by Ann Roth
Over the past week, Jillian had mulled over that very question. “I can’t afford to fall for him, Shannon. It’s lust. I think.” She laughed without a shred of humor. “How’s that for a confusing answer?”
“You sound mixed-up, all right. Speaking of sex, my doctor says Asher and I have to wait a few more weeks before we can have it again. Asher is getting antsy, but between my stitches and feeding this little peanut every three hours, making love isn’t exactly a priority right now.”
“Well, I fantasize about it with Rafe all the time.” Jillian had even enjoyed a few feverish dreams. “I wish I could stop thinking about him. He’s getting in the way of finding my Mr. Right.”
Shannon gave her a searching look. “Would it be so terrible to indulge yourself without falling for him? You know, to get him out of your system. Then you’ll be able to move on.”
“Hmm…” Jillian considered that. Since breaking up with Doug, she’d been involved with several men, without losing her heart to any of them. “That’s tempting, but Rafe and I haven’t spoken since we agreed to steer clear of each other a week ago.” Seven whole days of aching for him. “For all I know, he’s already moved on.”
“There’s only one way to find out—ask the man.”
“Chase after him? That’s not my style. If he’s moved on, I’m going to do the same.”
*
Wednesday dawned cool and sunny, perfect for working outside. After lunch, Rafe drove toward his property. JR and Zach had started clearing the site of his future home this morning, and he wanted a visual of their progress.
Zach’s shiny red truck, easily identified by the white Zach’s Tree and Root Removal ad on the door, sat parked in the dirt area closest to the property. After parking the Beemer beside it and grabbing three cans of chilled pop from the passenger seat, Rafe strode down the hill. Trees blocked his view of the work area, but he heard the buzz of the chainsaw and smelled the scent of freshly cut wood.
Abruptly, the noise cut off. Zach called out words Rafe couldn’t make out, and a loud crash shattered the brief silence and shook the ground. Moments later, Rafe found Zach and JR standing near the fifteen-foot ginkgo they’d felled. Both men wore safety glasses and heavy gloves. Zach, shorter and stockier than JR and a good thirty years older, pointed the chainsaw at the prone tree and said something, his ponytailed hair swishing across his back.
“How’s it going?” Rafe called out, handing each man a pop.
“Not bad.” Zach opened his drink. “Thanks, man.”
“Yeah, thanks.” JR mopped the sweat from his face with the hem of his T-shirt then touched the icy can to his forehead. “This is hard work.”
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Zach drawled. “We’re only halfway through the first day.”
In contrast to JR, the older man had barely broken a sweat. Rafe figured the kid could benefit from using some of the mental tools his father had taught him. “Okay if I borrow JR for a minute?” he asked.
“No problem.” Zach drained his pop and then crumpled the empty can in his hand. “Toss this for me, JR. I’m going to start cutting up that gingko.”
After JR deposited the can in a trash bag, Rafe gestured at a relatively level patch of grass. “Let’s sit.” He waited until they were both on the ground before he spoke again. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah.” Wearing a suspicious frown, JR eyed him. “Why?”
“No reason.”
“Did Jill ask you to check on me?” JR tipped up his head back and guzzled the stuff.
Rafe hadn’t seen or spoken to her in days—for all the good that did. He thought about her constantly. Being with her, talking and teasing each other, fooling around… She drove him nuts.
“No,” he said gruffly. “But you do seem tired. I know a trick or two that can help. Have you heard of mindful observation?”
“Mindful what?”
The chainsaw roared into action, and Rafe had to raise his voice over the noise. “Observation. It’s a technique my father taught me. When the going gets tough and you want to quit—”
“Who said anything about quitting?”
Talk about a hair-trigger defensive attitude. “I’m trying to tell you about the power of mindful observation. I use it whenever I want to quit before I should. Say I’m running and my legs are killing me and my brain is screaming at me to forget running and walk instead. The first thing I do is notice those feelings. Then I focus on something else—my heartbeat, my breathing, the rhythm of my footsteps. When done right, I can push through the pain and stop thinking about giving up.”
