by Jade Taylor
It wasn’t fair. He knew that, but he ached every time he thought of Joey—every time he imagined her as an infant, saying her first word, taking her first step—and he’d missed it all. Now it looked like the rest of her life would be lost to him, too. He could think of no way to get close to a child who wanted to shut him out.
In the backyard, the bandy-legged farmhand climbed into his beat-up truck and barely waved a hand in parting. When Jackson entered the house, Bertie and Pop were sitting at the kitchen table, shelling new peas, their heads close together, as if they were conspiring. Pop looked up at him quizzically.
“How’d it go? Did you manage to get the water flowing?”
“It’s working now. Anything left for my supper?”
“There’s corn and tomatoes and a couple of pork chops. I’ll get you a plate,” Bertie offered.
“You don’t need to wait on the boy,” Will pointed out.
“I’ll help myself. Thank you, Bertie.” Jackson ignored his father.
Pop wasn’t going to be ignored, though. “Have you noticed the worms are getting bad in the south cornfield? The one alongside the road? I figured we could take care of that in the morning. I’m pretty near well, now, so I’ll go along with you and Buddy.”
Jackson grabbed a plate from the cabinet and forked a pork chop from the pan on the stove onto it. He spooned a handful of corn to the side, a couple slices of tomatoes near that, then tore off a hunk of brown-crusted cornbread and parked himself at the end of the table. “It’s going to be too hot tomorrow. You better stick around here. Besides, I’m going over to Cat’s in the morning. I’ll do the cornfield tomorrow afternoon. Okay?”
“Oh.”
Jackson pushed his plate away. “I knew you’d say that.”
“I just said ‘oh.’ What are you reading into that?”
He picked up his fork and looked at it as if he weren’t sure what purpose it served, then glanced at his father. “You’re angry with me for not doing more around here.”
Will snorted. “Hah! You’re doing that mind-reading thing again. Did you ever consider getting a job with the Psychic Friends Network?”
“Come on, Pop. You know you’re mad because I have a life of my own.”
“You think you can read people’s minds, do you? Maybe you should start your own psychic hotline. You could call it Psychic Farmers’ Network.”
Jackson glared at the family comedian. Pop’s jokes were occasionally funny. Not this time. “Wasn’t that what you were thinking? That I’m not much help?”
“Now that you mention it…”
“Oh, hell. If you’re feeling so much better, maybe I should get out of your hair.”
Will Gray leaned back in his chair and stared at his son. “Now, I wonder why that doesn’t surprise me?”
Jackson quietly laid his fork down on the plate. “Pop, I don’t need this.”
An alert look brightened his father’s eyes. “Well, son, why don’t you tell me what you do need?”
All the anger Jackson couldn’t direct at Cat and Joey threatened to pour onto his father. He fought his temper and barely won. With great effort, he maintained silence.
Pop leaned forward, jutting his jaw toward his son. “Jackson, I’m listening. Do you want me to read your mind? I’m afraid I have no talent in that direction. If you want to say something to me, now’s your chance. Do it or quit complaining.”
“Pop, I’m trying very hard not to argue with you, but you’re making it damn near impossible! All my life, every time I had something planned that I really wanted to do, you’d manage to guess and I’d get stuck shoveling manure or picking corn worms off the new plants or shoeing Cass’s pony or something. You always had six things that just had to be done so I couldn’t go with my friends.”
His father’s eyebrows lifted in amazement. “Is that what all this is about? You grew up on a farm and had to help out with chores?”
Jackson splayed his palms on the kitchen table, grinding them into the smooth cherry wood top. “Dammit, no! I knew I had to do my share. That’s what being part of a family means. I just wanted to be able to do something else, occasionally.”
Pop leaned back in his chair and replied in a caustic voice. “If you want to go somewhere, go! I’m not stopping you. You’ve been hanging out after Cat Darnell ever since you came home. Piddling little bit of help you’ve been! Why don’t you just pack your bags and stay over there?”
