by Jan Hudson
“No problem,” Jackson told her. “I’ll have one of the guys bring a van from the club.”
“What club?”
“Crow’s Nest,” Jackson said. “My golf club and lodge in East Texas.”
“Crow’s Nest?” Tessa said. “I believe my husband Ed has been there on golfing weekends with his company.”
Jackson nodded, but didn’t comment further.
“Come on, kids,” Tessa said, “it’s time to break up the party. Bill, would you and Greg walk Erin and Edie home? Night all!” She shepherded Jenny inside, and the others walked away, leaving Olivia and Jackson alone.
“I have to say good-night, as well,” Olivia told him. “Thanks again for fixing my car and helping with the desk.”
“You’re welcome.”
She turned to leave, but he fell into step beside her. “I’ll walk you to your door.”
“It’s just up those steps.”
“I know, but my mama always told me to see a lady to her door.”
The stairs were too narrow to walk abreast, so she led the way, excruciatingly aware of him close behind her. Once on the landing, she turned nervously toward him. “We’re here!”
“So I see.” He reached up and unscrewed the glaring light bulb.
“Why did—”
“Bugs.”
Before she could protest, he kissed her.
His mouth was warm and wonderful, his arms strong and secure.
Pushing him away was difficult. But after a minute or two, she finally found the resolve to do so.
She drew a shuddering breath and said, “That’s one of the rules we need to establish. No kissing.”
His arms stayed wrapped firmly around her. “No kissing?”
“No kissing.”
“Not even a little one like this?” He touched the end of her nose with his lips.
She shook her head.
“Or this?” He pressed his mouth against one eyelid, then the other.
“No.”
“What about this?” he whispered beside her ear before his tongue traced the inner shell.
She sucked in a gasp as white-hot flame flared inside her. “Absolutely not!”
“Oh, sugar, I may just die if you won’t let me kiss you.” He bent and captured her lips once again.
Her knees sagged, and she clung to him, trying to conjure up the resolve that had escaped her once again.
She might have kissed him forever if Jackson hadn’t broken it off and said, “Night, darlin’. Sleep tight.”
He turned and sauntered down the stairs; she stood welded to the spot, feeling as though she’d been hit by a lightning bolt.
Five
The sun was barely up when Olivia started sanding. She hadn’t slept worth a darn all night, so she’d finally given up and gone downstairs to work on the desk. She’d rehearsed exactly what she planned to say to Jackson scores of times, tossing and turning between each version of her speech. While many—if not most—women would be delighted with his attentiveness, she had no intention of being anything other than a friend to him.
There would be no more kissing, no more…anything else. She intended to finish her dissertation, do her internship, then go into practice. Having another man in her life didn’t figure into her plans. She had learned her lesson. She intended to be totally self-sufficient and goal oriented.
Despite her determination to disregard Jackson, her gaze kept drifting to the house across the street.
Nothing stirred.
She wiped down the desk with a tack rag and glanced over again. Still nothing.
She was almost finished with the varnishing when Jackson’s pickup pulled into his driveway. Where in the world had he been so early?
Not that it was any of her business—nor did she care where he’d been. She directed her focus to the stroke of her brush down the table leg.
“Mornin’,” a deep voice said.
Olivia glanced up to find Jackson standing a few feet away. She hadn’t even heard his footsteps. The man moved like a wraith, even in boots.
“Good morning,” she answered. “You’re up early.”
“Early? Darlin’, I’ve already played nine holes this morning.”
“Of golf?”
“Yep. Promised Mitch. I beat him nine out of nine holes, so he was ready to quit. Tell you the truth, I was glad. I was hoping you’d be up by now. Had breakfast?”
“No, but—”
“Good. Me neither, and my stomach’s about stuck to my backbone. Let’s go grab a bite at the Magnolia Cafe. They make the best gingerbread pancakes you’ve ever eaten and omelets that nearly float off the plate.”
“I don’t think so, but thank you. I’ll have a bagel when I’m finished here.”
