Jackson: The McBrides of Texas

by Emily March

  Jackson glanced down at the bouquet in his hand, then back up at her. “Because it’s what guys do? They bring girls flowers.”

  Her chin came up. “Big bouquets like that are for guilty consciences.”

  “They were on sale.”

  That happened to be true, though price wasn’t what had motivated him to purchase the second dozen. He did have a guilty conscience. Sort of. Except “guilty” wasn’t really the right word. He had not done anything of which he needed to be ashamed. He just had a situation. News.

  He should tell her now. Just come right out and say it and get it over with. If he had any balls at all, that’s what he’d do.

  But those Bambi eyes of hers castrated him. She was looking at him as if he had … Whoa! Wait a minute. Now his chin came up. “Dammit, Caroline, you don’t really think I went off to the mountains and slept with Sharon, do you?”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Caroline?” He tossed the roses onto a nearby chair and braced his hands on his hips. “If that’s what you think it’s really gonna piss me off. I love you. I committed to you. I’m a man of my word, and I don’t the hell cheat.”

  “I know that,” she said in a little voice.

  “Then why…?” He waved his hand in small circles toward the tears that had escaped her eyes to trail down her cheeks.

  Her chin came up. “You didn’t call me.”

  “I couldn’t!” Jackson threw out his hands. “I told you that ahead of time.”

  “That’s just the past twelve days! You’ve hardly called me at all since you’ve been in Nashville.”

  He grimaced. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. “I know I didn’t call enough. It’s been crazy. Everything’s been crazy. Seems like I spent thirty hours a day on the telephone, and when I got a chance to speak to you it was two in the morning Texas time. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “That’s no excuse. I was probably lying awake fretting about why you hadn’t called. The few times I did hear from you left me unsettled, Jackson.” Caroline wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m not acting like myself, and I don’t like this me very much. I’ll admit to some insecurity. At the memorial when you and Coco performed and Haley joined you onstage, you were a family, Jackson. I think I felt threatened.”

  Yep. I am knee deep in the cow patties now.

  “You’re right. I was wrong not to call more. I’m sorry.” He took the final few steps to her, wrapped his arms around her, and held her tight. He buried his face in her hair, smelled her shampoo.

  Home. I’m home.

  Now he just had to figure out a way to stay here.

  “I’m sorry, love. I want you to understand about my running off to the mountains with my ex. I let her talk me into going up there because we really did have some special work mojo happening. Because of the accident, I think. It was burning in both of us, and we were connecting. When that happens, as an artist you have to respect it. But it was the music, Caroline. The music. Not personal. Nothing personal. Okay?”

  She didn’t speak, but she did nod. He took it.

  “My mistake was not ordering a satellite phone or messenger pigeon so that I could contact you. You have every right to be pissed at me about that.” He felt her smile against his shoulder, and some of his tension eased.

  He tightened his hold on her and rocked her. “I won’t pretend that this situation isn’t complicated, but you should never, ever doubt my love for you. We will work things out. You have to believe that. You need to believe me. You need to believe in me. Hear me?”

  “I hear.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. I’m going to hold you to that.” He placed his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his. Tell her. “Caroline?”

  “Yes?”

  I’ve missed you. “Do I finally get a welcome-home kiss?”

  A slow smile spread across her face, and the wicked gleam that sparked in her eyes was the most appealing thing he’d seen in a month of Sundays. Jackson didn’t want to think about complications any longer.

  She circled her lips with her tongue. “Maybe. Are you finally gonna give me my flowers?”

  “Maybe.” He swallowed hard. “I’m sort of having second thoughts about it though.”

  “Oh?”

  “For one thing, those roses are Texas dozens, which means there are fifteen roses instead of twelve. It occurs to me that thirty roses have lots of petals—plenty to make a nice little blanket for you to lie on. Naked. For me to look at.”

  “Hmm. I don’t know about that, McBride. Seems like that would make these more your roses than my roses.”

  “Well. Yeah, you do have a point.” He dipped his head and nuzzled her neck. “More’s the pity.”

