by Emily March
“Hey, why do you think I wore my steel-toe boots?”
Her eyes went wide as she glanced down at his feet. He laughed. He wore his usual everyday Ropers.
“While you’ll looking down there, I’m going to show you my footwork so you’ll have an idea of what I’m talking about when I say it. Watch now, darlin’. Basic two-step. It’s very simple. I’ll start with my left leg first—guys always start with their left—and I’ll take a half step, one, and two. Half step, one, two. It’s quick quick, slow, slow. Quick quick, slow, slow. That’s it. Okay?”
“I guess.”
He grinned, grabbed her hand, brought it to his mouth, and kissed it. “You learn to two-step, you’ll be dancing all night long, every time you visit the Last Chance. Now, put your hand on the fella’s arm here just below his shoulder.” He placed it where he wanted it. “Kind of cup it around. Like that. Perfect. The guy places his hand on your shoulder blade like this. Now, see how far apart we’re standing?”
She looked down, concentrating hard. How far was that? A foot? Ten inches?
“That’s about right unless it’s you and me. If it’s you and me”—he yanked her tight against him and murmured against her ear—“we’ll dance like this. But that’s only you and me.”
“Jackson!”
Again, he laughed. “Relax, honey. You have this. I am an excellent teacher. Now, the guy always starts with his left leg first. Lady starts with her right leg first. Remember it was a half step first, then a one, two. Quick quick slow, slow. Let’s wait for the music … coming up … ready? Here we go. Quick quick, slow, slow. Quick quick, slow, slow.”
She was terrible. Stiff and awkward. She froze up the same way she did like when she needed to do math in public. She got the choreography of the dance step down, but it wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t dance. It was more Frankenstein stumbling out of the castle. She despaired ever feeling comfortable to go public at the Last Chance. “I can’t do this!”
“Sure you can.”
But then, Jackson fixed the problem. He distracted her by doing something she’d never heard him do before.
Jackson McBride sang. To her.
Caroline lost herself in the rhythm and the rhyme and the timbre, in the sheer masculine beauty of his voice. She followed him effortlessly, in the half turns, and even in the full turns, and the dance steps became imprinted in her memory. In fact, she knew she’d remember this moment, this dance, for the rest of her life.
Because when the lesson finally ended, when he smiled down into her smiling face and kissed her sweetly on the lips, he said, “See? Ain’t no step for a stepper. Or, I guess I should say, a two-stepper.”
“I did it.”
“Yes, you did. You always do. You have no quit in you, Caroline Carruthers. I love that about you.” He cupped her cheek, gazed tenderly down into her eyes, and declared, “I love you. I’m in love with you.”
“Oh, Jackson. Me too. I mean I love you too. I love you.”
His eyes smiled at her. “Because I taught you to two-step?”
“Of course not. Do you think I’m easy?” She wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled his face down to hers. “You seduced me with song. Sing to me some more, why don’t you? Next I want to learn how to waltz.”
That Saturday night, Jackson McBride took the stage at the Last Chance Hall for the first time and debuted a new song, a ballad, titled “See That Girl.”
The audience went wild.
Jackson took to spending most nights in town at Caroline’s. Saturdays, after a night of music and dancing at the dance hall, they stayed overnight together at his trailer. Caroline spoke with Haley on the telephone. Jackson began teaching her to play the guitar. She learned the joy of skinny-dipping in the swimming hole by moonlight. He began looking at house plans and asking her opinion. Neither one of them mentioned marriage. Each agreed they were taking one step at a time. Writing their next chapters.
September brought the return of one of Texas’s favorite pastimes—high school football—and on Friday nights, Caroline closed The Next Chapter early. She and Jackson joined the rest of Redemption in rooting on the home team. Angelica proved to be a fierce fan of the game and quite the homer, which became a bit of a problem since the Fallen Angel attracted visiting team boosters as overnight guests, and they didn’t always appreciate arriving to Redemption Rattlers window signs and streamers.
