Jackson: The McBrides of Texas

by Emily March

  “That’s what this trip is all about. We’re going to have to figure out a way to make it produce enough each year to at least cover the taxes. Great Aunt Mildred didn’t leave much in the way of liquid assets.”

  Tucker used the pad of his thumb to wipe away a bead of moisture slipping down his glass. “You’re saying we’re land-poor?”

  Boone shrugged. “I don’t think we’ll have that answer until we take a gander at what we’ve got. Y’all up for a campout?”

  “I thought we were staying here at the B and B,” Jackson said, his thoughts returning briefly to the runner he’d bumped into in the garden and the way she’d stirred the music inside him, be it ever so faintly.

  “Tonight, yes. I brought gear so we could stay in the canyon tomorrow night if y’all are up for that.”

  Tucker and Jackson shared a look, then nodded. Tucker said, “No sense in my getting accustomed to a bed at this point. It’d just make the real world that much harder.”

  “This isn’t the real world?” Boone asked.

  Tucker snorted. “I wish.” He paused a moment, then added, “I’m on board with camping tomorrow night as long as we get German food tonight. I’ve had my mouth set on schnitzel since I woke up this morning.”

  “Camping works for me,” Jackson said. “So does German for dinner. And breakfast. I’m counting on pastries in the morning.”

  “You two still think about your stomachs above everything else, don’t you?”

  Out of the corner of his eyes, Jackson spotted movement in the garden. He turned his head to see the runner returning and, once again, the faintest thread of melody drifted through his mind.

  See that girl.

  “Not everything else, Boone,” he corrected.

  His cousins’ smirks conveyed their belief that he referred to another organ, but that wasn’t it at all. After the hell his ex-wife had dragged him through for more than four years, sex was way down Jackson’s list. Way down. Intellectually, he knew it was stupid to paint all women as black-souled witches just because the one to whom he’d given his heart had clawed it from his chest and stomped it into a gooey pulp beneath her stilettos, but his big head wasn’t driving this particular bus. His little one simply wasn’t much interested these days.

  Who knew, maybe someday his libido would return, and he’d jump back into the hook-up scene he’d quickly tired of following the death of his marriage. Right now he didn’t really care one way or another.

  But as his gaze locked on the crepe myrtle hedge behind which the runner had disappeared, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, another vital part of him still had a spark of life left, after all. What if he could get his music back?

  Hell, he just might survive the next six months, after all.

  Chapter Three

  Caroline ran until she was drained. Returning to the B&B, she showered, then dressed in a simple navy sheath for her dinner meeting with members of the Redemption Chamber of Commerce. She looped the gold locket that had been her sixth-anniversary gift from Robert around her neck, slipped her feet into a pair of navy slingback pumps, grabbed her purse and a sweater in case the restaurant air-conditioning was set to arctic, and headed downstairs where she was scheduled to meet the Chamber president in—she checked her watch—two minutes.

  Punctuality was important to Caroline. She thrived on order and organization. All the food in her freezer was marked with labels and dates. On any given day, her closets looked good enough to be featured in a Southern Living magazine photo shoot, and everything in her kitchen junk drawer had a place of its own.

  That aspect of her personality didn’t serve her well in the chaos that had become her life.

  Well, she’d taken steps there, hadn’t she? For the past four months since moving Robert to Easterwood, she didn’t wake up to find shoes in the toilet or broken glass all over the kitchen floor. Her home was clean and neat and … like living in hell.

  In that moment, Caroline hated herself more than her sister-in-law ever could.

  Halfway down the stairs, she spied the Chamber president, whom she recognized from the photo on the town’s website waiting in the lobby. Maisy Baldwin’s short blonde hair framed pixyish features and big blue eyes. She wore a cream-colored blouse with romantic, flowing sleeves, black slacks, and simple black flats. Stylishly professional, Caroline thought. I’d better up my game.

  She paused and took a moment to trap her raging emotions inside a casing of ice. It was the only way she’d managed to get through her days since Robert’s diagnosis. Continuing down the stairs, she smiled as she extended her hand and approached her visitor. “Ms. Baldwin?”

