He shook his head. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You are no good at negotiating, Cricket Jasper, particularly as I know you have a thing for my son. However, you’ll never catch him if you’re planning on wrapping yourself in drapes like Scarlett O’Hara, my girl. No, to catch Jack, you’ll have to be willing to lay body and soul on the line. He’s not exactly the curtains type, more like cots and coyotes, if you get my drift.”
Cricket did, indeed, get Josiah’s drift, and considered herself well warned.
Chapter 2
Jack hesitated outside his father’s door, realizing he was the topic of conversation between the pretty deacon and his father. He heard his father sneakily trying to get Cricket to romance him; he heard Cricket backing away from the idea and offering up her services as Martha Stewart instead. Part of Jack wanted to snicker at his father’s failed attempt at matchmaking, the other part of him was seriously annoyed Pop couldn’t just give the whole family-expansion thing a rest. But that was typical of the old man. He couldn’t be happy knowing he had a chance to get well. It had to be the family and kids and happily-ever-after for Pop—as if Jack and his brother’s had ever had that for one single day in their lives.
Thankfully, the good deacon was too angelic for Jack—and too crafty for Pop. Still, it shocked him that Pop thought the deacon had the hots for him. Then again, Pop was entitled to a delusion or two.
“Josiah, I’ll play cards with you, but only if you quit sipping out of that bottle,” Jack heard Cricket say. “Because if you don’t quit, you’ll be too relaxed to tell Jack that you don’t want his silly old kidney.”
Jack leaned close to the door, amused by Cricket’s coddling.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Josiah said.
“And the liquor will skew the blood tests,” Cricket said practically. “It will mess up your medication, and the next thing you know, you’ll be at Jack’s mercy.”
“You have a point.” There was silence for a long while. “I do not want to be at anyone’s mercy.”
“Of course you don’t. Who does?”
“Not me, durn it. Toss this bottle into your purse and take it home to the ranch for me, would you? Store it in my liquor cabinet.”
“I will. It’ll be waiting safe and sound for your return.”
“And when will that be? C’mon, Deacon, I want you to spring me from this place.”
“Aren’t you happy here? You seem to be getting plenty of attention from the ladies,” Cricket said, her tone soothing.
“My heart is already taken,” Josiah said. “Anyway, I was hunting for a girl for Jack.”
“When I saw him ride in January, there was a rumor going around that your son has all the female attention he wants,” Cricket said. “Let’s just focus on you.”
“Was he any good at rodeo?” Josiah asked. “I’ve never seen him ride.”
“He was average,” Cricket said.
Jack straightened. Average! That day he’d placed first with his highest score, the best ride he’d ever had.
“Oh,” Josiah said. “I was kind of hoping he was good at the one thing he’s chased all his life.”
“Well,” Cricket said, “some men are late bloomers.”
Jack blinked. The woman was crazy! She didn’t know what she was talking about. He hadn’t been a late bloomer at anything.
“Later on, Jack mentioned he was considering giving up rodeo,” Cricket said, her tone serene. “Let me see...what did he say he was going to do?” Jack strained, listening to the deacon spin her incredible yarn.
“Oh,” Cricket said, “I remember. He said he’d decided to go into ranching. And do a little math tutoring at the high school. Did you know he got a college degree by correspondence course?”
“He did?” Josiah demanded.
I did? Jack mouthed.
“Yes,” Cricket said. “From what I could tell, he’s very smart and a huge believer in education.”
“That makes me very happy,” Josiah said. “I wish I’d known all this so that I could have told him how proud I am when he was visiting me. I didn’t have a chance,” he said sadly. “We always seem to get into a fight right off the bat.”
“Oh,” Cricket said, “Fathers and eldest sons do that.”
“They do?” Josiah said.
“Sure. And eldest daughters sometimes scrabble with their mothers. I argued a time or two with mine. And my brother.” Jack heard cards being shuffled. “Anyway, you can tell him how proud you are tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Josiah said, sounding happy. “I can. And you know, if he really wants to go into ranching, his brothers have started a new breeding business between them. They’d probably really appreciate the help. Heavens knows I’ve got the land. In fact,” he said, lowering his voice so that Jack had to really bend an ear to hear, “it’s time for me to rewrite my will.”
“Oh, dear,” Cricket said, “let’s play Twenty-one and not think about wills, Josiah.”
“Are preachers supposed to know how to play cards?” Josiah demanded.
“It’s either this or dice. Pick your poison, sir.” Jack heard the sound of cards being slapped down on a table.
“I’m going to have to divide up the ranch, you know,” Josiah said. “Last month I realized I was going to have to leave Jack out. But maybe I’ve just misunderstood him.”
“Most likely,” Cricket said.
Jack frowned. Why was the deacon cozying up to his father on his behalf? She wasn’t very honest for a cleric—she was a pretty face who told outrageous fibs. Too bad she was such a storytelling wench; she’d almost had him believing all that sweetness she was peddling. Almost. But now he knew Cricket was a woman who would say anything to get what she wanted.
