Jackson stood, and Mariah followed. “These are definitely recent tracks. Got a tape measure, by chance?”
He nodded and returned to his truck, rifled through his glove box and found what he was looking for. Returning to Mariah’s side, he handed it to her.
She pulled out the tape strip and measured the width and length of the tread marks then released hold of the metal, and it whizzed back in with a snap as the end tab hit the base. “Thanks,” she said, handing the tape measure back to him. She pulled her cell phone out of her coat pocket, typed on a yellow screen that resembled a notepad and then slipped it out of sight again.
Jackson wondered how much info about him and his ranch she had stored away in that little device. Had she been making notes all along, and he hadn’t noticed because he’d been too enamored with her?
He shook the thoughts from his head. He had more important things to stew on than his infatuation with Mariah or even the interview.
Pieces of charred wood he’d missed last night still littered the highway. He needed to clear the road before someone had an accident. “Let’s build a fence of sorts around the tracks so we can preserve them until the sheriff can get out here. I called him, but he’s tied up on the far side of the county until this afternoon.”
Mariah glanced up. “We’re going to town?”
He nodded. “I always eat breakfast at Auntie’s Café on Sunday mornings. Deuce is gone to eat with friends. I thought you might prefer breakfast out to instant oatmeal or a Pop-Tart.” He grinned at the way her face scrunched up. He figured she’d never eaten a Pop-Tart before. She probably ate some kind of hoity-toity bran muffin with her caffe latte every morning. Or maybe she was one of those diet-conscious women who skipped breakfast altogether.
“Breakfast sounds good. I’m dying for a big, fat waffle smothered in maple syrup. Do they have those?” Her thin eyebrows darted upward, hope shining in her sparkling eyes.
What had happened to the cold Mariah who’d stomped in the house after his kiss? In a way, he wished she were still here. She was so much easier to ignore than this one.
“Ah, yeah.” He cleared his throat, hating the huskiness in his voice. Maybe it was the cold morning air making his throat constrict.
She looked around then back toward the house. “Are you sure you want to leave? I mean, do you think it’s a good idea?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wondered that, too, but I won’t be made a prisoner in my own home—and I need to go to church, especially with all that’s going on.”
She stared at his pants, brow crinkled. “You wear jeans?”
Jackson grinned. “You’ve never been to a country church, have you?”
“No, and I didn’t dress for it.”
Jackson ran his gaze down the length of her body. “You look fine.”
“Thanks.” Her cheeks flushed even pinker than they already were from the chilly morning. “Let’s hurry, then. I’m starved. Maybe I’ll get some biscuits and gravy, too.” Mariah broke eye contact and picked up the closest piece of charred sign and then set it alongside the tire tracks. Ironically, he read the blackened word fire on it. Angelfire.
As he walked back to the truck, he remembered the day Lance, Evan, Kelly and he had bumbled their way through mounting the sign. Evan had wanted to save money, so his brother had talked him into installing it themselves. Having plenty of money in his bank account, Jackson would rather have just paid the sign company to do the work, but Evan had challenged him to do it, and he hadn’t wanted to wimp out. What a mistake! In the end, they’d had to hire Sam Hawkins to bring his mobile crane from Claremore just to lift up the heavy billboard.
That night after they’d doctored their blisters and put ointment on their strained muscles, they drove into town together and devoured rib-eye steaks at Marvin’s. Jackson could hardly get out of bed the next morning. This time around, wimp or not, he’d put his foot down and let the sign company do the installation.
Still, looking back on it, the whole day had been fun as the three males had battled to outdo each other, while Kelly had whined about all the testosterone in the air. It was a good memory, but one he didn’t care to repeat.
“What are you smiling at?” Mariah stopped in front of the truck.
Busted. He’d been walking down memory lane and ignoring her. He picked up the board nearest him and sent it sailing off the road like a square Frisbee. “Just thinking about the day we put the sign up.”
“It must have been a nice memory, judging by the look on your face.”
Jackson tossed another board into the ditch and kicked some more debris off the road. He grabbed a three-foot-long plank and laid it along the southern edge of the tire treads. Crossing the two-lane road, he kicked more of the charred remains into the ditch.
He sighed. There really wasn’t all that much left for the sheriff to study for clues. It was probably a waste of the man’s time to ask him to come out here again.
Jackson pulled off his hat and held it in front of him, folding back the brim. For the life of him, he hadn’t been able to think of a single person who had it in for him. Howard Stunkard wasn’t happy he wouldn’t buy back the horse that he’d bought from one of Jackson’s customers, but he couldn’t imagine the man destroying property. The old coot was mostly bluster.
Westin was a small close-knit community that had rallied around him and his daughter when he came back from playing football. The simple country folk were excited to meet him and proud of his accomplishments but had allowed him to live a normal life. Most no longer saw him as a celebrity but rather a rancher with a young child.
He breathed a simple prayer for the protection of his family and property.
“You’re going to ruin your hat if you keep that up.”
Jackson glanced at his hands, which were twisting his hat close to death. Black marks from the ash on his gloves had stained the brim. He heaved a sigh. Guess he’d be buying a new one after all.
