She shoved to her feet, annoyed at her maudlin thoughts. She would do her best to find another rescue for them. She would let Jackson off the hook. She would stop being this indecisive woman she’d turned into since Grandfather’s ultimatum over the holidays. He would either accept her plans and support her or he would sell the ranch. She bit her lip. Keeping Jackson here, pretending to be married would only end badly for both of them. She only regretted starting this foolish plot in the first place.
A pretty blue Porsche raced down the road and Kathleen groaned. Vanessa, her younger sister, was back in Lockhardt. Could her day get any worse?
Vanessa stepped from the sports car, daintily placing first one stiletto-clad foot and then the other on the newly cemented drive. The short-skirted suit fit better in her King William district home in San Antonio than on the ranch, but then, Vanessa always thought the ranch beneath her.
Sapphire blue silk perfectly matched the color of her eyes, made her sprayed-on tan look like the real thing and burnished her hair to a near-copper color. Kathleen checked her still-soaked shorts, flip-flops, and tee-shirt and immediately felt frumpy.
She had nearly swooned in Jackson’s arms wearing clothes that looked like refugees from Good Will? No wonder he had — literally — run for the hills.
Vanessa’s door slammed and she slung her Gucci bag over her shoulder. Looked at the house and then around the fields as if unsure where anyone would be. She spotted Kathleen and stalked across the drive.
“He locked me out! Me! I convinced him to buy a historical home. I am the one who scoured all of the antiques dealers to find suitable furnishings. I supervised the workers to make that house the jewel of the King William Historical District and he locked me out!” She poked her index finger at Kathleen’s wet chest as if she were partially responsible.
“Nice to see you, too, Vanessa. Anything wrong?” Kathleen asked.
Vanessa’s answer was to stalk back to the Porsche, open, and then slam the door. Twice. Kathleen winced for the delicate automobile. Dinner was going to be more interesting than she thought. On the plus side, Vanessa’s ranting might distract Grandfather, once she came clean about the boozapalooza, from the fact that Jackson wasn’t a true grandson-in-law.
As reasonably as she could Kathleen said, “Didn’t Paul tell you he was listing the house as soon as the divorce was finalized? And wasn’t it finalized yesterday, hence your week-long cruise that ended just in time for you to sign the papers?”
She spotted two matching Louis Vuitton suitcases bulging in the back of the vehicle. There was no way Vanessa had packed all of her belongings into the two small cases. Kathleen looked down the road but didn’t see any moving trucks or dust clouds indicating more people were coming to the ranch. Had Paul lost his mind? Vanessa was hard to deal with in a happy mood. Locking her out of their home with not even half of her clothes was a death-wish.
“Don’t start with me, Kathleen,” she said, venom dripping from each word. “He knew I couldn’t possibly be ready to move out before the end of July. I’m on the planning committee for the Alamo Ball, I have regular tennis matches and meetings with the hospital board for the auxiliary dinner. Until the end of July, my schedule was too packed to pack.”
“And yet not so packed you couldn’t vacation for a while.”
Vanessa ignored that. “So he came over while I was at the board meeting, changed the locks, and put two suitcases on the veranda. I don’t even know what he packed in them. And now he won’t answer my calls.” She thrust the offending phone toward Kathleen as if to prove she was being treated badly.
The dreaded bongos from Mexico started pounding behind Kathleen’s temple. “I’ll call Paul for you.” One more project on her plate? No problem. She was Kathleen-the-Dependable. Miss Fix-It. Leading Vanessa onto the patio, she sat her in a comfortable chaise and angled a table umbrella to shade her sister’s fair skin. “We’ll get all of your belongings out of the house.”
Vanessa sniffed. “He also cancelled my credit cards so I couldn’t even get a good hotel room.”
That shouldn’t have surprised Vanessa since she had signed an air-tight prenuptial agreement before marrying Paul, heir to an oil fortune, two years before. If Vanessa expected the ranch to fund her expensive spending habits she could think again, but Kathleen decided to cross that bridge later. For now, she made sure Vanessa was comfortable and made small talk.
