected-looking Zak took a gut full of rat terrier as both dogs leaped aboard. He shoved them off. The dogs plopped on their bottoms, heads tipped to the side in a comical questioning expression. Clearly, their friend did not want to play, an unusual turn of events.
“You don’t look too happy.” Jilly shoved his sneakered feet aside and scootched in at the end of the couch. She set the muffins on a lamp table out of the dogs’ reach. “Who was that? What happened?”
Zak dropped his feet to the floor and sat up. “I need to talk to you about something. Promise you’ll hear me out before you tell me how stupid I am.”
She’d never seen him look this worried. The hope that she’d misunderstood dwindled away. “So, is it true? You’re married?”
Shoulders bumping hers, Zak swiveled his long, lanky body in her direction. Green eyes stood out against a summer tan, bewildered. “You heard what she said?”
“If you mean Crystal, yes, most of it. At least, I think I did.” Sickness rose in Jilly’s throat. She fought it down, although every hope she’d ever had, every dream that Zak would wake up and see her as a woman instead of a pal died a quiet death. “Why didn’t you tell me before? Why didn’t I know?”
“Because I didn’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck, kneading tight muscles. She’d done that for him before, after a hard ball game when his muscles ached and his arm stiffened up.
Before she knew he had a wife.
“Please,” Jilly scoffed, even though nothing amused her. “Give me some credit here. She didn’t give you one of those drugs that make you forget, did she? You married her. A man doesn’t forget something that momentous.”
“I knew I had married her. I just didn’t know we are married.” He slammed his fist onto his thigh. “This can’t be happening.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“Tell me about it. Nothing makes sense right now except I have a problem I don’t know how to solve.” He gripped the neck of his T-shirt and pulled, exposing the tanned skin below his throat. Jilly wanted to make him feel better, but how did a woman comfort another woman’s husband?
Mugsy, the empathetic one, lifted both paws lightly to Zak’s knee and cocked his head. Zak absently rubbed the pointed ears. Satchmo, not to be left out, leaped easily into Jilly’s lap, dog tags jingling.
“From the top,” Jilly said. “Explain this before I call your mother and tell her you’re having a nervous breakdown.”
“Whatever you do, don’t call my parents.”
“They don’t know?” This was worse than she’d thought.
“Not everything. I was in college, away from home, on baseball scholarship. Crystal was one of those girls who hung around college guys even though she wasn’t in school. Kind of a groupie type. She’d come to the ball games and jump up and down, all excited. After a good game, she’d rush up, gushing about how I was sure to get a call from the scouts.”
“She stroked your ego.”
“I guess. What did I know? I was barely eighteen and green as a frog.” He made a huffing noise.
“So what happened?”
“You know that old song about the candle in the wind? That was Crystal, blowing through life at the mercy of anyone and everything. She had problems and I felt sorry for her.” He shrugged, chagrined. “She was cute, too. Put the two together and I didn’t stand a chance when she asked me to marry her for the sake of her baby.”
“Her baby?” Even though the hated red blush crept up her neck, Jilly had to know. “Or yours, too?”
Zak’s eyes darkened to the color of rich moss, eyes that usually made her heart flutter. She couldn’t let that happen anymore. Even though it did.
“You have to believe me, Jilly. Those kids aren’t mine. None of them. Crystal and I were married about fifteen minutes. Shoot, most of the time I was at ball practice. I barely saw her.”
The unbidden vision of Zak and Crystal together stirred in the pit of her stomach as powerful as a canine virus. She hoped she didn’t throw up on Zak’s tennis shoes. “How could your parents not know?”
“I was working my way up to sharing the news.”
“They weren’t going to be happy about it?”
“Not even close. I was on scholarship, shooting for the big leagues. My dream was theirs, too. They would have been crushed.”
Jilly understood the feeling. She was crushed. Decimated. Shove a stick of dynamite in her heart and light the fuse.
“Her old boyfriend, the baby’s father, came by one day while I was in class and away she went. Her note said she’d filed for divorce to be with her soul mate.” He made a grim face. “Some soul mate.”
