by Cindy Kirk
Not when the man standing in front of her was Jonah Rollins.
Chapter Four
“Hello, Abby.”
“Jonah.” His name was all Abby managed to push past frozen lips.
Leo’s surprised gaze flicked between them. “You two know each other?”
Jonah cleared his throat. “Abby and I grew up down the block from each other in Springfield.”
“I had no idea.” Leo opened his mouth as if to say more, then stopped, his gaze drawn to a member of the catering staff waving wildly. “Excuse me. It appears we have a problem. Enjoy reconnecting.”
Abby wished she could simply turn and walk away from Jonah liked he’d walked away from her all those years earlier. But she couldn’t move. Her feet felt heavy, as if weighted down by a thick block of ice.
For the moment, it appeared she was stuck. She lifted her chin and gazed into familiar blue eyes. “What are you doing here?”
+
Five years ago
“We need to deliver the baby today.” Dr. Moser, the perinatologist who’s been following me throughout my pregnancy, is a blunt man. Though he has kind eyes, he doesn’t pull punches.
Tiny beads of perspiration pop out all over my body, and a rivulet of sweat slithers down my spine. I shift my bulk and wish for my mom. I desperately need someone’s hand to hold.
The doctor’s piercing gaze, focused directly on me, gives me nowhere to hide. He won’t say more until I respond. That’s how he rolls.
I lift my hand to my neck and pretend to be contemplating the unexpected announcement. What I’m really doing is fighting the fear clawing at my throat.
I’m barely thirty-six weeks. I thought I’d have more time.
I drop my hand to my belly. Eva Grace kicks against my palm, and I relax. As long as she’s inside me, she’s safe.
Dr. Moser studies me.
I keep a tight rein on my emotions. I feel as if he’s assessing me, looking for any signs of weakness. He won’t see any. When I give in to my fears, it will be in the privacy of my own apartment.
“Why today?” I nearly cheer when my voice comes out steady and firm.
“Your blood pressure is high.” His gaze remains fixed on my face. “You’re spilling protein into your urine. Your ankles are swollen.”
“It’s August, and the humidity is off the charts.” I keep my voice light, hoping he’ll crack a smile.
Instead, he rubs his chin. “You have preeclampsia.”
I nod as if I understand. I should ask what that is, but I don’t want to know. Not now. Not when my emotions are close to the surface and I feel as fragile as an egg in a toddler’s hand.
Somehow, I manage to summon a smile. “What’s the harm in waiting a couple more weeks?”
“Not advisable.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Your condition can easily—and quickly—move into full-blown eclampsia. If that happens, you risk seizures, even death.”
I swallow hard against rising panic. “But her lungs—”
“She should be fine.”
Should be. Over the past months, I’ve grown to despise qualifiers.
“Tell me the plan.”
To his credit, he doesn’t skimp on details. Though he speaks clearly, my heart beats so loudly it drowns out his voice. I do hear that the epidural will help lower my blood pressure.
“Abby.” His voice softens to an almost-grandfatherly tone. “If you want to call someone to be with you during the delivery, this would be the time.”
I give a jerky nod.
As soon as he leaves the room, I pull the phone from my bag. I stare at it for several heartbeats. Who is there to call? The friend from college who promised to be with me is on vacation in Hawaii. Even if she were willing to fly back, she wouldn’t make it in time.
Jonah. A tiny voice in my head whispers his name.
I can’t believe I’m even considering calling him. Not after he turned on me, on us. Not after I made it clear what I thought of someone who didn’t have the balls to stand up for his child’s life.
He didn’t fight back. Which pissed me off even more. I made it clear I was done with him and Veronica. The baby and I would do just fine without either of them or their money.
Still, I stroke my belly and consider. Despite my cutting him out of my life, he sends cash every month. There are letters, too, addressed to the baby and me. I don’t read them.
