by Anne Martin
I shook my head and found a row of empty glasses. I’d won the only thing I’d wanted. I had closure. I had an end to not knowing. She was Jezabel Whiskey, taking my money and my heritage, showing her true colors so I could never doubt again. She was exactly as advertised. Thinking there was more, looking for it, that was over.
I headed downstairs to the bar. I was going to drink whiskey until I drowned Jessie Strait and Jezabel Whiskey. She was paying for it. It was generous of her to pay for anything.
I passed out on a bar with her blue eyes gazing back at me, fire and anger in them no matter how she smiled.
Chapter 3
I watched Jackson Dewitt drink himself into oblivion. I didn’t exactly watch him. It wasn’t that entertaining to watch the boy I’d given my heart to become a pathetic mess. All right, it was, but I had business to take care of. I called up Felicia because I wanted to be thorough.
“Ah, chica, what do you want? I’m about to get my man naked and rub coconut oil all over his tender places.”
I sighed. She said it just to make me blush. “You can’t even see me blush over the phone. You could just say, hello, Jezabel, how are things?”
She laughed, loud and throaty. “And you’ve lived in Vegas how long? I’m going to send you a phone, a fancy one so I can see your blushing face. What are you doing?”
“I just won a multi-million dollar house in a poker game. I’d like you to look at it for me, do a background check on the guy.”
“Why didn’t you say you wanted to have some fun? Sexy Honey, the oil will have to wait.” I heard her crack her knuckles and the rattle of a keyboard. “All right. What’s his name?”
“Jackson Dewitt of Dallas Texas.”
“Hold on. Well, that was way too easy. What are you doing with a rich boy? Be careful with those. They’re too used to getting what they want, and you know how much the muchachos want you.”
“Why would you say that? Now I want nachos.”
“Mmm. You come to New York to see Trix and the baby, and we’ll get these nachos at this place… What were we talking about? What house? Oh, he has a few places, no, they’re under contract. He’s liquefied his assets. Doesn’t seem to have much in the way of spending money. Shoo, shoo. I’m not doing anything illegal or even questionable. This is Jezabel we’re talking about. She’s a stickler. Doesn’t even kiss on the first date. Don’t listen to him,” she said to me.
I shook my head and ate a bite of my sandwich. Jackson should eat some calories before drinking. He was acting like a college student on his first binge. Not exactly. He actually drank very quietly until he slumped over on the counter.
I had to fight my urge to walk over and take him home. “You’re saying that he’s broke? How is that possible? His family is filthy rich.” I tapped my fingers on the table while my stomach roiled like I’d been drinking all night.
Felicia made a sound that may have been agreement. “His family is loaded. When someone dies, he’ll get a chunk, like his grandfather, oooh, he looks like a prune. He’s on his seventh wife. What a dirty old… Oh, never mind. She’s an adorable old lady with one of those bowling ball hairs. Maybe he’s marrying the old ones for their money.”
I shook my head. “Felicia, you’re saying that Jackson Dewitt, the thirty-four-year old is broke? He doesn’t have any personal bank accounts with a couple million or something?”
There was silence for a moment. “Are you suggesting that I can check his personal bank accounts? Chica, that’s impossible and illegal! Hold on a second. He’s got several accounts, but no, they’re all drained of funds. Honey-Bunny, what do you know about the Dewitt’s from Dallas? Mm hm. That wasn’t at all helpful. They’re good skeet shooters,” she said with something like a long-suffering sigh. “What about vices? Is he a womanizing one? Oh. Jezzy, he’s a gambler. You hate gamblers almost as much as you hate the rich boys. I guess that explains the empty money boxes.”
I sighed and leaned my chin on my fist as I stared at Jackson. His head wasn’t quite on the bar yet. It still wavered, back and forth. I slipped my hand into my purse and fingered the deed. I’d loved him so much. I still got a rush of goose bumps when I thought of the way he’d touched me, his lips lowering on mine as he pulled me onto the bed. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been wearing a sheet.
