If he got the chance, he’d be the real deal, or die trying.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  SARA KNEW THE decision to step back from her relationship with J.P., at least until they could each get some perspective, had been the right one.

  Like two people standing briefly on either side of a blazing fire and then meeting in the heart of the flames, they’d gotten too close, too fast.

  For her part, Sara figured she’d been so blinded by the sheer power of their mutual sexual attraction that she couldn’t think straight. In the throes of J.P.’s lovemaking, she lost her everyday practical self, the self she knew and understood, and became someone entirely different.

  Someone fierce and primitive, without a name, without a fixed identity.

  A naked essence of a person, set ablaze, all-consuming and destined to cave in upon herself, like a dying star shooting its last and brightest brilliance in all directions, piercing the darkness of space with streaks of glorious light.

  It was wonderful.

  It was also damn scary.

  She was thinking these thoughts as she and Hayley sat in Eric’s new hospital room, waiting for him to return from another round of X-rays.

  The text from J.P. jolted her, made her heart skip over a few beats.

  I know we agreed on low-to-no contact, Sara, but there’s something I really need to tell you, and it won’t fit into a text or even a phone call. Could we meet up sometime today?

  Semi-alarmed, Sara glanced toward Hayley, who was playing a farm-animal game on her tablet on the other side of the room. “Can you hold down the fort for a while, sweetheart?” she asked. “I need to go out.”

  Hayley looked up. “Sure,” she said, sweetly distracted, part of her mind clearly still on the game. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing drastic,” Sara replied lightly.

  You hope.

  “How long will you be?” Hayley asked reasonably. She had plans for the afternoon, a barbecue at her friend Susan’s house.

  “Not sure,” Sara replied. “Probably not long.”

  She was already texting J.P. back.

  I can meet you now. Where and when?

  His response was immediate.

  I’ll pick you up in ten minutes, if that’s okay. You’re at the hospital, right?

  Sara’s answer was Yes. Main entrance?

  It’s a plan, J.P. responded.

  Minutes later, J.P.’s truck drew up in front of the hospital, and he leaned across to push open the passenger’s-side door.

  Sara scrambled in, a little breathless.

  And worried.

  They hadn’t set a time limit on their sabbatical from each other, but now, as she studied J.P.’s profile, noting the tightness in his jawline, she wondered if he’d decided he’d had long enough to work things through from his side and come to the conclusion that they’d be better off going their separate ways.

  “You’re scaring me,” she said when she finally found her voice.

  By which time they were out of the hospital lot and driving along one of the Creek’s many side streets.

  “Don’t be,” J.P. replied, glancing at her once before turning his attention back to the road.

  He seemed sad and, conversely, quietly elated.

  They drove into a semirural neighborhood, where most of the homes were well-kept trailers, fancy double-and triple-wides. Sara knew a lot of the people who lived in the area, including several of Hayley’s friends from school, and a few of Eric’s, too.

  She’d been here often herself, attending book clubs, bridal and baby showers, fundraising meetings for locals who’d fallen on hard times or had a family member who’d succumbed to accident or illness.

  J.P. brought the truck to a stop in front of Bob and Rayleen Sanford’s place, a gleaming structure encircled by a wooden deck and surrounded by green lawn, recently mown, judging by the scent wafting through the truck’s open windows.

  There were flower beds everywhere, along with a few scattered toys, and an elderly golden retriever lay comfortably in the shade of a towering cherry tree.

  A standard white picket fence embraced the property.

  Sara was confused—why had J.P. brought her here?—but she smiled, thinking what good people the Sanfords were. Childless themselves, they took in foster children, usually babies or toddlers, and the whole community admired them for their kindness and dedication.

  “Where are all the children?” she asked, musing. On other occasions, when she’d driven past on some errand, she’d seen Rayleen and one of her teenage helpers in the yard, riding herd on three or four active toddlers or rocking babies on the shady deck.

  “Inside,” J.P. answered. “Rayleen gives them snacks right about now. Brings them back outside for a while in the afternoon, when the temperature starts to go down.”

  Sara turned to J.P. then, struck by his familiarity with Rayleen’s routine.

  “So,” she began, “what’s going on, J.P.? Why are we here?”

  He told her then.

  About Ellie Parks, about his son.

  Sara was surprised, but not horrified. J.P. had a reputation for dating a lot of women, and while he’d probably taken precautions, there was never a guarantee that pregnancy wouldn’t happen.

  “Did you love her?” she asked when he’d finished a fairly detailed account of receiving a call from Eli, heading into town with his dad, meeting with Mary Collins, finding his three-year-old son.

  J.P. sighed, shook his head. “No,” he said. “I can’t say I regret fathering Tyler, though. He’s a gift I never dared hope for. But I do regret being so careless. Ellie and I barely knew each other. I couldn’t even tell you where she’s from or what she does for a living—not without doing some research. We didn’t make plans or promises. It was all up-front—let’s have fun, then you go your way and I’ll go mine.”

  She had no idea how she felt about this latest development in the saga of Sara and J.P., but she understood what this child must mean to him. He’d made it clear how much he wanted a family and now he was about to have one.