He wasn’t sure what Cricket wanted, but he’d know soon enough. Everybody had a price. Except him, of course.
She came out the door suddenly and squashed his toe on purpose. “That’s what you get for eavesdropping,” she whispered. “You’re going to have to think fast to keep up with your old man, cowboy. Let’s see if you can do that, okay?”
Then she popped him on the arm like he was no more than a baseball-playing buddy, tossed her enormous handbag over her shoulder—Pop could have fit a case of whiskey in that thing—and headed off, looking remarkably like a tall, but still cute Audrey Hepburn.
Jack stared after her. That was one pain-in-the-well-worn-butt woman. And unfortunately, she had the asset Jack most appreciated on a female—a very sassy derriere.
Somehow that was even more annoying.
* * *
Josiah left the hospital that night. Jack wasn’t really surprised when he got the call. He would have done the same. Jack figured if anybody was like him, it was the old man. Pop wasn’t going to be a burden, and like his sons, he knew how to hit the escape hatch.
It was up to him to fetch his father. This wouldn’t be the easiest thing in the world because Pop didn’t want his life extended by taking something from Jack. Pop would consider this gesture sacrilegious, wasteful and downright wrong.
He couldn’t blame his father. Since they hadn’t spoken in over ten years, Josiah had every right to his feelings. It was bad luck that only Jack was the perfect donor match, which he’d found out after being tested—something he did only after Laura, Gabe’s nurse wife, left a message for him at a local rodeo that they were running out of options with Pop. It had been a warning, not a solicitation for help. Still, Jack had felt a curiosity and an obligation to find out if he was an eligible donor. Quietly, he’d had the testing done—and bad luck as always, the prodigal son was the “perfect” match. It was the only time in his life he could remember someone using the word perfect to describe something about him.
He was going to have to go find Pop, somehow reel him in to the hospital. Cricket had been right—he was going to have to think hard to kee
p up with the old man. Pop was sharp from years of business dealings—he was focused, determined and ornery. Fortunately, Jack knew something about determination.
He’d find him. Somehow, he’d drag him back.
* * *
Cricket went to the Morgan ranch, pulling into the driveway in her old Volkswagen that had served her well for many years. The sight of the ranch and the large house that graced the property, out in the middle of nowhere, never failed to take her breath away. She parked, shut off her car, grabbed her tape measure and notepad. A promise was a promise. If Josiah Morgan was going to be on a first-name basis with the angels—unless he accepted his son’s kidney, and if the operation and match was a success—she was determined he would come home to a pleasant-looking house.
No one answered her knock at the front door. Cricket decided she could call either Laura, Suzy or Priscilla and ask them to come let her in...or perhaps she could find an open door. If one of the Morgan men were here today working somewhere on the ranch, it was possible they’d left a door unlocked. They wouldn’t mind her slipping in to measure, particularly as she’d mentioned her plans to Josiah.
She turned the knob.
Sure enough, it was unlocked. That meant one of the Morgans was nearby, so she carefully slid the door open and called, “Hello! It’s Cricket Jasper!”
She waited for a “Hello, Deacon!” or something to that effect, but no one answered. Closing the door behind her, she walked into the hallway. “Hello! Gabe? Dane? Pete?”
All the brothers had moved into houses with their brides, leaving the ranch house to Josiah. Pete was the most recent to move, needing private space for his four new babies and wife. He and Priscilla had bought a house only a few miles down the road once the adoption was final, and Cricket was pretty certain Josiah had been crushed by the departure of the babies. “Anybody home?” she called.
Jack appeared in the hall like a ghost. “Hey, Cricket.”
He startled her into the fastest heartbeat she’d ever experienced. “You scared me, Jack!”
He grinned at her. “I can’t exactly claim that I’m home, to answer your question. But I’m here.” He looked around, his gaze returning to the flat stare he almost always wore.
“So what are you doing here?” Cricket demanded, her heartbeat still jumping around.
“What are you doing here?”
“Measuring for drapes.” Cricket slid past Jack, keeping an eye on him. After Josiah’s warning about his son, Cricket had decided her unhealthy crush was something she needed to put away. The man was sexy, but as a deacon she had no business mooning after a hunk who had not one good side but two bad. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just measure, draw some sketches and go.”
He caught her arm as she went by. Cricket jumped, snatched her arm back.
“Hey,” he said, “I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.”
“No,” Cricket said. “We’re fine. Let’s not trouble ourselves about anything except getting your father well.”
Jack looked at her, his gaze direct, sending a shiver over her. “I heard you telling a bunch of fibs to my father last night.”
She shrugged, clearly not remorseful. “So? Is it wrong to want him to be happy? Is it sinful to put him in a happy frame of mind before he has major surgery?”
He eyed her. “A fibbing deacon.”
She raised her chin. “Never you mind what’s between me and the Lord, cowboy.”
He grinned. “Your conscience is your own, my lady.”
“Good.” She started to turn away, but there was that hand again, holding her too close to him. She wished she didn’t feel an unsettling sizzle everywhere he touched her. This time, she stood firm, refusing to allow him to unsettle her.
