by Tessa Bowen
He resumed his forceful stance, pointing that finger at her again. “I did my best by you, missy.”
“I’ve never been called ‘missy’ before,” she sniffed imperiously. “I’m not sure I like it.”
“I don’t much care if you like it or not. Now, get out of that bed, take a shower and come downstairs for breakfast.”
“What if I’m too weak to take a shower. You might have to get your vet back in here to give me a sponge bath.”
“You reek to hell and back. I ought to toss you in the hog pen and spray you down.”
“I’ve never reeked in my life!”
“Ok,” he capitulated. “You don’t reek, although I don’t know how—you’ve been lying in your own sweat for over two days now. It’s high time you hose off.”
“Hose off?” she asked in confusion.
“Take a shower!” he erupted. “Freshen up! You’ve got raccoon eyes and your hair is a rat’s nest from all your tossing and turning.”
It dawned on Lorelai that she probably was a mess—a true and total mess. He’d seen her at her very worst. Her vanity revved into high gear. She fought the urge to furiously wipe under her eyes and run her fingers through her tangled hair but didn’t want to give herself away.
Instead, she swung her legs over the side of the bed resting her feet on the floor. “Fine—I’ll take a shower, since you can’t stand the sight of me.”
She feigned the spins, resting her palm on her forehead and moaning softly, as if the act of getting out of bed would drop her.
“You’re going to pull that crap again?” Jeb challenged. “I’m not buying it, sister. You just pounded me with a pillow a minute ago.”
She glanced up at him, her lower lip jutting out in disgruntlement. To her surprise, he held out his palm for her. His expression had softened a bit. He was offering to hand her out of bed.
Lorelai took his hand. She wanted to know what it felt like to hold hands with him. When his fingers closed around hers, it felt good. His hand was warm and big. He pulled her to her feet, and she stumbled nearly knocking into him. He righted her with an effortless adjustment of his wrist. She was reminded of the mastery she’d witnessed many years ago when she’d watched him ride broncs. Those hands of his were magical, miraculous in their strength and control. She blinked up at him, a little stunned by his nearness.
He dropped her hand very abruptly and jerked his head in the direction of the bathroom. “Shower’s that way. Jenny’s robe is hanging over the back of that chair.”
Lorelai frowned again, resenting that he’d yanked her out of her reverie. She liked the look of the robe even less. It was the same awful pink, this time it wasn’t white dots that decorated the fabric but hearts in a paler pink shade.
She toyed with the modest neckline. “Who dresses like this?”
“A sixteen-year-old girl from Montana.”
“Well, I’m not sixteen.”
“You’re acting like you’re six. Wear the goddamn robe. I’m starting breakfast.”
With that he turned on his heel and left her, slamming the door behind him.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, Lorelai made her way downstairs smelling of strawberry shortcake shampoo, her freshly washed hair wound up in a towel. She wore the ridiculous robe, cinched tight around her waist, fuzzy collar riding high. She was well aware that she didn’t look her best, and surprisingly she didn’t care. It felt good to be clean. It also felt good to be this underdressed. She used to be more natural, that part of her had been lost in her marriage—lost in the glamourous Dallas society life she’d led. At that moment she didn’t care if she never wore another stitch of makeup. She supposed she should care, she was in the company of a man—Jeb Jackson to be exact, but surely he thought she was a hot mess and far from attractive. He hadn’t remembered her. It didn’t matter how she looked. He just wanted to be rid of her. She’d been nothing but a nuisance, just like she’d been nothing but a nuisance that night she’d broken into his recovery room.
She paused on the landing, staring out the window at the majestic view. The landscape was vast, with a wide-open sky and snow-capped mountains—green as far as the eye could see, horses grazed in the near distance—a whole herd of them, there must have been two hundred or more. She let out a loud gulp as emotion clogged her throat. She’d be leaving this place soon, but she was glad she’d seen it sober.
“Yep, that’s Montana.”