  Not necessarily including Sara.

  The thought made her feel as if the ground had fallen away beneath her, leaving her suspended over a deep abyss.

  “What happens now?” she asked. “Are you going to marry Ellie Parks?”

  J.P. blew out a breath and his eyes widened in what looked like genuine surprise.

  “No,” he said, sounding just emphatic enough to calm some of the doubts whispering at the ravaged edges of Sara’s heart. “I love you, Sara. And only you.”

  “Okay,” Sara said, because nothing else came to her in the moment.

  Some writer she was. Once again, her usual extensive vocabulary had deserted her.

  “There are some things that have to happen before I can bring Tyler home to the ranch—legal things, mostly—but Ellie basically agreed to sign custody over to me, full stop. Eli has deputies out looking for her now—we’re not sure what kind of mental state she’s in, and she said she was in trouble, back home in Oregon.”

  “Sounds like she’s in a tough place financially,” Sara observed.

  “Yeah,” J.P. agreed with another sigh. “I want to be fair to Ellie. If she can’t afford legal representation, I’ll hire an attorney for her.”

  “That’s kind,” Sara said. “Some men would be furious.” She thought of Zachary. “And some would deny any involvement at all. Walk away.”

  “Not gonna happen,” J.P. said without hesitation.

  Just then, Rayleen’s front door opened, and she stepped out onto the deck, a small boy perched on her right hip.

  A plump woman in her midforties, with chin-length auburn hair and a winning smile, Rayleen beckoned with her free hand and called out, “Come on in, you two, and have some lemonade. I just made a batch, and it’s ice-cold.”

  “I could wait here,” Sara volunteered, feeling a little like an intruder.

  “Come with me,” J.P. urged. “Please.”

  They both got out of the truck.

  J.P. opened the gate in the picket fence and held it for Sara.

  The dog remained in his shadow-dappled spot, thumping the ground with his tail.

  Rayleen met them in the middle of the stone walkway.

  Tyler was already leaning toward J.P., reaching out for him with both arms.

  “Da,” he said.

  J.P.’s eyes glistened as he took the child from Rayleen.

  “See there?” Rayleen said with a note of triumph. “I told Mary he’d start talking when things settled down a bit. He’s a smart little fella.”

  The little boy clung to J.P.’s neck.

  “Hello, there,” Sara said, speaking quietly to the child.

  He regarded her solemnly for a long moment, then turned shy and buried his face in J.P.’s shoulder. “Da,” he repeated.

  Automatically, Sara rested a hand on J.P.’s lower back.

  They all went inside then, led by a chattering Rayleen, who was one of the most sociable people Sara had ever known, and sat at her pristine kitchen table, Tyler still clinging to J.P.

  They drank two rounds of Rayleen’s delicious lemonade, and Rayleen shared what she knew about the situation, which, as it turned out, was nothing more than J.P. knew already.

  When it was time to leave—Sara needed to get back to the hospital, and J.P. had a meeting with his attorney—Tyler cried and clung, wailing, “Da! Da!”

  Gently, Rayleen peeled the distraught child away from J.P. and mouthed the words don’t worry before rocking the boy in her arms and telling him softly that his Da would be back to see him again soon. Very soon.

  In the truck, J.P. sat still as stone behind the wheel, and Sara reached over, laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “Everything is going to be all right,” she said. “You’ll see.”

  “Will it?” he asked, his voice gruff.

  Sara loved this man—that was a fact. But the seismic shift that happened as she watched him, separated once again from the child he hadn’t known he had, deepened that love by fathoms.

  “Yes,” she told him with conviction. “It will be difficult, and it will take time, but, yes, at some point, you and Tyler will be together, for good.”

  “He spoke, Sara. He called me Da. How could he possibly know who I am?”

  “Maybe Ellie has videos of you, on her phone, perhaps. She might have wanted him to know he had a father.”

  “Maybe,” J.P. agreed, starting the truck.

  “He’s unreasonably cute, you know,” Sara observed, smiling.

  “I agree,” J.P. replied. “No doubt, he’ll be a handful, though.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  J.P. shook his head. Smiled. “No,” he replied. “I figure we’ll get along just fine, the boy and I. Does it bother you?”

  “No,” said Sara without hesitation. “I believe I fell in love with that child at first sight.”

  J.P. was silent, but the smile lingered on his lips.

  “Where do we go from here, J.P.?” Sara asked minutes later when they had almost reached the hospital and he still hadn’t spoken. “You and me, I mean?”

  “I don’t know, Sara. Where do you want us to go?”

  “I don’t know, either,” Sara said, feeling defeated.

  And more in love with J.P. McCall than ever.

  “Then I guess we have to decide not to decide, for now,” J.P. replied.

  And no more was said.

  That afternoon, while Eric was sleeping off a hectic morning of tests, X-rays and examinations, and Hayley had gone to her friend’s house for the barbecue and a swim in the pool, Sara found a quiet corner in another part of the hospital and called Brynne.

  “Did Eli tell you?” she asked before Brynne could say more than hi, there.

  “Tell me what?” Brynne asked, sounding honestly puzzled.