Homecoming, the third weekend of September, was a particularly big event with a parade through downtown on the afternoon before the big game. Caroline and her two BFFs Maisy and Gillian, were tied up doing things with the homecoming court. Jackson was due to meet up with her later at the game. For now, he was on float duty. At Angelica’s insistence, the Fallen Angel Inn had entered a float supporting the Rattlers, and Jackson was driving the tractor, which was pulling the float built upon a flatbed trailer. The only reason he was wearing a bent halo to match the inn’s logo on top of his cowboy hat while doing so was because it settled the college football bet he’d lost with Angelica the previous week.
It was the bent halo that nearly caused the wreck.
When the newcomer to town saw it, he started cackling like a hyena, which drew Jackson’s attention. When Jackson identified the source of the out-of-control laughter, he inadvertently jerked the tractor wheel and thus came close to jackknifing the float, a miniature reproduction of the inn with a real-life Angelica performing a royal wave from the chimney on top.
The hyena was his cousin, Tucker.
Finally, he reached the end of the route and was able to park the tractor and trailer. He scrambled down, ready to assist Angelica from her perch and go find his cousin when he heard the grand cackler himself.
“My biggest regret is that my phone was dead so I didn’t get a picture of this.”
“I thought maybe this halo had messed up the blood supply to my head or something. It is you. What the heck are you doing here, Tucker? You home on R&R?”
“I’m home for good. Uncle Sam and I have split the sheets.”
“What?”
“I didn’t re-up.”
Jackson’s jaw dropped. Tucker was career military. That’s all he’d ever wanted. “What the hell happened?”
Tucker shook his head. “Long story. Gonna need a beer or twelve to tell you about it. First, though, I gotta find a place to bunk. I called the inn but they’re booked for the weekend.”
Jackson was shaking his head even before Tucker finished speaking. “You can have the trailer. I’ll stay at Caroline’s. I’m hardly ever there anyway. I’ve all but moved in with her as it is.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jackson gave him a slow smile and clapped him on the back. “Let’s go get one of those beers, and I’ll give you the skinny. She and her girlfriends—”
Angelica’s voice interrupted from above. “Hello! Excuse me? Excuse me! Jackson, I could use some help here.”
Oh, man! Jackson winced. He’d forgotten all about Angelica. Now there’s a first. How can anyone ever forget Angelica? “I’m so sorry. On my way.”
Jackson climbed up on the float in order to lift his innkeeper down from her chimney perch. Then because Tucker had made himself handy, he passed her off to him. “Well well well,” she said, “aren’t you a pretty fella! Those McBride family genes are a special combination, I daresay. Welcome home, Tucker. Thank you for your service.”
She kissed him on the cheek and said, “I’m Angelica Blessing, the Fallen Angel innkeeper. If my cousin Celeste were here she’d say something along the lines of ‘Enchanted Canyon is ready to wrap you in its comforting arms and soothe your troubled soul.’ I’m not gonna do that. I’m a plain speaker, Tucker McBride. You have a tough row ahead of you to hoe. It’s gonna take a powerful amount of work. Might break the blade a time or two. But the blessings you will reap at the harvest will be worth it. I promise. Never forget that you’ve got family and new friends here in Redemption to help you. Now, set me down.”
S
tunned, Tucker did as directed. Angelica finger-waved to Jackson, called, “Toddle-do,” and sauntered off into the parade crowd. She was trailing a stream of yellow crepe paper from her pant leg.
“What the hell was that?” Tucker asked.
Now it was Jackson’s turn to do the hyena laugh. He threw his arm around his cousin’s shoulder and led him toward the nearest bar. Over a couple of local microbrews, Tucker attempted to explain his change of heart.
“To be honest, I almost bailed the last time I signed my contract. It’s not in my nature to quit. But I have to tell you, Jackson, I understand now why the Callahans preferred to wage war against the drug cartels and human traffickers from outside the government rather than from within. The bureaucracy whips your ass.”
“So that’s what this is about? They’ve lured you into working for Callahan Security?”
“No. Not right now, anyway. I’m going to take some time and try to figure out just what I want to do when I grow up.”