Jilly straightened, a fragile glimmer of hope flaring. “Then you aren’t married.”
“I don’t want to be. Never intended to be. At the time, I was too busy and dumb to consider she might not follow through.”
Jilly’s hope crashed and burned. “She didn’t.”
“No.” Zak let out an agitated sound. Mugsy licked his hand in consolation. “Looking back, I should have known. Crystal wasn’t the kind of girl who followed through with anything. Ever.”
“Oh, Zak,” she moaned. “You have a wife. You’re married.”
“No!” He slapped both hands to the sides of his head, fingers digging into his short brown hair. Surprised by the vehemence, the two dogs leaped to the floor. Zak dropped his arms, shoulders sagging, and on a long sigh said, “Yes. Technically, I guess I am.”
Jilly wondered if God believed in technicalities, but figured now was not the time to ask. Zak was more than freaked out. She gripped his forearm with her fingers. He was trembling. Or was that her?
“Okay, let’s think about this rationally,” she said. Yeah, right, and while we’re at it, let’s fly to Mars. “Why is Crystal here now? What does she want? A divorce? Like in that movie, Sweet Home Alabama?” Please Lord, let that be it. If Crystal divorced him, Zak would be free. Then another, much worse thought hit her. “Or did she change her mind after all this time and want you back?”
Jilly hated the thoughts running through her head. Ways to get Zak out of a marriage when marriage was ordained by God. What was wrong with her?
She knew the answer to that one. She loved a married man. She wanted him for herself. What kind of horrible person was she?
“Crystal has cancer,” he said flatly. “She doesn’t have much time left.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Guilt rushed in. The woman was dying and all Jilly could think about was how to steal her husband. “She’s so young.”
She wanted to ask what Crystal’s illness had to do with Zak, but guilt wouldn’t let her. “Why did she come to you? For money? Or what?”
“I don’t even know where she lives,” he said numbly. “Or what she’s been doing for the last ten years. It’s obvious she doesn’t have much. She’s broke and sick and alone.”
Compassion, usually welcome, rose in Jilly. As much as she disliked the words, she forced them out. “If she needs your help, you have to give it.”
“I know, but I can’t do what she asked. I just can’t.” He took her hand, a casual gesture.
“Tell me. Maybe I can help.”
“I don’t think so.” He lifted her fingers one by one, traced a spray of freckles across the back and then gripped her hand with such force that she knew he was about to say something momentous. As if having a wife wasn’t momentous enough. “She asked me to take her kids—” he hesitated “—after…”
Jilly frowned. What was momentous about that? Crystal was desperately ill with little time left. “Until her family comes for them?”
He released her hand and sat back. “There is no family, Jilly. No one. She doesn’t have a single person anywhere to turn to. No one except me—the long-lost husband who didn’t even know he was one.”
Zak’s meaning seeped in, slow and deadly as arsenic. He not only had a wife, but he was also about to become a father.
Zak watched the color drain from Jilly’s face. Her freckles popped out like rust stars against a porcelain sky. She had beautiful skin, a fact he noticed every time she blushed, which was often. She made a tiny noise of distress and Zak resisted the urge to toss his arm over her shoulders and give her a hug. He didn’t like seeing Jilly upset, especially when he was the cause.
“You sent her away,” she said, blue eyes sad and dismayed.
“What else could I do? I’m not their father. I don’t even know her.”
“But now that she’s gone, you’re having second thoughts.”
“Yes, of course I am!” What kind of man would he be if he didn’t? He dragged both hands down his face and blew from his lips like a horse. “She’s dying, Jilly. I feel like a piece of scum for refusing her anything. At the same time, I’m not the person for the job. I can’t be a father to three strange, grieving, needy children. I don’t want to be. I can’t be. The whole idea is nuts.” He was starting to get hysterical. Zak Cool, the pitcher with ice water in his veins and fire in his left arm, was teetering on the edge.
Jilly pushed Satchmo off her lap. “Go lay down.”
“I wish I could,” Zak said and when Jilly rolled blue eyes at him, he grinned a little at his joke. “Dogs are lucky. When something upsets them, they can go to sleep and forget about it.”
