by Diana Palmer
“You have to have a future with every guy you kiss?”
“Not if I’m sure it’ll stop with kissing. That’s not true with you, Jackson.”
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked. “Is that what this is all about?”
“No.” She slid off the hood and, with her feet planted firmly on the ground, faced him squarely. “I’m more afraid of myself. I don’t usually get so, um…carried away.”
“You think I do?” he demanded.
“That’s beside the point. We were supposed to be starting over as friends, and I can’t afford to be anything more than that with you.” She walked around to the passenger door, opened it and put one foot on the running board. “This game with the kisses is too risky for me. It has to end now.”
“What do you want to do?” Jackson asked, propping his hands on his hips. “Pretend it never happened?”
“That’s right. Otherwise, I’ll have to drive myself.”
The look in her eyes told him more clearly than words that she meant exactly what she’d said. Which didn’t leave him much choice. The crazy, stubborn damn woman was liable to get herself killed if she went off alone, and his uncle would skin him alive if he let her do it. Of course, he’d never forget that kiss, and neither would she, but if this was how she wanted to play it, he’d go along with her. For now.
“Okay, Maggie,” he said. “We’ll do it your way.”
She climbed into the cab, shut the door and fastened her seat belt. Jackson followed suit and carefully turned the pickup around so that he wouldn’t have to back down the hill. Neither of them spoke, even after they’d bounced and jolted their way to the bottom. He turned right, heading farther out, to show her the actual boundary to the leased land.
Maggie asked an occasional question, appearing to be completely at ease with him. Now that she’d settled the issue of their sexual attraction to her satisfaction, why shouldn’t she be at ease with him? Jackson smiled to himself and kept on driving. As far as he was concerned, they had settled nothing. In fact, that second dynamite kiss had changed everything.
He had no clear vision of where he wanted their relationship to go. He sure as hell wasn’t ready to declare that he loved her, or propose marriage. But for the first time in a long, long time, he felt there were possibilities to be explored, and he damn well intended to explore them all.
Granted, on the surface, he and Maggie didn’t have much in common. He could have named a whole handful of barriers to having a meaningful relationship with her. None of them had stopped this powerful attraction, however, probably because there was a hell of a lot more to it than just sex. Not that he had any objection to sex for its own sake, but he’d found he liked it better if he had an emotional attachment to his partner. He suspected the same was true for Maggie.
He also suspected there was more to her reluctance to get involved with him than a simple desire to keep her business and personal relationships separate. She might not be afraid of him, but she was afraid of something, all right. One way or another, he intended to find out what it was.
Eight
“Come on, you’ve done enough for one day.”
“Give me ten more minutes.” Maggie tossed a quick smile over her shoulder at Jackson, then turned to the computer monitor again. “I’ve only got one more page to go, and Wanda needs to start editing tomorrow.”
“I need to work in the office for a couple of hours before we take off tomorrow,” Jackson said. “You can finish it then.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his hand sneak toward the keyboard, his index finger aimed at the save button. “Stop that,” she said, rapping his hand with her knuckles. “I want to see how she wraps this up.”
Sara Lewis chuckled. Pushing her chair away from the computer next to Maggie’s, she stood and rubbed the small of her back. “You might as well give it up, Jackson. When the Little Fed’s on a mission, she won’t quit till she’s good and ready.”
“Tell me about it,” he said in a dry tone. “She runs my butt all over the res all day, and then drags me in here to type research papers until my fingers bleed at night. She’s wearin’ me down to a nub.”
“So, go on home to bed,” Maggie suggested without taking her eyes from the screen.
“No way,” he said. “Shut up and keep typing.”
Maggie lifted both hands from the keyboard and looked over at Sara. “Has he always been this bossy?”
Sara chuckled again. “He can’t help it, Maggie. It runs in his family.”
“Well, tell him he doesn’t have to escort me all the way in to Whitehorn every night. I’m a big girl now, with a driver’s license and everything. I can get back to the motel all by myself.”
“Oh, no.” Sara held up crossed forefingers in front of her face, as if warding off a vampire. “I’m not getting in the middle of one of your spats. Leave me out of this.”
“Wise move, Sara,” Jackson told her. “I wouldn’t listen, anyway. She thinks just because she’s not in D.C., there aren’t any dangers for a woman traveling alone at night.”
Maggie rolled her eyes in exasperation and went back to typing. Honestly, ever since she’d almost fallen from the buffalo jump two weeks ago, Jackson had been driving her batty. Not that he’d given her a single legitimate reason to complain.
There had been no unnecessary touches, no teasing innuendos, no more kisses. While she still suffered the pangs of the strongest sexual attraction of her life every time she got within six feet of him, being around her didn’t seem to faze him a bit. He was invariably helpful and solicitous of her comfort, but for all the notice he took of her as a woman, she could have been his sister or an elderly aunt.
Of course, that irritated Maggie to the roots of her hair, but after the way she’d told him to back off, what could she possibly say? Hey, Jackson, I’ve changed my mind. Why don’t you start hitting on me again? Not in this or any other lifetime.
