Jessie's Child

by Lois Faye Dyer

  “So I not only have to convince you I’ll be a good father, I have to convince the men in your family I’m not an SOB who ran out on you when you were pregnant?”

  Jessie’s eyes widened. “How did you know that’s what they keep repeating? Is that some sort of malespeak?”

  “I don’t know. What do you think?” Zach grinned. The switch from resigned interest to heartbreaker charm nearly stopped her heart.

  “I think men belong to a secret club and women will never understand them,” she said with conviction.

  He laughed. “Most men would say you’ve got it backward. I’ve never met a guy who claimed to understand women.”

  “Mommy!” Rowdy skidded to a stop beside them, accompanied by the towheaded boy who’d joined him in the sandbox earlier. Both of them had grass stains on their knees and sand clinging to their shorts and T-shirts. “Can Andy come home and play at our house?”

  Jessie glanced at her watch. “Yes, if his grandmother says it’s okay.”

  “Thanks!” The two boys charged off across the grass toward Barbara, who still kept her granddaughter company on the swing set.

  “I’ll take off,” Zach said quietly as they saw Barbara nod and smile at the two boys. He looked at Jessie. “I think I should be with you when you tell your family.”

  Startled, Jessie blinked. “That’s very nice, but…no. Thank you. It’s far better if I tell them alone.”

  “You don’t have to do this alone. I don’t like the idea of anyone giving you a hard time over something that involved me.”

  “Much as I appreciate the offer, telling them with you present would probably make it worse.”

  His eyes narrowed at her, impatience rolling off him in waves. He sighed. “All right.” He took a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “This is my cell phone number. Call me if you need anything. I’m assuming we’ll tell Rowdy together as soon as the adults know?”

  Jessie took the paper and tucked it into her pocket. “I’d rather he knew you better before he finds out. It’s going to be a shock and I think it’ll be easier for him to accept if he spends time with you first.”

  Zach’s eyes darkened but Rowdy and Andy picked that moment to rejoin them. In the ensuing confusion of gathering backpacks and toys and chatting with Andy’s grandmother, there wasn’t an opportunity for private conversation.

  They strolled in a group toward the sidewalk, pausing next to Zach’s truck.

  “’Bye, Rowdy.”

  “’Bye, Uncle Zach.” Rowdy was suddenly shy, ducking his head. “Thanks for playing with me.”

  “You’re welcome. Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

  “Really?” Rowdy’s face was hopeful.

  “Sure.”

  “Next Saturday?” he asked.

  “Maybe even sooner,” Zach told him.

  “Yeah!” A grin lit up his little face and he let Andy pull him away.

  “Rowdy, wait for me at the corner,” Jessie called. The two children dutifully halted, crouching to observe an anthill next to the sidewalk. “I’ll bring Andy home after lunch, Barbara.”

  “Thanks, Jessie.” Barbara walked to her car and opened the door to let her remaining two grandchildren climb inside.

  For a moment, Zach and Jessie were alone.

  “The timing’s bad but I have to leave town this afternoon. I’m flying to Dallas for a meeting with my ex-boss at company headquarters tomorrow. I’d cancel, but I did all the preliminary work on the contract and the Kuwaiti government insists I personally introduce them to my replacement and go over all the details. I’ll be back on Monday. Are you definitely talking to your family this weekend?”

  Jessie bit her lip. “Probably.”

  “I’ll check in when I get home.” He looked at her intently. “Don’t tell Rowdy without me. I want to be there. And call me if you need me. For anything. Don’t be so damned stubborn and independent, Jessie.”

  She nodded, searching his eyes. “Zach…” she began.

  “Mommy, hurry up!” Rowdy and Andy were hopping impatiently from one foot to the other.

  “I’ll call you.” Zach’s voice was distant, his expression unreadable.

  She nodded and turned away, unsure what she’d glimpsed in his eyes and uncertain what she would have said to him. She joined the boys as his truck door slammed and the engine turned over behind them. Both little boys waved exuberantly when Zach drove past, answering their shouted goodbyes with a lift of his hand before the silver truck disappeared down the street.