Jilly wasn’t amused. If anything, she’d gone even paler. A tiny, worried pulse beat in the hollow of her throat. “You’re not a dog. You can’t go to sleep and forget about it. So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I gave her some money. She was broke, exhausted, sick.” He scrubbed his face with both hands, not that it did a bit of good. “Man, I’m a jerk.”
Jilly pushed at Satchmo who tried to regain her lap. “Was she going back to her home?”
He hadn’t asked. He’d been so busy getting her out of his house, his driveway, his life that he hadn’t asked what she would do or where she would go. “She looked tired. I suggested she go to a motel.”
“Kitty’s place?”
“Yeah.” He’d soothed himself with the thought that Kitty Carter ran a clean, safe, reasonably priced motel. “Maybe I should call Kitty and ask her to keep an eye on them.”
“I don’t know, Zak. This doesn’t seem right to me.”
“Nothing is right today. I want a replay.”
“I’m sure Crystal does, too.”
“Thanks for kicking me in the teeth,” he said wryly. “I deserved that.”
“Maybe you should go over there and bring them back here.”
“Here? To my place? Are you nuts?”
“Regardless of the particulars, regardless of when or why you married her, she’s legally still your wife.”
“What if she’s lying?” he asked, desperate to be free of this problem.
“Wouldn’t that be easy to check?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe she’s only saying this because she remembers me as a soft touch.”
“Zak,” Jilly admonished softly.
“I don’t want to be married, Jilly. Not to anyone, but certainly not to a woman I don’t remember very well who is dying of cancer and wants to give me three kids.” He could hear how shallow and selfish he sounded, but this was his life she was talking about!
“That’s exactly the point. Crystal is dying. She needs you right now. Don’t you think it’s terribly, pathetically sad that she has no one else in the world to turn to but a man she’s not seen since college?”
Put that way, Crystal’s plight looked even worse than it was. And it was bad. “I told her I’d help her. In some way. We can ask at church. Maybe someone will take her in. Maybe someone will want the kids. Or I can hire a nurse to stay with her.”
Jilly put a hand on his arm. “I don’t know, Zak. Something about that seems wrong to me.”
“I can’t move her in here. I don’t even know her. I have a life, too. What are people going to think if I move a strange woman into my house?”
“What about the kids? Where do they go? What happens to them? They can’t care for a dying mother.”
He closed his eyes, blew out another breath. “There’s the kicker. They have no one to turn to and no place to go.”
Jilly bit her bottom lip and he could see the wheels turning inside her head. “Look, all of this has happened too fast. You’re reeling from shock. Maybe you need some time to think it over.”
“I don’t think Crystal has the luxury of time.”
“Oh, Zak.” She swallowed, pretty face tragic. Jilly was a woman with a heart as big and warm as the sun. She took in all kinds of strays and rejected animals, nursed them to health and found them homes when she could. But three children weren’t puppies she could fatten up and farm out. “She’s in a desperate situation.”
So was he. “I know.”
“Can you live with yourself if you don’t do something?”
He wished the answer was different but admitted, “I don’t know. Probably not. God help me.” And he meant that voiced prayer with every cell in his weak brain.
“She’s dying, Zak. She must be scared. For herself. For her kids.” She squeezed the back of his hand. “I can’t imagine how terrible her life must be right now.”
“You’re killing me.”
“I’m trying to put myself in her position. What would I do? What would I need? How hard would it be to ask a near stranger for charity? You can’t turn your back. Even if the marriage is on paper only, the two of you are connected. You made a vow to her, even if it was ten years ago. You have an obligation, under God and the law.”
Jilly was his best friend. She wouldn’t steer him wrong. She wanted the best for him and she wasn’t any happier about this than he was, but her head was clearer. His was as tangled as spaghetti. As a Christian, he wanted to do what was right. As a single man, he wanted to jump in his Titan 4x4 and hit the road.
“I can’t take on three kids. I won’t.”
“It’s a huge decision.”
“Exactly. Those kids need a family. They need someone who wants them and can give them the attention kids deserve. That is not me.”