As if the physical attraction weren’t enough to contend with, the wretched man kept revealing new, utterly appealing sides to his personality. Last week, for instance, they’d called on a young woman who had four-month-old twins. While the mother was pouring her heart out to Maggie about the problems her husband was having in finding a steady job, both babies had started fussing.
Jackson had scooped the kids into his arms and left the kitchen. When her conversation ended half an hour later, Maggie had followed her hostess into the living room, where they’d found him sitting in an old wooden rocking chair, with a sleeping baby draped over each shoulder and a smug grin on his face.
And take yesterday. They had visited an elderly man who was crippled with arthritis and lived in a trailer with a dilapidated porch attached to the front. While Maggie conducted her interview, Jackson had poked around in the old fellow’s garage, found a hammer and nails and repaired the wobbly steps leading up to the porch.
Today he’d merely chopped wood for over an hour and milked a cow for a harassed grandmother who was baby-sitting four grandchildren and tending to her husband, who was dying of lung cancer. Who did he think he was? The Mother Teresa of the res?
Maggie found it extremely difficult to remain emotionally aloof from a man who did things like that and then acted embarrassed when simple gratitude was offered in return. She couldn’t even indulge in the cynical suspicion he was only doing those things to impress her. She’d heard too many stories about Jackson’s previous kindnesses, from too many people, to believe that of him.
“Earth to Maggie. Yo, woman, wake up!”
Startled out of her reverie by the sound of his voice right next to her ear, she looked up into Jackson’s dark, amused eyes, and discovered she couldn’t look away. Lord, she must be more tired than she’d realized. Because at that moment, she wanted nothing more than to wrap his long braids around her hands and pull him down for a bone-melting kiss.
As if he’d read her thoughts, his gaze dropped to her lips and lingered there. Her throat constricted in an involun
tary swallow. Then he grasped the back of her chair and unceremoniously dragged her away from the keyboard. Before she could gather a coherent protest, he’d hit the save key, backed out of the word-processing program and turned off the computer.
“That’s it, Schaeffer. We’re outa here. You’re gonna be too sleepy to drive if you wait any longer.”
Unable to argue, she climbed to her feet, stretched out the kinks in her shoulders and exchanged a weary grin with Sara. “The kids are going to make it, aren’t they?”
“You’d better believe it. They’ve done excellent work in the short time they’ve had to pull these papers together,” Sara said. “They’re getting so excited about graduation.”
“That’s great,” Maggie said. “We should be thinking about a party for them. Maybe we could hire a disc jockey, or—”
Jackson barged between the two women, grabbed each of them by an arm and hustled them down the hallway to the exit, scolding them as they skipped to keep up with his long strides. “Think we’re on Indian time around here? Get a move on, ladies. It’ll keep till tomorrow.”
He practically shoved them outdoors, then went back to turn off the lights and lock up the building. Maggie shot him a dirty look, which sent Sara into gales of laughter.
“Listen,” Sara said when she’d regained her composure, “there’s no reason the two of you have to go through this every night.”
“I know,” Maggie retorted. “But that big dope in there must have flunked listening in kindergarten. I just can’t get him to understand I can take care of myself.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Sara said. “I’ve got a spare bedroom you can use, if you’re interested.”
“You mean tonight?”
“Tonight, and any other night you want. You’re spending so much time out here, you might as well move in with me. It’s nothing fancy, but I’d be glad to have you.”
“That’s a great offer, Sara, but I couldn’t impose on you.”
“If I thought you’d impose, I wouldn’t have offered,” Sara replied.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” Maggie asked. It really would be a godsend to skip the awful drive back and forth to Whitehorn every day.
Sara shrugged. “I grew up in a house smaller than mine is, with my grandmother, mother, older brother and father—at least until he ran off. One skinny little Fed isn’t gonna get in my way.” As if that settled the issue, she dug around in her purse and pulled out a key.
Maggie tucked it into her jeans pocket and gave Sara a quick hug. “Thanks, pal. I’ll move in in the morning.”
Sara got into her car and rolled down the window. “It’s the little blue house right behind the jail. Your room’s the one off the living room.”
“See you tomorrow night.” Maggie waved as her friend drove off, then turned when the door to the building opened behind her.
No matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, she always felt her heart lift at the sight of Jackson coming her way. Just this once, she allowed herself to enjoy the sensation. She liked the way his broad shoulders moved with his loose-limbed cowboy walk. She liked the scruffy clothes he wore that allowed him to do nice things for people without worrying about getting himself dirty. She even liked that tired, scowling expression on his handsome face.
If circumstances had been different, she would have opened her arms to him, hugged him for being the big-hearted man he was beneath that gruff, cranky exterior he often hid behind, and soothed away his weariness with kisses. She’d learned so much about him in the past few weeks, but there was much, much more she wanted to know. More than she could ever learn in the time she had left at Laughing Horse. Maybe more than she could learn in a lifetime.
Fearing her thoughts and emotions would show on her face, she turned away and climbed into her car. When Jackson had done likewise, she backed out of her parking space and headed for Whitehorn. She tried to put him out of her mind, but with his headlights shining a constant reminder in her rearview mirror, it was impossible to forget he was right behind her.
