Seven
One Secret Night, One Secret Baby
Charlene Sands
To our own Zane William (Pettis), the bright little light in our family. And to his mommy, Angi, and daddy, Kent, with love to all!
The heels of Jessica’s boots beat against the redwood of Zane Williams’s sun-drenched deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Shielded by the shade of an overhang, he didn’t miss a move his new houseguest made as he leaned forward on his chaise longue. His sister-in-law had officially arrived.
Was he still allowed to call her that?
Gusty breezes lifted her caramel hair, loosening the knot at the back of her head. A few wayward tendrils whipped across her eyes and, as she followed behind his assistant Mariah, her hand came up to brush them away. Late afternoon winds were strong on Moonlight Beach, swirling up from the shore as the sun lowered on the horizon. It was the time most sunbathers packed up their gear and went home and the locals came out. Shirt-billowing weather and one of the few things he’d come to like about California beach living.
He removed his sunglasses to get a better look at her. She wore a snowdrift-white blouse tucked into washed-to-the-millionth-degree jeans and a wide brown belt. Tortoiseshell-rimmed eyeglasses delicately in place didn’t hide the pain and distress in her eyes.
Sweet Jess. Seeing her brought back so many memories, and the frigidness in his heart thawed a bit.
She looked like...home.
It hurt to think about Beckon, Texas. About his ranch and the life he’d had there once. It hurt to think about how he’d met Jessica’s sister, Janie, and the way their small-town lives had entwined. In one respect, the tragedy that occurred more than two years ago might’ve been a lifetime ago. In another, it seemed as if time was standing still. Either way, his wife, Janie, and their unborn child were gone. They were never coming back. His mouth began to twitch. An ache in the pit of his stomach spread like wildfire and scorched him from the inside out.
He focused on Jessica. She carried a large tapestry suitcase woven in muted tones of gray and mauve and peach. He’d given Janie and Jessica matching luggage three years ago on their birthdays. It had been a fluke that both girls, the only two offspring of Mae and Harold Holcomb, were born on the same day, seven years apart.
Grabbing at the crutches propped beside his lounge chair, Zane slowly lifted himself up, careful not to fall and break his other foot. Mariah would have his head if he got hurt again. His casted wrist ached like the devil, but he refused to have his assistant come running every damn time he wanted to get up. It was bad enough she’d taken on the extra role of nursemaid. He reminded himself to have his business manager give Mariah a big fat bonus.
She halted midway on the deck, her disapproving gaze dropping to his busted wrist and crutches before she shot him a silent warning. “Here he is, Jessica.” Mariah’s peach-pie voice was sweet as ever for his houseguest. “I’ll leave you two alone now.”
“Thanks, Mariah,” he said.
Her mouth pursed tight, she about-faced and marched off, none too pleased with him.
Jessica came forward. “Still such a gentleman, Zane,” she said. “Even on crutches.”
He’d forgotten how much she sounded like Janie. Hearing her sultry tone stirred him up inside. But that’s about all Janie and Jessica had in common. The two sisters were different in most other ways. Jess wasn’t as tall as her sister. Her eyes were a light shade of green instead of the deep emerald that had sparkled from Janie’s eyes. Jess was brunette, Janie blonde. And their personalities were miles apart. Janie had been a risk-taker, a strong woman who could hold her own against Zane’s country-star fame, which might’ve intimidated a less confident woman. From what he remembered about Jess, she was quieter, more subtle, a schoolteacher who loved her profession, a real sweetheart.
“Sorry about your accident.”
Zane nodded. “Wasn’t much of an accident. More like stupidity. I lost focus and fell off the stage. Broke my foot in three places.” He’d been at the Los Angeles Amphitheater, singing a silly tune about chasing ducks on the farm, all the while thinking about Janie. A video of his fall went viral on the internet. Everyone in country music and then some had witnessed his loss of concentration. “My tour’s postponed for the duration. Can’t strum a guitar with a broken wrist.”
“Don’t suppose you can.”
She put down her luggage and gazed over the railing to the shore below. Sunlight glossed over deep steely-blue water as whitecaps foamed over wet sand, the tide rising. “I suppose Mama must’ve strong-armed you into doing this.”
“Your mama couldn’t strong-arm a puppy.”
She whipped around to face him, her eyes sharp. “You know what I mean.”
He
