by Mina Khan
She stopped inches from him, the apple scent of her perfume tempting him to step closer, bury his face into her nape. “So, where are we off to?”
How about my house? Or, more specifically, my whirlpool, couch or bed? “There are some Indian drawings at a ranch near the town of Paint Rock, about an hour away,” Jack said. “In fact, the name Paint Rock comes from those drawings.”
“Sounds interesting,” Lynn said, climbing into the truck. “I minored in anthropology in college, so this is right up my alley.”
Jack started the truck and glanced at Lynn. The excitement shining in her eyes made a smile balloon inside him. He’d been nervous that Lynn might not like the hike. He gave her points for dressing practically: jeans, a t-shirt and hiking boots. No make-up and hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail. She looked beautiful.
Desire tugged at him. He wanted to kiss her. Better not jump the gun and spoil their first date —F— first date? His mouth went dry and he swallowed a couple of times. Let’s see, he’d offered to show her around, she’d accepted. Now the two of them were spending the day together. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck...
“What’s Natural Farms Inc.? I just noticed the sign on your truck.”
“Yeah, I need to wash it more often.” He pulled out onto the road. “Natural Farms Inc. is my business,” he said. “We only grow organic products.” He stuck his right hand out. “I’m the CTO.”
“What’s a CTO?” She grabbed his hand and shook.
A buzz rushed his head. “Chief Tractor Operator.”
Lynn laughed and looked at the countryside zooming by. “So, do you farm all this land?”
He stared out of his window. Once, all of it had belonged to the Callaghan family.
“No, there’s my place, then the Callaghan-Avery ranch, owned by my sister and her husband, and a few other owners scattered all around us,” he said. “I farm about seven hundred acres and that’s more than enough.” People shook their heads when they talked about his grandfather and dad selling the Callaghan legacy piecemeal whenever the need for money grabbed them. You know what? Good riddance. Too much work.
They passed the occasional abandoned home falling apart into the weeds, rusty tractors missing parts and windmills standing still. Jack fell silent. His gaze flicked over at her. “The rubble of people’s dreams,” he said, staring forward again. “Each of those abandoned houses is a sign of somebody giving up.”
Jack frowned harder as he drove past a large Hope Developers sign.
Lynn had seen several of those signs dotted around the countryside during the drive. All of them featured a sketch of a fancy house— large glass windows, corrugated roof, and stone columns— next to a picture of a laughing, picnicking family. It announced: Coming Soon! Paradise Point— your escape to a better life.
She had the sudden urge to smooth out Jack’s scowl. She wanted to kiss his worries away and tickle him until he cracked a smile. Instead, Lynn sat on her hands to keep from touching him. Damn it. This was crazy. You don’t know what he’s thinking. He could be planning his next fire. “Well, I guess the new subdivision will revitalize the area.”
He cut her a sharp look. “No, they’ll just turn it into yet another over-crowded, over-commercialized faceless suburb. Mow down the wildflowers to put up Starbucks and shopping strips.”
The bitter tinge to his words left a bad taste in her mouth. She swallowed past it. “I thought there was a children’s park in the plans.”
A thin laugh. “Instead of climbing trees, the kids will climb monkey bars, but where will all the wildlife go?”
His anger seemed to suck the air in the cab. Lynn fidgeted in the uncomfortable silence.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I just hate seeing the land abused like that.”
She cleared her throat. “It’s understandable. Being a farmer, you’re close to land and nature.” After a beat, she added, “Farming must be hard. Is the profit worth the work?”
“You definitely don’t get into it for the money nowadays,” he said, “with the water shortages and droughty weather we’ve been having for the last nine years. Not to mention the developers buying up land at prices farmers can’t even dream of paying.”
A lump formed in Lynn’s throat. “Why did you go into farming?”
Jack shrugged. “I like working outdoors with my hands,” he said. “I can’t imagine being stuck behind a desk all day.”
Lynn glanced at him and saw his knuckles were almost white as he grasped the steering wheel. His lips pressed together in a thin line. She could sense his pain, see its impression on his face. The word “suspect” whispered in her mind, over and over again. Eternal damnation. Lynn turned her face to the window. “So were you born into it? Are you carrying on the family tradition?”