Jilly patted his shoulder. “You’re a good guy.”
“No, I’m not. I’m struggling.”
“You’ll do the right thing.”
He turned his head to look at her. “Why weren’t you around ten years ago to say that?”
She smiled a funny smile. “I wish I had been.”
Zak figured he should do some serious knee time, but God hadn’t gotten him into this mess in the first place. If he’d been living right back in college, he might have been smarter. Or not. The fact remained, he hadn’t been.
“A motel room is no place for a sick woman and a pack of rug rats,” he conceded.
“She can’t stay there indefinitely, and if she has nowhere to go… You need to find out, Zak. Does she have anywhere else to go?”
“I’ll talk to her again.”
“And then what?”
He sighed, weary and confused, a load of responsibility bearing down with colossal weight. “I don’t know.”
As a Christian, his conscience said he had to help Crystal, even though their relationship ended years ago. If helping meant bringing her into his home where she could be at peace for her remaining days, maybe he could do that. But the arrangement was temporary. Only temporary.
Maybe, just maybe, a miracle would happen and a family would be found for three orphaned children.
Because he couldn’t keep those kids. No matter what.
Chapter Four
Even though Zak spotted Crystal’s battered car parked near one of the tidy, flower-rimmed motel units, he stopped at the office first. Call it stalling, call it cowardice, but he wasn’t ready to talk to Crystal again. His head was still as muddy as the Redemption River on a rainy day.
The little bell tinkled above the door as he stepped into the cool, rose-scented office, nerves jittery. The blond proprietress, Kitty Wainright Carter, came around a souvenir display counter with a cheerful smile.
Zak spoke first. “You’ve changed things in here.”
The office had once been a memorial to her late war-hero husband. Now, the depressing military shrine had been replaced with whimsical souvenirs of the Oklahoma Land Run and the Old West.
“What do you think?”
“Looks good.” A small beagle-type dog came from behind the case to greet him. Zak bent down and scratched the floppy ears. “Hi, Milo.”
“Redecorating is fun,” Kitty said, “though I’m not doing much of it anymore. Harvey and Faye run the desk for me now full-time. I only came in today to put up the schedule and check on things.”
“I heard you were going to sell out.”
“We are at some point, but so far, no takers.” She widened her eyes and laughed. For a small woman, she had a big laugh. “Imagine that. No one wants to buy a tiny old motel in a small town.”
“They don’t know what they’re missing.” He tapped a cowboy bobble head wielding a lasso and watched it flop around. “So how are you feeling?”
Yes, he was doing some serious stalling. Idle conversation with a woman he saw every week at church was easier than offering his home to a dying stranger.
So was jumping off a cliff.
Kitty blushed a pretty pink and patted her barely pregnant belly. “Wonderful.”
“How’s Jace holding up?” Jace Carter, the local builder she’d married last summer, doted on his wife. Even though Zak didn’t get the whole daddy attraction, he recognized Jace as a man who would embrace fatherhood with fear, trepidation and pleasure.
Kitty laughed. “Not nearly as well as I am. He makes at least one trial run to the hospital every day. Yesterday, he had the time down to seven minutes flat.” She laughed again. “And I’m only four months along!”
Zak smiled. Jace Carter was quiet and deep, a decent guy who’d loved his wife for years before she knew it. “You’ll be great parents.”
“I hope so. We’re ready. Scared but ready.”
He understood the scared part. The ready, not so much. He was an emergency responder, trained to handle stress and to plunge into life-and-death situations. As a pitcher, he could face the toughest batter in the state with bases loaded and nobody out, and blow past him with a curve ball. In the case of Crystal, he was out of his league.
Man up, Ashford.
He shifted, stared at something in the display case called tornado in a can and said, “A woman and three kids checked in today.”
Now, that was a tornado he wished he could keep in a can.
Kitty nodded. “I noticed her last name was the same as yours. Is she a relative?”
Heat rushed up his back. Crystal had used his name? Right here in the town where he lived and worked and was well respected? Oh, man, what was he going to do if she let the cat out of the bag? He didn’t want his friends and neighbors knowing about the dumbest thing he’d ever done.