Jackson went cold with rage. He’d busted his ass in the six weeks he’d been here. Even counting the time he spent at Cat’s, he’d more than done the work of two hired hands. Pop had no right— “Maybe I will!”
His father snorted and turned his head so he didn’t have to look at Jackson. “Go ahead. For once, do something, ’stead of just threatening to do it.”
Bertie’s soft voice interjected a protest. “Now, Will, you’re being a little harsh with Jackson.”
His father paid her no more mind than he did his only son. “He deserves it, Bertie. Don’t you fret about Jackson! He just loves to complain!”
Looking at him hopefully, Bertie suggested, “Jackson, I’m sure if you apologize, your father will, too.”
Bertie had been the soul of Christian charity, helping to care for his father. Not a bit like her reputation for being so crabby, the warmhearted inhabitants of this piece-of-shit town had named her that. Jackson forced the harshness from his voice. “Bertie, this is between Pop and me. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d be pleased if you’d have the kindness to stay out of it.”
His father’s gaze jerked away from Bertie. His ice-blue eyes shot a baleful glare at his son. “Don’t you talk to her like that! Show the respect you were raised to have toward women.”
Jackson stood and calmly laid his unused napkin atop his plate. He carried it to the kitchen sink, disposed of the napkin and scraped his uneaten dinner into the garbage pail. Quietly, he laid the plate in the sink. Having regained control of his temper, he turned to face Pop. “Okay, that’s it. I’m outta here. You don’t need me around, Pop! Just hire yourself another stable boy.”
His father spoke not a word as he stomped out of the kitchen.
It only took a minute to stow his gear in the duffel bag. A Marine got used to packing and leaving at a moment’s notice. It was more than enough time to regret his hasty action and bitter words. Not enough time for him to get over his resentment at his father’s abuse. Still, one glance at Pop’s pale face as he stalked through the kitchen almost stopped him. He opened his mouth to say something apologetic, when Pop beat him to the punch.
“Go ahead and leave! You were never man enough to stay and fight.”
That did it! He managed not to slam the door as he went out.
Bertie peered out the screen door, worry wrinkling her brow. “Don’t you think you were a bit overbearing, Will?”
Will Gray gave a wry chuckle. He looked at his friend and shook his head with a slight smile curving his lips. “I knew it’d be hard to push him enough so’s he’d leave. Jackson knows his duty. I had to make him mad enough to forget it.”
Bertie looked bewildered. “You mean you weren’t angry at him? You were just pretending?”
Will smiled. “Now, Bertie, when did you ever see me browbeat my kids the way I just did? Took every bit of the meanness I stored up for the last ten years right out of me. I love that boy. He’s my own dear son.”
She still looked doubtful. “What if he leaves Engerville?”
“He won’t. Unless I miss my guess, that boy is walking over to Cat Darnell’s ranch right now. If he’s lucky, she’ll sympathize with him for having such a mean old man. If I’m lucky, this will be how I make up for trying to stop him from leaving the first time.” Will stood up and went over to the kitchen window. He pulled the gauzy curtains back and stared out at the empty landscape. No sign of his son.
“And if he’s unlucky?”
Will let the curtain fall back to its limp, hanging position. A second
of doubt shook him, but he refused to give in to it. “He won’t be. He’s my son. Us Grays are lucky in love.” He winked at Bertie.
WHEN JACKSON STUMBLED out of the field on to Cat’s land, he looked around at the night-shadowed outbuildings. He could go knock on her door and tell Cat his problem, or sit down and figure out the answer for himself. The lemon-yellow light spraying out in a hazy circle from the windows looked cozy. The closed door and the windows all pulled down was explained by the hum of the ancient air conditioner. In late July, the nights were often hot. Sitting in her cool kitchen, maybe having a beer and a sandwich, while he explained Pop’s basic unfairness, tempted him beyond reason.
He thought about Joey, who’d probably still be up, listening to him bad-mouth his father. Reluctantly, he looked around and picked a tall pine tree to sit against, while he watched Cat’s home, waiting for the lights to go out.