And with each passing mile, the conviction grew that, with or without his headlights in her mirror, no matter how much time or distance she put between them, she would never be able to forget Jackson Hawk.
Gripping a mug of coffee in his left hand, Jackson steered the pickup with his right on his way into Laughing Horse the next morning. As usual, his thoughts were on Maggie. Also as usual, they were confused and frustrated.
Keeping his hands off her the past two weeks hadn’t been easy, but he’d done it. The question uppermost in his mind at the moment was whether or not it was time to change tactics. There’d been a second last night, just after he caught her zoning off at the computer, when he could have sworn she wanted him to kiss her. If Sara hadn’t been there, he would have done it, consequences be damned.
In the clear light of a new morning, however, those consequences seemed a hell of a lot more important. The more he’d worked with Maggie, the more he’d come to appreciate just how special she really was. They’d visited some people and seen some situations that had made him want to throw up his hands in defeat—battered wives; children abandoned to grandparents who were too old to keep up with them; angry, bewildered young men and women who couldn’t find anything better to do with their lives than to try to drown their despair in alcohol or drugs.
Considering the privileged background she’d grown up with, Maggie’s capacity for empathizing with these people was nothing short of astonishing to Jackson. No matter how poor the household, she treated each person with dignity and respect, and graciously accepted whatever hospitality was offered. Time and time again, he’d watched sullen, bitter people fall victim to the magic of her smiles.
She had a unique gift for focusing her attention on the person in front of her and responding without defensiveness or judgment. The pattern that followed had become as predictable to Jackson as the sun rising in the east. Before long, the interviewees would be sitting up straighter, dropping their flip or sarcastic answers to her questions, speaking with more assurance and conviction as they finally began to believe that whatever they said honest-to-God mattered to her.
What they didn’t know was how much all that warmth and understanding cost Maggie in emotional terms. Oh, she didn’t let on about it. She didn’t rant and rave, the way he often wanted to, or cry, which seemed more appropriate for a softhearted woman like her. But day after day he’d seen it—a slow, steady drain on her energy, leaving behind a quiet, tense little ghost in place of the bubbly little elf he’d come to love.
Love? a voice inside his head inquired. Did you say love?
Jackson’s response was both automatic and emphatic. No. It couldn’t be love. He felt a lot of emotions toward Maggie—admiration, gratitude for her efforts on behalf of the tribe, lust, and even a certain amount of affection. But he was only exploring the possibilities of a deeper relationship with her at this point. He didn’t love her as in “falling in love with.” Uh-uh. No way.
Why the hell not? the voice demanded.
“I don’t know her well enough yet,” Jackson muttered.
Bull. She’s perfect for you, and you know it.
His gut clenched, and every muscle in his back and shoulders tightened. “She doesn’t love me.”
How do you know? Have you asked her?
“Of course not. I just know, all right?” A clammy sweat had broken out on his forehead and the back of his neck. “Even if she did, it wouldn’t work out.”
Oh, you’re psychic now, huh? You can read her mind? See into the future?
“I didn’t say that.”
Then why are you being so negative? Don’t you think you’re man enough for her?
“I didn’t say that, either.”
But you’re too damned chicken to find out, aren’t you?
“Now, look,” Jackson said, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. “She’s got a career and a life of her own in Washington. She even sa
id there’s no future for us—”
And you’re just gonna take her word for it? Sheesh! Women change their minds all the time. If you had the balls to go after her, you could help Maggie change hers.
The clammy sweat was moving down to his palms. Jackson tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “She wouldn’t stay here.”
You don’t know that. Cluck, cluck, cluck.
“She’ll leave me like Nancy did.”
She’s not Nancy. Cluck, cluck, cluck.
“There’s not enough time,” Jackson insisted.
And you’re wasting what little you’ve got left, pretending to be her buddy. You’ve gotta do something, you big jackass. And you’d better do it damn fast.
“Do what? Seduce her? Kidnap her? Hold her hostage?”
How the hell should I know? But you’d better think of something, or she’ll leave for sure, and you’ll end up alone and clucking for the rest of your life.
With that thought reverberating in his mind, Jackson pulled up in front of the tribal offices, put the pickup in Park and set his empty mug on the dash. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he considered the situation from every possible angle.
Maggie was scheduled to return to D.C. in a month—six weeks, if he was lucky. While that really didn’t give him much time, he couldn’t rush her, either. They’d made a good start on building a friendship, but if he pushed her too hard to deepen it, she was liable to finish her assignment and get the hell out of here. Okay, so he had to be careful.
On the plus side, he was certain she’d begun to identify with the people of Laughing Horse. On the minus side, her father and her career represented powerful ties to the white world.
Could he find a way to break those ties? Not likely. The best he could probably hope for would be to neutralize them with equally strong ties to him and to the tribe. Was it possible to do that in a month?
Jackson didn’t know the answer, but he’d fail for sure if he didn’t try. Maggie had spent all of her time here documenting the reservation’s most desperate problems. Maybe if she saw some of the better parts of life on the res, she’d find the idea of staying more attractive. And maybe it was time for him to be more open about himself.