“Sort of. I saw her car in front of one of the units.”
“Unit four. Are you going over there?”
Only if I have to. “Yes. Thanks, Kitty.” He pointed at her belly. “Take care.”
She laughed her jolly laugh as he exited the building and headed down the path toward Unit Four. The warm afternoon air had suddenly become oppressive and heavy, choking off his oxygen. The overly sweet scent of Kitty’s red, white and blue flowers turned his stomach. A black gnat buzzed his nostrils. He swung and missed.
Palms sweaty, he lifted his fist and knocked. From behind the shiny gold number four came the sound of television cartoons.
“Mama, someone’s knocking.” The raised voice was Brandon’s.
Zak didn’t hear Crystal’s reply but the door opened. Brandon’s narrow face peered up at him, serious as a car wreck. The boy swiveled his head toward the inside of the darkened room and said. “He’s here, Mama.”
A mumble came from Crystal before Brandon opened the door wider and said, “Come in.”
Zak controlled the urge to flee. He wasn’t a coward, never had been and he wouldn’t start now. He stepped over the threshold and into a small room lit only by the television set. Brandon joined the other two children at the foot of one bed, eyes glued to SpongeBob. Crystal lay on the other, a washcloth draped across her forehead.
The sight made him uncomfortable. He didn’t belong in a strange woman’s motel room in any capacity other than professional.
Crystal reached for the washcloth, letting it fall to the pillow, and struggled up to one elbow. “Sorry. I’m too tired.”
“I can come back another time.”
“No.” She tried a wan wave of her free hand. “Too tired to get up.”
Oh. Pulling his paramedic cloak around him, Zak crossed the short distance to the bedside. “Can I get you anything?”
Her hollow eyes accused. “You know the answer to that.”
Zak licked his lips, gone as dry as chalk dust. “That’s why I’m here.”
She brightened just a bit. “My kids?”
“I can’t do that, Crystal, but I can offer you a place to stay while other arrangements are made. I’ll help you with those, too. We’ll figure out something.”
She sighed, eyelids falling shut. Her bird chest rose and fell in a shallow breathing pattern. She was quiet for a while and he wondered if she’d fallen asleep.
Feeling awkward and anxious, pulse drumming in his brain and his inner watchman shouting alarm, Zak glanced at the three children. Engrossed in a fantasy world of television, they seemed oblivious to the fact that their futures hung in the balance. Ignorance was bliss. But he wasn’t ignorant.
Finally, Crystal spoke in a weak and whispery voice. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Grimly, he admitted, “I don’t, either.”
Zak’s wife moved in the next day. Jilly knew this because she’d arrived home from church to find Crystal’s car in Zak’s driveway and three unsupervised kids playing “kick the can” in the middle of the street.
“Would you look at that? Good lands, Jilly, those kids are going to get killed.” Jilly’s mother motioned toward the curb. “Pull over. I’m going to give them a talking to.”
“Don’t get your blood pressure up, Mom. I’ll take care of it.”
“Who are they and what are they doing at Zak’s house? Did he say anything about that woman? Who is she? I hope you haven’t fooled around and missed your chance with that cute fireman.”
Jilly swallowed back a frustrated reply.
“Mom, this is Zak’s business, not mine.” She pulled into the driveway, hoping Mom would hurry inside to start Sunday dinner. She hadn’t quite decided how to break the news of Zak’s marital status.
Mom jerked the straps of her straw bag higher on her arm. “His business will be scraping a child off the pavement if someone doesn’t get them out of the street.”
“I’ll do it.” Before her mother could say anything more, Jilly popped her seat belt and hopped out of the car. Traffic in the residential area was light, but Mom had a valid point.
Jilly’s heeled sandals poked holes in the damp grass and slowed her progress as she headed down the incline toward the street.
“Tell Zak I’m frying chicken,” her mother called. “He’s welcome to come over.”
Jilly waved a hand. Mom was still trying to reel Zak in with food, but at the moment, her next-door neighbor was in over his head. Impromptu invitations between his house and hers were likely a thing of the past.
