The Superstitious Romance

by Anastasia Alexander

  “No.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if she goes home,” Austin said.

  “To the cabin?”

  “No. Home, home. I hope she does. That lady is gonna get killed if she stays in the wild. Darlene told me how she tried to start a fire with lighter fluid.”

  A sound at the door made Austin and Jackson turn their heads. Maggie stood in the doorway wearing a light blue silk jumpsuit with thick shoulder pads and a cinched waist. The blue contrasted nicely with her china doll features and almost-platinum hair, which fell in delicate curls halfway down her shoulder. “I can do the wild,” she said, smiling widely.

  “Wow, you look great, Mom.” Austin walked over to his mom and kissed her cheek. “You’re really ready for the wild?”

  “I’m always up for adventure.”

  “I’m not,” Jackson said.

  “That’s okay.” Maggie winked. “Because you’re an adventure in yourself.”

  “That’s not what you said in the past,” Jackson said.

  “I was wrong,” Maggie replied.

  Was he imagining it, or did her eyes not quite meet his?

  * * *

  After a painful morning trying to use crutches, Jackson collapsed into a heap on his bed, welcoming the rest. “I’m tired.”

  “I’m sorry you’re hurting.” Maggie patted him on the hand.

  He gave a weak nod.

  “Want us to get you lunch?”

  “Yeah,” Jackson said.

  Maggie drifted over to the chest-of-drawers. “Jaxy, where’s your wallet? Didn’t Austin bring it to you yesterday?” She fumbled through his stuff beside the table until she realized it wasn’t there. She slipped a twenty from her purse and waved it at her son. “Austin, why don’t you get us something?”

  He took the bill and headed out the door.

  “Now,” Maggie said, smiling as brightly as the sun. She edged over to Jackson and kissed him. Warm, velvety lips touched his. Sensations shot through him before he pulled away, his stomach swimming.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “We need to talk.”

  “We can do that later. Austin will be back in a little while.”

  “That’s why we need to talk now. You can’t march out of my life after twenty-some-odd years and then return and think everything’s going to be the same. It doesn’t work like that.” He propped his pillow and lowered his head onto it gradually.

  “But you still love me.” She caressed his cheek, her smooth fingers following his jaw line.

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “Why not? I’m here. I’m showing love. You can’t doubt my feelings.”

  “Why can’t I? You’ve been tramping all over the world with other men.” She closed her lips and then opened her mouth to speak, but Jackson put his index finger to her lips. “Before you say any more, I want you to listen. If you want to be with me, I need commitment, and just not until you grow bored or depressed.”

  “But you’re always so . . .”

  His stomach clenched. There it was. She didn’t really want him. It was the money. She was only telling him what he wanted to hear. “If you don’t like the way I am, that’s your problem. I don’t know what I ever saw in you. Please leave.”

  “What do you mean? I traveled all this way to see you.”

  “Go,” he snapped.

  “I can tell you’re not thinking straight. You need sleep. I’ll be back later.”

  Maggie left, with no lingering looks or protests. Jackson was glad. He closed his eyes, hoping sleep would relieve the throbbing in his leg. The pounding of his heart kept him awake.

  Later, Austin sauntered in with KFC bags. “Where’s Mom?”

  “She left.”

  “Why?”

  “She needed to think.” He nodded at the bags in Austin’s hand. “Are you going to let the chicken get cold?”

  After eating, Jackson fell into an exhausted slumber, waking again when the door opened. A plump, smiling nurse waddled in. “We have flowers for you, Mr. Armstrong. Where do you want me to put them?”

  “By the phone is fine.”

  The nurse did so, then handed him the card.

  Fighting his eyes open, Jackson read the card. “Glad things turned out for you. Darlene and Camille.”

  * * *

  Sitting down on the hotel bed, Camille dialed Oriana’s number and was soon chatting with her good friend. After exchanging pleasantries, Camille learned how well Oriana’s grandson was doing, and then Oriana changed the subject. “Well, out with it. Sounds like you’re in a dilemma.”