He’d looked deeply into my eyes and offered me a position as his mistress. A hundred grand in the bank. An apartment with the best view in the city. An allowance. The worst thing about it is how close I’d come to agreeing, not for the money or the security, for him, because I loved him more than any woman with half a brain should love a man like that.
I put the deed on the table in front of me. His grandmother’s house had belonged to him when he was twenty-four. He gave me a tour at his graduation party. She’d left it to him when she died, trusting her heritage to her only living grandchild. The tour had ended in his bedroom.
I fanned myself with the deed. My cheeks were pink under the heavy makeup that looked dewy and perfect. His mother had died a few months back. I didn’t need Felicia to tell me that. It’s not that I’d been stalking him, but it was easy to keep tabs on a high profile person like Jackson Dewitt. He wasn’t married, and there were pictures of him with a lot of wealthy, beautiful people if you looked for them. His mother had been a beautiful woman who lived in the grand house that her son owned. He must have wanted to get rid of it out of grief. I hated Jackson Dewitt. Not hate exactly since I didn’t acknowledge enough feeling towards him to call it hate, but I could feel pity for anyone who lost their mother. My mother died of breast cancer when I was eleven.
I took a deep breath and shook my head. It would be so convenient to pay off the ranch’s mortgage with the sale of a Dallas mansion, but it wouldn’t be right, even if I did hate Jackson.
“Thanks, Felicia.”
“De nada. Look, don’t marry him, all right?”
“Marry him?” I laughed. “I’m not the marrying kind.”
“Good, because you think you’re getting married for revenge and the next thing you know, there are biscuits in ovens.”
I froze. “What biscuits? Are you pregnant?”
She laughed while my stomach churned and I clenched my fist, wrinkling the deed. “No, no, chica. See? You want it, though. You should get some therapy with Horse, do what you need so you can have your happily ever after. There are some good men out there. I know because they’re all the ones I didn’t date. Are you going to do something loco? Do you need backup?”
I licked my lips and straightened my spine. “Since when do I ever need backup? Thanks for the Intel, chica. I owe you.”
“Aiee! I’ve got to get to my belly dancing class. Adios!”
She hung up leaving me with a lump in my throat. She was happy. Somehow, she’d ended up genuinely happy. What did I want? I had my ranch and my acres and acres of freedom, but I wanted a home. I wanted family and love and kids and stability, all the things I’d never had growing up, all the things I’d wanted to have with Jackson. But that was a long time ago. Why wasn’t I over it? I needed closure. I still felt nauseous thinking about going back to Dallas. I’d heard the whispers when I’d come out of his room, the eyes of the girls, the sneers and ‘whore’, ‘gold-digger’ on their lips.
I’d actually known Bree, a girl who was often on those photos of all the wealthy indolent friends of Jackson’s. I’d expected her to say something other than, “I knew you were a Jezabel.” That’s what I’d become, a Jezabel, just to show her that I didn’t care.
It didn’t matter. It was a long time ago. But it still occupied a painful place in my heart. What kind of therapy did I need so I didn’t feel unworthy? I’d read enough self-help books about it. I wasn’t unstable anymore, but the mentality still clung to me like a butterfly that couldn’t shake her chrysalis. That was another one of my big words. I’d put a lot of effort into becoming someone who could make her own heritage, but Jackson had always haunted me, the ultimate offer the betra
yal of all my hopes and dreams, however idiotic they’d been. I’d thought he was going to propose to me. Marriage. He knew that I’d wanted to wait on physical intimacy until marriage. We’d been ‘just friends’ for years between the first time in that cabin at the fancy rich summer camp and the last time at his graduation party.
His head hit the bar with a thud that brought me to my feet, stashing the papers in my purse and walking over to him before I quite knew what I was doing.
Hank was calling a cab.
I shook my head. “I’m taking him.”
He raised his eyebrows and gave me a once-over. “What are you going to do with him?”
I gave him a smile. “Nothing while he’s unconscious. You know me. If someone comes looking for him, you can give them directions.”
He hesitated then shut off the phone. “You’re not dumping him in the desert?”