His voice sounded from below and she leapt from the window to stare down the banister at him. Her mouth opened and closed. She couldn’t seem to find the ability to speak.
He smirked with pride. “Sort of takes the words right out of your mouth, doesn’t it?”
“Yes…it does. Are those the Jackson Mustangs?”
“Uh huh, more of them up in the hills.”
Oh, how she’d love to see them close up, to pet one, even ride one. It had been so long since she’d ridden…
“I just served up your breakfast. Come on down.”
The overpowering smell of fried potatoes filled her nostrils, competing with the fruity scent of her wet hair. He had a dishtowel over his shoulder, which she found quite charming. He’d made her breakfast—a man had never made her breakfast before. Her husband had been hopeless in the kitchen. They’d always had a housekeeper.
“You don’t want it to get cold now, do you?”
She shook her head and tugged on her short robe. His gaze passed over her bare legs again. At this angle he might be able to see straight up that robe, not that he’d want to.
Lorelai followed him into a homey-looking kitchen.
“Sit there,” he ordered, pulling out a chair. “And eat.”
She was about to thank him, but then she saw the plate of food. There was a large cut of meat on it, alongside a pile of eggs and hash browns. A biscuit the size of her fist finished off the platter, which could have easily fed six people.
“I couldn’t possibly eat all this,” she protested.
He leaned against the sink, crossing his long, muscled legs in front of him. “You’re sure as hell going to make a damn good stab at it.”
“And you’re just going to stand there and watch me?”
He motioned to the plate. “You better get goin’ on that grub.”
“Can’t I just have some dry toast.”
“Dry toast my ass, that’s a hand-cut buttermilk biscuit. Eat up, girly—you need some meat on your bones.”
His country speech wasn’t as obvious as it had been when she’d met him eight years ago. He seemed to slip in and out of it. It made her wonder who the true Jeb Jackson was—she knew he was no common hayseed.
“Fine,” she said with a long dramatic sigh. She bit into the biscuit, disregarding the stream of melted butter that ran down her chin. She closed her eyes, savoring the fluffy texture.
“Pretty good, right?”
She dug into her eggs and potatoes. The eggs were buttery too and the potatoes crispy and divine, the meat cooked to perfection. Before she knew it, she was shoveling food into her mouth, eating like she never had before. Her mother would need smelling salts if she could see her displaying such poor table manners.
“You sure can pack it away for a slip of a girl.”
“I’m not a girl,” she said with her mouth full.
Lorelai stuffed herself silly, easily taking down three quarters of the plate. Finally she came up for air. She pushed the plate away and sat back in her chair.
“I can’t do anymore,” she panted.
“Bet you don’t need that aspirin now, do you?”
She touched her temples. “My headache is gone.”
“You just had low blood sugar.”
“I would have been fine with just a smoothie. I didn’t need a mountain of food.”
“A whoozie?”
Lorelai rolled her eyes. “You know with kale and fruit and maybe some protein powder.”
He turned from the sink, his eyes twinkling. “Kale, huh?”
&n
bsp; “Yes, it’s a superfood. It’s sort of like lettuce but better for you.”
“I know what kale is, missy—but I’m not making you some fruitcake milkshake for breakfast. You’ll have the Jackson family special–and like it. It appears you did like it, so why gripe? This is a ranch. We don’t deal in kale or blender drinks. I don’t care if you are George Northrup’s daughter.”
“So you do know who I am!”
He threw her a cockeyed grin in response.
“You knew all along!” she exclaimed. “And yet you played dumb—why?”
“Retribution,” he shrugged. “You put me through hell up there.”
Lorelai fumed at the table while he chuckled at her.
“I knew your father years ago—not well, but he was a fan.”
“I already know that,” she spat at him. “He helped launch your career. But it turns out you didn’t need any help. You’re a Jackson—I know all about you Jacksons. Everyone who has ever ridden a horse has heard of the Jackson Mustang.”
