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With a moan, Shelley put her head back and blinked away tears. Whatever memories of that weekend remained a blur, Zach’s comments on family had been clear. He emphatically did not want children.
“Oh, baby.” She put a hand low on her stomach. “What in the world am I going to do about you?”
That question became even more crucial when the phone rang about nine that night. Caught in the middle of cleaning out her refrigerator, Shelley answered the phone with some impatience. “Hello?”
“A little tense, aren’t we?”
“Zach?” She held the phone in front of her and stared at it, half hoping she’d conjured his voice out of her imagination. Putting down a bottle of salad dressing, she brought the phone back to her ear. “Zach, is that you?”
“In the fiber optically transmitted flesh. How are you?”
She choked back a hysterical laugh. “Fine, just fine. How are...things?” Why was he calling? He couldn’t possibly know about the baby. She’d just found out. Right?
“Great. But I woke up this morning and realized that June had arrived and I hadn’t heard from you, so I thought I’d see if you were free for dinner.”
“Tonight?” She couldn’t possibly face him tonight.
“Actually, I’m on duty in a couple of hours. I was thinking about the weekend, if that works for you.”
“Um...” How was she supposed to think? What should she say? Could she sit through a meal with him and not blurt out the truth? “I don’t know...”
“Okay.” His voice took on a cooler tint. “I probably caught you at a bad time. Maybe later—”
“No, Zach, wait.” Shelley drew a deep breath. “How about Saturday? I’ve got appointments all week, and I was saving Saturday night for a break.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll pick you up about seven-thirty. Wear the pink slippers, if you want. They were cute.”
He disconnected before she could think of a clever retort.
SATURDAY MORNING, the Crushers baseball team went into the final inning ahead of Zach’s Falcons, six-two. But the Falcons loaded the bases. With one more good hit, they could win.
Zach squatted beside his star batter as she waited on deck. “Okay, Cinda. AU you gotta do is relax and keep your eye on the ball. Cool?”
“Cool, Coach.” The beads on the ten-year-old’s many braids clicked as Cinda nodded her head. “I’m ready.”
“Go for it.” He stood up and backed into the dugout, just as Tim Johnson swung for his third strike. “Good job, Tim! Way to swing!” Zach ruffled the boy’s hair as he dropped onto the bench to pout. “Can’t hit a homer every time.”
“Cinda does.”
“Just seems like it, Tim.” The pitcher stretched and threw. Cinda swung and missed. “See?” But with the bases loaded, he really wouldn’t mind if this were one of the times she hit big.
Another pitch and another strike for Cinda brought the Falcons one swing away from a loss—or a win.
Beside him in the dugout, the Falcons had set up a cheering squad. Zach joined them. “Good try, Cinda. Keep swinging!”
He heard the crack of the bat before he saw the hit. The ball sailed in a beautiful arc over the pitcher’s head, beyond the second baseman. Cinda galloped toward first, rounded and touched the base, headed for second. Their runner on third crossed home.
The center fielder ran backward, glove high. Cinda’s tremendous hit began a downward curve.
Zach held his breath. The Falcons grew silent, the crowd waited in suspended animation, while the ball fell and the fielder backed up.
With the definitive smack of leather against leather, ball hit glove. The fielder juggled a second, brought his other hand in for help and held up the captured prize. Not a home run—a fly ball, making the third and final out.
The Falcon bench groaned. Zach let out his breath. “Okay, guys, line up for handshakes.” He glanced at one of the more disappointed players. “When you throw that glove in the dirt, Joey, you’re the one who has to clean it.”
Cinda ran in from third with tears in her eyes. “Great hit,” Zach said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Too bad he didn’t step in any of the holes I dug out there before the game.”
She smiled tremulously. “You’re such a goof, Coach.” Then she ran to take her place in line to congratulate the other team.
“Tough break,” said a voice behind him. He swung around to see Jimmy Falcon, their team sponsor, standing behind the fence.
Jimmy had been Zach’s first partner on the police force. Three years ago, they’d been caught in the middle of a gang fight that had left Jimmy with a shattered leg and a stalled career. “We appreciate your support, though. Those shirts are great.”