He barked out a laugh. “Can’t imagine too many of my forefathers willing to get dirt under their nails. Nope, I’m forging my own path.” Jack leaned forward and snagged a brown envelope from the dash, then handed it to her. “Oh, before I forget.”
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
She discovered her article. Jack had cut it out of the paper, mounted it on a piece of black cardboard, and laminated the whole thing. Pleasure at his thoughtful gift fizzed through her.
“Thanks, that’s so nice of you.” She smiled at him. “Are you always so nice?”
“Once in a while. Just to throw people off,” he grinned, then turned serious. “It’s a real good story, and I wanted to make sure you had a copy.”
“You really liked it?” She ran a finger over her name.
Jack nodded. “I was there and I know how it ended, but even I felt compelled to read it,” he said. “You’re a natural storyteller.”
Lynn ducked her head. She put the article back in the envelope and carefully resealed it. Jack’s words warmed her from the inside out. He couldn’t be the rogue. She didn’t want him to be.
They drove up to a metal gate with a cattle-guard underneath it. Jack stopped the truck and got out to open the gate. Heat flamed Lynn’s skin as her gaze settled on his ass. Flashes of her dream —his tanned, lean body against hers, his mouth on her breasts, her fingers wrapped in his hair, her mouth tasting his salty skin— played in her mind. She looked away when he turned and headed back to the truck. Damn teen dragon. Why didn’t she get over the hormones already?
The truck door creaked open and he settled into his seat.
Lynn cleared her throat. “The ranch owners won’t mind us looking around?”
“They’re family friends and I called them ahead of time. But they also open it up for the public from time to time.”
Jack stopped the truck again, so that he could shut the gate behind them. But Lynn hopped out and closed it.
They drove a short distance and parked. “We’ll have to hike up to the rocks,” Jack said. “It should take us a couple of hours to look around.”
Lynn followed Jack’s lead along a trail heading up into the high bluff. He jumped rock to rock, nimble and goat-like.
“You really know your way around this place.”
“Like the back of my hand,” he called back. “The owners’ son and I spent many Saturdays adventuring among these rocks.”
Jack pointed out the different pictures among the rocks as they threaded their way along. The sun had faded the ones that were more in the open; but others, that lay hidden behind crags and other rocks, still held rich colors: ocher, red and sometimes a greenish tinge. Some stood out starkly in black and white. Lynn identified a few hunting scenes, involving deer, arrows and men. She spied a cross with the date 1643 on it.
“How old are these?”
“Most of the pictographs probably date from about 1400 A.D.,” Jack said. “Some, like that cross, were made by Spanish explorers.”
“How do you know that?”
Jack shrugged. “I’m into history, both local and wider range. So I’m always reading about things.”
&nbs
p; The sun beat down at them from the center of the sky as they headed back. High noon. Sweat beaded her hairline and heat radiated from her. She glanced at Jack. Sweat definitely worked for him. Tendrils of his dark hair curled against his neck, while his damp t-shirt clung to his broad back. She drew in a sharp breath as her heart thudded, heavy and loud, and the dragon coiled in her stomach. She wanted to taste him, feel him. She wanted to know Jack Callaghan. Lynn closed her eyes for a moment. No, she didn’t want him. The dragon was the horny one.
“Ready to eat?” Jack asked as he stepped onto level ground.
“Hell, yeah,” Lynn answered, glad that her face, already red from exertion, wouldn’t betray her embarrassment.
Jack grinned as he lowered the tailgate of his pickup and climbed on. He tossed Lynn a thick blanket and asked her to pick a picnic spot.
She spread the blanket under a shady oak near the water, and Jack plopped himself and the cooler down on it.
“Ahh, ice cold drinks,” Lynn sighed, grabbing a Diet Coke. Jack took a Sprite. He wrapped his bandana around some ice and used it as an ice-pack to his brow and neck. She pressed the cold, wet can against her hot forehead and cheeks, before grabbing a foil wrapped sandwich.