  Later that evening when Rachel called, she let the answering machine pick up. But like most of the nights since she’d learned of Zach’s return to Wolf Creek, her sleep was filled with dreams of Zach again. This time, she was older, a first-year law student at the University of Montana.

  Jessie pulled the collar of her windbreaker higher, tucked her chin into the folds and jogged across the street separating the University of Montana campus from city retail shops. Reaching the sidewalk, she slowed and walked the last few yards to Starbucks. She pulled the door open and stepped inside, sighing with pleasure as a wave of warm air and the lush aroma of espresso enveloped her.

  She joined the queue of customers waiting to order, tugging off her gloves before she slid the windbreaker zipper down. The cream-colored wool sweater and jeans she wore beneath were more than warm enough for the heated room. She waved at a woman seated at a table near the window before facing front again.

  If I had more time, I’d carry my vanilla latte across the room and join her, she thought. They sat next to each other in Civil Procedure I, a required class for first-year law students at the university. With the heavy homework schedule, however, they hadn’t made time to become better acquainted outside the classroom.

  Jessie pushed up her sleeve and checked her wristwatch. It was only 4:30 p.m. but dusk was already gathering outside the brightly lit coffee shop; November evenings arrived early in Missoula.

  The line moved fractionally forward and Jessie shivered as a rush of cold air from the opening door followed someone into the coffee shop. The customer joined the queue behind her and the masculine scent of aftershave mingled with the aroma of coffee in the fragrant shop.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the man behind her and froze. Tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair clipped in a short military cut, his jacket unbuttoned over casual sweater and jeans, Zach Kerrigan returned her gaze without expression.

  Jessie knew Zach Kerrigan was stationed at the recruiting office. She’d even seen him occasionally around campus, usually wearing a Marine uniform. They hadn’t spoken; in fact, she pretended not to recognize him, but girlfriends had told her he was stationed in Missoula for light duty after being wounded overseas.

  “Hi.” He nodded politely, his eyes remote and watchful.

  “Hi.” She managed to reply before abruptly facing forward once more. Her stomach wound itself into knots. The coffee shop was crowded and standing in line with him directly behind her brought him too close. She was painfully aware of his scent, of his bulk and unless she left the lineup, she couldn’t escape him. She briefly considered doing just that but her need for coffee and a stubborn refusal to cut and run kept her anchored in place.

  The line continued to move slowly and the five customers ahead of Jessie disappeared until at last, she stood at the counter. Before she could give her order, however, the young man facing her paled, his expression one of horror as he looked past her. Jessie’s gaze followed his and saw the door closing as the man who had just entered raised a rifle to his shoulder.

  The loud report from the first shot shocked the crowded shop into silence. Then screams filled the room.

  Jessie felt mired in molasses, unable to move, watching in disbelief as the man fired again.

  “Get down!” Zach grabbed her. He wrapped his arms around her and they crashed to the floor, rolling until they slammed into a wall.

  He lay on top of her, his weight pinning her to the floor, h
is body shielding hers. Her face was buried against the warm, strong column of his throat, her nostrils filled with his scent. Jessie was terrified. People dived behind upended tables and chairs for shelter. Screams ricocheted off the walls and a plate-glass window fractured, glass spraying the nearby area as it was shattered by a bullet.

  Zach lifted his head fractionally and looked down at her. “Were you hit?” His breath ghosted over her lips.

  “No,” she whispered back.

  “Good. Don’t move.”

  He reached over her head and removed a glass and metal coffee press from the shelf, balancing it for a moment as if testing its weight. Then he bent his head, his lips against her ear. “This display case is between us and the shooter. You’ll be safe if you stay here. Don’t even twitch or you might draw fire.”

  “What are you going to do?” she whispered against his cheek.

  He turned his head. He was so close she could see the gold flecks in his light-brown eyes and draw in the scent of peppermint when he answered and his breath brushed her face.

