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“Jennifer?”
A male voice startled her out of her thoughts. She looked up at a vaguely familiar face.
He held out a hand. “I’m Stan. Stan Donnely. I was in Miranda’s class.”
She hadn’t seen him for years, but she remembered him. He had been a close friend of Miranda’s first husband. When Rob had died, Stan had helped with the arrangements. “Of course. Stan. How are you?” She shook his hand.
“I’m fine. How’s Miranda?”
Jenn didn’t miss the look of genuine concern on Stan’s face. “She’s on bed rest.”
“I’ll stop by later and see if she needs me to do anything around the place.”
Jenn nodded. “Miranda would appreciate that.” Stan had always been a nice guy. He’d never married, and Jenn had suspected he’d had a crush on Miranda since high school.
“Where’s Kelly?” He motioned with his clipboard to Petunia. “I’m here to check in her project.”
Stalling, giving herself time to think, Jenn said, “Are you the 4H adviser?”
He nodded and smiled. “Yup.”
Jenn decided to cover for Kelly. “I sent her to get me a soda. Does she need to be here, or can you do this without her?”
“She needs to be here. I can get started, but I’ll bet she’ll want to be here for the birth.”
Jenn looked at him blankly. Miranda was not due for weeks. “Birth?”
He gestured toward Petunia, who lay on her side panting. “Unless I miss my guess, she’s in labor.”
In the wake of everything that had happened in the past hour Jenn had forgotten the pig was pregnant. What did you do for a pig in labor?
Stan chuckled and said, “Relax. She knows what to do.”
“I hope so.” Jenn glanced at Zack, who was still playing across the aisle, then dug her cell phone out of her bag and dialed Kelly’s number, praying the girl would pick up.
On the fourth ring Kelly answered, with a rude “What?” Obviously she’d recognized her aunt’s number on the incoming call.
Jenn said cheerfully, “Kelly, sweetheart, you’ll have to forget my soda. You need to hurry back. Mr. Donnely is here to check Petunia in and he thinks she’s in labor.”
She heard a yelp and then the line went dead. Jenn smiled up at Stan. “She’s on her way.”
As they waited for Kelly they chatted about her job in Dallas and how hot the weather was getting. Then the conversation, as it tended to do with old acquaintances, turned to the past.
“You used to go with Trace McCabe, didn’t you?”
Jenn tried not to wince at the question. The last thing she wanted was to discuss Trace. “Yes, for the last two years of high school.” People in small towns never forgot anything, Jenn thought.
“Have you seen him since you’ve been back?”
She nodded and struggled to keep her tone light. “Sure did. He stopped by just a bit ago.” She actually managed to make it sound as if it had been no big deal.
She wanted this conversation to be over. It was hard enough to keep her thoughts away from Trace without any reminders.
Stan droned on about the sheriff and the great job he was doing while Jenn kept a pleasant look plastered on her face.
After all, that is what her mother had taught her, she thought with a feeling of rising panic. Self-control. No matter what was going on, keep your face composed and don’t give anyone “something to talk about.” As if being talked about was the worst thing that could happen to a person.
Jenn’s pleasant expression was about to crack when Kelly finally ran toward them, straw and dust flying as her feet pounded the dusty corridor.
Breathless, she said, “Mr. Donnely. I was just getting my aunt a soda.” She threw Jenn a grateful look and let herself into the pen.
Jenn led Zack to the end of the pen, and they settled down on a bale of hay to wait for Petunia to get through her ordeal.
Her son, always full of questions, was bound to be asking some interesting ones today. Jenn sighed and put her arm around Zack. Her quiet summer in Blossom had developed into a whole lot more than she had anticipated.
Chapter Three
Jenn sat on the porch swing in the dark, enjoying the quiet night sounds. It was so comfortable in the house she’d grown up in, and so different to what she’d become accustomed to, living in the city.
Miranda and her second husband, now referred to by the sisters as Roger the Rat, had moved in a few years ago after their mother died. Miranda had, surprisingly, changed very little about the house. In fact, Jenn thought, the entire neighborhood had changed very little since she’d been away.
A light went on in the house across the street. She could see the rooster wallpaper in Mrs. Kincade’s kitchen. She smiled at the sight.
