A Fallow Heart (Tommy Creek #2)(23)

She gulped. He watched her throat work as she swallowed. Then she winced before whispering, “Because I just found out I’m pregnant.”





Chapter Seven


Now. Ten Years Later



Jo Ellen woke from her nap on a gasp. Jerking upright, she lifted her face from the desktop, peeled a sticky note off her cheek, and rubbed her bleary eyes. Too many dreams had been crowding her head lately, keeping her awake each night and making her groggy during the day, causing her to doze at the most inopportune moments.

Checking her wrist for the time, she cringed and surged to her feet. If she didn’t hurry, she was going to be late. She rose so fast, blood rushed to her head and black spots danced in her vision, but she couldn’t slow down. When you were the boss, timeliness was a priority.

She closed her laptop sitting in front of her. No new digits had been added to the ledger on her budget report while she’d been snoozing. Hurrying to a mirror, she straightened her blouse and slacks and examined her face. Her hair was flat on one side and a sleep line wrinkled her temple. Ignoring the line, she poofed her dark locks back to life and slipped into a pair of flats she’d taken off to work on her account book while she had been killing time before she had to leave.

Snagging her purse and keys, she rushed out the door, barely pausing to lock it on her way. Habitually a planner, Jo Ellen fortunately had everything ready and her car loaded with the essentials. She’d gone through her list twice, and each detail was set, even the last minute particulars should be in place. All she needed to do now was show up for the party.

Marlon Sheffield lived only five miles away, so she pulled into his drive a handful of minutes later. Though he was an aging widower, Sheffield remained tight with Dallas politicians. Money and power won him many a congressman’s ear. So when he threw a party, he demanded the best.

Fully prepared to deliver just that, Jo Ellen pulled around to the back of his mansion and into the servants’ parking lot, where the caterer’s van sat with its back double doors hanging open. Slipping into business mode, she began issuing instructions, answering questions, and fixing slip-ups as soon as she stepped out of her car.

Six hours later, she had moved from working behind the scenes to standing in the front parlor and greeting guests who paraded through the main entrance. Cheeks already cramping from the constant smile she bestowed upon each person she greeted, she took a deep breath, working her lips in a quick exercise as the doorbell rang yet again. Stalling to straighten the dress she’d changed into before she opened the door, she wiggled her feet in her high heels, wishing they weren’t so new and had been properly broken in. Beginning to melt a bit from the constant exposure to the outside temperatures, she smoothed her hand over her stomach when it gurgled.

She should’ve paused for a snack before she started the hosting portion of the evening, but it was too late for regrets now.

Pasting a pleasant and greeting smile on her face, she opened the door for the next guest, bracing for the blast of warmth from the one-hundred-and-three-degree heat.

“Welcome,” she started to launch into her typical greeting. But then the new arrival lifted his face, and the rest of her greeting strangled in her throat. Her smile froze, as did the rest of her body. Her startled heart dang near skipped a beat.

She hadn’t seen Travis Untermeyer for a full decade. The years had treated him so-so. He wasn’t as slim as he’d been in high school, but he remained reasonably attractive, though his hair had started to thin a little—okay, a lot—up top. All in all, his face was still as young and vibrant as the last time she’d seen him through tear-soaked lashes.

He was exactly not what she wanted to see this evening, or for the rest of her life, really. With her ten-year class reunion approaching, too many memories from the past had already started to haunt her lately, invading her dreams, stealing into her stray thoughts. Running into her ex-boyfriend from that awful era was only going to make the memories worse.

He jolted to a halt when he saw her and blinked a dozen times before saying, “J-Jo Ellen?”

She swallowed, gathering her defenses in around her.

Fortunately, her name spoken from a voice that didn’t sound like the boy she once knew jarred her back to herself. Snapping into hostess mode, she held out a hand—that didn’t tremble, thank goodness—and blasted him with a gracious smile. “Mr. Untermeyer. What a surprise. I had no idea you would be here this evening. Do come in. Can I get you anything to drink? With the heat wave, you must be parched.” As she recalled, he was particularly fond of sweet tea…not that she would mention anything to do with what she remembered about him.

Looking completely bewildered by her rambling welcome, he slowly took her hand. “N-no. No, thank you.” His grasp was warm, soft, and slightly damp; definitely a politician’s handshake.

“Everyone else has gathered in the parlor. Let me show you the way.” She took his elbow to lead him from the entry, noticing he smelled the same, Old Spice and hair gel. She held her breath so the nostalgic noxious fumes couldn’t knock her unconscious.

Before she could drag—er, escort—him too far, he reared back, tugging her away from the arched opening of the parlor.

“Jo Ellen. My God. What’re you doing here?”

Exactly the question she’d wanted to ask him. It had been her job to send out all the invitations and his name had not been on the guest list. But she couldn’t be vulgar and openly charge him with party crashing. Sheffield could’ve extended him a last-minute verbal invite…without telling her.