by Jan Hudson
“Wanted to see your new house,” Pete had told his grandson. “Besides, I couldn’t miss a chance at tubing.” He’d even talked Tessa into joining them.
On Saturday morning, after Jen’s early soccer game, the five adults and five kids piled into the mini-bus with their gear and drove to New Braunfels. The route through the hill country was breathtaking with its craggy limestone hills, still lush with cedar and small oak trees that covered the rises like mounds of green tufted pillows.
Olivia sat next to a window with Jackson beside her, his arm casually draped across the back of her seat. He commented on various points of interest as they rode, but for the life of her, she couldn’t concentrate. He was very close.
She could smell his aftershave and feel the warmth of his body as he leaned across her to gesture toward some site or the other. He was so close that she could almost count his eyelashes, and she noted the laugh lines that radiated from the corner of his eyes.
He caught her watching him and winked. She quickly turned her attention back to the scenery. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she, but the air between them vibrated with awareness. She was relieved when Jen and the twins got everyone involved in a game of twenty questions.
In an hour they arrived at the river where they rented inner tubes. Buddy took care of the rental details, and soon they were in the river, all wearing bathing suits and T-shirts and sneakers to protect their feet from the rocky shallows. Even Jackson traded his boots for well-worn sneakers.
Olivia had never had so much fun in her life. They drifted down the shallow stretch, sometimes slowly, sometimes at a faster clip, paddling around rocks and shouting to one another. They sang silly songs and laughed and splashed until they landed on a sand bar, then they hoisted the tubes and walked upriver to begin the trip again.
Cherokee Pete, at eighty-plus, stayed in the thick of things, and when they stopped for a picnic lunch, the kids gathered around the old man like bees to a honey pot.
Olivia stretched out on a quilt to allow her lunch to settle and listened to Pete’s endless supply of tales—which captivated her as much as it did the young people. Jackson dropped down beside her, casually eased her head onto his thigh, then sat sipping the last of his soft drink and twirling a wildflower between his fingers.
“Having fun?” he asked.
“Umm,” she managed to answer, her eyes closing. Feeling totally relaxed for the first time since she couldn’t remember when, a delicious languor stole over her, and she wanted to drift in that peace forever.
Distant laughter, the river’s rush, a balmy day and the smells of water and grass and mustard lulled her deeper. The company of Jackson and his grandfather and the others brought a comforting sense of security that wrapped her like a down bunting.
The kids left first, Buddy going with them to supervise. His grandfather glanced at the sleeping Olivia, smiled, then rose and headed for the river. Tessa winked at Jackson, then she, too, stood and left.
Jackson didn’t have the heart to wake her, wouldn’t have for the world. She looked as peaceful and trusting as a child, sleeping with her head on his lap. He hadn’t realized how strained her face always looked until he saw it relaxed. He wondered for the umpteenth time exactly what it was that dogged her so.
Deep feelings for her began to stir inside him, catching at his chest and his throat. She sighed, shifted slightly and slipped her hand under her cheek and atop his fly—or where his fly would have been if he’d been wearing jeans instead of a flimsy bathing suit. His feelings weren’t the only thing that was beginning to stir.
He silently muttered a colorful curse and tried to get his mind on something else, but his mind went back like an oiled gate hinge. Things got progressively harder.
Caught somewhere between heaven and hell, Jackson endured. He sat there and endured, sat there with his sword and held off the dragon while she slept.
The following afternoon Cherokee Pete knocked on Olivia’s door while she was engrossed in lecture notes for her classes.
“Come in,” Olivia said, holding open the screen door. “I was just about to stop for a glass of tea. I hope you’ll join me.”
“Don’t mind if I do, Miss Olivia,” he said, stepping inside and looking around. “Right pretty place you have here. Yessiree, right pretty. I like that rocking chair. Puts me in mind of one my wife used to have.”
“Thanks. I found it in a junk shop and refinished it.”
His gnarled fingers stroked the carving on the high back, then set the chair to rocking. “Did a good job. My wife was handy at that kind of thing, too.”
