Last week, when Shane had stopped by for some hot wings and a beer on his way home, she’d had to leave work to run one of the boys to the E.R. at the Brighton Valley Medical Center. The kid had nearly cut off his finger trying to clean broken glass off the floor.
Shane introduced the women, calling Jillian a friend of his.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Trina said to Jillian, before asking Shane, “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a Corona—with lime.” He looked at Jillian. “Would you like something stronger than that?”
“No, thanks. I’ll stick with juice.”
Was she worried that alcohol might lower her inhibitions? She didn’t need to be. He’d never take advantage of her, although he supposed she really had no way of knowing that. At least, not yet.
He wouldn’t be opposed to taking her back to his place, though. And if she still insisted upon taking things slow, he’d let her have his bed, and he’d sleep on the sofa.
Of course, the night was still young. So who knew how things would end up?
As he cast a glance her way, he saw that she was pulling at the nail on one of her fingers. He couldn’t help thinking that she was more nervous than he’d ever seen her.
Why? Was she apprehensive about seeing him again?
If so, was it the honky-tonk setting that was bothering her? Or was it confronting the sexual attraction they’d both found so impossible to ignore?
She stopped messing with her fingernail, then leaned forward and rested her forearms on top of the table. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
That’s what she’d said when she’d called yesterday. Yet whatever she had to say still seemed to weigh on her mind.
Wanting to make it easier on her, he tossed her a smile. “I hope it’s to say that you missed me.”
She returned his smile, although hers was laden with whatever had been holding her back. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”
Apparently so. But her nervousness set him on edge, too.
Finally, she said, “I want you to know that the night we spent in Houston was the first time I’d ever done anything like that.”
He’d suspected as much, and a slow grin stretched across his face. “I’m glad to hear it.”
So maybe she did have more in mind than a glass of OJ and a chat. He sure hoped so, but he was going to need a little more to go on than that.
Jillian ran her fingertip along the moisture that had gathered on the Mason jar, clearly holding back her announcement.
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Something tells me that it might be easier for you to say what you came to say if you asked Trina to put a little vodka in that glass.”
“That wouldn’t help.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “There’s no easy way to say this, Shane. I’m pregnant.”
Her statement slammed into him like barrage of bullets, making it impossible to speak, let alone react.
Was she suggesting the baby was his? Or had she met someone else in the past few months?
“I thought you should know,” she added.
Why? Because the baby was his?
They’d used protection… Had they gotten careless that night? Was the condom outdated?
Or had she gotten pregnant by some other guy? Her ex-husband maybe?
Was that why she hadn’t contacted him? Was she afraid he wouldn’t like the idea of her having some other man’s baby?
“How far along are you?” he asked, hoping to do the math and clarify things without asking outright if the baby was his.
“Four and a half months,” she said.
That would make it about right.
He supposed there was no way around being direct. “Is it mine?”
She shot him a wounded expression. “Of course it’s yours. I told you that I’d never done anything like that before.”
Well, how the hell was he supposed to have known that it had to be his? She’d been married up until the time they’d met…?. And maybe she’d done it a second or third time—with someone else.
“I know we used a condom,” she added, “so I’m not sure how it happened, but it did.”
Shane lifted his hat, raked a hand through his hair, then set the Stetson on the table. “I’m sorry, Jillian. I’m just a little…stunned. That’s all.”
God, he was going to be a father again…
Just the thought caused voice-stealing emotion to rise in his chest and ball up in his throat—fear and panic, pride…
“I’m not asking for anything,” she said. “Like I said before, I plan to raise the baby on my own. And other than the fact that it will probably be a little inconvenient because of school and all, I’m actually looking forward to being a mom. It’s just that I thought you should know.”
He would have been furious with her if he’d ever found out on his own and learned that she’d kept it from him. But right now, he didn’t know quite what to say. His emotions were flying around like stray bullets at a shoot-out—each spinning toward separate targets.
For some reason, thoughts of Marcia came back to taunt him, memories of her taking their toddler and moving out of town. The reminder served to blindside him, making it even more difficult to deal with Jillian’s news—and making it way more personal.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Dumping all of this on you, I guess. You must be worried about what this all means, but it doesn’t have to mean anything to you. I just thought you should know.” She bit down on her bottom lip, her mind undoubtedly going a mile a minute, just as his was doing.
He tried to wrap his mind around the fact that he was going to be a father again, but as he did, thoughts of Joey swept over him: the sight of the newborn coming into the world; that first flutter of a smile; the sight of the chubby baby pulling himself to a stand at the coffee table.
While he should look forward to the idea of having a second chance at fatherhood, the horrendous image of his eighteen-month-old son lying in a small, white, satin-lined casket chased away the sweet memories, and he feared what this might lead to…the anger, the pain, the grief.
After Shane and Marcia had split up, she’d moved out of state, taking Joey with her. Not only had Shane lost out on seeing his son from day to day, he’d been more than five-hundred miles away when he’d received word that he’d…lost him for good.
There was no way Shane wanted to go through that again. And while he had no idea how he would remedy that this time around, he knew he’d have to do something.
He glanced at Jillian, saw her pulling at her fingernail again—clearly worried, nervous and stressed about the situation.
It probably hadn’t been easy for her to deliver the news, and he was sorry that his initial reaction had been a little harsh.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he said, his mind still reeling.
She smiled, then glanced away. “I understand.”
But she didn’t; she couldn’t.
He probably should tell her about Joey, about how he’d lost his son, about how he still ached with grief. But he didn’t