Wild Cat and the Marine

by Jade Taylor

  “It’s okay.” Joey edged closer to her mother.

  Cat took a deep breath, her nose wrinkling. “It might be a good idea for you to take a shower, Joey. You smell like a horse.”

  Joey giggled. “I know. I always do and you always say that.”

  Jackson stood up. “I’ll be going, then. Pop will be wondering if I went AWOL. It’s been great talking to you, Cat.”

  She had a sudden urge to keep him there, to say something that would prevent his leaving, but no words came. She nodded, a tightness in her throat stopping any statement she might have made.

  “Nice to meet you, Joey. You’re a crackerjack rider.”

  “Thank you,” Joey responded politely, then grinned at her mother. Though used to being told she was a good rider, hearing those words from a stranger excited her.

  “I’ll see you again before I leave, Cat. Thanks for the coffee.”

  Cat stood and walked with him to the door. A drum-beat of regret pounded at her. She wanted to hold him, to stop him, and at the same time, she wanted him to go quickly before he destroyed the small world she’d built without him.

  He hesitated at the door, turned, leaned casually down and touched her cheek with his lips. “Bye, then.”

  And he was gone. Again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JACKSON WROTE THREE LETTERS that night, including a note to Juan telling him about the ranch and a little about Cat Darnell. That surprised him, since he hadn’t planned on even thinking about her, or her midnight hair, or the leggy siren’s body that lied about having a child who must be…what? Six or seven years old. Where was the kid’s father?

  Hadn’t Cat given him a thought after he left Engerville? Not that he’d expected her to carry a torch. After all, love hadn’t been involved in their one night of reckless teenage passion. Still…still, he remembered. Didn’t she?

  It must have been the letter that caused him to dream about her. The dream began before sleep did.

  The moon shining through the truck’s windshield made the night misty, brushing Cat’s face with dewy gold. She wasn’t beautiful, Jackson decided. Cat didn’t have Rebeka Anderson’s even-featured beauty. Rebeka was the girl he’d wanted to take to the prom, not Cat.

  Her green eyes were mesmerizing. He wouldn’t mind kissing her, even if she wasn’t Rebeka. He surely wouldn’t mind one little bit.

  He draped an awkward arm around her shoulders, then asked a clumsy, too-direct question. “You don’t have to be home right away, do you?”

  Her clear gaze turned to him. “Not right away. Why?”

  “I thought maybe we’d drive down to Needlepoint Rock.” He paused, suddenly diffident. The rumbling of the truck wheels on the gravel road nearly drowned out his words. “And count the stars…or something.” Okay, he’d said it. Nobody went to Needlepoint Rock to star-gaze. The Rock was a well-known make-out spot. If she said no, then he’d take her home and say good-night. If she said yes, maybe she wanted something to remember prom night by as much as he did.

  The sound she made was a breathy soft whisper, as if she’d sucked in air too quickly. He almost missed her answer.

  “There’s no reason why Rebeka and Roy should have all the fun.” She stroked back a long dark strand that had drifted away from the rest of her hair.

  Sometimes, it seemed as if she used that thick hair to hide her face when she didn’t want people to know what she felt. He’d noticed that in school. He glanced sideways. She looked down so he couldn’t see her expression. “Goose River is pretty at night when the moon is full.”

  Jackson let his fingertips dangle over her shoulder and very lightly brush the soft skin at the top of her dress.

  Turning right at Elmer Anderson’s farm, Jackson drove down the arrow-straight dirt road to Needlepoint Rock near the band of pine trees along the riverbank. He tried to ignore how his fingertips were getting a little too familiar with Cat’s breasts. It was impossible to ignore the pebble-hard tip that rose to meet his exploring hand.

  Her breath quickened as he parked the truck beneath the shadowed overhanging branches of a towering pine standing sentinel beside the rock.

  “Jackson?”

  “I won’t hurt you, Cat. Any time you want me to stop, just say so.”

  “I’m not afraid, Jackson. Are you?”

  “A little, I guess.”

  Her answer was a silky-smooth arm wrapped around his neck, resting there for a moment, then tugging him closer. He heard her whisper words so soft he had to strain to hear her.