“Looks like you’re about done to me. And they have bagels at the Magnolia. They have anything your heart desires, but I never could pass up their gingerbread pancakes.”
She tried to explain she didn’t want to make a habit of going places with him, that she didn’t want to see him socially and that she didn’t plan on kissing him—or doing anything else with him—again. She told him everything that she had rehearsed in great detail during the wee hours of the morning.
He just smiled and said, “Okay, darlin’, if you just want us to be friends, we’ll be friends. Come on. I’m starving.”
“But I can’t go like this.” She gestured to her stain-smeared shorts and faded T-shirt. Good heavens, she’d barely run a brush through her hair before she’d gathered it into a rubber band—and she hadn’t even considered makeup.
“You look fine to me—and trust me, sugar, you’ll fit right in with the Austin crowd. Nobody dresses up much around here.”
“I’ve noticed that.” She tried to think of another legitimate excuse, but she couldn’t come up with one. And to cap things off, her stomach picked that exact time to rumble.
Jackson chuckled. “I’ll take that for a yes.”
Before she could argue, his hand was under her arm, guiding her down the driveway.
Jackson couldn’t help but grin as Olivia polished off the last of her pancakes. God, he was crazy about her. Just being close to her, watching her, made him feel ten sizes bigger. Funniest damn thing—he wanted to laugh and whoop and climb up on the table and crow like a rooster. He’d never felt this way in his life—and been sober. Now he was beginning to understand why Kyle and Matt acted so goofy over Irish and Eve.
Woman-like, she’d been worried about the way she looked, but he thought she looked gorgeous. He liked her dark hair kind of rumpled, and, Lord knows, lipstick and rouge couldn’t have made her any more beautiful. Olivia had natural beauty—good bones, lush lips and mysterious eyes that a man could get lost in. Even in her painting clothes, she carried herself with the confidence and grace of a dancer. She oozed sex appeal. Hadn’t he noticed a half dozen men watching her as they walked in the café?
Olivia could talk about just being friends all she wanted to, but friendship wasn’t what he had in mind for her. He wanted her by his side and in his bed. But he wasn’t anybody’s fool. He knew not to rush her, sensing that whatever made her skittish was some heavy baggage she carried. Irish had hinted at it but wouldn’t tell him the details. Things were going to take some time, and he was determined to be patient—and persistent. He wasn’t going anywhere, nor was he going to let her get away again. He would follow her to hell and back. Just call him glue.
He itched to touch her, to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand, to run his thumb along her bottom lip, then lick it to taste the syrup lingering there. But if he did, she’d probably give him another one of those “platonic relationship” lectures. Unable to keep his hands off her another second, he reached across the table and touched her cheek.
She startled.
“Eyelash,” he said quickly, smiling.
“Oh. Thank you.” She put down her fork and sighed. “I can’t believe I ate so much. But you were right. The pancakes were delicious.�
�� Glancing around the room, she added, “And you were right. I’m not any more grungy than anyone else.”
“Austin is pretty laid-back, and they have some of the best food in the state. We could eat at a different place every meal and not run out of restaurants for a couple of years. Have you ever tried rattlesnake?”
She laughed with that low, throaty sound that rippled his backbone. “No, and I’m not interested in trying it.” She laughed again, and her eyes crinkled and sparkled the way he loved—the way he thought of her at night when he couldn’t sleep.
“Actually, it’s not bad. There’s a really great restaurant just outside of town that has excellent exotic game dishes, everything from wild boar to alligator. I’d like to take you one night. We have some fine chili parlors and an Irish pub with food, drinks and music on Sunday nights. We can go there tonight if you want.”
She laid her hand across his. “Jackson, didn’t you hear a word I said to you earlier?”
He put his other hand over hers. “What was that, darlin’?”
“This…this thing between you and me. It can’t go anywhere. I’ve told you that over and over.”
“And what thing is that, darlin’?”
