“Please just go,” Shelby said.
“Not until you promise me we’ll talk.”
“Listen, Dean.” Jackson stepped in with his calming, cooling influence. “Why don’t you head on over to Cora’s booth and have some chili—”
“I don’t serve assholes who grab women,” Cora said, her arms crossed over her chest.
Jackson swore under his breath. “All right. There are four other chilis to try.”
“We’re live in five seconds!” Vanessa cried.
Jackson reached out and tried to back Dean away, but the man was digging in his heels, all the asshole nature Jackson had guessed at suddenly on full display.
“You had plenty to say last week,” Dean hissed at Shelby, the crowd behind them suddenly funeral quiet. You could hear a pin drop; Dean’s words echoed through the square.
“Dean, don’t,” Shelby whispered.
“Four!” Vanessa cried. “Three!”
“Honest to God, Dean, leave,” Jackson warned him, wrapping his hand in the guy’s shirt. Dean strained against him. Jackson shoved him, trying to get him out of the shot, but Dean was a rabid badger going after Shelby.
“Why don’t you tell them all what you said—” Dean cried.
“Two, and …” Vanessa groaned as the red light bloomed to life on the camera. “We’re live.”
“While I was fucking you like an animal. While you were sucking my dick.”
The crowd was so silent, Shelby’s sob sounded like a woman being torn in half.
Jackson punched Dean.
Hard as he could, right across the face.
That’s what a better man would do.
Dean staggered back, the crowd parting around him.
“Ah!” Jackson cried, shaking out his screaming hand. “God, that hurts.”
“What the hell?” Dean whispered, touching the blood trickling from his nose, before falling back on his ass.
“I should have done that a long time ago,” Jackson said. And then, realizing the camera was still rolling, he turned to face it.
Oh. Shit.
Monica followed suit, and so did Cora—everyone pasting wide smiles over their shocked faces. Except for Shelby, who ducked quietly out of the picture.
“Vote Bishop,” Jackson said.
Monica snorted with laughter. Cora’s shoulders started to shake. Jackson tried to hold onto his mayoral cool, but he couldn’t, and he started laughing too.
“And we’re out,” Vanessa said, and the camera turned off.
Chapter 26
“I don’t care how America votes,” Dean groaned, blood dripping down his chin onto his shirt. “You’ll never get this factory.”
“I don’t care.” Jackson stepped over the guy’s legs. “Someone take this trash out.”
Sean came forward, as well as some other guys from the bar, and grabbed Dean by the armpits. Dean struggled. “Don’t touch me!” He shook the hands loose and started walking away, but Sean followed.
“That was pretty awesome television,” Vanessa said.
“We lost the contest.”
“Undoubtedly.” Vanessa started to pack up the cameras.
Jackson sighed. He didn’t regret it, not for a minute, but the consequences sucked.
The entire town was staring at him. Shocked, some of them angry.
I can’t be what you expect anymore, he thought. I have to move on with my life.
“I’m sorry,” he said, but people had already turned away from him to watch the drama of Sean kicking Dean out of town.
He felt Monica come to stand beside him and he wanted to grab her, lean against her, glean a little of her fiery strength. As it was, he felt better just having her there, a foot away, her purple eyes gazing up at him with equal parts laughter and worry.
“Boy, you weren’t kidding, you really don’t care about this contest anymore,” Monica joked.
“Bastard,” Jackson said, feeling the anger ripple up all over again. He hoped Sean was literally kicking that man out of town. “I can’t believe I brought that asshole here—”
“Hey,” she said, her hand slowly covering his fist. He winced when she touched the knuckles. “Oh, sorry,” she sighed.
“Something’s probably broken,” he said; his knuckles were already swelling. “He has a face like a rock.”
“You’re quite a hero,” she whispered.
He looked around him at the town, gathered, their hopes so high only to be crushed. He had to make the decision about the fire chief, the library. The schools would be next. Blowing it looked exactly like this.
“How can you say that? I ruined everything.”
“Some things can’t be fixed.”
He turned away from the people he’d disappointed and stared down at her, the most perfectly imperfect thing to ever grace his life. “Some things don’t need to be.” He stroked her face with his unbroken hand. “I should have punched him in the face the second he started talking about your underwear.”
“My underwear? Please, plenty of men talk about my under—”
“Stop.” His thumb touched her lip. “I know you’re making a joke. I know that’s how you deal with things, just like I deal with things by trying to keep everything under control. But I love you. And I won’t listen to anyone talk about the woman I love that way.”
The distance between them thrummed and throbbed, and he grew uncomfortable with her assessing silence. In the movies, this was the part where Monica would throw herself into his arms. But Monica was never very predictable.
“You used me.”
He nodded, knowing that was true. But determined that having come this far, he could still convince her. It might take some time—like twenty years—but the Wild Child would be his.
Someone shouted, and the knot of people around Sean and Dean shifted.
“I have to make sure they’re not killing him,” he told her.
“I’m going to check on Shelby.”
