The Sheriff Wins A Wife. Jill Limber

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