by Erica Penrod
“Easy, boy,” she said, as she leaned over to the window and lifted the blind. Who would show up this time of night?
Chapter 2
Jaxon held his hat in his hand, turning it in circles as he waited for the door to open. At least, he hoped Janie would let him in. He felt in his pocket as if he still had a key. Gus’s low growl bit through the door, and he took a step back. He saw the blinds lift for a split second, and then the deadbolt turned.
“Hi,” he said to the woman carrying his child. Janie stood behind the door in the dark, but her blue eyes reflected the light of the moon. Her dark hair was like a waterfall at midnight, spilling all around her shoulders. Her face was bare of makeup, but her lips looked full and moist, probably freshly coated with the lip balm she kept on her nightstand. Jaxon wanted to see her body, wanted to see the changes for himself, but Janie kept one hand on the door like a shield and the other hand on her four-legged bodyguard. A thousand memories washed over him like a high tide, nearly knocking him to the ground. The dog continued to growl, but she held on to his collar.
Jaxon kneeled, hoping Gus would remember all the times he snuck the dog an extra bacon treat when Janie wasn’t looking. “Hey, boy, it’s me.” He held out his hand, and Gus sniffed but didn’t move towards him. He’d always been more Janie’s dog than his. Jaxon bet the brute had wormed his way up to the pillows by now.
“What do you want?” she asked.
Her voice wasn’t much louder than a whisper, and her deflated words held no air of excitement or longing. But what did he expect? There were moments he couldn’t even look in the mirror, so why would Janie be happy to see him?
“I’m sorry it’s so late, but I took the first flight I could, once we wrapped up filming.” She didn’t say anything, and he continued. “I wanted to get here before you saw those ridiculous tabloid pictures. Of course, they were taken out of context—”
“Jaxon.” She leaned her head against the side of the door. “You don’t owe me an explanation. At least, not anymore—that’s what the divorce was for. So if you don’t mind, it’s late and I have to work in the morning.”
“Yeah.” He shook his head. His desperation to keep her from seeing the photographs morphed into humiliation. “I know, and I know you need all the rest you can get.” He looked down. If he could’ve gotten to her sooner, maybe she would’ve listened before the photographs closed her heart from him completely. And maybe this time she would believe him when he told her all he wanted was to take the last two years back. But when he glanced back up into her frozen eyes, he knew it was no use. “Have you been sleeping? Are you feeling okay?” he asked, hoping to convey his concern. Each night he prayed for her and their child.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business. The baby’s fine and growing on schedule, so if you—”
“Janie, please.”
His buried feelings threatened to claw their way out. He closed his eyes for a minute, hoping that something resembling a miracle would make her his again. He wanted to take her in his arms, to hold her and know that as long as she was near, he could survive anything. Learning to live without her was proving to be a death sentence. His eyelids opened, and she was still there behind the door as it inched closer to him, threatening to shut.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I just want to talk—”
“I don’t.” Janie pushed the door.
He stuck his hand out and stopped it. “Can I crash here tonight?” The long hours of production, the stress of those stupid pictures, and months without a good night’s sleep were suddenly more than he could bear. He needed to be near her.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I’m tired, pony girl.” Her nickname slipped from his lips before he even thought about it, and he saw her shoulders slump. For a moment, he let the past take hold of him. His stomach had tossed like a peanut in a soda pop can the first time he saw her: the dark-complexioned girl with her waist-long ponytail swishing behind her. His cheeks flushed while his obnoxious adolescent self called her pony girl, because he didn’t know what else to do with the emotions she stirred in him. Years later, when he entwined his fingers in her hair and kissed her, he called her his pony girl, and it became a term of endearment. But now, it was as if the words twisted into a whip, lashing out at her.
“That’s not fair,” she said.
“I know, and I’m sorry. I really—”
“You can take the couch.” She pulled the door open. “Just for tonight, and that’s it. After that, I don’t care where you go, but you’re not staying here.”