Crusty French bread peeked out at her as she unwrapped the top. She pulled the rest of the foil away and bit into the sandwich without waiting for Jack. The zing of spicy mayo burst over her tongue. It was quickly followed by the savory flavor of roast chicken layered with creamy avocado and peppery arugula. Shredded carrots added just the right amount of sweetness.
“Mmm,” she said. “This is goooood.”
Jack responded with a gallant bow. “Me and the local grocery store at your service.”
He’d made a meal for her. No guy had ever done that. Did he have to be so nice?
After devouring the sandwich, Lynn looked around. A gentle breeze fingered her hair as she watched a white crane fishing in the shallows. A perfect moment of peace. It’d be a shame to spoil it, maybe she could pause her investigation for a bit. Enjoy the sunlight, nature and the company. “This is a beautiful place.”
“Yeah, that’s actually why I packed lunch,” said Jack, slicing up an apple with his pocket knife. “I loved picnicking here as a kid.” He offered her apples and chunks of Cheddar cheese.
“So what was it like growing up out here?” Lynn asked nibbling the fruit.
“Great,” Jack said. “I ran around barefoot and shirtless all over the ranch. So for the first six years of my life, I was this spindly, brown kid with hair bleached blond by the sun.”
“Blond?” Lynn asked. “But your hair is dark brown now.”
“Things changed,” Jack said. “Hair became darker and I had to start wearing shoes as I grew older and started working with the horses.”
“You grew up on the ranch?”
“Essentially,” he said. “Besides working on the ranch, I also enjoyed the countryside. There’s a clear water pool in the area, with large trees on the edge. It’s great for swinging into. I spent a lot of hours fishing, invading planets and catching frogs.”
“Sounds like an ideal childhood,” Lynn said.
His lips pressed together into a thin line. “It was what it was.”
They munched in silence for a while.
“Would you go back to it if you could?” she asked.
Jack shook his head. “Nah. I’d rather see what lies ahead,” he said. “Besides, we have a saying: ‘It’s never the same river.’ Things keep changing.”
Lynn turned towards the green waters of the Concho. A piece of driftwood floated by. A snapping turtle emerged from the waters and laboriously clambered over some rocks jutting out of the river. The turtle lay there, sunning itself without a care in the world as a couple of dragon flies hovered around it. She wished she could be the turtle.
“So, what was your childhood like growing up in a Japanese-American household?” Jack asked.
Lynn flushed. “I’m impressed you picked up on my Japanese background. Most people think I’m from the Philippines or Mexico.”
Jack smiled and shrugged. “Actually, I asked Jen.”
Her breath caught in her throat. What else had Jen told him? Maybe he already knew about her suspicions. No, didn’t feel like it. They wouldn’t be this comfortable with each other. He wouldn’t keep glancing at her or smiling at her in that melting way. Damn, she’d miss Jack’s flirting when she left. Lynn managed a laugh. “I like your modesty too. Most guys would just take credit for guessing right.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not like most guys,” he said. “And I don’t take undeserved credit.”
Their eyes met and held. Lynn found herself dog-paddling in a fathomless ocean of green. Time slid into a slow waltz. Warmth unfurled deep inside. She broke eye contact and stuffed her hands in her pockets. Why did life have to be so complicated?
“So, are you going to tell me about that childhood or would you rather we discussed something else?”
“I didn’t have much of a Japanese upbringing,” she said. “My grandparents were sent to an internment camp, as part of the forced relocation of Japanese Americans.”
Jack turned his head and looked at her. “Pearl Harbor.”
The sweep of his gentle gaze, warm with sympathy, almost stole her breath. Where the touch of his fingers sent electricity sizzling through her, this was quieter, deeper. More dangerous. Like a real hug that promised safe harbor and unconditional acceptance, an embrace you never wanted to escape. Lynn nodded. “My mother was six years old,” she continued. “But their lives became a nightmare even before the camp.”
She’d replayed the story many times in her head, imagining the different players. Imagining herself in their shoes. Her voice shook as she finally told another person about her grandparents living in fear as they waited for their summons while stories of Japanese Americans being arrested, questioned and sent to camps were whispered all around them. The houses being searched for subversive materials, which generally meant anything Japanese, the ominous knocks on the doors.
