A Baby Under the Tree (5 page)

“Not yet,” Jillian had admitted.

Gram had clucked her tongue. “A man deserves to know that he's going to be a daddy, Jilly. You can't keep something like that from him. It's not fair.”

“I'm going to tell him. I'm waiting for the right time.”

“When is that?” Gram had asked. “On your way to the delivery room?”

Jillian wouldn't wait that long, but Gram was right. She was running out of time.

Ever since the night Shane had come by her apartment in Houston, she'd been kicking herself for letting him go without making arrangements to see him again. After all, she could have suggested that he stop by the next day on his way back to Brighton Valley…but she'd just assumed that he would.

In fact, she'd waited close to the house all day, hoping he might show up or call, but he hadn't done either.

But maybe that was her fault, not his. She hadn't meant to give him the impression that she wasn't interested in him. She'd just wanted to take things slow, to give herself some time to think.

Had he gotten the idea that she was shutting him out completely?

Or had he backed off, only to find another woman who interested him? Someone local and more his type?

That possibility sent a shiver of uneasiness through her. Had she found a knight in shining armor, only to let him slip through her fingers?

Sleeping with the handsome cowboy had just…happened. Well, that wasn't exactly true. That evening had unfolded as beautifully as a well-choreographed waltz.

She'd never been so spontaneous before, never been so bold as to suggest sex with a virtual stranger. But neither had she ever wanted to make love so badly with a man that nothing else had mattered.

If she'd actually gone to the hospital complaining of a broken heart or shattered dreams, Shane Hollister would have been just what the doctor would have ordered. He'd been sweet, sensitive, funny…and refreshing.

His kisses had been a better fix than any drug could have been; they'd made her feel whole and lovable again.

For the first time since learning of her ex-husband's infidelity, Jillian had found a way to ease the pain and to chase away the emptiness she'd lived with for months—if not for all the years she'd been married. And in the midst of it all, Shane had taken her to a place she'd never been before, a peak and a climax she'd never even imagined.

How could she not want to see him again?

More than once, she'd been tempted to call him. Yet she hadn't, which meant that Shane Hollister continued
to be a mystery. Each time she'd picked up the phone, she'd chickened out.

The longer she waited, the harder it was going to be. So she would contact him today.

Didn't she owe him that much?

She reached for her purse and searched for the small notepad on which he'd written his number. It had been several months since he'd given it to her.

What if he'd gotten involved with someone else in the meantime?

Her heart cramped at the thought, creating an ache she hadn't been prepared for. After all, it's not as though she had any claim on him.

Oh, no?

She placed her hand on the swell of her belly, where their baby grew, and her thoughts drifted back to the night she'd taken him to her hotel room.

She'd never done anything so bold or brazen before and doubted that she ever would again. But
she
hadn't been sorry then, and she wasn't sorry now.

In less than five months she would be having Shane's baby. She was going to have to tell him, no matter what the consequences were. And it was only right to do that in person.

So she pulled out the notepad where he'd written his number. The page curled up on the ends, thanks to all the times she'd looked at it, tempted to place the call, then deciding not to. But this time, she grabbed the phone and dialed.

It was time to tell Shane that he was going to be a daddy.

S
hane stood at the mudroom sink, chugging down a large glass of water.

The hay he'd ordered last week had arrived this afternoon, so he'd spent the past couple of hours helping the driver unload a semitruck and trailer. They'd had to stack it in the barn, which meant he'd been bucking bales that weighed ninety pounds or more and stacking them more than chest high.

Needless to say, he'd not only gotten a good workout, but he'd also built up a hearty appetite in the process. So no matter what he decided to fix for dinner, he'd have to make plenty of it. Fortunately, Eva Walker kept a well-stocked pantry and freezer, so he wouldn't have any problem whipping up something good to eat.

For the past week, Shane had been holding down the
fort while Dan, Eva and their four children—two sets of twins, toddlers and second-graders—were in New York, visiting a family friend.

Since Dan had asked him to look after things while he was gone, Shane had packed up his shaving gear and clothes and moved out to the ranch, where he'd spent his days working with the horses and his nights caring for the family menagerie—two dogs, a cat and a hamster.

Shane really didn't mind helping out, since Dan was not only his boss, but his friend. The two of them had met a year or so ago in town at Caroline's Diner, and Dan had offered him a job. Taking the ranch hand position had proved to be a blessing for both of them.

As Shane rinsed his face and hands in the sink, his cell phone rang. He figured it was his nephew calling to arrange the promised day of horseback riding. It had been nearly two months since Shane had agreed to let Evan come out to the ranch, but with school and T-ball schedules, they'd decided to wait until his summer vacation.

Evan was a city kid who would prefer to be a cowboy, if given the chance, and Shane couldn't help but grin at the image of the happy boy in the saddle.

Tempted to let the call roll over to voice mail until he dried his hands and poured himself a glass of iced tea, he glanced at the display, and saw an unfamiliar number. Maybe he'd better not ignore that one. “Hello.”