“Hey, these games get me out of bed on Saturday morning. What’s the record now?”
Zach picked up bats and helmets. “We’re three and four. This was the team to beat from last year. I’m hoping for an easy win next week against the Terminators.”
They talked baseball on the walk to Zach’s Trans Am to load equipment into the trunk. Parents stopped to shake a hand and commiserate. Cinda ran by, waving.
“See you at practice Monday,” Zach called.
“Right, Coach!”
“So what’s the rest of the your weekend like?” Jimmy leaned against the side of the car. “I’ve got a hot new group at the club tonight. I’m betting they’ll be a name before the year’s out.”
Jimmy’s jazz and blues club, Indigo, was well known in Denver music circles. “I might just show up.” Zach used the tail of his sweatshirt to wipe a bug splat off the trunk’s glossy black finish. “I’ve got a dinner date first.”
“Bring her along.”
“Maybe.” He knew a lot about what Shelley liked... in bed. But what kind of music did she listen to? “I’ll ask the lady.”
“I’ll save you a table. You missed one.” Jimmy grinned and pointed to an even bigger bug blotch on the hood.
“Thanks, pal. Don’t do me any favors.”
An afternoon spent washing the car didn’t provide much mental distraction. Zach waxed and buffed and thought about the woman he’d see tonight. The woman he hadn’t seen in three months, because...?
Working the night shift made dating in the evenings a real challenge.
Still, even cops got time off.
His basketball league took up a lot of spring nights.
But not all of them.
Coaching the Falcons kept him occupied in the late afternoon on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, with Saturday-morning games.
So what about the rest of the week?
No answers. “Okay,” he muttered, crouching down to clean a hubcap. “Why did I call her now?”
After that incredible weekend with Shelley, he’d waited an agonizing month to hear from her, and managed to survive sixty restless days after that. He’d kept the memories at bay, most of the time, and tried to take a stoical view of the situation. If they happened to run into each other, he’d figured, he’d be able to tell whether he should see her again. If not, well, they didn’t move in the same circles, really. And they’d already gone too far to be “just friends.”
So why be surprised when she didn’t call? She’d probably dropped his number in the first trash can she came to. The lady wasn’t interested. Pure and simple.
Zach gave the rear fender a final swipe and stepped back. The car looked good. He, on the other hand, smelled like a car wash. Time to hit the shower.
A few minutes later, facing himself in the mirror as he shaved, he asked the question again. “So why call her now?”
The answer shamed him. Wanting to forget one woman was absolutely the worst excuse for seeing another. But he couldn’t deny the truth.
Claire Hightower had called. She wanted Zach to know she was pregnant.
The news hit him like a truck without brakes on a steep mountain downgrade. He’d never imagined Claire pregnant. Dance partner, debate opponent, movie critic and dinner companion, sure. Dynamite lawyer and advocate for women’s and children’s rights, of course. She made a great stepmother for Allyson Hightower.
But pregnant?
Yes. He had heard the contentment in her voice. Loving and living with Dex Hightower made Claire happy. She’d confided that carrying Dex’s baby was the best achievement of her life. Zach sincerely wished her well, even as he wondered why the news shook him up so much.
The reason wasn’t buried too deep. Shelley’s accusations came damn close—Zach had loved Claire, easily and lightly, because she wanted it that way. He’d had hopes of getting her to change her mind, until Dex Hightower showed up in their lives. And now Claire was married and happy and Zach was...
Free, as usual. Alone, a state he’d looked forward to for eighteen years at home, four years at college, and ten more in the army. Just what the hell was wrong with his life, anyway? What more did he want?
Those questions buzzed at him for a couple of days after Claire’s call, breaking up his sleep, interfering with his work and play. He needed a distraction and thought about Shelley. She made him laugh, she made him ache, she made him crazy. What better way to spend an evening?
His first glimpse of her at the door that Saturday night brought his brain functions to a screeching halt. Zach gave a long, low whistle. “You’re gonna stop traffic, lady.”
She wore a sunny yellow dress, long and straight, with tiny straps and a big splash of red over one hip. Her skin glowed with a light tan, her hair was a little shorter than he remembered, her nails and sandals matched the splotch on the dress. For a diversion, he couldn’t have picked better—she might well be the sexiest woman he’d ever seen.
