by Jan Hudson
“Sugar, what’s the matter with you? For the last few days, you’ve been jumpier than a cricket in a hot skillet.”
“Just nervous about the prospect of being around all your relatives, I suppose.”
He reached for her hand, squeezing it. “No need to worry about that. You’ve already met and charmed every one of them. Mama even said she brought you a present from Japan.”
“Jackson, your parents don’t think that we—”
“That we—what?”
“I mean, they’re not expecting us to get engaged or anything like that, are they?”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “We haven’t discussed it.”
She relaxed a bit more. For the next few days she was going to forget about her worries and enjoy herself. It was unlikely that Thomas would track her to Dallas, and she would be surrounded by powerful people. Even if he did find her, he wouldn’t dare try to harm her.
No, he’d wait until he had her alone.
The bustle of preparing Thanksgiving dinner—which was served at noon rather than in the evening—kept Olivia’s mind off her worries about Thomas. Jackson’s parents, Anna and Sam Crow, had brought everyone, including Olivia, lovely silk robes from their trip to Japan. The men’s were emblazoned with embroidered dragons and the women’s with exquisite flowers and birds.
She really liked Jackson’s parents, who, despite over forty years of marriage, still appeared to be very much in love. They were a striking couple, both tall with dark eyes and dark hair going gray, his more than hers. Anna looked very much like her sister, Sarah Rutledge, Kyle’s mother, though Sarah’s hair was lighter. Both had an ageless sort of beauty with their wonderful high cheekbones and sculpted features that were part of their native American ancestry.
Kyle shared his blond coloring with his father, who had blue eyes and light hair that was now almost white. Dr. T. J. Rutledge was a cardiologist, newly retired. Since they were both heart specialists, Olivia would have bet that T.J. had met her father at one medical convention or another through the years, but she didn’t dare ask.
Irish and Eve’s parents, Beverly and Al Ellison, both as tall and fair as their daughters, were as warm and welcoming as they’d always been. They loved being new Texans, and Al especially bragged on the mild climate of their adopted state and his skills as a fisherman on the lake where they’d retired.
When the food was ready, everyone gathered around Irish and Kyle’s massive dining table. By popular request Cherokee Pete sat at the head. After leading the Thanksgiving prayer, he and Kyle carved two huge turkeys.
Since Irish had given her housekeeper the day off, the meal was served family style, and food was plentiful. It seemed that everybody had brought extra things, and bowls and platters were passed around amid laughter and joking.
“Oops,” Irish said, rising. “I forgot the cranberry sauce. It’s in the fridge.”
“I’ll get it,” Kyle said. “Stay off your feet.”
When the turkey was served and the plates were heaped with dressing and green beans and sweet potatoes and salads and a half dozen other dishes, Jackson said, “Maybe I’d better use one of those platters. I’m running out of room.”
His father laughed and agreed, as did Al Ellison.
“I’m planning on seconds,” Matt said.
“Save plenty of room for dessert,” Sam Crow said. “I’ve had my eye on that coconut cake Olivia brought.”
“Me, too,” Kyle said, “but I plan to have cake and pie both.”
Irish laughed. “You would.”
Gaiety and the drone of congenial conversation filled the large room and sparked warm fuzzies inside Olivia.
She looked around at all those gathered—the whole clan except for Jackson’s sister and her family and Kyle’s brother. They were such likable people, warm, funny, down-to-earth despite their wealth. They had opened their arms and made her feel welcome. Strange. She felt more a part of this group than she’d ever felt at home.
Family meals had usually been an ordeal when she was growing up. More often than not, her father would go into one of his tirades about some infraction or another. After her mother had died, Jason had been his whipping boy, but Olivia had endured many of her father’s tongue-lashings as well. And after Jason left, there had been no buffer between Olivia and her father’s vitriolic eruptions. She had become his only target. Yet, as controlling and emotionally abusive as her father had been, he hadn’t hit her as often as he had hit Jason, in all likelihood because she had tiptoed around her home like a mouse. On the other hand, Thomas—
No, she told herself, no thinking about Thomas. Not now. She focused her attention back on those gathered in the dining room. It was then that she realized thirteen people were at the table. Bad luck if you believed such things.
