The Cowboy Seal's Christmas Baby. Laura Altom Marie
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she said, “he’s bothered by the sight of a little skin, too?”
“I’m not bothered,” Gideon said, “just figured you might be cold.” He averted his gaze. “Are you decent?”
“I was decent before, but if you mean fully clothed—yes.”
“Sorry.” He sighed, then found the wherewithal to once again meet her gaze. “Your scream got me spooked. Then I showed up and you were—well, barely dressed.”
“Because I was feeding my baby.”
“Yeah, I know that now. Give me a minute, okay? It’s not an everyday thing around here for me to find pregnant ladies on my trail.”
“I’m not pregnant anymore,” she sassed.
“By God, you are a handful.” He raked his fingers through his shaggy hair.
“Sorry, I’m not sorry?” Now she winked.
Gideon busted out laughing.
And then she was laughing.
The racket startled her baby awake, but then she was smiling down at him, and rocking him, and crooning soft words to coax him back to sleep.
Something inside Gideon shifted.
Instead of viewing the two of them as enemies hell-bent on destroying his carefully structured life, he recognized them as something far more menacing—enjoyable. They represented a welcome change. A bright spot of hope in the dark fog that had become his world.
But there was danger in that hope, because just as soon as he returned Jane to the real world, her family would claim her. Her husband would claim her. And just like that, Gideon would be in the dark again.
The funny thing was, he’d been there so long, he’d almost convinced himself he liked it. But then this spitfire had come along, changing everything.
“What’s got you so deep in thought?” she asked.
“You.” He hadn’t meant to tell the truth, but it had slipped out.
“Is that good or bad?”
In keeping with his truthful scheme, he said, “A little of both. I’m sorry.”
“For what?” She hugged her baby close, kissing the crown of his head. He’d seen her perform the maternal move at least a dozen times, yet it never failed to stir him. He could deny it all he wanted, but he realized he wasn’t mad at his wife for stealing the joy of becoming a father from him. He was mad at himself.
He waved off her question. “It’s way too deep to go into now. We’re strangers. I’ll try being nicer and leave it at that.”
Eyes narrowed, she cocked her head. “Sometimes strangers are best for making confessions. The beauty of them is that you get to unload, and then never see the person again.”
“True. But then your juicy secret is out there, just waiting to hit tabloids and TMZ.”
“Interesting...” Gaze narrowed, she said, “I wouldn’t have taken you for the TMZ type.”
“I’m not.” He sat beside her to dig into his saddle bag. “But a few of the younger guys I served with never stopped yapping about Hollywood crap.”
“You’re a veteran?”
“Yeah.” He pulled out two protein bars and handed her one.
“Which branch?”
“Navy. Has anyone in your family serv—”
Her complexion paled.
“Sorry.” Gideon gave himself a mental kick. Dumbass. If she couldn’t remember her own name, how was she supposed to remember a family member’s service records?
“No worries.” She ran her thumb over the protein bar’s label. “Chocolate chip. Did I mention that while we were hiking, that’s what I decided to name my son?”
“Chocolate Chip? Cute.” Gideon bit into his bar and chewed. “Don’t think I’ve ever met one.”
“You have now. Chip for everyday. Chocolate for holidays and special occasions.” She smiled.
He smiled.
It was all very civilized, but underneath these newfound manners ran a tension Gideon couldn’t quite get a read on.
They sat in silence long enough for the songs of nature to feel noisy in Gideon’s head. Wind in the pines. A cawing crow. He wanted to say so much to Jane, but wasn’t sure how—or even why. The sensation was as unnerving as it was unwelcome.
“Ready to get going?” he asked. “I’d like to make the stream in a few hours, then set up camp well before nightfall.”
“Sure.” She wadded up her bar’s wrapper, tucking it into a pocket of her pack.
He liked that she hadn’t littered. He liked her green eyes that reminded him of new grass in the spring. He liked her laugh and the way she doted on her son.
He did not like the way she’d unwittingly taken over his life.
Which was why, once they’d gotten back under way, he set the pace faster than he probably should, because he had to escape not only Jane, but the biting pain of what it felt like to be connected to another person. And to know with absolute certainty that he’d never see her again.
* * *
IT TOOK HOURS to reach the gurgling stream beside which Gideon was now assembling Jane’s tent.
She sat on a fallen log, nursing her son, appreciating the unseasonably warm late-afternoon sun. It was almost as hard to predict Arizona weather as it was Gideon’s moods.
At one point during their death march out of these woods, he’d seemed downright chivalrous, waiting for her to catch up. He’d almost held her hand over an especially rocky part of the trail. But at the last moment—as if remembering girls have cooties—he’d changed his mind.
Her stomach growled.
“Gideon!”
“Yeah?”
“Mind if I have another one of your protein bars?”
“Go for it.”
“Thanks.” Midway through the day, he’d removed his coat. She had spent hours staring at the back of his green T-shirt. How had it escaped her that his shoulders were broad, his hips narrow, and his derriere... Oh my.
Might her former self have giggled at such an observation? The fact that she didn’t know soured her stomach.
He cursed at her tent. “This thing was clearly designed for yuppies.”
“I’m not a yuppie.” She bristled more at his tone than the label. She honestly wasn’t even sure what being a yuppie entailed.
“But that’s the thing.” He straightened. “You don’t know. Your gear shows that you have a more than average knowledge of backpacking. Almost as if you were in training for, I don’t know? Something big—like the Pacific Crest Trail.”
Free hand on her hip, she cocked her head. “Me? Hiking from Mexico to Canada? Yeah. I suppose that’s possible. But if that was the case, what am I doing in Arizona?”
“I just said you could be in training. The trail we’re on is a notorious killer.”
“Good to know.”
“Have you been all through your backpack? Are you sure there’s nothing we could use for a clue? How could you not have at least had a credit card or ID?”
“No clue. Maybe it fell? Or I was in such a hurry to get started I left it in the car? When we stopped by that mushroom patch, I had to dig deep for the paper towels. I didn’t see a single useful