Judy Duarte: Christmas Baby

Her words came out in a soft whisper. “You didn’t ramble.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t usually talk about it.”

“Maybe you should.”

“You might be right.”

Yet even though he’d finally said it, Jillian didn’t leave it alone. “How long has it been?”

“About a year ago. It’s still hard.”

“How long have you and his mother been divorced?”

“It’s been final for about five months. Joey’s death sort of slowed the legal process. Neither one of us was really able to deal with anything for a while.”

Jillian didn’t say a word. Instead, she continued to hold his hand, to offer comfort. And for a moment, he accepted it.

She might sympathize with him, but she’d never understand what he’d dealt with, thanks to Marcia’s refusal to compromise.

Did she realize that now, after spilling his guts, that he feared grieving for two children—a son he’d lost through death and a baby he’d yet to meet?

What if Jillian refused to let him be a part of their son or daughter’s life? What if she, like Marcia, hooked up with someone else and moved away?

As unsettling as that thought was, he couldn’t help but think that Jillian would probably be better off with a guy who could provide all the nicer things in life—a guy who wasn’t a cowboy or a cop. And that fact didn’t sit any better.

After all, Jillian had said the same thing Marcia had once told him. Babies belong with their mothers.

All right. Maybe they did. That’s the reason he’d stood by and watched Marcia take Joey from him in the first place.

What would stop Jillian from doing the same thing?

Was it any wonder he was torn between insisting that Jillian let him be a part of the new baby’s life and letting go before his heart had the chance to break all over again?

As Jillian listened to Shane’s heartfelt disclosure and gazed into his watery eyes, something frail and broken peered out at her, clenching her heart.

A wave of sympathy surged from her womb to her throat, making it difficult to breathe, let alone respond. So she took his hand, trying to connect with him on some level, trying to ease his pain.

He wrapped his fingers around hers, clutching her in a warm, desperate grip. At the intimacy they’d broached, at the strength of their bond, her pulse raced and her emotions soared in a hundred different directions.

There was nothing she could say to ease the pain he’d suffered. And now that it lay before them, there was no way to roll back time, to go back to the carefree day they’d been having—the warmth of the sunshine, the birds chirping overhead, the children laughing…

Jillian hadn’t meant to stir up his sorrow when she’d asked about his son, and as a result, she felt somehow to blame for his sadness, for the tears he struggled to hold back. The only thing she could think to do was to thread her fingers through his, tightening their connection.

Clearly, sitting by the playground, watching the happy children and families at play, was just making things worse.

“Come on,” she said as she stood and drew him to his feet. “Let’s go back to the truck and get the cooler.”

They returned to the picnic area in silence, joined together by more than their clasped hands.

She kept the conversation light while they ate lunch, something she continued to do on the drive back to his apartment. Yet even though they’d managed to maintain upbeat subjects, her thoughts were lugged down by the heart-wrenching disclosure.

Shane had said he hadn’t taken his son’s death very well. Had he fallen apart? Found it difficult to put one foot in front of the other and make it through the day?

That’s the way Jillian had felt, after she’d first learned of Thomas’s affairs. But there was no comparison. Losing a baby would have been unspeakably worse.

Once they were back at his place, Jillian went through the motions of making dinner. Then they’d topped off the tasty meal—baked chicken, rice pilaf and broccoli—with ice cream sundaes.

On the outside, they’d both forgotten about Joey, about the grief and sadness. But she suspected it was something that would always be buried in Shane’s heart, ready to erupt at any time.

After they washed the dishes, he asked, “How about a movie?”

“Good idea.”

Twenty minutes later, Jillian and Shane sat on the sofa, watching an action-adventure flick. Jillian had forgotten the name of it, since she didn’t normally like much violence. But this one wasn’t too bad.

He’d asked her to choose the movie they were going to watch, and she felt that it was only fair to opt for something he might like—something that would get his mind off kids and families.

For a moment, she’d wondered if Shane’s move from Houston to Brighton Valley had been some kind of escape for him, too.

Maybe. But it didn’t explain him assaulting a suspect in his custody. Though, to be honest, she had yet to see any sign of temper or mean streak in him. Ever since she’d met him, he’d been nothing but sweet and thoughtful.

She tried to focus on the television screen, where bullets continued to fly and ricochet off brick walls, where the good guy was surrounded by the bad guys. When she glanced at Shane, she saw that he had leaned forward, caught up in the tension created by a Hollywood gunfight. But Jillian just couldn’t lose herself in the story or the action.

Finally, when things were headed for a showdown of one kind or another, she stood. “I’m going to take a shower, if you don’t mind.”

“Now?” he asked. “You’ll miss the ending.”

She smiled, not at all concerned about that. “I have a feeling it’s going to all work out just fine.”

And, if luck was in their favor, real life would offer them that same guarantee.

Thirty minutes later, Jillian returned to the living room, wearing a pale blue robe over a white cotton gown. Her hair was wrapped in a towel turban, and her feet were bare.

Shane had been watching a baseball game on ESPN, but he reached for the remote, more interested in the beautiful woman standing before him, the woman who threatened to turn his life inside out. So he lowered the volume and gave her his full attention.

“Are you going to bed now?” he asked.

“I think so.” She bit down on her lip, lifted her hand and fingered the lapel of her robe, clearly nervous.

Was she holding something back? Or trying to build up the courage to spit it out?

Instead of pressing her by asking what was on her mind, he waited until she found the words.

“I’m not sure when you plan to turn in tonight,” she finally said, “but you don’t need to sleep on the couch again. There’s plenty of room for you in the bed.”

Shane again reached for the remote, this time shutting off the television completely. “Are you sure about that?”

Her cheeks flushed, and a shy smile crept across her face. “I wasn’t talking about sex, but it certainly won’t hurt for us to sleep in the same bed.”

Shane wouldn’t argue with her there, and while he’d be more than willing—in fact, more than eager—to have sex, he counted her concession as progress just the same.

The way he saw it, sleeping together—even if there wasn’t any sex involved—meant they might be getting closer to working things out between them.

Was she willing to consider having a relationship with him, after all? One that went beyond coparenting?

“I realize that I was the one who wanted to take things slow and to get to know each other better before we consider dating.” She gave a little shrug. “But we took a big step toward intimacy and friendship today, so it seems silly to have you sleep on the couch, all cramped up.”