A Baby Under the Tree (4 page)

And now here she was—unwed and pregnant.

The waiter stopped by to take their orders, which was a relief since she really didn't want to talk about babies with Shane right now. But her luck didn't hold.

Once they were alone again, he picked up right where he'd left off. “I guess teaching would be the next best thing to having kids of your own.”

Not really. That thought hadn't even crossed her mind. Leaving kids out of the equation, she said, “Actually I'd like to be a high school English teacher.”

Shane arched an eyebrow, his skepticism drawing another smile from her, even though she ought to be miffed that he seemed to be as cynical as Thomas had been when she'd first told him her plan to return to college and get her credential.

“Teenagers can be a real pain to deal with,” he said. “Why not teach kindergarten or one of the lower grades?”

“Because I love the written word. And I'd like to make literature and grammar interesting to teenagers, especially those without college aspirations. I want to encourage them to reach their full potential.” She studied his expression, hoping that he was merely questioning the age of the students she wanted to teach and not the work she wanted to do.

When he didn't seem to find her dream unusual or
unfitting, she added, “And not just any kids. I want to work with bright but unmotivated teens from lower socio-economic backgrounds who believe that college is out of their reach.”

“No kidding?”

She shrugged, waiting for him to give her the same, patronizing response Thomas had when she'd shared her plans with him.

Instead, he grinned, creating a pair of sexy dimples in his cheeks. “I hated English in school, but with a teacher like you, I would have tried a lot harder.”

When he looked at her like that, when he smiled, her heart soared in the same way it had the night they'd met. Just being with him again and feeling the growing buzz of sexual awareness was enough to remind her why she'd taken him back to her room, why she'd given in to sweet temptation.

It didn't take a psychic to see that she'd be tempted to take him to bed again, once he took her home.

So now what?

Why had he come looking for her? Was he interested in making love one more time?

Or was he missing her, missing
this
—their time together?

Did he want to actually date her? And if so, how did she feel about that?

Long-distance relationships didn't usually work out. Not that Jillian was ready for anything like that to develop between them. After all, she'd made one mistake by believing a man to be honorable when he wasn't. She
certainly didn't want to make another one by acting too soon.

Still, spending time with Shane was making her realize that she hadn't been permanently damaged by her husband's infidelity and that the right man
would
come along someday.

Would that man be Shane Hollister?

It was impossible to know after only two evenings together. Besides, she had the baby to consider. So she might as well feel him out about that.

“How about you?” she asked. “Do you have any children?”

The spark in his eyes dimmed, and he seemed to tense. For several long, drawn-out heartbeats, he held his tongue, and she felt compelled to apologize, to sympathize—to do or say something, although she didn't have a clue what.

Finally, he answered, “No, I don't.”

Something in his tone, in his demeanor, made her wonder if he liked it that way. If so, how would he react when she finally told him about the baby? Would he be happy? Uneasy? Angry?

Would he worry about being responsible—financially or otherwise—for a child he'd never intended to have?

As curious as she was, as much as his answers mattered, she didn't push for more. She wasn't ready for a full-on discussion about babies or kids right now, so she opted to change the subject.

“You mentioned that you used to work in Houston. What did you do?”

He reached for his goblet of water, then took a drink.
Finally he said, “I worked for the Houston Police Department, first as a patrolman, then as a detective.”

She wasn't sure what she'd expected him to say—that he'd been in sales, she supposed. Or that he'd had a dead-end job of some kind. But a police officer?

Not only did that surprise her, it made her feel a whole lot better about him and the man he was.

“Why did you quit?” she asked.

He grew quiet again, as if she'd unearthed something he didn't want to talk about. Then he shrugged. “It's complicated.”

Which meant what? That she wasn't going to get any more out of him than that?

Who
was
Shane Hollister?

Before she could quiz him further, the waiter brought their food, lasagna for him and pasta primavera for her, creating a momentary lull in the conversation.

While Shane picked up his fork, Jillian asked again, this time point blank, “Why did you leave the police force?”

Shane dug into his lasagna and took a bite, hoping Jillian would get the hint that he didn't want to talk in detail about the past. There were too many mitigating factors that had caused him to leave the force, too much other stuff to reveal. And no matter how much he enjoyed her company, he wasn't ready to spill his guts yet. And he wasn't sure he'd ever be.

“Like I told you,” he said, “it's complicated.”