  “I dare you.”

  His nervous laugh sounded scared even to him, but he returned her embrace and let the heat claim him. He had her panties off inside of two minutes, afraid the whole time that she’d change her mind and half-afraid she wouldn’t.

  Clean, crisp air with a springtime chill to it and the pungent scent of pine trees aroused from their winter’s sleep. The damp smell of Goose River swollen with spring rains and rushing between its banks with a noise like a faraway freight train. The heady perfume of Cat’s rose corsage. All became a permanent part of his memory.

  He’d been so wrong. She was beautiful.

  Three times that night he awoke and lay in the narrow bed remembering. Twice he got up and looked out his bedroom window toward the Darnell farm. It seemed incredible that he was back in Engerville. Impossible that he’d had the same dream nearly every night he’d been here. Unbelievable that he couldn’t figure out why. The third time he awoke, he knew the answer but, like fog fleeing before a sudden breeze, the answer was gone with his return to awareness.

  JACKSON REMOVED THE CLAMP and tugged the fuel line loose. He peered into one end of the line. Pointing it toward the ground, he took his finger off the opening. A few drops of fuel trickled out, then nothing. “Must be junked up,” Jackson muttered under his breath.

  “Have you checked the fuel filter?” Will Gray asked.

  Jackson turned around. His father stood behind him, leaning heavily on a polished walnut cane. A twinge of concern zapped through him. His father shouldn’t even be out of the house, let alone limping around the farm. Jackson grunted his annoyance. Just try telling him that. The old man was stubborn to a fault. “Pop, go back to the house. You aren’t well enough to be running around this dirty old shed telling me how to fix the tractor.”

  “I just asked if you checked the filter. What are you so grouchy about?”

  Jackson modulated his growl. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

  Will nodded, looked all-knowing, and said, “I heard you tossing and turning half the night. Musta been those pork chops. I told you to stay with the beef stew Bertie fixed before she left.”

  “Pop, never mind me. What are you doing out here? If you fell on this junk—” Jackson looked around the shed, gesturing toward the many pieces of old farm equipment that hung on the walls and spilled over to the floor, leaving only narrow aisles to navigate through “—you’d be hurt for sure. Probably get lockjaw.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve had about all the bad luck one man is due? At least for this summer.” Will flung out his left arm in a gesture that included the whole farm.

  “Yeah, yeah. Go back to the house, will you?” Jackson turned back to the engine, his mind already spinning past a dozen solutions for its reluctance to fire. This chore was one he enjoyed. No shovels involved, anyway.

  “I have to start back to work sometime. I can’t sit around that house another day without going crazy.” Will limped to his other side and peered over his shoulder.

  Jackson stared at his father and tried not to show the concern he felt every time he noticed how much weight his father had lost, how much gray blunted the copper in his hair and how hard his father sought to regain his strength. Pop ought to sell this damn back-breaking, pancake-flat piece of godforsaken prairie and try raising a little hell for a change, instead of sugar beets. Maybe he’d quit looking around every corner as if he expected Jackson’s mother to be there. Jackson gave a dry snor
t of annoyance. “Then why don’t you take the other tractor and plow the south forty, if you’re feeling so blasted good?”

  “You sure are grouchy! When I was a kid like you, I could go a week without sleep and never show it.” The older man stepped back, more weight on his good leg than his bad, so he looked off-balance with the movement.

  Jackson picked up a greasy rag and wiped his hands with it, swiped his shirt sleeve across his face, then turned to his father. They were inches apart. His father looked ready to flinch at harsh words. He was past that. In a quiet, even voice, he protested, “Pop, I’m not sixteen anymore. Look at me. I’m not a kid.”

  His father, unshaken by his gritty announcement, replied softly, “Time sure flies, doesn’t it? I’ve got eyes in my head, son. You’re an inch taller than me, but I can’t help thinking of you as my boy. Wait ’til you have kids of your own, then you’ll know what I mean.”

  Jackson sighed in resignation. “Okay, I’ll wait. Now, you go on back to the house like a good Pop, so I can figure out why this hunk of junk won’t run.”