Jackson could tell that there was more—much more—to this story, but Tucker obviously wasn’t ready to tell it. So he nodded and took a sip of his beer. “Been there, doing that.”
“So, what’s the skinny on sweet Caroline?”
Jackson gave his cousin a censored and condensed summary of his relationship with Caroline. He invited Tucker to join them at the ball game, but Tucker begged off. “I’ve been traveling for days, and I need to see the inside of my eyelids for about fourteen hours straight at least. Did you mean what you said about my bunking at your place?”
“Absolutely.” He told Tucker where to find the key, mentioned the sad state of the contents of his refrigerator, then they finished their beers, exchanged handshakes and the backslap that served as a hug between the cousins, and Tucker headed for Enchanted Canyon. Jackson went looking for Caroline to give her the news.
That night the first half of the football game was a defensive struggle, ending in a 6–6 tie. Halftime was a pageant with drill-team and marching-band performances, and the homecoming court paraded around the field in classic convertibles. The Rattlers came out in the second half and, as Jackson said to Caroline on the way home from the game, put a whuppin’ on the visiting team. It had been a great Texas small-town September Friday. Jackson capped it off by singing a love song to his lady and making sweet, sweaty love to her late into the night.
So both he and Caroline were sleeping in on Saturday morning when his phone rang. He let it go to voice mail. Almost immediately, it started ringing again. This time, he pulled the pillow over his head.
The third time his phone rang, Caroline kicked him. “Just answer it. It’s not going to stop.”
“Grrr. If it’s Tucker, I’m going to kick his ass next time I see him.” He thumbed the green button and brought the phone to his ear. “What!”
“Jackson McBride?” the stranger’s voice said. “This is Martin Hollis with TMZ. What comment do you have about the crash of Coco’s plane?”
Everything inside Jackson went cold. His heart might have stopped.
He sat up, fired out, “What?”
“What comment do you have about the plane crash?”
“What plane crash?”
“Coco’s. Oh, man. You haven’t heard about it yet?”
His mouth went dry as Big Bend in August. Vaguely aware that Caroline had sat up beside him, her expression wreathed with concern, he closed his eyes and forced out words. “No. I haven’t. Tell me.”
“Jeez, man. Sorry. Coco played L.A. last night. The band left this morning on two planes. Apparently one of them went down.”
“Whose!” Jackson shouted. “Who was on it!”
“It’s unclear. I thought maybe you’d know.”
Jackson hung up on him.
His hand was shaking, trembling so hard he could hardly scroll through his contacts.
Softly, Caroline asked, “Honey?”
“I don’t—” He couldn’t … he just.… He shook his head as he finally found Sharon’s contact and placed the call. It went straight to voicemail. “God … God … God,” he prayed aloud. He placed the call again. Same result.
He tried to think of what to do. He rubbed his brow. He couldn’t think.
“I’ll help you,” Caroline offered.
“I don’t … God. There was a … a … plane crash … but two planes! I don’t … Ray-Walker. I’ll call Ray-Walker.” His hand was shaking so hard he couldn’t scroll through the contacts.
“Here.” Caroline took the phone from his hand. “Ray-Walker what? What’s his last name?”
His mind was spinning. He felt frozen. Haley. Haley. Haley.
“Jackson, what is Ray-Walker’s last name?”
“Satan. He’s listed under Satan.”
Caroline cut him a look, but scrolled to the Ss, placed the call, and handed him the phone. Voicemail again. Dammit. This time, he let it progress to the recording and left a message. “It’s Jackson. Somebody damn well better call me immediately.”
His phone rang before he could place another call. Another reporter asking for a comment. Another reporter without any new information for him. Caroline reached for the remote, turned on the television and surfed to a news channel. Jackson shook his head. “The entertainment channel. They’ll have it first.”
He managed to collect himself a bit. He tried Sharon again, got out of bed and pulled on his pants, and began placing calls to members of the band. He had everybody’s number. He paced the room as he started working his way through the list, answering every call that came in just in case, dying a little when nobody had a damn bit of news for him. At some point he realized Caroline was on her phone talking to someone.
