Jackson: The McBrides of Texas

by Emily March

  Neither one of them was about to float the “L” word, but if it had begun to drift through Jackson’s mind like a haunting melody just beyond reach, then … well …

  Sitting on Caroline’s front porch on a Tuesday night with River lying at his feet as he waited for her to come home from the bookstore, he pulled the harmonica from his pocket and played … something. River lifted his head and looked at him. Jackson looked back. This something wasn’t awful. It was something that might just become something someday.

  “Huh,” he muttered aloud.

  “Rrarf.”

  When Caroline arrived home twenty minutes later, River lay asleep on the dog bed she kept for him in her living room while Jackson sat at her kitchen table writing on the back of a brown paper grocery sack. “Are you making a grocery list?”

  “Something like that.” He gave her a wicked grin. “Red meat. Need some red meat around here. Rib eyes. T-bones. Porterhouse steaks. A man needs to keep up his strength, you know.” Then he was out of the chair, and he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and hauled her off to bed.

  Caroline laughed until his attentions had her moaning instead.

  The weeks passed and Jackson began to think there might something to Celeste Blessing’s Enchanted Canyon tagline. His troubled heart was certainly finding peace.

  That changed on August fifteenth when he received the first of a series of text messages from Beelzebub, aka Ray-Walker Parks, Sharon’s manager, changing the arrangements for Jackson’s next scheduled visit with Haley.

  Seeing that number on his phone sent Jackson’s temper into volcanic eruption–land every damn time. The slimy, slick, manipulative old bastard might not have caused the divorce, but he’d damn sure contributed to it. He wasn’t a musician and he couldn’t sing a lick, but he’d been the most powerful voice in the band from the moment Sharon hired him. Ray-Walker’s power lay in his keen ability to recognize talent, his ruthless willingness to use it and abuse it. He possessed the devil’s own tongue when it came to saying what said talent wanted and needed to hear in order to get them to do exactly what he wanted them to do.

  He’d even fooled Jackson for a time. Young and green back in the day, he’d let his head be turned by Ray-Walker’s extensive industry history and list of contacts. And face it, his instincts about creating “Coco” had been spot on. He’d fulfilled Sharon’s dream. Created a superstar. That’s what she’d really wanted in the end, wasn’t it?

  She’d certainly wanted it more than she’d wanted Jackson, that’s for damn sure. Jackson had been convinced that she wanted to be Coco more than she wanted to be Haley’s mother, too. That’s why in the beginning, he’d actually believed she’d agree for him to be the custodial parent. That’s why he never believed he’d actually lose his daughter—until he lost.

  Haley. Her absence in his life, his need to be with her was constantly with him, a wound that never healed. As time for a visit approached, the scab that covered the wound and helped him to get by between visits started flaking off.

  It was the weirdest damn thing. He was so excited about seeing her. So anxious to see her. A five-year-old waiting for Christmas morning. He couldn’t wait. But the closer he came to seeing her again, the more not seeing her hurt.

  Over the next ten days, he heard from Ray-Walker seven different times changing the meeting time, the meeting place, and the travel schedule, and that made him pissy as a junkyard dog. He ached for Haley. He was constantly reminded of the abject failure that been his custody fight with Sharon, how angry he was at his ex and the people in her sphere of influence, and how her army of attorneys and bottomless bank account had left him completely and totally defeated on the custody battlefield.

  On August twenty-eighth, three days before he was due to leave for California to meet up with Coco’s month-long West Coast tour, Jackson awoke at dawn, alone and in an extraordinarily foul mood. Sharon herself had condescended to call him yesterday afternoon with a time change, and as a result, had totally tanked his mood. He’d been unable to drag himself out of his funk and had cut last night’s date with Caroline short. He sat up, scowled at River who once again had sneaked onto the foot of his bed, and all but barked at his dog. “You don’t listen for beans, do you?”

  River perked one ear, opened one eye, and snarled at him. Jackson snarled back, then embarrassed by his actions, said, “Sorry, boy. I’m going for a swim. You’re welcome to join me or sleep in if you’d like.”