“And while we’re examining your unusual conscience,” Jack said. “You wouldn’t help my father escape, would you, Deacon?”
Chapter 3
“What are you talking about?” Cricket demanded. “Escape what?”
“Pop left the hospital in the night. Checked himself out.”
Cricket seemed to consider his words, doubting him. She finally said, “He was fine when I was visiting.”
Jack shrugged. “Guess he changed his mind. Now I need to find him.”
“Is he here?” Cricket’s voice contained a dose of worry.
“No. Too obvious, though I was hoping he’d make it easy on me to take him back to the hospital.”
Cricket held her notepad close to her chest. Perhaps she was afraid he might take a bite out of her, a very tempting thought—but he was no Big Bad Wolf, contrary to his father’s opinion.
“If he doesn’t want to go back, you can’t make him.”
Jack smiled. “Maybe you could give me your best thoughts on where he might be. My brothers haven’t seen him, their wives haven’t seen him. The logical conclusion was that he’d had a yen to see the grandchildren. Then we figured he might be here. No luck.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry I can’t help.”
Thunder clapped outside and a slice of lightning cracked near the house.
“My word,” Cricket said, “that sounded close! If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my measurements and let you get on with your search. I hope you find him, I really do.”
Jack let her go. She didn’t know where Pop was. Nobody had the faintest idea; no one even knew where all the properties he owned were. He could be anywhere in the United States. Pete had mentioned that he thought Pop had sold the knight’s templary in France, but Jack supposed Pop could just as well have left the country. “He is the most difficult man on the planet,” he muttered, along with a well-chosen expletive or three.
“Did you say something?” Cricket asked, madly scribbling numbers on her notepad.
“Nothing fit for the ears of present company.”
She turned back to what she was doing. “I can’t blame him, you know.”
“Blame him about what?”
“He didn’t want your kidney. He didn’t want anything from you at all. I polished your résumé, tried to make it seem like you were the kind of son who—”
“I heard the polishing.” Jack threw himself into his father’s recliner. “Pop didn’t believe any of that crap.”
Cricket sniffed, went back to ignoring him.
“Where’d you stay last night?”
“With Pete and Priscilla and the four babies.”
He watched her stretch to measure the length of the current rod, admiring her lean body as she moved. “Full house?”
“Yes,” Cricket said. “I love being there. They can use the extra pair of hands, and I enjoy the fun.” She stopped to look at him. “Have you even seen any of your nieces and nephews?”
“Deacon, look,” Jack said, “I haven’t seen my brothers or my father in years. Why on earth would I have seen their offspring, which, by the way, only became part of the family in the past few months?”
She stared at him. “Some people like to make up for lost time.”
Her words needled him. She knew nothing about his family, knew nothing about him. He really didn’t feel like he needed judgment from someone who was supposed to be fairly nonjudgmental.
“Nothing short of a wedding will bring your father back here,” Cricket said, and Jack blinked.
“You don’t have any children?” he asked.
“I most certainly do not.” She bent down to examine the bottom of the windowsill and he didn’t bother to avert his gaze from taking in a scrumptious eyeful of forbidden booty. “Anyway, what matters is whether you have any children. Your father lives for family.”
“Jeez, don’t rub it in.” Darn Pop for being so difficult. He was almost tired of being lectured by Cricket, yet the instrument of his conscience-picking was at least attractive. Rain suddenly slashed the windows, and Jack noted the room had gotten d
arker. “When you plan for drapes, maybe something heavy enough to keep out the cold in winter and the heat in summer would be nice,” he said, watching the rain run in rivulets down the wall of windows. “No sheer lacy things that just look pretty and serve little purpose.”
“Oh?” Cricket straightened, much to his disappointment. “Planning on living here?”
“I don’t think so,” he said softly. “I haven’t stayed in the same place for more than three nights in many, many years. That’s not likely to ever change for me.”
She looked at him, her gaze widening. It seemed to Jack that she reconsidered whatever she was about to say. Then she put away her things, allowing them to be swallowed by the enormous gypsy bag she carried, and said, “I’ll be going now. It was good to see you again.”
He laughed. “You are a gifted fibber.”
“Just because I have good manners does not make me a liar.”
“Whatever.”
“I’ll see myself to the front door.”
He nodded amiably. “You do that.”
She slipped past him, her carriage straight as a schoolteacher’s. Because she was tall and lean, she moved gracefully, a sight he’d probably always enjoy watching. He really liked the way her dark hair fell around her shoulders, lustrous and probably softer than...hell, he didn’t know what would be as soft as that woman’s hair must be. It just looked silky, and it probably smelled good, too.
This train of thought was taking him nowhere fast. He was behaving like an ass to Cricket, and Pop’s disappearance wasn’t her fault. Jack got up and followed her to the door, where she stood staring out at the rain-whipped blackness.
“You probably don’t have a raincoat in that suitcase-sized purse of yours.”
Claiming the Texan's Heart Page 21
