Christmas Baby. Judy Duarte

time with her as he could for those seven days. After that, she’d need to keep herself busy during the day. It shouldn’t be too difficult. There were stores along Main, if she felt like shopping. She could even visit Darla’s Salon. And there was a library in Wexler, which wasn’t too far away.

      He still couldn’t believe that she’d gotten pregnant on their one and only night together. Yet the more he thought about it, the better he felt about it.

      It didn’t seem fair, though. After his divorce, he’d sworn off women who wanted different things out of life than he did. But now he’d gotten involved with another one, a woman who’d set her sights on things outside his world.

      Of course, that might change with time. He had a week or two to tempt Jillian with everything a small town like Brighton Valley had to offer, although something told him it wouldn’t be good enough for her.

      As it neared five o’clock, the time she was due to arrive, Shane went downstairs to sit on the green wrought-iron bench in front of the diner.

      He didn’t have to wait long. Moments later she arrived driving a silver Honda Accord. Apparently she’d gotten rid of the Mercedes, just as she’d told him.

      As she climbed out of the driver’s seat, he took note of her casual clothing—jeans, a white fitted top that stretched over her baby bump and a lightweight chambray shirt.

      Her hair hung to her shoulders in a loose, carefree style, reminding him of the way it had looked splayed on a pillow and the way those silky strands had felt as they’d slipped through his fingers that same night.

      He was sorely tempted to greet her with a hug, but he got to his feet and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans instead. No need to come on too strong, he supposed.

      “Did you have any trouble finding the place?” he asked.

      “No, it was pretty easy.” She cast him a smile that seemed almost waifish and lost, then opened the rear passenger door for her suitcase.

      “I’ll get that for you,” he said, stepping forward and catching an amazing whiff of her scent—something lilac, he guessed.

      She thanked him, then allowed him to reach into the car. After he snatched her bag and closed the door, she hit the lock button on the key remote.

      “Come on,” he said, “I’ll show you where I live.”

      He led her up the narrow stairway between the diner and the drugstore.

      Once they were upstairs, he opened the door, then stepped aside and let her enter first.

      As she scanned the living room, he tried to see the place from her perspective. Would she be comfortable here? Would she find it too modest, too humble?

      “It’s not much,” he said, “but it’s home.”

      She didn’t respond, which made him wonder if she found it lacking in some way. Then she crossed the hardwood floor to the window that looked out into the street.

      When she turned around, she smiled, lighting up the room in an unexpected way. “When you said you lived in an apartment, I thought it would be in a typical complex, like mine. I didn’t expect something like this.”

      Was that good or bad?

      He supposed it shouldn’t matter, yet it did. “So what do you think?”

      “It’s got an interesting view.” She walked to the sofa, which he’d purchased a couple of months ago, and placed her hand along the backrest. “I like it.”

      Thank goodness. It would have been tough if she were to hate the idea of being stuck here for a couple of weeks. So he returned her smile, then nodded toward the bedroom. “I’ll show you where you can put your things.”

      “All right.”

      As he led her through the doorway, he said, “I made some space for you in the closet, so you can hang up some of your clothes, if you want to. And I emptied the top two drawers of the dresser. I hope that’ll give you enough room.”

      He’d also made sure there was a brand-new tube of toothpaste for her to use, and he’d purchased two fluffy white towels, which now hung pristinely on the rack.

      “I didn’t expect you to go to any trouble for me,” she said.

      “It was no trouble.” He placed her suitcase on the bed. “If you need some time to rest or settle in, I can make myself scarce. Or if you want something to eat, we can go down to the diner. I’ve got plenty of food in the fridge, but to tell you the truth, I eat most of my meals at Caroline’s.”

      “It’s so close. I can see where it would be easier for you.”

      “Yeah, but Caroline’s also one heck of a cook.” He chuckled. “I’d never want my mom to know this, but some of the meals at the diner are actually tastier than the ones I get when I’m back home.”

      Jillian smiled. “I’d like to check out Caroline’s cooking and see if it holds up to my grandmother’s.”

      Ten minutes later, after Jillian had settled in, Shane took her to the diner, where she scanned the interior, clearly taking in the white café-style curtains on the front windows, the yellow walls with a wallpaper border, as well as the wooden tables and chairs.

      “It sure looks like a down-home-style restaurant,” she said as she glanced at the chalkboard that advertised a full meal for seven dollars and ninety-nine cents.

      In bright yellow chalk on black, someone had written, What the Sheriff Ate, followed by, Meat Loaf, Green Beans w/ Almonds, Mashed Potatoes and Peach Cobbler.

      “What does that mean?” Jillian asked.

      “Caroline’s married to the town sheriff, so that’s how she lists the daily special.”

      Jillian smiled. “That’s really cute. And that meat loaf plate sounds good to me, especially with the peach cobbler.”

      “Then let’s find a place to sit.”

      Shane and Jillian had no more taken seats at an empty table when he saw Sam Jennings enter the café. In his early sixties, with silver hair and a barrel chest, the Brighton Valley sheriff also had a belly that lapped over his belt, thanks to nearly forty years of his wife’s cooking.

      Sam waved at Shane, then headed for the table. The two men had become friends a while back, after a rash of robberies in town had left the sheriff perplexed. Shane had offered his help by studying the crime scene evidence, and they’d soon found the culprit, who was now behind bars.

      “How’s it going?” Sam asked.

      “Great.” Shane introduced the jovial sheriff to Jillian.

      After the customary greetings, Sam stuck around and chatted for a while, mostly about the weather, the fact that the bass were really biting down at the lake and that Charlie Boswell, who’d just retired as fire chief, planned to take his wife on an Alaskan cruise.

      Shane hoped Jillian didn’t mind the small-town talk. When he glanced across the table at her, she was smiling, which suggested she was okay with it all.

      So far, so good, he thought.

      As Sam made his way to one of the booths at the back of the diner to join another Brighton Valley old-timer, Margie, the waitress, stopped by the table with menus and two glasses of water.

      “We won’t need to look at these,” Shane said, handing the menus back. “We’d each like the special.”

      Margie didn’t bother taking out her notepad. “You won’t be sorry. Those green beans are really fresh. So what would you like to drink?”

      “I’ll have seltzer,” Jillian said.

      Margie looked at Shane and smiled. “How about you, cowboy?”

      “Iced tea.”

      “You