  Will leaned closer to the tractor, peering into the tangle of wires and hose. “Did you check the carburetor?”

  Jackson straightened and took a deep breath. “I was just going to do that when you came in. Be a sport, Pop. If you fall in here, you could be hurt really bad.”

  Faded blue eyes looked skeptical. “You’re honestly worried about me, not just irritated that I’m in here bugging you?”

  Jackson gave up. He laughed and patted his father’s cheek. “Yes, Pop, I am honestly worried about you.”

  Will nodded. He turned to go. “I’ll get out of your hair then.”

  Being hurtful to his father was something he did as a teenager. Despite his exasperation at his father’s need to tell him how to do a job, he had no intention of walking that road again. Jackson touched his father’s shoulder. “Not out of my hair, Pop. Out of danger. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll fix you a place to sit over there by the door. The sun ought to feel good for a while, before it gets too hot, and if you’re over there, I won’t worry about you falling. We can talk while I’m working. Maybe you can help me figure out which part is screwy on this old heap.”

  Will Gray nodded, his face brighter, a bare smile tilting his lips. His lean angular body straightened as he patted Jackson’s hand where it rested on his shoulder. Reluctantly, he agreed. “My knee is starting to hurt some.”

  JACKSON HADN’T INTENDED walking over to Cat’s place that evening. Tired and irritable from the previous night’s lack of sleep, he wanted only his bed, but Bertie came over to keep Pop company. He didn’t have the patience to sit around the living room with them discussing how much he’d grown or how he seemed exactly the same as when he was sixteen, even though time had really flown.

  He knew a mysterious force tugged him toward the Darnell farm, but thinking about why it existed made the skin on the back of his neck prickle with unease. He preferred to believe Bertie and Pop caused him to flee his home.

  He kicked at the dusty road. Hell, it was a good two miles over to Cat’s. An early night was what he needed, not a half hour’s tramp along this graveled excuse for a road. Across a wide, untended field, he saw smoke drifting from the chimney of her house. An image of Cat’s straight, black hair whipping out behind her filled his mind. Her high cheekbones gave her green eyes a suggestion of mystery and hinted at a secret only she knew.

  Damn. She was just the girl he left behind in a town too dull for words, too dry for spit and not worth remembering for all the sugar beets in Traill County. He absolutely knew that, but he left the road and struck off across the field.

  Coming up on Little Dog Creek, he heard rustling sounds near a sparse grove of boxelder trees. He stopped. The sun had almost vanished beneath the flat horizon. There weren’t any bears or moose around here and not much else that might be dangerous. The light was still good and would be for another hour or so, but maybe this wasn’t such a bright idea, for a different reason than the anonymous rustling noise in the weeds.

  He thought about turning back. Jackson came to a halt near a patch of thistles just waiting to glom onto his jeans. Hanging around Cat Darnell was plain foolish. If he didn’t watch out, he’d find himself caught in her silky, sable hair as surely as a fox in a steel-jawed trap. That old fox would sure as hell have to quit his roaming, if he got caught.

  He’d always loved the crisp feel of striding into a place more exciting than the one he’d left behind. Cat was just a friend, after all, though one he’d made love to, a long time ago. He’d step around that trap. They could still be friends without him yielding to a hell-sent temptation to weave his fingers through the dusky strands of her midnight hair and kiss that soft, sweet spot near her cat-green eyes.

  Jackson tramped resolutely forward. Thirty yards from the creek, a low coughing stopped him in his tracks. Then almost in his face, six deer leaped to their feet and bounded away, their white tails lifted like flags behind them.

  The beautiful animals had startled him. He skirted their bedding area and jumped the creek at a spot where it narrowed to only a couple of feet wide. Resisting Cat’s considerable temptations would test his determination to leave Engerville, but there’d be no real contest. He’d already decided the ending.

  CAT, EYEING HER BEAD BOX on the dining room table, resigned herself to washing the dishes first. Joey swept the kitchen in lazy, unambitious strokes of the straw broom, drawing out the task far past the time when she should have finished it. Her attention caught by something, Joey went over to the window. The broom lay forgotten on the floor as she gazed out. Suddenly, Joey’s back stiffened.

