The Cowboy Seal's Christmas Baby

Which was why, once they’d gotten back under way, he set the pace faster than he probably should, because he had to escape not only Jane, but the biting pain of what it felt like to be connected to another person. And to know with absolute certainty that he’d never see her again.

* * *

IT TOOK HOURS to reach the gurgling stream beside which Gideon was now assembling Jane’s tent.

She sat on a fallen log, nursing her son, appreciating the unseasonably warm late-afternoon sun. It was almost as hard to predict Arizona weather as it was Gideon’s moods.

At one point during their death march out of these woods, he’d seemed downright chivalrous, waiting for her to catch up. He’d almost held her hand over an especially rocky part of the trail. But at the last moment—as if remembering girls have cooties—he’d changed his mind.

Her stomach growled.

“Gideon!”

“Yeah?”

“Mind if I have another one of your protein bars?”

“Go for it.”

“Thanks.” Midway through the day, he’d removed his coat. She had spent hours staring at the back of his green T-shirt. How had it escaped her that his shoulders were broad, his hips narrow, and his derriere... Oh my.

Might her former self have giggled at such an observation? The fact that she didn’t know soured her stomach.

He cursed at her tent. “This thing was clearly designed for yuppies.”

“I’m not a yuppie.” She bristled more at his tone than the label. She honestly wasn’t even sure what being a yuppie entailed.

“But that’s the thing.” He straightened. “You don’t know. Your gear shows that you have a more than average knowledge of backpacking. Almost as if you were in training for, I don’t know? Something big—like the Pacific Crest Trail.”

Free hand on her hip, she cocked her head. “Me? Hiking from Mexico to Canada? Yeah. I suppose that’s possible. But if that was the case, what am I doing in Arizona?”

“I just said you could be in training. The trail we’re on is a notorious killer.”

“Good to know.”

“Have you been all through your backpack? Are you sure there’s nothing we could use for a clue? How could you not have at least had a credit card or ID?”

“No clue. Maybe it fell? Or I was in such a hurry to get started I left it in the car? When we stopped by that mushroom patch, I had to dig deep for the paper towels. I didn’t see a single useful item in regard to discovering my identity.”

“No worries. We’ll figure it out. In fact, once we get you to a hospital to get checked, I’m sure the place will be crawling with your family.”

“Hope so...” Tears stung her eyes, but she swiped them away. This was no time for a breakdown. Whatever issue had led her to run into this forest, she feared she’d need all her strength to face.

With Chip fed, she got herself zipped up, settled him on a soft grassy patch, then dived into Gideon’s saddlebags for the protein bar.

She easily found it, but she’d also stumbled across a laminated photo she had a feeling Gideon would never want her to see. It had to have been taken at his wedding. He wore Navy dress whites, and the woman’s full-skirted gown seemed too fancy for the casual beach setting. His look of adoration for his bride made Jane’s stomach tighten.

Was this the woman who had broken him?

Of course, there were always two sides to every story, but what part had he played in their marriage’s collapse?

“Mind helping me out with the center pole? I don’t know how the hell you got this assembled while in labor. It’s like freakin’ origami.”

She tucked the photo back in the saddlebag, then went to help. “You have to work it through. You can’t just shove it. The whole process needs finesse.”

“Words to live by.”

It took her a minute, but then she caught his grin and blushed. “You know what I mean. Here, let me show you.”

“Do I need to cover Chip’s tender eyes?”

“Stop.” She brushed past him to grab hold of the channel the tent pole needed to be worked through. Now that she had an audience, the motion did feel less than wholesome in a comical way.

When Gideon stepped in to help, Jane fought to ignore the tingly awareness stemming from his faintest contact. He reached over her, raising the nylon channel for her to feed the pole through. The action was simple, so why did her every move strike her as beyond complicated? The heat of his chest radiated against her backside, and when his forearms accidentally grazed the sides of her overly sensitive breasts, she bit her lip to keep from begging for more.

Insanity! That’s what this was.

Her brain got the message, but her body refused to listen.

Ten minutes later, she stood side by side with Gideon while surveying their work.

“We have a home,” he said of their blue abode.

Home. An interesting choice of wording given their situation. She felt the same vibe—at least in the moment. The setting with its gurgling stream and sunny glade surrounded by towering ponderosa pines was idyllic. The stuff of fairy tales. Only by all logical standards, her current situation more closely resembled a nightmare.

Only...it didn’t.

Now that Gideon had mellowed, and her son seemed healthy and content, and she was immersed in a postcard-worthy setting, her current lot in life no longer seemed all bad.

“What’s causing that smile?” Gideon asked.

“Oddly enough, the fact that this trek has suddenly turned kinda fun.” She smiled.

“You won’t be thinking that when this clear sky causes nighttime temps to dip into the twenties.”

“That’s why Chip and I have you—to build us a nice, toasty fire.”

“True...” He returned her smile, warming her from the inside out. “But please remember that my whole rescuer gig is only temporary. As soon as we hit civilization, you and your little chipmunk will be history.”

His comment should have brought her comfort, but all it really did was make her feel like crying.

Chapter Five (#u9bc114c8-0b12-5bcd-bd5d-295a14abb1b2)

“Aw, why are you crying?” Gideon supposed the decent thing to do would be to draw Jane into a nice big hug. But while they’d had fun joking around while assembling the tent, that didn’t mean they were best buddies or that he’d ever again be decent. What went down in Iraq had fundamentally changed him to the point that he was no longer a nice man. Missy, his wife, had told him every chance she’d gotten before she’d left him.

Then she’d died.

Her words had stuck to his skin like a shirt with static cling.