Jessie Belle: The Women of Merryton - Book One by Jennifer Peel Read Free Book Online Page B

leaned his shoulder against it and close to me.
I caught my breath as I looked up at him. I had forgotten how sexy he was. His
gray eyes almost looked like charcoal burning as they drifted over me. For a
brief moment I remembered why I fell in love with him. He affected me like no
one ever had, like no one but him could.
    “Jessica,”
he said barely above a whisper, “I wish you would ask me.”
    That
was his way. He wouldn’t volunteer. He wanted it to be my choice—no, I think he
needed it to be my choice.
    “What
about work?” I managed to say. He was literally taking my breath away.
    “I’ll
figure it out.”
    “There
will be practices, and when the season starts sometimes we play twice a week.”
    He
looked at me as if to say, “And?”
    I
thought for a moment more and stared into those eyes of his. He leaned in a little
bit closer. I could smell the mint on his breath and I was tempted to taste it.
It had been far too long. “Blake, would you—”
    “Yes,”
he said before I could finish. And before I could give into temptation he
pushed off the refrigerator and went back to stirring his dinner.
    I
almost reached into the freezer and grabbed a few ice cubes. There was some
definite heat in the kitchen and it wasn’t coming from the stove.

Chapter Six
     
    Well,
it was a girl . . . a twelve-year-old girl. I knew it was true before the
paternity test came back, but it still didn’t prepare me for the actual
confirmation. I was going through all the stages of grief, but I kept getting
stuck on the first one, denial. I figured it was better than anger or
depression. Not as good as acceptance, I know, but it was a really large pill
to swallow.
    My
friendship with Cheyenne and Abby was once again the rock
I clung to on my shaky ground. Blake received the results on May first, and on
the second I found myself being whisked away to Denver for some shopping and
pampering. I think Cheyenne’s words were, “You look like crap. Your clothes are
hanging off you and we’re tired of seeing you in drab colors.” She said it with
love, but it was true. I used to pride myself on my fashion sense and style.
    “So
how does Blake feel about it?” Abby asked as we headed down to the big city;
well, it was big for us.
    I
briefly glanced her way since I was driving. Abby owned a minivan and Cheyenne
drove a Camaro. We wanted to be comfortable, but not look like, well, you know,
minivan owners. I had never wanted to own a minivan, and we always teased Abby
about hers, but she was very proud of her honor-roll-bumper-sticker ride.
    “I
think he has mixed emotions about it. I can tell he’s excited about it— well,
as excited as he gets—but he’s nervous. Nervous about having a child and
nervous about what it will do to our marriage.”
    “Are
things getting any better?” Abby followed up.
    I
shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. I feel like we are so uncomfortable with
each other right now. It’s like we are trying to be extra cautious not to rock
the boat, but I feel like maybe we should get wet and see what happens.”
    “It
seems like he’s at least trying, joining the team and all this year,” Abby
replied. She always looked for the silver lining. “And Shane says he’s a great
player.”
    “Who
cares how well he plays?” Cheyenne chimed in from the back. “The question is
how good does he look in the uniform?”
    I
scowled at her from the rearview mirror. “You better not be checking out my
husband.”
    “See?
You do still love him,” Cheyenne mocked.
    That
was to be determined; but regardless, I didn’t want other women scoping him
out.
    “Are
you still going to wear that ridiculous shirt to the games?” Abby asked
Cheyenne.
    “Uh,
yeah.”
    Cheyenne
proudly wore her “official baseball butt inspector” shirt to every game.
    Abby
and I both laughed at her. Sometimes I wished I had her zeal for life, or at
least her “I don’t care what other people think of me” attitude.
    “So,
when