The notion settled in her stomach, heavy and dismaying. Zak was married. She’d struggled to sleep last night, had finally gotten up to read her Bible and pray. Considering her prayers were selfish pleas for God to erase the problem, she’d felt worse instead of better.
“Hi, kids,” she said as she stepped onto the paved street.
Brandon, the older boy, gave a soup can one more kick before looking at her. The younger boy ignored her to chase the bouncing, rattling can. The little girl—Bella, wasn’t it?—had plopped down in the middle of the street to play with rocks. Her face was dirty and if her hair had been brushed this morning, Jilly couldn’t tell.
Over the clatter of can against concrete, she asked, “Why don’t you play in the backyard?”
Brandon shrugged. “This is better.”
She tried a different approach. “Does your mother know you’re out here?”
Brandon’s face was a mix of disdain and annoyance. “She don’t care. She’s too busy dying.”
Said with such nonchalance, the phrase was obscene. “She does care, Brandon. She’s just too sick right now.”
His face tightened. “She has cancer.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She wanted to put a hand on the boy’s thin shoulder but refrained. He didn’t seem the snuggly type.
Jake sailed the bent can toward his brother. Jilly stepped in the path to intercept.
“Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” She scooped up the can and the little girl. This kid business was harder than she’d imagined, but she knew a thing or two about hurt things. For certain, these kids were hurting. “Come on, let’s go inside for a minute.”
Brandon shrugged. “Bella’s wet anyway.”
Jilly had already figured that one out. The evidence sank warm and wet against the side of the peach floral dress she’d bought for Easter. “How old is she?”
“I tree.” Bella shoved three short fingers into Jilly’s face.
Wasn’t three old enough to be out of diapers? She’d have to ask her mom or sister. With two kids, Amber would be up to the minute on toddler parenting.
She gently pushed Bella’s fingers out of her face and led the way to Zak’s front door. Brandon and Jake went right in. Jilly knocked anyway.
A harried-looking Zak appeared. He pushed the door open. “Hey.”
“The troops were on the loose,” she said. “In the street. Mom’s having apoplexy.”
“Sorry. They’re like ants, always moving.”
Jilly put Bella down. “She’s wet.”
He rolled his eyes. “Not in my job description.”
“If you’ll show me where her diapers are, I’ll do it.”
“Could you?” His relief was evident.
“It’s not rocket science, Zak. A diaper’s a piece of plastic with sticky tabs. All you have to do is make sure you get the legs tight enough.” She made a face. “I learned that the hard way with Amber’s boys.”
A noise erupted in the kitchen. Zak whirled like a cornered tiger. With Jilly following, he loped into the kitchen.
“Put those down,” Zak demanded.
Jake howled like a wolf while he and Brandon wrestled over Zak’s Chips Ahoy! They paid no attention to the two adults in the room.
The yowling escalated.
Zak collared them both, one in each strong hand. The arm muscles he’d developed for baseball easily overcame the small boys. “Cut it out, you two. Your mother is asleep.”
Brandon dropped the bag. Zak dropped the boys in favor of the cookies. “If you’re hungry say so, but don’t fight. Just tell me.”
Both boys looked stricken. The youngest popped a thumb into his mouth.
“Looks like you’ve got your hands full.” Jilly looked around the messy kitchen. Zak was a neat freak, compliments of his firefighter job. A place for everything and everything in its place. Not so today.
Zak groaned. “Bases loaded. No outs. A-Rod at the plate and my arm is spaghetti.”
If she hadn’t known Zak for years, she’d be lost in his baseball jargon. But she heard him loud and clear. He was in over his head.
She went to the fridge and pulled out baloney and cheese. “You, kids, go wash your faces and hands. Sandwiches coming up.”
The pair dashed out of the kitchen.
Zak wilted against the refrigerator door. “They’re here three hours and I’m out of my mind. I can’t do this.”
She didn’t bother to remind him that he already had. “What’s the plan?”
“I’m looking for alternatives—anything—but I can’t do much until Tuesday. I’m on twenty-four-hour shift tomorrow. Maybe I can make some calls then if we’re not too busy. Until then…” He shrugged.