“Thanks,” he said, swallowing back any other words he wanted to say. He knew he was pushing it to get a spot on the couch, so he didn’t ask about the spare bedroom. He didn’t want to say anything that might make her change her mind.
When he stepped inside, the proverbial smell of home with a hint of lemon soothed him, and he exhaled in relief. Being in this house centered him, put his feet on the ground, and reminded him of what was most important. Los Angeles spun him in directions he’d never intended to go and unwound him until he didn’t know who he was anymore. But here, in the home he once shared with Janie, he felt at peace for the first time since he signed his name on the dotted line to end his marriage.
Janie opened the hall closet and threw him the quilt her grandmother had made. He considered it some sort of peace offering, because he knew how much it meant to her. His heart warmed, lifted even with hope.
“I guess I’ll have to let you use this one. The other blankets are in the laundry.”
So much for my olive branch.
“Quade and I went on a picnic with your sister and Layne the other day.” She tossed him a pillow. “I haven’t gotten around to washing them yet.”
He knew it shouldn’t bother him, Janie spending time with Quade, because he knew Quade thought of her as a sibling. But for some reason, angry red steam filled his chest.
“Next time, show up on Quade’s doorstep or maybe Brynn’s. Or, if you’re really desperate, the ranch.”
Jaxon didn’t answer. He watched her move, amazed by her simple beauty. The familiarity was an oasis to his parched body. It had been two months since he’d seen her, and she was more intoxicating than he believed possible. Her stick-straight hair was still long, about to the middle of her back, and her blue eyes seemed deeper than before. Her face had rounded in an impending-motherhood way that was becoming.
She wore her mother’s nightgown, and he could see the small outline of her womb as she moved in the dim light. Having to resist touching her tortured him, because not only did he crave her, he wanted to know his child. The fact that he was in her proximity at all was more than he dared hope for. The flight from LA to Utah was short, and Jaxon imagined every scenario he could think of, but never for a minute did he believe she’d let him be this close to her. No, the couch wasn’t close enough, but it was one step in the right direction.
* * *
Sunlight peeked through the bottom of the curtains as Janie rolled to her side and slapped at the alarm clock. Tired didn’t cover the way she felt this morning. She lifted her head off the pillow, sniffing. Bacon?
Jaxon.
Rolling back over, she covered her face with her hands. It was all coming back to her, the reason she was exhausted … and that reason was obviously cooking breakfast in her kitchen. Why had she been so stupid to allow him to stay? Pregnancy brain. It took until nearly 2 a.m. before exhaustion overpowered her thoughts of Jaxon on the couch. Her couch. The one less than twenty feet away from her bed.
Janie lay there, hoping she could avoid confrontation for as long as possible, but her stomach sounded the morning bugle, calling her to nourish it with bacon. Stupid bacon! Throwing back the covers, she swung her feet over the bed, ready to march into battle.
She took a quick shower, but took her time on her hair and makeup—to send a little reminder of what
he’d been missing—before entering the kitchen. Pausing in the doorway, déjà vu knocked her against the frame. The aroma filled her head, and she watched as Jaxon cracked an egg with one hand and then spun around in a circle in his stocking feet. He had on dark pants and an untucked red T-shirt. He was still in incredible shape if the sleeves hugging his biceps and the fit of his jeans were any indication. His hair was an attractive mess of waves and longer than she’d ever let it grow. Who trimmed his hair? Better not to think about that.
Reddish stubble covered his face. Although his hair had lost the strawberry to the blond, his facial hair was a reminder of that boy she used to know. It was odd to stare at him now. In so many ways, he looked like the guy she’d always loved, but she knew it was what she couldn’t see that tore them apart.
“Good morning,” Jaxon said, pulling her to the present.
“Hi.”
“Ready to eat?” he asked. Gus sat at his feet. Jaxon dropped a piece of meat into the dog’s mouth, and his black and white tail waved like a cheerleader’s pom-pom.