  “What makes you say that?” Camille said, her heart rate increasing.

  “Your voice. Nothing else would cause that forced friendly tone.”

  “You’re right,” Camille admitted, seeing no point in denying it. “There’s this guy.” She proceeded to go over the horrible Halloween, the unfortunate run-in with the skunk, and how Mr. Fix-It Man swooped to the rescue so he could use her car to go to Yellowstone. Then she told about Yellowstone, leaving out their mutual confessions. Lastly, she described Maggie. Maggie the beautiful. Maggie the gracious.

  Oriana interrupted. “She might be a china doll, but you have brains.”

  “Which do you think men prefer?” Camille snapped.

  “Not all men like the superficial outside with milk toast inside. Besides, you’re a beautiful, healthy, smart lady. Not a slut or a user like his ex-wife seems to be.”

  “Thanks,” Camille whispered.

  “So what’s up with this Jackson cowboy now?”

  She described the accident. “I feel awful for him. He’s had a lot of pain.”

  “It’ll be all right.”

  “You don’t understand. We had a fight right before. He told me he was interested in me, and like the fool I am, I told him I didn’t care for him.”

  “You what? Why?”

  Camille was helpless to explain. She had asked herself those exact same questions. Why did she do the things she did? None of it made any sense. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I tried to fix it, but then Maggie arrived and they started kissing in front of me—”

  “Kissing? What do you mean kissing?” Oriana asked. “On the lips?”

  “Of course.”

  “Oh that’s not good. What did you do?”

  “I left.”

  “You mean, you quit.”

  “What could I do?”

  “Kick up a lot of dust.”

  “Yeah, right. I’m sure that would look really good. A recently divorced middle-age woman trying to seduce a cowboy from an absolutely gorgeous woman, who happens to be his wife. Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “Okay,” Oriana said, “but I think you’re selling yourself short. If he’s predictable, he’d like the stability you offer.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t think he’s predictable. Reliable, yes. But reliable means he’d want to fight to keep his family together, doesn’t it? Ugh.” She heaved a sigh. “The smart thing for me to do is focus on my work and forget men, all men.”

  “That’s a nice way to live. Bury your head and deny everything if life gets uncomfortable.”

  The statement struck Camille like a heavy blow. She knew she’d be thinking about it for quite a while.

  After the phone call, she decided a hot bath with a touch of lavender would do wonders. Could Oriana possibly be right about Jackson needing her stability? Thoughts of Jackson standing tall against the closing day stuck in her mind. Against the sunset, that was how she’d first seen him. Finishing her bath and dressing, she slumped to the kitchen table and flipped open a book. She had to stop thinking about Jackson and work.

  Once she made herself focus on her studies, her mind drifted from her problems. Work absorbed her. Today she studied Lewis and Clark as they neared Yellowstone. Lewis had climbed up a tremendous bowl, close to the border, and saw Yellowstone’s valley and rivers and decided not to venture in that direction. If he had done so, he would’ve
reached Three Forks weeks, maybe even months, sooner. Camille shook her head. A shame. What great picturesque views the explorers had missed because they decided not to risk and push a little farther to see where the path led.

  John Colter wasn’t willing to give up that direction, so he bolted upstream to the wilderness and mountains, while the others descended below. He etched his place in the history books as the first white man to discover Yellowstone. Many people did not believe his story of the beauty and the landscape, calling Yellowstone “Colter’s Hell.”

  Camille tapped her pen on the notepad. Colter traveled the distance, and because others weren’t willing to do the same, they doubted and poked fun. So like human nature. Was she doing the same thing in her relationship with Jackson? Oriana was right. She’d never know Jackson’s feelings if she didn’t ask him. He’d told her he had feelings for her. Was that the action of a man who was sure about pursuing his ex-wife? While his reaction to Maggie’s kiss had appeared to be positive, he was taking a high dose of pain medication, and maybe his reaction was skewed. Besides, he might have been so surprised by Maggie’s kiss he didn’t know what to do. She would have been if Adam did that to her. She grabbed the phone to call him before the confidence had a chance to stew and start bubbles of doubt.

