One awkward week later, Jack found himself at the office after everyone on his staff had gone home. He was catching up on paperwork, sure, but more than that, he was avoiding Arianna.
Every time he saw her, he thought about kissing her. Relived it, really—her warmth and tenderness and the way being close with her had filled a hole in his heart he hadn’t even realized was there. His hands practically ached to pull her close to him again.
But there had always been reasons not to be with Arianna—Chloe’s criticism and his parents’ warnings—and those reasons hadn’t gone away, not really. Yes, Chloe was gone. But for him to pick up with Arianna as much as proved that her suspicions had been right, that Jack hadn’t really loved her, that he had been that neglectful, uncaring husband she had so often accused him of being.
And Chloe’s critical glare, so vivid in his memory, would be mirrored on his father’s face were he to get together with Arianna.
Even those things might have been surmountable, but now he’d found out she had feelings for somebody else. Her relationship with Nathan must have been more serious than he’d thought, and from the looks of things, it was ongoing. Otherwise, why would she have taken Nathan up to her apartment?
It was true that he hadn’t seen Nathan around in the week since the man had arrived in town. If Arianna were spending time with him, she was keeping it very quiet. So maybe Jack had overreacted. After all, Nathan lived up in Boulder and was a busy, well-known scientist. It would be tough for him to start, or restart, a relationship with a nanny-artist who lived in the southern part of the state.
Whenever he got to this part in his ruminations, a little spark of hope would come to life inside him. Guilt, though, due to Chloe and his father, quickly put out the flame.
So he was stressed. And he noticed that Sammy was fussier than usual, which could very well be because he was picking up on the tension between Jack and Arianna. That and the fact that Jack was working longer hours, so he wasn’t spending as much time with his son as he should.
And if his state of mind was affecting Sammy, then Jack needed to do something about it. He didn’t like asking for help, but he knew he had to overcome that, to swallow his pride, when Sammy was involved. So he closed up his office and walked two blocks down the street to his church, where his good friend Carson Blair was the pastor.
He walked through the cool, dark hallways. The light was still on in the church office, so he knocked.
“Come on in,” came a deep but nasal voice.
Jack pushed the door open.
Hawk, honk. Carson was blowing his nose, and then he tossed the tissue into an overflowing wastebasket and looked up apologetically. “Hey, Jack,” he said and coughed. “Glad to see you, but you might want to keep your distance. This cold is getting the best of me.”
“I have a strong immune system,” Jack said. “But I’m not stupid. I won’t shake your hand.” He studied his friend more closely. “Are you sure you should even be at work?”
“I canceled my appointments,” Carson said. “But sermons don’t write themselves. And Lily and the girls are visiting one of her old army friends, so I’m a bachelor this week. I may as well sneeze and cough here at the office as at home.” He held up a hand. “And don’t worry. Mrs. Greer will scrub everything down when she comes in in the morning.”
“Oh, true.” Jack had seen their church secretary disinfecting doorknobs and microphones, and once, she’d rushed up to the front of the church right in the middle of Carson’s communion prayers to give him the hand sanitizer she’d forgotten to place with the bread and grape juice.
“What brings you here at this time of day?” Carson asked.
“I need to talk to you about something, and it seems like you could use a good meal. Can I buy you dinner? We’ll go somewhere in town, close by.”
“Sounds good to me,” Carson said. “But don’t you need to get home to Sammy?”
“Let me see if my nanny can stay a bit late.”
“Your nanny, huh?” Carson cocked his head to the side and glanced questioningly at Jack. Then he turned back to his computer. “I’ll just make a couple notes while you call her.”
But Jack had no intention of calling Arianna; instead, he sent her a text.
Almost instantly, she texted back. No problem. No plans tonight.
Hmm, interesting. She didn’t have plans. And she was making sure he knew it.
There was that tiny spark of hope again.
Half an hour later, they were at La Boca Feliz, and Senora Ramos, known to everyone as Delfina, was fussing over Carson. “Sopa de tortilla for you,” she said. “Why are you not home in bed?”
“Lily and the kids are away,” Carson croaked.
Delfina put her hands on her hips. “And you are not capable of opening a can of soup?” She turned to Jack. “And you could not help your friend?”
“I am helping him,” Jack said. “I’ve brought him here for your healthy food.”
