Her Baby's Father. Rebecca York
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to stay off the hill. Somehow he managed to keep the vehicle mostly on the shoulder. When he had enough traction, he swung back onto the center of the shoulder and stopped the car.
She gave him a grateful look. “Thank goodness. You’re a heck of a driver.”
“You mean good or bad?”
She felt a nervous laugh bubbling inside her. “Good, of course.”
Swiveling around, she looked behind her. If I’d been driving, we’d be down there in the creek.
He was the only thing that had saved them this time. Last time she’d been here, she’d been alone.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, as he pulled back onto the road.
“How was that your fault?”
“I distracted you,” she said, thinking that one of the questions circling in her mind had just been answered. Everything wasn’t happening exactly as it had the last time. The first time around, there had been no near accident on the way to dinner.
Was that a bad sign? Or was it actually good? What if nobody was after Jack now?
She wanted that to be true, so much, but she couldn’t count on it. Not when whoever was trying to kill him before had been so totally relentless.
Tempting as it was to relax her guard and just enjoy being with Jack, that wasn’t a smart idea.
She glanced at him and saw his brow wrinkle. “That’s right. You gasped. Just before that guy rounded the corner. But you couldn’t see him coming, could you?”
“No.” She scrambled for an explanation and came up with something plausible. “A woman I knew had an accident here. She was killed.” Saying it out loud sent a shiver through her. But it was the truth. Well, not the friend part. Sara Carter had been killed here. Or would be killed, unless she could change her fate—and Jack’s.
“That’s rough. When did it happen?”
“Last winter.” She swallowed. “I knew her pretty well.”
“And seeing the spot where she died brought it back.”
“Apparently. But I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“I understand.”
“Because guys you knew in Afghanistan were killed?”
He stiffened. “How do you know I was in Afghanistan?”
“You’re a war hero.”
“I’m no hero,” he said in a hard voice.
She wanted to tell him that she knew otherwise. Before getting wounded, he’d saved the lives of two men on patrol by pulling them back to safety, while under enemy fire. His act of bravery had earned him a Bronze Star. But telling him things about himself wasn’t a good idea. She’d have to wait until they came up when he got to know her better.
They were both silent for several minutes. The accident hadn’t happened before. Neither had this conversation. Or driving past the very hill where she’d been killed. Or would be killed. It was still hard to sort out the references to past and future.
She shook her head.
“What?” Jack asked.
It seemed so natural then to reach out and cover his large hand with her smaller one, to press her palm against his knuckles.
“I get nervous every time I pass this place,” she murmured. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t thinking about the route we were going to take.”
“I get nervous in thunderstorms,” he answered. “The thunder is like being in battle.”
“Sorry.”
“I have to deal with it.”
Reluctantly she took her hand away.
Switching to a different subject, he asked, “How did you get into the business of…staging houses?”
“My mom had an antiques shop in Ellicott City.”
“Which shop?”
“Well, antiques and…weird stuff. She called it Past Is Prologue.”
“I remember it. I used to wonder what was in there. But it’s closed now?”
“Yes. She died a couple of years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and she realized they’d said that twice now.
“I miss her.”
“You have brothers and sisters?”
“No. My dad…” She should tell him what had happened to her father, but she simply couldn’t make herself do it. Not yet. “He left us on our own.”
“Rough.”
“We managed, but we didn’t have a lot of extra cash. At least it taught me to be frugal. I was making a lot of my own clothes by the time I was in middle school.”
He was probably thinking about how different her life had been from his, even though they’d grown up in the same Maryland county. It was one of the wealthiest in the country. She just hadn’t gotten much advantage from that.
“How come you didn’t want to run the store?” he asked.
“I saw what kind of hours she kept, and I didn’t want to be tied to a shop all the time. But I loved arranging the merchandise. And picking up items at estate sales and auctions. Then when I was home from college on summer vacation, a real-estate agent I knew asked if I could stage a house for her with some of the merchandise from Mom’s shop. I agreed. She liked what I’d done and recommended me to her friends. I haven’t done any advertising. My business comes from word of mouth in the real-estate community.”
“Which means you’re good at what you do.”
“I hope so.”
He took the scenic way into town, the long hill that wound down through restored houses, even a couple of log cabins, to the commercial area where Main Street was confined by the sides of the river gorge.
“Did your mom’s shop get caught in any floods?” Jack asked.
“A couple of times. Everybody did in the old days. Until we had some serious flood control on the river.” She pointed down the hill. “Genevieve’s is near the train station.”
He continued down the narrow street toward the stone building that had been the first terminus of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad and was now a museum.
Parking in the old mill town was always at a premium, but Jack found a space not far from the restaurant.
It was getting dark. Darker down here in the river valley, and Sara told herself not to be nervous as she got out of the car. Still, she was remembering that something bad had happened when they’d come out of the restaurant the first time around.
But this wasn’t even the same town.
Still, she was on the alert as they strolled along the sidewalk. And she breathed out a little sigh as they stepped into Genevieve’s.
It was owned by a husband and wife team, Patrick and Laura Walsh, both in their early forties. Laura was the chef, and Pat manned the front. They had owned a restaurant in New York City and had come to central Maryland to find a less hectic way of life.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” Pat said when he spotted Sara. He was a slightly overweight man who obviously enjoyed his wife’s cooking.
“I’ve been busy. But I’m happy to be here now. What’s good tonight?”
“Laura has a yen for spring cuisine. She’s got a killer asparagus soup. A spinach salad to die for. Lamb kebabs. But you should sit down and look at the menu.”
He led them