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Zach let go, reluctantly. “Are you sure you can manage? I could carry it down for you.”
“No!” She glanced into his face and quickly away. “No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”
He relinquished the plaque. “Well, then. Goodbye.” Retreating toward the room, he lifted a hand. “See you.”
Shelley pressed the down button and sent him another cool smile. “Sure.” Then she turned her back on him, which left her facing a wall. But the message came through loud and clear.
With a sigh, Zach returned to the room and waited a meticulous thirty minutes to give her time to get away. Then he picked up his wrinkled tux and headed for home.
CHAPTER THREE
THREE MONTHS LATER, Shelley stared across a tidy desk at the woman facing her. “What did you say?”
Dr. Deb Bryant didn’t blink. “I said your pregnancy test is positive. You’re going to have a baby.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Does that mean you’re considering an abortion?”
“No!” The idea made her sick. But then, she’d been sick a lot lately—that’s why she’d come to the doctor. “How could this have happened?”
“The usual way, I imagine. What were you doing around the first week in March?”
“Working myself to death as...oh.” All except for one weekend. That weekend. The awards banquet. The blizzard. Zach.
She took a deep breath. “But I... we... used protection. Every time.” Not that she could remember how many times they’d made love between Friday night and Monday morning.
“All methods have a failure rate. Now, what do you plan to do?”
Staring at the doctor across the desk, Shelley tried to think and failed. She could only give a gut reaction. “Have a baby, I guess.”
“Then we should choose an obstetrician. Since you’re close to thirty-five, I’d like to recommend a specialist in high-risk pregnancies, just to be on the safe side. We need to get you on iron tablets and vitamins, improve your diet...”
Shelley walked out to her car half an hour later, shaken to the very roots of her soul.
A baby. Zach Harmon’s child.
She went so far as to pick up the car phone, punching out the number she’d memorized twelve weeks ago. But with her finger on “send” she stopped, then ended the call.
They hadn’t seen each other since that Monday morning when she’d rushed off to work, promising to get in touch. She’d never worked up the nerve to call him. Zach hadn’t made contact, either...hadn’t wanted to, she assumed.
Was she going to phone him now and start a chorus of “Hello, Daddy?”
With a moan, Shelley put her head back and blinked away tears. Whatever memories of that weekend remained a blur, Zach’s comments on family had been clear. He emphatically did not want children.
“Oh, baby.” She put a hand low on her stomach. “What in the world am I going to do about you?”
That question became even more crucial when the phone rang about nine that night. Caught in the middle of cleaning out her refrigerator, Shelley answered the phone with some impatience. “Hello?”
“A little tense, aren’t we?”
“Zach?” She held the phone in front of her and stared at it, half hoping she’d conjured his voice out of her imagination. Putting down a bottle of salad dressing, she brought the phone back to her ear. “Zach, is that you?”
“In the fiber optically transmitted flesh. How are you?”
She choked back a hysterical laugh. “Fine, just fine. How are...things?” Why was he calling? He couldn’t possibly know about the baby. She’d just found out. Right?
“Great. But I woke up this morning and realized that June had arrived and I hadn’t heard from you, so I thought I’d see if you were free for dinner.”
“Tonight?” She couldn’t possibly face him tonight.
“Actually, I’m on duty in a couple of hours. I was thinking about the weekend, if that works for you.”
“Um...” How was she supposed to think? What should she say? Could she sit through a meal with him and not blurt out the truth? “I don’t know...”
“Okay.” His voice took on a cooler tint. “I probably caught you at a bad time. Maybe later—”
“No, Zach, wait.” Shelley drew a deep breath. “How about Saturday? I’ve got appointments all week, and I was saving Saturday night for a break.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll pick you up about seven-thirty. Wear the pink slippers, if you want. They were cute.”
He disconnected before she could think of a clever retort.
SATURDAY MORNING, the Crushers baseball team went into the final inning ahead of Zach’s Falcons, six-two. But the Falcons loaded the bases. With one more good hit, they could win.
Zach squatted beside his star batter as she waited on deck. “Okay, Cinda. AU you gotta do is relax and keep your eye on the ball. Cool?”