My teeth sink into my lower lip, and I taste blood. I scroll through my contacts and find his name. I’ve come so close to deleting his contact information but haven’t been able to bring myself to cut that final cord.
Call me weak. Foolish. It isn’t anything I haven’t called myself.
I hit the number. My breath hitches at the sound of a voice. But the voice is tinny and slightly bored.
“The person’s mailbox you are trying to reach is full. Please try again later.”
Give up, I tell myself. Consider this a sign.
I think of being alone in that delivery room, and I text him. I tell him what’s happening and ask him to be with me for the birth.
I hit “Send,” and the message shows as delivered. I’m still waiting for a response when the nurse steps into the room. I can barely concentrate on the instructions. I keep glancing at my phone, my ears on high alert.
When she leaves, I gather my things but remain in the office. My legs are shaking so hard, I’m not sure I can walk. Even as I sit there, my mind races.
Wednesday used to be Jonah’s day off. Perhaps he’s at home. I try his landline and curse when I get the recording. I leave a message.
“Hi, Jonah.” I pause to clear my throat. “It’s Abby. The doctor is going to deliver the baby this afternoon at Arborview. My, ah, my blood pressure is up, and he seems to think it’s necessary.”
I attempt a laugh, but it pitches high and scares me, so I hurry on. “I tried your cell, but the mailbox is full. My friend can’t be there, and I wondered if you might like to come. I’m kinda scared and . . .”
Tears slip down my cheek. I swipe them away with the pads of my fingers and take a steadying breath. “It would be nice to have someone with me. But you need to come now.”
I try to think of something else to say, but my mind goes to a blue screen. “Well, hope you can make it.”
After making sure the volume is up, I shove the phone into my pocket.
The Jonah I knew, the boy I once loved with youthful abandon, would never miss the birth of his child.
I cling to the hope that he’ll come, even as the phone remains silent.
+
Veronica played the message a second time.
Abby. Though she’d once liked the woman, all positive feelings had disappeared when she’d refused the abortion. Didn’t she realize the hell she’d put Jonah through? The strain she’d put on their marriage?
How many times had he mentioned his desire to contact Abby and “make things right?” Too many to count, that was for sure. Her husband didn’t seem to comprehend the simple fact that a special-needs child would ruin their lives.
Veronica wished things could be different. Dear God, she wished things were different. If they were, she and Jonah would have been at the hospital at that moment, welcoming a baby girl into their lives.
But once again, her dreams of a perfect family had collapsed.
She thought of the years she and Jonah had spent trying to conceive. Then the miscarriages. Even when the doctor had gently told her that her egg quality was poor, she’d wanted to keep trying.
Jonah had been the one to suggest adoption. For a second, her lips curved as she recalled the day they’d gotten the call that Kayla, a college student, had chosen her and Jonah.
The baby boy that the college student carried was to be theirs.
The nursery was readied, each piece of furniture carefully considered. She’d had the room professionally decorated in a Peter Rabbit theme. As Kayla’s due date approached, the bureau drawers grew crowded with impossibly c
ute baby-boy outfits from four baby showers. Everything had been ready.
She and Jonah had been with Kayla in the delivery room. But instead of handing the baby to Veronica as planned, the doctor had handed him to Kayla.
It was a simple mistake. The doctor wasn’t Kayla’s regular OB. He hadn’t known the baby was to come to Veronica. But when she’d stepped forward to take him, Kayla’s arms had tightened around her son.
Veronica pinched her lips together to still the sudden trembling. Jonah had wanted to try again, but she couldn’t face another birth mother changing her mind. They’d looked at surrogacy but couldn’t afford it. Until Abby had laughingly mentioned, when they’d been discussing the $100,000 price tag for a surrogate, that she’d do it for half the price.
Another disappointment.
Veronica’s gaze dropped to the ridiculous landline Jonah insisted on keeping. A few taps deleted the message.