Jack covered her hand with his, creating a warm cocoon. She should break contact, but she left it in his. How could something so wrong, feel so right?
Then Jack said, “My mother came from a German background and spoke the language exclusively until eight years of age.” He paused and plucked a wild dandelion, twirled the stalk between his fingers. “My grandparents stopped speaking German during the war. By the time I arrived, no one in the family remembered much of it.”
“War can make people react in so many different ways.”
Her grandfather had been angry and wanted to return to Japan when they were released from the camp, but he knew they’d be treated as shameful pariahs there as well.
“My grandmother tried to teach people about the Japanese, cut through their fear by creating a fusion of Japanese and American experiences.” She laughed. “Ever had tuna casseroles with a side of seaweed salad and wasabi? It’s pretty good.”
But her grandmother never lost control, never lashed out as a dragon. No matter how hurt, how scared. Oh Obaa-chan.
“You’ll have to make it for me.” His tone held meaning, a quiet hope.
Their gazes tangled again for the length of a heartbeat.
“Someday.” I hope. She glanced away from him. “My mother reacted by becoming as American as possible— demanding ketchup instead of soy sauce, gyrating to Elvis rather than learning the tea ceremony.” She sighed. “Not all of it can be blamed on Americanization, my mother never really got along with her mother.”
“Sometimes parents and children don’t fit together, can’t relate, despite belonging to the same family.” He looked away at the river.
Lynn couldn’t believe she was telling Jack all this. She hadn’t talked about her grandparents experience even to Jen, and definitely never to Rob. Strange. She’d met Jack just a few days ago and he came from a totally different world, but Lynn could talk to him. She trusted him. It didn’t add up, didn’t
make logical sense, but she trusted him.
“My grandmother taught me all she knew, like how to create bonsai and some of the traditional dishes, and she told me Japanese folk stories.” Revealed family secrets, taught me everything I know about life. “She died too soon.”
Jack gave her hand a gentle squeeze and Lynn found the strength to continue.
“I took language classes in college and found out all I could about the Japanese culture. I toyed with the idea of going to live and work in Japan in search of my roots, but then I realized that I’d always be an American there because, well, I am American.”
“I know what you mean,” Jack nodded. “I took German classes in college too, hoping to rediscover a piece of my heritage,” he said. “Though I have German and Irish in me, when I think of myself I’m a Texan, pure and simple.”
Lynn smiled. Maybe she and Jack weren’t that different after all. Again their gazes collided, held, melted into one another. His thumb drew circles on the inside of her wrist. Silent quakes of desire burst through her.
“Hey, how about climbing up to the peak?” His question came out in a hoarse croak. “The view’s spectacular.”
She needed to put distance between them. Before desires —crazy, insane desires—overtook her reason. “Last one up is a rotten egg,” Lynn yelled, racing ahead. She embraced the touch of the wind on her skin, her hair, the pure physicality of the action.
Jack laughed as he streaked past her. Almost to the top, he twisted toward her, grinning like a fool, and held out his hand.
Lynn stared into his eyes, took a deep breath, and put her hand in his.
Once on top, they stood panting, surrounded by sky.
Paradise Valley stretched below, the Concho River glistened like a sequined scarf over its gentle green and brown slopes. Lynn shivered next to Jack.
Thinking she was cold, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Her soft, apple scent teased him, drew him closer. She leaned into him. He closed his eyes and bit back a gasp. They stood like that for a long time watching birds sweep across the perfect blue sky.
Jack wanted the moment to last forever. The wind played with tendrils of hair that had come loose from Lynn’s ponytail. He glanced down and saw the beautiful curve of her cheekbones glowing in the molten sunlight. The need to taste her skin, nibble and kiss his way down to her neck and shoulders overwhelmed him. Could he stop at that? He forced his eyes away from temptation and caught the brilliant colors of a rainbow to the right. Cicadas serenaded them. Nature seemed to be outdoing herself to create the perfect setting. Kiss the girl.
