Jackson: The McBrides of Texas

by Emily March

She paused to listen, and Jackson watched her left hand make a fist, relax, then repeat the motion over and over again. “This happened when?” Pause. “I see. Well, that’s a blessing.” Pause. “I know, Elizabeth. I was out of cell phone range.” Long pause. Tight voice when she said, “I will get there as fast as I can.” She licked her lips. “Probably a little over two hours. Depends on traffic coming into Austin. Please, keep me apprised of any new information or if anything changes.”

  When the call ended, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Maisy looked into her rearview mirror and met Jackson’s gaze. Her voice gentle, she observed, “Sounds like you got some good news, Caroline.”

  “He’s alive. He’s still alive. The doctors told my sister-in-law that the next twenty-four hours are critical.”

  Conversation fell silent as they drove the final miles to Redemption. As they passed the city limits sign, Jackson suggested, “When we arrive, when don’t you run up and pack, and I’ll see about getting you checked out.”

  “Yes.” Caroline finally looked at him. “Thank you. Every minute counts.”

  “Is there someone we can call for you? A family member who could meet you at the hospital? Family?”

  “No. My mom … I lost her two years ago.”

  “How about a friend?”

  Tears flooded her eyes. She closed them and shook her head.

  Surely there was someone, Jackson thought, but he chose not to pursue it. He was a little surprised that she didn’t attempt to protest his plan to drive her. For her own safety and that of other drivers on the road, he would have insisted—she looked like she might pass out any moment—but he was glad to avoid the argument.

  Moments later, Maisy pulled into the parking lot at the B&B. “That’s your BMW, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  Maisy whipped in beside the car and parked. Jackson helped Caroline from the SUV, grabbed her camera bag, and then asked, “May I have your keys?”

  “Oh. Yes.” Caroline dug in her purse, and then handed a key ring with four keys and a fob to Jackson. Maisy gave her a quick hug goodbye, wished her well, and Caroline dashed to her room, as Jackson hurried to the office. Less than ten minutes later, they were on the road.

  Caroline didn’t speak for the first twenty miles, and Jackson took the cue to remain silent. When a glance her way revealed tears flowing down her face, he grabbed a tissue from the box in the console and handed it over. She accepted it without comment and wiped her cheeks. Five miles later, she said, “I met Robert when I was still at UT. He and Elizabeth—she’s his sister—they’re family friends of one of my professors. We all worked together on a project for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. He is fifteen years older than me.”

  Whoa. That’s quite an age difference, Jackson thought.

  “People can be cruel. Just because I was on scholarship and my mom was a single mother. I wasn’t after his money. He wasn’t a father figure to me. It was never that way. He’s a kind and generous and loving man. He has the biggest heart. He was shy and so sweet. Yes, I was young, but I knew my heart. I fell in love with him. We fell in love! Neither one of us expected it, but that’s what happened. We fell in love.” Her voice cracked. “I love him.”

  They traveled another eight miles before she spoke again.

  “He has early-onset Alzheimer’s. I did the best I could at home. Even with private caregivers, home wasn’t the safest place for him any longer. There were accidents. In December, I made the decision to place him into a residential memory care facility. It’s been good. He’s comfortable and happy. He is! He doesn’t know who I am.”

  Oh, hell, Jackson thought. Now he understood the Bambi eyes.

  “Yesterday he had a period of clarity, and I wasn’t in town to be there with him. He was upset. He wasn’t at home and I wasn’t there to soothe him and tell him it’s okay that he … well … that I still love him. Now today he has a heart attack. My sister-in-law says it probably a result of stress from yesterday.”

  “Did the doctors tell her that?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then don’t go there, Caroline. Take it from someone who’s a pro at the self-blame game. If stress caused your husband’s heart attack, you’ll have plenty of time later to punish yourself. Although, if I can throw in my two cents … you’d be a fool to do so. You love your husband, and you made an informed decision, one that you believed was best for him. Am I right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No buts. You shouldn’t second-guess yourself on this one, Caroline. And you sure as hell shouldn’t listen to his sister.”

