heard herself saying, “Okay.”
“Would you like to go for dinner? We could drive down to Phoenix.”
She’d driven through Phoenix on her way to Shelter Valley. She’d told herself she’d go back to explore as soon as she could afford the gas. Which wouldn’t be until she had a better idea of how much having this baby was going to cost.
Growing warm with embarrassment, Caroline said. “I was planning to eat here.” Board was included with the room.
“Can’t you let me take you out? I’d like to. My treat.”
She opened her mouth to deliver an adamant no, turned away from the bed where she’d dropped her bag and caught the trapped look in her eyes in the mirror attached to the dresser across from her.
“You don’t owe me anything,” she said.
“I know you really believe that, and maybe that’s why I really want to.”
Hot again, she sat down. “I’m not…um…that woman you were with in December. She was just…” Caroline swallowed. Silence hung on the line. “I was—it was my first Christmas without Randy…um, my husband…and, well I don’t usually act like that.”
“I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me.”
“I’m not interested in you—like that.” Her palms were sweaty with the effort of asserting herself. This was all so new to Caroline, a woman who’d spent the first thirty-four years of her life trying to fit in by giving in. Who’d grown up in a small town where people still defined a woman’s worth by how happy she made her husband.
He didn’t say anything, and Caroline half hoped he’d decided against dinner. Or ever talking to her again. Except that might be difficult considering the circumstances.
“I can’t go on a date.”
John sighed—which sounded as if it was accompanied by a slight chuckle. “Caroline, you are unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”
Was that a good or bad thing?
“We need to talk. I need to eat. You’ve already spent at least some money on a test to diagnose a condition for which I am half-responsible. I can pay back my half with tonight’s meal. From there on, hopefully, we’ll have reached some other arrangement.”
“I told you, I don’t want anything from you. This is my…situation. I’ll deal with it.”
“The child is mine.” There was a certain hardness to his voice now. “I will share in the responsibility.”
Caroline sighed, too. She didn’t mean to—at least not out loud. But he was right; there was no way of avoiding a conversation between the two of them.
God, what a mess.
“Okay, do you want me to meet you somewhere? Or I can drive to your house.”
“Call me old-fashioned, but I’d rather pick you up.” John’s deep voice brought peace even while his words frightened her. “What’s your address?”
She didn’t want to give it to him. Didn’t want to give anyone more information about her than necessary. She had too many secrets.
In a voice that was thick with tangled emotions, Caroline gave John her address.
“I’VE DONE A LOT of thinking in the past couple of days.”
They were having dinner at a somewhat dark restaurant off the I-10 freeway in Ahwautukee, a suburb, John had explained, in south Phoenix. This was the first bit of personal conversation he’d offered.
“I can imagine,” she told him, studying the dinner salad she’d ordered and had only picked at. Across from her in the maroon leather booth, he was finishing off a cup of potato soup. He’d dressed casually, in jeans and a beige pullover with slip-on casual leather shoes.
She’d never been out with a man with slip-on casual leather shoes.
At least in Phoenix, with all the Old West cowboy overtones, she didn’t feel so out of place in her boots. And her blue jeans, faded flower blouse and brown cardigan were clean.
He glanced over. “Would you like to wait until after dinner to talk?”
The drive had been spent on a horticulture lesson about desert cacti and other flowering plants—much more information than she’d already learned from the Internet.
“No, this is fine.” Anything not to prolong the evening.
Nodding, he set down his spoon. “It occurred to me that I need to tell you some things about myself so you can understand what I have to say.”
Caroline took a bite of lettuce and cucumber. The baby that had yet to make itself physically known in any way other than through a little queasiness and two solid lines on a home pregnancy test, needed sustenance.
There were quite a few patrons in the restaurant, which, she’d been glad to note, had a varied but not too expensive menu. And the booths were far enough apart, private enough with pillars and high backs between them, to allow for intimate conversation.
Still, she would’ve been more comfortable in a fast-food hamburger joint.
“Other than determining that we were both unattached in December—and because of that, lonely going into the holidays—we never broached any information about our romantic lives.”
Glancing up at him, Caroline nodded, uncomfortable with the direction he seemed to be taking. His dark eyes were open and sincere.
Would her baby’s eyes be that brown? Jesse had green eyes like hers.
“I’m a widower.”
“Oh.” And when surprise didn’t seem an appropriate response, she said, “I’m sorry.” She paused, then added, “So am I. A widow, I mean.” Her fork hung suspended in midair, clasped in fingers that were holding it so tightly the metal was leaving indentations in her skin.
Her widowhood certainly wasn’t a secret. She just felt so vulnerable, talking about it.
Forearms resting on the table, he toyed with his fork. “How long’s it been for you?”
“Six months.” And she hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours at a time since.
“Six years here.”
She wanted to ask him if it got any easier, but couldn’t get that intimate.
“Sometimes it feels like it’s only been six months,” he continued, staring down at the fork he still fingered.
The man’s lost look drew Caroline’s sympathy. “What happened?”
He raised his head and then lowered it again. “Car accident.”
“Was she alone?” Randy had been. And visions of him lying there hurt, frightened, needing her, haunted her daily.
He
