His Surprise Son by WENDY WARREN Page B

Izzy. “One-sixth of an hour, Isabelle. My watch has a timer. I’ll even let you hold it, so you’ll know I’m not cheating.”
    Maybe he didn’t know Izzy well anymore—maybe he never had—but he could see the wheels spinning in her head. She was trying to think of a way to reject his overture, again. And then—
    “Ten minutes,” she said decisively. “And then I have to go.”
    If Nate could feel the waves of curiosity rolling off Holliday, he was sure Izzy felt them, too, but she strode ahead of them toward the Black Butte room without a backward glance.
    At the door to the meeting room, Izzy stopped, allowing Holliday to pass ahead of her. The librarian reached into her bra, of all places, to extract a set of small keys, one of which she used to unlock the heavy oak door. She flipped the light switch and stepped back, only slightly less provocative when she asked, “Do you need a chaperone?”
    Izzy looked as if she was about to say yes.
    “We’ll manage,” he replied. “Maybe another time.” Taking Izzy’s arm, he led her into the room. Holliday closed the door behind them, gently albeit reluctantly.
    A rectangular table and a dozen or so chairs filled the center of the room. Framed posters of foreign countries graced the plain ivory walls.
    Izzy pulled out of Nate’s grasp without waiting another second. Yanking out a chair, she sat and glanced at her watch. “Ten minutes, and your time starts...now.”
    Exasperation poured into him. “Fine.” Pulling out the chair right next to hers, he sat facing her. “Where did you go after you left town? Did you ever get that business degree you wanted so badly? What brought you back to Thunder Ridge, because from what I recall, you hated it here? And why the hell are you so angry after all these years?” Glancing at his own watch, he set the timer and said, “Okay...go.”
    The eyes he remembered as tender and affectionate and innocent clouded with surprise and confusion, and he wasn’t above a moment of pure satisfaction as he realized he’d thrown her off guard.
    Seconds ticked by without a verbal response. The expression in her eyes morphed from confusion to pain, and that was when regret slammed into him like a sledgehammer. He knew that expression—it was the one she’d worn the night she’d told him she was pregnant and again on the day he’d left for college. It mirrored the pain he had felt the day his mother had phoned from Oregon to tell him Izzy had left town with strict instructions—instructions he hadn’t followed—for Nate not to get in touch with her again. She wanted, Lynette Thayer had said, “to start over...move past her mistakes...forget everything that had happened.”
    Was that what this was about? She’d “forgotten” everything between them, and he was bringing it up again? Maybe what happened between them was a secret she kept from the important people currently in her life. The sheriff flashed to mind again, and Nate sighed. What right did he have to make her dredge it all up if she didn’t want to? None, probably. But he had something he needed to say, just to her.
    “As hard as things got, I have good memories of that summer, Izzy, good feelings about the months before we became two high school kids who had to deal with some very adult decisions. I worried about you when you left without telling me.” He hesitated, then figured, what the hell? He’d probably never get this chance again. “It made sense that you’d want to move on with your life. You certainly had that right. I get that. But it would have been nice to know you were okay after the miscarriage. One final check-in call.” He wiped a hand down his face. “I suppose I still don’t understand why we never said goodbye. So, how about we begin with my last question and work our way back? Why do you still want to avoid me?”
    * * *
    Miscarriage.
    Izzy heard nothing after that word. He thinks I miscarried our baby?
    Was it really possible that Nate