His eyes were riveted on her lips as she licked them. “This…this thing, this feeling…this feeling…”
He leaned forward and said softly, “You mean this feeling that comes over me and makes me want to lay you on the table naked and pour that jug of syrup over your body and lick up every drop?”
Her eyes widened suddenly, and she swallowed. “Jackson!”
“Sorry, darlin’.”
She jerked her hand away. “Please stop calling me that. I’m not your darlin’. Let’s go. We need to discuss this. In private.” She stood and strode toward the door.
Oh, hell, he thought as he fished for his wallet. He’d torn it now. Why couldn’t he have kept his damned mouth shut? Just because he was thinking it, didn’t mean he had to say it out loud. He heaved an exasperated sigh, threw a bill on the table and followed her out. Why couldn’t she just admit that the chemistry between them was explosive? Anybody with half a brain could tell they were perfect together, and she was smart.
She was also sod-pawing mad. She tore up his pea patch all the way home. He tried to sweet talk her out of her peeve, but his best efforts didn’t work. He finally figured that he was better off just to keep his mouth shut and hope that her anger would blow over. For the life of him he couldn’t understand why she’d gotten so angry.
Olivia didn’t understand why she’d gotten so angry. She had totally overreacted. If she had berated Thomas the way she had torn into Jackson, he would have beaten her senseless. Jackson hadn’t even lost his temper. He’d simply said, “Now, darlin’, you’re breakin’ my heart,” every time she took a breath.
Oh, come on, Olivia. You’ve had enough psychology to know why you overreacted. It was an ego defense mechanism, pure and simple. The erotic syrup image was more appealing than she was comfortable admitting. He was coming too close, and it was scary. There was no denying that she was very drawn to Jackson, that she enjoyed his company, that she found him incredibly attractive and enormously sexy. That was the problem.
It would be so easy—
No. She wasn’t ready to trust a man with her heart again. It had taken a lot of work to get to where she was now; she wasn’t going to blow it for another man.
After a quick shower Olivia dressed and grabbed her backpack. She planned to spend several hours in the library doing research.
As she backed out of her driveway, a little red car pulled into the driveway across the street. A very cute blonde, who was at least ten years younger than Olivia and wearing teeny-tiny shorts and a sassy little cropped top went bouncing up to the gate of Jackson’s courtyard. She opened the gate and went inside and out of Olivia’s sight.
Olivia hesitated for a few moments, fastening her seat belt and adjusting the mirrors, but the blonde didn’t make a quick exit.
So much for Jackson’s broken heart, she thought as she threw the car into Drive and peeled away.
She muttered all the way to the university library, mostly about male mentality and her stupidity for caring one iota about what Jackson Crow did with his spare time. She didn’t care, she reminded herself. And, as a matter of fact, if he spent time with Miss Short Shorts, then he wouldn’t be bothering her. Which was just fine.
Just fine.
Finally she settled down and got some research done, reading, making photocopies of articles and checking out a tall stack of books. By the time she lugged her material to her car and drove home, the sun was hanging low over the tree-covered limestone hills.
The little red car was still in Jackson’s driveway.
Damn!
No, scratch that. She didn’t care. Not one single bit.
Chin high, she wheeled into her parking space, gathered her stuff and slammed the car door behind her. She stomped up the steps to her apartment, dumped her belongings on the couch and went directly to the kitchen sink. She didn’t go there because the window afforded a perfect view of the tile-roofed hacienda; she went there because she was thirsty. She drank two glasses of water, very slowly, then dusted the sink with scouring powder and began to scrub the shiny porcelain.
Her fingers were beginning to pucker when Miss Hot Pants bounced through the gate. Jackson sauntered along after her, and the two of them were laughing. When they reached the little red car, the blonde turned, tiptoed and kissed Jackson on the cheek.
Olivia slammed the sponge in the sink and stalked off. With her tiny apartment, she didn’t have much stalking room, so she opted for a shower.
