She had a smudge of barbecue sauce on her upper lip and without thinking about it he leaned forward and wiped it away with his thumb. He hadn’t realized this simple gesture could have such an impact.
They both stilled as his finger lingered on her skin. She didn’t pull away, and he realized from the radar he’d perfected over the years that she was affected, too, by whatever this attraction was between them. It wasn’t one-sided. That pleased him a great deal. Yet it was too soon for him to touch her, or kiss her or anything like that. Jeannette had a son. Zane’s life was so chaotic no woman would ever want to set foot in it.
He pulled his hand away from her reluctantly, and then took his napkin and said to Jonah, “I think you’re going to have a permanent barbecue mustache if I don’t get some of this off.” He wiped the barbecue sauce from around Jonah’s mouth and set the napkin on the table. “Your fingers are going to need soap and water.”
“Gran tells me to use lots of soap,” Jonah informed Zane.
He glanced at Jeannette and she explained, “Jonah stays with his dad’s parents while I work. Ed and I weren’t married, but they’ve become like parents to me.”
Zane considered Jeannette’s expression. It was watchful as if being a mother and not married would elicit some kind of judgment from him. He wasn’t in a position to judge anyone.
“I’m full,” Jonah suddenly announced.
“No apple pie?” his mother asked.
“Not now,” he said as he scooted off his chair. “Can Zane play a game with me?”
Jeannette glanced at Zane. “You’ll have to check with him.”
“Sure, we can play a game. But you’ll have to teach me whatever it is.”
“We could have pie and coffee after he goes to bed,” Jeannette suggested.
“Sounds good.”
Two hours later in Jonah’s bedroom, Jeannette finished buttoning Jonah’s pajama top, well aware Zane was seated in her living room, TV turned off, as he paged through a photo album with baby pictures of Jonah. Tall and muscled, he almost looked out of place on her mauve-and-green plaid sofa. She’d told him he could watch TV if he wanted to, but he’d just shrugged and said he’d rather page through the photo album.
“Mommy, can I give Zane a good-night hug?”
A lump came to her throat. “You’ll have to ask him if it’s okay.”
“I will. I like Zane.”
It was obvious that Jonah did. Zane had played with him as if they’d been buddies for a while. Mel and Edna were great with Jonah, and she appreciated everything they did for him. But they were overprotective at times. Mel didn’t play with him in the yard, just watched Jonah as he played by himself. There weren’t children in Edna and Mel’s neighborhood, and that’s one of the reasons Jeannette had wanted to enroll him in preschool. Zane, however, had played with Jonah as if he was used to being with kids, and Jonah had taken to him, lapping up the attention like a new puppy.
As Jonah ran down the hall into the living room—he never walked anywhere—Jeannette followed him. He went over to Zane and asked, “Can I give you a hug?”
Zane didn’t hesitate. He enveloped her son in a bear hug and squeezed tight until Jonah giggled. “You sleep good tonight, cowboy.”
“I will,” Jonah said as he waved to Zane, then walked with Jeannette to his bedroom.
She tucked him in and kissed his forehead, seeing that his eyelids were already drooping with sleep. “I love you, Jonah. I’ll see you in the morning.”
When she kissed his cheek, he mumbled, “’Night, Mommy.”
As she returned to the living room, she heard Zane in the kitchen and realized he was on the phone. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, really she didn’t, but she heard her name mentioned, so she listened. “I understand why you fired her,” he was saying. “But I’m telling you if you keep her on, I’ll pay her salary.”
She was thunderstruck. He would do what? She walked into the kitchen straight-backed and square-shouldered.
Zane didn’t hide what he was doing. He didn’t put down the phone. “Yes, I’m sure about it. I’ll let you settle the details with her. I’m sure Jeannette will be speaking with you. You have a good night, too.”
Jeannette didn’t know what to say or how to say it, so she asked, “Why would you possibly do that? How could you possibly do that?”
“It’s easy. I had looked up the owner’s number on my laptop this afternoon. So I just made her an offer that was hard to refuse. You’re reinstated. You have your job back.”
“No, I don’t. You will not pay my salary. I’ll find a job and I’ll get it on my own.”
He stood very close to her, close enough to kiss. Where did that thought come from?
“Did anyone ever tell you that maybe you have too much pride?” he asked, almost rhetorically.
“Didn’t a woman ever tell you she might want to live her life on her own terms?”
He seemed to wince at that, but then he shook his head. “I don’t want to be bad karma for you. I don’t want you to worry about how you’re going to pay your bills.”
“I’ve been worrying about that for years, but I’ve managed.”
“Life is about more than managing…when it’s good.”
As he said those words, Jeannette saw pain in Zane’s eyes. They hadn’t gotten a chance tonight to talk about more than where he was from. She didn’t know much more about him now than she had before dinner. Had he kept his life hidden on purpose? If so, why?
So she asked again. “All right, so now I know why you would do it. Let me ask you now how you would do it. I mean, my salary’s not stupendous, but most people couldn’t just add that into their budget as another bill.”
“You really don’t know who I am, do you?” he asked, studying her so probingly that she felt almost turned inside out.
“Who are you?” She heard the wobble in her voice because she was suddenly afraid to learn the answer. After all, Dillon Traub had indicated he was a stand-up guy.
“I’m Zane Gunther.”
She must have still looked blank because he added, “The country singer.”
The only music she listened to blared from the Disney Channel. She’d ignored country music over the years because it had always touched her too much—bringing back memories she’d rather forget. But as she studied the man before her, a man she hadn’t recognized out of his stage-presence context, she remembered a poster she’d seen last year for Frontier Days—a community celebration to bring in tourists. She now remembered Zane Gunther’s ruggedly handsome, clean-shaven face, his black Stetson, the much-shorter hair, his twinkling green eyes. Her lips opened in surprise and she was absolutely speechless. Zane Gunther—the