She smiled. “Good thing I’ll have a cop with me, isn’t it? Want to come in for a drink?”
“Sure.” He followed her inside and waited close by while she shut the door. Then, he put his palms on her shoulders and kissed her hello.
The intense jolt of desire took him by surprise. Her taste and her scent were familiar, the feel of her mouth against his welcome and right. Her small sigh, as he shifted his head to deepen the kiss, was a sound out of his dreams.
Before he was ready, Shelley drew back. Her gaze was soft, vulnerable, as she stared at him while they both recovered their breath.
But in the next second he lost her. Her face changed, almost hardened. She stepped away from him. Not even her fingertips lingered. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Disappointment flooded him, but he managed a casual nod: “Beer?”
“You’ve got it. Come to the kitchen. What have you been doing lately?”
From another woman, the comment might have demanded an explanation of his absence. But either Shelley was a damn good actress, or she didn’t care—her face showed nothing but mild interest as she brought him a bottle and a chilled mug.
He sat at the breakfast bar, fighting down his injured masculine pride. “Keeping Denver safe for women and children, mostly. I played department intramural basketball this spring and now I’m coaching Little League. How about you?”
She took the chair next to his. “Work, of course. My spring house sales are just starting to close.” She sipped from a glass of bottled water. “Getting some of these buyers and sellers to the table takes real effort.”
“Believe it or not, I’ve had to break up closings that got violent.”
“You don’t have to tell me. One of my clients tried to walk out recently, because the buyer wanted to change the terms of the contract. The buyer jumped up to stop him, and the next thing I know, they’re crashing though the glass window of the conference room, rolling all over the floor, making ugly noises and swearing a blue streak. We managed to stop them without the cops, though.”
“Takes skill, ending fights. You could get yourself hurt.”
“I let the lawyer do it—I figured if anyone deserved a punch, it was him.”
Zach laughed. “Good thinking. Are you hungry?” Her wrists, in red bracelets, were sparrow-small, her collarbones a little obvious. He wondered if she’d been working too hard and forgetting to eat.
She slipped off the chair. “I’m always hungry. Where shall we go?”
CAROL HARMON HELD BACK against the tug of her friend’s hand. “This is a high-end store, Jen. We could get into real trouble for just touching something. Let alone taking it.”
“Don’t be a wimp.” Jen tightened her grip and pulled Carol through the glass doorway. “Or we won’t let you join CW. Crooked Women aren’t wusses.”
“Neither am I!” But there were fur coats on one side of them, sequined dresses on the other. This place even smelled rich. And rich people didn’t like losing their stuff.
“So, come on.” Jen walked into the forest of sequins with her hands in her pockets, whistling.
Carol thought about leaving—but she didn’t have a way to get home. She thought about her sisters and her brothers, the cops in her family—Rachel, Grant and, especially, Zach—and what they’d do if they caught her shoplifting. Her best friend, Sam, would beat her up before she let her do something like this.
But Sam lived in Florida now, with a new school and new friends. Carol missed her. She was tired of hanging out by herself, writing letters because there was nobody to talk to. Or going to ball games with her brothers, movies with her sisters. It was time to grow up. Get a life.
All the cool people belonged to Crooked Women. And they wanted her to join. Why not? What did she really have to lose?
She pushed her bangs out of her eyes and hurried across the gold marble floor. “Hey, Jen! Jen, wait up!”
SHELLEY WASN’T SURE whether nerves or the baby had affected her appetite, but she could put away a mountain of food these days. Zach didn’t seem to mind when she finished her stuffed mushrooms and asked for one of his cheese sticks, and he gave her some of his steak before she even thought to ask. Dessert was cherries jubilee—she enjoyed every bite and thought she’d probably have room left for a sandwich before bedtime. Unless...
Unless she and Zach were otherwise occupied.
She couldn’t tell if he expected the evening to end in bed. More than halfway through dinner, she still didn’t know why he’d called. Surely he wanted more than this casual flirting, a lighthearted conversation between friends. They weren’t friends. And they weren’t lovers, exactly. Shelley couldn’t define what she and Zach were to each other.