“Shane?”

Jillian?
After three months, he'd given up hope of ever hearing her voice again.

“Hey,” he said, his heart thudding as though it was clamoring to escape his chest. “How's it going?”

“Good, thanks.”

He'd been tempted to contact her again, either by telephone or a drive into the city, but he'd held off. If there was one thing to be said about Shane Hollister, it's that he could be pretty damn stubborn when he put his mind to it.

“How about you?” she asked.

“Not bad.”

That same awkward silence filled the line again, so hoping to help things along, he said, “It's good to hear from you.”

“Thanks.”

Come on, honey,
he wanted to say.
Just tell me why you're calling. Are you having a hard time forgetting that night? Or that last kiss?

He might have nearly written her off, but that didn't mean he no longer thought about her or dreamed about her. Hell, each night he slipped between the sheets of his bed, he'd never been completely alone. Her memory had followed him there.

“I'd like to talk to you,” she said. “That is, if you don't mind.”

“Not at all. I'm glad you called.”

“Actually,” she said, “I'd rather talk to you in person. Would it be okay if I drove out to Brighton Valley to see you?”

That was better yet. “Of course. I've got to work most of the day tomorrow, but I'll be finished by late afternoon or early evening.” Dan and Eva were due
back tomorrow around three, so Shane would take off whenever they arrived.

“Should I drive out to the ranch?”

Shane wasn't so sure that he wanted to have an audience when he and Jillian met—at least, not one that would quiz him after she returned to Houston. But he didn't think it would be a good idea to suggest that she meet him at his place, which was a small studio apartment. It might be too… Well, presumptive, he supposed.

“Why don't we meet in town,” he suggested. “There's a great little honky-tonk called the Stagecoach Inn, which is right off the county highway. It shouldn't be too difficult for you to find.”

“All right. Can you give me directions?”

“It's pretty easy to spot. If you drive out to Brighton Valley, it's the first thing you'll see when you hit the main drag.”

“That sounds easy enough.”

Shane wasn't sure why he'd suggested the Stagecoach Inn. He supposed he also wanted to show her a good time—and in a place that was a whole lot different from her usual hangouts.

If she couldn't handle a rip-roaring cowboy bar on a Saturday night, she probably couldn't handle the small-town life in his neck of the woods. And it was best that they found that out early on.

Besides, the music at the Stagecoach Inn was enough to make most people tap their feet and whoop it up. And he hoped to see Jillian let her hair down again.

A couple of months might have passed since he'd
gone to her apartment, but he still thought about her more often than not.

He wished he could say that his interest in her was strictly physical, since there'd been some real chemistry brewing between them. But as the days passed, he'd begun to realize that there was something else drawing him to Jillian's memory, something other than great sex that kept her image fresh in his mind. He actually missed hearing her voice, seeing her smile.

So even if lovemaking wasn't in the cards for them tonight, he was looking forward to whatever time they had.

“When do you want to meet?” he asked.

“I guess it depends on you, since you're the one who has to work tomorrow.”

“Then why don't we say five o'clock?” That would give him time to drive home, shower and shave.

“That sounds good.”

It certainly did. And since she was going to have a two-hour drive back to Houston, he wondered if she planned to spend the night.

If so, that sounded even better yet.

 

Jillian entered the Stagecoach Inn more than thirty minutes early—and sporting an unmistakable baby bump. Now that she'd passed her fourth month, her womb seemed to be growing more each day.

Hoping to disguise the evidence of her pregnancy until she had the chance to tell him about it, she'd found a table for two and took a seat that faced the front door. She really hadn't suffered any morning sickness, like
other women, but her tummy was tossing and turning now, just at the thought of facing Shane.

She'd been dragging her feet for months, and now that she'd come to tell him, she wished she'd done so sooner. But there wasn't anything she could do about that now.

So, while waiting for him, she scanned the honky-tonk, noting the scuffed and scarred hardwood floor, the red-and-chrome jukebox, the Old-West-style bar that stretched the length of the building. If she'd ever tried to imagine what a cowboy bar would look like, this would be it.

At the table next to hers, two young women wearing tight jeans and scooped-neck T-shirts laughed about something, then clinked their longneck bottles in a toast.

Was this the place where Shane hung out in the evenings or on his days off? Is that why he'd suggested she meet him here?

“Can I get you a drink?” a blond, harried waitress asked.

“Do you have any fruit juice?”

“I'll have to check with the bartender to see what other choices you have, but I know we've got OJ for sure.”

“That'll be fine. Thank you.”

The bleached-blond waitress had no more than walked away from the table when Jillian's cell phone rang. She grabbed it from her purse, hoping it wasn't Shane telling her he'd been delayed, since she'd put off this conversation for too long as it was.

But when she checked the display, she spotted her grandmother's number.

“Did you get to Brighton Valley safely?” Gram asked.