“And that’s why you came here—to see the horses? Or was it true what you said—your father sent you.”
“I’m not sure why I came here…”
“Because the truth is, I hardly know your father. Haven’t spoken to him in years, not since I was on the rodeo circuit. He bought a horse from us, but my brother John dealt with him.”
“My father prizes that horse above all things. He won’t even let me ride it. He paid some outrageous price for it.”
“That he did.”
“So you’re stinking rich, like my father then?”
“I suppose so…but Jacksons don’t live rich.”
Lorelai looked around the house. It was vast as it was impressive, everything in it was fine but unassuming. The Jacksons may not be as rich as her father, but they certainly had more land.
“You mentioned something before, about not being on a horse in years—how it would help you find your center.”
“That sounds like something straight out of my shrink’s mouth.”
“You mentioned him as well as your father. You know you can’t stay here, right? I don’t owe your father that big of a favor.”
“I’m not an idiot!” Lorelai jumped to her feet and rounded the table. “I’m sure I’m well enough to go now—so I’ll do just that—go!”
He stopped her before she could hurry out of the kitchen. His warm palms came down on her shoulders, steadying her. “Slow down, young lady. I didn’t mean this instant.”
She melted back into her seat because his touch was so firm and sure.
“I’m just a simple country boy, I’m afraid I’m not equipped to deal with the likes of you.”
“I guess you were wrong about eight years being long enough,” she said hotly.
“What are you spoutin’ about now?”
“It doesn’t matter, you may know my name, but you don’t remember meeting me. And anyway, I don’t buy your simple country boy act. You’ve been around—you’re a Jackson.”
“I have travelled this country, but I’m not like my brother—he’s been all over the world, he’s the sophisticated one. I may be worth a lot, but I’m still just a simple man.”
She searched his face. “Why did you let me stay at all? Why didn’t you just have me carted off to the hospital? You said you didn’t owe my father any favors.”
He took a seat across from her. “Seems like you’ve hit a rough patch—divorce can’t be easy.”
“So I told you about that too.” Lorelai said quietly.
“You said you didn’t know how you’d ended up like this. You also told me you’d been a beauty queen.”
Lorelai cringed. “How embarrassing.” She snuck a peek across the table at him, noticing the dark circles under his eyes. “And why do you look as bad as I feel?”
Jeb scrubbed a hand over his face. “I haven’t slept. I stayed up with you for two nights straight. And that goddamn chair threw my back out.”
“You were there with me the whole time?”
“I couldn’t very well leave you.”
“But why—you don’t know me.”
“Maybe I’m a nice guy.”
“Is there such a thing?”
“I made you breakfast, didn’t I?”
Lorelai hid her smile by ducking her head. “Yes, thank you—it was very good.”
She owed him many thanks it seemed—not just for her breakfast.
“Do you know where my clothes are? I should get out of your hair. You’ve done enough for me…”
His eyes became very earnest. “Do you have somewhere to go?”
Lorelai’s fine brow crinkled. “No…not really. I can’t go back to Dallas. Not yet. I need more time…”
To heal, she’d wanted to say, but thought it was too corny.
“I got married right out of college. I haven’t the slightest notion what I’ll do now. Start over—I have no choice. My life didn’t turn out like I thought it would.”
“I could say the same, darlin’, trust me.”
“Are you all alone here?”
“For now—have been for the whole winter. Been goin’ a little stir crazy. Usually Margaret and her family are here. And my brother and his new wife plus their baby. Much livelier with them around.”
“I heard your brother married a…baroness, is it?”
“Yep, landed himself a fine and fancy lady. She keeps him in line. She’s just the right amount of snooty—but sweet too. Theirs is a crazy love story. He was her trainer in England. They had a one-night-stand, which resulted in my little niece. They are real mismatched, extreme opposites I’d say. She made my brother’s life hell for a while with her attitude and whatnot, but now they’re a real pair of lovebirds.”
