Judy Duarte - Christmas Baby

When she caught his gaze, he said, “You know what I mean?”

She nodded.

“I was a far cry from the perfect husband,” he added. “And the men in my family have always had a tendency to raise their voices when angry. But I wouldn’t have cheated.”

Her brow knit, as though she wasn’t sure if she believed him. Or maybe she was just giving his revelation some thought. After all, he hadn’t shared the details of his divorce with her before, although he was glad he finally had.

Still, he thought it was a good idea to add, “When I make a vow or give my word, it means something.”

She looked out at the lake for a moment, then turned her attention back to him. “I’m glad to hear that. My mom never married my dad, but my grandparents taught me the meaning of love, commitment and family. It was a painful eye-opener to learn that not everyone is able to keep that kind of promise to a spouse.”

“I guess, in a sense, we were both disillusioned by someone we considered a lifetime partner.”

A pair of mallard ducks—one male, the other female—quacked as they flew overhead, then landed on the water.

“In your case,” Jillian began, “who filed for divorce?”

He wasn’t sure why that mattered to her. Maybe because she was trying to determine if he was a quitter.

He wasn’t, although there were a few people in his family who never understood why he’d walked away from the HPD. But he’d had his reasons.

“My wife was the one who filed, although, by that time, I was ready to throw in the towel, too.”

Shane studied the ducks, wondering if the feathered mates had as much trouble getting along and sticking together as some humans did.

“Did your ex-wife ever remarry?”

“Yes, she did. And I think she’s better off now. She found someone who was more her style. He also has a nine-to-five job that’s safe.”

“I can see where she’d worry about you while you were out on patrol.”

Shane tensed for a moment, remembering the unfounded accusations Marcia had often thrown at him, then chuffed. “I think her biggest fear was that I was away from home so much, that I would screw around on her.”

“And you honestly didn’t cheat?”

He’d already told her that he hadn’t, but since her faith in the male species had been seriously undermined, thanks to the jerk she’d married, Shane didn’t take offense when she challenged his honesty.

“No,” he said, “I didn’t cheat.”

Okay, so his tone had betrayed him. He had been a little offended, after all.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t telling me the truth.”

“I guess that’s the result of having a spouse lie and cheat.” He removed his Stetson and placed it on the grass beside him. “For what it’s worth, I don’t plan to make any of the same mistakes again, either. If I ever remarry, it’ll be to a woman who’s happy with my line of work, whatever that is.”

“Does that mean you don’t plan to be a cowboy the rest of your life?”

“I’m not sure. But that’s not the point. I think couples need to be a team.”

“I agree.”

They continued to sit there, locked in silence. Then she turned again. This time her knee brushed his—taunting him with her touch, with her nearness.

“Do you think you’ll ever move back to Houston?” she asked.

“Only for visits. Sometimes I miss my job. I was very good at what I did. But I’m happy with my life here. Things are more laid-back, more real.”

As the silence stretched between them again, Shane glanced at his watch and noted the time.

“Are you ready for lunch?” he asked. “Actually, I am getting a little hungry.”

“Then let’s go.” He grabbed his hat, got to his feet, then reached out to help her up.

The feel of her hand in his was enough to make him rethink his stance about living in Brighton Valley permanently—if it meant a relationship was completely out of the question. There was something about Jillian that made him wonder if things could be different, that made him want them to be.

As they headed back to the parking lot to get the cooler, they approached the playground, where several local families had gathered to spend a few hours with their kids.

They’d yet to pass by it when Jillian reached for Shane’s arm and pulled him to a stop. Her fingers gripped his flesh—not hard—but with enough emotion to cause his blood to warm and his heart to race.

When he turned toward her, their gazes locked.

“Let’s watch the kids play for a while,” she said. “Do you mind?”

Yeah, he minded. The last time he’d been with Joey, he’d driven to Marcia’s house and got to spend the afternoon with him. They’d gone to get lunch at Mc-Donald’s, then to the park.

But if spending time by the playground convinced Jillian that she’d like to bring their baby here to play in the sand or on the swing set, then he’d agree.

He nodded toward an empty bench. “There’s a place to sit over there.”

After they’d settled into their seats, Jillian pointed to a mommy showing her preschool-age girl how to blow dandelion seeds in the air. “Isn’t that sweet?”

But Shane’s gaze went beyond the woman and child to the daddy helping his chubby-legged toddler climb the slide, taking care to follow the boy up each step.

He turned his face away, looking for a bird, a tree, a rock—anything that he could focus on so she wouldn’t see the crushing grief in his eyes.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

Would Jillian understand if he told her about Joey, about how he’d died? How Shane had blamed himself somehow, even though he hadn’t been in the car that day, hadn’t been the one behind the wheel?

She reached out and touched his hand, sending a warm, healing balm to his bones.

“I…uh…” He cleared his throat, yet his voice retained a husky tone. “My wife and I had a son. A baby boy.”

Her fingers probed deeper on his hand, gentle but firm. “What happened?”

“He…was killed in a car accident.” Shane cleared his throat again, yet he couldn’t seem to shake the rusty, cracked sound in his voice. “My, uh…his mother was driving, and Joey was in the car seat in back when she hit a patch of ice and fishtailed into the path of a semitruck.”

“I’m so sorry, Shane,” Jillian said softly. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I…” He cleared his throat for a third time. “I took it pretty hard.”

“I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through.”

“Yeah. It was tough.” He blew out a tattered sigh. “And I wish that I would have handled it differently.”

She brushed her thumb across the top of his hand, grazing the skin near his wrist as if trying to offer what little comfort she could.

“I’d expected the overwhelming pain and sadness,” he said, “but I hadn’t been prepared for the anger.”

“I think that’s only natural. And part of the grieving process.”

He shrugged. “I was upset with my ex-wife and said some things I shouldn’t have. She was devastated by Joey’s death, too, and didn’t need me to lash out at her like I did.”

“People say things when they’re hurting that they don’t always mean.”

“That’s the problem. I meant them. And I still do. I just wish I hadn’t said anything out loud.”

“What did you say?”

“I resented her for moving out, for not trying to make the marriage work for Joey’s sake. And when he died, I blamed her, saying it was all her fault. And not just because she’d been driving the car, but because she’d taken him away from me, and I’d missed out on the last three months of his life.”

He turned his hand to the side, taking hers with it and clutching her in a warm, desperate grip. “I’m sorry for rambling.”