  She closed her eyes at that and they rode for a few more miles in silence before she asked, “What do you blame yourself for?”

  Whoa. Jackson winced. The question was a shiv to his ribs. Should have thought this one through a little better, McBride.

  And yet, something about the raw misery of the story she’d shared got to him. It made him want to reciprocate. He knew from personal experience that sometimes focusing on other peoples’ problems lightened the burden of your own.

  But telling her would be a big step. Jackson had never shared the entire story with anyone he wasn’t paying for legal advice. Not even Boone and Tucker knew all the gory details. So why was blabbing even a consideration?

  See that girl. Trudging down the road. Thinking life is over and dreading what’s in store.

  “You want the long version or the short?”

  She glanced around and tried to get her bearings. “How long until we reach Austin?”

  “About forty-five minutes.”

  “How about the long version?”

  He nodded. “Okay then. Give me a moment to organize my thoughts.” On the drive from Nashville to Texas, he’d passed a billboard advertising a church service and a quote had caught his attention. He’d spent a good twenty miles or so thinking about his situation in a different light. “I tangled with the seven deadly sins and lost.”

  Caroline gave him a sharp glance. “Obviously, you don’t mean gluttony.”

  His grin was quick. “Hey, I can pack away a good chicken fried steak when I have the opportunity. But I will admit that gluttony is not in my top three.”

  “What are?”

  “Pride and anger are one and two. Sort of a toss-up for the third spot between envy, greed, and lately, sloth.”

  “Sloth? Admittedly I’ve just met you, but you don’t strike me as a slothful person. That’s six … what have we left out?”

  “Lust.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Forgot that one.” Embarrassment stained her cheeks, but then she darted him a look and asked incredulously, “That’s last?”

  “Pitiful, I know, but yes. A byproduct of divorce.”

  “Ahh. Ugly, was it?”

  “Ugly doesn’t begin to describe it. If we were going with the short version of the story I’d tell you that she sank her claws into my chest and ripped my heart out, then sliced it into little pieces, and then set the pieces on fire.”

  “That’s certainly descriptive, but I don’t see the connection with the seven deadly sins.”

  “It’s an old story. A cliché. I discovered she was cheating on me with a guy I considered a friend. In hindsight I recognized that our marriage wasn’t healthy to begin with, but at the time, it caught me by surprise. Poked my pride and stoked my anger. I filed for divorce. That in turn caught her by surprise. She claimed she wanted to reconcile, but I had that pride and anger thing going on, and absolutely no forgiveness in my heart. Still, if I’d stopped there with a divorce, I think everything would have been okay.”

  Caroline watched him steadily, silently asking the obvious question: What did you do?

  “I didn’t cheat on her, if that’s what you’re thinking. I never cheated. I believed in fidelity—and unfortunately, getting even. I wanted to hurt her as bad as she’d hurt me, so I did something phenomenally stupid. See, my ex and I worked together. I not only ended the marriage, but then I walked away fr
om our working relationship, too. Then I sued her.”

  “For what?”

  “Intellectual property theft.”

  Caroline gave a startled blink. “Okay, I didn’t see that coming.”

  Jackson shrugged. “I was a songwriter. She’s a singer. When we started out, we wrote together, but over time she concentrated on vocals while I did all the writing. We continued to credit her for my work. I didn’t care. The work itself was always what mattered to me—not recognition—and I figured it all went into the same pot, anyway. But when the personal stuff turned ugly, well, here come two of the seven deadlies. Pride and anger. I dealt with her manager, but when she threw her new creative guru at me, I was done. They put her name—only her name—on a project that was entirely my own work and gave me some BS about how I’d agreed to it. I decided that crossed a line and I filed the lawsuit. It cost me more than I ever imagined.”

  “You lost.”

  “Yes, absolutely, but not the way you think. When I filed a lawsuit against her, I managed to wipe away the guilt she felt, and I handed her the prize of victimhood. She was justified in her turning her legal dogs loose on me.” Jackson suspended his tale while he focused his attention on passing a pickup pulling a horse trailer on the narrow, two-lane road. Once he completed the maneuver, he continued. “Now, I’m paying a wickedly high price for my sins. I have a daughter. Haley. She’s six now. After I got pissy about work stuff, my ex got nasty about custody and visitation.”

