The Secret Christmas Child. Lee McClain Tobin

and eventually, both hummed along in a rowdy kind of productivity.

      She kept glancing over at Reese, but he never met her eyes. Of course not. He was furious that she’d conceived a baby while they were dating, at least, as he saw it.

      The idea of talking to him about it made her insides twist. She hated thinking about that horrible night. She’d had counseling, yes, and she’d sort of dealt with it, but she still felt that slick twist of shame every time she approached it mentally, so she usually refocused on other things whenever thoughts of Izzy’s conception came up.

      Avoiding the subject wasn’t doable now, though. She was going to have to work with Reese, and if he was going to be sullen and angry, it would be conveyed to the boys. It would interfere with the job they had to do. That wasn’t right.

      When the boys showed signs of being pretty involved with their projects, she approached Reese, heart pounding. “Could we talk for a few minutes?” she asked.

      He frowned. “Don’t you think they need supervision?”

      “Well...” She shrugged. “Yes, but I also think we need to clear the air. How about if we meet in the outer office where we can keep an eye on them?”

      His lips tightened and he looked off to the side. He was going to say no.

      But finally, he nodded.

      She followed him to the anteroom of his office, stopping when he turned to face her. His arms were crossed, his expression set.

      Her heart sank. Could she speak the truth to someone as closed-off as Reese? Someone she’d once loved, or thought she did?

      Part of the truth, at least. She cleared her throat. “Last night, you found out I have a child,” she began.

      He looked out toward the boys. A muscle jumped in his jaw.

      “I know it must have made you angry.”

      “I have no right to get angry,” he said, still without looking at her. “It’s in the past.”

      “I agree you have no right,” she said, “but you are angry. And if we’re going to work together, I think I need to tell you a few things.”

      He sighed and met her eyes. “Look, Gabby, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

      “Don’t talk, then. Listen.” She drew in a breath. She couldn’t tell him about his cousin. When Brock had died only hours after assaulting her, she’d made the decision not to disturb his family’s memory of him. She wasn’t crazy about Brock’s parents, but they’d been devastated about the loss of their only son. She’d prayed about it, and talked to her counselor about it and decided not to add to their trauma.

      Now, after a year and a half, no one would believe her, least of all Reese.

      Brock had been a popular athlete; she was a poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks. He’d warned her not to tell anyone, asserting that they wouldn’t believe she hadn’t consented, right before getting drunkenly into the car that he’d driven to his death.

      She didn’t respect Brock’s opinion about much, but she knew he was right about that.

      Now, to Reese, she’d say what she could of the truth. “I could tell you were counting the months,” she said, “and from your reaction, I’d guess you’re thinking Izzy was conceived when we were seeing each other. But she was six weeks premature.”

      He looked skeptical. “Convenient excuse.”

      Anger fired inside her, a hot ball in her chest. “Actually, it wasn’t convenient at all. She almost died, and I did, too, from preeclampsia.” What she didn’t say was that she’d wanted to die.

      Most of that was about the assault and carrying Brock’s baby. Lots of hormones washing around in her system. Being isolated as a pregnant girl, then a young mother in a college town full of partying teenagers.

       And the fact that you’d dumped me by email didn’t help.

      She’d thought they had a great relationship. When she’d pulled herself back together after the assault, all she’d wanted was to talk to Reese, cry on his shoulder even if by phone. But she hadn’t been able to reach him for several weeks.

      She’d thought he was busy with soldier stuff, but in mid-August, she’d gotten the stiff, cold email from him: I don’t want to be involved with you anymore. Please stop contacting me.

      In the year and a half since then, she’d gained some perspective. Wartime did things to people, not the least of which was throwing soldiers together in intense, emotional situations. He’d probably met someone else, or realized he wanted to, and hadn’t known how to tell her.

      She’d gotten over it, or mostly. Been too busy to think about it. Moved on. Could he do the same?

      His eyebrows came together as he studied her, and she could see the debate inside him of whether to believe her about Izzy’s being premature.

      When he didn’t speak, just kept looking at her, she spread her hands and shrugged. “Look, it’s nothing to do with you and I’m not going to dig up medical records to prove she was premature. I just wanted to let you know that I didn’t... That nothing happened when we were dating.”

      “So it happened when you went back to college... Sorry.” He held up a hand, shook his head. “Never mind. Not my business.”

      She hesitated. “Right.” And then she felt like a liar. She meant he was right that it wasn’t his business, but of course, Izzy hadn’t been conceived back at college, but right here in Bethlehem Springs. He’d think she was agreeing with him that she’d been conceived at college.

      But did it matter, when she wasn’t ever going to tell him the full circumstances of what had happened?

      “Is her father...involved?”

      She swallowed. “No.”

      Sweat dripped down between her shoulder blades despite the cold day. Her stomach churned. Talking about Izzy’s father with Reese felt surreal. She didn’t know if she could handle much more of it. She should never have taken this job.