Second Chance Ranch (11 page)

Not an ounce of resistance remained in him. Zac sat down as the screen door closed behind Jennifer and the lights clicked on inside the house. A soft glow bathed over the porch. He tilted his head and caught the chirping of late season crickets in the distance. A mild breeze swept across the porch blowing the ragged ends of his hair on his collar and rustling the papers stacked on the side table.

He removed his ball cap and settled it on top of the pile. A few sheets sat stacked on the other chair beneath the MP3 player. Zac scooped up the papers and player, sticking an earbud into his ear and pressing play. A soft ballad of Chris LeDoux’s sounded over the wire. He started to hum along with the familiar melody about the county fair while glancing over the papers.

Fund-raising prospects. Cattleman's Association. He sifted down the pile. Seeding information. Crop rotations. Yield to acre averages.

A quick grin tugged at his lips. She took this entire farmer thing to heart. Good for her. Showed tenacity. All good medical directors needed dedication to their jobs.

Only farming wasn’t really in her job description.

The screen door creaked open and the fragrant scent of pasta sauce rode the breeze. His mouth watered as he identified cheese and sausage, too.

“Noodle-roni and garlic bread.” She stopped beside him with a bowl in one hand and a plate in the other. “Like I said, it’s not much, but I warmed it fast.”

“Mmm, smells like you slaved all day.” The aroma of garlic and tomato lassoed his fragmented attention. He angled towards her, vowing not to let a morsel go to waste.

“Flattery will get you no where. The good Lord wouldn’t have forgiven me if I’d sat back in silence as one of His hungry urchins crossed my path.”

Zac chuckled as he set down her work and accepted the dish. “Nothing like a late night dinner shared with fr--.” He stopped before the word
friend
slipped out. “Shared. A meal shared.”

Her silence sent a fission of warning down his spine. They’d drawn their prospective lines and she held fast. He would’ve too if his stomach hadn’t growled. What was the saying about women waging war with food as their weapon of choice? He positioned the plate on his lap and bowed his head. “Thank you, Lord for this sustaining meal offered in truce.” He opened his one eye and looked up at her. One side of her mouth angled up and a tiny dimple creased her cheek. Lucky him. “Amen.”

He picked up his fork and shoveled in a bite. A moan of pleasure almost escaped over the simple blend of tomato sauce, sausage and cheese. “So, how was your day?”

Her smile faded and a line appeared across her forehead. She glanced around at the papers on the furniture and then to the door. “No need for small talk. I’m glad I could help you out before you starved. I’ll pick up and give you some peace.”

He swallowed too quickly and had to stifle a choke. He didn’t want her to leave, not yet. Nodding toward the seat she’d recently vacated, he caught her wary gaze. “C’mon, Jen. If you don’t keep me company, I’ll eat too fast and then have indigestion all night. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience.”

A brow shot up and he cleared his throat. "Or then, maybe you would.”

Obviously torn between running into the house and staying outside, she stood still a moment longer before reaching over his plate and tugging the earbud out of his ear. She rolled up the wires and gathered her player. “I wondered where I’d set that down.” Placing the player atop the stack of papers, she stepped around the table and sat down. “Now, what were you saying about my wishing you ill?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” He took a forkful of noodles, chewed and swallowed.

Her knee brushed his as she crossed her legs causing a jolt of awareness to race through his veins. Funny how vulnerable folks got when suffering sleep deprivation. He focused on eating.

She combed her fingers through the tousled mass of blonde hair, a few strands refusing to cooperate. “Our schedule is filling up for next year, which is a good thing. Have to make every penny count when you're a non-profit. But the best part is watching the kids play and regain the confidence they once had. Going through cancer treatments changes people. Now that they’ve finished and the enemy is at bay, they have a safe, fun place to celebrate. I love everything we’re able to do here.”