A shiver went over her.
“Olivia, what’s wrong?” Jackson asked.
“Nothing,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I just realized that I’m the thirteenth person.”
“Nope,” Irish piped up. She patted her tummy. “He makes fourteen.”
“Do you know that it’s a he?” her mother asked.
Irish nodded and caught Kyle’s hand. “We were going to wait until dessert to make the announcement, but—”
“But we’re having a son,” Kyle finished, beaming.
Cherokee Pete rose and lifted his wineglass. “I’d like to propose a toast to our family’s new additions. To my new great-grandson and to our most welcome friend, Olivia.”
“Hear, hear!”
Olivia felt herself blush, but she also felt her heart expand. She’d never realized just how much she’d missed in not being part of a large and loving family.
That awareness grew when, after the meal, the men rushed to the den to watch the Dallas Cowboys football game, leaving the women to clean up the mess.
“Male chauvinist pigs,” Eve shouted after them, laughing after she said it.
Anna Crow laughed as well. “They’re all like little boys. Never,” she told Olivia, “get between one of these men and a Cowboys game. They’re all die-hard fans, always have been.”
“That’s the truth,” Irish said. “They have season tickets to all the games. Only on threat of death did they forgo being there in person today.”
Olivia smiled and pitched in to clear the table, but she realized that this was probably the first Cowboys game Jackson had watched this season. He’d spent all his Sunday afternoons with Tami, preparing for the commission’s Monday hearings and suffering blinding headaches. Jackson was truly dedicated to doing his job well. Her admiration for him rose another notch.
The weekend in Dallas seemed to fly by, and Olivia thoroughly enjoyed herself. The day after Thanksgiving, they went out to see the new farmhouse that Matt and Eve were building, and she got to meet Minerva, the wonder pig, as well as all Eve’s other animals.
She and Jackson spent time with his family and managed to squeeze in some time on their own as well. On Saturday night they went to a performance of a Broadway musical on tour, drank wine and made love.
On Sunday morning they started home.
Fears that had been suspended for the holiday suddenly recurred with a wallop. The closer they came to Austin, the more her anxiety grew.
By the time Jackson carried her bags upstairs to her apartment, dread filled her stomach like a hot stone.
“Darlin’, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said, forcing a smile. “Just tired. But I had a lovely time. I really like your family.”
“And they like you.” He dropped her bags in her living room and took her in his arms. “I do, too.”
He brushed noses with her, then kissed her. She wanted to hold on to him forever, but she knew he had work to do.
“Get some rest this afternoon,” he told her, “and I’ll call you later.”
When he had gone, she hurried to her answering machine and checked messages. Four hang ups and a call from Tessa playfully aski
ng for a report on the weekend.
Four hang ups.
Probably wrong numbers or randomly dialed computer calls trying to sell her something.
Probably. After all, her number was unlisted.
But Thomas was a judge, friends with police officials and others who could easily secure unlisted numbers.
She locked the door carefully, using both dead bolt and chain as a backup, and took three slow deep breaths. Then she unpacked and called Tessa.
Tessa wasn’t home. After leaving a message on her machine, she went to fix a cup of hot tea. She couldn’t seem to get warm.
The phone rang.
She hesitated a moment, then picked it up. “Hello.”
Silence.
“Hello! Hello! Dammit, who’s there?”
“Ah, so it is you.”
Olivia’s heart almost stopped, and she ceased to breathe. Her blood ran ice-cold.
Thomas.
Her worst nightmare had just become real.
“What do you want?” she asked, trying to remain calm.
“I want what I’ve always wanted. You, at home with me where you belong.”