Besides the parents of a child.
She shook her head to clear the thought. As long as she kept the baby out of her mind, she could keep the subject out of conversation. Zach wouldn’t want to know.
Would he?
“You said you’re coaching Little League,” she ventured as they walked to his car after dinner. “How old are the kids?”
He closed her door, came around and got in. “Ten to twelve. They’re a lot of fun.”
“What’s your record so far?”
“Three won, four lost. Do you like baseball?”
“I played softball in high school.” And she might be watching Little League games in a few years. “Coaching takes up a lot of time, when you don’t get paid.” She came closer to the point. “And when you don’t have kids of your own.”
“That’s the way I like it. When they’re tired and dirty and hungry, somebody else takes them home, listens to them whine, yells at them to take a bath and fixes their dinner. Me, I pick up some fast food and a good book and stay as far away from the family trap as I can.”
And that was that. Shelley turned to stare out the window, blinking back tears and giving up on a stillborn hope.
“What kind of music do you like...? Shelley? You still with me?”
She didn’t hear him for a few seconds, and had to recall his question. “Oh...whatever’s on, I guess. I don’t listen to much music.”
“How do you feel about hearing some jazz tonight?”
Shelley pasted on her professional smile and turned in the seat to face him. “Sounds like fun.”
She was surprised to find that she did, indeed, have fun. The Indigo Jazz and Blues Club bulged at the seams with people, but the owner, Jimmy Falcon, took her and Zach to a reserved table near the stage. The group they listened to played music she enjoyed, Zach kept her glass filled with ice water while he drank soda, and they shared a bowl of popcorn.
Best of all, they couldn’t talk much. And she couldn’t think much, with the band so close and the music loud. Jimmy came over during intermission and sat with them, preventing any personal conversation at all. More music, more drinks, two trips for Shelley to the crowded rest room. She checked her makeup in the mirror and noticed that her linen dress hadn’t wrinkled too badly. She avoided thinking about anything else.
They stayed until the last set ended, until the club emptied and the staff started to stack the chairs. Jimmy and Zach reminisced about some of their funnier exploits as police partners. Shelley laughed a lot, which was better than crying.
Then she and Zach were in the car on the way back to her house. The silence begged to be filled, but avoiding the subject uppermost in her mind tied her tongue.
She fell back on professional patter. “Where do you live? Do you rent or own?”
“Southeast from downtown. I own a bungalow with lots of trees, casement windows and antique plumbing.”
“You live alone?”
He flashed a grin. “Yeah. I waited almost thirty years to get my own bathroom. Now I don’t share with anybody.”
You shared with me, three months ago. Shelley didn’t voice the protest aloud. “Property values have gone up in that area of the city. You’ve probably got good equity accumulating. Have you thought about moving into something with better plumbing?”
“I’m staying put. I’d like to get the place paid off in another ten years, and then I won’t owe anybody.”
“No credit cards?”
“I pay those off every month.”
“No car loan?”
“Paid off last year.”
“Impressive money management,” she said, and meant it. “Living within your income is a lost art these days.”
“Does that make me an old codger?” There was that grin again.
Shelley couldn’t help smiling back. “If the dirtbrown sweater with darned moth holes and worn elbows fits...”
“I’m throwing it out first thing tomorrow morning!”
They laughed together, and Shelley tried to relax. But the closer they got to her house, the more her dinner started to unsettle. She planned to invite Zach in for coffee, expected him to say yes. After that, the situation would get dangerous. If he stayed for anything more, she really wasn’t sure she could—or should—keep her secret.
Finally, they crossed the front lawn through a warm summer night filled with cricket songs and starshine. Shelley unlocked the door, stepped inside and turned on the lamps in the foyer. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
He stood on the threshold and stared back at her, an expression in his blue eyes she couldn’t read. Finally, he shook his head. “All that soda has me wired. Thanks, anyway.”
Shelley swallowed hard, nearly drowning in disappointment. Tonight must have been some kind of test—and she’d failed. Zach didn’t like spending time with her, didn’t want to sleep with her again. He hadn’t called for three months, then thought maybe he should double-check his judgment, to be sure. One more dose of Shelley Hightower convinced him that he’d had enough. On to the next candidate.