Zac listened to the contentment in her voice that mirrored her words. Jennifer had always known what she wanted out of life and now she lived her dream. After all these years, he'd finally discovered what he wanted in life and was reaching out to grab it, too. Unfortunately, both their dreams ended in the same place and only one would win the prize.

The harshness of reality bit at his own contentment. He never thought he’d be at such life-altering odds with Jennifer O’Reilly. They’d shared so much in their youth; little wonder they’d remain roped together as adults. “So, this little girl — Carli. If she doesn’t find a match, what will happen?”

At her sharp intake of air, Zac knew he’d just leveled their playing field.

“They have some time. I’m not an expert in leukemia treatment, but I know if the treatment was urgent, they wouldn’t have bothered with attorneys sending letters. The adoption service would have contacted me immediately since I allowed for open medical records.”

“And they asked you to ferret out other possible donors without background checks or anything?” He’d kept his tone light and inquisitive, taking a bite of garlic bread to emphasize his detachment to the situation.

“I knew your blood type, that’s a good place to start,” she replied.

“You know my blood type?” Scooping up the last of the crusty cheese on the heel of the garlic bread, he popped the end of his dinner in his mouth.

“I was a nurse at the Hawk Ridge clinic for a time, remember?” Her fingers played with the bottom edge of her t-shirt. “My dad helped deliver you. Your records go back a long way.”

The mouth-watering food in his mouth turned tasteless in a heartbeat. “Your dad gave you access to my medical records? You knew what you were looking for, right? You could have pegged me as a donor match without the paternity angle.” His fingers gripped the plate to keep his voice steady. “Why didn’t you just ask me to help instead of beating around the subject…making it sound like a lie?”

“I didn’t lie.” She twisted in her seat, and the frown deepened across her forehead. “You and I had a daughter, Isaac Davidson. A healthy, 6 pound-8 ounce baby girl. A baby I never held, or even saw. I heard her though. A healthy lung-busting scream as her warm, cushioned world washed her out into reality.” Her breath came in short bursts as she scooted to the edge of her seat. “My dad never found out. I don’t want him to ever find out. He’d be hurt and disappointed.”

“That’s all well and good from your perspective, but remember, there was another family involved, too. Mine.” All fragments of fatigue fell away as he met her nose to nose. “Don’t you think this situation affected them, too?”

Her chin trembled as the muscles in her jaw clenched. “Not as badly as tearing my dad apart. He expected a lot from me.”

“And mine didn’t?”

“Zac, you marched to your own tune and dragged me along for the ride. Your family would have been shocked, but still would have rallied around you.” On the edge of tears, she drew a ragged breath. “My dad would have blamed himself and wondered where he’d failed. Wondering why hadn’t I held out for the real deal?”

“That is a pile, and you know it. We were going to marry, wasn’t that proof enough?

Her watery eyes widened. “Marry? When did we ever discuss marriage? You never even told me you loved me.”

“Of course I loved you, couldn’t you tell?”

Her fist slammed down on the cushion. “Couldn’t I tell?” Her voice cracked despite the laser glare she kept honed on him. “Zac, I wasn’t about to assume anything like that. If you loved me, you would’ve told me. I waited for the words even as we,” her gaze darted to her hands, her fingers twisting together, “even as we shared the most loving moment of my life, I never heard the
I love you
.”

Zac slid his plate onto the table, conscious of her shoulders shaking and the small catch in her breath. He replayed the night, his mind flitting across every incredible moment. “I told you I loved you.”

“I waited. I wished.” She looked up, her eyes shining with tears that threatened to spill. “I heard you tell me you never wanted this moment to end. And then you kissed me and held me, but you never told me you loved me.”

Just the two of them…the night he discovered what loving someone meant. All the tender feelings he’d held for Jen rushed back. His best friend. His buddy. His girl. Hadn’t she known he’d exposed his heart to her that night? She’d wanted words? How was he supposed to know that? He’d loved her. He thought she loved him back. “I lived for the moment. You knew me better than anyone.”

