Who's The Father Of Jenny's Baby?

This fiercely protective side he was showing made her grow silent, thoughtful. It put her at ease and melted some of the anxiety jittering inside her. She liked the feeling, she decided.

Drawing her spine straight, she didn’t smile as she told him, “I do trust you, Luke.”

He held her gaze for only a moment, then stuffing his hands into his pockets, he looked away. Was he embarrassed by her admission? she wondered. The thought was heartwarming.

“Let me run a brush through my hair,” she told him. “And I’d like to splash my face with a little water. I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes, okay?”

Luke nodded silently and then left the room.

Padding into the master bathroom, Jenny pulled a clean washcloth from the shelf, moistened it and smoothed it over her face. She scrubbed her teeth and brushed her hair.

Finally, she stared into the mirror at the image that was no more familiar to her now than it had been when she’d regained consciousness four days ago. Jenny Prentice was an unknown entity. As strange to her as Luke and Chad, as Mary and her husband Bud. But in order to get to know the woman staring back at her from the mirror, Jenny knew she needed information. She turned to the door, straightening her shoulders. It was time to come face-to-face with the two men who could give her the facts she desperately needed.

The fried chicken was juicy and tender, and Jenny didn’t realize just how hungry she was until she took that first bite.

“This is delicious.” she said.

Luke nodded. “Mary’s a good cook.”

“But so are you, Jenny,” Chad told her. “You always loved working in the kitchen.”

Jenny tossed her brother-in-law an awkward smile, his compliment making her wonder what kind of meals she used to prepare. Did she favor fancy dishes such as fettuccine Alfredo and seafood paella? Or did she cook simple fare like franks and beans, hamburgers and fries?

“Baking bread was your specialty,” Luke said, scooping up a forkful of chilled potato salad.

Chad chuckled. “We always knew when Jenny was upset, didn’t we, Luke? She’d be in the kitchen, up to her elbows in flour, bashing the heck out of some bread dough.” He grinned at her. “You called it kneading, but Luke and I knew you were imagining one or the other of us under those pummeling fists of yours.”

So, Jenny mused, she worked out her aggressions by baking bread. Interesting.

She looked up when Chad chuckled again. “And let me tell you, you baked more bread around here over the past couple of months than you have in—”