I laughed and glanced at Jackson, his face soft and innocent in sleep. Anger mixed with something else, something painful. “No. I’m taking him home.”
“You know where he lives?”
I nodded and smiled at him. “Help me take him out to the car?”
He sighed heavily and came around, grabbing one side of him, arm around his shoulders while I tried to touch his other arm. I pulled away. I couldn’t touch him. I needed to be mature, to work through my issues, not dump him in the desert like Hank had so helpfully suggested. There was a lot of desert.
We got him out to the topless Chevy, in the passenger’s seat.
Hank leaned against the door, smiling at me. “You’re taking him home, hm? Jezabel, you know that I’d love to be unconscious in your car any time.”
I patted his chest, but pulled my hand back quickly. It felt awkward to be Jezabel, shameless flirt while Jackson was right there, unconscious or not.
“Hey,” he said, shifting so he could look into my eyes. “Maybe when I’m home for Christmas I’ll look you up. South of Abilene?”
I opened my mouth while a rush of panic went through me. “Oh. I’ll be busy on the ranch, you know, my first year, trying to learn the ropes and get the feed in.”
His smile widened. He was really handsome. He reminded me of a cowboy who had always watched over me during the circuit. Matt. I hadn’t had a lot of positive thoughts when talking to a man. Was I already getting a little bit healthier mentally from seeing Jackson, from facing my biggest fears?
“I can lend a hand,” he said holding out one of his large hands. They were used to work.
I put my hand in his automatically. His hand closed around mine, and his smile crinkled his eyes as he looked in mine. My heart pounded in a sudden panic. It was the sincerity and the lack of contacts. I needed a mask on. I needed to keep him at a distance before he hurt me.
He let me go and stepped back. He raised a hand like he’d tip a hat if he were wearing one. “Drive safe.”
I took a deep breath and smiled, but it felt shaky. “Hank?”
He turned back around with a broad smile. “Jezabel?”
“It’s Jessie Strait. If you came looking for me, you’d ask for Jessie Strait of the JS Ranch.” My heart was pounding so hard, I thought I would die.
He only nodded. “Jessie Strait. Good name. Solid. Happy travels Miss Strait.”
I watched him walk back into the bar while my racing heart tried to find its pace. I glared at Jackson and ran my hands through my hair before smoothing down my sequined bra. Was I really wearing this on a road trip? If I stopped for too long, I’d start thinking and the logical thing would be to stay as far away from Jackson and Dallas as possible. Was that logic or habit? I couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. It’s not like I was going to marry him. Wouldn’t that be hilarious if after all these years, I came back to Dallas as the Dewitt heir’s fiancé? Bree would choke on something.
I could see her face as I walked down the aisle, the horror on her face. Did I want to see that or would it hurt me even more? My mind spun as I pulled into the dark street and took the turn towards the freeway. I had a long drive to think.
Chapter 4
I woke up with my hat over my eyes, the sound of tires on asphalt and the wind rushing around my throat.
I pushed my hat back and stared blearily at the sun rising in front of me on the long stretch of glittering blacktop. The broad blue hood of the old Chevy was the same color as the sky above us. I licked my lips while my head pounded. I took my time before turning my head to stare at the woman driving the convertible.
She had large sunglasses covering her blue eyes and her long dark hair streamed behind her. It would be a mess to untangle. My fingers twitched with a tactile memory of running my fingers through her silky fine hair back when it was blonde.
“You’re awake. Do you need to vomit?” She glanced at me for a second before returning her focus ahead of us.
I breathed through my nostrils. I didn’t want to show her how weak and pathetic I was, but I’d drunk far too much, far too fast. “Maybe.”
She laughed. There was a hint of sympathy to it. “Let me know if you need me to pull over.”
I swallowed and shook my head as my bladder protested. “You’re going to have to pull over whether I throw up or not. I imbibed far too much liquid refreshment.”
“Was it refreshing?” she said drily as she slowed down and headed towards the shoulder.