“Cool, Coach.” The beads on the ten-year-old’s many braids clicked as Cinda nodded her head. “I’m ready.”
“Go for it.” He stood up and backed into the dugout, just as Tim Johnson swung for his third strike. “Good job, Tim! Way to swing!” Zach ruffled the boy’s hair as he dropped onto the bench to pout. “Can’t hit a homer every time.”
“Cinda does.”
“Just seems like it, Tim.” The pitcher stretched and threw. Cinda swung and missed. “See?” But with the bases loaded, he really wouldn’t mind if this were one of the times she hit big.
Another pitch and another strike for Cinda brought the Falcons one swing away from a loss—or a win.
Beside him in the dugout, the Falcons had set up a cheering squad. Zach joined them. “Good try, Cinda. Keep swinging!”
He heard the crack of the bat before he saw the hit. The ball sailed in a beautiful arc over the pitcher’s head, beyond the second baseman. Cinda galloped toward first, rounded and touched the base, headed for second. Their runner on third crossed home.
The center fielder ran backward, glove high. Cinda’s tremendous hit began a downward curve.
Zach held his breath. The Falcons grew silent, the crowd waited in suspended animation, while the ball fell and the fielder backed up.
With the definitive smack of leather against leather, ball hit glove. The fielder juggled a second, brought his other hand in for help and held up the captured prize. Not a home run—a fly ball, making the third and final out.
The Falcon bench groaned. Zach let out his breath. “Okay, guys, line up for handshakes.” He glanced at one of the more disappointed players. “When you throw that glove in the dirt, Joey, you’re the one who has to clean it.”
Cinda ran in from third with tears in her eyes. “Great hit,” Zach said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Too bad he didn’t step in any of the holes I dug out there before the game.”
She smiled tremulously. “You’re such a goof, Coach.” Then she ran to take her place in line to congratulate the other team.
“Tough break,” said a voice behind him. He swung around to see Jimmy Falcon, their team sponsor, standing behind the fence.
Jimmy had been Zach’s first partner on the police force. Three years ago, they’d been caught in the middle of a gang fight that had left Jimmy with a shattered leg and a stalled career. “We appreciate your support, though. Those shirts are great.”
“Hey, these games get me out of bed on Saturday morning. What’s the record now?”
Zach picked up bats and helmets. “We’re three and four. This was the team to beat from last year. I’m hoping for an easy win next week against the Terminators.”
They talked baseball on the walk to Zach’s Trans Am to load equipment into the trunk. Parents stopped to shake a hand and commiserate. Cinda ran by, waving.
“See you at practice Monday,” Zach called.
“Right, Coach!”
“So what’s the rest of the your weekend like?” Jimmy leaned against the side of the car. “I’ve got a hot new group at the club tonight. I’m betting they’ll be a name before the year’s out.”
Jimmy’s jazz and blues club, Indigo, was well known in Denver music circles. “I might just show up.” Zach used the tail of his sweatshirt to wipe a bug splat off the trunk’s glossy black finish. “I’ve got a dinner date first.”
“Bring her along.”
“Maybe.” He knew a lot about what Shelley liked... in bed. But what kind of music did she listen to? “I’ll ask the lady.”
“I’ll save you a table. You missed one.” Jimmy grinned and pointed to an even bigger bug blotch on the hood.
“Thanks, pal. Don’t do me any favors.”
An afternoon spent washing the car didn’t provide much mental distraction. Zach waxed and buffed and thought about the woman he’d see tonight. The woman he hadn’t seen in three months, because...?
Working the night shift made dating in the evenings a real challenge.
Still, even cops got time off.
His basketball league took up a lot of spring nights.
But not all of them.
Coaching the Falcons kept him occupied in the late afternoon on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, with Saturday-morning games.
So what about the rest of the week?
No answers. “Okay,” he muttered, crouching down to clean a hubcap. “Why did I call her now?”
After that incredible weekend with Shelley, he’d waited an agonizing month to hear from her, and managed to survive sixty restless days after that. He’d kept the memories at bay, most of the time, and tried to take a stoical view of the situation. If they happened to run into each other, he’d figured, he’d be able to tell whether he should see her again. If not, well, they didn’t move in the same circles, really. And they’d already gone too far to be “just friends.”