  Sara sighed. “Sorry. I keep forgetting that my brother is about as talkative as any of the carved heads on Mount Rushmore.”

  Brynne laughed, her voice hushed. “That’s my husband,” she affirmed. “What does he know—what do you know—that neither one of you told me?”

  Sara opened her mouth to answer, hesitated, then decided she was going to burst if she didn’t tell someone what she’d just learned.

  J.P. hadn’t asked her to keep the news of his son’s existence to herself, and while she certainly wasn’t planning to blab it all over Painted Pony Creek, she was reasonably sure telling Brynne wouldn’t do any harm.

  Besides, Eli would share the information sooner or later, given that Brynne was, after all, his wife. And once he was sure all his many scruples wouldn’t be breached.

  “J.P. has a three-year-old son,” she said.

  Brynne was suitably surprised. “Are you serious?”

  “Oh, yes,” Sara replied. She told Brynne what she knew, as succinctly as possible, and then she started to cry.

  She didn’t know why.

  She wasn’t sad, and she wasn’t happy, either.

  She was ridiculously tired and overwhelmed in general. Nothing new there.

  Too many things were coming at her from too many directions.

  “Oh, Sara,” Brynne said. “Is J.P. still involved with this woman?”

  “No, I’m sure he isn’t,” Sara responded, sniffling and wiping at her tears with the back of one hand. “He wouldn’t hide something like that.”

  A passing orderly, pushing a supply cart, paused and looked at her with curious concern.

  She waved him onward with a sheepish smile, body language for I’m fine. No worries here.

  “You’re right,” Brynne said. “J.P. has one hell of a reputation, but I don’t think he’s done much dating, if any, since Carly showed up. That was a wake-up call for all three of them—Eli, Cord and J.P. Brought them up short for sure, and made them take a good look at how they were living their lives.”

  What Brynne said was true.

  Carly’s arrival had changed those men profoundly.

  “Would you be willing to raise another woman’s child, Sara?” Brynne pressed.

  “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” Sara confessed. “Tell you a secret?” She paused, and when Brynne didn’t speak, she continued, “I love my kids more than my life, but when I think about starting over as a mom, I get scared. Really scared.”

  Brynne was quiet for a few moments. Then she spoke again, very gently. “Having babies, raising them, would be different with J.P.—very different. You do realize that, don’t you? J.P. isn’t a kid in a man-suit, like Zachary. He’s an adult, and he’ll be there, for you, for this little boy and for any children the two of you may decide to have.”

  “But what about Eric and Hayley?”

  “What about them, Sara?”

  “What if they don’t—adapt?”

  Brynne sighed. “You know Hayley would be delighted to be a big sister. She’s marvelous with the twins. As for Eric, well, he’s more of a challenge, I admit, and now he needs more care and attention than ever, but he’ll be eighteen years old in a few months, Sara. It’s time he grew up, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Sara said with a sigh of her own. “That’s true enough, but he’s badly injured, Brynne. Who knows what such a terrible experience does to a person’s psyche? He’ll probably have PTSD to deal with, on top of having more surgery, and months of physical therapy—”

  “And we’ll see that he makes it through just fine—all of us, not just you. We’re his family.”

  Tears welled in Sara’s eyes. Eli had always been a good brother to her, but Brynne added a whole new element to the Garrett tribe.

  She was both a dear friend and the sister Sara had always wanted.

  “Thank you,” Sara said.

  Abruptly, Brynne took the conversation in a whole new direction. “You’re at the hospital, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” The word was tremulous.

  “Go home, then,” Brynne counseled. “Kick off your shoes and lie down for a while. Pamper yourself a little. You’re worn to a frazzle.”

  Home seemed a lonely place, now that J.P. was keeping his distance. Eric, of course, was confined to the hospital, and Hayley was off doing her own thing a lot of the time, which was undeniably a good thing.

  Still, she’d be at loose ends, especially since she’d finished making the necessary changes to her latest novel the day before.

  “Sara?” Brynne prompted when she didn’t get an answer.

  “I’m here,” Sara said. “Just thinking.”

  “You’re overthinking, I’ll bet. Considering this scenario and that, trying to prepare yourself for every conceivable problem or situation.”

  It was true.

  Sara was a storyteller, and while that trait served her well as an author, it was less beneficial when she pondered the possibilities—good and not so good.

  Okay, bad.

  “You’re right, Brynne. So how do I stop?”

  “You go home. You lie down on the couch with a cool cloth on your forehead and you binge-watch something on Netflix or Amazon Prime. It’s almost as effective as meditation.”

  Sara laughed, picturing herself stretched out in her living room, focused on the adventures of characters whose lives bore no resemblance to her own.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll go home. But I can’t guarantee that I’ll switch on the TV. I’m not in the mood for clanking swords or lumbering zombies or well-coiffed women in Regency gowns.”

  This time, Brynne laughed.

  “Call me again if you need to talk,” she said.

  They bade each other temporary farewells and ended the call.

  When Sara got back to Eric’s room, expecting her son to be sleeping peacefully, trying to convince herself that she ought to take Brynne’s advice, she got her second shock of the day.