  It rang once before she replaced the receiver. No, better to go over and see him herself. Then she would know for sure if there was anything between them.

  Chapter Eleven

  Maggie strung her perfectly manicured nails through the fuzz on the young boy’s head. “There, there, Michael. The drugs will take effect soon.” The little boy stared up at her from the hospital bed with clouded eyes and barely blinked his acknowledgement. She leaned forward on the mattress and gently kissed his clammy forehead. “I need to be going now, but I’ll come back and visit you soon.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered. His face held a strong flush of red.

  Maggie smiled, pleased.

  Now she had one more patient left to go. It took her several minutes to make her way across the hospital, then another several minutes of delay when she stopped in the restroom to freshen up. Satisfied, she went into room 174. The door was slightly open, so she eased her slender body through and cast her eyes on the big man lying on top of the snow-white crisp hospital sheets. Seeing someone who always represented the epitome of strength and manhood laid up in bed like a helpless, sick bird struck her. What an unusual sight.

  “Oh, Jackson, darling, I’ve returned. Sorry I was gone so long. I’ve been visiting the cancer patients. Some of them just need encouragement.”

  He looked in her eyes, his expression unreadable. She pressed her skirt close to her and sat down in a chair near his bed. “Now, how is my favorite patient doing?” His bushy eyebrows raised, brown eyes peering out from under them. A common-looking man, but she had missed his consistency. Funny, she thought, that was the same reason I left him. Predictability did get boring. “Jackson, I’m sorry I caused you so much pain.” His face whitened. “Really, I am. Let me make it up to you.”

  She waited, watching him close. He remained emotionless, except for a trace of red sprouting up his throat and face. “Say something.”

  “What do you want me to say?” he asked.

  “That you don’t hate me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “But?”

  “But, what?”

  “Forgive me.” She reached out and ran her fingertips over his frame. She continued, “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  He moved away from her. “Why did you?”

  “I was going crazy.”

  “So I drive you crazy? Yet, you want me back. Or do you just want more money to spend with your lover?”

  “I just made him up. I have no one in my life.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  Her heart thumped as heat spread through her. How was she going to explain? “I, um, made him up because I was angry that you were with the professor lady. I thought after I left, you would . . .” Come running after me. Begging. Pleading. Then I’d know you really loved me. That it wasn’t just a game to you. If you loved me, really loved me, you would have known that.

  “Good grief.” His angry voice broke into her thoughts. “You were the person who left me. I had to get on with my life.”

  She felt her chin tremble as she struggled to focus. She had been wrong. Jackson was too hurt to run after her. She would have to do patch-up work to make him feel loved again.

  Maggie reached out and softly flipped his bangs off his forehead. “Jaxy, baby, I want to come back.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, be a couple again. Please.” Maggie continued to play in his hair. She bent down and kissed him long, hard, and with emotion. That had always worked in the past. She thought she heard something through the open door, but when she looked over, no one was there. “Well, Jaxy?”

  He sucked in his breath, but before he could say anything there was a muffled exclamation, apparently coming from the hallway. Maggie frowned, annoyed at the disruption. She was considering shutting the door when a large nurse shuffled into the room and said, “I’m sorry to break up the party, but Jackson needs to walk on his crutches.”

  Maggie kissed him again firmly. It worried her that he didn’t quite respond, but he wouldn’t hold out against her long. She knew him, his loyalty and his dependability. He had to give her another chance.

  “I’ll get you a snack,” she said, “and come right back.”

