The Late Bloomer's Baby

It needed to be gone forever.

And Callie needed to think her way through this situation. Of course, their reunion reminded her of the good things. Ethan had made Callie feel beautiful, once.

He’d made her feel alive.

As much as she’d missed him—as much as it tore her heart out to let this man go again, even for a moment—she couldn’t forget the reason for the separation.

Leaving had been his choice. A thousand wishes hadn’t brought him home, and now Callie had a baby she couldn’t fathom losing.

A baby whose identity she couldn’t risk revealing.

Fisting her hands to keep them from trembling, Callie perched them against her hips and said, “What would your fiddle player think if she realized we still have that level of heat between us?”

He scowled.

“That’s why, Ethan. That’s why you have to go away and leave me alone.”

“I wanted to talk to you about unfinished business tonight, Callie. About our marriage. I didn’t intend to start anything else.” He shook his head. “Maybe we need a chaperone.”

She glanced around. They were alone out here, but someone might come or go at any time. “We aren’t going to discuss anything in Mary’s parking lot.”

“I didn’t plan to have the discussion out here.”

“You followed me out.”

His jaw tensed. “You get your way, don’t you, Cal?”

She didn’t think so. She might have maneuvered her way out of a conversation tonight—she hoped so—but she for damn sure hadn’t gotten her way.

She felt an almost frantic desire to keep Ethan near, but she couldn’t. Not if she wished to raise Luke in the way every child deserved—in one home, by the person who had nurtured him from his first second of life.

“Cal?”

She shrugged, pretending this wasn’t hell for her, too. “Guess so.”

He sighed. “I’m suddenly in no mood to talk tonight, but get it in your head that we will have this conversation very soon. Deal?”

She lifted her chin and didn’t answer.

Ethan looked at her for another few seconds. Then he finally strode across the parking lot. He got in his car, started it and drove away. Callie watched until he turned right onto the highway and traveled out of sight.

She stood in the same spot for a few minutes afterward, imagining that sweet, lost desire and something else she missed just as much: feeling safe enough to be honest with Ethan.

But losing him had taken a lot out of her. Sharing her days with their sweet baby kept her whole and peaceful. If she lost her little boy, she might become bitter.

She might become her mother.

For the life of her, she couldn’t take that risk.

A WEEK LATER, Ethan sipped his water and watched the breakfast crowd at Wichita’s Beacon Restaurant. After it had become apparent that his odd working hours and Lee-Ann’s weekend concert bookings weren’t always going to mesh, they’d taken to meeting here on the Saturday mornings he didn’t have to work. Since his west-Wichita house was nearer than LeeAnn’s east-side apartment, he generally got here first to grab a table.

LeeAnn was always right behind him, though. He’d only been there five minutes when she bustled through the door in her jeans and fancy boots, leaving behind a trail of perfume and admiring glances. That feminine confidence was the first thing that had attracted Ethan to her, with her well-toned body coming in a very close second. She worked hard to stay fit.

“It’s great to see you, Ethan.” She leaned down to press a kiss against his lips before settling in across from him. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“Of course not.”

As she studied the menu, he studied her. Her beaded Western shirt and gold necklace showed off a great tan—another thing she maintained diligently. As usual, she appeared to be ready to rope the world and make it hers. “You’re lookin’ good this morning,” he said.

Glancing up, LeeAnn winked at him. “You are, too. You hungry? I can’t do a whole order of French toast, but it sounds good. Have half and order another entrée for yourself.”

Ethan considered her offer. Sometimes, they ate breakfast here and went their separate ways, meeting again in the evening when they were both free. Whenever they could manage it, they had a big breakfast and spent a long, leisurely day together. This morning, neither of those options sounded interesting.

Ethan’s mind kept returning to Callie. Seeing her had thrown him back in time. However, instead of recalling the turmoil that had finally ended their marriage, he’d kept remembering the good times. He’d forced himself to get through the week without driving out to Augusta to see her again.

He dragged his thoughts back to the pretty woman sitting across from him, awaiting an answer.

“Sorry, LeeAnn. I’m not up for this,” he said. “Do you mind if we just get coffee or juice? Tonight after your show, we can do anything you want.”

“Biscuits and gravy don’t sound good?” she asked, naming a Beacon specialty he normally found irresistible.

“Not really.”

After they’d ordered their drinks, LeeAnn leveled a gaze at him. “Still thinking about last Saturday?”

“Maybe,” he said. Since he prided himself on his honesty, he corrected himself immediately. “Yes.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell her.”

“You’ve said that,” Ethan said. “I don’t know why it matters when I tell her. I will. I don’t want to just dump it on her.”

“You’ve said that,” LeeAnn said, winking again as the waitress brought their drinks.

“Any reason we should hurry?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Ethan. What do you think?”

Aha! LeeAnn was losing patience with him. Why didn’t he feel flattered at her eagerness to take the relationship to the next level? He’d thought he was ready, too.

From the beginning, he’d been honest with LeeAnn. He’d told her that he was still married, but that he’d reconcile with his wife when hell froze over. He still believed that to be the truth.

Callie owned a piece of his heart, but she’d been impossible to live with in the end.

He liked LeeAnn. She was outgoing, sophisticated and pretty in a vivid, brunette way. Basically, she was everything Callie wasn’t. But as Ethan watched her drink her glass of orange juice, he noticed the way she held it with a light touch and sipped slowly.

Why, all of a sudden, did he find it sexier for a woman to order what was possibly her first beer at the age of twenty-nine, hold on to it with a death grip and drink it so fast her eyes glazed over?

And why did Callie’s paler features remain in his thoughts as the ideal of feminine beauty?