“Well, you know Grandfather will be thrilled that you’re home.” She resisted the urge to run her fingers through her hair.
“Like I want to be here on this…ranch when I could be in San Antonio or Dallas, living with civilized people.”
Lord, could she sound more like her mother? Kathleen shivered remembering Gillian, Step-Monster Number Two. The woman could freeze hot water with a single glance. She’d made Kathleen’s twelfth year miserable.
Kathleen bit her cheek to keep from reminding Vanessa that every “civilized person” she knew had given up on her. Vanessa’s recently-exed-husband, an untold number of friends, and even Gillian were at the top of the Don’t Answer Vanessa’s Calls list. If it weren’t for uncivilized ranch dwellers, Vanessa would have been sleeping in her pretty Porsche tonight.
“I’ll just go get you some sweet tea and make sure Guillermo knows you’ll be staying a while.” Kathleen wasn’t certain, but she thought Vanessa said, “No longer than absolutely necessary,” as she closed the patio door.
It was definitely, definitely time to send Jackson back to New York. Before he figured out her family tree had more broken, crazy branches than sane, straight branches.
• • •
Dinner started as a disaster and steadily got worse.
Guillermo made his famous enchiladas, which Vanessa loudly determined to be too hot and — wonder of wonders — made of beef.
“I no longer eat red meat,” she said, pushing the food off of her plate and back into the serving dish. As if anyone wanted to eat food that sat on her plate not five seconds before. “I’ll have a Caesar salad, Guillermo, dressing on the side.”
Kathleen’s father, Nathaniel, walked in at that moment. “Guillermo isn’t your personal servant, Van. Get your own salad if you don’t want to eat with the rest of us.” He sat down, looking tired and slightly woozy. “Sorry I’m late.” He slurred the words, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner.
Kathleen clenched her fists below the table. He was drunk. Not that the fact should come as a surprise. Nathaniel spent more days drunk, or at the very least tipsy, than he did sober.
“I am a guest and should be treated as such,” Vanessa said, brandishing her fork like the conquistador sword hanging about the mantle in her historic district home. Kathleen vaguely wondered how many of those relics would wind up in the attic at the ranch.
Kathleen watched the two of them like a fast-flying tennis ball at the U.S. Open, wanting to shut them up but unsure how to say so without turning their ire on her — and possibly saying something embarrassing — in front of Jackson.
“You’re family. Now settle down and eat the enchiladas or go get your own damn salad.” With that Nathaniel picked up his own fork and dug in to the meal. As far as he was concerned, the discussion was finished.
Guillermo, sitting at the other end of the table, fork hovering over his plate, looked like Bambi caught in a car’s headlights. Although he worked for Mitchum, the man had never been treated as only an employee. He was first and foremost Mitchum’s oldest friend. They’d ridden the rodeo circuit as young men and when Guillermo broke his left leg, Mitchum saw to his medical care and came up with the Chief-Cook-and-Bottlewasher job.
Mitchum took control of the situation, agreeing with Nathaniel and telling Guillermo to ignore Vanessa. Guillermo ducked his head, grabbed his plate, and returned to the kitchen to eat in peace.
Jackson’s knee brus
hed hers under the table, pushing her pulse even faster. Kathleen wished she could join Guillermo in the kitchen.
“Don’t you wish you were in the kitchen, too?” The words, barely more than a whisper, made Kathleen catch her breath. Could Jackson read her mind? His hand found her knee under the table and squeezed.
“And you, Miss Vanessa,” Mitchum said, drawing out his Texas twang as much as he could. “You should be more polite when we have guests.”
Vanessa looked around the table, bewildered, until her eyes caught on Jackson. Caught and warmed. Vanessa undoubtedly saw a conquest in Kathleen’s new husband. Kathleen dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from throttling her newly divorced sister.
“Van, meet Jackson Taylor, Kathleen’s new husband,” Mitchum crowed. Vanessa’s eyes darkened, her mouth flattened, and she dropped her fork on the antique china plate their great-great-grandmother brought to Texas from Philadelphia. Kathleen winced.
“Hello — ” Jackson began but stopped short.
