by Mae Nunn
He walked into the kitchen, where the smell of brisket filled the air. Using a recipe passed down to Stella from her mom’s best friend, Cha Cha, he had prepared what had become a Temple family favorite. Stella assured him it was as easy as it was good, and so far that seemed to be the case.
Mac had bought the brisket a few days back, trimmed, from Keith the butcher at the butcher shop in town. Then he brought it home and rubbed it with celery seed and garlic. Mixing a small bottle of liquid smoke with a small bottle of Worcestershire sauce, he had poured the mixture over the brisket and marinated it overnight, turning it over once. The next day, he cooked it at 275 degrees for five hours. When he took it out of the oven, it was so tender it fell apart when he touched it with a fork. Then, according to Stella’s directions, he poured off the drippings and allowed it to cool in the refrigerator. Now he took it out of the fridge and sliced it beautifully with a filet knife, laid it in a baking dish and poured Jack Daniel’s barbecue sauce over it. It was supposed to warm in the oven for thirty minutes at 350 degrees.
In his other oven were baking potatoes, coated with olive oil and sea salt. And he had prepared a colorful Asian-inspired slaw with red cabbage, orange and yellow bell peppers, purple onions, radishes, cauliflower and carrots. Along with Post Parachute wine, the slaw was chilling in the fridge. So was the chocolate ganache he had bought from Temple Territory, Hunt’s restaurant. The Cowboy Chef’s raspberry sauce over that stuff was a gastronomic enchantment—at least Mac hoped Jacqueline would think so. He glanced at the clock. Just enough time to take a shower.
He was barefoot, shaved and dressed in a pair of jeans with a red-and-blue plaid shirt when the doorbell rang. It was Jacqueline.
“Welcome to my humble home.” He bowed deeply.
She punched him. He kissed her on the cheek, inhaling the scent of jasmine.
Her hair was back in a loose braid and she wore gold tear-shaped earrings. Embroidered, twining trellis roses climbed her beguiling silk dress, the color of aubergine. She had paired this with classic military jump boots in oiled suede, charcoal gray. An unlikely scarf, with a bold, colorful pattern, slung across her shoulder and hung down past her knees. It had a twisted tassel fringe.
“You are a vision of loveliness.”
“Shut up,” she said, but she grinned.
“I can’t help it. Nothing so beautiful has ever walked through this door.”
“You better not tell your sisters-in-law that.”
“They’d agree with me—Stella would, anyway.”
“We’ve gotten pretty tight.”
“So I hear. She threatened to kill me if I do anything to mess up this date.”
Jacqueline laughed. “So it’s a date, is it? I thought we just worked together.”
Mac groaned. “I deserved that.”
“Yes. You did.”
“Well, come on in here. Do you want to have a look around?” He’d scrubbed and polished every square inch of his house, just in case she did.
They walked from the flagstone foyer right onto the hardwood of the great room, which had a cathedral ceiling buttressed with rough cedar planks. The sandstone fireplace formed the focal point of the room to the right, and it was flanked by an ornately crafted iron screen, monogrammed with the letter T. Clerestory windows topped ten-foot-tall panels of glass across the back wall that looked out onto the deck and the lake beyond.
“This is gorgeous!” Jacqueline exclaimed, turning in a circle on his calfskin rug.
Walking toward the built-in bookshelves that lined the other wall, she ran her hand along his red gator chair. As comfortable as it was eye-catching, the “gator”-pressed cowhide leather upholstery added color to the otherwise neutral-colored room. “What a unique chair. I love the nail heads.”
Mac explained. “They were hand applied, according to Gillian. That chair was her suggestion.”
“It was a good one. She has great taste.” Jacqueline also admired the Castilian accent table beside it, bending to examine a framed picture of Cullen’s adopted daughters.
“I need to update my pictures, now that we’ve added another niece,” Mac said, suddenly shy. He’d never had anyone else take such an interest in the mundane details of his home.
Jacqueline moved from room to room, seeming to notice every nuance. Her interest made Mac feel good. It also daunted him. Opening his home to her was opening up another level of his life for her examination. He hoped she was pleased with what she saw.
Mac felt awkward ushering Jacqueline into his bedroom at the end of the hall. He turned on the canned lights and she took in the pieces of southwestern art he’d collected. She said she loved his bedding set, with its soft turquoise stripes contrasting with earthy adobe and cocoa hues. She sat down on his king-size bed and patted the striped pillows, adjusting the cocoa lizard bolster pillow, and then fingered the chocolate-colored leather fringe on his throw blanket.
“I like that chair, too.”
Jacqueline pointed to his Damastic rustic chair, another of Gillian’s recommendations. It created an authoritative and comfortable air with its distressed leather–wrapped back, antiqued bronze nail heads and carved hardwood feet. Mac plopped down in it while she inspected the rest of the room, his bathroom and walk-in closet.
“You’re making me nervous, you know,” he called in her direction.
Jacqueline laughed. “Don’t be nervous. I’m just learning all I can about you.”
“That’s what makes me nervous.”