  “I’m going to stand up and throw this coffee press at him.”

  Her eyes widened. “What if you miss?”

  “I never miss.” He grinned, a cocky, full-of-himself smile that reassured her more than his words did. “But just in case I do and he shoots me dead…” He covered her mouth with his.

  Jessie didn’t have time to close her eyes and Zach only half lowered his lids. For one brief, hot moment, his mouth took hers. And then he was gone.

  She lay flat on the floor, staring upward at him as he rose to his feet with an easy fluid motion. His arm drew back, the movement a blur of speed, and the heavy coffee press left his hand. He disappeared around the end of the display case, moving fast, and the rifle cracked one more time, blasting a hole in the ceiling and showering the area with white dust.

  Jessie scrambled to her knees, listening before she peered around the case. The shooter was lying facedown on the tiled floor, his hands behind him, while Zach knelt with one knee on his back, knotting a heavy cord around his wrists.

  It was nearly two hours later before the police allowed them to leave the crime scene.

  “I never did get my coffee,” Jessie commented as they walked side by side to the corner, stopping for the red light.

  “Neither did I.” Zach looked down at her. “And my stomach is telling me it’s way past dinnertime.” He pointed down the street. “There’s a nice little Italian restaurant halfway down the next block. I can vouch for the food and the coffee.”

  “Are you asking me to have dinner with you?”

  “Sounds like it, doesn’t it?” He searched her face, then gently tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingers warm against her face in the chilly night. “Getting shot at isn’t easy and the first time it happens is the worst.”

  “You sound as if you’re speaking from personal experience.”

  “I am.”

  “Does eating make the shakes go away? The shaking on the inside, I mean,” she asked.

  “Sometimes. Mostly, staying busy and keeping your mind off of what happened helps.”

  She nodded with decision. “Then let’s have dinner. I’m hungry, too.”

  The Italian restaurant was cozy and comfortable, the food fabulous. Jessie and Zach lingered over coffee. She told him anecdotes about law school classes and he entertained her with tales of his travels around the world with the military. Both of them purposely avoided any reference to Wolf Creek and their families. It was nearly midnight when Zach walked her across campus and they stood outside her apartment door. She slipped the key into the lock and twisted, freeing the dead bolt before she tucked the key chain into her windbreaker pocket and turned back to Zach.

  “Well…” Her voice trailed off.

  His gaze left hers, moved slowly over her face, dropping to her mouth, then lifting to meet her eyes once more. “I probably won’t see you again. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  The swift stab of regret at his words took her by surprise. “You’re leaving? Where are you going?”

  “Back to my unit in Afghanistan. The only reason I’ve been stationed in Montana is because I was wounded and sent here for light duty while recovering.”

  “Oh. But tomorrow…” She shrugged helplessly. To have gotten to know him so briefly and then for him to leave so abruptly was somehow disturbing. “Is there some sort of shooting-stress-related thing that connects a person to a fellow victim?”

  He grinned, a lopsided, sensual curving of his lips. “Could be. Or it could be—” he stepped closer, slipped his arms around her waist and lowered his head “—this,” he murmured against her lips.

  Then he kissed her and all the heat she’d felt in that brief meeting of their mouths for that split second in Starbucks returned a thousandfold. The longer he kissed her, the more she yearned. The more she wanted. She slid her fingers into his hair and held him closer, opening her mouth beneath the urging of his.

  He eased her back against the door and she welcomed the fierce press of the hard angles and planes of his body against the softer curves and valleys of hers.

  When he lifted his mouth, his voice was rough with emotion as he muttered against her lips, “Let’s take this inside.”

  She stared at him, suddenly aware they were about to cross an invisible line.

  He swore softly. “Don’t look at me like that. Forget the damned feud. For tonight, I’m just Zach. And you’re just Jessie. No last names. No family between us.”

  “Can we do that?” she asked, her voice shaking with confusion while her body pulsed with desire.