“Has she been gone long?”
He sighed. “More years than I like to remember. Say, I was hoping you wouldn’t mind an old codger interrupting your afternoon for a little bit. Jackson and Tami were working on commission business, and Buddy went to visit with Tami’s husband, Jimmy. I’ve already finished the murder mystery I brought with me, and Jackson doesn’t have a blamed thing in the house to read except cases coming before the Railroad Commission tomorrow.”
“If you’re looking for something to read, you’re welcome to look through my bookshelves. I like mysteries, too, and I’ve picked up several at garage sales lately. Seems like anywhere I land I start collecting books.”
“Me, too,” Pete said, “and I’m much obliged for the offer. I could go to the bookstore, but Buddy took Jackson’s pickup, and I wasn’t too keen on trying to drive the bus or that fancy foreign job of Jackson’s, especially since I’m not too familiar with the town.”
“Would you like for me to drive you to the bookstore?”
“Oh, no,” Pete said, squatting to look at the titles on the lower shelf. “I see two or three here that I haven’t read—if you don’t mind me borrowing them.” He selected two books by Mary Willis Walker, an Austin mystery writer Olivia had recently discovered.
“Those are excellent. I think you’ll enjoy them.”
He also picked up a title by psychologist Carl Jung and thumbed through it. “I’m right fond of Jung. I haven’t read any of his stuff in a while. I’m gonna do that when I get back home.”
Olivia tried to hide her shock, but it must have shown, for Pete chuckled. “Surprised that an old coot like me reads books by psychologists?”
She smiled. “A little bit, I suppose. Sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. Most people are shocked out of their gourds when they see my library at home. My wife—she was a schoolteacher, you know—well, she taught me to read and taught me a love of books that has endured for over sixty years. I read purt-near everything.”
“I’m impressed. I love books, too.”
“Speaks well for your character. I didn’t have much in the way of formal education, but I put a high price on it. That’s why I dangled a carrot for my grandkids to go to college. They were all good students, too. Well,” he said, chuckling, “’cept for Jackson. He never cared much for books and schooling—had his mind on other things—but he kept on until he got that college degree.
“Always seemed peculiar to me. Of all my grandchildren, Jackson’s the smartest of the lot, smarter even than Smith, and he’s a whiz, let me tell you. You haven’t met Smith, have you? He’s into making computers. Lives down in the Valley and grows cotton and citrus fruit, too.”
“You’re very proud of your grandchildren, aren’t you?” Olivia asked, smiling at the old man’s preening comments.
“That I am. Shows, does it?” He laughed and slapped his thigh. “I’ve been real blessed. I have two fine daughters, five outstanding grandchildren, and two super-duper great-grandchildren—with another on the way.”
“Let’s have that tea, and you can tell me about those super-duper great-grandchildren.”
He smiled broadly. “I don’t take much prodding to run off at the mouth. And, say, before I forget it, I’ve got a big pot of chili simmering on the stove, and you’re invited to supper. I won’t take no for an answer.”
“Then I suppose
that I’ll just have to say yes.”
“While you’re in such an agreeable mood, young lady, how about taking me up on that other offer I made?”
Olivia frowned. “Which offer?”
A mischievous sparkle lit his eyes. “The one where I give you five million to marry Jackson.”
“Forget it, Pete. Not even for you would I get married again. Do you like lemon in your tea?”
Olivia couldn’t believe how quickly the weeks passed. Perhaps it was because her life was full and she was content, but before she knew it, September was gone and October was almost over. The last Saturday in the month dawned with a bit of crispness in the air—still warm, but with a definite hint of fall. Olivia threw open the windows of her apartment and was about to make a bowl of cereal when she heard a scratching at her door.
She opened it, expecting to see Jackson with another invitation to breakfast or to the movies or to some other event. No one was there.
Then she looked down. A puppy sat on the landing, an envelope in its mouth. “Well, hello there, little fella,” she said, scooping up the ball of brown and white fluff into her arms. “What have you here?”
