Free A Baby Under the Tree by Judy Duarte Page B

hair pulled back today, and a white cotton blouse and black slacks. She’d come looking more casual, more down-to-earth.
    More approachable than before, even when he’d found her at home.
    As he pulled out the chair next to hers, he asked, “So what are you having? A screwdriver?”
    She glanced at her glass, then back at him. “No, it’s just orange juice.”
    The waitress, Trina Shepherd, stopped by the table to ask what he’d like to drink.
    After his first visit to the Stagecoach Inn, she’d become a friend of sorts when he’d closed the place down on a slow night. But unlike most guys who’d stayed too long at the bar, he’d been drinking coffee, not throwing back shots.
    As a result, Trina knew more about Shane than anyone else in Brighton Valley. But he knew more about her, too.
    At one time, before heartache and a few bad choices had left her weathered and worn, she’d been pretty. If a man looked close enough, he could still see hints of it in her eyes.
    â€œHey,” she said, brightening when she spotted Shane. “I haven’t seen you in here for a while. How’s it going?”
    â€œAll right.” He tossed her a friendly smile. “How are the kids? Any more broken windows?”
    Trina laughed. “There’d better not be. I told them I was going to quit buying groceries if they played dodgeball in the living room again.”
    Last week, when Shane had stopped by for some hot wings and a beer on his way home, she’d had to leave work to run one of the boys to the E.R. at the BrightonValley Medical Center. The kid had nearly cut off his finger trying to clean broken glass off the floor.
    Shane introduced the women, calling Jillian a friend of his.
    â€œIt’s nice to meet you,” Trina said to Jillian, before asking Shane, “What can I get you?”
    â€œI’ll have a Corona—with lime.” He looked at Jillian. “Would you like something stronger than that?”
    â€œNo, thanks. I’ll stick with juice.”
    Was she worried that alcohol might lower her inhibitions? She didn’t need to be. He’d never take advantage of her, although he supposed she really had no way of knowing that. At least, not yet.
    He wouldn’t be opposed to taking her back to his place, though. And if she still insisted upon taking things slow, he’d let her have his bed, and he’d sleep on the sofa.
    Of course, the night was still young. So who knew how things would end up?
    As he cast a glance her way, he saw that she was pulling at the nail on one of her fingers. He couldn’t help thinking that she was more nervous than he’d ever seen her.
    Why? Was she apprehensive about seeing him again?
    If so, was it the honky-tonk setting that was bothering her? Or was it confronting the sexual attraction they’d both found so impossible to ignore?
    She stopped messing with her fingernail, then leaned forward and rested her forearms on top of the table. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
    That’s what she’d said when she’d called yesterday.Yet whatever she had to say still seemed to weigh on her mind.
    Wanting to make it easier on her, he tossed her a smile. “I hope it’s to say that you missed me.”
    She returned his smile, although hers was laden with whatever had been holding her back. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”
    Apparently so. But her nervousness set him on edge, too.
    Finally, she said, “I want you to know that the night we spent in Houston was the first time I’d ever done anything like that.”
    He’d suspected as much, and a slow grin stretched across his face. “I’m glad to hear it.”
    So maybe she did have more in mind than a glass of OJ and a chat. He sure hoped so, but he was going to need a little more to go on than that.
    Jillian ran her fingertip along the moisture that had gathered on