  “Oh, Jackson.”

  He sighed heavily and shook his head. “I should have seen it coming, but I honestly never thought she’d go there. Sharon loves Haley, and she knows it’s important for me to be in my daughter’s life. She was the custodial parent, but we’d shared custody pretty much fifty-fifty since we separated. Once she decided I was the bad guy, she started hacking away at my visitation. About a year ago, she decided to go scorched earth on me. I was in court for that earlier this week. I got my ass whipped.”

  “Why? Because she’s the mother?”

  “That’s certainly part of it. Primarily, it was…” Jackson rubbed his fingers together in the universal sign for cash. “She has a close-to-unlimited supply. And, she was willing to say anything. Use anything against me. Accuse me of vile things.”

  Caroline looked at him, the question in her eyes, but she didn’t verbalize it. Jackson’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. Why the hell had he started down this road? He didn’t want to say it. It killed him to say it. But he’d gone this far. No sense stopping now. Besides, he’d darn sure accomplished what he’d set out to do, hadn’t he? She wasn’t thinking about her Robert or Alzheimer’s disease or heart attacks.

  See that girl. The weight of the world is on her shoulders. The heart of her soul is in her eyes. Keepin’ her chin up as she’s takin’ on the haters.

  Watch your step, Bambi eyes. Watch your step, Bambi eyes.

  Keep lookin’ up, you just might end up fallin’ down.

  Huh. I can work with that. If I had my guitar I could—whoa.

  Jackson blinked. He stole a second glance at Caroline. She was patiently waiting for him to finish. Don’t wuss out on the lady now. “My ex accused me of physically abusing our child.”

  Caroline gaped at him, shock filling her eyes. “What? Oh, Jackson, how cruel! How could a mother lie about something like that?”

  She’d said “lie.” No hesitation. No question. No debate. She didn’t know him at all. She’d just met him yesterday. She couldn’t know how much her belief in him meant.

  Jackson’s death grip on the steering wheel relaxed. Bitterness laced his tone. “Technically, I couldn’t deny it. Not long after Haley started walking I took her on one of those moving sidewalks at an airport. Stupid thing to do. I was young and dumb and didn’t think. I held her hand and when we reached the sidewalk’s end, I lifted her off by her arm. I jerked it out of its socket. Let me tell you, I felt like a child abuser at the time.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “Yes, it was. But with the right attorney and judge and people whispering in her ears and that bottomless checkbook of hers, it was enough to label me an abuser. I am allowed one phone call every five weeks with Haley, so I’m not entirely cut off from her.”

  “Five weeks! Why five weeks?”

  “It’s a long story. Stupid reasons.”

  “Well, I’m appalled. Your poor daughter. Children need their fathers. How can a mother do that to her child?”

  “Sharon has always been ruthlessly ambitious. Her career means everything to her. I embarrassed her. She hit back hard.”

  Jackson slowed down as the speed limit lowered at the approach to a small town. Ahead, a light turned red and he braked to a stop. Conversation lapsed and in the minutes that followed, he brooded about the events surrounding his divorce. His daughter’s absence from his life left a yawning, aching hole inside him. Sharing his story with Caroline might have given her a much-needed distraction, but it hadn’t done himself any favors.

  Or had it? Watch your step, Bambi eyes.

  “What sort of music do you write?”

  “Lately, nothing. I haven’t been working.” She stole more than just a song. She stole my music. “I’ve got that seven deadly sins thing going on. I’m practicing my sloth.”

  With that, Jackson decided that he’d talked enough. Some wounds were still too raw. He switched on her stereo, and the classical music station to which it was tuned suited him. He bumped the volume up, thus discouraging further conversation.

  Talking about his troubles had made him feel sorry for himself, and that only made him ashamed, because his little girl was happy and healthy. Caroline Carruthers’s husband was dying.

  Well, he had distracted her as he’d intended. He’d done some good. God knows there should be a silver lining somewhere in this debacle of his custody fight.