A pot of liquid anger boiled over. He could win the dog over with a fried feast, but not her. “I said you could have the couch, not my kitchen. You need to leave.”
His incredulous eyes looked at her as if he’d never seen her before. Maybe he hadn’t, at least not this version of her. “I’m sorry.” He waved the spatula in the air. “I thought I’d make you some breakfast to say thank you for letting me crash here.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” She turned around to leave.
“You need to eat. That baby needs every ounce of nourishment he can get.”
“Or she,” Janie reminded him over her shoulder.
“Or she, because I’m praying whoever it is will be a lot taller than Dad.”
“Yes, let’s pray.” She turned around to face him, feeling the agitation simmer.
“Hey,” he said, like he’d been slapped on the cheek. But his pouty bottom lip gave way to the sparkle in his brown eyes.
“You’re the one who brought it up.” Janie walked in and sat on a barstool. “You certainly don’t need any more ‘short-man syndrome’ in the Davis family.” Her stomach tugged her towards the counter. Dang it! He was right about her being hungry. Pulling a slice of bacon from the electric frying pan, she broke off a piece and put it in her mouth.
“Unfortunately, I have to agree with you.” He pointed to the long scar above his right eyebrow. “I might have a few less of these if I wasn’t always trying to keep up with the big dogs.”
Janie swallowed and took the glass of juice he offered. “You learned from the best. I think your dad’s still trying to prove he’s as big as everyone else.”
The spark in Jaxon’s eyes turned from low simmer to ignited, and the muscle above his scar tensed. Janie didn’t mean to bring up his father; even with things the way they were between them, she never wanted to hurt him. That seemed ironic or pathetic, considering he dragged her heart through the dirt whenever he climbed on the back of those saddle broncs. But she forgave him every time and always would. Rodeo was part of him, and she couldn’t love the rest of him without accepting that.
What she didn’t forgive was going a month at a time without seeing him and turning on the television to find out what was going on with her husband. Living that way had slowly chipped away at her, one tabloid at a time. So she chose to walk away.
She was losing him long before the divorce, and she wanted to be in control of her own life for once. She had left on her terms, even though it nearly killed her. If she’d stayed, she would hate him, and despite everything, she didn’t want to. Janie wanted to hold on to what they once had, even if it could only be in her mind. The baby was a gift from God; this piece of Jaxon that would always be hers.
“Yeah, well, let’s hope it doesn’t take me as long as my dad to figure it out.” Jaxon set a plate in front of her with two eggs over medium, two more slices of bacon, and a slice of buttered toast.
“Thanks,” she said.
He fixed himself a plate and took the seat beside her. He doctored his eggs with half a pepper shaker and smothered them in hot sauce. The Tabasco had sat in the fridge since he left—or rather, was asked to leave. They ate in silence. Janie didn’t trust herself with him this close. Janie wiped her mouth on a napkin. “Thanks.” She stood up, walked over to the sink, rinsed her plate, and put it in the dishwasher. “I’ve got to get ready for work, so you can let yourself out.”
“Janie, wait.” Jaxon put himself between her and her escape route. “I wanted to talk to you, to explain about this fiasco with Miley.”
“I told you, there’s no need.” She raised her eyebrows in emphasis.
“I want to.”
“It’s too late.”
“How can you say that?” His voice was low and tender as he reached out to touch her stomach. Their eyes met, his full of surprise when felt her rounded shape. She forgot for one second that they weren’t married, and this was the first time he placed his hands on her as their child grew. As the expectant mother, she wanted to cover his hands with hers to experience their miracle together, but the woman with a broken heart wanted to kick him to the curb.
Gus shoved his wet nose into her palm, and she remembered everything.
“I’m going to be late.” Tears filled her eyes, and Jaxon retreated.
“I’m sorry, pony girl. I never meant to hurt you.”