She tried to take the envelope from his mouth, but he wouldn’t let go. He growled a little puppy growl and shook his head from side to side in a tugging game.
“Hey, Sport,” Jackson said from a spot halfway down the stairs, “you’re supposed to deliver it to the lady, not mangle it.” He grinned up at Olivia. “Sorry. We practiced and practiced, but he’s young yet. The only thing he has down pat is eating and piddling on the carpet.”
“He’s adorable. What kind is he, and where did you get him?”
“What kind? Who knows? I believe that his mama was a golden retriever and his papa was a champion fence jumper. I got him at the SPCA. Jimmy works there part-time, and he and Tami talked me into it. Tami is a one-woman adoption agency for the commission. Everybody in the building will have a new pet before she’s finished. Want a kitten? Or maybe a goat?”
“No, thanks. I don’t think Tessa would appreciate it.”
“I don’t think Mrs. Lopez is too thrilled about Rowdy here, either.” Mrs. Lopez was the housekeeper Jackson had hired a few weeks before. “He hasn’t quite gotten the hang of indoor living, and she banished both of us while the kitchen floor dries. Want to go to Zilker Park with us?”
“I was just about to have some cereal.”
“Poured the milk yet?”
“No.”
“Good. Dump it back in the box, and we’ll stop for a sausage biscuit and orange juice. I want to try out my new kite.”
“Your kite?”
“Yep. It’s a fine one.”
He wore his customary boots and sunglasses along with well-worn jeans, straw hat and a T-shirt extolling the virtues of a popular beer. He looked better outfitted for horseback riding or bar hopping than a romp in the park. “Somehow I can’t picture you flying a kite.”
“Oh, sure. Matt and my cousins and I used to spend most of the summer making and flying kites. We got pretty good at it. My new one is professionally made—a black bat wing with dual controls. Matt sent it to me for my birthday.”
“Is today your birthday?” she asked, feeling terrible that she hadn’t even bought him a card.
“Nope. Tomorrow. Come on. Let’s go to the park.”
She hesitated. It seemed that they were spending more and more time together—most weekends and several times during the week they went out to dinner or to a movie or to a play that Jackson had tickets for. She always enjoyed herself, but she planned to pass the current weekend alone for a change.
“Sorry, but I want to go to the bookstore and do some browsing this morning.”
“Tell you what. Let’s go to the park for a while, then we’ll drop Roscoe here off, have some lunch and spend the afternoon browsing in the bookstore.”
“I thought the puppy’s name was Rowdy.”
“I haven’t decided on a name yet. I’m trying out different ones to see which one fits best.”
“That may be part of your problem in training him. The poor thing is confused.”
“Ach, an identity crisis you sink, Frau Freud?” Jackson asked in a terrible German accent.
“I sink,” she said, laughing, “that you’d better stick to English.”
“I’ll have you know, darlin’, that I had four years of Spanish and four years of French in college.” He grinned. “’Course I only got credit for two of each. Come on, cheri, we’re burning daylight.”
As usual, Olivia ended up going with him. After all, she thought, making another in her endless list of excuses to herself, tomorrow was his birthday. And nobody could make her laugh and feel quite as carefree as Jackson Crow.
And nobody could make her feel quite as safe—or quite as vulnerable—as Jackson Crow.
At the park, before Jackson could slip the new leash on, the puppy barked and took off after a butterfly. Yelling didn’t stop the determined little fellow, so Jackson went one way and Olivia the other, trying to corral him. Every time they were about to pounce, the puppy, thinking it was a grand game, slipped through their legs and shot off in the opposite direction.
“That little dickens is like a streak of greased lightning,” Jackson said as he ran after the scamp. “Try to cut him off at the tree.”
They chased him for a quarter hour until Jackson finally caught him by the scruff of the neck and fell laughing into the tall grass of the field. “Lord, I’m worn out,” he said, rolling onto his back and holding the wiggling dog on his chest. “How about you, Streak?” he asked the puppy.
The puppy yapped and wagged his tail.