  “Mom, that guy is outside.”

  A beat of apprehension clutched Cat. Who would visit this late in the evening? Careful to keep her alarm from showing, she asked, “What guy, Joey?”

  “The one with red hair. I forget.” She turned to glance at her mother, bright curiosity lighting her face. “What’s his name?”

  The apprehension vanished with a suddenness that left Cat weak. “Jackson. It must be Jackson Gray.”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. I like him. Why’s he coming to see us?”

  Jackson’s knock sounded at the back door.

  Cat pushed back sweat-dampened strands of hair from her face and hurriedly dried her hands on her apron and tossed it on the counter near the sink. She’d like to have a little warning of his visits. Enough to greet him in something pretty, instead of one of her father’s old T-shirts and her own well-worn, faded jeans. She stroked the compact braid she kept her hair in. Neat, yes, and not pulled tight away from her face, but left loose, before it formed the thick rope dangling halfway down her back, tied with a length of red leather from her bead supplies. With her deep tan, it gave her an exotic look. She smiled wryly. Well, maybe just interesting, not really exotic. She glanced down at her body. She’d worked too hard over the years to put on extra weight. Her concern for Jackson’s opinion troubled her, but she had no time to examine what it meant. “Let him in, Teddy Bear.”

  Joey hesitated, then darted toward the door. As if she didn’t know whether to be eager or afraid, Cat thought, in complete sympathy with her daughter.

  The tall, red-haired man smiled unsurely at her. Despite his size and the inevitable intimidation caused by her guilty secret, his deference put her in charge and her nervousness vanished. Her property, her home…her daughter, she reminded herself. “Jackson, what a nice surprise. Come in.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind, Cat? I should have called, but all I could think of was escaping from the farm. I had an irresistible urge to get away from Pop and Bertie’s discussions of my wayward youth.”

  “You weren’t so bad. Is that the real reason you came by?”

  His mouth stretched into the delicious smile she loved. He looked suddenly shy. “Bertie came by to visit and I saw at dinner they were warming up my bones for a good chewing. You know how parents like to remind you of every stupid thing you
ever did, before you grew up? Yeah, well, they were making notes, so they wouldn’t forget anything.”

  A sympathetic giggle escaped from Cat. Joey, half hidden behind the door, peeped out at the two of them and Cat sobered. “Honestly, Jackson, the way you talk, you’d think you were abused as a child!”

  “What do you call shoveling sh—manure all day long?”

  Cat glanced at Joey again, silently warning Jackson to watch his language, but her own mirth bubbled over. “Not all day?”

  “It seemed like it. Never mind. I see you’re still in the bead business. Were you planning on making jewelry this evening? I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

  “You’re not. You’re welcome anytime. The beads can wait.” She brushed off his question with a casual wave at the plastic box packed with beading materials. A moment ago, she’d been eager to get through her chores and let the bright beads fall through her fingers as she chose the perfect size and color for a new necklace. Now, with Jackson here, she pushed them aside as if they meant nothing.

  Jackson grinned. “Pop and I have about as much in common as the Army and the Navy. I haven’t decided who’s going to win the battle and it will be weeks yet, before I can leave. Coming over here to talk to you might keep me sane.”

  It hurt to know how badly he wanted to go, but she should have been prepared for his eagerness to leave. “Is farm work getting you down that much?”

  His face settled into a disgruntled frown. “I’m not a farmer, Cat. My plants don’t grow, my hens don’t lay, my pigs don’t get fat. Even my tractor doesn’t run. I’m not cut out for this stuff. Pop knows it. He’s walking pretty good now and he follows me around worse than Blue does, always trying to tell me how to do it better.”

  A wave of sympathy enveloped her. How terrible to have to do what you hated most in life. No wonder his eyes looked shadowed as if he hadn’t slept well for weeks. “Let me get you a glass of iced tea and we’ll go sit on the front porch. Joey, would you get a cloth to wipe the chairs? With the wind blowing all day, those chairs will have an inch of dust on them.”