  The dog turned his head and went back to sleep. “Don’t blame you one bit,” Jackson murmured as he rolled out of bed. He grabbed a towel and headed outside into the hot August sunshine. With any luck, the exercise and refreshing waters of the swimming hole might restore his humor. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about getting text messages or phone calls during a swim.

  He gave it a good effort, spending the better part of an hour in the water, trying his hardest to keep his thoughts in the present, but for the most part, failing.

  In three days, he’d have five days to spend with his little girl. Five days that had to last him until January. It was better than the schedule she’d won in court almost a year and a half ago now, so he shouldn’t complain, but damn, she jerked him around like a puppet on a string, and he resented the hell out of it.

  But, bottom line, he got to see Haley more often. Every five months instead of six. For five days at a time.

  The reason behind the change was idiotic. Flat-out crazy. Apparently Coco had decided that in order to channel her inner songwriter, she needed let the Circle of Fifths guide her life.

  Music theory! She was basing their visitation schedule—in fact, rescheduling her entire life—around some crazy-ass idea she had about chords and keys. As if music were a religion! The woman had lost her ever-loving mind.

  He wondered if this was something that Ray-Walker had cooked up or if it had come from that California cowboy she’d started sleeping with recently. Un-freaking-believable.

  “It’s a G-major month, Jackson,” she’d said when she’d interrupted his phone conversation with Haley last month with the news. “That won’t do. I’m feeling F-sharp. You’ll need to see Haley in September rather than in August.”

  F sharp my ass.

  He was a little worried she’d started doing drugs. He was even more worried that she’d find another weird religion and tell him he couldn’t see his daughter again until October of next year.

  Damn. What had happened to that sweet young woman with the angel’s voice who he’d married? Ambition, that’s what. Ambition, fame, and fortune, and a slick, sonofabitch manager and high-powered lawyers and bottomless bank accounts.

  He despised all of it.

  Jackson filled his lungs with air then dove beneath the surface, kicked hard, pulled hard, went down … down … down until he touched the bottom. He tucked, planted his feet, then used all his roaring inner rage to flex his muscles and shoot upward.

  Chasing celebrity.

  He pulled toward the surface. He’d never wanted celebrity. All he’d ever wanted was the music. He’d let her, let them, take it from him.

  It was time to take it back. Past time.

  His head broke the surface. He gave it a shake, slinging droplets of water flying. Symbolically flinging off his funk. I am taking it back. The music is coming back. Caroline is helping.

  Jackson let his feet lift and he floated on his back, his face turned toward the warm summer sunshine. Snippets of lyrics drifted through his mind along with a ghost of a melody as he kicked in a slow, lazy circle. Circle of Fifths, circle of grief, circle of life.

  Something. There was something there. He should go back to the trailer and write it … splash! Jackson lifted his head and grinned. “Hey, River dog!”

  * * *

  Jackson felt almost mellow when he returned to his trailer. Finding yet another schedule change from Ray-Walker waiting for him didn’t even make his blood boil. Because in addition to the vague ide
a for a song, something else had occurred to him somewhere between the river bottom and the surface. He considered the notion as he showered and dressed, and he was still thinking about it as he opened the door of his truck to make a drive into town.

  “I’m dropping you off at the hall,” he said to River as the dog leapt up into the pickup before Jackson climbed into the driver’s seat. “I’m going in for breakfast, and then I have a long list of errands to run. You need to hang at the Fallen Angel this morning.”

  Big brown eyes gazed at him reproachfully.

  “Don’t give me that look. Angelica will give you bacon for breakfast, and her guests will go gooey over you like they always do.”

  River tilted his head as if considering it, then circled the seat and settled down. Ten minutes later, Jackson drove away from the inn without his dog and with a grocery list for Angelica tucked into his front shirt pocket.