  Traffic grew heavier the closer they got to the interstate that would take them into Austin. He got caught behind a large group of bicyclists, which necessitated a slowdown. The delay made Caroline visibly antsy. When she turned her head and focused on him, studied his profile with narrowed eyes, he could see the next question coming from a mile off.

  He smothered a sigh when she blurted out. “You’re a celebrity, aren’t you? That’s why you didn’t want me to take your picture. I’m afraid my taste in music is mostly limited to classic rock and show tunes, so I’m not familiar with contemporary music artists. I mean, you could be someone who sells out the Cowboys’ stadium and I wouldn’t recognize you. It’s embarrassing.”

  It’s refreshing. “Show tunes? Seriously?”

  She smiled for the first time since receiving her sister-in-law’s phone call. “Love me some Les Mis., Chicago, Wicked.”

  That smile made Jackson feel like he’d won a prize. See that girl. Smiling through her heartbreak, she’s the best of his world.

  Damn, I’m really getting something. I might actually want to take notes.

  “So, are you? Famous?”

  “No. Not really. People outside of the business don’t know me at all. I played bass guitar. Was a backup vocalist. Definitely not a household name.”

  “But your ex is?”

  Jackson drew in a deep breath. “Yeah. Her name is Sharon.” They covered a good two miles before he spoke the name that tasted bitter on his tongue. “She goes by Coco.”

  Caroline looked at him sharply. “I know who she is. She’s a pop star, right? You married a pop star?”

  “I married a girl from my hometown who shared my interest in music. The pop star thing came later, and pop isn’t really the right term. She’s more crossover. Started out as pure country then moved to a mix of Americana and pop with a heavy blues influence. It is its own sound.”

  “She had one song I know I really liked. A ballad. Something about a songbird.”

  “Songbird Alley.”

  “Yes, that’s it. Is it one of yours?”

  He nodded.

  “I
t’s a beautiful song, Jackson. Hauntingly beautiful. Full of emotion.”

  Full of heartbreak. “Coco has the range for it.”

  Caroline tilted her head to one side as she studied him. He anticipated the question she would ask next. He’d heard it often enough. What’s the story behind “Songbird Alley”? “I wrote it after we lost Haley’s little brother in a second-trimester miscarriage.”

  “Oh, Jackson. I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too.” In hindsight, it had been the beginning of the end of his marriage because it had opened his eyes to the true callousness of Sharon’s nature. She hadn’t been pleased to discover she was pregnant again so soon after Haley’s birth, and from what he could tell, she hadn’t grieved. She’d scarcely missed a beat resuming her touring schedule. And her reaction to the commercial success of “Songbird Alley” had literally repulsed him. She’d all but stated aloud that losing Patrick had been worth it!

  He wanted … needed … to change the subject. “Do you have any children, Caroline?”

  “No. I’m afraid not. I always—” She broke off when her phone began to ring. Caroline cast a tense, fearful glance his way as she brought her phone to her ear.

  Once again, her sister-in-law was calling. Once again, Caroline began to cry. Jackson bumped the cruise control speed up a few more miles per hour and prayed he wasn’t driving a new widow home.

  He wasn’t. Her sister-in-law had called for an ETA.

  The phone call effectively killed the conversation, and Caroline spent the balance of the drive lost in thought. Jackson followed suit, his memories of his little girl and the son who never had the chance to live weighing his heart like a rock. It wasn’t until the hospital came into view that he was able to shake off his blue thoughts. “Almost there.”

  Caroline’s hands shook as she reached for her purse. “I can’t thank you enough, Jackson. You’ve been so kind. Let me give you money to rent a car for the trip back.”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “But—”

  “Caroline, my mother would disown me if I took money for doing a kindness. Leave your wallet in your purse.”

  He made the turn into the hospital drive and saw that they offered valet parking. Good. He zoomed up to the valet stand, shifted into Park, opened his door, and hopped out. He was around to help her before she’d managed to exit the car. She paid no attention to him at this point, her anxious gaze locked on the hospital front door. Jackson dealt with the valet, then handed her the ticket. “Here you go.”