Well, he didn’t need to know how much that hurt. “I had a great time this evening. The Indigo was a real pleasure. Tell Jimmy thanks for the special treatment.” She started to close the door.
“Shelley?”
She looked out into the dark, saw his face caught in the line of light from indoors and hardened her heart against his cocky grin. “Yes?”
The chill in her voice banished that grin. He backed up a step. “Sleep tight.”
“You, too.” She shut the door before he’d even turned around, and locked it.
Leaning back against the panel, she let herself slide down to the floor. There, she drew up her knees and curled her shoulders and bowed her head, cradling her baby with all of herself.
“It’s you and me together, kid,” she whispered. “And we’re going to make it...on our own!”
CHAPTER FOUR
ZACH STOOD on the front porch and stared at the door to Shelley’s house until the lights went off inside.
What the hell just happened?
He thought about ringing the bell, or pounding the damn door down. He thought about serenading under Shelley’s window, assuming he could figure out which one belonged to her bedroom. He thought about sleeping on her doorstep and facing her over the morning paper.
In the end, he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked to the car. He carefully kept to the speed limit until he hit the interstate. Then he floored the gas. The Trans Am growled its way up to seventy, heading north.
After an hour of fast driving, he exited, got fuel and a soda, then started back to Denver. He reached the city limits without finding an answer to his question.
What the hell had happened?
All evening, he’d had the feeling he couldn’t quite reach her. She’d been wary from the minute he walked into the house—except for the kiss. He’d known exactly where they were during that kiss.
And then, just as he was about to ask for another date, she froze him out.
“What did I do?” Zach stalked into his house and threw his keys on the kitchen counter. “What didn’t I do?”
The only response was the blinking light on his answering machine. Darius the Perfect Persian strolled in, winked golden eyes and strolled out again.
“Glad to see you, too.” Zach had adopted Claire’s cat when she married. After two years, he and Dar had come to tolerate each other, and sometimes even sat on the couch at the same time. Not much of a replacement for Claire, but the best either of them could do, since Darius hated ranch life with a passion.
Pulling a carton of milk out of the refrigerator, Zach punched the message button on the machine as he took a swig.
“Zachary, it’s Mom. Please call, no matter how late you get in.”
She sounded well, but worried. Zach picked up the phone and hit the autodial number for his mother. Family problems would give him something to think about besides Shelley.
His mother’s wide-awake “Hello” told him just how worried she was.
“Hi, Mom. It’s Zach. What’s wrong?”
“You sound strange. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Why did you call?”
“Your sister was nearly arrested tonight.”
Zach choked on his milk. “Which sister?”
“Carol, of course.”
“What happened?”
“She was caught shoplifting in a store at the mall.”
“Damn. Did they book her?”
“Don’t swear, Zachary. No, the officer let her off with a warning. But you have to talk to her.”
“Mom—”
“You’re the only one she listens to these days. Ever since your father died, nothing I say seems to matter.”
He sighed quietly. “Okay, I’ll talk to her. Is tomorrow soon enough?”
“Of course. I’ll expect you for lunch after church.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Sleep well, Zachary.”
Yeah, right. “You, too, Mom.”
Zach punched the phone’s off button and set it back into the cradle. Finishing the last of the milk, he trashed the carton, flipped off the light and headed for the bedroom.
As predicted, sleep didn’t come easily. He couldn’t get his little sister out of his mind. She’d taken their dad’s death hard—they all had. Zach had spent time with her for his own sake, as well as hers. He taught her to bat and pitch, shot hoops with her, took her and her best friend to Broncos games. She’d been busier since she started high school last September—more involved with friends and social events—so he’d seen less of her, which he’d considered progress for both of them.
Flopping over in bed, he groaned. “Guess that’s another mistake I’ll have to correct.”
Like the mysterious goof with Shelley. Should he call her again? Would she call him? Or was her brush-off tonight a not-so-subtle hint that she didn’t want to see him anymore? He wasn’t her type—she went for high-powered, high-profile, high-profit guys like her ex-husband.