  He stopped at the Bluebonnet Café for a plate of pancakes before ordering a cinnamon roll to go, the peace offering he planned to take to Caroline. The woman had a sweet tooth that she resisted as a rule, but she did love the Bluebonnet’s cinnamon rolls. Forty-five minutes before The Next Chapter opened its doors, he drained his second cup of coffee, paid his check, and picked up the bakery box. He made the short walk to the bookstore, expecting to find her doing her pre-opening tasks. Sure enough, when he rapped on the window and cupped his hand against the glass to peer inside, he saw her emerge from the back.

  She stopped, identified him. Scowled. He held up the bakery box and smiled, tried to mimic that look River had given him earlier with his eyes.

  Caroline sighed visibly and walked toward the front door. She flipped the lock, stepped aside, and folded her arms, watching him with a skeptical expression. Jackson dove right into his apology. “I’m sorry. I was grouchy as that green guy on Sesame Street last night. Please accept my apology and offer of atonement.”

  He opened the box as if he were lifting the lid of the jewel case containing a queen’s diamond-studded crown. Caroline sighed and said, “You evil man.”

  “I really am sorry. Forgive me?”

  “How can I not? You have a striking resemblance to River right now when he’s giving you his pitiful-me look. Bring that box to the break room, and I’ll get forks. You have to help me eat it. If I ate a whole one of these rolls all by myself I’d gain ten pounds and go into a sugar coma. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She waited until she’d savored her first two bites of the sinfully delicious treat to ask, “So, want to tell me what last night was all about?”

  He told her about Sharon’s phone call and the schedule change. “She still holds the end of my chain, and she can jerk it whenever she wants, however hard she wants. There’s not a damn thing I can do about it. Most of the time, I’m able to ignore it. But when it’s almost time for a visit, when I’m days away from—” He broke off his sentence when a lump of emotion made it hard to speak.

  Caroline attempted to finish his thought for him. “Seeing Haley again.”

  “No.” Jackson cleared his throat. “Having to leave Haley again. It’s the damnedest thing, Caroline. The anticipation of leaving her almost overshadows getting to see her. It casts a great big old black thundercloud over the entire visit. The last day or two of it, especially. And the flight home is brutal. I’ve never been as lonely in my life as I am when I leave Haley at the end of my time with her.”

  “Oh, Jackson.” She touched his arm. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how hard that must be.”

  “Come with me, Caroline.”

  She drew back in surprise. “What?”

  “Come with me to California. Come meet Haley. I have five days with her. I’m going to take her to Disneyland. We’re going to go to the beach. We won’t even see Sharon. Come. Come with us. It’ll be fun. I want you to meet her. I’d love for you to meet her.”

  “Oh, Jackson.”

  He knew right then that she was going to turn him down. He shifted his gaze.

  “Jackson, I’d love to meet Haley, but…”

  “But.”

  “It’s not a good idea, Jackson. For Haley’s sake. She’s six years old, right?”

  “Seven, now.”

  “And I’m sure she’s dying to see her Daddy. She’s not going to want to share you. Especially not with another girl.”

  “But—”

  “Have you even ever mentioned me to her?”

  “She’s not the jealous type,” he responded, dodging the question. “She’s sweet as can be. Besides, her mother parades the revolving door of her boyfriends in and out of her life all the time.”

  “Then it’s even more important that you are careful about who you introduce to her. And even if that wasn’t an issue, I have conflicts of my own. Jackson, I have an author signing this weekend, and I promised Gillian I’d sub for her Sunday-school class this week while she’s away on a golf trip with Jeremy.”

  “Gillian plays golf?” he asked with a grumble in his tone. He stabbed another bite of the cinnamon roll with his fork and ate it, though it tasted more sour than sweet this time around.

  “No, but Jeremy does.” Caroline laced her fingers and leaned forward. “Honey, I do want to meet your Haley. I very much do. But let’s do it in a thoughtful way.”

  He set down his fork, closed his eyes, and massaged his temples. “Okay. You’re right. I know. I just hate this so much. It’s the best thing and the worst thing I do. It’s so hard, Caroline. So damn hard.”