She moved swiftly to the kitchen, to the phone her husband had left on the counter that morning when he’d left to shoot hoops with friends.
She knew his password. Jonah had no secrets from her.
It took Veronica only a second to delete the text.
Abby had chosen to continue the pregnancy.
Now she had to live with that choice.
Chapter Five
Despite his friendly smile, the tense set to Jonah’s shoulders and the watchful wariness in his eyes told Abby he’d suspected this reunion wouldn’t go well.
At least the man was smart enough not to expect her to fling her arms around him in welcome.
Abby tightened her jaw. Jonah still hadn’t answered her question. What was he doing in Hazel Green parading around as the new chief of police?
Abby’s eyes met his unwaveringly. Though she desperately wanted to put some distance between them, she wasn’t going anywhere without answers.
A muscle in Jonah’s jaw jumped. He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. Dressed in a dark suit and standard blue-striped tie, he obviously hadn’t gotten the memo about vintage fashion.
He didn’t fit in.
He shouldn’t be here.
Abby pressed her lips together. If she started talking, she might not stop.
“I, ah”—Jonah paused to clear his throat—“in my letters, I told you I applied for the position as chief of police. I told you I’d gotten the job. You never replied.”
“Is the position temporary?” She pushed out the question, prayed for the right answer.
Puzzlement filled his blue eyes. “It’s permanent. I explained that in my letters.”
She shrugged. Abby had tossed them in a bag and never read them. Now she wished she had, especially the last one. Then again, the job and the move had likely been a done deal by that time. How was she going to bear having Jonah and Veronica in the same town?
Done deal, Abby reminded herself. With a population of twenty thousand, Hazel Green was big enough that their paths should rarely cross.
Abby glanced around. “Where’s your wife? I can’t believe you left her at home.”
“Veronica is back in Springfield.” He frowned. “Our divorce was final three months ago.”
Abby opened her mouth to say she was sorry his marriage failed, but she stopped herself in time. She didn’t care enough to be sorry and wasn’t going to be a hypocrite.
“You didn’t read my letters.”
The incredulous look in his eyes surprised her. Surely, he didn’t think she’d spent the past five years hanging on his every word.
“Not a one.” She lifted her lips in a tight smile.
“It seems we have a lot to talk about.”
The last thing Abby expected was for Jonah to reach out and place his hand on her arm. In her haste to put distance between them, she jerked back so violently she stumbled. She might have fallen except for steadying hands on her arms.
“I was hoping to bump into you this evening.” The voice was smooth as cream. Matilda reached around Abby and extended her hand to Jonah. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Matilda Lovejoy.”
He gave the offered hand a shake. “Jonah Rollins.”
“Oh.” Matilda’s gaze shifted from him to Abby, then back again. “Abby’s friend from Springfield.”
Something sparked in Jonah’s blue eyes, and his shoulders relaxed. “We grew up down the block from each other.”
Abby wanted to punch Matilda through the silky gold jacket covering her arms. This man hadn’t been her friend for years, and Matilda knew it. She was the only one of Abby’s friends who knew Jonah’s name, knew what he’d done—or rather hadn’t done—five years ago. So why was she greeting him like an old friend?
“Sorry that took so long.” Leo strode up, gazing with interest at Abby before shifting his gaze to Matilda. “Everyone is raving about your parmesan-stuffed mushrooms.”
“They are delicious.” Matilda winked at Abby. “I’ve already had three. Just to check on the quality, you understand.”
She’d forgotten Matilda and her staff had done the catering tonight. No doubt the buffet table was filled with enough food to feed a small army. “I haven’t had a chance to check out any of your wonderful appetizers. I’m going to remedy that situation right now.”
She hadn’t taken a step when she heard Jonah say, “I’ll go with you. I’m a little hungry myself.”
Abby’s eyes met Matilda’s. Something in the woman’s direct gaze had her straightening her shoulders. Matilda was right. She had to speak with Jonah sometime. It’d be best to lay out the ground rules now.