Crocodile tears pricked Vanessa’s eyes. She stood abruptly, knocking her chair onto the floor and cried, “How could you? How could you?” before running from the room.
“I seem to have made an impression,” Jackson whispered beside her.
Kathleen was dumbstruck. What was that about? Certain the tears were fake seconds before, Vanessa’s cracking voice made her wonder.
Nathaniel slowly lifted his head, the hand that held enchilada dripping from his fork frozen above his plate. That wasn’t hurt in his eyes. Was it?
“Married?” Did his voice crack on the word? No, it couldn’t have. Nathaniel would have to be sober for that to happen. Light caught Mitchum’s upraised wine glass and glanced directly into Kathleen’s eyes making her squint.
“Let’s do it, let’s get married!” Latin music pumped from the band near the bar. On the beach nearby, the light from the Malecon was dim so that she could barely see the smile transforming Jackson’s face. He pulled her to him, pressed his lips to hers.
“Is that a proposal?” he asked. She smelled strawberries on his breath, strawberries tinged with rum, triple sec, and maybe vodka. They were both drunk but she didn’t care. Being drunk didn’t mean she didn’t know what she was doing. She wanted Jackson in her life. She kissed him back.
“Yes. Marry me and we’ll live six months of the year in Texas and six months of the year in New York. You’ll take the world by storm with your showing and then Jester Eight will take the Equestrian title. We’ll have the perfect life.”
Kathleen snapped out of the flashback in time to hear her father say, “You got married in Mexico?”
Oh, God, she’d done this. She’d proposed to Jackson, why she couldn’t imagine. But she did it. This was all her fault. She had to tell him. Definitely had to let him out of this crazy act and face the music with Grandfather. This wasn’t a trick to raise Jackson’s reputation or take her money as she thought for that wild moment in the pool cabana. This was all on her. She had to face Grandfather with the truth — that she was a drunk just like her father, unworthy and unable to run the ranch. Kathleen tried to find her voice but her mouth would only open and close mutely.
When she said nothing, Jackson offered his hand to her father. “Nice to meet you, sir. Kathleen…thinks very highly of you.”
“Mmm,” Nathaniel grunted. He shook Jackson’s hand and then turned back to his plate. Jackson’s knee bumped hers under the table. She felt a jolt of electricity followed quickly by a healthy dose of remorse.
The memory wouldn’t leave her alone. She heard the joy in her voice when she proposed. Why did she do that? What had she been thinking? Jackson Taylor was the farthest thing from her mind when she boarded that plane two weeks ago. Then, she wanted rest and maybe a holiday fling. She didn’t want to get married. Not then, maybe not ever. But proof that at some point she changed her mind was right there, waiting in her memory. And on her ring finger. The band seemed to constrict and she rubbed her finger over the thin gold as if she could alleviate the memory.
To make matters worse, she’d pulled Jackson into her idiocy.
“Is this what that harebrained trip to Mexico was all about?”
Kathleen finally found her voice. She wanted to set the record straight then and there but found herself repeating the old-friends-fall-in-love story to her father, complete with the way they first met when she knocked over his tripod on the UTEP campus and busted a camera lens. Jackson took her hand, raising her fingers to his lips. It was all Kathleen could do not to jerk her hand away and run from the room.
Go ahead, Kath, dig that hole a little deeper.
She watched closely as Nathaniel’s fork wobbled on the way to his mouth. His hands were shaking. From his afternoon at the bar? Had to be.
“Congratulations, then, I guess,” Nathaniel said between bites of food. He pushed away from the table without another word to her and walked out. Jackson squeezed her hand beneath the table as if he knew how hurtful seeing her father this way was.
Guillermo, now standing at the door to the kitchen, gathered Nathaniel’s and Vanessa’s plates before retreating inside. A little family interaction went a long way for him. Not that Kathleen could blame him, especially when said family was her family. And things would only get better when Monica returned home for her annual summer visit next week.
Unable to finish her meal, Kathleen pushed the food around her plate. Jackson rescued her when, plate empty, a huge yawn escaped him.
As if unaware of the tension at the table, Mitchum took more food from the casserole dish and happily dug in.
