rel="nofollow" href="#uada638c3-77a7-5cdd-b7b7-d837745465d6">Chapter Fourteen
Chapter One
Jennifer Williams tried to avoid breathing through her nose.
It had been eight years since she’d been to the Blossom County fair, and she’d forgotten how bad the smell of the animal barn could get during the heat of the day.
She’d never been involved in 4H in school. Her mother hadn’t allowed her or her sister to participate. Ellen Williams had declared that no daughter of hers was going to lower herself to clean up after an animal. Jennifer had felt left out; all her friends had raised 4H animals. But now, standing beside the smelly pen that held her niece Kelly’s 4H entry, Jennifer thought perhaps her mother had had a point.
Petunia the pig was large, pink and cranky. As far as Jennifer was concerned, Petunia was a three-hundred-pound porcine nightmare that was not going to end anytime soon.
This was not how Jennifer had anticipated spending her summer. But when her older sister, Miranda, called three days ago asking for help with a difficult pregnancy, Jennifer had taken vacation time from her job as a forensic accountant, packed up her seven-year-old son, Zack, and left Dallas.
She’d moved from Blossom the summer after high school, and aside from brief visits home to see her sister and bury her mother, she’d stayed away. There were too many bad memories here. And she wouldn’t have come back now, but Miranda and her daughter, Kelly, were family—outside of Zack, the only family Jenn had.
Petunia gave a squeal of displeasure, pulling Jenn out of her reminiscences. She watched as the very pregnant pig struggled to her feet and knocked over her water bowl.
The last thing Jenn wanted to do was climb into the pen with a grouchy pig, but Kelly and Zack had gone to get sodas twenty minutes before, leaving Jennifer to wait for Kelly’s 4H adviser.
Jennifer smiled, remembering the scowl on Kelly’s face when Zack had signed that he’d go with his cousin and Jennifer had translated for Kelly. No teenager wanted to haul a little boy around with her when she might run into her friends, but Kelly would have to get used to it, at least for a few months. Jennifer would need Kelly’s help looking out for Zack, especially after the baby arrived.
It was important that Zack learn to get around despite his deafness. He was usually shy about straying from her side, and when he showed some independence, Jennifer encouraged it. She just wished her niece had been more open to Jenn’s offer to teach her sign language so Kelly could communicate with her cousin.
Petunia nosed at her water bowl, her squeals escalating. She sounded as if she was being mistreated in some horrible way.
With no sign of Kelly, Jenn had little choice but to go into the pen and refill the water bowl. She had never raised a pig, but she knew from growing up in Blossom, Texas, that an overheated animal, especially a sow close to giving birth, could spell trouble.
The problem was that Petunia hated to be penned and had become an escape artist. Jenn found the bag of dog biscuits in Kelly’s canvas bag, slipped a few into her pocket, then tossed a handful across the pen to lure Petunia away from the door.
While the pig rooted in the hay for the treats, Jennifer let herself inside and closed the gate behind her. Just as she was congratulating herself on keeping the pig penned, she stepped in a soft pile of droppings hidden under the straw. Petunia chose that moment to sniff at Jenn’s pocket, smearing her white shorts with a mixture of mushy dog biscuit and pig saliva.
Jennifer heard the low rumble of male laughter right behind her and froze. Without even turning around she knew who that laugh belonged to. Trace McCabe. The one person she had hoped to avoid during her stay in Blossom.
Recollections of his smile and laugh flashed through her memory like summer lightning. Memories of the hurt and confusion her decisions had caused stung like the sparks coming off a Fourth-of-July sparkler.
Her stomach flipped and her hands began to sweat.
Trace McCabe.
The reason she’d stayed away for eight years.
She hadn’t seen him since the night they’d gotten married.
She knew she’d been silly to think she could be in Blossom all summer and not see him, but she hadn’t wanted to face the memories and feelings she’d avoided for so long.
What had happened between them should stay in the past quietly buried. She had no inclination to dig it up.
She took a deep breath and reached for her composure, plastering on what she hoped was a neutral expression.
Her hesitation cost her as the annoyed pig gave her a shove that sent her stumbling against the side of the enclosure. Petunia moved in quickly and pinned Jenn in the corner.
A big pair of warm hands grasped her upper arms, lifted her and hauled her backward, clear over the top of the pen.
She turned, and knew the moment he recognized her. His easy grin turned into a stunned expression.
She looked up at him, forcing a smile. Dangerous thoughts and emotions shook her. He was bigger, more handsome and so dearly familiar. Time had been very kind to Trace. The trim khaki sheriff’s uniform showed off his lean, broad-shouldered body.
Darn! Why couldn’t he have gotten fat, or bald?
Her stomach jittered just as it used to when she was seventeen. Perhaps her feelings hadn’t been buried as deeply as she’d thought.
Expressions of disbelief and shock chased across his face, followed by a flash of anger. He quickly recovered his composure and gave her a forced smile that didn’t look as if it belonged on his tanned face.
The air between them seemed to shimmer.
“Hey there, Trace,” she said, amazed her voice sounded so normal.
She could feel her heart racing. She fought the urge to simply turn and walk away from him, get in her car and head for home.
Not an option, she thought. Not this time. She’d run from her responsibilities—from him—once before. She wouldn’t run again.
Time for plan B, she thought, resigned. Maybe she could act as if they were just old friends. She forced a smile and said, “How’s it going?”
Trace let go of Jenn and stepped back. He felt as if he’d gotten hold of a live wire. He was having trouble getting a deep breath past the ball of anger that flared in his chest.
When he’d walked into the stock barn at the end of his shift and spotted the woman standing in the pigpen, he’d had no idea it was Jenn. She was wearing clothes that belonged at a country club, not in a pigpen. Her sophisticated hairstyle hadn’t come from the local beauty shop, and she had sandals on.
Anyone who grew up in Blossom knew you wore boots in a stock
