meet?â
He didnât answer right away, and she thought she heard a refrigerator door open and then close on his end of the line. A second later she heard him take a drink.
Probably of beer. Instantly she pictured him standing with his shoulder propped against the kitchen doorway, the way heâd stood the other night.
Why did he feel the need to get a beer before answering such a simple question? Was it possible she wasnât the only one prevaricating about her past?
âJake?â she prodded. Then felt guilty for being so nosy. And for jumping to conclusions. âNever mind. You donât have to tell me.â
âActually, he rescued her from a burning building. Saved her life.â
âReally?â Now that she hadnât seen coming.
âYeah, really. It wasâ¦â
When he didnât speak for several seconds, she offered, âVery romantic, I imagine.â
She could picture it. The terror of being trapped in a burning building. The certainty that death was near. And then, out of the smoke, appears a handsome, broad-shouldered firefighter come to carry the damsel in distress to safety. It was the stuff of fantasies.
âRomantic? Sure. But itâs a really bad way to start a relationship. When my dad was injured in the line of duty and had to take early retirement, I think my mom was more upset than he was. I donât think she ever forgave him for being just a man.â
Something in his voice tugged at a part of her deep inside. He sounded so serious. So pensive.
This vulnerability disconcerted her. She didnât know how to talk to him when he was like this. Didnât know how to keep up her barriers against him. So she said nothing.
There was another long pause from his end of the phone. More sounds of him swallowing.
The image of him drinking from a beer bottle crept into her head again. She could practically see him. The way he tipped his head back. The way his Adamâs apple slid up and down the column of his neck as he swallowed. The beads of condensation that formed on the bottle, moistening his fingers.
She wasnât a fanciful person. In fact, sheâd been accused on more than one occasion of having no imagination at all. So why couldnât she turn off the images of Jake in her mind?
Was it merely the unnatural intimacy that came from talking to him on the phone while lying in bed?
That must be it.
âLook, I should go.â She glanced at the clock. âNow it really is late. At least for a pregnant woman.â
âYeah, I suppose soâwait, we donât have a story yet.â
âCanât it wait till tomorrow? We could talk after work.â
âBy then itâll be too late. Youâre making our appointment with the justice of the peace tomorrow, right?â
âYes. I was going to do it over lunch.â
âWhen you do, the women you work with will want details.â
âThe women I work with? Whatâs that supposed to mean?â
âOh, come on, donât pretend to be offended.â That teasing warmth was back in his voice. âWomen are the worst about this kind of thing.â
She opened her mouth to disagree, then snapped it closed. He was right, of course. There would be at least a dozen women at the courthouse pumping her for information the second she scheduled an appointment with the J.P. Her court clerk, Meg. All the female courtreporters. Not to mention the other judges. And Kevin would be just as bad as any of the women.
Did she dare share the truth with even him? If she did, there would be the inevitable questions about why she hadnât told him about the pregnancy in the first place. What a mess.
âYouâve gotten pretty quiet over there. You fall asleep?â
I wish .
âOkay, so we need a story by tomorrow. Surely you have some idea already or you wouldnât have brought it up.â
âWhat about Beth and Stewâs New Yearâs Eve