Delfina smiled, her brown eyes twinkling. “This is the good answer,” she said and clapped her hands as she turned toward the kitchen. “Emilio, dos sopas de tortillas, por favor. El pastor está enfermo.”
They both watched as she disappeared into the kitchen. Around them, silverware clinked and customers talked and laughed.
“So, what’s going on with you?” Carson asked.
In the course of helping Carson, Jack had forgotten about his own problems for a few minutes, and he didn’t really want to reengage with them. He lifted his hands, palms up. “No big deal. Nothing you need to worry about.”
“I always worry about my flock,” Carson said. “It’s in the job description.”
Delfina bustled back toward them, carrying a tray with two brimming bowls of soup. She set one before each of them. “Eat, both of you. More food is coming.”
Jack lifted an eyebrow. “Did we order more?”
“You didn’t have to,” Delfina retorted. “I placed the order myself, because I know what’s good for a cold. And—” she pointed at Jack “—don’t tell me you don’t have a cold, because spending time with him, you will.”
“I hope not,” Carson said after she’d left them for another table. “I’d hate to be the reason you and Sammy get sick.”
Jack waved a hand to dismiss Carson’s worry. “We have so many TSS folks in and out of the house, plus Arianna’s got him in some baby lap-sit program at the library. I’m sure he’s been exposed to whatever germs you’re carrying.” He started spooning up soup, hot and spicy and delicious.
“Good.” Carson ate for a few minutes and then put down his spoon. “I’d like to hear about whatever’s worrying you.”
Jack could tell from the determined look in Carson’s eyes that the man wasn’t going to give up. They were the same age, but Carson was wise, far wiser than Jack, especially in matters of the spirit and the heart. “I’m just struggling some,” he admitted. When Carson nodded encouragingly, he went on. “There’s something Chloe thought about me that I’m having a hard time shaking.”
Carson frowned. “Was it true, what she thought?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so.”
“It’s no fun to be harshly judged,” Carson said. “Believe me, I’ve been there. And that judgmental voice doesn’t have to be true to nag at you.”
“Makes me question myself,” Jack admitted. Because if Chloe, and his mom, and his dad all believed that Jack had a crush on Arianna, was it possible that he did and didn’t know it?
As if he were reading Jack’s mind, Carson pointed his soupspoon at Jack and spoke again. “How does it all connect with what you were told as a child? How you were raised?”
Jack laughed, even though he didn’t find the question funny. “‘Harshly judged’ could have been in my parents’ marriage vows, they made such a practice of it. Toward me, toward each other and toward themselves.”
“So Chloe came along and fitted right in with your concept of love,” Carson said.
His words echoed in Jack’s ears as Delfina brought them plates of steaming enchiladas and rice and beans, explained that they were extra spicy and that was good for a cold, and admonished them to eat every bite.
As Jack dug in, he thought about what Carson had said. Was that his concept of love: Harsh judgment? Was that why he and Chloe had hit it off?
They ate until they had to pause to wipe the sweat from their foreheads. “She wasn’t kidding about spicy,” Jack said, gulping water.
“I think I’m sweating out my germs. I sure don’t feel congested anymore.” He studied Carson. “Why are these questions about Chloe and your past coming up now? Because of Arianna?”
Jack blew out a breath. “There’s no keeping anything from you, is there? Is it obvious?”
Carson shook his head. “Not obvious. The two of you are very circumspect and professional around each other. But I know you pretty well. I’m seeing something different in the way you confront the world, something that seems like it might come from... I don’t know. Interest? Love?”
Jack nearly choked on a mouthful of beans. He waved his hand. “Nothing close to love. Interest, maybe. But that’s where the past is bogging me down.” He didn’t want to disrespect Chloe’s memory by telling Jack about her jealousy issues. “I’m just not sure whether it’s right to let Chloe go and get back in the game again. Or when that might be okay.”
“It’s tough.” Carson looked unseeingly across the crowded restaurant, and Jack remembered the trouble Carson had had accepting the loss of his first wife and moving on, until Lily had come along and rocked the pastor’s world.
But Carson had accepted his loss and moved on, and no one had judged him for it.
“I’m going to email you a list of Scripture verses about guilt, and how to get free of it,” Carson said. “Once you’ve grieved and healed from your past hurts and losses, you have to make your own decisions, independent of what others might think. I don’t know about your wife, but my first wife had mental health issues that colored the way she looked at everything. It took some work for me to realize that wasn’t my fault. Work and prayer.” He pushed his plate away. “I’ll also be praying for you to discern the right next step,” he said.
