Her Baby's Father. Rebecca York
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as the history of the world. Just Jack’s history—and her own.
Her pulse was pounding as she watched the two men come up the walk with Pam. The real-estate agent was engaged in an animated conversation with Ted. Jack followed a little behind, walking with the slightly awkward gait of a man who’d almost lost his leg, then spent months getting the muscles and ligaments to work properly.
The injury was the result of a roadside bomb in Afghanistan. It wasn’t the only consequence of the explosion. He’d been thrown forward in the vehicle, dislocating his shoulder. Shrapnel had peppered his chest and midsection, and a few shards had dug into the skin of his face.
He’d spent weeks in the Naval Medical Center, which had taken over army cases from Walter Reed, then weeks in rehab. But he’d been lucky. And he’d worked like a fiend to get back in shape and prove to himself that he wasn’t impaired for life.
He’d been going to reenlist. Instead his family had persuaded him that he’d done enough to serve his country. He’d come home, not sure who he was.
His war wounds had done a number on his self-image. Which had made him quiet and withdrawn. Yet the two of them had clicked almost immediately.
As Jack walked toward her, she struggled not to turn her total focus on him. He wouldn’t like that. Not when they were just about to meet. He’d think she was staring at him because of his limp—and the scars on his face.
She struggled to assume a casual aspect, struggled not to look like a woman taking the first view of the man she loved, after they’d been separated for months. After she’d believed he was dead.
Still, her chest tightened as she waited for her first contact with Jack in an eternity.
No, her first meeting with him at all, she reminded herself. At least as far as he was concerned.
For a wild moment she thought about taking him aside and trying to explain everything to him. But he’d only think she was crazy. Anybody would think she was crazy if she started talking about events that hadn’t happened yet. Which was one of the problems of this whole situation.
Right now, all she could do was experience the joy of seeing him alive and well.
Still, there was a dreamlike quality to watching him come toward her. Eagerly, she drank in his appearance, taking in everything in one sweep. His height of six feet. His dark eyes and hair. His strong jaw. The scars on one cheek that showed through the dark stubble. His lips that looked so hard but could be so incredibly soft against hers.
He was dressed in a dark knit shirt, jeans and running shoes because his doctor had advised him to stick with footwear that gave him good traction. He took that advice, partly because it suited his casual manner and partly because he wanted to give himself every physical advantage.
As he came toward her, she stifled the impulse to pat her hair into place.
“Ted Morgan. Jack Morgan. Sara Carter,” Pam said.
“Nice to meet you,” they answered.
“Are you working with Pam?” Ted asked.
“I have my own business, staging properties for sale.”
“Staging?”
“Getting them ready to show,” she answered without explaining exactly what that meant.
She remembered the first time this scene had taken place. She’d wanted to get home and go to sleep, but she’d stayed because Pam had asked. As the tour had proceeded, she’d been glad because she wanted to get to know Ted’s brother better.
Pam had mentioned the Morgan fortune, but Sara really hadn’t known much about the family. Now she did. Unfortunately, that made her anxious about the impression she was giving. Jack’s mom and dad were very particular about who their sons hung out with. Could she present herself differently? Probably not.
Don’t get started down that road, she warned herself. Not now. He’s not going to be interested in you if you come across as a phony.
Which might be a moot point, she realized. What if he walked away from her without connecting the way they had before?
Lord, that was something else to worry about. One of too many things that were competing to make goose bumps pepper her arms.
“Why don’t we look at the house?” Pam said. “Isn’t it marvelous? Notice the spacious foyer. It makes a good first impression for your guests.” She opened a door to the left. “And the closet right here has ample room for coats.”
Ted nodded.
Sara and Jack trailed into the kitchen as Pam continued to point out the features of the house.
“Don’t you just love the top-of-the-line stainless-steel appliances? The refrigerator’s huge and the gas stove has six burners,” Pam was saying. “The Mexican tile on the floor makes a statement.”
Sara looked at Jack, and they exchanged what might have been conspiratorial glances.
She remembered that he hated tile in a kitchen because it was slippery, and he needed all the traction he could get.
Pam ushered Ted into the living room. “There’s lots of space for entertaining,” she said. “Notice the easy flow into the family room. And the large windows let in plenty of natural light.”
Ted took a quick look at the rooms before proceeding to another that could be a first-floor office. Turning, he said, “I’d like to see the upstairs.”
“Of course.”
She led the way up, but Sara and Jack stayed on the first floor, watching the other two disappear around a corner.
“Are you responsible for all the homey touches?” he asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“They’re charming.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you own a furniture store or something?”
“No. Just a warehouse where I keep furnishings and knickknacks. If the house is already furnished, I advise the home owner about what to keep and what to put in storage. And which things to replace. It takes away from the salability of a house if the sofa arms have been scratched by a cat.” She struggled to act casual when she ached to reach out and pull Jack into her arms.
She longed to feel his body against hers. Feel his strength and the wonderful way he had of wrapping her close like she was the most precious thing in the world. At the same time, she ached to keep him safe, if that was in her power.
The emotions swirling inside her made it difficult to focus on his words.
But she realized he was saying, “You’ve obviously got an eye for design.”
“Making houses look their best is as much fun for me as it is a job.”
He was giving her a critical inspection, and she stood with her hands at her sides.
“Are you all right?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You have a strange look on your face.”
She laughed, struggling to make light of a moment that was so important to her that she could barely breathe. “I guess it’s from working eight hours straight getting this place ready.”
“All by yourself? Wasn’t a real-estate agent killed recently in an empty house?”
“Yes. I wasn’t alone. Several big, strapping college students help me move furniture. Two of them were here with me today.”
“Good protection.”
“And since I’m on a budget, using them cuts down on costs. the recession set me back for a while. I had to take some temp work to afford the rent.”
“That must have been frustrating.”