A half hour later, Jackson entered the barn, found an empty stall and tossed his duffel bag in the corner. He kicked together a stack of straw from the bedding someone, probably Cat, had scattered over the dirt floor. It would be a rough bed, but after two nights with very little sleep and a horribly long day under the hot sun, it didn’t much matter. Within moments, he drifted into a light, restless sleep.
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, Cat awakened to the soft burr of the alarm clock. No matter that she hadn’t slept much. Farm chores awaited her. She understood Jackson’s distaste for farm life and the never-ending ritual of chores, but there was no point in lingering in bed. Chores had to be done, animals fed and watered. You shouldn’t make the stock wait. Her father had drummed that rule into her head. She decided to let Joey sleep another hour or two. Her daughter loved all the animals too much to need reminding of the rule.
A quick swipe of the toothbrush and a splash of cold water would do her until after she fed the animals. A few minutes later, having put on a clean pair of jeans and one of her father’s old T-shirts, she emerged from the house.
She glanced at the sky. Already, it sported a blue so hard and intense that Cat knew it would be another miserably hot day. A few clouds wouldn’t be unwelcome, she thought. Engerville corn needed rain.
She swung the barn door open and went inside. For a moment, she stood there as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Then the hair rose on the back of her neck. A quick sweeping glance at the horses revealed nothing unusual. All waited quietly, eager for their morning oats. RugRat whickered softly. She looked down the other side of the narrow barn. One stall door stood open. She’d swept the runway and closed all the stall doors the night before. Unease raced over her.
Was there an intruder? Maybe she’d left the stall door ajar and its own weight caused it to swing open. Tentatively, she walked toward the stall, uneasiness slowing her steps.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CAUTIOUSLY, CAT PEEPED over the edge of the stall. She backed off hurriedly. Although he was curled on his side and she couldn’t see his face, there was no mistaking the blaze of red hair against dun-colored straw. She leaned against the barn wall, the rough boards biting into her back, her legs weakened by the momentary glimpse of Jackson. She waited for her heart to stop pounding and her breathing to slow.
Why had Jackson slept on a pile of straw? Didn’t he know he had only to knock at her door and she’d have given him a bed to sleep in, no matter what his reason? He knew, so he must still be angry. He’d never forgive her and he was right not to. What she’d cheated him out of deserved no forgiveness. The sting of tears burned her eyes. A pull she couldn’t resist drew her back.
Again, she peered over the edge. Jackson, his face shiny with perspiration, had turned over on to his back. He lay sprawled on a bed of new straw, his duffel a few feet away. One arm was flung above his head, the other draped across his torso with his T-shirt pulled up so a two-inch band of heart-stopping skin showed between his blue jeans and shirt. The snap on his jeans gaped open. Her gaze drifted downward, then jerked up as she realized its direction. Cat stepped inside the stall. She knelt on the prickly straw and reached out a hand toward the still face. He looked so vulnerable in his unprotected sleep. Like Joey.
Unlike Joey, too.
Tracing a fearful line an inch from his skin, she followed the curve of his jaw to his full, sensual lips. Her fingers tingled with the ache to touch him. It had been so long ago, she hardly remembered what touching him felt like. Probably, after such a long time, it wouldn’t be the same star-spangled magic. Regretfully, she drew back. For several moments, she remained still beside him, watching him sleep, mesmerized by the rise and fall of his chest. Her hand reached out again, to halt an inch from his lips. Jackson’s breath, warm and damp, moistened her finger. It felt like wet lightning touching her skin. She shuddered.
Suddenly, like a striking snake, his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, squeezing so hard her skin burned. Eyelids lifted to expose angry eyes. The contempt glaring out at her shocked her into a sudden realization of having violated his space in an indefensible way.
Voice low, he growled, “What’s the matter, Cat? Want to make another baby?”
The brutal words struck her like a slap in the face. His fingers clamped on her wrist without mercy. She wrenched away, but his iron grip held fast.
“Let me go, damn you!”
The barn’s shadows turned his blue eyes to harsh indigo. “You don’t really want me to let you go, do you?”
