Drew said.
He sounded almost as determined as he had when he told her how much he hated the ranch. She wished she’d listened.
“And you got lost instead,” she guessed.
He nodded, his eyes cutting back to the pilot, who was rounding the nose of the chopper.
“You’re a little old for that kind of thing, aren’t you?” Jillian asked, bringing his attention back to her. “You must have some idea of how worried I’ve been.”
As she talked, she was aware of the pilot’s approach. She wanted to thank him for bringing Drew home, but she also wanted to make the point to her son that something like this wasn’t going to happen again. This kind of escapade was not allowed.
“He says there’s a storm coming, so he brought me back.”
He glanced away again, focusing on the man who was walking toward them. Jillian raised her own gaze this time, noticing the man’s sun-streaked hair first, since he was in the act of pushing it away from his face by running long tanned fingers through it.
And when he looked up, hazel eyes meeting hers, her heart stopped. Skipped a beat. Did something different, at least. Whatever she called it, something strange and terrifying happened in the center of her chest as recognition washed over her in a scalding wave of emotion.
The same weakness that had invaded her knees when she’d seen Drew run around the chopper moved up to her stomach. And then lower. Its effect was so unexpected that for a second or two she didn’t realize what was happening. After all, it hadn’t happened to her in more than ten years. Not since the last time she had seen this man, whose eyes locked on hers and then widened with what looked like the same sense of shock she had just experienced.
He recovered first. Although she didn’t believe she could manage to utter a coherent sound, Mark Peterson’s voice seemed perfectly normal. A little deeper than she remembered it, but other than that, exactly the same as it had always been.
Exactly the same as the night he’d made love to her. The night Drew had been conceived.
“Hello, Jillian,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”
CHAPTER THREE
JILLIAN TRIED to think of an appropriate response. What Mark had said was nothing less than the truth. It had been a long time. A damn long time, better measured in events than in years.
“It has been, hasn’t it,” she said, thankful to find that her voice still worked, although to her own ears it was thready, a little breathless. “How are you, Mark?”
It’s been a long time.
It has been, hasn’t it? How are you?
The merest commonplaces. Phrases either of them might have said to a chance acquaintance. But beneath lay all the memories she suspected neither of them had forgotten.
Or maybe she was wrong about that, she thought, watching him turn to Ronnie. Maybe that was just her fantasy—that what she and Mark had shared that summer had meant more to him than a quick roll in the hay.
“Ronnie,” Mark said, nodding at the sheriff.
“Looks like you did my job for me,” Ronnie replied. “Much obliged. I wasn’t looking forward to searching for the kid all afternoon in a storm. Probably would have been calling on you to help, so I guess you saved us both some trouble.”
Mark nodded again, his mouth flattening as if he had wanted to say something and then thought better of it. “Glad I could help,” he said finally, his eyes coming back to Drew.
“You know what’s good for you, young man,” Ronnie said to the boy, “you won’t ever pull a stunt like this again. Worrying your mama and wasting the taxpayers’ money. I got gas and time tied up in coming way out here. Ought to make you work those expenses out. And I will the next time you get the notion to send everybody off on a wild-goose chase.”
As much as she knew Drew was in the wrong, Jillian found herself resenting the sheriff’s lecture. Overprotective. Jake had accused her of that, and she had resented his lecture, too.
He needs a man’s discipline in his life, Jake had said. He needs a father. Maybe he did. After all, Violet had told her the same thing. Of course with Violet…
Involuntarily, her gaze found Mark’s face. Now that her shock had faded, she was able to evaluate it dispassionately. He was still looking down at Drew, so she allowed herself to examine his features more freely than she might have otherwise.
His skin was as darkly tanned as it had been since she’d known him. Although his hair was much lighter than hers, Mark never burned, not even when working all day in the grueling heat.
In the years since she’d last seen him, that exposure to the relentless Texas sun had etched its marks on his face. Faint lines fanned from the corners of his eyes. His lashes were as long and thick as she remembered them, and still tipped with the same gold the summer sun always brushed through his chestnut hair. A crease had begun to form in the center of his cheeks, which were no longer boyishly rounded.
A man’s face, she acknowledged. Hard, lean and tempered by the years. Whenever she had thought of him, she had pictured him exactly as he had been that summer. Young, strong and so beautifully male. He was different now. Certainly not less attractive. If anything—
“I’m sure Drew won’t head out without permission again,” Mark said. He smiled at Drew, whose eyes had shifted gratefully from the sheriff’s accusing ones to his. “We all make mistakes.”
As he added the last, Mark glanced up at Jillian. She wasn’t sure what he was implying, but then no one could argue with the sentiment. We all make mistakes.
Of course, maybe that phrase didn’t mean anything, she cautioned her volatile emotions. Maybe he was just making conversation. Just because he said something didn’t mean it was related to their shared past. Or to her.
“Well, you best not make this one again, young fellow,” Ronnie said pompously. “Nobody’s got time to be chasing down kids who don’t have sense enough to get in out of the rain.”
The word seemed a signal. The first drops began to splatter down around them, large enough to be audible as they struck the dry earth.
“Gotta go,” the sheriff said. “You mind your mama, boy. If you don’t, I’ll know about it, and then you and me’s gonna have to have us a talk. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” Drew said.
The bravado with which he had told Jillian in no uncertain terms this morning that he hated this place seemed to have disappeared. Even his excitement over the chopper ride had evaporated, and as angry as she was with him for running away, Jillian found herself regretting that loss.
The three of them watched as Ronnie trotted to his car. As soon as he had gotten settled into the seat, he picked up the radio and spoke to someone. The exchange was inaudible and brief, maybe just a location report or the assurance that he was headed back into town. Then he put the car into gear, backing it into the yard before he headed out the dirt road. He lifted his hand in farewell as he drove past them.
“I