Janie backed away. “We’re long past whatever you did or didn’t intend to do. The point is that the hurting had to stop, and you and I both know this was the only way.”
“Us apart can’t be the only way,” he said, and she saw the pain in his eyes. They couldn’t keep doing this: him carving away at her heart with his unintentional knives and her breaking his, because no matter how much she loved him, she wouldn’t live that way anymore.
* * *
The dishwasher hummed as Jaxon folded up the quilt and placed it in the closet. He returned the pillow to her bed and avoided lingering there. He straightened the throw pillows on the couch and got out the Hoover. The only reason Janie left without vacuum tracks behind her was because of him, and he wanted to leave things as nice as possible for her. He took Gus out back to the fenced-in yard and gave him fresh water for the day. Jaxon patted the dog on the head. “Take care of her for me.” Gus licked his hand. Jaxon laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
When he was finished, he paused at the door, looked around, and wondered if the reality show had been worth it at all. A year and a half ago, saving his family’s ranch was all he could think about, and he regretted putting his financial struggles before his marriage. Now, nothing seemed worth losing the love they shared in this little house. It should’ve been possible to keep both. If only he considered Janie’s feelings before he made that final decision—without her.
He could see her heart-shaped face in his mind, with her full lips trembling, her blue eyes searching for answers in his, her cheekbones a cliff for tears. Maybe she was right, and it was better this way. She was an innocent bystander, and his celebrity roller coaster ran her off the track. Janie deserved better than this, better than him, and he always knew it. Maybe it was time to accept it.
* * *
Janie held the blow-dryer in one hand and round-brushed with the other. Missy Jones had just moved to Toquerville from up north, and it always made Janie nervous to style a stranger for the first time.
Eileen, eighty-two and under the dryer in curlers, took it as her civic duty to inform anyone willing to listen about all the comings and goings of Toquerville. Betty Lou and Norma, salon regulars, sat to the left and right of the self-appointed spokeswoman, who managed to speak in a volume loud enough to rival any of the appliances.
There were two other stations in the shop. One belonged to the owner, Tracy, and the other to her niece Katie, who’d graduated from beauty school about three months before. Janie had worked with Tracy for over three years and had a regular clientele of her own, wit
h a new referral now and then. She enjoyed her job, and Tracy Collins was as close to a mother as Janie would ever have again.
Tracy was in her mid-fifties with an eighties sort of style. Her blonde hair was permed into tight curls, and Janie had to stand on her toes to see over her bangs. The Curl Up and Dye salon had been a Main Street landmark for as long as Janie could remember. Her mom used to bring her in on her birthday for a special girls’ day out, and Tracy always made it extra special. It was a natural transition for Janie to apply for a job here when she finished cosmetology school.
Janie wanted to tell her employer about her late-night visitor. However, Norma was already in the washbowl, and that meant, unless she wanted Eileen to find out and alert the town council, Janie had to keep it to herself as she styled. She’d asked Missy all about her hometown, her schooling, and anything else she could think of to keep the conversation rolling.
“So how many weeks are you?” Missy asked. Her long brown hair with the caramel highlights looked fantastic as Janie put the finishing spray on.
Janie hesitated. It was the first time someone asked about the pregnancy without her offering. “Excuse me?”
“When is the baby due?”
Janie could feel her cheeks flush and hoped her new client didn’t know her well enough to notice. “I’m eighteen weeks on Monday.”
“That’s wonderful. How have you been feeling?”
“Good, for the most part. I’m a little tired and nauseated now and then.” She unsnapped the cape from around Missy’s neck and pulled it away. “But other than that, it’s been all right.”
Tracy stopped teasing Betty Lou’s hair and pointed the comb at Janie. “It’s a good thing she’s doing as well as she is. I keep telling her she should slow down a bit.” She twirled the comb in the air like a magic wand. “But, do you think she’ll listen to me?”