“Thanks.” Jack was grateful that Carson wasn’t the type to hold his hand and pray publicly.
There wasn’t an opportunity anyway, because old Tecumseh Smith stopped by the table to tell Jack about the digestive difficulties his mule was having, in colorful detail. Jack kept eating and nodding and offering advice, until he noticed that Carson was looking a little green and brought the conversation to an end.
“Sorry,” he said to Carson after Tecumseh walked away. “Forgot that not everyone likes to discuss mule intestines while they eat.”
“You did not eat enough!” Delfina approached the table and frowned at Carson’s half-full plate.
“Can you wrap it up for me, senora?” Carson asked. “I’ll have it for lunch tomorrow. I’m feeling better already.”
“I will box it up with another carton of soup,” she said and whisked away their plates. Jack insisted on paying—it was the least he could do—and they walked the short distance back to their vehicles in the cool evening twilight. “Just remember,” Carson said as they were about to part ways. “You’re not doomed to repeat the past. God can make all things new, and that includes you. You’re a new creation, and anything is possible with Him.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am right. It’s all in the Bible.” Carson held up an arm as a barrier, avoiding Jack’s handshake. “I don’t want to get you sick. Thanks for the dinner, man.”
“Thank you,” Jack said and walked back to his truck with more of a spring in his step than he’d had in days.
He wasn’t going to delude himself that one conversation with Carson had resolved all his issues, but it had helped. He no longer dreaded seeing Arianna back at the ranch. Truth to tell, he was looking forward to it.
“So, did you have a good time with Branson?” Arianna asked Penny. The older woman had come over shortly after Jack had texted her to ask her to stay late. Now she was trying to avoid Penny’s perceptive questions about what was going on between her and Jack.
They were sitting in Jack’s kitchen, watching the sun set over the Sangre de Cristos. Sammy had been exhausted from a trip to the Esperanza Springs library’s baby lap sit followed by a TSS appointment, so Arianna had put him to bed half an hour early.
“Branson’s a very nice man,” Penny said. “He brought flowers and a side dish—this couscous salad,” she added, pointing to the dish she’d brought, “that he’d made himself.”
“Which is really good,” Arianna said, taking another bite of it. “I mean, how many guys would use fresh dill and oregano?”
“How many men even know what couscous is?” Penny asked, chuckling. “I had to sneak off to the bathroom and look it up on my phone so I didn’t seem like too much of a country bumpkin.”
Arianna laughed. “That’s not the image I have of you, believe me. And that’s also not what I asked. I asked if you had a good time.” This was good. Looked like she’d be able to grill Penny for a little while here, help her figure out what was obvious to Arianna—that she preferred Willie to the banker—and, in the process, keep her own romantic issues off the table.
“I don’t know. It’s just not...comfortable, you know? I feel like he’s trying to prove himself to me.”
“As he should. You undersell yourself. You’re a very attractive, smart, successful woman.”
Penny snorted. “Who’s barely gotten the ranch out of the red, and whose husband left her for the secretary. Not even his secretary, my secretary. But I don’t want to talk about me.”
“Let’s talk about these kebabs, then. They’re so tender. And not even fattening.”
“Why you worry so much about your figure, I’ll never understand.” Penny sipped her iced tea. “Believe me, there will come a day when you’ll look back on that smooth, perfect skin and those hourglass curves and wish you had them back.”
“Doubtful,” Arianna said. And then their conversation moved to the art therapy group Arianna was doing at the ranch, and how well the veterans were responding, and whether it was time to start a second group.
“Jack’s keeping pretty late hours,” Penny said finally, glancing up at the clock.
Arianna clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh no, he’ll be home any minute, and the place is a mess.” She stood and started clearing plates. “Please stay, Penny, if you don’t mind my doing a little cleaning while we talk.” She hurried a load of dishes to the sink and then turned back for more.
Penny was looking at her, head cocked to one side. “Are you always this paranoid about the state of the house?”
“Oh, well, my mom was really a clean freak. So is Jack. And I’m more the slob type.”
Penny stood and carried the serving dishes to the counter. “I look around this place—and your place—and I don’t see a slob. I see someone who’s creative and who’s been taking care of a baby all day.”