  “I know it is. I feel so terrible for you.” She rose from her seat and walked around the table, bent down and gave him a hard hug. “You fly out of Austin?”

  “Yes. Early Thursday morning. I was going to drive down tomorrow and stay near the airport.”

  “And you fly back Tuesday?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll take you to the airport, Jackson. I’ll meet your return flight. You can talk about Haley or not talk about her, whatever your heart needs. And sometime during your visit, you can mention your new friend Caroline, and then on one of your phone calls maybe she’ll want to talk to me. We can work our way up to my meeting her. Okay?”

  He sighed. She was right. He hated it, but she was right. “Okay. It’s a deal. Flip for the last bite?”

  She looked down and laughed. A full fourth of the roll was left. “It’s all yours, Jackson. I need to waddle my way to the front to flip the closed sign to open in a few moments as it is.”

  On the drive back to the canyon, Jackson thought about what Caroline had said and how she’d said it. She’d called him “honey.” That was nice. Really nice. It had just rolled off her lips like she’d meant it. Of course, the waitress at the Bluebonnet Café called him “honey,” too, but this was different. Caroline was different.

  He wanted her to meet Haley.

  He wanted Haley to meet her.

  They were the two most important ladies in his life. He loved them both. It was true. A year ago, even six months ago, he’d have sworn on six stacks of Bibles that he’d never fall in love again, but fall he had.

  He was in love with Caroline.

  Life was good with Caroline Carruthers here in Redemption, Texas, in Enchanted Canyon where troubled souls find peace. It wasn’t perfect because Haley was so far away, but it was good. He needed to remember that as he traveled to California and back. He needed to hold onto that.

  He loved Caroline and while she hadn’t said as much, he was pretty sure she loved him in return. She’d called him “honey.”

  Caroline—and River—helped him ward off the worst of his bad mood as they took him to Austin and saw him off at the airport. He had a fabulous five days with Haley. They spent two full days at Disney and a third full day at the beach. The other two they spent doing nothing in particular, playing, talking, being silly together, telling jokes, and even singing songs. Jackson told Haley about his new dog River and good friend Caroline, and he could tell by his ch
ild’s guarded reaction that Caroline’s instincts had been on the mark.

  Despite his best efforts, the black cloud returned when he kissed his daughter goodbye. Her wails as he walked away ripped fresh wounds in his heart and echoed in his mind all the way to the airport. He was silent as he paid the cab. He responded minimally to the TSA agent who greeted him with a friendly question. He seriously eyed the airport bar as he made his way toward his gate, but he feared if he started down that path, he’d never make it onto his plane.

  Then, at the gate, a miracle happened. As he stood blindly staring at the departure sign that read Austin, Texas, a familiar voice said, “Hey, cowboy. Need a hug?”

  Caroline, God bless her, had come to take him home.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Caroline had faced many challenges in her life. She’d tackled some serious life-and-death trials. She’d persevered. She’d emerged if not victorious, then at least still standing.

  So why was she trembling in fear at this relatively minor task laid before her? It’s ridiculous. It made no sense whatsoever.

  “Are you ready?” Jackson asked.

  No! her inner self screamed.

  “Sure,” she said, lifting her chin.

  The music started. He emerged from behind the stage onto the empty dance floor at the Last Chance Hall. It is my last chance, Caroline thought. My last chance to bolt for the door.

  As a native Texan, it had been her biggest secret, her greatest shame. She didn’t know how to two-step. She’d never learned. She’d listened to pop music in high school and college. Robert introduced her to classical music, but he didn’t like to dance. So, she’d never learned. That, apparently, was about to change.

  Keen-eyed Jackson had noticed that she always made excuses not to dance at the Last Chance and called her on it. When she finally fessed up to her lack of skill, he’d declared himself her teacher.

  She wanted to learn. She did. So why was she so embarrassed about this? “I just don’t want to hear any whining when you are nursing your bruised and battered toes.”