“We’ll talk later?” While he was painfully aware that she hadn’t returned his love, it didn’t stop him from loving her, and he realized standing there that he loved her despite how she felt. He was now the one courting disaster. It was a terrifying, heady feeling.
“We’ll talk later,” she agreed. And it had to be enough.
For now.
Chapter 27
Cora’s was full. Sean had brought over a cooler of beer and was handing out icy bottles. Cora was giving away pie, and the mood in the room swung from dejected to defiant and back again.
Shelby’s absence was conspicuous. Monica had followed her friend to the Art Barn, only to find her sitting, calm and dry-eyed, at her desk, staring at the wall of pictures kids had created for her over the years.
“Who is going to send their kids to me?” she’d asked.
“No one will believe what that asshole said,” Monica had assured her.
“Even if it was the truth?” Shelby asked, one eyebrow raised.
“You’ll see, Shelby. Your reputation cannot be tarnished.”
Shelby had declined Monica’s invitation to come back into town to this informal meeting. And Monica had finally left Shelby alone after getting her promise that she wouldn’t do anything drastic.
“Tourism is through the roof,” Sean said from his spot at the counter. “I mean, poker night was full this weekend. And the mayor knocking down that asshole on live TV is going to bring us a few more people coming to see the sights.”
“To the mayor knocking down that asshole,” Monica said, lifting her coffee cup in a toast.
People smiled, but no one joined her.
“Look.” Jackson took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was nothing like a loved one’s pain. She would take it all if she could. Even though he’d dished out his fair share. “We’ve got some hard decisions ahead of us. Without the factory, we’re going … we’re going to have to either close the library …”
People gasped.
“Or retire the fi
re chief.”
More gasps.
“What if we sell the house?” Gwen asked from the stool she was sharing with Jay. “And donate the money to the town.”
Jackson smiled at his sister with so much love in his eyes, Monica had to look away or start crying.
“That’s generous, Gwen,” Brian Andersen, the city treasurer and, as Jackson called him, the real salvation of Bishop, spoke up. “But it’s not what we really need to do.”
Before anyone could ask what they really needed to do, the bell over the door rang and Simone walked in and then stopped, as if surprised to see all the people.
Monica stood up. “What are you doing here?” she asked, unable to work up any heat behind the words, just surprise. She was still in the lovely dress from before, and Charles was with her.
“I … I watched the show,” she said, looking at Jackson. “You have a fine right hook.”
Jackson lifted his coffee cup, an ice pack wrapped to his knuckles.
“I understand that the factory will go to that town in Alaska,” Simone continued, “which leaves this town in a bit of a bind.”
“You need a factory?” Sean asked. “We’ll sell it cheap.”
“No, but I had planned to stop filming my reality show, What Simone Wants. But Charles, here, had a fabulous idea for one more season. Just one.” Simone glanced toward Monica, as if gauging her reaction. “What if I returned to my hometown, to Bishop?”
The room perked up. Monica felt her heartbeat in her ears. Her mother was doing this for her. It was a gift she didn’t know how to accept.
“We would, of course, pay your ridiculous permit fees, but we would actually have to tape in the town.”
“You can tape here,” Cora said.
“My place, too,” Sean agreed.
Other people nodded along.
“Parts of it will be awful,” Simone said. “I mean … I will be awful, to most of you. For whatever reason, the world likes that. But I think between the increased tourism, the small amount of industry the show brings with crew and staff, and of course, your permit fees, the town could make a bit of money.”
Jackson and Brian shared a look and, as if in answer, Jackson held out his hand to Brian, indicating the decision was his.
“We’ll need to discuss the details,” Brian said, sounding very mayoral.
“Of course,” Simone said. “That is what lawyers are for. But I thought it would be an interesting idea.”
“I’d watch it,” Sean said.
“You and my many millions of fans.” Simone took a step back, and Charles opened the door so they could leave.
“You want to stay for some pie?” Cora asked, offering a delicious olive branch. “It’s free today.”
Simone shook her head. “Not today, thank you.”
And then the bell was ringing as they left.
Monica looked at Jackson, unsure of how to process what Simone had just done, but he seemed equally surprised. Floored. But when she stood up ready to follow her, Jackson was right behind her.
And she was glad. So glad.
“Simone,” she said, as she walked out onto the sidewalk. Simone and Charles had just crossed the street to the square, where the remnants of the street fair were being taken down. “Wait a second.” Monica jogged across the road.
“I’m sorry I’m not stopping the show,” Simone said, opening her purse and pulling out a big pair of sunglasses. When she put them on, they obscured half her face. “But I thought this town was important to you.”
“It is … it’s … you’re doing this for me?”
“Who else would I do it for?” she asked, looking regal and imperial and like she just didn’t give a shit, at total odds with her words. If Jackson tried to control things, and Monica tried to make jokes, then Simone pretended she just didn’t give a shit.
“I may not be here,” Monica said. “I mean, if you’re doing this so you can have that big on-air reunion, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“I didn’t expect that,” she said, sniffing. “I didn’t expect anything.”
“I’m still going to write the book. About Dad.”