Mac’s hands were actually sweating when she came back into the room. He rubbed them on the legs of his jeans. Sashaying over to the chair, Jacqueline uncrossed his legs and made room for herself on his lap.
“Thank you for letting me into your house.” She kissed him sweetly on the lips. “And into your life.” She kissed him again. “And, hopefully, into your heart.”
He wrapped his arms around her and looked intently into her eyes. “I’m done,” he said. “You have my heart.”
She touched his face as though it were fine china. “I’ll take good care of it.”
They kissed. Mac took her hand and placed it over his heart, and then she moved his to her own. It was beating through her dress like the hooves of wild horses.
Mac knew he needed to get out of that bedroom before he did something he would regret. Slipping one arm under her legs and keeping the other one firmly on her back, he stood and carried her out of there. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“I am. But I have to confess it’s not for food.” She jumped down when they entered the kitchen and smoothed her dress.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m trying to be an honorable man.”
“I know. I know. And I don’t want to make it any tougher. I’m an honorable woman!” She laughed.
“This is why the Bible says it’s better to marry than burn.”
Jacqueline’s eyes shone. But with what? Joy? Terror? Some combination of both? Mac wasn’t sure. He decided it was time to change the subject.
“I have made you the finest dinner the Kilgore culinary scene has to offer.”
“Wow—is that so?”
“Well, with the exception of Temple Territory, I suppose.” Mac grinned. “But we are having dessert from there.”
“What is it?”
“Chocolate-raspberry ganache.”
“Oh, my goodness, that sounds amazing.”
“But first, there’s brisket, and some Asian slaw and baked potatoes with all of the fixings.”
“That sounds delicious.”
“And we even have your favorite Arkansas wine.” Mac pulled out a chair for her at the head of his enormous dining table. Then, going to the refrigerator, he retrieved the wine, uncorked it and poured her a glass. While she sat at the table enjoying her drink, he brought everything
else to the table.
Her eyes widened. “You’re certainly spoiling me.”
“You should be spoiled.” He sat down in the corner chair beside her, poured himself a glass and raised it. “To you.”
“And to you.” Jacqueline clinked her glass against his.
After they ate the meal Mac had so lovingly prepared, they decided to wait on dessert.
“Stay here, though,” Mac said, rising. “I have something I need to show you.”
“Just let me clear the dishes.”
Jacqueline took the plates and silverware to the sink and put the remains of the slaw and brisket in the fridge. Mac hurried to his desk to get the papers. When he returned, he presented them to her with a flourish.
“What is this?” She furrowed her brows.
“Just look at it.”
They sat down together at the table and Jacqueline read the top page. It was a document from Buddy King’s real estate agency stating Mac’s offer to buy her parents’ land.
“So, you decided you want to buy the land?” Jacqueline asked. “Did you have your friend do the extensive survey? Was it expensive?”
“I did. We surveyed while you were gone to your grandma’s.”
“I see. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We weren’t exactly speaking much.”
Jacqueline bit her bottom lip. “Oh, yeah. I remember that.” She perked up. “He must have found oil. That’s wonderful! That’s why you want to buy it.”
Dios mio. Mac heard Alma’s voice in his head. The girl was genuinely happy for him, thinking of all he could gain by purchasing her family’s land.
“No, Jacqueline. He didn’t find oil.” Mac suppressed a smile.
“I don’t understand, then.” Her eyes were like a dove’s—so innocent, so guileless. “Why on earth would you want to buy it?”
“Read the next part.”
Jacqueline turned to a tax document Mac had prepared. It showed that he, McCarthy Temple, as owner of the property in question, was donating it to one Jacqueline Aimes. For the purpose of building a nonprofit home for displaced children. He would pay for it with the money he’d set aside to keep up the search for Pap’s grave. No longer would he chase the ghost of the past when his future was right in front of him. The amount on the document was her parents’ full asking price.
“I—I don’t understand.”
“Well, it’s not done yet. If you agree, then we have to close on the property, and then we have to close again when it transfers to you.”
Jacqueline gaped at him as the realization of his offer dawned on her. “But you have nothing to gain by this. I mean, the tax write-off... It’s not worth it.”
“Sweetheart. You and your dreams are worth it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
MAC AND JACQUELINE (or Mac and Jac, as Joiner had taken to calling them, as if they were mac and cheese) sat beside each other across the table from Stacy Ledbetter, the owner of Ledbetter and Son Title Company, who was smoking a cigar. Stacy Ledbetter Jr., who was apparently learning the ropes of the family business, stood at the head of the table and explained each page of the thick document before he presented it to them to either sign or simply initial.
The process was long. And since Mac had requested they take care of everything that day—his purchase of the land and subsequent transfer of title to Jacqueline—everything basically had to be repeated twice.
“Folks, we thank you,” Ledbetter said when they were finally finished. “And we wish you the best of luck.”
“Thank you,” Mac said, shaking the older man’s hand.
Jacqueline echoed Mac, shaking his son’s hand, as well.
“Be sure to take a couple of pens,” the younger Ledbetter inserted, handing them each a blue pen that read “I signed my life away at Ledbetter and Son Title Company.”