  She arched against him and gave a hum of pleasure as he nibbled her earlobe. “I do have a counterproposal to offer.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  She licked the skin revealed by the V of his shirt. “You lie naked on the rose petals for me to look at.”

  Jackson stilled momentarily, and then drew back. “You are full of surprises.”

  “It’s a night for them, I suppose. Do we have a deal, McBride?”

  “Seal it with a welcome-home kiss, Carruthers.”

  She did with so much enthusiasm that they both forgot all about the rose petals until after he’d scooped her up into his arms and carried her off to the bedroom. They were both already half naked, and he was kissing her flat belly as he peeled off her slacks, when she suddenly pushed at his shoulders and said, “Wait! We forgot the flowers!”

  Jackson looked up, his expression pained. “Do you know how long it takes to pluck a rose, Caroline? Much less thirty of them?”

  “Are you trying to renege on our agreement?”

  He licked a circle around her navel, and his hands continued their quest. “Just renegotiate. How about we save the flowers for tomorrow? I could bring a couple more bundles and add something to hit all the sensual bases. With rose petals you have the sense of sight and scent and touch covered, so maybe add taste and sound in? What do you say?”

  She wiggled and rolled and managed to maneuver him onto his back. She rubbed herself sensuously against him, then waggled her brows and teased. “Gonna drive a hard bargain, aren’t you, McBride?”

  “Or die trying. Or die if I don’t get to try soon. Caroline, what—”

  “McBride?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You talk too much. Put that tongue to better use.”

  “Yes ma’am.” They were the last words he spoke in quite a long time.

  When they finally lay spent and sated in each other’s arms and Jackson sensed Caroline drifting toward sleep, he knew he could delay his news no longer. Trailing his thumb slowly up and down her arm, he said, “Honey?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I can’t stay tonight. I have to go back to the canyon.”

  Sleepily, she said, “Okay.” Then, once his words sank in, she stirred against him, opened her eyes. “What? You’re leaving? Why? Is something wrong at the inn? Tucker came by the shop this afternoon. He didn’t mention anything.”

  “No.” He sighed and rolled over onto his side then propped himself up on his elbow so that he could watch her. “It’s that complicated situation I spoke about earlier.”

  He watched her eyes grow wary. Waist-deep cow patties, McBride. “Maybe I should have told you before I took you to bed. Maybe I should have told you the minute I walked in the door. Hell, maybe I should have called and told you before I ever left Tennessee. Or maybe this is the right way to do it, when you’re lying here beside me after we’ve made love. You need to know that I love you, Caroline. Somehow, some way, I will make this work.”

  “What are you trying to tell me?”

  “I didn’t come home alone, Caroline. I brought Haley with me. We will be staying at the inn.”

  “You did?” A smile flittered on her lips. “That’s wonderful, Jackson.”
/>
  Well, yeah. Just wait. I’m not done with the telling yet. “Her mother tagged along to Texas, too.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Thanksgiving Day dawned sunny with temperatures expected to rise to the mid-sixties by the afternoon. Weather-wise, it should be a spectacular day. Beyond that, Caroline wasn’t prepared to make any predictions.

  Her guest list for Thanksgiving dinner had swelled to thirteen. What a lucky number! Coco was coming and bringing cranberry sauce. The kind her grandmother always served. Ocean Spray, straight from the can.

  Bless her heart.

  The last time Caroline’s emotions had been this jumbled she’d been going through puberty. She was truly happy for Jackson. He had Haley back in his life. He was writing songs again and pleased with the work he produced. The revival of the Last Chance Hall continued to rock along, Jackson’s cousin having stepped up in his absence to take care of the day-to-day operations. And, the man was getting laid. Yesterday he’d shown up with four-dozen roses, and she hadn’t the willpower to resist. Jackson McBride had it pretty darned good.

  Considering that he was living with his ex-wife.