Simone was silent, her hand reaching out for Charles’s just as Jackson’s hand curved over Monica’s shoulder.
Love was a powerful support.
“Thank you,” Monica said. “For doing it.”
“I’m sorry I don’t remember Greece,” Simone said, and Monica squeezed Jackson’s hand, so hard she heard him whimper. “I realize I can’t take that year away from you. But I want you to know … I’m sorry. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to go make some phone calls.”
“Sure,” she whispered, and then Simone and Charles, hand in hand, were gone.
Jackson was silent, as if he understood that there was nothing he could say that would change the bittersweet nature of what had happened. Instead, he just pulled her against his chest, into his arms. He rested his chin on her head.
“I love you,” he said, and she let the words wash over her, a balm to all the old wounds. “I love your bravery and your heart. I love the mistakes you made, because they made you the woman you are now. I love your fierceness and your fear.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“And I am so proud of the way you just handled that with Simone.”
She kissed his hand, the broken one that rested beneath her chin.
“I just …” he whispered. “I just want to be the man you love. The man who deserves you.”
Her eyes closed at his words, the damage he’d done repaired.
“I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you earlier,” he said. “I’m sorry I used you.”
“I thought you didn’t not use me.” Forgiveness was easy when faced with so much love and support. Everyone was entitled to a misstep. Lord knows she’d made plenty and would probably make more. “Big difference, buddy.”
“I get that I might have blown it, and that I might be too late, and I screwed up with the camera crew, and you can give me shit for that for the rest of our lives together—”
“You’re damn straight I will.”
He paused, and she felt him lift his head. “You … will?” He sounded so hopeful, so surprised.
“You didn’t blow it.”
“I didn’t?”
“It was close,” she said, pursing her lips, because she knew how he felt about her lips. “But then you broke Dean’s nose.”
He grinned, this handsome, caring man with the beautiful wild streak that no one got to see but her. “I could also punch Sean, if you like that sort of thing. It’s long overdue.”
She touched his chest, ran her hands up over his shoulders, and it felt like she was gathering him up, putting him back together but in a new order, a new way. The way he’d done to her. Mine, she thought, attaching neck to body, face to neck. “I love you, Jackson Davies.”
His eyes fluttered, not quite shut. “Say it again,” he whispered.
“I’ve been waiting for you my whole life. I’ll love you forever.”
The hug was a blessing. The kiss was a promise; the future glittered around them.
At the sound of another footstep on the pavement, Monica and Jackson turned as one to see Gwen beside them, wearing her mother’s formal gown and flip-flops. Monica smiled at just the sight of her.
“Everyone okay?” Gwen asked, her anxious eyes looking from Monica to Jackson.
“Yes and no,” Monica sighed.
“You know what you need?” Gwen said, taking another step and then another until she was close enough to touch. Jackson, who had clearly decided not to waste any more precious time with his sister, hooked Gwen around the neck, pulling her into his arms too.
“What do I need?” Monica asked, hugging the girl and the man as hard as she could.
“A road trip. Have you ever seen the Grand Canyon?” Gwen asked, and Jackson pressed a kiss to Gwen’s head—perhaps the first time he’d ever kissed his sister, because they both looke
d slightly shocked.
“No,” Monica answered. “I’ve never been.”
“Well, we’re going,” Gwen said. “And you should come with us.”
“Is that an invitation?” Monica turned slightly to face Jackson.
“Wherever I go, I want you with me, Monica.”
It was the most profoundly beautiful and simple thing anyone had ever said to her.
“How can I say no?”
“And after that, I want to finish law school,” he said.
She smiled, eager to support him in that. “I want to write fiction books for teenagers.” She didn’t realize the words were going to come out of her mouth, but once they did, she recognized them as the truth.
“Cool,” Gwen breathed. Someone across the square called her name, and Gwen eased away from the group hug. “This is nice and all,” she said, “but I gotta go.”
“What if … what if I want to come back here sometimes?” she asked, as they watched Gwen run across the grass. Monica thought of Shelby and Cora. Sean.
“To Bishop?” Jackson asked. She nodded.
“It’s just a town, Jackson. Not innately evil or innately good. It’s not going to save us or ruin us. It’s where our friends live, that’s all. We can live anywhere, Jackson. But I’m going to want to come back here sometimes.”
“Then we come back,” Jackson said. “You’re all I need. You’re every daydream and fantasy I’ve ever had. You’re my home.”
He pulled her into his arms, and in front of the town and the fountain and every single face pressed to Cora’s front window, the mayor kissed her. And the Wild Child kissed him back.
After a thousand wrong turns and near misses, Monica had managed to find her way back to herself, to the person she was supposed to be.
And the man she was supposed to be with.
She’d found her way home.
To everyone who has faked it … whatever “it” is
BANTAM BOOKS BY MOLLY O’KEEFE
Can’t Buy Me Love
Can’t Hurry Love
Crazy Thing Called Love
Wild Child
There’s plenty of heat to go around
in Bishop, Arkansas,
Wild Child: A Novel Page 31