Christmas Baby. Judy Duarte
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turning now, just at the thought of facing Shane.
She’d been dragging her feet for months, and now that she’d come to tell him, she wished she’d done so sooner. But there wasn’t anything she could do about that now.
So, while waiting for him, she scanned the honky-tonk, noting the scuffed and scarred hardwood floor, the red-and-chrome jukebox, the Old-West-style bar that stretched the length of the building. If she’d ever tried to imagine what a cowboy bar would look like, this would be it.
At the table next to hers, two young women wearing tight jeans and scooped-neck T-shirts laughed about something, then clinked their longneck bottles in a toast.
Was this the place where Shane hung out in the evenings or on his days off? Is that why he’d suggested she meet him here?
“Can I get you a drink?” a blond, harried waitress asked.
“Do you have any fruit juice?”
“I’ll have to check with the bartender to see what other choices you have, but I know we’ve got OJ for sure.”
“That’ll be fine. Thank you.”
The bleached-blond waitress had no more than walked away from the table when Jillian’s cell phone rang. She grabbed it from her purse, hoping it wasn’t Shane telling her he’d been delayed, since she’d put off this conversation for too long as it was.
But when she checked the display, she spotted her grandmother’s number.
“Did you get to Brighton Valley safely?” Gram asked.
Jillian pressed her cell phone against her ear, trying to block out the sounds of a Texas two-step as it blasted out of the jukebox. “Yes. It was a pretty easy drive, although it was a long one.”
“Where are you?”
“At a bar called the Stagecoach Inn.”
“It sounds pretty wild,” Gram said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t know about that,” Gram said. “I probably should have insisted upon going with you. Where will you be staying?”
“Right next door at the Night Owl Motel.”
“That sounds a little…rustic. Don’t they have anything nicer than that in town?”
“Not that I know of,” Jillian said. “But don’t worry. I’ll be okay. Besides, you’re the one who told me I needed to tell Shane about the baby.”
“I know, but…” Gram was clearly having second thoughts.
And so was Jillian. She’d never been in a country bar before, and the Night Owl was a world away from those five-star hotels she’d been used to. But the last thing she wanted to do was to cause her grandmother any undue stress.
“The motel really isn’t that bad,” she said, trying to talk above a sudden hoot of laughter. “The room is clean, and the bed is soft. I’ll be fine tonight. Then I’ll drive back to Houston in the morning.”
The waitress returned with the orange juice in a Mason jar. “Here you go. Let me know if you’d like anything else.”
Jillian offered her a smile. “Thanks. This will be fine for now.”
As the waitress walked away, Gram said, “I’m still uneasy about you being there all alone, Jilly.”
“Don’t be. Shane will be here soon.”
“I’m sure he will, but you really don’t know him very well.”
Oh, for Pete’s sake. It was Gram who’d helped her come to the conclusion that she needed to stop procrastinating and tell Shane he was going to be a father. And that wasn’t the kind of news to spring on him over the telephone.
“Shane’s a nice guy, Gram. You’d like him if you met him. He used to be a police officer, remember?”
“Yes, you mentioned that. But why did he decide to give that job up and go to work on a ranch?”
It probably had something to do with him getting into trouble and being suspended from duty, although Jillian couldn’t be sure about that. Last night, on a whim, she’d done a Google search on Shane Hollister and uncovered an online newspaper article about him. From what she’d read, he’d gotten too rough with a man he’d arrested.
Her heart had dropped to the pit of her stomach upon that discovery, especially when she spotted a photograph that convinced her that the men were one and the same.
Just the thought that Shane Hollister, the man who’d loved her with a gentle and expert hand, might harbor a temper or a violent side, set off a wave of nausea. On several occasions, after having too much to drink, Thomas had twisted her arm or given her a shove. So Jillian had kicked herself for not conducting an internet search on Shane sooner.
She’d wanted more details, of course, but short of breaking into police headquarters and hunting for his personnel file, she didn’t know how or where to look. But she certainly knew someone who did.
Katie Harris, a journalist who’d been Jillian’s college roommate, now worked for a Dallas newspaper. So Jillian had called her and asked her if she could uncover any more information about the incident that had gotten Shane into trouble with the police department.
Katie had been on her way into the office and had called back within an hour. She hadn’t found out too much more, other than the fact that Shane had been reinstated to his position with the HPD. But then, a few months later, he’d resigned for no apparent reason.
While tossing and turning in bed last night, Jillian had vacillated on whether to go through with the plan to meet Shane and tell him about the baby, but she’d finally decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Of course, she wasn’t going to share any of that with her grandmother.
“Well, if you’re sure you’re okay…” Gram said doubtfully.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, but call me once you’re locked into the motel room for the night.”
“I’ll do that.” Jillian glanced toward the entrance, just in time to see Shane saunter through the door, looking more handsome than a cowboy had a right to. “But I’ve got to go, Gram. He’s here now.”
And he’d just spotted her.
When Shane walked into the Stagecoach Inn, he was nearly twenty minutes early. Still, the place was already hopping, even for a Saturday night that was just getting under way. Yet he hadn’t gotten two steps inside before he’d spotted Jillian seated at a table for two, looking just as attractive as ever. She was talking on the phone, but as soon as she noticed him, she hung up.
He crossed the scarred oak flooring and made his way to her table. “I see you found the place.”
She smiled. “You’re right. It was pretty easy, but I have to admit I’ve never been anywhere like this before.”
He figured she meant the honky-tonk, but she could have just as easily been talking about Brighton Valley, as well. “Consider it an adventure.”
“I don’t know about that. I haven’t felt very adventurous lately.”
He wondered what she meant by that as he quietly observed her. She wore her platinum-blond hair pulled back today, and a white cotton blouse and black slacks. She’d come looking more casual, more down-to-earth.
More approachable than before, even when he’d found her at home.
As he pulled out the chair next to hers, he asked, “So what are you having? A screwdriver?”
She glanced at her glass, then back at him. “No, it’s just orange juice.”
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