  That’s where the jumbled-emotion part started coming in. Coco had checked into the Fallen Angel Inn, and she was insisting that Jackson stay there, too, rather than return to the trailer that Tucker had offered to vacate. Haley needed her father close, Coco had insisted. Jackson couldn’t argue the point. Neither could Caroline, but she didn’t have to like it.

  She punched the Pulse button on the food processor and sent the onion spinning. Her sympathy for the singer had just about reached her limits. Pulse. Pulse. No woman was that helpless. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. She was such a performer. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. And Jackson … could he not see through her act?

  Caroline glanced into her food processor bowl and groaned. She’d pulverized her onions into mush.

  Her eyes teared as she scraped the mess into the trash—strong onions—and she fetched more from her pantry, paying closer attention to her chopping this time. She’d just added the perfectly chopped onions to her dressing when her front doorbell rang. She glanced at the clock. Nine forty-five. Way too early for guests.

  She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and headed for the door. “Angelica!”

  The older woman had her long red hair piled in ringlets high on the back of her head and arranged in a style reminiscent of turkey tail feathers. Today’s ankle-length gypsy skirt was vertical color blocks of orange, brown, russet, and gold. Her long-sleeved knit shirt was harvest gold, and her braided-rope belt matched her skirt. Her dangling gold earrings spelled “Gobble” and “Gobble.”

  “This is a nice surprise,” Caroline said as she opened the door.

  Angelica swept inside pulling a collapsible cart filled with grocery bags and small kitchen appliances. “I came to cook with you. I know it’s nervy of me, but you are a generous soul, Caroline Carruthers, and I’ve always thought that half the fun of Thanksgiving was food prep with those with whom you planned to share the feast. Besides, Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs is driving me bonkers, and according to some—namely my cousin who suggested I find somewhere else to be this morning—I’m already halfway around that bend.”

  The breakfast cereal? Somehow, she didn’t think that’s what Angelica was talking about.

  “Do you know what she did this morning?”

  Caroline knew she probably shouldn’t ask, but really, Thanksgiving wasn’t a day for willpower, was it? “I take it the ‘she’ you’re talking about is not Celeste?”

  Angelica sniffed. “Not hardly. Celeste is running in the Redemption Turkey Trot 5K race this morning. She made her angel food cake yesterday so she is free as a dove until one o’clock when we’re all due to arrive here. I’m talking about the Fallen Angel’s newest”—she cleared her throat.—“guest.”

  “What did Coco do?”

  “She decided it was time to teach Haley to make a pie. In my kitchen. On Thanksgiving Day.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “It was all I could do not to knock her candy into her yams, I’m telling you. I realize that one could make the case that I’m committing the same sin by invading your kitchen this morning, but I know your heart, Caroline. I am welcome in your kitchen. Am I right?”

  “Of course! I’m thrilled to have you here, and I agree with you about sharing meal prep on Thanksgiving.”

  Angelica made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “There you go.” She pulled an apron from her cart and tied it on.

  Caroline read the message emblazoned across the front and grinned. “‘Get your fat pants ready.’ That’s great.”

  “I brought an apron for you, too. It says ‘Gobble till you wobble.’”

  “Perfect. I love it. Thank you.”

  While Caroline exchanged her plain apron for Angelica’s holiday gift, the innkeeper unloaded her cart onto the kitchen table. “Thank heavens I made my bread yesterday and could leave this morning. I know I’m getting ahead on my holidays with this metaphor, but there’s simply no room at the inn. And it’s only been two days! How am I going to manage two months?”

  “Two months?”

  “Over two. She’s booked every room that wasn’t already reserved until Valentine’s Day. Tried to get me to cancel those, but I am a woman of my word.”

  “Valentine’s Day? Why Valentine’s Day?”

  Angelica drew Caroline’s chef’s knife from the block and studied the blade’s edge. “I don’t know. Something about circles and first dates. She’s a piece of work, Caroline. I know she’s been through a trauma, but she’s a Southern girl. Where’s her grit? Where’s the steel in her magnolia? Why, thank goodness our Jackson is as stout as a Bois D’arc barn beam. The way she leans on him shames me to my feminist core. A lesser man would fall right over.”