She waited a beat, yet didn't let up on him. “Okay, then tell me about yourself. Where were you born? What kind of childhood did you have?”

He supposed he couldn't blame her for being curious. He had a lot of questions for her, too.

“There's not much to tell,” he said. “I was born in Houston and grew up as the youngest of three boys and two girls in a big, close-knit family.”

She leaned forward, as if he'd told her something interesting. “It's nice that you have a big family.”

He'd always thought so. He watched her spear a piece of broccoli with her fork. The candlelight glistened on the platinum strands of her hair, making her appear radiant and almost…angelic.

Unaware of his gaze, she looked up and smiled. “I never knew my father, so it was only my mom and me at first. After my mother died, I moved in with my grandparents. I'm afraid it's just Gram and me now.”

Marcia had been an only child, too, which had made it nearly impossible for her to relate to a big, rambunctious family like the Hollisters.

Shane had a feeling Jillian would feel the same way if she ever met them. And that was just one more reason a relationship with her wouldn't work out.

But tell that to his hormones. Damn, she was a beautiful woman, even if she was mortal and prone to imperfections.

So why couldn't he spot any of them?

As she lifted her water goblet, brought it to her lips and swallowed, he followed the simple movement as it moved down her throat.

When he'd kissed her there that night, running his tongue along her neck and throat, she'd come alive in his arms.

Had the memory ingrained itself in her mind, too?

He kept reminding himself that they really weren't suited, but that didn't seem to matter right now.

“So what was it like growing up as one of five kids?” she asked, as if she had no idea he'd been ogling her from across the table.

“It was okay, I guess.” He'd idolized his older siblings until his teenage years, when he'd found them bossy and a real pain in the ass. But in retrospect, he realized they'd just been looking out for him, even if they'd sometimes overstepped their boundaries.

He'd actually thought his family had been the typical, all-American variety until he married Marcia. She'd been annoyed by them and couldn't understand the closeness they'd shared. In fact, she'd thought they were intrusive and out of line most of the time.

It had made life pretty miserable for everyone, not just her and Shane.

But it had been more than his family that had bothered her. She'd hated his job, too.

When Shane was promoted to detective, his marriage seemed to get better because he'd received a pay increase and was no longer patrolling the city streets. He'd also known better than to vent about the ugliness that he saw nearly every day. Instead, he'd stretched the truth and made his job sound safe and routine.

But Marcia hadn't bought it. When she'd accused him of cheating on her with his partner—something he
hadn't
done—he'd finally thrown in the towel.

Shane wondered what Jillian would say if she knew how many of his family members worked in one law
enforcement field or another. Or if he told her that he'd wanted to be a cop ever since he could remember and that he'd once believed he'd been born to wear a badge.

Stuff like that hadn't mattered to Marcia. She'd hated everything about his line of work, which was why she'd eventually been the one to cheat, something he'd learned after the fact.

“You're not very forthcoming,” Jillian said.

He hadn't meant to clam up completely. “I'm sorry. It's just that my ex-wife didn't like my family or my job. So when you start asking me about either one of them, I get a little defensive and cryptic. It's an old habit, I guess.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

To hear what? That he had old baggage and habits?

He didn't want her to think that he was still dealing with the aftereffects of his divorce. “For what it's worth, I did everything I could think of to make my marriage work. I went so far as to buy a house in a small town about an hour or so from Houston, even though that meant I'd have a big commute each day.”

“It didn't help?”

“No, it was more than my family dynamics creating problems. My ex used to push me to change careers, to find a job that paid more money, a position that would allow me to spend more time at home. But that was one compromise I wasn't willing to make.”

“So now you're a tumbleweed. You can come and go as you please.”

“Yeah, I guess you can say that.”

She grew silent, and while he was tempted to get
the conversation back on track, he wasn't sure what to say that wouldn't lead him back to the things he didn't want to discuss. Like the losses he'd suffered—his wife through divorce, his son through death and his career by choice.

“I have a question I've been meaning to ask you,” he said.

“What's that?” She picked up her napkin and blotted her lips.

He couldn't see any reason to tiptoe around it, so he came right out and laid it on the table. “Do you ever think about the night we met?”

Her gaze lifted from her plate, and as it locked on his, his heartbeat rumbled in his chest. In the silence, a thousand words passed between them.

“Sometimes,” she admitted.

Her expression was far more revealing, and he suspected that her musings were more in tune to his own—and that she thought about what they'd shared in Houston more than she wanted him to know.

