Her Baby's Father

Jack Morgan!

Oh, Lord. The reality of hearing Pam speak his name was like a kick to the solar plexus. This really was the day everything turned golden—and at the same time started to unravel.

Thank goodness the other woman was already out the door and starting down the steps, because Sara knew her face must reflect the jumble of emotions surging through her.

Anticipation. Shock. Relief. Fear. Sadness.

All of those.

“Jack,” she whispered. “Oh, Lord, Jack.”

She felt numb. Jack was dead. He’d been murdered ten months ago. Or ten months in the future if you granted the outrageous idea that Sara had been sent back to her own past by forces she would never understand.

But one thing she knew for sure. Jack’s death was in the future of this current reality because he was alive now. Through the open door she could see Pam hurrying down the steps to meet him and his brother.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” she said to the other man—Ted Morgan. The one who cared about having a grand house he could show off to visitors.

Which was so different from Jack’s attitude about his home. She knew he didn’t give a fig about appearances. He’d never been into flaunting his wealth. And his stint in the army had helped solidify his values.

He trailed behind his brother, looking like this was the last place on earth he wanted to be. Feeling light-headed, she steadied herself with a hand against the side table in the hall, trying to arrange her features and her understanding of what was happening.

A few minutes ago she’d been driving alone in a snowstorm, on her way to the hospital to deliver Jack’s baby. The baby who would never know his father. Now she was going meet him for the first time.

That couldn’t be a coincidence. It must mean something important.

Or was this all a cruel joke? A reminder of how much she’d lost? Maybe there was another explanation for what she thought she was experiencing now. Just the opposite of what she’d been thinking. She’d been in an auto accident. Was she lying in the hospital in a coma, hovering between life and death, dreaming all this?

She pressed her hand against the surface of the table. It didn’t feel like a dream. It felt as real as the first time she’d lived through this day, only every moment was overlaid with what she knew about the future.

She wanted to scream a warning to Jack. And to pledge to whoever had put her here that she wouldn’t waste this opportunity.

Dimly she remembered the conversation that had swirled around her after the car crash. She hadn’t seen who was talking, but she’d heard two voices arguing about her fate. And now here she was being given a second chance to make everything come out differently.

But how? Last time she and Jack had been relentlessly swept along by events they couldn’t control.

She straightened her spine. This time, since she knew what was going to happen, she could change everything. Well, she knew the end result. But that wasn’t enough. Could she figure out who wanted Jack dead and why? Then stop the killer from murdering him?

She clenched her fist, digging her nails into the tender flesh of her palm.

If she wanted it badly enough, maybe she could change history. Well, nothing so grand as the history of the world. Just Jack’s history—and her own.

Her pulse was pounding as she watched the two men come up the walk with Pam. The real-estate agent was engaged in an animated conversation with Ted. Jack followed a little behind, walking with the slightly awkward gait of a man who’d almost lost his leg, then spent months getting the muscles and ligaments to work properly.

The injury was the result of a roadside bomb in Afghanistan. It wasn’t the only consequence of the explosion. He’d been thrown forward in the vehicle, dislocating his shoulder. Shrapnel had peppered his chest and midsection, and a few shards had dug into the skin of his face.

He’d spent weeks in the Naval Medical Center, which had taken over army cases from Walter Reed, then weeks in rehab. But he’d been lucky. And he’d worked like a fiend to get back in shape and prove to himself that he wasn’t impaired for life.

He’d been going to reenlist. Instead his family had persuaded him that he’d done enough to serve his country. He’d come home, not sure who he was.

His war wounds had done a number on his self-image. Which had made him quiet and withdrawn. Yet the two of them had clicked almost immediately.

As Jack walked toward her, she struggled not to turn her total focus on him. He wouldn’t like that. Not when they were just about to meet. He’d think she was staring at him because of his limp—and the scars on his face.

She struggled to assume a casual aspect, struggled not to look like a woman taking the first view of the man she loved, after they’d been separated for months. After she’d believed he was dead.

Still, her chest tightened as she waited for her first contact with Jack in an eternity.

No, her first meeting with him at all, she reminded herself. At least as far as he was concerned.

For a wild moment she thought about taking him aside and trying to explain everything to him. But he’d only think she was crazy. Anybody would think she was crazy if she started talking about events that hadn’t happened yet. Which was one of the problems of this whole situation.

Right now, all she could do was experience the joy of seeing him alive and well.

Still, there was a dreamlike quality to watching him come toward her. Eagerly, she drank in his appearance, taking in everything in one sweep. His height of six feet. His dark eyes and hair. His strong jaw. The scars on one cheek that showed through the dark stubble. His lips that looked so hard but could be so incredibly soft against hers.

He was dressed in a dark knit shirt, jeans and running shoes because his doctor had advised him to stick with footwear that gave him good traction. He took that advice, partly because it suited his casual manner and partly because he wanted to give himself every physical advantage.

As he came toward her, she stifled the impulse to pat her hair into place.

“Ted Morgan. Jack Morgan. Sara Carter,” Pam said.

“Nice to meet you,” they answered.

“Are you working with Pam?” Ted asked.

“I have my own business, staging properties for sale.”

“Staging?”

“Getting them ready to show,” she answered without explaining exactly what that meant.

She remembered the first time this scene had taken place. She’d wanted to get home and go to sleep, but she’d stayed because Pam had asked. As the tour had proceeded, she’d been glad because she wanted to get to know Ted’s brother better.

Pam had mentioned the Morgan fortune, but Sara really hadn’t known much about the family. Now she did. Unfortunately, that made her anxious about the impression she was giving. Jack’s mom and dad were very particular about who their sons hung out with. Could she present herself differently? Probably not.

Don’t get started down that road, she warned herself. Not now. He’s not going to be interested in you if you come across as a phony.

Which might be a moot point, she realized. What if he walked away from her without connecting the way they had before?

Lord, that was something else to worry about. One of too many things that were competing to make goose bumps pepper her arms.

“Why don’t we look at the house?” Pam said. “Isn’t it marvelous? Notice the spacious foyer. It makes a good first impression for your guests.” She opened a door to the left. “And the closet right here has ample room for coats.”

Ted nodded.

Sara and Jack trailed into the kitchen as Pam continued to point out the features of the house.

“Don’t you just love the top-of-the-line stainless-steel appliances? The refrigerator’s huge and the gas stove has six burners,” Pam was saying. “The Mexican tile on the floor makes a statement.”