Despair rolled over him when he dialed Sharon’s phone for probably the twentieth time in the nightmare of the past … what … five minutes? Ten? It felt like an hour. A year.
Caroline said, “I spoke to Boone. He’s going to call your Callahan cousins. He said if anyone can find out what’s happening, they could.”
“Oh, yeah.” Relief rolled over Jackson. “I should have thought of them. Good. That’s good. He’s right.”
“He’ll call you as soon as he’s spoken with them.”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll keep trying the band. Maybe—” He broke off abruptly when a Breaking News announcement flashed on the TV. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.
“… unconfirmed reports that at least one of two planes carrying music superstar Coco and her entourage crashed in the remote mountainous area somewhere southwest of Las Vegas in the early morning hours. No word of passenger identities or possible survivors is known at this time.”
“At least one?” he repeated. “What the—?” He whirled around and met Caroline’s gaze, feeling wild. “Both planes? How could that happen? Why would that happen? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Jackson—”
“That’s crazy! I don’t believe it.” His heart was about to pound out of his chest. “This can’t be, Caroline. It’s gotta be a—” He broke off as his throat closed.
Caroline placed a comforting hand on his arm just as his phone rang. He recognized the number. “Boone!”
“There’s hope, Jackson,” his cousin said.
Jackson’s knees turned to melted butter. He sank onto the bed and buried his face in his palm.
Boone continued, “Two planes on the same flight plan. The tower in Las Vegas heard a mayday call from plane B. It disappears from radar. Plane A circles back and sees smoke. But that’s all we’ve got so far. We’re not one hundred percent sure it was a crash. Not sure about fatalities. Don’t know who was on which plane. The Callahans are chasing down that info right now.”
“Okay.” Jackson raked his fingers through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. Caroline sat beside him. He took her hand and held it like a lifeline.
“A rancher friend of theirs is sending a copter to pick you up. ETA is twenty-five minutes. It’ll bring you to Fort Worth where the Callahans will have thei
r jet ready for you. We’ll have you to the site as fast as we possibly can. Are you in town or in the canyon?”
“Town. I’m at Caroline’s.”
“Okay. Where’s the best place to land a bird?”
He didn’t know. He couldn’t—“The football stadium. Tell him to go to the football stadium.”
“Will do.”
“And if any more news—”
“You’ll be the first to know. They have your number. They’ll call you rather than me from this point. Okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s good. Thanks, man.”
“Of course. And I told them Caroline might be coming with you.”
Jackson met her gaze. “Yes. I hope she will.”
“Good luck, man. I’m praying for you.”
“Thanks.” Jackson sucked in a deep breath, and then blew it out in a rush. “Like you said, there’s hope. We don’t know anything yet. I don’t know … oh … hey … one thing. Tucker is home. Let him know, would you? Call the inn.”
“Tucker’s home?” Boone repeated, his surprise obvious. “Sure. I’ll phone him right away.”
They ended the call, and Jackson summarized what he’d learned for Caroline.
“Of course I’ll come with you.”
She rose and pulled a duffle from her closet and filled it with a change of clothes and toiletries for them both. She gave River food and water, and then left a message on Gillian’s phone asking for emergency pet help. Jackson wasn’t concerned that she didn’t speak to her friend directly. He knew they could count on their friends. They were out the door within ten minutes, in the air within half an hour.
* * *
It was one hour and seventeen interminable minutes between the time the reporter said the words “plane crash” and when Luke Callahan called him with the three most beautiful words he’d ever heard: “Haley is alive.”
Chapter Seventeen
Caroline watched the relief wash over Jackson, and she sent up a quick prayer of thanks. Haley was safe on the ground in Las Vegas with her mother. But along with the good news, came heartbreak. Four members of Coco’s band—longtime friends of Jackson’s—her manager, and Haley’s nanny had been among the ten souls who’d lost their lives on the plane that went down.