JR listened intently. “Does that really work?”
“Now it does, but it took practice a lot to get here. If you want to try the technique, I’ll give you some pointers.”
The kid glanced at the ground. “Maybe later.”
He wasn’t interested. Having been there himself, Rafe understood. “Say the word, and we’ll practice. Anytime.”
JR shrugged and finished his drink. He needed to go help Zach, but, first, Rafe needed information.
“Did Chelsea get the job she applied for?” he asked.
“We don’t think so. It’s been a week, and she hasn’t heard anything.”
“That’s too bad,” Rafe said, knowing Jillian wanted them both working and in their own place.
“Chelsea’s going to help Jill at the art fair next month. She’ll earn a little money. My sister’s been working like a crazed woman. She says she needs to make even more pottery, but she already has too many pieces to fit in her car. She had to ask a friend to drive her and her stuff to the Medford Fairgrounds in his pickup.”
At the thought of some guy interested enough in Jillian to drive her a hundred eighty miles round-trip, Rafe’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t want to get involved with her himself, but he didn’t want anyone else to, either. Go figure.
He schooled his expression into indifference. “Which friend is that?”
“A guy named Miller. She buys her clay and glazes from him.”
“Are they dating?”
“Nah, they’re only friends.” JR’s eyes took on a canny gleam. “You’re interested in my sister. I saw the way you stared at her when you two came out of her studio last week.”
Rafe gave him the stony look that shut people up. “So far, she’s taught two pottery classes. How’s that going?”
“The second one ran late. She was dragging yesterday.”
“Did you help her clean up after?”
“Chelsea did.”
“I thought you agreed to do that.”
“Get off my case.”
Rafe ignored the belligerent tone. “You made a deal with your sister to help clean up after her classes.”
“Chelsea told me to relax before I started this job, and Jill okayed that.”
Rafe let it go. “So Jillian was tired. Hard work will do that to a person. I suspect you’ll be pretty worn out tonight, too. You’ll probably fall asleep early.”
“If Chelsea will leave me alone. Now that she’s pregnant, she wants sex all the time.”
JR didn’t look too upset about that. Lucky bastard.
Rafe imagined Jillian in his bed, hungry and eager. His body stirred.
Cutting off his thoughts, he pushed to his feet and brushed off his backside. “I need to leave and you should get back to helping Zach.”
JR nodded and also stood. “See you whenever.”
Chapter Eleven
‡
Cupping a mug of tea, Jillian ran a practiced eye over the motley assortment of pots her students had made in their second class. Not half-bad for novice potters. During last night’s class, they’d carefully filed off the rough edges and then applied glazes. By tomorrow, the pieces would be ready for a second kiln firing.
Time kept flying by. Could this really be the last day of March, with only one class left?
Jillian had enjoyed every minute of teaching. Her students were determined to do their best, but a
lso able to laugh at themselves. All six talked about signing up for the advanced class in May. Yay!
Her thoughts turned to the Arts Festival, which was only two and a half weeks away, and that satisfied feeling turned into panic. She wasn’t ready, didn’t have enough inventory yet. But she wasn’t clear where to concentrate her efforts.
She sat down at the table and studied her Arts Festival inventory spreadsheet. As she made a list of supplies she needed, Pooh, penned outside, began to bark. Not the usual a squirrel just ran by bark. This was a sharp, worried sound. Puzzled, Jillian wandered outside. Pooh stood at the fence with her nose pointed toward the house. She didn’t even swivel her head around to glance at Jillian.
Something was wrong.
“What’s the matter, girl?” Jillian asked, frowning as she entered the fenced area. The dog dashed to her side then, whining, raced back to the side of the fence facing the house.
“Don’t you dare run off,” Jillian warned, opening the gate.
