by Jade Taylor
Jackson looked disbelieving. “That makes me feel special. Too bad you didn’t think the same way eight years ago.”
Cat took a deep breath and clenched her hands into fists. “I did, but I didn’t know how you’d react. I even thought you might take her from me. You wouldn’t…at least I know that when I’m thinking straight. I couldn’t bear Joey being away from me, even for a few weeks and you’d never return to Engerville to live. You said as much and I believed you.”
Jackson sat for a moment in deep thought, one fist squeezing a handful of straw until the shafts broke and sifted through his hand. He tossed the leftover bits aside and wiped his hands on his shirt. “People change, Cat. Even if you were right back then, now is different. Maybe it’d be worth it.”
“Worth it? You could come back to Engerville and even sacrifice your life to be near Joey, but how long before you turned bitter? How long before she knew she was the reason for your unhappiness? I watched my father try to lead the life my mother wanted and it nearly destroyed him. She left before the weight of his unhappiness could destroy her. Do you think I want that guilt dumped on Joey any more than I want it on me? No, Jackson, I don’t think you want to go there.”
“Damn.” He’d whispered the word to the straw, not to her.
Jackson raised his head to gaze at her, his eyes full of heartache. “How did I screw up things so badly? I’m a fool. I’ve been one so long, I don’t know if I can change, but I’m going to try. I’ll think of a way. There has to be something we can do that won’t hurt Joey. Maybe you and I deserve to be hurt. I don’t know as much as I used to think I did, but there has to be a way, Cat. There has to.” He hesitated, ducked his head, then finally looked back at her. Hesitantly, he asked, “In the meantime, I need a place to crash. Are you going to throw me out?”
A loud, restless neigh from RugRat punctuated his tentative statement. One of the other horses chimed in. “Jackson, this isn’t doing any good. Don’t you think I’ve tried to find a solution since the day she was born? I’ve failed. I know we made a huge mistake and we have to pay, but I don’t want Joey caught up in our quarrel and I’m not sure it’s such a good idea for you to stay here.”
“You have to let me, Cat. It’ll give me more time with Joey. I’ve got a lot of time to make up, you know. Eight years’ worth.”
Cat sat back on her heels and tried to meet his eyes, but found the pain in them too much to bear. Her fault again. She looked down to where her hand touched the matted bedding. “I hope you don’t plan on sleeping on a bed of straw for—how long?”
“A month, almost. What about the tack room? I could put a cot in there.”
She searched for objections. “It would be too hot. There’s no window in there, no air circulation.”
“I’ll get a fan. How about it?”
“I don’t know. There’d be talk.”
His voice softened. “Wasn’t there before? It’s a small town. Everybody knows everybody else. Bertha Gillis isn’t the only one who gossips.”
She nodded. “Yes, but it was only for a while. People got used to it and pretty soon, they quit talking and accepted it. Your father helped.”
Jackson’s brows lifted. “Pop? How?”
“He and your mother used to stop every Sunday and give me a ride to church. Dad never went and I probably would have dropped out entirely if it hadn’t been for them. Your mom called me one Saturday night when Joey was about six weeks old and asked me if I felt well enough for church. I didn’t want to. I was so possessive of Joey and so sensitive to what people were saying. She talked to me for ten minutes, trying to convince me, then your dad got on the phone and just said, ‘We’ll be by at nine-thirty. You need church and the church needs you.’ He hung up the phone without giving me time to make excuses.”
“That sounds like Pop. Commandments from on high.”
“Oh no, Jackson! His voice, his tone radiated pure kindness. He’s like you. Softhearted. He knew I’d have a hard time going back by myself. Anyway, your mom and dad picked me up every Sunday unless one of the four of us was sick. Right up until your mom had that stroke. I drive myself now, but Joey and I still sit with your father…or did, until he was hurt.”
Jackson stared over her shoulder at nothing, then looked back at her. “I need a shower. Think Joey would be shocked if she wakes up and hears me?”
Cat hesitated. Nothing she said seemed likely to dissuade him. Jackson planned on staying and short of calling the sheriff to kick him out, she had no recourse. Maybe it would work. “It’s the least I can do for you, I suppose. I think she’ll get used to it. If you sleep out here, you’ll still have to eat and wash up at the house.”