“So what do you want to do about it?” he asked.

She paused as though giving it some real thought, then bit down on her bottom lip before saying, “I don't know, Shane.”

He could have pressed her at that moment, but to be honest, he wasn't sure if it would be in his best interest if he did. After all, they had very little in common and lived nearly two hours apart.

Instead, he picked up his fork and tried to convince himself that he had an appetite for pasta, cheese
and marinara sauce, when he hungered for a lot more than food.

When they finished their meal, Shane paid the bill and they walked back to his pickup, the soles of their shoes crunching along the blacktop-covered parking lot.

So now what? he wondered. Where did they go from here?

He didn't ask, though. Not when he still questioned the wisdom of getting involved in a relationship that had a snowball's chance in hell. So he decided to bide his time and see how things played out.

Ten minutes later, they were standing at her door, with a lovers' moon overhead.

“I'm sorry for prodding you earlier,” she said. “I didn't mean to pry or make you relive painful memories.”

“I can't blame you for being curious. You don't know me very well.”

“I know you better than I did before.” She smiled up at him, revealing a shy side of herself, then reached into her purse for the keys. “I'm glad you looked me up.”

Was she? Even though he hadn't been as “forthcoming” as she would have liked?

Truth was, neither of them had shared very much about themselves. Was that for the best?

Or was it an excuse to get together again?

“I'm glad I found you, too,” he said.

“Thanks again for dinner.”

So that was it? She was just going to let herself into the apartment and close the door?

He tried to tell himself that it was for the best, but he couldn't quite buy that with an amazing array of stars blinking overhead, with his blood pumping to beat the band, with her scent taunting him…?.

Unable to help himself, he skimmed his knuckles along her cheek, felt the warmth of her flush, heard the catch of her breath.

As her lips parted, his control faded into the pheromone-charged air, and he lowered his mouth to hers.

J
ust a whiff of Shane's manly cologne, with its hint of leather and musk, stirred up an exhilarating sense of adventure. And as their lips met, Jillian's heart soared with anticipation.

She'd convinced herself to take things slow and easy until she knew him better, but at the moment, she couldn't care less about that. Not when everything they'd shared before was about to happen all over again—the passion, the heat, the pleasure.

Oh, how that man could kiss!

He slipped his arms around her, and she leaned into him as if they'd never been apart. Their bodies melded together, and the kiss deepened until desire exploded into a blast of colors, reminding her why she'd thrown caution to the wind that incredible evening in Houston.

And something told her she wasn't going to be any stronger at fighting temptation now than she'd been back then.

She'd wanted to spend more time with him so she could learn just what kind of man he really was. But at this rate, she was only going to find out what kind of lover he was. And she already knew that Shane Hollister was the best ever.

As their tongues mated, as breaths mingled and mouths grew desperate, he pulled her hips against his growing arousal, and she pressed into him as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

Right there, on her porch, where all her neighbors could see, she kissed him as though there would be no consequences or tomorrows.

But there would be plenty of both if she let her hormones run away with her. Making love to him this evening would only complicate things further—if that was even possible. And she couldn't afford to do that again. Not until she had a chance to actually date the man.

So she placed her hands on his chest and slowly pushed back, ending the kiss.

“You have no idea how tempted I am to ask you inside,” she said, her breath a bit raspy from the arousing assault on her senses. “But I'm on the rebound, and you might be, too. So for that reason—and a few others—I think it would be best if we took things a little slower.”

“Maybe,” he said, although something in his eyes suggested he wasn't convinced.

Yet in spite of his apparent acceptance of her words,
neither of them made a move to end their evening together.

She closed her eyes, caught up in a heady cloud of swirling pheromones, musky cologne and the vibrant and steady beat of a heart on the mend. As tempted as she was to ask him to stay the night, she had to let him go. She'd thrown caution and morals to the wind once, but she couldn't make a habit of it.

Not until she knew him better.

When she glanced up at him, he tossed her a crooked grin. Yet the hint of a shadow darkened his eyes, an emotion too fleeting for her to get a handle on.

She rested a hand on his chest, where his heart beat strong and steady. Surely she was being too cautious. But she couldn't quite bring herself to change the stance she'd taken.

“Do you have a piece of paper and pen?” he asked.

She reached into her purse and pulled out the small notepad she carried, along with the attached ink pen.

When she handed it to him, he scratched out his phone number on the top sheet, than gave it back to her. Deciding to provide him with hers, as well, she tore out a page from the back of the booklet, jotted down her number for him.

