Page 133 of The Promise Of Rain

She smiled.

Jenny was quiet for the rest of the afternoon, and I couldn’t stop thinking about the baby.

If I’d stayed, if I’d talked to her, if I’d been there, would I be a father now?

My protective instincts were running wild, and the talk with Ansel did nothing to calm them.

But I carried his blessing with me, and that was something.

I had a set idea in my head of what makes a man, and I’d failed on almost all counts.I’d failed to protect her, I let others get between us, and I fucking left.

The small voice inside urged me to give myself some grace, and I did, but it didn’t change the consequences.

And it was those consequences we were now dealing with.

I was ready to rip the head off the next person who hinted Jenny was anything less than perfect.Which meant today was quite possibly the worst day to go to my parents’ place for dinner.

And yet, we stood on the path outside their door.

Jenny wore her new jeans and the same pretty sweater she wore to The Loose Moose.She’d even swiped on a bit of make-up.

I wished I knew if it was for armour or because she knew she deserved to celebrate her beauty.

And she was beautiful, inside and out.

“Before we go in there, I need you to understand that at the centre of everything it’s you and me, you got me?You come first, then us, then everybody else.Always.”

Before she could answer, the front door swung wide.

26

Tourniquet

Jenny

Though the rain had finally ceased, the day was grey, and the smell of damp earth permeated the air.

I tried not to hold on too tight to Deacon’s hand while we waited on the front porch.This was hard enough for him without me adding my own anxiety and misplaced shame to the mix.

He turned to me and tugged gently on my hand.

“Before we go in there, I need you to understand that at the centre of everything it’s you and me, you got me?You come first, then us, then everybody else.Always.”

Before I could answer, the front door swung wide.

Deacon’s mother beamed at the sight of her son, but as soon as her gaze swung to me, it melted off her face.

“You look like your mother,” she blurted, and it didn’t sound like a compliment.

I guess she hadn’t noticed when she invaded my bakery.

“Mom,” Deacon barked.

“Maybe so, Mrs.Raine,” I replied softly, tipping my chin up and meeting her head-on.“But I’m not my mother.And I’d appreciate being judged on my own merit, not hers.”

“Come in, come in,” his father intervened, dipping his chin to give his wife what looked like an encouraging look.

A smooth mask slipped over her face as she offered a polite and equally false smile.“You’re entirely too right.Please come in.”