  * * *

  Camille apologized to the nurse outside Jackson’s room, but she didn’t halt her pace. The image of Maggie with her hand in Jackson’s hair burned into her mind. She’d had it with stupid love games. Oriana was wrong, wrong, wrong about Jackson. It was time to get back to Island Park and focus on her teaching. Hopefully, she’d be finished before Jackson was able to leave his cabin—if he even went back there. She couldn’t see Maggie living that kind of life.

  Back at the hotel, she had almost finished packing when Darlene came back from the hotel’s gym. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “We’re leaving. Please do check the room for everything while I close this suitcase.”

  “Mom, what’s going on?”

  “We’re leaving.”

  “Mom, stop it. I can tell you’re upset. What happened?” Darlene sat on the far bed. “It’s Jackson, isn’t it?”

  Camille knew she must have gone completely pale. Darlene would need to drive.

  * * *

  The acute pain of working on rehabilitation stole all of Jackson’s attention. The physical therapist taught him how to transfer from bed to crutches. After that they went over different exercises to strengthen and stretch his injured muscles. By the time he returned to his room, he was exhausted and sank wearily onto his bed. As he lay on the narrow mattress, recapturing his breath, he couldn’t help thinking about Maggie’s proposal. She had spoken with straightforward frankness, her eyes flashing and her chin lifting slightly in challenge. This left him feeling cold and shivering, although her proposal was what he had wanted. He didn’t understand himself. Why was he feeling this way?

  Maybe it was that ruthless, unyielding aura Maggie exuded. So unlike Camille. He’d bet his cabin she didn’t have it in her nature to ever give that kind of impression. Even when she stubbornly refused to get in the truck on that rainy Halloween afternoon, her face pinched together in her anger, it had a different feel to it than the chilled-to-the-bone expression of his ex-wife’s.

  The phone rang, and he leaned over to grab it. “Hello?”

  “Do you love my mom?” came a young girl’s angry voice.

  “What! Darlene?”

  “Yes. Do you love her?”

  “I—I—I—”

  “Exactly what I thought. You’re stomping all over her like she’s some doormat, and I want it stopped. You’re nothing but a male chauvinist pig who—”

  “Hold on there, little lady, I’m not that kind of guy.
I really like your mom. She’s beautiful, intelligent, practical, self-confident—”

  “Then why is she in tears? Why are you with that . . . Maggie? If you ask me, you’re nothing but a sucker. Your wife’s out sleeping with other men and she’s stringing you along. You follow her like a sheep to the slaughter because she’s pretty. Do you even like anything about her?” She didn’t wait for him to answer, just plunged on. “I figure you’re acting like this for one of two reasons. First, your pride. You’re having a hard time being dumped. It flatters your ego, seeing her beg you to come back. The second is you’re an enabler. If some cute girl jerked Austin around, sleeping with other boys, would you want him to stay with her? If you stay with Maggie, you’re teaching him that’s okay. Maggie isn’t going to change while you are enabling her. Think about it, and stay away from my mom if you don’t love her.”

  The line went dead as she hung up the phone.

  * * *

  The next morning arrived, and Jackson was more than ready. He hadn’t stayed in a bed this long—ever. Besides, he hated being at the mercy of other people.

  Maggie appeared right after he finished eating a muffin and cold cereal. “Ready?” she asked.

  Not long afterward, they exchanged the stark white walls of the hospital for the dull grays of the morning. Jackson swung his body forward with exaggeration as he maneuvered his crutches to the car. Maggie laughed. Once they slipped into the vehicle, she wrapped her arm around him and rested her head on his forearm. “This place is such a rat hole. I’ll be glad to get out. The closest real city around here is Salt Lake. That’s only four hours away. Shall we?”

  “I’m living in Island Park.”

  “I know, but I thought since we are together we could . . . you know.”

  “What?”

  “Do something wildly romantic. An expensive steak dinner by candlelight with a fresh Caesar salad and a creamy double-decker dessert. Later we could check into one of those anniversary hotels or somewhere nice.”

  “Maggie, I have to live on a tighter budget.”

  “You could splurge this once. This is a special occasion.” She batted her eyelashes.