So why be surprised when she didn’t call? She’d probably dropped his number in the first trash can she came to. The lady wasn’t interested. Pure and simple.
Zach gave the rear fender a final swipe and stepped back. The car looked good. He, on the other hand, smelled like a car wash. Time to hit the shower.
A few minutes later, facing himself in the mirror as he shaved, he asked the question again. “So why call her now?”
The answer shamed him. Wanting to forget one woman was absolutely the worst excuse for seeing another. But he couldn’t deny the truth.
Claire Hightower had called. She wanted Zach to know she was pregnant.
The news hit him like a truck without brakes on a steep mountain downgrade. He’d never imagined Claire pregnant. Dance partner, debate opponent, movie critic and dinner companion, sure. Dynamite lawyer and advocate for women’s and children’s rights, of course. She made a great stepmother for Allyson Hightower.
But pregnant?
Yes. He had heard the contentment in her voice. Loving and living with Dex Hightower made Claire happy. She’d confided that carrying Dex’s baby was the best achievement of her life. Zach sincerely wished her well, even as he wondered why the news shook him up so much.
The reason wasn’t buried too deep. Shelley’s accusations came damn close—Zach had loved Claire, easily and lightly, because she wanted it that way. He’d had hopes of getting her to change her mind, until Dex Hightower showed up in their lives. And now Claire was married and happy and Zach was...
Free, as usual. Alone, a state he’d looked forward to for eighteen years at home, four years at college, and ten more in the army. Just what the hell was wrong with his life, anyway? What more did he want?
Those questions buzzed at him for a couple of days after Claire’s call, breaking up his sleep, interfering with his work and play. He needed a distraction and thought about Shelley. She made him laugh, she made him ache, she made him crazy. What better way to spend an evening?
His first glimpse of her at the door that Saturday night brought his brain functions to a screeching halt. Zach gave a long, low whistle. “You’re gonna stop traffic, lady.”
She wore a sunny yellow dress, long and straight, with tiny straps and a big splash of red over one hip. Her skin glowed with a light tan, her hair was a little shorter than he remembered, her nails and sandals matched the splotch on the dress. For a diversion, he couldn’t have picked better—she might well be the sexiest woman he’d ever seen.
She smiled. “Good thing I’ll have a cop with me, isn’t it? Want to come in for a drink?”
“Sure.” He followed her inside and waited close by while she shut the door. Then, he put his palms on her shoulders and kissed her hello.
The intense jolt of desire took him by surprise. Her taste and her scent were familiar, the feel of her mouth against his welcome and right. Her small sigh, as he shifted his head to deepen the kiss, was a sound out of his dreams.
Before he was ready, Shelley drew back. Her gaze was soft, vulnerable, as she stared at him while they both recovered their breath.
But in the next second he lost her. Her face changed, almost hardened. She stepped away from him. Not even her fingertips lingered. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Disappointment flooded him, but he managed a casual nod: “Beer?”
“You’ve got it. Come to the kitchen. What have you been doing lately?”
From another woman, the comment might have demanded an explanation of his absence. But either Shelley was a damn good actress, or she didn’t care—her face showed nothing but mild interest as she brought him a bottle and a chilled mug.
He sat at the breakfast bar, fighting down his injured masculine pride. “Keeping Denver safe for women and children, mostly. I played department intramural basketball this spring and now I’m coaching Little League. How about you?”
She took the chair next to his. “Work, of course. My spring house sales are just starting to close.” She sipped from a glass of bottled water. “Getting some of these buyers and sellers to the table takes real effort.”
“Believe it or not, I’ve had to break up closings that got violent.”
“You don’t have to tell me. One of my clients tried to walk out recently, because the buyer wanted to change the terms of the contract. The buyer jumped up to stop him, and the next thing I know, they’re crashing though the glass window of the conference room, rolling all over the floor, making ugly noises and swearing a blue streak. We managed to stop them without the cops, though.”
“Takes skill, ending fights. You could get yourself hurt.”