Her neighborhood in Dallas was so impersonal. She hardly knew the people who lived on either side of her and had never been in their homes. A week ago she hadn’t thought anything about the fact that her neighbors weren’t a part of her life. Now, with memories of a different lifestyle pressing in on her, she wasn’t so sure her neighborly distance was a good thing.
If she was already questioning her choices, then she’d obviously needed this time to unwind. She took a sip of her lemonade and watched headlights turn into the driveway.
Whatever peace she’d hoped to find tonight was gone. She knew it was Trace even before she saw the light rack on top of the sheriff’s car.
He’d always been a bulldog when it came to seeing things through to the end. It was one of the qualities about him she’d always admired, and one that had made the pain eight years ago even worse.
Wouldn’t a man as determined as Trace have come after her when she’d left without saying goodbye? Since she’d been the one to leave, it had been childish of her to feel hurt. But back then she’d expected him to come after her—if he’d truly loved her. He must have been relieved when she’d left. He was off the hook. No more playing at husband or father.
But that was eight long years ago. Now all she felt was an odd ambivalence. She didn’t want to dredge up the past. She’d buried it, and she intended it to stay that way. No one in Blossom knew of her less-than-two-week marriage to Trace. The secret had died with her mother.
Jenn had told Miranda about losing the baby, but couldn’t bring herself to mention the quick trip over the state line to get married. It had been a childish mistake she wanted to forget.
The night they’d married, Trace had dropped her off at her house, then made the long drive back to San Antonio to his summer job. They’d agreed she’d live with her mother and keep the marriage a secret until he’d earned enough to rent an apartment. Then he’d come home and find a job in Blossom.
But everything had changed when she’d lost the baby a few days later.
Her mother had found out what they’d done. They’d forged a note saying Jenn had her mother’s permission to wed, then snuck over the state line and gotten married in New Mexico. Jenn’s mother had insisted she get an annulment, and, in the emotional aftermath of the miscarriage, Jenn had agreed.
Now Trace’s car pulled up to the front of the house. He killed the lights, but didn’t get out. She couldn’t see him, but she knew he was staring at her. She could feel his eyes. He knew she was in the shadows of the porch, just as she’d known it was him in the car. They’d always had that kind of connection. It seemed they still did, in spite of everything.
He opened the door and unfolded his tall frame from the driver’s seat. He walked slowly up to the porch.
She recognized his rolling gait. He had grown taller and filled out since high school, but she’d know his walk anywhere. To her annoyance, her heart speeded up.
He stopped at the steps without walking up.
“Hey, Trace,” she greeted him in a soft voice.
“Jenn.”
Just her name, that was all. From the way he said it she could tell he was angry.
He continued to stand there, staring at her. In the old days he would have taken the stairs two at a time, sat down beside her, pulled her into his lap and kissed her breathless.
The thought made her breasts tingle, and a stab of yearning went through her. She had to fight the urge to invite him to sit down beside her.
No one had ever made her feel like Trace had. But she didn’t want or need the feelings, and she hadn’t, not for a long time.
Finally he cleared his throat. “Is he mine? Is Zack my son?”
Jenn nearly fell off the swing in surprise. “No. Why would you think that?”
He ran his hand over his face. “He’s about the right age, isn’t he?”
The fact that he was right about Zack’s age didn’t stop the hurt welling up inside her. Did he really think she could do that to him? Have his child and not tell him?
“I lost our baby, Trace,” she said in a shaking voice.
She saw his shoulder lift in a tired shrug. “I hoped—I had to know. He looks like me.”
Her anger fizzled, leaving her feeling tender and bruised. Zack did look like Trace. Jenn had noticed that about the little boy immediately. She’d had to admit, even at the time of the adoption, it was one of the reasons Zack had quickly become so dear to her.
He let out a soft huff of breath. “Your mother told me about the baby, but she never liked me. I couldn’t trust—When I came back to Blossom you’d already gone. She told me she was taking care of the annulment, too, because you were underage.”
Only now, as an adult, did Jenn realize how much it must have hurt him, that she’d left without an explanation. “I’m sorry.”
She felt sadness wash over her for what they’d lost to their youthful mistakes and her mother’s schemes. She wanted Trace to hold her so she could feel the comfort of his strong arms and wide chest.
But she stayed where she was. Those days were long over.
She and Trace were so different now. She was a mother, living in a city she loved. He was a bachelor, 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?”
