Katie's Choice (38 page)

Or maybe he had been changed in Clover Ridge, and he was just now accepting it. He’d have to give that some thought.

Monica had waited for him, listening to everything the deacon said, nodding her head occasionally. At the end of their talk, Monica shook his hand right alongside Zane and promised they’d be back for next week’s service.

Funny, Zane had never known Monica to be a religious person. She never mentioned church or God. On the flip side, she never used foul language. When he asked her about it, she just shrugged and said, “I did mention it right after we met, but you told me you weren’t interested.”

“But we . . . you know.” Why couldn’t he say the words?

“No one’s perfect, Zane. Not even Christians.”

When it came to baptism and joining the church, Zane didn’t think he was ready for that. Jo would be calling soon, and he’d be off again. Some lessons would have to be postponed until another day. A little voice inside his head kept whispering that he was stalling, but he continued to push it aside.

Zane spent the following week getting things ready to leave: passport, mail forwarding, and vaccination boosters. He was expecting Jo’s call any day. Monica hadn’t mentioned anything more about him being in love, and for that he was grateful.

He had proposed to Monica. He intended on marrying her. And that was that.

It was almost February when Jo finally called.

“You want to explain to me why there are no pictures with your articles?”

“There are plenty of pictures.”

He could hear the papers shuffling in the background, most probably the eight-by-tens he’d printed up to get her off his back.

“I see a picture of a big red barn, a brand new colt, and a passel of dogs. Where are the shots of the family?”

Zane sighed. When it came down to it, he’d kept the drawings he had made for himself. He couldn’t let those intimate moments be printed for all the world to see. “I told you, they don’t allow their pictures to be taken. They consider it vain, at best.”

“And at worst?”

“A graven image.”

Jo let out an aggravated growl that she had surely perfected as an assistant editor. “I sent you there to get what no one else has. Everyone has pictures of their barns.”

“And I told you I wasn’t going to violate their beliefs.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“You know, Jo, you never asked me to go against the customs of the Afghanis. Why is it okay to ignore the wishes of the Amish?”

The other end of the line went so quiet that he wondered if she’d disconnected. “Something happened to you there.”

A lot happened to him there, but that wasn’t any of her business.

“Something even more life-changing than getting shot.”

“I have integrity, Jo. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, it’s what keeps me alive.”

She growled again, only this time more softly. “I suppose so.”

His stubbornness, he figured, had ruined his chance at Mexico.

Jo sighed. “You win, Zane. Pack your bags. You’re leaving for Juarez in three days.”

Three days. Zane should have been excited, but he couldn’t muster even the faintest shadow of happiness. This was what he wanted. Wasn’t it?

He didn’t have time to think about it. He had too much left to do than to dwell on his emotions. His counselor would say it was a natural reaction to getting back into the hot zone, but this was like getting on the horse that bucked him off. He’d never know if he could do it again unless he, well, did it again. Unless he got back out there.

What other choice did he have?

“You’re really leaving?”

Maybe it had been a mistake to invite Monica over to help him pack. He didn’t have much time with her until he left, and unlike the Amish trip, she couldn’t just pop down for the weekend. Well, she could, but Mexican tourism had nearly ground to a halt as the result of the drug runners so close to the border. He wouldn’t want her anywhere near all that conflict.

“It’s time to go.” He folded another shirt and put it in his soft-sided nylon case.

“But . . . but you just got home.” She laid her hand on his arm, stilling his jerky movements.

Why was this so hard? It was like any other assignment. Then again, maybe getting shot had affected him more than he realized. He exhaled heavily, stilling his nerves as he turned to face her. “It’s all part of the job. You know that.”

“But what about our engagement?”

“I can’t go to work and be engaged?” A bark of sardonic laughter escaped him. Or maybe it was that nervousness back again.

“That’s not what I mean. I just thought things would be different now.”

He reached for another shirt. “Different how?”

She turned her face away. Instead of looking at him, she toyed with the end of her sweater. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About having children.”

Zane became motionless once again. “Oh yeah?” All at once he felt as if it a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders, but transferred to his heart. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Someone to carry on his name. To live forever even though his mortality had been crammed in his face by way of a stray bullet from an insurgent drive-by?