“Grandfather — ” she began but he waved a hand and cut her off.
“Go, Kathy-bean. Forget about Vanessa. Your marriage puts her divorce stories on the back-burner. You know how she hates that.” Typical that he didn’t mention her father or his drinking. “Don’t forget about the hospital benefit Saturday night. It’s black tie, so you can drive into town in the afternoon and plan to overnight at the condo.”
She had forgotten about the benefit. One of Mitchum’s pet projects, the benefit raised money to provide surgery for underprivileged children. He still sat on the board of the organization but had stopped attending the benefit two years before. Kathleen attended in his stead, which would put even more pressure on Jackson. Too tired to argue about Vanessa’s broken heart, to try to get out of the benefit appearance or broach the subject of her not-so-honest marriage Kathleen bussed his cheek. Morning was soon enough to ruin her life.
“Goodnight, then.” She hesitated at the doorway with Jackson by her side.
“Go upstairs. Be a married couple for a while,” Mitchum said, gulping another bite of enchilada.
Kathleen swore she could hear his chuckles all the way upstairs.
Chapter Seven
“Black tie benefit?” Jackson asked as soon as the door closed behind them.
Kathleen collapsed on the settee and explained about the charity. “Don’t worry about the tux, this is west Texas, not Dallas or Houston. Most of the dignitaries will be in blue jeans and sport jackets, only we women will be dressed to the nines. And you could skip it, if you wanted. I know black tie events weren’t in our agreement.”
Jackson shrugged. “I’ve been to enough to know who to schmooze.”
She couldn’t believe it. He acted as if this wasn’t a big deal. As if her lies at the table were expected, that Vanessa’s actions were understandable and that her father wasn’t a raging drunk. Had he been at the same table? Maybe it was better if he didn’t pay attention. If the family dynamics went straight over his head, because she wasn’t sure how to answer the questions that were sure to come over the next few weeks.
Wait a minute. The next few weeks? There were no “few weeks” and she needed to get a grip on reality. Stop wallowing in the craziness of her family, tell him the truth,
and then march downstairs to deal with the fallout from her Grandfather. There would be no benefit, no more playacting. It was time to take her life back.
Head buried in her hands, Kathleen tried to find the strength to do just that and couldn’t. Jackson’s hand on her shoulder bolstered her confidence, or maybe it was just the last straw.
“Go back to New York.” And her voice didn’t even crack, that was something to be proud of, right? “I won’t make you stay here playing house with me. I’ll figure out how to broach Grandfather and I’ll deal with the fallout, but you shouldn’t have to deal with any of this.” She raised her eyes to meet his. “I’m sorry, Jackson. But you can go home now.”
The words were out. Jackson could feel free to return to his life, forget about their insane interlude in Puerto Vallarta, his side-trip to the Texas Hill Country, and her crazy family issues. Somehow, though, she couldn’t bring herself to admit that marriage was really her idea. Would he think she was playing out another fantasy from their college days? Would he understand that she really, truly did not know why she proposed on the beach that night?
He wouldn’t. He would think she was still the wallflower, tag-along student from UTEP. She couldn’t give him the impression that she was still hung up on an old crush. The mere thought was humiliating. When he said nothing, she plunged ahead, trying to convince him to leave before he saw straight through her.
“My family is coming apart at the seams. Grandfather will be distracted by my sister and father, so he probably won’t notice you’re gone until I’ve had time to see a lawyer about the annulment. If he does notice, I’ll deal with it. It’s time I stopped running scared and started showing him how I can bring the ranch into the twenty-first century.” There, that sounded like a plan. She rubbed the tension from her neck. Now if she could just pull it off.
His hands began kneading the tense muscles in her neck. “Is that what you really want?” His thumb found an especially tight knot and he pushed until a soft groan escaped her throat. She shouldn’t want anything less than him leaving the ranch. But she couldn’t make him stay under false pretenses. Telling him the truth would only reinforce his image of her as a shy, moon-eyed girl from college. She intentionally skipped over her feelings for him to focus on the ranch and horses.
Texas Temptation Page 26