“I don’t belong with you, Thomas. We’re divorced.”
“You do belong with me, Olivia. You’re mine! You’ll always be mine. I’m coming to pick you up.”
Trembling with panic, she ran to the kitchen window, terrified that he might be outside. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Thomas. We’re divorced. Leave me alone.”
“I saw you on television, and I saw the newspaper picture of you with that bastard’s hands on you. He can’t have you, Olivia. You belong to me. I’ll be coming for you. You’ll leave with me, or I’ll see you dead.”
She broke the connection and flung the phone aside. Grabbing the edge of the sink, she held on tightly and clenched her teeth as her body shook. No, she prayed. No, please no.
Run! Run! She had to pack her bags and get out of there before he came. He said he’d kill her, and she knew that he would.
She glanced up and saw Jackson’s house across the street. If she called him, he’d be there in an instant. Thomas would be no match for Jackson Crow.
Or would he? Thomas might have a gun, and as furious as he was, he would shoot Jackson with the slightest provocation. Thomas had always been violently jealous, even when there was no reason, and he was an excellent shot. Jackson might be killed if she called him.
A sudden calm moved over her, and she stood straight and tall. No, she wasn’t calling Jackson, nor was she going to run away. She was done with running. She was making her stand here. Now.
A car stopped in the driveway, a big luxury car. Thomas Fairchild got out.
Her stomach tightened, but for the most part, Olivia remained calm. She picked up the phone and dialed 911. Her voice was shaky, but she managed. After giving her name and address, she said, “My ex-husband has just threatened to murder me, and he’s walking up to the door now. Hurry. For God’s sake, hurry!”
“We’ve dispatched a car,” the woman said. “Stay on the line and don’t open the door.”
“You couldn’t pay me to open it. I hear him walking up the steps to my apartment. Oh, God, he’s coming!”
“A car is less than a minute away. Hold on.”
Thomas knocked on the door. “Olivia!”
When she didn’t answer, he banged on it. “Olivia! Open the door!” After a moment he banged again, harder. “You’re mine, dammit, and you’re coming with me!”
“Don’t open the door,” the dispatcher warned.
“I’m not crazy,” she whispered.
“You’re coming with me, or I’ll kill you! I swear I will. No other man is having what’s mine!” The door shuddered as he threw his weight against it.
“He’s trying to break down the door,” she whispered. “Go away, Thomas!” she shouted. “I’ve called the police.”
“You’re lying. Open up! Now!” He hit the door like a battering ram.
The power of his fury shook her to the core, but she clenched her teeth and strengthened her resolve. She’d never reported him to the police before, and he thought she was the same cowed woman she used to be. She wasn’t. If she went down, this time she’d go down fighting.
Wood splintered, the glass in the door shattered.
Olivia picked up a pewter candlestick, preparing to defend herself. “He’s coming in!” she shouted, running to the door and smashing her candlestick against the hand that reached through the broken pane and tried to unlock the dead bolt.
A siren came screaming down the street. Two sirens.
“The police are here, Thomas!” she shouted, but he was too enraged to stop his battering.
“I’ll kill you, you bitch! You’re dead! You’re dead!”
“Stop! Police! Stop right there!” she heard yelled from outside. Footsteps hammered up the stairs, and she heard scuffling and shouting on the landing.
“They’re here,” she whispered into the receiver.
“Stay where you are. Wait until an officer identifies himself to you,” the voice on the phone said.
It seemed an eon before a voice said, “Ma’am, I’m Officer Rodriguez. It’s okay now. He’s cuffed and my partner is taking him to the car.”
Still trembling, she put down the phone and unlocked the dead bolt and chain of the ruined door. “Thank you,” she managed to whisper. “Thank you. I’ll file charges. I’ll do whatever is needed. He meant to murder me, you know.”
“Yes, ma’am. We’ll take him down to the station and book him. Don’t you worry about him hurting you.”