“Well…have a good evening,” she said, although she suspected that they'd both have a better one if they didn't spend it alone.

Shane brushed another kiss on her lips, this one light and fleeting. He hesitated momentarily, as if he was struggling with something. Then he kissed her a third
and last time, a heart-thumping, hope-stirring kiss that would linger in her memory long after he left.

As he walked to his truck, she stood at the door and watched him go.

She ached to call him back, but if she got in too deep and too soon, she would complicate not only her life, but her baby's. And she couldn't afford to do that yet.

There was, however, one thing that she did know. Meeting Shane and experiencing the thrill of a romance had completely dulled the pain of Thomas's betrayal. And she was tempted beyond measure to hang on to what they'd found together. But she couldn't enter a full-on affair with him. At least, not at this point.

As Shane climbed into his pickup, a feeling of remorse settled over her. It took all she had not to call him back—or run after him. But it was best this way, especially since she wasn't ready to tell him about the baby.

Still, as she went into the house and locked the door behind her, she couldn't help grieving what they might have shared tonight.

 

Shane spent the night on his parents' sofa, thanks to all the out-of-town family members who'd converged upon the house for Becky's first communion. He'd been surrounded by his nieces and nephews, who had spread their sleeping bags all over the floor.

The kids had gotten up at the crack of dawn, so he'd merely put his pillow over his head to block out the noise and the morning light.

He had no idea what time it was now—or where
they'd gone—but thankfully they were all up and at 'em.

Years ago, he'd thought that the old sofa was pretty comfortable, but he'd awakened with a crick in his neck this morning, which left him ready to snap at anyone or anything that crossed his path.

Okay, so it was more than a few aches and pains that had him out of sorts. He was flat-out disappointed that he hadn't been invited to stay with Jillian last night, although he had no one to blame but himself.

She'd struggled with the decision to send him on his way. He'd seen it in her eyes, heard it in her passion-laced voice.

If there'd ever been a couple who'd been sexually compatible, it was the two of them. So it wouldn't have taken much effort on his part to convince her to change her mind.

But the truth of the matter was that she was coming off a recent divorce, which meant that she was vulnerable—maybe even more than most women might be. She hadn't had to come out and say that, either. He'd seen that in her eyes, as well.

Only a jerk would have taken advantage of her, which was what he'd told himself last night while his conscience had warred with his libido.

“I'm on the rebound,” she'd said. “And you might be, too.”

That hadn't been entirely true. Shane had gotten over his divorce a long time ago.

Still, he'd been tempted to suggest that they put another temporary balm on two grieving hearts, although
he'd decided against it. Why jump into anything when the future was so questionable?

Besides, if she ever came out to Brighton Valley, which was becoming home to him, she'd probably go into culture shock.

Of course, he'd been more than a little surprised to find her living in a modest apartment, instead of something ritzy. Especially since her jewelry and designer clothes suggested that she belonged in a much nicer place—and in a better part of town.

So what was with that?

He supposed it made sense that she would move closer to the university she planned to attend, but wouldn't she be happier in an upscale neighborhood?

Or had she entered El Jardin that day primed and looking for a man who had money?

Shane didn't like that particular train of thought. Had he been wrong about her?

Before he could give it any real consideration, Jack's six-year-old son ran up to him. “Hey, Uncle Shane. Can I come out to your ranch someday and ride a horse? My dad said he'd take me out there, if it's okay with you.”

Shane didn't mind having Jack and his family come to Brighton Valley. It might even be fun to show them around and make a day of it. “It's not my ranch, Evan. But I can arrange a visit and a horseback ride.”

“Cool! I'll tell my dad you said it was all right. Woohoo!”

With that, the boy dashed off, whooping it up.

Shane liked kids; he really did. But sometimes it was tough being around his nieces and nephews, especially
when he couldn't help thinking that Joey would be four now and running around with them.

Using his fingers, he kneaded the stiff and sore muscles in his neck.

Once he'd attended that first communion and given his niece the charm bracelet he'd bought, he'd be history—and headed back to Brighton Valley.

In the meantime, after folding up the blanket he'd used last night, he went into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. There, he found his mom alone, standing over the stove and flipping hotcakes.

“Why are you doing all the work?” he asked as he walked up behind her and placed a kiss on her cheek.

She turned to him and smiled. “Because I enjoy having you kids home. And besides, it's Sunday morning, remember?”