He nodded as if the agreement had been made. “All right, that’s settled. I’ll shower, then run into town, if you’ll let me borrow your truck. Where can I pick up a cot and a fan?”
Fighting Jackson’s decision was useless. He intended to stay here. “Enger’s Hardware might have camping stuff. Check there first. If not, you could drive into Fargo.” She hesitated, then shrugged. In for a penny…. “Don’t buy any blankets or pillows. I have plenty of those.”
Jackson nodded. “What are you going to tell Joey?”
“The truth.”
JACKSON CAME BACK from town with the pickup loaded with groceries, as well as the cot and fan. Cat eyed the bags and shook her head. “How long did you say you’d be staying?”
“A month at the most. I have to be in Seattle on September first.”
She motioned toward the food. “You overbought. You’ve got enough to feed an army.”
“Marines, Cat. Most of it’s canned stuff. It’ll keep.”
The guilt factor, she thought. He’s trying to make up for all the years he didn’t provide food for his daughter. She studied his anxious face, the way he tried to appear casual, the gathering of hope in the rigid line of his jaw. The enormity of her love for him staggered her. Her heart might explode if she didn’t look away. She shifted her gaze to a brown paper sack. Mist gathered in her eyes.
He grabbed the closest bag and said, “I’ll carry everything into the kitchen, but you’ll have to put it away. I don’t know where you keep things. By the way, I’ll do my share of cooking. I don’t expect you to cook for me while I’m here.”
“Can you cook?”
“Not much, but I won’t poison you.” His sly grin didn’t inspire confidence.
“That’s reassuring,” Cat said. “I suppose you know that answer isn’t going to get you much kitchen time?”
Jackson glanced around. “I’m counting on it. Where’s Joey?”
She nodded toward his new home. “In the barn. I asked her to sweep out the tack room.”
“She didn’t object?”
Jackson so eagerly wanted to be friends with his daughter. It would take time Jackson didn’t have. She knew he didn’t want to hear a warning, but she had to try. “Joey likes you, but she doesn’t want to forgive you for not being here. I think she’ll come around. Give her time to get used to the idea.”
He nodded grimly. “I hope a month is long enough. I don’t want to leave here with her still mad at me.”
By noon, the tack room had been converted into a bedroom with the addition of the cot, a fan and a small table radio-clock. Jackson hung his shirt on a nail driven into the wall opposite the cot and shoved his duffel underneath the bed.
He wore his thin white V neck T-shirt with no understanding whatsoever that it outlined his pectorals as if it had been painted on. Cat made a determined effort not to focus on the muscled chest beside her or the tangle of red-gold curls sprouting from the V. Instead she eyed the small space dubiously. “You won’t have much room.”
“It’ll do. I’m only going to sleep here.” He ushered her out of the room with a careless hand at the small of her back. “I’ll sand the living room floor today and maybe get a coat of sealer on it. Are you sure you’re happy with a bare floor?”
She nodded. “I think it will lo
ok good, and I can add rag rugs for warmth. I have a couple Aunt Johanna made that I packed away when she died.”
“Okay, then. Let’s check up on Joey.” He led the way outside.
Cat wondered how long she’d be able to keep up this front of casual acceptance. Twenty-four hours a day of knowing Jackson was only a few feet away had her stomach in a turmoil. Fervently hoping her nervousness would go away, she followed him out.
In the corral, Joey put Moonshot through her paces. The young mare performed well. She walked, trotted and cantered to Joey’s almost imperceptible commands. Joey worked her in a figure eight and Moonshot changed leads accurately. “She’s a natural athlete,” Cat said.
“Joey?”
“No… Well, I suppose she is, too, but I meant the filly. She’s much further along than I’d expected. That’s due to the extra attention Joey lavishes on her.”
“Uh-huh.”
Engrossed in watching Joey, Jackson seemed to have forgotten she stood beside him. An insidious thread of jealousy wormed its way through Cat. He’d never been that entranced with her.
“Is Moonshot for sale?” Jackson asked.