“This month’s
Talk
says I have a greater chance of getting shot by a terrorist than having a baby.”

“Did you make up that statistic?” This conversation was getting way too heavy.

“No! Maybe. But it made me wonder, and . . . you know.”

“I know.” Once again seriousness descended between them.

“I’ve thought about it and . . . I do want to have a baby. A little girl to dress and braid her hair, a little boy with your eyes and skinned-up knees from pushing a toy truck all over the driveway . . .”

He wanted to jump up and down and shout to the heavens. Instead he raised one eyebrow and waited for her to continue. “But?” he prompted.

“Your job is so dangerous.”

“I know that. You think I don’t know that?”

“Then tell me how we’re going to make this work?”

He plunked another shirt into his suitcase. “Like everyone else does. We’ve already got a house. We’ll have ourselves a couple of kids, buy a dog . . .” his words trailed off as she shook her head.

“You really think it’s okay to bring a child into this crazy life? What am I supposed to tell them when you get shot again?”

“I’m not going to get shot again.”

She wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging herself. “You don’t know that.”

She was right, but dwelling on such things was not how to deal with it. “It’s my job, Monica. It’s the only thing I know how to do.” That wasn’t entirely true. He’d turned out to be mighty fine Amish farmer.

“You could go to work for Daddy.”

Zane stifled a snort. “I am not working for your father.”

“So what are you going to do? Just go back to the Middle East and pretend you don’t have a wife waiting on you in the States?”

“I’m going to Mexico. Juarez.”

Her hands stilled, her voice barely a whisper. “Zane, they are killing people left and right down there.”

“And that’s why I need to be there to uncover the truth.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

He shrugged. “You knew what my life was about when you decided to wear my ring. Why do you want to change me all of a sudden?”

“I have needs too.”

“I know that.”

“I can’t be married to you, here raising your children, when you’re putting yourself in harm’s way for a headline.”

He cocked his head. “Is that really how you feel about it?” She was the one person he thought understood his need to cover the dangers of their world. Evidently, he’d been wrong.

“I nearly died when I heard you’d been shot. I can’t go through that again.” She blinked, sending tears down her cheeks. “This Amish thing . . . I thought that might be something new for you. Something safe.”

“It was Jo’s condition . . . so I could have Mexico.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I guess it’s better that we discovered this now before we brought a child into this mess.” She pulled his ring from her finger. Tears filled her eyes once more as she took his hand and placed the ruby in his palm before closing his fingers around it.

“Monica, I—”

“It’s okay, Zane. I’ll be okay. And maybe one day, you’ll find someone who can make you forget about your adrenalin rush. But it doesn’t seem I’m that woman.”

She kissed him on the cheek and walked to the door.

Zane didn’t stop her as she let herself out.

“Are you ready?”

Jo’s words brought Zane out of his reverie. “What? Oh. Yeah.” How long had he been sitting there, staring off into space while she outlined the details of his assignment?

Her brows knitted over shrewd hazel eyes. “You were a million miles away.”

Not quite a million. More like eight hundred. “Just thinking.”

Jo came around the desk, the motion further emphasizing her diminutive stature. Barely topping five feet in her three-inch heels, Jo was still a force to be reckoned with, a dynamo of energy and power capped off with an impossibly dark pageboy. Zane always suspected she dyed her hair from blonde to black in order to be taken seriously in her male-dominated industry. “We have a contact there. He goes by Jesus, though I doubt that’s his real name.”

Zane nodded, mentally coaching himself to stay attentive. This information was highly valuable. He couldn’t keep letting his mind slip back to Clover Ridge, to wondering what Katie Rose was doing now.

“I trust your Spanish is in order?

“
Mi espanol es muy bien
.”

She leaned against the desk. “Good, good.”

“
Danki
.” The word just slipped out.

Jo’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hair. “Beg pardon.”

“It’s Pennsylvania Dutch.”

“Oh, I know that.” Her brows lowered, and she dropped her gaze back to the file folder she held. “You’ll be working closely with the border patrol. A Captain Vance. He’s your main contact and—
Are you listening?
”

“Of course I am. Captain Vance. Got it.”

Jo closed the file and tossed it onto her desk. She took off her glasses and without the filter studied him intently. “How are things with Monica?”

“What?”