Mac chuckled as he held the door for her and they exited the office.
“Well, that was exciting,” Jacqueline said. She tucked her arm in Mac’s. “I can still hardly believe it’s true.”
Mac kissed her on the cheek. “How about we grab a drink at Common Grounds to celebrate?”
The coffee shop was just a block away. As it was a beautiful day, they decided to leave the truck parked at Ledbetter’s and walk. Jacqueline loved strolling down the sidewalk with Mac, arm in arm. He was so tall and handsome in his starched jeans and boots. The sun shone and there was a gentle breeze blowing that smelled like springtime. Colorful flowers hung in pots from Victorian-style streetlamps. What a charming little town, she thought, as they passed quaint Western storefronts and an old-fashioned barbershop. She was becoming more and more comfortable with the idea that Kilgore could be her permanent home.
Common Grounds was buzzing with afternoon traffic—mostly students from the community college. Some of them had books out, studying. Others sat at tables together, but in their own bubbles, absorbed in their mobile phones.
Mac scanned the room for an empty table. “Want to get us a seat and I’ll order?”
She pointed out a table by the window. “I’d like a chai latte,” she said.
While Mac went to the counter, Jacqueline sat down to save their seats. She couldn’t help but overhear the conversation among a group of students who were nearby.
“They just need to go back where they came from,” one of the students was saying. A rebel flag adorned his shirt, and he wore a ragged baseball cap with a fishhook stuck in the bill.
“Would you not be ridiculous for one second?” The girl had curly hair the same color as Jacqueline’s. “Have you ever tried to think about what it might be like to be them?”
The third person at the table spoke up, a blonde. “Oh, get off your high horse. You’re just letting that professor brainwash you.”
“I am not!” the first girl said. “I can think for myself, thank you very much.”
“Well, I still say let their own country take care of them.” The boy adjusted his baseball cap. “We have enough problems of our own to deal with, without trying to raise a bunch of kids who will probably just become juvenile delinquents.”
The girl with the curly hair sighed. “I can’t believe you people. And yeah, they probably will, if they don’t have any alternative way to survive.”
Mac returned with their drinks and took his seat across from Jacqueline. As at the table in her kitchen, he dwarfed it with his long body.
“I’m getting quite an education,” Jacqueline whispered.
“Is that so?” Mac smiled. “What are you learning about?”
“Immigration through the eyes of Kilgore’s finest youth.”
Mac raised his eyebrows. “Sounds interesting.”
Jacqueline decided not to elaborate on what she’d overheard. He was already concerned enough about her welfare and the plans for the home. She knew how much he had to battle his anxiety just to be with her and support this adventure. No need to worry him more. So she just smiled and said, “Thank you for the tea.”
“You are most welcome.”
The sunlight streaming through the window glistened on Mac’s face. Jacqueline studied it, as she had so many times, noting the contours of his cheeks, his Roman nose, his strong, square jaw. It was only three o’clock, but he already had a five o’clock shadow.
“What are you looking at?” he asked.
“Someone kind.”
Mac blushed.
“Someone smart, someone important.”
“Isn’t that in a book?”
“Maybe.” Jacqueline sipped her chai tea. It felt good going down. “But it’s true.”
“Want to know what I’m looking at?”
“Let’s see.” She tapped her chin. “Someone full of imperfections, whose hair needs a trim.”
“What do you see, then?” she asked playfully.
“I see someone patient, loyal and strong.”
Jacqueline blushed.
“And someone whose hair lights me on fire every time I touch it.”
“Mac!”
He grinned wickedly. “It’s true. You should see it now, with the rays of sun dancing in it. I’m actually jealous of the sun.”
Jacqueline laughed and shook her head at him. “You know, for a number cruncher, you can be pretty poetic.”
* * *
THEY DROVE BACK to the office. As Jacqueline didn’t have any tax work that needed her immediate attention, she pulled up her “Dreams” file on the computer and started organizing her notes. The information she had collected from KARIS told her that the leading organization that helped provide sanctuary to unaccompanied minors was an interdenominational Christian organization. It was mobilizing churches across the United States to join the cause by donating money and services, as well as providing homes and families where the kids could stay. Therese had given her the contact information of Carlos Muniz, a person involved in the Christian organization, so Jacqueline could network with the group.
As she exchanged emails with Carlos, Jacqueline had developed a strategy for the next steps she needed to take. First, she enlisted a college friend who was an architect to listen to her vision and draw up plans for the home. The next step was to start raising support and funds through the community of Kilgore and its churches, so she scheduled meetings with all groups that would open their doors to her. She was planning to speak to the Grace Baptist deacons tonight, at the Rotary Club tomorrow during lunch and the next evening at a meeting of the Kilgore City Council.
“Mac?” She carried her planner down the hall to his office.
“Hey, babe.” Mac looked up from his desk and adjusted his glasses. “What’s up?”
“I wanted to talk to you about a few things I’ve got on the calendar.”
“Okay, shoot.” He leaned back in his leather chair and clasped his hands in his lap.