  “Call me Maisy, please.” Maisy Baldwin offered Caroline a bright, friendly smile.

  “I’m Caroline.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Caroline. It’s so nice of you to step in and save the day. Celeste Blessing spoke so highly of you when she called to explain the situation.”

  “I’m glad I could help.”

  “I’m a fan of your work,” Maisy continued. “I’ll admit to googling you after Celeste called. That article you wrote for Texas Monthly about the ghosts in the Baker Hotel in Mineral Wells gave me goose bumps as I read it. You’re a fabulous writer. I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you’ll be writing this piece about Redemption.”

  “Thank you. I’m looking forward to learning about your city. I’m embarrassed to admit that this is my first visit to Redemption—and I live less than three hours away.”

  “We are definitely off the beaten path, and to be perfectly honest, that’s been part of the attraction for many of us who live here. However, Austin and San Antonio have been growing in our direction, so we’re not quite as isolated as we used to be. Our population has decided to embrace the change and hopefully guide it along in order to ease the inevitable growing pains.”

  “That’s a smart approach.”

  The light in Maisy Baldwin’s eyes turned impish. “Like my grandma says, progress is gonna progress. Might as well try to throw a collar around it and hook up a lead. Now, I hope you’ve brought your appetite with you to town. The chef at Otto’s has a treat planned for us tonight.”

  “Fabulous,” Caroline said. “I’ve been looking forward to this meal all afternoon.”

  It wasn’t a total lie. Once upon a time, she and Robert had been real foodies, but as his memory faded, so too did her appetite. She’d lost twenty pounds she didn’t need to lose in the past three years. Six months ago, she’d started making a real effort to eat properly and she’d put five pounds back on, which made her doctor happy.

  “The restaurant is a block and a half away. If you don’t mind the walk, I’ll take the opportunity to point out a few points of interest along the way.”

  “I’d love to walk.”

  Maisy Baldwin proved to be an excellent and engaging tour guide. They detoured into the Pioneer Museum and loitered over an exhibit of nineteenth-century textiles. Soon Caroline was making notes. By the time they joined three more members of the Chamber, her mood had improved. Distraction was excellent medicine to treat the blues.

  Even before she’d needed an escape, work had always provided one for her. She loved the research and the writing process. She loved words. Robert had often teased her about her obsession with perfect, nuanced word choice.

  The Chamber president introduced Caroline to the mayor, a gift shop owner, the manager of one of the wineries in the area, and the president of the local historical society, Henry Bittner. Dinner was delicious farm-to-table German cuisine and the first meal Caroline truly enjoyed in a long time. This being her wedding anniversary, she considered that a victory.

  Following dessert—a flourless chocolate torte called Schokoriegel—and coffee, the historian suggested they adjourn to the back patio to enjoy a nightcap. “The thunderstorm is going to stay north of us, but it’s putting on quite an entertaining light show.”

  Caroline perked up at the news. The less time she spent alone in her
room tonight, the better. “That’s a lovely idea.”

  Chairs squeaked against the wood floor as the diners rose from their seats and followed Henry toward the door leading to the patio at the back of the restaurant. Passing the hallway that led to the restrooms, Caroline touched the Chamber president’s arm to gain her attention. “I’ll join you in few minutes.”

  “We’ll order for you. A brandy? Something else?”

  “Brandy sounds nice. Thank you.”

  When she stepped onto the patio a few minutes later, she paused to give her eyes time to adjust to the deepening shadows. A burst of male laughter attracted her attention. She turned toward the sound and locked gazes with the man from the guesthouse garden.

  The intensity of his look unsettled her.

  He sat at a table with two other men. Brothers? Maybe. They shared a definite resemblance. The same dark hair, prominent cheekbones, and thin noses. One wore a solid white sports shirt, the second wore a plaid one. Garden Guy was dressed in a forest green chambray work shirt that complimented his dark green eyes.