I got out as soon as she came to a complete stop. I tried not to stagger towards the Joshua tree, unzipping as I went. I breathed a sigh of relief as I stood, my back to her, a girl I’d intended to forget as thoroughly as she’d forgotten me, but apparently, she’d kidnapped me. What did she want? I’d offered her money, cars, prestige, a place of her own, but she hadn’t wanted any of it. She hadn’t wanted me, but she wouldn’t take me somewhere south of the Grand Canyon unless she wanted something. Maybe she wanted to catch up. Maybe she wanted closure as much as I did.
My thoughts were a mess, but somehow the rattling broke through the confusion.
I froze and looked to my left. A rattler was curled up, tongue flicking, not five inches from my boot. I stopped breathing then I felt a surge of nausea and bit it back.
“Mr. Dewitt, do you need some assistance?” she called, mockery in her voice.
I didn’t say anything. Obviously I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want Jessie Strait watching me struggle not to vomit while dealing with hemotoxic elements. Also, I hadn’t zipped my pants.
I heard the rustle as she walked towards me.
“Jackson, if you don’t want to ride with me, that’s fine. I’ll leave you in the next town, but you can’t stay here without…” She gasped and then I heard her turn and run back to the car. I half expected to hear the motor roar as she pulled out, leaving me to my fate, but instead it was the sound of the trunk slamming and then that ominous sound of a bullet entering the chamber of a rifle.
“Hold still, Jackson.”
“Jessie, you don’t have to do this.” Would she ‘accidentally’ shoot me? Maybe I should kick the snake and end it that way. Maybe I should zip up my pants.
The crack of a shot then another and another, and the snake was scurrying away as puffs of dirt rose around my boots. I zipped my pants, turned around and then promptly threw up. She dodged around me, wrapping her arm around my shoulders as I leaned over, heaving beneath that beautiful blue sky while Jessie Strait told me it was going to be okay and stroked my hair like I was one of her horses.
Her low voice was as sweet and husky as I remembered. When my stomach was empty, I stayed there while she rubbed my shoulders, stroking me and my head like instinct kicked in. I was a wounded animal, and she saved animals.
I swallowed and turned away from her. As I straightened, her eyes got bigger, her lips parting as she looked up at me. She was so small, delicate, sweet. She’d looked much taller across the poker table, confident, ice cold.
She stepped away from me and leaned the rifle against her shoulder. “Feel better?”
I ran a hand over m
y rough chin. “Sure. You’re a good shot.”
She smiled, a slight quirk of her lips that wasn’t anything like the smile Jezabel wore like a mask. “Assuming I didn’t mean to shoot you. Come on. There’s a Denny’s in the next town. My treat.” She turned and headed back to the car, unloading the rifle before tucking it back in its case.
I sat down in the passenger’s seat, still a little queasy but almost certain I wouldn’t throw up again. I sighed deeply and slumped down. I’d fantasized about seeing Jessie Strait, running into her in Las Vegas or elsewhere, but I’d never imagined she’d rescue me and watch me at my most pathetic.
She pulled out and was heading down the freeway, gripping the steering wheel with both hands.
“You’re probably wondering what you’re doing in my car,” she said without glancing at me.
I nodded. “The question occurred to me sometime between waking up and you shooting at me. Are you going to dump me in the desert?”
“Why do people keep asking me that?” she muttered.
I cleared my throat and shifted on the seat. “I’ll take that as a tentative no.”
She laughed, a gurgle that she tried to squelch. “I have a proposition for you.”
“It’s been awhile since I’ve been propositioned. Maybe this is a kidnapping.”
She snorted and shot me a look. She wasn’t wearing her sunglasses anymore. Those eyes. Blue like the sky and just as sweet. “Look, I don’t need your house. I was going to give it to you flat out before I saw who you are, you know, as a nicety to a fellow Texan.”
“Are you a Texan? I don’t recall reading that on your birth certificate.”
She shot me a hard glance while her lips curled, not nearly so sweet, but it wasn’t the same as Jezabel’s smile. Which was real? “When I saw you were you, I figured I’d just cash in and you could wait for your granddaddy to kick the bucket while you considered the consequences of gambling, but I think we can come to a mutual understanding.”