  She eyed the celery Caroline had lying on her countertop. “Can I help you chop that?”

  “Be my guest. It’s washed and ready.”

  “I brought my own board.” Angelica pulled a wooden cutting board shaped like angel’s wings from her cart.

  “That’s cute,” Caroline observed.

  “Celeste gave this to me to roll out dough. I like using it as a cutting board because it collects dings and dents that way. Dings and dents suit me. They’re part of me. I’m a dinged-and-dented sort of girl.”

  Caroline smiled. “I can relate.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a few dings and dents. Nothing against my cousin. Celeste Blessing is a special woman, and the world is a better place with her in it, but I think that sometimes, imperfect suits a little more perfectly than perfect does. The thing that those of us who are less than perfect have going for us is that we have room to change and grow. I think that makes us interesting people, don’t you?”

  “Angelica, you are definitely one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met.”

  “Thank you, dear. You’re sweet as pecan pie to say that. Speaking of which, guess what kind of pie that woman invaded my kitchen to make?” She forged ahead without giving Caroline a chance to guess the answer. “Pudding pie. From a box. With a graham cracker crust. Also from a box. Forgive me for being judgmental, but she kicked me out of my own kitchen on Thanksgiving morning to make pudding pie! Even River is appalled.”

  Caroline didn’t try to hold back her smile. “Why didn’t you tell her no?”

  Angelica heaved a heavy sigh. “Because of Haley. That poor, dear, sweet little girl. She’s lost without her Poppins, and her mother is trying. It’s a pitiful effort, but she’s trying. What else could I do? What else can any of us do? It’s a tough situation, sticky as Karo on the kitchen floor, that’s for sure.”

  “Jackson says he’ll find a way to make it work,” Caroline said.

  “He’s a fine man, our Jackson. He loves you.”

  “He does. I know that. He loves Haley, too, and her needs are huge right now. We all want Jackson to do what is best for her. I’m in this relationship for the long haul with J
ackson, and I can be patient.”

  “You are a fine woman, Caroline. A good match for Jackson.”

  “Thank you.” She accepted the compliment with a nod, and then eyed the pies lined up on the buffet—pecan, pumpkin, cherry, apple, buttermilk, and banana cream. All homemade. From scratch. No crusts from a can or a box or the freezer.

  Bless her heart.

  “Angelica?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Just because I’m prepared to be patient doesn’t mean I’m a pushover. I’m ready to go Colonel William B. Travis at the Alamo if necessary.”

  Though a newcomer to Texas, Angelica was familiar with the area’s historical lore. “You’re going to draw a line in the sand?”

  “I am. We’re in my territory. Today, Coco better keep her puddin’ pie out of my kitchen.”

  * * *

  For a holiday that was all about the turkey, this one sure involved a lot of cats, Jackson observed as he met Tucker’s gaze and topped off their wine glasses—again—with the Napa pinot noir that had been his contribution to the meal.

  Jackson had made a serious mistake when he’d accepted Tucker’s suggestion shortly after their arrival at Caroline’s house to turn the phrase “Bless Your Heart” into a private drinking game. At the rate things were going, they’d both be blotto before halftime of the Cowboys game. Shoot, they’d even had to toss back a gulp because Celeste of all people threw down a BYH. Celeste!

  Both men held up their glasses in silent toast, threw back a drink, then returned to their task. McBride men traditionally handled KP duty following holiday dinners and today was no exception. Frankly, they’d both been glad to retreat from the battlefield.

  “I know it’s a Thanksgiving tradition to bitch about women having to use china that you can’t put in the dishwasher,” Tucker observed a moment later as Jackson handed him a dinner plate to dry. “But I have to be honest. I’ve missed this.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve been home for a holiday?”

  “Four years.”

  “You should have made the trip to Eternity Springs with the rest of the clan.”

  “Nah. I was honestly glad to have an excuse to stay here. I love the fam-damn-ily—don’t get me wrong—but there’s too many of ’em. I’m going to have to work up to showing up to one of the big gatherings.”