  “Caroline! We’re over here.”

  She tore her gaze away from the stranger and focused on Maisy, who waved at her from the benches placed in a U around a fire pit in one corner of patio. Walking toward her party, Caroline tangibly felt the weight of the stranger’s gaze and reacted instinctively by draping her sweater over her shoulders. Why in the world did she feel like she needed an extra layer of … what? Protection? She sensed no threat from the man.

  But the way he looked at her shook her. It was as if he were trying to see down into her soul.

  Maisy scooted over on the bench to make room for Caroline, and they all looped her into the current conversation, a discussion about repeated requests for a local stargazing tour to take advantage of the area’s dark sky. Caroline withdrew a small leather notebook from her purse and made a note to contact a friend of hers, an astronomy professor at the University of Texas who might be able to help with the project. As she set down her pen, the mayor said, “Oh, there’s the new owner of Enchanted Canyon, Boone McBride. Looks like he’s just finished dinner. That gives me an idea. Caroline, you need to know about Ruin as background for your article.”

  “Ruin?”

  “It’s our local ghost town.” Maisy lifted both a hand and her voice and called, “Mr. McBride!”

  Three men turned their heads toward the sound—the man from the garden and his companions. The man in white smiled in recognition toward Maisy, and Caroline surmised that he was Boone McBride. Garden Guy skimmed his gaze over the Chamber president before settling on Caroline. His lips quirked up in a grin. The third man returned his attention to his wallet. He placed a stack of cash into a leather folio and left it on the table before following the two men headed their way.

  Maisy beamed up at the man in white. “So you decided to take my restaurant recommendation I see. I hope you enjoyed it.”

  “That was some of the best German food I’ve ever had,” Boone McBride responded. He then introduced his companions.

  Not brothers, Caroline learned, but cousins. They were shared owners of the place called Enchanted Canyon, and Garden Guy’s name was Jackson McBride.

  “We’re having an after-dinner drink and sharing the skinny about Redemption with Caroline because she’s writing an article about the town for a national innkeeper industry publication,” Maisy continued. “Would you care to join us?”

  Boone McBride said, “Thanks, but—”

  “Sure,” Jackson interrupted. “We’d love to.”

  Even as his cousins shot him a look of surprise, he took a seat on the bench beside Caroline and quietly asked, “How was your run?”

  His gaze was once again intense, and she felt the warmth of a blush stain her cheeks. “Nice. Very nice.”

  Jackson’s cousins pulled up chairs as Maisy signaled the waiter. All three men ordered a beer. Jackson never took his gaze off Caroline. “You’re a travel writer? Is it your full-time gig? I’ve always thought that sounded like a dream job. So, do you travel all over the world doing research?”

  “No, not at all. I rarely leave south Texas for work trips. I freelance and write about Texas almost exclusively, usually for the Texas Travel Industry Association.”

  “I told her she really should see Ruin,” Maisy said to Boone. “That and the Last Chance are spectacular pieces of this area’s history.”

  “What’s the Last Chance?” Jackson asked.

  Maisy nodded toward the historian, who explained, “The Last Chance Saloon sits at the halfway mark between Redemption and Ruin. The brothel next door went by many names through the years.”

  “A brothel?” Tucker repeated.

  “And a saloon,” Maisy said with a grin as she lifted her glass in a cheerful toast. “Redemption’s settlers made sure that succumbing to temptation took real effort.”

  The historian relayed a story about a stagecoach robbery that led into a discussion about some of the villains of Ruin. The mayor, the winery manager, and the retailer finished their drinks and took their leave. The historian rose to follow them a few minutes later. “We have a collection of letters in our files from a traveling minister who preached at Ruin that you might be interested in,” Henry Bittner said. “Let me know if any of you would like to read them.”

  “We’ll do that,” Tucker said, answering for all three of the McBrides.

  “I have your card, Henry,” Caroline said. “I don’t have time this trip, but I’ll be sure to give you a call before my next. They sound fascinating.”