She resisted the urge to offer assistance. This was Zak’s situation. He should make the calls. He should decide how all this would play out. “How’s Crystal?”
“She’s been asleep since they got here.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Those kids are wild. They’re into everything and they don’t bother to ask permission. They do what they want.”
“I guess she hasn’t had the energy for discipline.”
He slid into a chair and banged his head on the tabletop. “I told you I’m not cut out for this.”
Bella, sitting on the floor next to the back door, giggled. Jilly patted his back, feeling sorry for him while wondering if she should even be here with a man whose wife was in the other room. Something about that seemed inappropriate. “Mom’s making dinner. I have to go.”
He lifted his face, looking really pitiful. “Can I go with you?”
Two days ago, she’d have loved that question and would have jumped at the chance to spend Sunday afternoon with him. “Sure.”
“Can’t. I have to figure out why my life exploded and how to get it back.”
She’d known he would say that. Crystal’s arrival had changed everything, from Zak’s lifestyle to the dynamics of a neighborly friendship.
Finished making three sandwiches, Jilly wiped her hands and started toward the door.
“Aren’t you going to change Bella?” Zak’s expression was desperate.
“Oh, right. Come here, precious,” she said, taking the girl by the hand. Bella’s diaper, the plastic dirty from sitting outside, sagged. “Where are the clean diapers?”
He pointed to a plastic shopping bag on the end of the counter. “I made a diaper run this morning. Crystal ran out.”
Jilly found the package and worked her magic, thankful for the times she’d babysat her nephews. “We sometimes put diapers on dogs at the clinic. They work just like this. We use them on squirrels and raccoons, too. Little tiny ones.”
Her effort to make him smile failed.
She stood the child on her feet and discarded the soiled diaper. “Don’t you have a game today?”
He jerked away from the table, eyes wide. “What time is it?”
“Mom and I stopped at the store after church, so it’s probably close to two.”
Zak yanked his cell phone from a pocket and glared at the screen. “Oh, man, look at that. Six messages.”
Jilly came up behind his chair and leaned in. “Why didn’t you hear them ring?”
“Too much going on, I guess.” He whopped his forehead with the phone. “How could I forget? This was an important game. I was supposed to pitch.”
“Is it too late?”
“Yeah, it’s too late. Look at that. Smitty texted me six times.”
Jilly read aloud as he scrolled through the texts, one at a time. “Where are you, dude? You’re pitching. Are you coming? We’re doomed. Taylor’s pitching. Batter up. Dude, where are you?”
Zak stroked his left arm. “My arm feels better than it’s felt since college. I was so ready. How could I have forgotten?”
She’d watched him last night in his backyard, firing fast balls through the center of a tire hung from a limb of the giant ash tree. He was smoking hot and deadly accurate. She had always wondered why he hadn’t made it into the pros.
“Was this a big game?” she asked, aware that any game was important to a baseball junky like Zak. “For a particular reason, I mean.”
“Yeah, a tournament in Tulsa.” Shoulders stooped, he pushed up from the chair and stared blindly out into the backyard. “The all-star committee is supposed to be there.”
Her sympathy gene kicked in. Baseball was the love of Zak’s life. In season and out, he lived and breathed it, played and studied it. The dream of playing professionally still lingered.
“The all-star committee?”
“They’re putting together a state exhibition team to play around the region. I want on it.”
“Was this the last chance?”
“I don’t know.” He took a milk carton from the fridge, popped open the spout and took a swig. Wearing a milk mustache, he said, “I can’t believe I forgot about a game this important.”
“You’ve had a lot on your mind. Once you figure out exactly what’s needed with Crystal and the kids, this should get easier.”
“I keep telling myself that, but only a few hours in and I think I’m lying.” He took another swig of milk. Funny how a guy could do that and look appealing.
The two boys came back in, faces shiny clean. Jilly handed each a sandwich. Baloney in possession, they turned and started toward the living room. Jilly stopped them with a hand on each shoulder. “Sit down at the table to eat, so you don’t make a big mess. You want some milk?”
“Oops.” Zak looked sheepishly at the milk carton. “Bad habits of a bachelor. You think they’ll mind?”