“What are you doing here?” She twisted her arm, but he held her as easily as she controlled Joey.
“You didn’t answer my question, Wild Cat.” He ran a careless finger down her neck to the collar of her T-shirt and slipped under the thin material. For a moment, he hesitated, then pulled back. He tossed her wrist aside and sat up, casually flicking straw from his shirt. “I’d think it was pretty obvious what I’m doing. Or what I was doing, before you came in.”
She gathered what wits she had left. “Dammit, Jackson, I know you’re still angry with me, but don’t play tough guy games. Why are you here?”
Jackson stared at her with cold unconcern. Elbows propped on his knees, hands dangling between his legs, he said, “Cat, darling, I’m here to see my daughter. I intend to get to know her.”
He looked away from her, deliberately, she thought, to indicate just how little he regarded her wishes. She wanted to spit nails! “You think you can come into my home and take command? I have news for you, buster. It would take a lot more than one Marine to do the job, no matter how tough you think you are. You don’t run things here, Jackson. I decide what happens with Joey!”
“Well, let’s see,” he drawled. “I’ve got a wad of cash burning a hole in my pocket.” He looked up at the high ceiling, as if pondering a weighty question. “How much do you think a first-class lawyer would charge to get me custody of my little girl?”
For a few seconds his cold statement struck terror in her heart, then reason reasserted itself. Her anger dissipated. “Do you take me for a complete fool? I’ve known you since I moved to Engerville. You wouldn’t do that to me or to her. Jackson, I do wish you’d try to see my side, but I also know the day you get bitter enough to separate me from Joey, you wouldn’t be Jackson Gray. You have the softest heart of any man I know.” She hesitated. “Even if I don’t feel like I know you anymore.”
Jackson shot a hot glare at her. “There’s one thing you’re right about. You don’t know me.”
She leaned away from him, a cold spot in her core that had been warm a moment ago. “You haven’t changed so much. Threats from you can’t scare me.”
“You think you know everything, don’t you? Don’t push your luck,” he warned.
She sat back on her heels, fixing him with an icy stare of her own. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here? And why you’re sleeping in my barn?”
He brushed straw from his shirt and raked a hand through his hair, sending bits of chaff flying. “Pop is pretty much okay now. He still can’t do heavy work, but he has Buddy. I don’t think he ev
er expected me to stay this long.”
“Why have you?”
His cold gaze flicked over her, stinging like the touch of a whip. “Something of mine is here. Something very precious to me and I’m not leaving until I’ve made peace with Joey. Certainly not before you and I come to an understanding.”
“I told you I wouldn’t stop you from seeing Joey.”
Jackson’s jaw set in a straight, hard line. “There’s more to it than that. I want a legal arrangement. I want my parental rights. What if you decide to get married? Your new husband might want to adopt Joey. Then where would I be? Out in the cold with no rights to my own child!”
“Married?” She tried to laugh. A strangled squeak came out. “I’m not getting married!”
“Ever? Come on, Cat, be reasonable! You won’t stay single the rest of your life.” He stared at her. “Why haven’t you married? It can’t be for lack of offers. Even including a child not their own, there have to be a dozen guys in Traill County eager to take you on. After all, they’d get the ranch as well as you and my daughter. A pretty good bargain, if you ask me.”
How many lonely nights were there in nine years? He didn’t know the despair of a small farm in a North Dakota winter with only her dour father, Joey and the horses for company. And after Joey turned six, not even her daughter during the day. Just the harping complaints of a father who’d never forgive her. Though he loved Joey, he thought her birth the result of her mother’s wild ways and seemed intent on making sure the mistake wasn’t repeated.
Jackson didn’t know, couldn’t know, how much loneliness and pain she’d endured on this farm he thought might sweeten the bargain for a potential husband. She would never tell him. “Your business is Joey. Whether or not I get married is up to me. I haven’t tried to find out why you’re still single, have I? If you want to make a legal arrangement, we can go see Allan Becker in town and get him to draw up papers. I’ll agree to any equitable sharing of Joey. It’s no more than what’s right, and I trust her with you.”