  In the wake of the historian’s departure, Boone said, “Now I’m even more anxious than before to see Enchanted Canyon. We’re headed out there to explore tomorrow. Planning to camp overnight.”

  “Oh yeah?” Maisy perked up. “There’s a great camping spot just a little beyond Last Chance. I swear it’s gotta be one of the best swimming holes in Texas. It’s on a spring that flows into the river, just beyond a bend that—” She broke off. “It’ll be easier if I draw you a map. Caroline, may I use a piece of paper from your notebook?”

  “Of course.”

  Caroline flipped to a blank page, tore it out, and handed it and her pen to Maisy who sketched as she spoke. “The Last Chance is still in pretty good shape. Or at least it was the last time I was out there, which was probably seven or eight years ago. Mildred McBride and my grandmother were great friends. When I was growing up she hosted picnics and campouts with my family in the canyon. My brothers and I played hide-and-seek in the buildings at Ruin until our mom put a stop to it after we stumbled across a rattlesnake nest.”

  Caroline winced. “I hate snakes.”

  “Me too. That’s why I wear snake boots whenever I’m out and about in the boonies.” Maisy scooted her map toward Boone and used the pen to point out landmarks. “I’m not much of a cartographer, but this is the river, this is the saloon, and this is the campsite I recommend.”

  Boone frowned at the page. Jackson glanced at it, then over to Maisy before he suggested, “You should come out tomorrow and be our tour guide. Caroline might be able to use the ghost town in her article.”

  The notion of an outlaw hideout and the Last Chance on the road to Redemption stirred Caroline’s imagination. With material like that, this travel article would all but write itself. She really wanted to see it except … “I don’t have snake boots.”

  Maisy waved away the suggestion. “I have an extra pair that should fit you. That’s a great idea. I have an appointment set up for us in the morning and we have a lunch date. We could drive out after that. Meet at the Last Chance. Say around two? Would that work?”

  “Sure,” Boone said. “Sounds good.”

  Caroline slipped her pen back into its customary slot in her notebook. Glancing up, she noted that Jackson’s gaze was focused on her left hand. Reflexively, she wiggled her fingers. The diamonds on her wedding set sparkled in the firelight.

  Jackson’s whiskey voice said, “Feel free to bring your
husband along.”

  The pain was swift and sharp. If only I could. “He’s not with me this weekend. He’s at ho—” She cut off the word, tucked away her notebook into her purse, then finished. “He’s in Austin.”

  When Caroline lifted her gaze to meet Jackson McBride’s, the tender concern in his eyes all but took her breath away. “You love him,” he said, his tone soft and gentle.

  “I do. Very much.”

  He briefly touched her hand. “I love a girl who I can’t be with right now. Being apart from her rips my guts out.”

  Caroline offered Jackson McBride a trembling smile. He understands. For the first time in a very long time she didn’t feel totally alone.

  * * *

  “So what was that all about?” Tucker demanded as they exited the restaurant headed for the guesthouse. “Why were you hitting on a married woman?”

  Jackson scowled at Tucker. “I wasn’t hitting on her.”

  Boone scoffed. “Well you were damn sure doing something. I haven’t seen you that interested in a woman since you first introduced us to Sharon.”

  Tucker nodded. “I have to agree with Boone. You were hitting on pretty Ms. Caroline.”

  “No. I. Wasn’t. Look, I ran into her—literally—in the garden at the guesthouse earlier. It would have been rude to ignore her tonight.”

  Boone said, “That’s never bothered you before. Not in the past four years, anyway. I’ve seen you turn on the arctic winter on more instances than I can count, and I only see you a handful of times every year.”

  “Lay off.” Jackson picked up his pace and walked half a dozen steps in front of his cousins. He didn’t have to explain himself to them. Hell, he couldn’t explain himself to himself.

  It was true that he had a head case where women were concerned, but after what he’d been through, who could blame him? His ex, her lawyers, his lawyers, even the damn judge all had been women. Gave him nothing but trouble. The only girl he wanted to have anything to do with was Haley, and look how that had turned out.