“You remind me a little of her.”
Jeb rose from the table and began fussing with the dishes.
“In which way? Let me guess—the attitude and the snooty part, right?”
“There is that—but more so in the looks. She’s blonde, legs for miles—a real beauty.”
Lorelai’s face flushed. He’d just told her she was snooty, but that paled in comparison to his compliment. She was speechless when he turned back around. She expected to find some heat in his gaze, but he was all business.
“Listen, a ewe is currently in labor. Happened much earlier than I anticipated—early spring this year. I could use your help, if you want to stick around another day.”
“I’m not a charity case,” she prickled. “You said I couldn’t stay.”
One thick brow arched. “I’m tellin’ you different now, you can stay one more day, but lamb birthing is messy business. Sure you can handle it?”
Lorelai’s chin raised a notch. Was he challenging her? Had he just called her beautiful and then insulted her by suggesting that she was too spoiled to help him with farm labor. She was indeed too spoiled to help him with farm labor, but she wouldn’t admit it.
“I’m not a city girl,” she snapped. “I mean I am—but my family has a ranch outside of Dallas. This isn’t the first ranch I’ve been on.”
In reality it was more of a quaint farm, immaculately manicured, more than it was an actual working ranch.
“Well, let’s get to it then. Her teats are swollen, and her vulva is dilated. Her time is near.”
Had he just said vulva?
“Oh…”
“Stay or go. Your call.”
“I’ll stay,” she said too quickly. “For the lamb…”
He gave her a cockeyed grin. “You’ll find coveralls in that closet. Meet you in the barn. That’ll be the big red building to your left.”
“I know what a barn looks like!” Lorelai puffed.
Jeb Jackson laughed himself out of the room, while Lorelai hurried to the closet with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.
One more day…he’d given her one more day.
Chapter Three
Jeb had a hard time keeping a straight face when she entered the barn a little while
later. It was the denim overalls she fairly swam in, along with the oversized rubber boots. This was a far cry from the decked-out (if a bit bedraggled) young lady who had shown up at his front door a few days ago.
“Don’t say it,” she warned.
He ducked his head and knelt next to the ewe.
“I found this t-shirt,” she grumbled, tugging on the sleeves of the crisp white cotton.
“I think that’s mine.”
She gawked as she took in the scene before her. The ewe panted and wheezed.
“Come on over here—don’t be frightened. I need you to massage her belly.”
Jeb pushed the ewe on her side, straightening out her legs and then spreading them.
Lorelai burst out in surprise. “That’s one swollen vulva all right!”
“Of course it’s swollen, she’s about to give birth. Her contractions are coming close together now.”
Lorelai stared in horror and fascination. “What’s that giant bubble coming out of her?”
“That’s the water bag, the lamb is in there. It will burst soon. That’s where the mess comes in. Good thing you wore those rubber boots.”
“This isn’t exactly a job for sandals. There is poop everywhere.”
“Suck it up, missy. Get down here and help me.”
She set her jaw and hunkered down next to Jeb. She’d retrieved a glittery pink hair band (no doubt from Jenny’s stash) and quickly finger-combed her hair into a high ponytail, securing it tightly so it was out of her face. Their heads were bent close now and he could make out her freshly scrubbed face. A healthy sheen had returned to her skin, and a rosy blush as well. Gone was the pale pallor of before—when she’d been coming off the drugs—the powdery makeup was gone too, every last stich of it. Her skin was flawless, a pale sprinkling of freckles decorated her high cheekbones, joining up with the ones across her pert nose. Jeb had forgotten the bleating ewe entirely.
When she tossed that long ponytail, whipping it behind her shoulder, he found himself locked in a time capsule—and locked in a small room with a very young and very defiant girl who had thrown a bottle of lemon lime soda at him many years back. The interaction was hazy but that grand sweep of the ponytail was unmistakable.
“I’ll be…” he breathed.