Pooh went straight for the back door. JR was at work—his sixth day on the job. He was still showing up every morning and staying there until dinnertime, which was something to marvel over.
Chelsea had struck out. She’d applied for more than a few jobs, but the pregnancy seemed to be working against her. This morning, she’d gotten up to see JR off and then gone back to bed to sleep a little more. She was still inside.
Filled with foreboding, Jillian let Pooh inside. The dog dashed through the kitchen, toward the bathroom.
“Chelsea?” Jillian called out, following along.
“In here,” the girl answered in a small, frightened voice.
Jillian found her sitting on the bathroom floor with her back against the wall, blubbering. Pooh whimpered, trotted to her side, and licked her face.
Worried, Jillian, squatted down beside her. “What’s wrong?”
“When I used the toilet…” Chelsea paused and gulped. “There was blood. I think I might be having a miscarriage.” Tears spilled from her eyes.
Although alarmed, Jillian forced an easy tone. “You don’t know that. It could be nothing.”
“But I’m bleeding! I’m only twelve weeks pregnant. I don’t want to lose my baby.”
Praying she wouldn’t, Jillian brushed Chelsea’s bangs out of her eyes. “You should lie down.”
She helped the girl to the living room sofa. After making her comfortable and covering her with a fleece throw, she laid her hand on Chelsea’s cool forehead, the only thing she could think of. “You don’t seem to have a fever, which is good,” she said. “Now, try to relax while I call 911.”
When she finished the call, she thought about alerting JR. The trouble was, he didn’t have a phone. Zach did, but she didn’t know the number. She wasn’t about to leave Chelsea to get her brother.
While pretending calm, in her mind, she railed at him. Darn you, JR, you have a baby on the way! Can’t you take more responsibility and look harder for a permanent job, so you can get cell phones for you and Chelsea?
In less than ten minutes, sirens wailed through the air and the aid car pulled up. Talk about fast. They must have raced to get here.
Jillian had met the three gorgeous paramedics who tromped into the house before—Ethan, Gus, and Rafe. She’d never felt so relieved to see them. Especially Rafe.
All business, he nodded a grave hello. “Where is she?”
For some reason, the cool Jillian had managed to maintain crumpled. She teared up. “In the living room.”
“Hey, now.” He gently squeezed her shoulder. “She’s in good hands.”
Jillian forced a smile. Not wanting to get in the way, she hovered in the hallway outside the living room, hugging Pooh while the men questioned Chelsea and examined her. A moment later, Rafe beckoned her to follow him into the kitchen.
“Well?” she asked in a low voice.
“She seems okay, but to be on the safe side, we think she should go to the hospital and get checked out. You could drive her, but because our vehicle is equipped with a stretcher and other equipment, she asked us to take her. In case she starts bleeding again—or something else.”
“Is that a possibility?”
“Probably not, but you never know. You should alert her doctor.”
“Right away. What about JR?” Jillian couldn’t help curling her lip. “He still doesn’t have a phone. Do you have Zach’s number?”
“Yeah.” Rafe gave it to her. “After you call, swing by and pick him up. Then meet us at the hospital.”
“How will we find you?”
“I’ll let you know where we are.”
*
Shortly after Rafe and his coworkers delivered Chelsea to the ER, Jillian and her brother arrived. JR went straight to Chelsea’s exam room, while Rafe, Ethan, and Gus stayed in the crowded waiting area with Jillian.
With her arms around her waist and her teeth doing double time on her bottom lip, she radiated worry.
“You doing okay?” Rafe asked, peering into her face.
“Not really. If Chelsea loses that baby…” She closed her eyes for a moment, obviously struggling for control, and then went back to biting her lip.
He hated seeing her this upset. “Don’t do this to yourself, Jillian, when there’s no reason to go there.” He gently unwrapped her arms, grasped one of her cold hands, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Chelsea should be fine.”
“Please, God,” Jillian murmured, holding on tight. “I’m beyond grateful that you, Gus, and Ethan came to the house and then got her here so fast.”