As he always did after one of those marathon sessions, Jackson had a splitting headache. He took a couple of aspirin and rocked back in his recliner to let them take effect. He dozed for a few minutes, and when he woke after about half an hour, he felt better. He washed his face and hightailed it across the street to Olivia’s apartment.
On his way he checked the desk in the garage and found that the varnish was dry. He carried it upstairs and set it on the landing.
When he knocked on her door, she didn’t open it. Instead, he heard a muffled acknowledgment from the other side.
“Hey, darlin’, it’s Jackson. Want to grab a hotdog and go to a movie?”
She opened the door a crack, and he tried to go inside, but the screen door was latched. He couldn’t see much of her, but it looked as if she had a towel or something wrapped around her head.
“I’m sorry, but no. I’m conditioning my hair, and I have to make preparations for my classes tomorrow.”
“How about I go pick up some barbecue or get some Chinese takeout? You’ve got to have dinner.”
“No, thank you.” And damned if she didn’t slam the door in his face.
He knocked on the door again.
She didn’t answer.
“I brought your desk up,” he yelled.
After a long pause, the door opened again. “That wasn’t necessary.”
“I know that it wasn’t necessary, but it’s too heavy for you to be struggling with. Unlatch the screen, and I’ll bring it in.”
She didn’t look too happy about it, but she did as he asked and stood back as he carried the writing desk inside.
“Where do you want this?”
“There by the window.”
He positioned the desk and stepped back. “You know, it looks great. You did a fine job with that old green castoff we bought. I never would have thought something so pretty could be under all that ugly paint.”
“Thank you.”
“Glad to oblige.”
He hadn’t missed that she was wearing a robe, and she clutched the front of it primly to her throat. She smelled like bubble gum and wildflowers.
“Sure I can’t talk you into some barbecue? Some ribs would really be good. Or maybe some brisket. I really hate to eat by myself.”
“Perhaps Miss Hot Pants will go with you.”
He frowned. “Miss Hot Pants?”
“The bouncy little blonde in the cropped top that you spent the afternoon with.”
“Bouncy—you mean Tami?”
“Yes, I suppose her name would be Tami. Or Tiffany.”
He laughed. By damn, if he didn’t know better, he’d think Olivia was jealous. Well, well, well. He considered stringing her along for a while, but he decided not to chance it. The truth always worked best. “Sugar, Tami is one of my assistants.”
“Assistants? She doesn’t look much older than Bill Jurney—not that I had more than a glance at her. I mean, I just happened to see her arrive as I was leaving. She’s very…cute.”
“Yes, she is cute. And smart as a whip. So’s Paulie.”
“Who’s Paulie?”
“Tami’s little boy. Hers and Jimmy’s. He’s almost three.”
“Jimmy?”
“No, Paulie. I think Jimmy is about twenty-four.”
“Wait a minute,” Olivia said. “Who is Jimmy?”
“Jimmy is Tami’s husband. They’ve both worked for me at Crow’s Nest for years. Tami’s daddy and I go way back. They were real tickled when I took the appointment here. Jimmy graduated from the local junior college last May, and now he’s going to take classes at UT. He plans on being a vet.”
“I see.”
Was he imagining it, or did her face soften after he explained who Tami was? No, there was a definite softening. “Can I convince you to change your mind about the barbecue?”
“No, I’m having soup. I was preparing it when you banged on the door.”
“What kind?”
“Chicken noodle.”
He grinned. “Great. That’s my favorite. I’ll eat with you.”
“But…but it’s only canned soup.”
“I love canned soup. Long noodles or round?”
“Long.”
“Perfect. Where are the crackers?”
Six
Olivia tried every excuse she could think of to get out of going tubing with Jackson and the kids, but between Jackson, Jenny and, of all people, Cherokee Pete, she finally conceded defeat. Buddy, a young man who worked at Crow’s Nest, had brought a mini-bus from the East Texas lodge on Friday evening, and Jackson’s grandfather had come along for the ride.
