Big Sky Baby

“Yeah,” he said, jaws still moving. “The dead guy lived in my apartment complex. His name was Cain, but I don’t know the last name. I only saw him a time or two.”

She dropped the carnation in her hand and grabbed ahold of the table to steady herself. Obviously, Blake didn’t know she’d been involved with Cain in a romantic way. “Are you sure? He’s dead?”

“Yep. Reed Kingsley, the fire chief, came by the apartments and talked to the manager. I was standing right there and heard it all.”

Jilly glanced at the funeral spray she was making. Cain, who loved life—maybe too much—was gone. She would be creating arrangements and sprays for his memorial service in the next few days.

A sense of sadness washed over her, yet her heart felt surprisingly numb.

Her baby’s father—her old lover—was dead. Shouldn’t she be feeling something? Grief? Heartbreak?

Would she mourn later? When reality set in? When the community hosted a funeral service?

She closed her eyes, her hand reaching to the small bulge in her tummy where her baby grew, warm, protected and completely unaware of the tragic circumstances surrounding his or her birth.

Jilly would bear her child alone, a single mother to the fullest extent of the definition.

She might have told Jeff that she didn’t need Cain or his financial support, but now that she couldn’t depend on either, doubt crept into her mind.

Money couldn’t buy happiness, the old adage said, but it could sure take the edge off misery better than poverty could. And she ought to know; she’d had her share of both misery and poverty.

Jilly planned to offer her children more than her parents had provided her. She wanted her kids to have a sense of stability, hope for the future.

Her son or daughter would have a real house, not a run-down trailer like the one in which she’d lived while growing up. Her child would play on a swing set perched on a green lawn and surrounded by a picket fence, not a rusted-out sedan that no longer ran and was encircled by overgrown weeds.

Her child would come home from school to the scent of cookies baking in the oven, not stale cigarette smoke and beer.

But was a loving home all she could offer her baby?

What about her dream of being a part of the Rumor community, maybe even president of the PTA someday? She’d fought long and hard to earn respectability. Would bearing a child out of wedlock wipe out all she’d accomplished?

Or had Jilly—like her mother, Jo-Ellen Davis—set the circumstances in motion that would lead her back to a no-account life? Especially since Jilly had never managed to feel as if she’d truly broken free and become an accepted, respectable member of the Rumor community.

Until recently.

So close, yet so far away.

Jilly reached for a carnation and fingered the stem. If Rumor had tracks, she would have been born on the wrong side of them. In fact, she’d probably still be living on the outskirts of town and the fringe of society if it hadn’t been for Jeff.

Most folks hadn’t understood what Carolyn Kingsley’s nephew had seen in the little Davis girl. And why not?

Jeff’s mother had been a wealthy socialite—East Coast born and bred. And Jilly had grown up with very little supervision or kindness—other than what she’d received from the McDonough family who had lived next door.

She thought of Emmy McDonough, her one-time best friend and neighbor, and Emmy’s two older brothers whom Jilly had once looked up to.

Karl had gone off to fight in the Gulf War, and Ash went to prison. In a way, the McDonough boys had let Jilly down, just as they had their little sister.

The only guy in her life who had stuck around had been Jeff.

And he’d been there through all her trials and tribulations, including her mother’s death.

Jilly had only been seventeen when she came home to find her mother dead, the victim of an apparent suicide. It had been Jeff she called first, to wait with her for the coroner to arrive. And it had been Jeff who’d listened to her cry and bemoan the fact her mother had let her down yet again.

Sometimes Jilly’s lot in life seemed to be her own fault, directly or indirectly. Even her mother’s choice to check out of life because her latest man was a bigger loser than the last had felt like Jilly’s fault…somehow.

It had been Jeff who’d convinced her otherwise.

And Jeff who had always been there for her.

Jilly blew out a sigh. There wasn’t much he could do to protect her from herself or the mess she’d made of her life this time.

“Mr. Kingsley was pretty cool,” Blake said, as he popped the rest of the doughnut in his mouth. “When I asked him some questions about the fire and the rescue of the men, he took time to answer me. And I know he’s gotta be really busy right now, with the fire and all.”

Jilly had no doubt Reed was busy. He still had to provide fire protection for the town, while giving up some of his men.

“I told him I might take that fire-fighting course they offer at the community college in Billings.”

“That sounds like a great career move, if you want to be a fireman.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. But I might like to be a pilot and work with MAFFS, just like Mr. Kingsley’s cousin.”

Jilly smiled, her heart filling with pride at Jeff’s accomplishments. When he set his mind to something, he did it. And he’d always said he was going to fly planes, not just turbo props, but anything that left the ground. And he had.

Blake licked the glaze from his fingers. “Jeff—that’s his cousin’s name—was part of the search team that found the stranded firemen, then had to rescue them.”

“Oh, really?” Jilly asked, her curiosity piqued. Jeff had flown with chopper rescue teams in the past, but from what she understood, he flew the C-130s exclusively now.

“Yeah. Mr. Kingsley was heading to the hospital in Whitehorn when he left.”

“Why is that?” Jilly asked.

“That’s where they took Jeff, after he was injured during the rescue.”

Jilly dropped the carnation she’d been holding. “Jeff was hurt?”

“Yeah, pretty bad, but Mr. Kingsley said he’d be all right. He just won’t be able to fly for a while.”

Jeff had been injured, badly enough to land in the hospital. Her heart pounded in her ears. “Listen, Blake. You’re going to have to close up for me. I’ve got to go into Whitehorn.”

Jilly rushed through the lobby doors of Whitehorn Memorial Hospital, stopping just long enough to ask the volunteers at the front desk where she could find Jeff Forsythe.

In room 204, she was told.

She must have been white as a sheet when she strode through the door of his room, because the first words out of Jeff’s mouth were, “Jilly? Are you all right?”

“Me?” She studied the wounded man lying in bed, his arm in a castlike thing, a white, bulky bandage on the side of his head. “Look at you.”

“This?” He nodded at his arm. “Just a little inconvenience, that’s all. You’re the one I’m worried about. Shoot, Jilly, I don’t know anything about pregnant women, but I’d think flying into my room like a demon out of hell wouldn’t do you or the baby any good.”