“You’re right.” She lowered her voice. “I knew what we shared was real at the moment. But then, it was gone.” She stood and took his plate, her hands trembling as she fingered the silverware. “That’s all I had to base the decision I made for another human being’s life. I never would have made you marry me.”

He reached out and hooked a finger in the loop of her jeans. She stilled at his slight tug. His throat tightened, but he had to know. “Did you love me?”

Her muscles stiffened. She nodded.

“Would you have married me if I’d asked you?”

Her gaze trailed along his arm, across his shoulder and locked with his. She blinked as a small twitch worked at the corner of her mouth. “I never would’ve held you back.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Think of the kids.

Go beyond the expected.

Be gracious.

Jen pulled into the Circle D parking lot and cut the engine. Staring out her windshield, she deepened her breathing, trying to tamp down her frustration. That evening after seeing Trevor, she’d taken his advice when she saw Zac bone tired and invited him to eat and talk on her porch, and look what it got her — a torn scab off a raw wound in her heart. She’d tried to be gracious; she’d tried to put the past behind her. All she’d succeeded in doing was wounding Zac just as deeply as the hurt ran in her.

Now, two days later, she still couldn’t stop the tears from welling in her eyes. Wiping at the moisture, she studied the early fall change in the fields and mountains in front of her. Autumn gold spread beyond the split rail fencing the color of the fields growing lighter the closer it got to the crest of the hills. Just beyond the pastures, mountains rose in jagged peaks, the bare rock waiting for a dusting of snow. Instead of peace filling her heart at the beautiful sight, all she wanted to do was cry.

She pinched between her brows and closed her eyes.
Lord, what’s wrong with me? Why am I stabbing at Zac? Why can’t I just ignore his pokes and be happy he’s agreed to help Carli?

Jen sat in her truck refusing to let the tears fall. She’d had no choice twelve years ago. Her daughter had a better life than she could’ve given her. She and Zac lived their lives exactly as they wanted to.

She’d done the right thing. She’d done the right thing. She’d done the right thing.

Slamming the palm of her free hand on the steering wheel, Jen released her pinch and opened her eyes. Zac had moved on; she’d been left to deal with the pregnancy by herself; she’d couldn’t have faced her father, knowing how disappointed in her he would’ve been. All her reasons remained as solid as the day she’d decided she knew what was best for the baby. Zac had no right to judge her.

She shoved the door open, grabbed her folder and slid out of the truck. No regrets. The past remained behind her, and she needed to look to the future. A future of sharing love and hope with those who needed it most.

“Jennifer, there you are. We were wondering if you were going to make it this morning.” Grace Davidson stood on the back porch wiping a coffee mug with a dish towel. “C’mon in, I just set a pot to brewin’.”

Jen forced a smile and once in place, relief spread through her. Grace had always been like a mother to her. She loved Grace — no matter what her son was up to. “Great. I’m up for coffee anytime.”

“And my apple crisp? Gabe just got back from Grand Junction with a couple of bushels of apples. Couldn’t wait to bake with them.”

The aroma gave away the treat even if Grace hadn’t said anything about it. Jen followed her through the door and into the kitchen. “Martin, you’re looking fit this morning.” Jen hooked her purse strap over the coat hook.

Martin Davidson sat at the oak kitchen table, a pair of tortoise-shell reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and a copy of
Cattlemen’s Quarterly
open beneath the heel of his sturdy palm. “Jennifer, glad you made it. I was about to head to the shop. Thought you’d forgotten about us.”

“Never. Sorry I’m late.” She’d been waiting for Zac to show up and get to work before she left. Zac never showed and she couldn’t wait any longer. She prayed the whole way over she wouldn’t pass him on the road. “Especially when I need your advice so badly. Thanks for looking over my business plan.”

“Seems to me you’re doing a fine job yourself.” Martin lifted his cup and winced after taking a swallow. “I’ll never get used to tea.”