“Yes, but Sammy went to bed an hour ago.” She should have cleaned up the living room right away rather than collapsing on the couch and reading a novel.
“And shortly after he went down, you got unexpected company,” Penny said, pointing at her own chest. “Whom you greeted very hospitably, I might add.”
Arianna loaded plates and silverware into Jack’s state-of-the-art dishwasher. “You’re sure of a good welcome when you come bearing food.”
“I was glad for someone to share it with. Glad for some girl time.” Penny found a sponge and started wiping down Sammy’s high chair, and Arianna didn’t have the heart to tell her that she was using the counter sponge, not the Sammy sponge. Or did she have that wrong? Maybe the blue one was for Sammy.
“Anyway,” she said, “Jack’s pretty orderly, and he’s paying me well, so I’m trying to be neater than I would be on my own.”
“This room looks fine,” Penny said, returning the possibly incorrect sponge to the dish by the sink. “Come on, let’s tackle the living room, and you can tell me about your mom.”
They’d gotten the place into a semblance of order, and Penny was laughing about Arianna’s stories of competing with her sister for neatness awards their mother had set up, when Arianna heard the rumble of Jack’s truck.
Her stomach tightened.
Things had been so uncomfortable between them since that wonderful, terrible kiss. Jack had backed way off, obviously avoiding her. What was up with that? Was he one of the many men who preferred the chase to the conquest?
But it was you who told him you didn’t want to do it anymore, she reminded herself.
And for very good reason. How could she justify keeping secret the fact that she was Sammy’s mother if her relationship with Jack deepened?
And yet how could she justify telling Jack something she’d promised never to tell, and something that would undoubtedly sully his view not only of her, but of Chloe?
The door opened and Jack came in, and all of a sudden the house seemed the way it should again.
Well, except for the baby toys that still littered one end of the living room.
“Hey, Penny,” he said as he stowed his briefcase and picked up the mail. “How’s it going?”
“I’m going,” the older woman answered. “Arianna and I were having a nice visit, but I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” She opened the door, then tossed over her shoulder, “Don’t give her too hard of a time about the state of the house. It’s tough to keep it looking like a showpiece when you’re taking care of a baby.”
As the door closed behind her, Jack stared at Arianna. “You’ve been keeping the place extra neat for me,” he said.
“I’ve been trying,” she admitted. “Fallen down on the job today a little.”
He put down the mail and grabbed a can of soda from the kitchen while she finished straightening the living room. She was just about to gather her things when he came back into the front room, sat down and patted the couch beside him. “Penny’s right,” he said. “It’s hard with a baby. And everything looks just fine. Can we talk?”
Arianna’s heart stuttered. He was going to fire her.
She was going to lose the chance to care for her son. Lose the chance to be near Jack. And suddenly, her on-the-road life as an art therapist, a perfectly good and adequate life, didn’t even seem palatable.
Tears pushed at the backs of her eyes and she drew in deep breaths, trying to keep them from falling. Miserably, she approached the couch and sat down beside him.
“Look, Arianna,” he said, his expression gentle and kind, which meant disaster, of course. “It’s been...awkward between us.”
She nodded, both because it was true and because she couldn’t speak.
“That kiss was...premature.” He kept his eyes on hers. “I’m sorry for that. I’ve been happy—very happy—with your work with Sammy. And...” He hesitated, his face coloring a little. “And I like being around you,” he added finally. “Do you think we could try to go back to that, to the way we were before?”
Her insides were dancing so fast that she could barely find the wherewithal to nod.
He’d said “premature.” Not a mistake, not wrong, just premature.
Did that mean he was good with it happening? Even that he wanted it to happen again?
At any rate, he hadn’t fired her, and that meant she could continue working with Jack and with her son. “I’d like that,” she managed to choke out through a throat tight with gratitude.
But as she gathered her things, an uneasy feeling penetrated her happiness. She hadn’t told Jack about Sammy’s heritage, and that fact stood in the way of them ever getting closer.
Tell him.
It wasn’t an audible voice, there in the moonlight as she walked across the lawn to her place, Jack watching from the porch. It was just a feeling in her heart, but she knew the author of that feeling, because it was the same message she’d gotten in prayer before.
It was true, probably; she should tell him. But she was afraid. Afraid of hurting this wonderful, tentative, fragile accord between them.
Afraid of being barred from caring for her son.