“How long have you been home?” she asked, her voice nearly lost beneath the hum of traffic.
“Four months.”
She looked up at him and he read anger and sorrow, mingled into a dark mess that dimmed the golden light in those dark brown eyes. “Good to know.”
Before he could speak again the light changed and she stepped off the curb. Once again he took her arm and when she would have shaken him off, he firmly held on.
Once they crossed the street, she pulled away and he let her go, following after her as she stalked toward a small green park at the edge of a parking lot. Just beyond was a kids’ playground, and beside that, the pier that snaked out into the sea.
The wind whipped her ponytail and tugged at the edges of his suit jacket. She turned to look up at him and when she spoke, he heard both pain and temper in her voice.
“I thought you were dead.”
“Rita—”
“No.” She shook her head and held up one hand to keep him silent. “You let me think it,” she accused. “You told me you’d write to me. You didn’t. You’ve been home four months and never looked for me.”
Jack blew out a breath. “No, I didn’t.”
She rocked back on her heels as if he’d struck her. “Wow. You’re not even sorry, are you?”
His gaze fixed on hers. “No, I’m not. There are reasons for what I did.”
She folded her arms across her chest, unconsciously drawing his attention to her belly again. “Can’t wait to hear them.”
Rita was shaking.
Her hands clenched, she tried to ease her galloping heartbeat and steady her breathing. But just standing beside Jack Buchanan made that almost impossible. She slid a glance at him from beneath lowered lashes and her breath caught. Even in profile, he was almost too gorgeous. That black hair, longer now than it had been when they met, those ice-blue eyes, strong jaw, firm mouth, all came together until a knot of emotion settled in her throat, nearly choking her.
For one magical week six months ago, she had been in love and she’d thought he felt the same. Then he was gone, and she was alone, waiting for a letter that never came. So the last several months, Rita had been convinced he was dead. Killed in service on his last tour of duty. When they met, she knew he was a Marine on R and R. Knew that he would be returning to danger. But somehow, she’d convinced herself that he would be safe. That he would come back. To her.
He’d promised to write and when she didn’t hear from him, Rita had mourned him. She’d had to face the stark, shattering truth that he was never coming home again. That he’d made the ultimate sacrifice and everything they’d found together so briefly was over.
And now, he was here.
“How did you find me?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t. I was just walking down the street. Heard your laugh and it stopped me cold.”
Oh, God. Just an accident. A whim of Fate. He hadn’t been looking for her. Had probably forgotten all about her the moment he left her six months ago. And what had she done? Mourned. Grieved. The memory of that pain fueled her next words.
“I thought you were dead,” she finally said, and hoped he couldn’t hear the pain in her voice.
He took a breath, blew it out and said, “I wanted you to.”
Another blow and this one had her reeling. He’d wanted her to mourn him? To go through the pain of a loss so deeply felt that it had been weeks before she’d even been able to function? The only thing that had kept her going, that had gotten her out of bed in the mornings, was her baby. Knowing that Jack had left her with this gift, this child, had given her strength. She’d gone on, telling herself that Jack would want her to.
Now she finds out he wanted her to believe he was dead?
“Who are you?” she asked, shaking her head and blinking furiously to keep tears she wouldn’t show him at bay.
“The same guy you used to know,” he ground out.
“No.” She stiffened her spine, lifted her chin and glared at him. “The Jack I knew would never have put me through the last six months.”
For an instant, she thought she saw shame flash across his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, so Rita put it down to wishful thinking.
“This isn’t about me,” he said quietly and she heard the tight control in his voice. “You’re pregnant.”
“Very observant.” God. She wrapped her arms around her belly protectively.
“How far along?”
Shocked, Rita bit back the words that first flew to her mouth. Temper spiked, and she had to wrestle it into submission. She knew what he was asking—who’s the father? And she didn’t know if she was more hurt than angry or if it was a tie between the two.
“Six months,” she said pointedly. “So your cleverly veiled question is answered. You’re the father.”
Not that she was happy about that at the moment. She loved her baby, had loved its father. But this stranger looking down at her through icy cold eyes was someone she didn’t even recognize.
“And you didn’t tell me about it.”
Before she could stop it, a short, sharp laugh shot from her throat. Shaking her head in complete wonder at his ridiculous statement, she countered, “How was I supposed to do that, Jack? I had no way of contacting you. You were going to write to me with your address.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched and his eyes narrowed, but she didn’t care.
“I don’t think sending a letter addressed to Jack Buchanan, United States Marine Corps, somewhere in a desert would have found you.”
“Fine. I get it.” He pushed the edges of his jacket back and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The wind lifted his dark red power tie, turning it into a waving flag. His hair was ruffled, his eyes were cold and his jaw tight. “Like I said, there were reasons.”
“Still haven’t heard them.”
“Yeah. Not important right now. What is important,” he said, his gaze shifting to the mound of her belly and back up to her eyes again, “is my baby.”
“You mean my baby,” she corrected and instantly wished she hadn’t come to work that day. If she’d taken the day off, she wouldn’t have been in the bakery when he walked by and none of this would be happening.
“Rita, if you think I’m walking away from this, you’re wrong.”
“Why wouldn’t I think that?” she argued, moving away from him, instinctively keeping a safe distance between him and her child. “You walked away before. Never looked back.”
“That’s not true,” he muttered, letting his gaze slide from hers to focus on the ocean instead. “I thought about you.”
Her heart twisted, but Rita wouldn’t allow herself to be swayed. He’d walked away. Shut her out. Let her mourn him, for heaven’s sake. I thought about you just didn’t make up for the misery she’d lived through.
“And I should believe you?”