“Suit yourself.” Abby spoke without glancing in Jonah’s direction. They were nearly to the tables when she veered off course.
“Have you seen the terraces?” She continued toward two french doors embellished with geometric patterns without waiting for his agreement. Abby let out the breath she was holding when she stepped onto the brick terrace and noticed the area was deserted.
Despite the slight chill in the air, Abby had no doubt that in an hour or so, the crowd would grow so large that revelers would spill outside. For now, she and Jonah had the area to themselves.
Once the doors closed behind them, Abby walked until she stood at the edge of the terrace. A mermaid statue with a bright-blue tail stretched out beside a backyard pond. Abby took a second to gather her composure, then slowly turned, confident that if he looked at her face, he’d see nothing she didn’t want him to see.
Abby studied him for a moment, conscious he was doing the same.
The years had been good to him, she noted dispassionately. His hair, the color of winter wheat, held no trace of gray. His six-foot frame, what she could see beneath the dark suit, was as fit as ever. Only his eyes were different.
While still the color of the sky on a clear summer day, the eyes she remembered always had a spark. Sometimes of mischief, often of good humor. Tonight, those eyes that had once sparkled with life were watchful.
“Why are you here, Jonah?” His name rolled too easily off her tongue. Abby didn’t like it that even after all this time it felt familiar.
When he opened his mouth to answer, she held up a hand. “Please don’t insult us both by saying you applying for a job in the same town where I live was a coincidence.”
Her voice trembled just a little. Abby cursed the fact. It had to be the citrusy scent of his cologne, a fragrance he’d worn since high school. One, she recalled, Veronica had never cared for.
“Moving here was deliberate.”
She clasped her hands together, waiting for his explanation.
“Four years ago, I was elected sheriff of Lincoln County. It’s not as big as Sangamon, but it was a good opportunity.”
Springfield, where they’d both grown up was in Sangamon, one of the largest counties in Illinois. Lincoln County was one of the smallest.
“I’m familiar with the size of the county.” Her tone remained flat and well controlled. “I’m from the area, remember?”
When
she saw something flash in his eyes, Abby cursed herself for adding that last word. She didn’t want any trips down memory lane.
“Of course.” Jonah paced to the edge of the flagstone terrace, then back again. He didn’t look at her again, which was for the best. “After that day in the doctor’s office, I put all my efforts into my career. It was easier that way, less painful that way.”
He raked a hand through his hair, the look of misery on his face at odds with his matter-of-fact tone.
There wasn’t one ounce of sympathy for him in Abby’s entire body. Not even a drop.
Jonah lifted his hands, let them fall. “I don’t know what else to say.”
He didn’t know what else to say? Abby’s blood went from a simmer to a full out boil. This was the extent of his explanation for his behavior?
“What happened with you and Veronica?” Abby didn’t know why she was asking since she didn’t much care what had sent their marriage into a tailspin.
She told herself it was simple curiosity. Jonah and Veronica had appeared to have a solid relationship. If they hadn’t, she’d never have agreed to carry a baby for them. But apparently that had been just one more thing she’d been wrong about.
Incredibly weary, Abby dropped down on a metal settee with a fan back. Folding her hands in her lap, she waited.
Jonah hadn’t stopped pacing since he’d stepped onto the terrace, Abby’s heart picked up speed when he unexpectedly commandeered the chair beside the settee. The faint scent of citrus wafted on the evening breeze.
Dispassionately, she took note of the lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there five years ago.
“Veronica still wanted a baby.”
The comment punched like a fist straight to the heart. She inhaled sharply, then covered it with a cough.
“We’d barely left the doctor’s office that day when Veronica started pressing for us to find another surrogate. It was as if she blamed your womb for the baby’s anomalies.” Jonah’s gaze remained focused straight ahead, into the darkness just beyond the soft glow of the terrace lights.
