The Last Bridge Home. Linda Goodnight

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      Chapter Two

      Jilly lost her breath. She grabbed hold of the table edge to keep from crumbling the way Crystal had and strained to hear the voices coming from the living room.

       Zak was married?

       She put a hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. She was in love with a married man?

       Oh, Lord, what have I done? Why hadn’t Zak told her? They’d been fast friends since the day he’d moved in across the street and she’d loaned him a pipe wrench. How could he keep such a thing from her?

       “Can I have more milk?” the smallest boy asked, holding up an empty glass.

       With horror, she considered the three kids gathered around Zak’s small, round table, cramming food into their mouths by the fistful. Were these Zak’s children?

       “Sure.” The word came out in a croak. Numbly, she went to the fridge and poured more milk.

       The blood that had drained from her head came roaring back to pound at her eardrums. She had to get out of here. She had no business listening in on this conversation, although she wanted every sickening detail. Common courtesy and the desire not to make a fool of herself kicked in. She slapped a package of Zak’s favorite cookies on the table. “You can each eat three. Okay?”

       The oldest boy, Brandon, nodded. “I’ll pass them out.”

       “Thanks.” Not wanting Zak to know how upset she was, she took a minute to regain her composure, straightened her back and patted her hot cheeks. Then she walked as calmly as possible into the living room. The conversation ceased. “The kids are eating. I’ll be at home if you need anything.”

       To his credit, Zak looked as he had the day he’d taken a line drive in the gut—stunned and speechless, like a fish out of water, his mouth open, searching for air. Clearly, he was not expecting Crystal to show up and reclaim their wedding vows. But she had. Without another word, because she wasn’t sure she could say anything sensible, Jilly bolted out the door and raced home.

       Mind in a muddle and heart pounding as hard as her sneakered feet, she blasted into the safe confines of the tidy frame house, the family home she shared with her mother. Two rat terriers met her, going airborne with excitement as though they hadn’t seen her in a week. She caught Mugsy in mid-jump as he bounded to her knee and then catapulted against her chest. Satchmo, older and less excitable, plopped at her feet and looked up in adoration. Behind the wiry duo of terriers came her mother.

       “What in the world is wrong? Did you get stung? Let me get the spray and I’ll show those wasps a thing or two.” Diane Fairmont waged an ongoing battle with a horde of red wasps that had taken residence years ago inside the eaves of her home. At fifty-six with ash-blond hair, much darker roots and too many cheesecakes on her hips, Diane also battled diabetes and high blood pressure. Jilly did not want her mother getting in a tizzy for any reason, certainly not red wasps.

       “No, Mom. No wasps. I’m fine. Just…” She clapped her mouth shut, not wanting to discuss Zak’s personal life. She already took enough guff from her mom and two younger sisters about her friendship with the handsome fireman across the street. They would have a field day with this information. Living at home with her mother had its good points but the overinterest in Jilly’s love life was not one of them.

       “Then what is it?” Mom insisted. “You’re white as a ghost.”

       Which meant every freckle on her face stood at rust-colored attention. Had Zak noticed?

       “Maybe I got too hot.”

       “I thought you went over to Zak’s.” Mom went to the window and pulled back the curtain to gaze out. “Didn’t I see a woman and some kids in his yard?”

       Great. Mom had seen Crystal. Zak’s wife. Jilly’s insides started to shake. A wave of nausea pushed at the back of her throat. Zak had a wife. “I need some water.”

       Hurrying past her frowning mother, Jilly ran a glass of tap water and kept right on going through the laundry room and out the back door. She needed time to think about the stunning revelation. Time to peel the pieces of her shattered heart off the sides of her chest cavity.

       Mugsy and Satchmo trotted along, eager for a run in the backyard. “Stay inside. Back.”

       The terriers skidded to a halt, dejected but obedient. Sorry to disappoint her two babies, she reached down and picked up the Frisbee from the back porch step and tossed it through the house. The two dogs zipped off after their favorite toy, happy again. She wished she could be that easily mollified.

       Glad to be alone, Jilly walked to the left corner of the fenced backyard. Beneath a sprawling, thirty-foot maple, planted years ago by her now-deceased father, three pairs of pink eyes gazed out at her from a rabbit hutch. Fat, fluffy and friendly, all of them rescue rabbits dumped after Easter when they were no longer tiny and adorable, the trio awaited her attention.

       People thought she was a soft touch, especially her sisters, but with a career as assistant to Dr. Trace Bowman, veterinarian, what did they expect? She loved animals.

       She also loved Zak Ashford.

       With a distressed moan, she opened the hutch, lifting each one to the grass. Then she plopped down beside them for a cuddle. Faith and Hop wiggled from her lap to explore. Lucky, the one-eared mini-lop who’d had a close encounter with a cat, remained where he was, snuggled safe in Jilly’s arms. She pressed her face into his silky silver fur.

       “He’s married, Lucky,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”

       Lucky, the good listener, sniffed the side of her face, whiskers tickling.

       “Why didn’t I know? Why didn’t he tell me?” The shock had begun to wear off, but she still felt as if she’d swallowed a hot brick. She was in love with a married man. The bold fact of that statement went against everything she believed in. Wanting someone else’s husband was a sin, a direct violation of the Ten Commandments.

       And Lord help her, she didn’t know how to stop.

       Zak stared into the face of his past, stomach churning, sweat beading and wished he could run out the door and follow Jilly. He wanted to be anywhere but here with Crystal.

       “You can’t be serious,” he said, incredulous. “You left me a note. You said you had filed for divorce.”

       “I meant to.” She shrugged. “But you know how I am. I got busy and things happened…”

       He recalled the helpless girl who couldn’t remember to pay her electric bill, but a marriage dissolution was a tad more important. She’d wanted Tank Rogers, not Zak Ashford. That should have been enough to help her remember.

       At the time, he’d been embarrassed by her betrayal, humiliated to have been duped by her pretty face and the way she’d wrapped him around her finger with her sob stories. He’d felt sorry for her. She’d been raised in the foster system, had no one to turn to, and Zak’s ego was stroked by being her savior, the go-to guy who could make everything better. So much so that he’d followed her to the courthouse and married her to, as she’d put it, “give her baby a name.”

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