Mariah crossed the road and stopped in front of him, taking the hat from him. He watched her gently smooth out the dents and wrinkles, and then she glanced up at the top of his head.
The cool morning breeze lifted the strands of hair framing her pretty face. The forty-degree temperature had painted her cheeks a dark rose, which only added to her appeal.
An impish grin tilted her lips, and then she reached out and grabbed hold of his jacket, about chest high, and pulled him down. As he leaned in her direction, his heart stampeded. Was she going to kiss him?
What happened to his decision to ignore Mariah? It wouldn’t work if she was going to come on to him. He hadn’t planned for that scenario.
Help, Lord! Against his wishes, his eyes shut of their own accord. After a moment, Mariah released her grip on his jacket and moved her hand to his shoulder. He felt one of her arms brush against his ear, sending arcs of electricity sparking through his torso and short-circuiting his brain.
Instead of the warm lips he expected to brush his, he felt his hat slide back on top of his head. “There—that’s better.”
Jackson opened his eyes and found himself looking directly into Mariah’s. Her wide, pleasing smile took away some of his disappointment at not receiving another of her soul-stirring kisses.
I’m playing with fire. He almost laughed at the irony of that thought. He didn’t want a woman in his life, but if by chance one came his way, she would be a woman who loved God with all her heart—a countrywoman. What he had was a reporter far too distracting, who could destroy the peaceful life he now lived. If only he could remember that then he could keep his distance.
Breaking eye contact, he straightened and glanced around the road. “Looks like we’ve done about as good a job as we can here. You ready to go get that breakfast?”
Mariah looked down at her hands. “Could I wash up first?”
“Yeah, sure.” Jackson gave her a hesitant smile and opened the truck door for her.
As he trudged around to the driver’s side, he contemplated how much power Mariah had—the power to destroy the life he’d made for himself and his daughter. He’d lived the life of a celebrity who couldn’t leave his home without being bombarded by the paparazzi and crazed fans, and he didn’t want to endure that again, nor did he want that for his daughter. He liked the simple, quiet life that he’d created before all the craziness started. Somehow he had to get back there.
* * *
“I’ll take the waffle special,” Mariah told Trudy, the owner of Auntie’s Café.
“Bacon, sausage or ham?” The waitress scribbled the order on her pad of receipts.
“Bacon, please.”
“Just give me the regular, Trudy.” Jackson slid his menu to the edge of the table.
Mariah watched the stout older woman amble away. She realized that people from all over the room were gazing at her. Almost as one, they turned away, concentrating on their food. As she continued to study the quaint country café, she caught covert glances darting her way. She turned back toward Jackson and sipped her water, not liking being the center of attention.
“You’re the biggest news in town. Well, that and what’s happening at the ranch. The gossip mills are running rampant.”
She studied his nonchalant expression.
“It’s true.” He shrugged and reached for the sugar container. The café had old-fashioned glass sugar dispensers topped with metal lids with a tiny pour flap on each table instead of the small packets she was so used to. Kernels of popcorn were mixed in with the sugar. At home, she used uncooked rice to keep her sugar and salt from clumping together because of the humidity.
The café buzzed with conversation. Silverware clinked against dishes. Every time she glanced up, someone was staring at her. Squirming in her red vinyl booth, she studied her fingernails. She needed to clip them tonight—and there was black under two nails, probably from the charred boards.
“Just ignore those folks. That’s what I had to do when I first moved here.”
“Was it hard?”
“What?” Jackson stopped stirring his coffee and looked up.
Mariah could understand why people would stare at him. She could barely keep from gawking herself. He had removed his hat when they’d entered the café and stuck it on the old-timey coatrack on the wall near the entrance. That dark swatch of rebellious hair flipped forward onto his forehead, which was a lighter shade than the rest of his tanned face. His dark blue eyes radiated curiosity, making her scramble to remember her question.
“Was what hard?” he offered.
“Um...you know, always being in the public eye. Always having people wanting to touch you and begging for your autograph.”
He shrugged. “Nah. Back then I loved the attention. It fed my tiny ego.”
“Tiny?” Mariah couldn’t hold back the grin that tugged at her lips. In his football days, J. D. Durant had been a media hound, eating up the attention.
“Yeah. Just about this big.” He held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
“Yeah, right. I did my research, Mr. Always-Gotta-Have-The-Spotlight-On-Me.”
Mock horror engulfed Jackson’s handsome face. He lifted his hand to his chest. “Moi? You dare slam your oh-so-magnificent host?”
“If the boot fits.”
Amusement danced in Jackson’s eyes, and he shrugged his broad shoulders. “Okay, so I liked being in the limelight. Most athletes do. But that was then. Now I value my privacy.”
Mariah lifted her brows at his comment. “What made you change your mind so suddenly? Why did you walk away from your career and never look back?”
Jackson leaned back in the booth. He glanced around the room then looked over his shoulder as if he were about to share some deep dark secret.
Mariah bent forward, not sure if the swirling in her stomach was from the delicious scents floating around her or if it was eagerness to hear what he’d say.