She hiccupped, a sound that could have been a strangled laugh or a sob. “It seems all I ever do is thank you.”
She wouldn’t be so grateful if she knew how bad Rafe wanted her. Even now, which proved what a dog he was. He let go of her hand.
“Don’t you have get back to the station?” she asked.
He didn’t want to leave her alone just yet. “We’ll hang with you until we find out what the doctor says. It shouldn’t be much longer.”
“Do you usually wait around with patients you bring to the hospital?”
“Depends on the situation and the patient. We know you, which makes a difference. How about a pop or snack from the vending machine?”
Jillian shook her head. “I couldn’t eat or drink anything. Tell me, how is JR doing?”
“According to Zach, he shows up on time and puts in a full day. But clearing the land has been rough and slow-going. It could take him and Zach longer than we figured to finish the job.”
“He complains a lot about that.”
Rafe could just imagine. “I offered to share a focusing trick my dad taught me to make tough work easier. I use it to get through anything physically challenging, both on and off the job. He wasn’t interested.”
“My brother always has been his own worst enemy. All I know is, when he finishes clearing your land, he’d better look hard for permanent work, or I swear, I’ll wring his stubborn neck.”
“You gave him a deadline,” Rafe reminded her.
“Yes, but now…” She cast an anxious look toward the swinging doors leading to the ER exam rooms.
“Let’s wait and see what the doctor says.”
She nodded and put her hand on his arm. “If you hear about work JR might be qualified for, will you let him know?”
If JR continued to show up and put in a full day’s work, Rafe figured Zach would add him to the stable of extra hands he relied on for various jobs. That wouldn’t be full-time, though, and the kid needed a steady paycheck. He nodded. “Of course.”
The swinging doors opened, and a middle-age nurse with a warm smile approached Jillian. “Your brother and Chelsea wanted me to let you know she’s going to be fine.”
“Thank goodness.” Jillian sank against Rafe.
“I told you.” He smiled and, without thinking, put his arm around her and pulled her close.
“What happened?” she asked the nurse.
“It’s not un
usual for a pregnant woman to experience intermittent bleeding, especially during the first trimester. Still, you’re always wise to get checked out, in case it’s something serious. If the bleeding recurs, or if she experiences cramping and bleeding together, she should come right back. Chelsea and JR are aware of this.”
“Good to know,” Jillian said. “Should she do anything special? Maybe stay off her feet?”
“That won’t be necessary. She’s already scheduled an appointment with her OB for tomorrow. She’ll find out then if the doctor wants her to limit her activities. She should be out in a little while.”
The nurse retraced her steps through the swinging doors. Time for Rafe and his coworkers to go, too.
“I’ll check in with you soon,” Rafe said.
“If you want.”
Unable to stop himself, he tipped up her chin. “I want.”
His nosy crewmates and everyone else in the waiting area were staring. Even so, he kissed her.
Jillian let out a soft sigh, and it was all he could do to tear himself away.
“Rest easy. Tell JR to take the rest of the day off and spend it with Chelsea—I already cleared it with Zach.” He nodded at his buds. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Twelve
‡
While Max, tonight’s chef, banged the pots and pans around, Rafe and the rest of the firefighters tromped down to the apparatus bay.
In a small cleanup room off the main area, Gus and Ethan scrubbed and sterilized the equipment they’d used on their most recent patient, an eight-year-old boy who’d fallen on the playground and gashed his leg. Rafe got busy sanitizing the bed in the aid car and restocking depleted supplies. Having dealt with a nasty fire at an apartment building earlier, Adam and some of the guys on firefighter duty put the two fire trucks to rights.
Rafe finished his task and checked his watch. “Five minutes till we eat.”
All meals were taken at specific times, with dinner served promptly at 1800 hours. With the exception of fire and paramedic calls, the captain required everyone on duty to show up on time, period. After washing up, Rafe and the other guys climbed the stairs to the second floor.