“That’s the plan, but Joey is so attached to her that it’s going to be tough to let go. I’ve tried to get her to spend equal time with Windjammer and Freedom, but although she’s perfectly willing to ride any of the horses for training, the only one she wants to ride for herself is Moonshot.”
“How much would you get for her?” Jackson settled his tall frame against the corral. His arms rested casually on the top rail as all his attention riveted on his daughter.
“She’s not purebred and she’ll never make a cow horse. Not big enough or strong enough. She might make a good barrel horse for a child. With Joey on her, she’s greased lightning, but she’s too small for a heavier rider.”
“What’s a woman who’s raising horses for a living doing with a scrub horse? Isn’t that a waste of your time?”
“We don’t always know how they’ll turn out. As a yearling, she looked pretty good, but she didn’t get as big as Dad thought she would. His excuse was that he never actually bought her. RugRat’s owner threw Moonshot in on the deal just to get rid of her or maybe as an added incentive for Dad to buy RugRat.”
“How much?”
Cat did some mental arithmetic. “Two thousand would be a fair price. She’s not full broke yet, though Joey has her eating out of her hand.”
“I want her,” Jackson stated firmly.
Cat laughed. “What would you do with a horse? Do you still ride? Even if you do, that little filly is too small for you. Better take a look at Windjammer. He’s the big white colt. Runs the show in the pasture.”
Jackson shook his head. “Not for me. I’ll give her to Joey as a birthday present.”
“Her birthday is not until February and I’m not about to sell her out from under Joey. You don’t need to worry about that.”
Jackson smiled, his gaze far away. “For the birthdays I missed and especially for her first one.”
“If you insist then, but I won’t take more than a thousand for her from you. And that’s my final word.”
“What a horse trader you are, Cat. Do you always skin your customers this badly?”
Cat nodded, but didn’t answer. Jackson’s aching need to make up for the years he’d missed filled her with remorse. She’d hurt her daughter and Jackson horribly. Could she ever make it up to them? Would they ever forgive her and could she forgive herself?
JACKSON GRAY IN a pair of tight blue jeans and minus anything at all above the waist was purely stunning, Cat thought. He’d discarded his shirt and the close-fitting jeans rode low around his lean hips as he trained Windjammer with a longe line in the corral. He was awkward, but strong. By the hesitant way he barked his commands, she could tell he was uneasy, which made it all the more remarkable that he agreed to take on the task.
He’d burned and peeled so many times since his return that his tan lacked any pretense of evenness. Across his shoulders the heavy muscles were darker, leaner than the lighter copper bands around his waist. Near his belt line, the flesh blended to a painful red fading to white as it dipped into his hips. The lack of symmetry emphasized careless strength.
Cat hadn’t wanted to allow Jackson to work with the colts at first, but it was soon obvious he intended to earn his keep. He reminded her that his father kept horses while he was growing up and made sure he and Cassidy could ride to friends’ homes so the distances between farms wouldn’t seem so far. Though lacking her father’s sure touch with a sulky colt, he handled the longe line well enough. He held a whip in his left hand to drive the colt, but he’d not bothered cracking it. Windjammer, eager to run, needed holding back, not urging.
Jackson’s deep voice constantly wheedled the colt. “Easy now, fellow. Easy. Slow down, Jammer. This sun is just going to get hotter. Trot, now. Trot.” Little by little, he gained confidence in himself and took control away from the white colt. He trotted Windjammer for a while, then let him canter until the horse’s chest showed a darker gray where sweat dampened the white hairs. He halted the colt, ran the short metal chain through the snaps on the opposite side of the halter, and turned the young horse around. He clucked once to start Windjammer in the other direction. The direction change was necessary to ensure equal development of the colt’s muscles, but she hadn’t told Jackson. There were a lot of things he remembered.
He let Jammer run for a moment, then checked him with a word. “Trot, kiddo. Trot. Easy now.” Within a few minutes, Windjammer acknowledged Jackson’s mastery, bowed to his will and took his orders as if he too, had joined the Marines. Cat envied Jackson the obvious strength he had in those impressive biceps.