The policeman left, and she slumped against the jamb, still clutching the candlestick in her hand.
“Olivia! Olivia!”
She glanced up to see Jackson bolting down the driveway bellowing her name. He tore up the steps two at a time and, when he reached her, gathered her into his arms.
“My God, are you all right? What happened? Who was that?”
“Thomas Fairchild. My ex-husband. He found me. He saw me on television, and he found me. God, I was so scared. He was going to murder me.”
Rage flashed over Jackson’s face, and he clutched her to him. “That sorry son of a bitch! I’ll kill him if he ever comes near you again. You’re mine!” He hugged her tighter. “You’re mine, and I won’t let him touch you!”
Olivia’s spine stiffened as fury shot over her. “Don’t you dare say that! Don’t you dare. I’m not yours! I’m not his, and I’m not yours. I belong to no man.” She struggled from his grip. “Get your hands off me!”
He tried to gather her into his arms again. “Olivia, darlin’, calm down.”
Flailing her hands and slapping at him, she elbowed her way out of his hold. “Don’t you darlin’ me. And I’m perfectly calm. Go away. Just go away!”
“Sugar, I’m not leaving while you’re in this state. Let me take care of you.”
“Dammit, don’t you hear me?” she screamed. “Go away! I don’t want you here. I don’t need any man to take care of me. I can take care of myself. Go away!”
Jackson looked hurt, but she was too raw and too distraught to worry about his feelings. She was in survival mode and teetering on the edge.
He turned and walked slowly down the stairs. A crowd of neighbors had gathered and were watching the spectacle, but she didn’t care.
She went inside and slammed what was left of her door, then threw herself on her bed and wept. She cried and cursed every man who had tried to control her and humiliate her, beating her fist on the mattress and venting her anger and her fear.
When the well of tears was empty and her anger and fear had dissipated, she rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Maybe she had overreacted with Jackson, but his words had shaken her. Twice now she’d witnessed his fury. Jackson Crow had a temper.
And his proclamation that she was his had pierced her heart and struck at her most vulnerable spot. What was it about her that made the men in her life so possessive
? What made them think that they could declare ownership of her as if she were no more than a pet dog?
Never again would she allow this. Never again. Not with Jackson, not with anyone. Good thing that she saw this side of him now rather than sometime in the future. She knew the pattern.
Her first impulse was to pack and leave, move far away from Jackson, abandon her quarters now that Thomas knew where to find her. But, then again, that had always been her custom. Flee.
Not this time. This time she was staying. She loved her job; she loved Austin. She was almost finished with her dissertation. She refused to let any man ruin her life again. She was going to live life on her own terms.
Rising, Olivia washed her face and called JoAnna. She would spend a few days with her friend until her door was repaired and until she could be sure that Thomas wouldn’t bother her again.
She wasn’t leaving Austin.
Fourteen
Jackson hadn’t wanted to leave Olivia, but she had been so upset, he hadn’t known what else to do. He’d tried to call Tessa, but the Jurneys weren’t home. He would have called JoAnna, but he didn’t know her phone number, and he couldn’t find it in the directory. He didn’t want to phone Irish, in her condition, and get her all upset. He did the only thing he knew to do. He called his mother.
Wise woman, his mother.
She told him to make sure Olivia was safe from her ex-husband and to give her some time. “Let her know that you care and that you’re there for her, but don’t push. And for goodness sakes, don’t start beating your chest and making all those he-man noises. It won’t help.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Jackson, your father and I really like Olivia. We think you’ve hit another jackpot with her.”
He grinned. “Yes, ma’am. My luck seems to be holding. I love you, Mama.”
“I love you, too, son. And I have a feeling that things will work out between you and Olivia. You seem perfect together.”
After he hung up, he considered what he could do to make sure that Olivia was safe. The number-one thing was to make sure her ex-husband stayed locked up and far away from Olivia.
