His Country Cinderella. Karen Smith Rose
too tired to eat when I get home. Or too busy.”
“Jeannette, you have to—”
“I know what you’re going to say. But I did sample a new recipe for wings at the restaurant, and a square of bread pudding, too.
“That’s what you had to eat all day?”
“And breakfast. Jonah and I had scrambled eggs, toast and a little bit of fruit.”
“Mom makes great eggs.”
“I’ll bet she does. Ready to start on that second puzzle?”
Jonah looked at Jeannette with one of those “little boy” looks that told her he wanted something. She waited.
Finally, he asked, “Can Zane read me a book?”
Zane seemed to know intuitively what to do. He gave her a little nod, showing her he was game.
“It’s a book or a puzzle. Then you do have to go to bed.”
“Oh, Mom. It’s late night.”
“Yes, I know, and it’s already getting late. One or the other. You choose.”
After a few seconds Jonah decided, “A book. In my room.”
Jeannette knew if she let Zane into Jonah’s room, she was letting him further into her life. Yet sitting beside him on the sofa, almost aware of every breath he took, definitely aware of his cologne and the restrained strength of him beside her, she felt as if she were fighting a losing battle. “Go pick out the book. Then we’ll be in.”
After Jonah was out of earshot, Zane asked, “Does he often back you into a corner like that?”
“More often than I’d like him to. For four-and-a-half he has great manipulative skills.” She lifted her chin and studied Zane’s face. “Why did you come tonight?” Could she get even one of her answers?
“Because I wanted to see you again…because I hoped you didn’t believe everything you read.”
She had to be honest with him. “I hadn’t read much, not until this afternoon when I went to the library and searched your name on the computer.”
“I see.” His voice was tense and much more distant.
“No, I don’t think you do.”
“Mommy! Zane! I found a book.”
Rising to her feet Jeannette said, “My guess is he picked the longest one he could find.”
But when they reached Jonah’s room, Jeannette found he had picked one of his favorite books rather than the longest. It was a funny book with silly pictures and lots of rhymes.
Sitting on the bed beside Jonah, Zane put expression into the words without half trying. Jonah laughed and so did Zane, and her heart ached with everything Jonah needed that she couldn’t provide. A dad’s love was different than a mom’s. Her gaze fell on the photograph of Ed on Jonah’s bedside table. He would have loved his son and done anything for him. He’d proven that when he’d taken two jobs and worked so many hours she’d hardly seen him. That had been her fault. If she hadn’t missed so many days of work because of morning sickness, if she hadn’t started spotting…if she hadn’t gotten pregnant…
She had switched from birth control pills to patches and one week she’d simply forgotten to change it. When she discovered she was pregnant, she hadn’t known how Ed would react. They’d been together for three years and he’d been dragging his feet about commitment. They’d been living together, but sometimes she still felt he could walk away at any time. Yet when she told him she was pregnant, he’d said they should get married. However, he kept putting it off, finally pushing the event until after the baby was born. She would have liked to have gotten married before Jonah was born. But she was just so glad Ed was finally ready that she hadn’t questioned him and hadn’t pushed, although a part of her had always wondered if he was doing it out of duty or out of love.
She still didn’t know. She’d never know.
“All done,” Jonah suddenly said, slapping the covers of the book together. “We could read it again.”
“Or not,” Jeannette said firmly. “Say good-night to Zane and I’ll help you get ready for bed.”
Jonah’s good-night for Zane came accompanied with another hug. Her little boy was getting attached very quickly. Maybe if Zane were an ordinary man, she’d let it continue. But how could she when she knew who he was? When he didn’t have a normal life? When his interlude in Thunder Canyon might not last very long? When he could be gone tomorrow?
Tonight when she finished Jonah’s bedtime ritual and left his door open a crack, she found Zane pacing the living room. “What’s wrong?” she asked, knowing something was.
“I have no business being here. If a journalist got wind of what I was doing and where I was, I’d be dragging you and Jonah into everything that’s going on.”
“You call that tripe written about you journalism?”
He grimaced. “Well, at least you could see it wasn’t that. Some people can’t see through it. They think an article in a publication that writes about alien abductions is the same as one in the New York Times.”
She eyed him thoughtfully. “Would you like a beer?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Did you have supper?”
“I ate one of those frozen dinners you stocked my freezer with.”
“How about a Southwestern omelet? I bought salsa on sale at the grocery store and Woody, my manager, was going to throw away perfectly good containers of sour cream. The waitresses divided them up.”
“That sounds great. But if you’re too tired to cook, I don’t need anything.”
“This will take five minutes. And from your pictures six months ago and the way you look now, I’d say you need to eat a little more than you’re eating, too.”
“You sound like Dillon.”
“With good reason. How much weight have you lost?”
“About fifteen pounds. But I often lose ten when I start a new tour.”
“Really?”
“It happens. My hours aren’t regular and I’m a perfectionist. I work in my bus, not only writing music, but staying on top of the business, promotion with my publicist, gigs with my manager, money flow with the accountant. I delegate, but I still oversee everything. I don’t want any unhappy surprises when I least expect them.”
Jeannette took eggs from the refrigerator and pulled out the jar of salsa. The frying pan, though clean, was sitting on the stove from that morning. “Is any part of your life normal?”
“Normal becomes what we make it, don’t you think?”
“Is that an excuse for saying no?”
“You cut right through it, don’t you?”
“I have to, Zane. I’m a single mom. I can’t lie to myself and I can usually read evasive tactics in others. It’s a gift,” she added teasingly, trying to lighten the conversation a little.
Shaking his head, Zane took a spatula from a utensil crock on the counter and handed it to her. “Do you need anything else from the refrigerator?”
“There’s some grated cheese in there. If you could get that—”
In five minutes the omelet was finished and divided in two. Jeannette had popped bread into the toaster and grabbed the strawberry jelly from the fridge. “Edna made it. It’s good.”
Zane ate like a man who was enjoying his food. After he finished, he said, “That hit the spot.