“Shane?”
Jillian? After three months, he’d given up hope of ever hearing her voice again.
“Hey,” he said, his heart thudding as though it was clamoring to escape his chest. “How’s it going?”
“Good, thanks.”
He’d been tempted to contact her again, either by telephone or a drive into the city, but he’d held off. If there was one thing to be said about Shane Hollister, it’s that he could be pretty damn stubborn when he put his mind to it.
“How about you?” she asked.
“Not bad.”
That same awkward silence filled the line again, so hoping to help things along, he said, “It’s good to hear from you.”
“Thanks.”
Come on, honey, he wanted to say. Just tell me why you’re calling. Are you having a hard time forgetting that night? Or that last kiss?
He might have nearly written her off, but that didn’t mean he no longer thought about her or dreamed about her. Hell, each night he slipped between the sheets of his bed, he’d never been completely alone. Her memory had followed him there.
“I’d like to talk to you,” she said. “That is, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I’m glad you called.”
“Actually,” she said, “I’d rather talk to you in person. Would it be okay if I drove out to Brighton Valley to see you?”
That was better yet. “Of course. I’ve got to work most of the day tomorrow, but I’ll be finished by late afternoon or early evening.” Dan and Eva were due back tomorrow around three, so Shane would take off whenever they arrived.
“Should I drive out to the ranch?”
Shane wasn’t so sure that he wanted to have an audience when he and Jillian met—at least, not one that would quiz him after she returned to Houston. But he didn’t think it would be a good idea to suggest that she meet him at his place, which was a small studio apartment. It might be too… Well, presumptive, he supposed.
“Why don’t we meet in town,” he suggested. “There’s a great little honky-tonk called the Stagecoach Inn, which is right off the county highway. It shouldn’t be too difficult for you to find.”
“All right. Can you give me directions?”
“It’s pretty easy to spot. If you drive out to Brighton Valley, it’s the first thing you’ll see when you hit the main drag.”
“That sounds easy enough.”
Shane wasn’t sure why he’d suggested the Stagecoach Inn. He supposed he also wanted to show her a good time—and in a place that was a whole lot different from her usual hangouts.
If she couldn’t handle a rip-roaring cowboy bar on a Saturday night, she probably couldn’t handle the small-town life in his neck of the woods. And it was best that they found that out early on.
Besides, the music at the Stagecoach Inn was enough to make most people tap their feet and whoop it up. And he hoped to see Jillian let her hair down again.
A couple of months might have passed since he’d gone to her apartment, but he still thought about her more often than not.
He wished he could say that his interest in her was strictly physical, since there’d been some real chemistry brewing between them. But as the days passed, he’d begun to realize that there was something else drawing him to Jillian’s memory, something other than great sex that kept her image fresh in his mind. He actually missed hearing her voice, seeing her smile.
So even if lovemaking wasn’t in the cards for them tonight, he was looking forward to whatever time they had.
“When do you want to meet?” he asked.
“I guess it depends on you, since you’re the one who has to work tomorrow.”
“Then why don’t we say five o’clock?” That would give him time to drive home, shower and shave.
“That sounds good.”
It certainly did. And since she was going to have a two-hour drive back to Houston, he wondered if she planned to spend the night.
If so, that sounded even better yet.
Jillian entered the Stagecoach Inn more than thirty minutes early—and sporting an unmistakable baby bump. Now that she’d passed her fourth month, her womb seemed to be growing more each day.
Hoping to disguise the evidence of her pregnancy until she had the chance to tell him about it, she’d found a table for two and took a seat that faced the front door. She really hadn’t suffered any morning sickness, like other women, but her tummy was tossing and turning now, just at the thought of facing Shane.
She’d been dragging her feet for months, and now that she’d come to tell him, she wished she’d done so sooner. But there wasn’t anything she could do about that now.
So, while waiting for him, she scanned the honky-tonk, noting the scuffed and scarred hardwood floor, the red-and-chrome jukebox, the Old-West-style bar that stretched the length of the building. If she’d ever tried to imagine what a cowboy bar would look like, this would be it.
At the table next to hers, two young women wearing tight jeans and scooped-neck T-shirts laughed about something, then clinked their longneck bottles in a toast.
Was this the place where Shane hung out in the evenings or on his days off? Is that why he’d suggested she meet him here?
“Can I get you a drink?” a blond, harried waitress asked.
“Do you have any fruit juice?”
“I’ll have to check with the bartender to see what other choices you have, but I know we’ve got OJ for sure.”
“That’ll be fine. Thank you.”
The bleached-blond waitress had no more than walked away from the table when Jillian’s cell phone rang. She grabbed it from her purse, hoping it wasn’t Shane telling her he’d been delayed, since she’d put off this conversation for too long as it was.
But when she checked the display, she spotted her grandmother’s number.
“Did you get to Brighton Valley safely?” Gram asked.
Jillian pressed her cell phone against her ear, trying to block out the sounds of a Texas two-step as it blasted out of the jukebox. “Yes. It was a pretty easy drive, although it was a long one.”
“Where are you?”
“At a bar called the Stagecoach Inn.”
“It sounds pretty wild,” Gram said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m