  “We can do anything we want.” He pressed his mouth against the curve of her throat and she closed her eyes, arching to offer him greater access. “Give us tonight, Jessie.”

  She struggled with her conscience while the vow she’d made at ten years old to hate all Kerrigans faded beneath the force of her own desire. He’d saved her life tonight. They both could have died if he hadn’t acted. He’s not like his uncle and cousin. This felt like a night out of time, so unusual in all ways that Jessie couldn’t bring herself to apply the old rules.

  Besides, she wanted this. She wanted him.

  She fumbled behind her and twisted the doorknob, allowing the door to swing inward. She saw a flare of satisfaction in his eyes before he swung her off her feet and carried her into the apartment.

  Jessie woke and stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, disoriented. Then reality flooded back and she realized she was in her own house, in her own room, with Zach’s son sleeping down the hall.

  It was just a dream. She sat up and kicked her feet free of the tangled sheet so she could swing her legs over the side of the bed. She pushed the heavy mass of hair away from her face. Her temples were damp and she ran her fingertips over her face. They came away wet with tears.

  I’ve got to stop this. He doesn’t love me. He never did. And I don’t love him. I’m feeling this way because we had a child together, that’s the only reason.

  Well, that’s one of the biggest lies you’ve ever told! The small voice resonated inside her skull. Jessie refused to acknowledge it.

  Resolutely, she left the bedroom for the shower but the sadness lingered, the memory of the night Zach had shared her bed never far from the surface.

  The next morning, she left Rowdy happily puttering with Mr. Harris in his workshop next door while she drove to her parents’ home.

  “Mom, Dad? Are you home?” she called as she walked down the tiled hallway.

  “Back here, Jessie.”

  She followed the sound of her father’s voice and entered the family room, just off the big kitchen. John was reading the Sunday newspaper, glasses perched on his nose, and Margaret was seated on the sofa beside him, the Arts and Entertainment section lying open on her lap.

  She set her glass of tea on the table beside her and smiled with pleasure. “Hi, honey, what brings you here so early? Where’s Rowdy?”

  “He’s with K
arl Harris—the two of them are cleaning his workshop.”

  Margaret laughed, her eyes twinkling in appreciation. “By the time they’re done, Rowdy will be dirtier than the workshop.”

  Jessie nodded, managing a smile, and chose a small oak-backed armchair that faced the sofa and her parents. She didn’t sit down. Instead, she walked behind it, her hands clasped tightly over the glossy chair back for support. “Are Elizabeth and George here?”

  “You just missed them. They left a half hour ago to spend the day with George’s sister in town and won’t be back until after dinner. Did you need to see them?” Margaret asked.

  “No.” Jessie was relieved to learn her parents were alone in the house. “I have something I need to talk to you about.”

  Her parents exchanged a swift, concerned glance, and John removed his reading glasses to focus intently on her.

  “What is it, Jessie?” her mother prompted when she paused.

  “It’s about Rowdy’s father.” She met her father’s gaze. “I lied to you, Dad. I wasn’t married to his father and I didn’t get a divorce.” She winced, wishing she’d said it less bluntly.

  “You weren’t married?” her father echoed her words, confusion slowly replaced by a frown. “You lied to us? Why?”

  “Because I couldn’t bring myself to tell you the truth. I made up a fictitious marriage to avoid telling you what really happened.”

  “A fictitious marriage?” John McCloud’s eyes surveyed her with suspicion. His voice measured and tight, he asked, “And what did happen?”

  “It’s true I met Rowdy’s father on campus, but he wasn’t a student. He was active military, assigned to the recruiting office.” Jessie looked at her mother. Margaret’s expression held disbelief and dawning comprehension. “He was standing in line behind me the night the gunman shot up the Starbucks coffee shop. If it hadn’t been for his quick thinking in shielding us both behind a display case, I might have been killed. As it was, we both were scratched and bruised by flying debris. Afterward…well, that was the night Rowdy was conceived.”