The Sheriff Wins A Wife. Jill Limber

and a small-town boy. He’d always lived in Blossom. He hated cities.

      Most likely, even if they’d stayed together, their relationship wouldn’t have worked. She didn’t question why she’d held fast to that belief.

      Trace’s voice drew her out of her musings.

      “I called your mother’s house, but she wouldn’t talk to me. Then I heard you’d gone off to school. When I found out you’d left for college I went to find you.”

      “You came to SMU?” She hadn’t known he’d tried to contact her after she’d left. It didn’t change the present, but knowing he’d come after her untied one of the little knots of sadness she’d held on to for years.

      “Yeah. But when I came to my senses and realized you’d left me, I gave up and came home. I got good and drunk, and then the next day I joined the marines.”

      “Miranda told me you enlisted.”

      After a long silence he said, “Nothing went the way we expected, did it?”

      His voice held a quiet sadness that tore at Jenn’s heart. She resisted the pull. She built a life that fit her needs. She had everything under control. She loved her job, and her son was in a good school. They were a family. They belonged in Dallas, not here in Blossom or with Trace.

      “We were so young. I don’t think it would have worked,” she said softly

      Even in the dark she saw the tension in his body. “Why don’t you say what you really mean, Jenn?”

      She flinched at the anger and resentment in his voice.

      “An unplanned baby, an unplanned wedding. What happened between us wasn’t planned at all. For you, everything worked out for the best.”

      His words stunned her. “Do you think I wanted what happened?”

      “No. But I think you wished none of it had ever happened at all.”

      She wanted to disagree with him, but he’d hit on a secret guilt she’d carried for eight years.

      After a long silence he said sadly, “Well, we’ll never know if it would have worked, will we? Good night, Jenn.”

      He turned and walked back to his car.

      For eight years she’d been telling herself things had turned out for the best. But now she wondered, if that was the case, why did she wish deep down, that things had turned out differently?

      The next morning, as Zack watched cartoons in the living room, Jenn listened as her sister pointed out the things she wanted removed from the room that was going to be the baby’s nursery.

      This had been Roger’s den, and Miranda was trying to remove every trace of her husband. Jenn didn’t blame her. He’d run off with an eighteen-year-old hairdresser, and neither Jenn nor Miranda were in a particularly forgiving state of mind.

      “What do you want me to do with the stuff he left behind?” Jenn asked as she surveyed the fishing equipment, piles of magazines and baseball shoes, gloves and bats.

      “Put it at the curb. Tomorrow is garbage day.”

      “I don’t know, Miranda. Do you really want to throw it away?”

      Miranda rubbed her belly and laughed, but the sound held little humor. “That’s exactly what I want.”

      “Okay.” Jenn bit the inside of her cheek to keep from telling Miranda that the contents of their trash pile would be talked about all over Blossom. Jenn hated it when she heard her mother’s words coming out of her own mouth. “You go put your feet up. I’ll dig in here,” she said instead. She was worried for her sister. Miranda tired easily, and last night Jenn had heard her crying. From the dark circles under Miranda’s eyes, Jenn was sure her sister was sleeping badly, when she slept at all.

      Now Miranda didn’t even argue. She turned and left the room.

      Jenn spent the next hour piling things by the door. From the back of the closet she dragged out an old dress box from a Dallas store that had gone out of business years ago. It was sealed with tape, coated with dust and marked with their mother’s name.

      Curious, she wiped the box with a rag, then carried it upstairs to Miranda’s bedroom. Her sister looked up from the book she was reading.

      “There’s a box with Mom’s name on it. I thought we went through everything after she died.” Jenn put the box on the bed.

      Miranda pushed herself up against the headboard. “Roger found that in the rafters in the garage about a year ago and brought it into the house. I kept meaning to go through it, but never got around to it.”

      “Are you up to it now?”

      “Sure.”

      Jenn went back downstairs to the office and began to scrub the walls of the closet.

      A few minutes later Miranda appeared at the office door holding a large manila envelope. “Jenn, you need to see this.”

      Jenn dropped her sponge into the bucket and wiped her wet hands on her jeans. She took the envelope from her sister and slid out the papers. The date on the cover sheet was eight years old. It was a checklist of information that would be needed to complete an annulment. And the original, completed forms filled out with Trace’s and her names. Jenn’s knees felt weak and she sat down on the desk chair. As she stared at the form, the realization of what she held in her hand sank in.

      The final papers for her annulment had never been filed.

      Miranda lifted the papers from Jenn’s numb fingers, then picked up the envelope and studied the postmark. “This must have come the week Mom was diagnosed. I remember, because we went to the doctor on Kelly’s birthday.”

      Jenn nodded. She’d never forget that phone call. “You called me at school to tell me about Mom. I was studying for midterm exams.”

      She covered her mouth with both hands and mumbled through her fingers. “Oh, my gosh. Do you know what this means?”

      Miranda skimmed the papers again and gave Jenn an evil little smile. “I suspect you and Trace McCabe are still legally married. So what are you going to do?”

      Jenn reached for the phone. “First of all, I’m going to make sure I’m not legally married,” she said in a voice full of bravado.

      Then, she thought with a sinking feeling, if her instincts were right, she was going to have to tell her husband the truth.