There was RugRat to consider, too. She could barely control the colt, and had refused to let Joey ride him. Could Jackson handle the pugnacious stud colt? RugRat was half thoroughbred, half quarterhorse. He combined strength and speed. He also had the size to be a hunter.
Jackson learned quickly. If he could stay ahead of RugRat, it might be the saving of the farm. If anything could bring Joey and Jackson together, horses might be the ticket. This, she knew, motivated Jackson. Though he liked the horses, he didn’t have Joey’s passion for them. Cat reminded herself, yet again, that nothing about a farm truly interested Jackson.
Joey stood beside her, feigning disinterest, but so absorbed in watching Jackson that she didn’t even hear the truck pull into the yard. Cat glanced over her shoulder. Luke and Tommy Karl were dismounting from the pickup. Father and son strode side by side. Tommy Karl, a mirror image of his father’s corn-yellow hair and lean, self-assured confidence, picked up his pace so he was a little ahead of Luke. Some link between the boy and her daughter caused Joey to look up. She grinned in delight, her dimples and wide smile totally entrancing.
“Hey, Tommy Karl,” she said.
“Hey, yourself, Joey.”
“Hi, Luke.”
“Hello, Cat. How’s it going?”
“Fine. How’re you?”
Luke cast an irritated gaze toward Jackson and Windjammer. “Good enough. I see you’ve hired yourself a horse trainer. Is he any good?”
Joey piped up in a resentful voice, “He’s not a horse trainer. He’s Jackson and he’s staying with us.”
Luke raised an eyebrow. “Really?” He addressed the query to Cat.
Joey beat her mother’s reply with a sullen response. “He gets to sleep in the barn with the horses.”
Luke snickered. “Doesn’t sound very comfortable to me.”
“Bet they stink,” Tommy Karl agreed.
“Joey, don’t be a brat,” Cat admonished her wayward daughter.
Joey hung her head for a second before smiling mischievously at Tommy Karl. “Let’s go look for Freedom and Simba,” she suggested. “I saw them down by the trees this morning. Want to?”
Tommy looked at his dad. “Can I?”
Luke clearly didn’t want to agree to anything. His disgruntled a
ttitude spoke as plain as a shout, but he gave in. “Don’t be long. We have to get home.”
Both kids giggled. Joey smacked Tommy on the arm and took off running, yelling over her shoulder, “Tag. You’re it! Betcha can’t catch me.”
Tommy rolled his eyes at his father as if to say, “It isn’t my idea.” Then he took off after Joey, a broad grin on his face the minute he’d turned his back to Luke. Cat smiled. What a pair. Tommy Karl was so much like his father, it made her want to warn Joey what a stick he could turn into. Luke was a good friend, but far too serious. He really should try to lighten up once in a while.
The look on Luke’s face spoke volumes. He was about to lecture her. Cat glanced at Jackson. She knew what Luke intended to say to her. Her lot in life seemed to be to sit quietly while someone lectured her. It really was getting to be an old song. She’d give anything not to hear it sung again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LUKE LEANED CLOSE to her, his broad shoulder nearly touching hers, and lowered his voice. “Cat, I’ve always thought of you as practical and responsible, but it looks like you’ve gone off the deep end. I think you’re making a huge mistake. Why are you allowing Jackson to live here?”
Cat resisted the urge to turn aside Luke’s question. Being her good friend for many years earned him an answer, but how could she explain something she didn’t understand herself? “Sometimes you have to go with your feelings, even if it means following those feelings out on a limb. We’re good friends, you and I, and I’ve depended on your help a lot of times, but don’t mistake me,” she paused, hardening her tone. “What I do is not your business.” There now. Maybe he’d leave her alone.
Luke’s mouth twisted into a stern frown. “Of course it isn’t. I’m not trying to run your life. You’ve done a good job of that…up to now. Hard work and responsibility have made a home out of this run-down ranch. I don’t think your father would have made it out here, if you hadn’t shared the load. You were always the sensible one in the family, except for a couple of years in high school. That’s in the past, and I don’t intend to bring it up today, even if I had the right. What I do have is concern for you. If I’m your friend, then I need to warn you if I see you doing something that could be harmful.”