Jillian pressed her cell phone against her ear, trying to block out the sounds of a Texas two-step as it blasted out of the jukebox. “Yes. It was a pretty easy drive, although it was a long one.”

“Where are you?”

“At a bar called the Stagecoach Inn.”

“It sounds pretty wild,” Gram said. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“I don't know about that,” Gram said. “I probably should have insisted upon going with you. Where will you be staying?”

“Right next door at the Night Owl Motel.”

“That sounds a little…rustic. Don't they have anything nicer than that in town?”

“Not that I know of,” Jillian said. “But don't worry. I'll be okay. Besides, you're the one who told me I needed to tell Shane about the baby.”

“I know, but…” Gram was clearly having second thoughts.

And so was Jillian. She'd never been in a country bar before, and the Night Owl was a world away from those five-star hotels she'd been used to. But the last thing she wanted to do was to cause her grandmother any undue stress.

“The motel really isn't that bad,” she said, trying to talk above a sudden hoot of laughter. “The room is
clean, and the bed is soft. I'll be fine tonight. Then I'll drive back to Houston in the morning.”

The waitress returned with the orange juice in a Mason jar. “Here you go. Let me know if you'd like anything else.”

Jillian offered her a smile. “Thanks. This will be fine for now.”

As the waitress walked away, Gram said, “I'm still uneasy about you being there all alone, Jilly.”

“Don't be. Shane will be here soon.”

“I'm sure he will, but you really don't know him very well.”

Oh, for Pete's sake. It was Gram who'd helped her come to the conclusion that she needed to stop procrastinating and tell Shane he was going to be a father. And that wasn't the kind of news to spring on him over the telephone.

“Shane's a nice guy, Gram. You'd like him if you met him. He used to be a police officer, remember?”

“Yes, you mentioned that. But why did he decide to give that job up and go to work on a ranch?”

It probably had something to do with him getting into trouble and being suspended from duty, although Jillian couldn't be sure about that. Last night, on a whim, she'd done a Google search on Shane Hollister and uncovered an online newspaper article about him. From what she'd read, he'd gotten too rough with a man he'd arrested.

Her heart had dropped to the pit of her stomach upon that discovery, especially when she spotted a photo
graph that convinced her that the men were one and the same.

Just the thought that Shane Hollister, the man who'd loved her with a gentle and expert hand, might harbor a temper or a violent side, set off a wave of nausea. On several occasions, after having too much to drink, Thomas had twisted her arm or given her a shove. So Jillian had kicked herself for not conducting an internet search on Shane sooner.

She'd wanted more details, of course, but short of breaking into police headquarters and hunting for his personnel file, she didn't know how or where to look. But she certainly knew someone who did.

Katie Harris, a journalist who'd been Jillian's college roommate, now worked for a Dallas newspaper. So Jillian had called her and asked her if she could uncover any more information about the incident that had gotten Shane into trouble with the police department.

Katie had been on her way into the office and had called back within an hour. She hadn't found out too much more, other than the fact that Shane had been reinstated to his position with the HPD. But then, a few months later, he'd resigned for no apparent reason.

While tossing and turning in bed last night, Jillian had vacillated on whether to go through with the plan to meet Shane and tell him about the baby, but she'd finally decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Of course, she wasn't going to share any of that with her grandmother.

“Well, if you're sure you're okay…” Gram said doubtfully.

“I'll be fine.”

“Okay, but call me once you're locked into the motel room for the night.”

“I'll do that.” Jillian glanced toward the entrance, just in time to see Shane saunter through the door, looking more handsome than a cowboy had a right to. “But I've got to go, Gram. He's here now.”

And he'd just spotted her.

 

When Shane walked into the Stagecoach Inn, he was nearly twenty minutes early. Still, the place was already hopping, even for a Saturday night that was just getting under way. Yet he hadn't gotten two steps inside before he'd spotted Jillian seated at a table for two, looking just as attractive as ever. She was talking on the phone, but as soon as she noticed him, she hung up.

He crossed the scarred oak flooring and made his way to her table. “I see you found the place.”

She smiled. “You're right. It was pretty easy, but I have to admit I've never been anywhere like this before.”

He figured she meant the honky-tonk, but she could have just as easily been talking about Brighton Valley, as well. “Consider it an adventure.”

“I don't know about that. I haven't felt very adventurous lately.”

He wondered what she meant by that as he quietly observed her. She wore her platinum-blond hair pulled back today, and a white cotton blouse and black slacks. She'd come looking more casual, more down-to-earth.

More approachable than before, even when he'd found her at home.

As he pulled out the chair next to hers, he asked, “So what are you having? A screwdriver?”

She glanced at her glass, then back at him. “No, it's just orange juice.”

The waitress, Trina Shepherd, stopped by the table to ask what he'd like to drink.

After his first visit to the Stagecoach Inn, she'd become a friend of sorts when he'd closed the place down on a slow night. But unlike most guys who'd stayed too long at the bar, he'd been drinking coffee, not throwing back shots.