Jackson fingered his coffee-cup handle. “I quit football when my wife died—the same day Hailey was born.” He glanced up, and the normally self-confident cowboy looked more like a lost schoolboy. “I wanted her to live an ordinary life, where she could walk down the street and not have to dodge cameras every day. It’s the same reason I don’t like the idea of you doing a story on me.”
She stared at the table as understanding warred with the need to complete her story. “It’s my job.”
“It’s my life.”
“So, we’re still at an impasse?”
He shrugged.
Mariah swallowed her disappointment. She wanted to ask about his wife, but Trudy walked up, carrying plates laden with steaming, aromatic food on one arm.
The waitress started with the plate nearest her shoulder and set it in front of Jackson. Then she placed a white plate covered with the biggest waffle Mariah had ever seen in front of her. Lastly, she set a plate of scrambled eggs, buttery grits and three slices of bacon beside Mariah’s waffle.
“We don’t eat like birds out here.” Trudy wore a smug grin as she walked away. Mariah looked at Jackson, who smiled as if he’d just won the Super Bowl.
“We can’t have you wasting away before you go home.”
“I’ll never eat all of this.” She buttered her waffle, sliced it and then poured warm maple syrup across the top. Her mouth watered in anticipation.
“You can have my bacon and grits,” she said. “The waffle and egg are enough.”
“Nah, you eat ’em. Might put some meat on those bones.” He grinned at his pun. “Get it? Bacon. Meat on those bones?”
Mariah purposely groaned loud enough for him to hear. “That was bad.” She stared at his overloaded plate, which held three scrambled eggs, hash browns, two biscuits and four slices of bacon, resting next to two link sausages. On the side was a soup bowl filled with steaming sausage gravy Trudy had brought by on her last trip past their table.
“No, really, I think you should eat the bacon. After all, you are making a hog of yourself.” She waved her fork at his plate.
“Ha-ha.” He gave a fake laugh at her pork pun. “I’m just a hardworking cowpoke who needs nourishment. Gotta keep up my strength.” He grinned and flexed his arm, drawing her attention to the bulge of his biceps beneath his sleeve. His expression sobered. “Mind if I pray?”
Mariah shook her head and closed her eyes, mainly to stop from staring at Jackson. She enjoyed their comfortable bantering and the quiet blessing he mumbled. After Jackson said amen, she slipped a bite of waffle dripping in maple syrup into her mouth. “Mmm! This is yummy.”
“Yep. Trudy makes the best waffles around.”
“I’m serious about the bacon. Take some of the eggs, too. After all, you owe it to me.”
His eyebrows lifted. “What do you mean?”
“This.” She waved her fork in the air over her plates. “You could have warned me they served so much food.”
“Doesn’t seem like all that much to me. Just normal.” He layered ketchup on his sausage, making it look like roadkill, and then stuffed half of one link into his mouth.
“What time is church?”
He glanced at his watch. “Forty-five minutes, but it’s just around the corner.”
“I’m still surprised you wanted to come to town.”
“I can’t let whoever is harassing me run my life. I have to trust God and entrust my daughter and the ranch into His hands. No matter how much I want to protect her and my property, ultimately, they are safest in God’s hands.”
Mariah marveled at his faith in God. Most men would barricade themselves and their families in their homes until their attacker had been found. Jackson chose to trust God and allow hi
s daughter to live as normally as possible. Her admiration for the man rose more each day.
* * *
“I am thinking about leaving Hailey at Evan and Kelly’s until things settle down, although she’ll make a fuss, because of you and Lilly.”
“You just said you weren’t going to let what’s happening change things.”
“Maybe not for me, but I can’t take a risk where Hailey is concerned. Even though I trust God to keep her safe, I’m still a father who worries about her. It doesn’t hurt to play things smart and take precautions. The thing is, I don’t know if she’d be better off away from the problems at the ranch or with me, where I can keep watch on her.”
A grin tugged at his mouth. “She called me this morning, pleading to come home. I caved and told her she could come home after church.”
Mariah smiled. “Good. I miss her.” Her long, dark lashes touched her cheeks as she glanced down to slice her waffle. He forked some eggs into his mouth, wondering what it would be like to come home and find a pretty woman waiting for him. Someone to laugh with and someone to cuddle with on cold nights.
Mariah glanced up and caught him staring. The corners of her mouth turned up in an embarrassed grin and her cheeks flushed.
Jackson looked away, surprised at the rush of emotions her smile created. He hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been until she’d come along. How could he fall for her so fast?
Back when he’d played football, he’d been a pro at keeping his heart safe while enjoying time with the many women he met—at least until Misty had sashayed her way into his life.
The first six months or so of married life had been great, but after Misty discovered she was pregnant and had to give up cheerleading for the Tornados, she had been unsettled and unhappy. It had thrown him for a loss, too. He wasn’t ready to be a father. But then bam! Ready or not, he’d become a widower, a full-time dad and a former football star, all at the same time.
Mariah nudged her plate his way. “I can’t eat any more.”
Jackson eyeballed her half-eaten waffle. She’d taken only a few bites of her scrambled eggs. “How can you be full when you keep pinching off bits of my biscuit?”
Rancher Under Fire Page 12