“How could I forget?” His mom's special buttermilk pancakes had become a church-day tradition at the Hollister house.

“Pour yourself a cup of coffee,” she said, “then get some hotcakes while they're fresh and warm.”

She didn't have to ask him twice. After filling a mug and piling the pancakes on a plate, Shane took a seat at the table, where he added a slab of butter and maple syrup on top of his stack.

“Where is everyone?” he asked.

“John and Karen took Becky to the church. She's meeting up with a couple of her girlfriends there. Tom and your dad are outside, watching Trevor ride his bike. When you finish eating, you ought to join them.”

Shane didn't respond either way. But for the past
two-and-a-half years he'd been treading along the perimeter of most family gatherings, on the outside looking in. And truthfully it was easier that way.

He glanced at his wristwatch. Church would be starting soon, which was great. He was eager to get this day over with so he could head back to the ranch where he belonged. At least, that's how he'd been feeling lately.

It was weird, too. Back at the ranch where he worked, Dan and Eva Walker had two sets of twins. And while Shane tried to avoid his nieces and nephews, he didn't feel the same way about the Walker kids, although he wasn't sure why.

Maybe because Marcia had always blamed the Hollisters for the trouble in their marriage. And maybe in a way, he'd blamed them, too. Ever since dealing with his wife's complaints, Shane had stepped out of the family fold. And that was long before Joey had died.

Damn. Maybe Jillian was right. Maybe he
was
still dragging around some old baggage from his divorce.

He lifted the mug of coffee, savored the aroma of the fresh morning brew, then took a sip.

Making love with Jillian—and having dinner with her again last night—had been refreshing and…healing.

When he was with her, things felt different—better. And he wasn't just talking about a simple case of attraction. He'd actually been able to shed the shadows that plagued him for hours on end.

But the only way he could imagine hooking up with Jillian was if he moved back to Houston and took up his old life.

However, Jillian didn't seem to be the kind of woman
who'd be interested in dating a cop—even if he wanted to go back to work for the HPD. And at this point, he really didn't.

There was something appealing about Brighton Valley and small-town life. He actually enjoyed riding fence and herding cattle.

Of course, Jillian didn't seem like the kind who'd be happy with a cowboy, either. A life in Brighton Valley would be foreign to a woman like her.

So why set himself up for failure? He'd already gone through one divorce because his wife hadn't been happy with the life he'd wanted to lead.

So why even ponder the possibility of a relationship with Jillian, either long distance or right next door?

Because, for one thing, he couldn't get her off his mind.

And because he doubted that he'd ever be more sexually compatible with another woman again.

What a shame that would be.

As he cut into his pancakes, which were growing cold, he wondered if it might be best to leave the possibility of a relationship with Jillian to fate. After all, she had his phone number, and he'd included the name of the ranch on which he worked in the note he'd left her at the hotel.

So she could find him if she really wanted to.

“I'm going to get ready for church,” his mother said. “Can I get you anything else? Some OJ? More coffee?”

“No, I'm fine.” Shane looked up from his plate and smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”

“You're more than welcome, sweetie.” She stood in
the center of the room for a moment, not moving one way or the other, then added, “It's nice to have you home.”

He nodded, unable to respond out loud. How could he when he was counting the minutes before he could head back to Brighton Valley and to a different way of life?

“I know that you haven't felt comfortable here for a long time,” she said.

Coming from her, the truth stung. And while he wanted to soften things, to imply that she was wrong or to blame it all on his ex-wife, he couldn't bring himself to lie. “It's complicated, Mom. But I'm working on it.”

Her eyes misted, yet she managed a smile. “I can't ask for more than that.”

Then she left him alone in the kitchen, wondering if he'd ever feel like a part of the Hollister clan—or even another family—ever again.

Or if he'd even want to.

 

Jillian hadn't seen or heard from Shane in several months—long enough for her to start college classes, visit an obstetrician and to finally share her pregnancy news with Gram.

She'd been right, of course. Gram had been thrilled to learn that Jillian was expecting, but she hadn't liked the idea of her raising a child on her own.

“What about the father?” Gram had asked. “Does he plan to be a part of the baby's life?”

“I'm not sure how he'll feel about that.” Jillian had
no way of knowing what Shane's reaction would be. “He doesn't know yet.”

“You haven't told him that you're pregnant?” The tone of Gram's voice had indicated both surprise and disapproval.