Christmas Baby: A Baby Under the Tree / A Baby For Christmas / Her Christmas Hero

Sure enough, the snockered fool pulled out the chair next to hers and took a seat, clearly ignoring her verbal response, as well as all the outward signs of her disinterest.

Shane expected her to put the jerk in his place, but she looked to the right and left, as if searching for the waiter. What she needed was a bouncer, although Shane doubted a place like El Jardin had to use the services of one very often.

Did he dare try to come to her rescue?

Oh, what the hell.

He got to his feet, grabbed his hat—leaving his beer behind—and sauntered to the pretty blonde’s table, determined not to make a scene.

“Hi, honey,” he said. “I’m sorry I was late. Did you have to wait long?”

“I…uh…” She searched his eyes as if trying to figure out what he was doing, where he was going.

He reached out his hand to her, and she studied it for a moment, not understanding what he was trying to do—and that was to avoid causing a scene that was sure to draw unnecessary attention to her. But she seemed to catch on, because she took his hand and allowed him to draw her to her feet.

“I didn’t think my meeting would take so long,” he said.

“I understand. I knew you’d come as soon as you could get away.”

Shane brushed a kiss on her cheek, then turned to the drunk. “Excuse me, but that’s my seat.”

“I…” The drunk furrowed his brow, then got to his feet. “Well, hell. She should’ve said something.”

Shane narrowed his eyes. “She did. But maybe you didn’t hear her.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t leave a woman like her waiting. It makes people think she’s free for the taking.”

Shane’s right hand itched to make a fist, but the guy wasn’t going to remember any of this tomorrow. And El Jardin wasn’t the kind of place that lent itself to barroom brawls.

“Speaking of free for the taking,” Shane said, “I’m going to give you some good advice.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s time to call it a day.”

As the waiter who’d been working this side of the bar approached, he asked the blonde, “Is there a problem here?”

She looked at Shane, who nodded at the drunk. “This gentleman is going to need a cab.”

Within seconds, the manager of the bar entered the picture, and the drunken businessman was escorted away.

“Thank you,” the blonde told Shane. “I wasn’t sure what to do about him without making a scene.”

“No problem.”

“They should have quit serving him a long time ago,” she added.

“You’re right. And your waiter is getting an earful from his boss as we speak.”

“What makes you say that?”

“By the look the manager shot at him when he realized how drunk that guy was.”

“I didn’t notice that.”

He shrugged. “I’m observant by nature.”

“Well, I’m glad you stepped in when you did.”

“Me, too.”

Now what? he wondered.

Well, he’d gone this far, so why not?

He glanced at the empty chair across from her. “Is that seat taken?”

It was a lame line, he supposed, but it was the best he could come up with at the moment.

“No, it’s not. Would you like to join me?”

Well, how about that? He’d made it to first base. Before pulling out the chair, he extended his hand in greeting. “My name is Shane Hollister.”

“Jillian Wilkes.” As their palms met and her fingers slipped around his, a warm thrill shimmied up his arm and sent his senses reeling.

He had to force himself to release her hand, and as he did so, they each took a seat.

As much as he hated pickup lines and all the small talk that went into meeting someone for the first time, he realized there wasn’t any way around it.

“So what brings you to El Jardin?” he asked.

“I came for a glass of champagne.” She smiled, as though that made perfect sense, but the detective who still lived somewhere deep within found that hard to believe.

She must have read the question in his gaze, because her demeanor grew shy and uneasy.

Why? he wondered, more curious about her than ever. What was her story? Why would a woman like her be in a sophisticated bar all by herself?

Shane glanced at the nearly full bottle. “Are you celebrating a birthday or something?”

“Actually, yes. My divorce is final today.”

He nodded, as though that was a perfectly good reason to drink alone. Heck, he’d downed nearly a bottle of whiskey after his.

Jillian didn’t appear to be tying one on, though. He hadn’t seen her take more than an occasional sip. It must be some kind of mock celebration, which suggested the breakup hadn’t been her idea.

If not, what kind of man let a woman like her slip through his fingers? Or was there more to Jillian Wilkes than just a pretty face and graceful style?

Was she a spendthrift? Or someone who didn’t appreciate a man’s family or his job?