Both boys said “No” at the same time. Jilly figured they never refused anything to eat or drink. She plucked the carton from Zak’s fingers and poured each child a glass.
“You’re out of milk,” she said.
Zak made a face, then lifted Bella onto a chair. Her pixie face barely peeked over the table but both chubby hands reached up and took the halved sandwich. The baloney and bread disappeared below the plane of the table.
Jilly helped Zak put away the sandwich fixings, secretly glad for a reason to linger here with him. When she turned from replacing an unused spoon, he grasped her upper arm.
“Thanks.”
Her stomach went south. She relished these chance touches just as she relished being this close to him. With effort, she put on her chipper grin, aware that her freckles stood out like beacons when her face wrinkled. “That’s what friends are for.”
He looked at her long and hard, the strain of the past twenty-four hours evident on his handsome, chiseled features. Jilly, longing to put her arms around him in comfort, settled for a couple of pats to his upper chest. The muscles beneath his white-and-red athletic shirt were rock hard, ready to pitch a fastball or to fight fires. Either way, Zak was in amazing shape. What would it be like to be held in those arms against that chest with his heart beating only for her? For five years she’d wondered.
The sound of movement turned them both to the entry between the living and dining room. A wobbly, wan Crystal, scant hair mussed, entered.
Crystal. Zak’s wife.
Jilly’s heart sank, a brick in a warm pool. She took one step away from Zak, wishing things were different while knowing all too well, they weren’t. And never would be again.
Chapter Five
“What are my options?”
Zak sat in a fancy leather chair across from Hunter Case, attorney at law. Hunter also happened to be a teammate on the local independent baseball team—a crackerjack third baseman with a solid batting average. As such, Zak trusted him with the whole, ugly, painful truth.
“You want me to investigate her claim or do you believe her?” Backlit by the morning sun, Hunter’s red hair glowed like a fire around his head. Zak had flashes of Jilly running through his. She’d been a trooper since his life had exploded. Even with her job at the vet clinic, she’d managed to check on Crystal and the kids while he was pulling a twenty-four-hour shift. Her mom, as sympathetic as Jilly, had brought a casserole for the trio of army ants who ate anything in their paths.
His cupboards were bare, his house a mess and he’d missed practice every single night this week.
Three days into his nightmare and he was no closer to waking up than before. It anything, life was harder. The kids weren’t mean, but they were undisciplined and confused. They made messes, disappeared without permission and alternately tugged at his heart and infuriated him.
“Both. If she’s the same Crystal, she’s telling the truth. She never got the divorce. But I need to know for certain where I stand legally.”
Hunter scribbled something on a notepad. “What will you do if she’s lying? Kick her out?”
Zak blinked. Kick a dying woman out on the street? “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“You should. If she’s falsely using your name and extorting room and board, you could have a case.”
“I don’t want a case. I want—” He pinched his bottom lip and sighed, frustrated. “I want all this to go away. I want Crystal to be well enough to take care of her kids.”
“You’re convinced her cancer claims are true?”
Hunter believed the worst in everyone. Suspicion was his job and he did it well. “She saw Dr. Stampley yesterday. He sent for her medical records but told me there was no doubt in his mind of her condition. It’s bad, Hunt. Real bad.”
“How long did he give her?”
“Days, weeks, months. No one but God knows for sure, but she doesn’t have long.”
Hunter made a smacking noise. “Bad deal.”
Zak found the statement sorely lacking. “Tell me my legal responsibilities.” An attorney couldn’t help him with the moral dilemma. No one could. Even himself. “Do I have to take those kids? Is the little girl mine just because Crystal gave her my name?”
“Is she yours?”
“No! Come on, Hunt. I haven’t seen Crystal in ten years.”
The lawyer lifted a flat palm. “Had to ask. That’s the way it works. I’ll have to do some research, but my initial thought is no. You can prove with a paternity test that she is not your biological daughter.”
“Yeah.” He felt like a creep for asking these questions. “The guys at work are giving me fits.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/linda-goodnight/the-last-bridge-home/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.