Olivia laughed as she dropped down cross-legged beside them. “I think you may have named him. How about it, Streak?”
The puppy yapped again and licked Jackson’s nose.
“Streak it is,” Jackson said, slipping the leash on. “I think I’m too tuckered to fly my kite.”
“Absolutely not!” Olivia said, hopping to her feet “I want to see it.”
They went back to the truck, retrieved the kite and Olivia held Streak’s leash while Jackson got the big black bat wing into the air.
It was a glorious thing looping and diving and swirling high in the air. Jackson was very adept, and she enjoyed watching him put the kite through various tricky maneuvers. She also enjoyed watching the man—watching how his arms and back and shoulders moved with the strength and grace of a big cat. How familiar those arms had become.
How often, like now, she ached to have them around her. No matter how many times she told herself to keep her distance, she discovered that all those warnings were futile. The plain fact was she was attracted to Jackson Crow. She enjoyed his company. Why shouldn’t she let him hold her or kiss her? She was a mature woman with needs. He was a mature man with needs. Perhaps they could have a relationship of sorts. Such an arrangement didn’t have to mean a lifetime commitment. It wasn’t as if she planned to marry him, for heaven sakes.
Hmm. She was going to have to give this some thought.
“Want to try it?” Jackson asked.
She almost blushed, then realized that he was talking about flying the kite. “Sure. Why not? What do I do?”
She tied the puppy to a signpost, then, standing between Jackson’s outspread feet, took the controls. With her back against his chest and his arms pressed against the outsides of hers, he guided her. In tandem, almost as one, they stood while the kite tugged at the strings, strained at the controls as if it wanted to break free and soar to the clouds and beyond. It danced on the currents and dove with a pull of the cord, yet its goal seemed to be to snap the restraints and fly un-tethered to the top of the world.
For some strange reason, tears clogged her throat for a heartbeat. Silly, she told herself, that a kite could move her to such sentimentality, but at that moment she felt an overwhelming kinship with it.
And with Jackson.
As if they were one. Their arms and bodies
continued to move in perfect synchronization.
Perfect.
They were perfect together.
Perfect.
From nowhere, panic rushed in and flooded her body. She struggled in his arms, stepping on his foot in her haste to get away from him, from the power of the moment.
“Ouch! Whoa, sugar,” Jackson said, grabbing for the controls. “What’s wrong?”
“Let me go. I can’t breathe.” She struggled wildly.
“Hang on a second.” He nosedived the kite and dropped the strings. He grabbed her upper arms and faced her to him. “What’s happening? What can I do?”
“Nothing,” she said, splaying one hand across her heaving chest and pushing him back with the other. “Give me a minute.” She turned, walked away and sucked in several deep breaths.
As she began to calm herself with a familiar ritual, she felt like a damned fool. She hadn’t had a panic attack in ages.
“Honey?” Jackson’s voice sounded worried.
She made a big show of coughing and patting her chest before she turned around. She took another big breath, then pasted on a smile. “Sorry. Allergies. Must be something blooming around here that disagrees with me. For a moment there something took my breath away—literally.”
“Do you need to go to a doctor—or to the emergency room?”
“Heavens, no. I have some pills in my apartment.” That part was true. She had some antihistamines that the doctor had given her for problems caused by the terrible cedar pollen.
“Let’s go get you one.” He grabbed her elbow and started propelling her to the pickup.
“Hold on,” she said. “It’s not critical. We can’t leave Streak and the kite. I’ll get the puppy while you wind up the kite.”
On the way home, Olivia had to caution Jackson twice to slow down. Realizing the extent of his concern, she felt terrible for fibbing to him. But she would have felt worse having to admit her anxiety. As a soon-to-be psychologist, she felt absolutely stupid for being prey to her emotions. In her head she knew that Jackson was a very different kind of man than Thomas or her father. She didn’t feel threatened by him—especially after having gotten to know him over the past several weeks. But emotions didn’t have brains, they weren’t ruled by reason or logic. Propelled by the past, they sped directly from the unconscious to the nerve endings.
