Texas Wishes: The Complete Series

by Kristina Knight

  The main house — if you could call it a house — was immense. Three stories with triple-decker porches winding around the structure. Rocking chairs, swings, and comfortable Adirondack loungers placed in groups at intervals. Even from this distance he could see the fine mahogany grain of the massive front door, and the glittering knob was most likely gold and not gold-plated. There seemed to be two huge barns flanking the house, acres and acres of white picket fences — Mitchum must employ a herd of contractors just to keep the fence up — and fine looking horses playing in the pastures. He couldn’t see any cattle and that struck him as odd. The Witte ranch was renowned for its beef cattle.

  They pulled around the main house and into a garage he hadn’t noticed filled with trucks, sports cars, and one antique Cadillac that had to be the real thing. They probably drove it in local parades, tossing candy to the kids along the route and causing most of the men to salivate at the condition of the historical car. All of the vehicles gleamed in the muted, afternoon sunshine.

  He really should have paid more attention to her in college. If he had, he would never have agreed to her ridiculous plan, even though this marriage business was obviously his fault. Despite his self-made success he didn’t belong in a world like this. Just ask his stepmother.

  Kathleen helped Mitchum from the passenger seat and he waved, telling Jackson to come to his study once he was settled.

  “I thought you said this was a ranch?” he asked once Mitchum was out of earshot.

  Kathleen pulled a suitcase from the cargo area and frowned at him. “It is.” She hoisted another bag, dropping it beside the first and finally pulling set of Vera Bradley totes from the space.

  “Where are the cows? The smell of manure? All I see are horses and hot cars.”

  The last of the bags made it to the pile at her feet and she started to the house once more leaving him to follow. Wasn’t she going to take in her bags?

  Jackson’s temper began to fray. Surprise husband he might be but general bag carrier he most definitely was not!

  A balding, rotund gentleman with leathery skin and a limp hurried toward them, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Mr. Mitchum spread the news already! Congratulations Miss Kathleen!” He bussed her cheek and looked across to Jackson. In his light, Spanish accent, he continued. “This must be the man who stole your heart in Mexico. What did I tell you about my country? Love, love, love is always in the air.”

  Kathleen grinned back at the man and hugged him. “I’ve missed you, Guillermo, truly missed you.” She waved a hand at the stack of bags between the SUVs. “Just tell Lucy to throw everything in the laundry and we’ll sort it out later. Oh! And Jackson’s bags are still in the rental SUV.” She paused and then whispered conspiratorially, “Grandfather isn’t working you too hard is he?”

  Guillermo chuckled and tapped Kathleen’s arm with his elbow. “He yells to me to walk more laps in the pool. I yell to him not to eat so much sweets.” He patted his leg. “But it is feeling much better,” he said and then nodded before continuing into the garage. Jackson was left with the urge to tip the man as he would a bellman in New York. What was with these people?

  Through the marble foyer and up a curving staircase, Jackson followed Kathleen. She turned left down the hall, passed by five doors, and finally opened the door to the sixth. She peeked down the hallway after Jackson entered and then snicked the door closed.

  “Home sweet home,” she said sardonically. “Welcome to the honeymoon you’ve always dreamed of.”

  “Actually I’ve always dreamed of not having a honeymoon. No wedding, either,” Jackson said before he could stop himself. He ignored the hurt look on Kathleen’s face. “Now would you please tell me why the Witte ranch, renowned for prime Angus cattle, has none in view?”

  “The cattle are still here, the horses just take precedence.”

  Jackson watched her for several minutes but she made no further explanation.

  “I’m going to need a little bit more than that if you want me to be convincing at dinner tonight.” He paced to the fireplace, candles ready for burning at night in the hearth. Lavender walls, overstuffed furniture, an old chest with a throw over the top. Pillows everywhere. The faint smell of saddle oil mixed with rose potpourri from the antique cedar chest on the floor. A woman’s sitting room, pure and simple. He pulled at the collar of his shirt.

  “You grew up in Texas and don’t know what a horse ranch is?” Kathleen laughed, making Jackson feel shorter than the pile carpet.

  “You know the story — Dallas with Maria until I was seven, remember? Home of tourist attractions like Cowboys Stadium and the Dallas World Aquarium. The only horses I knew about marched in parades or galloped across the movie screen. Once the old man accepted I was his it was straight off to boarding school so his new, rich wife didn’t have to deal with me. And now I live in New York, not exactly the ranching capital of the world. Humor me, why don’t you?” He hated asking for information, but did the ranch even have Wi-Fi so he could Google for information?

  “Really, you’re playing poor little rich boy?”

  Jackson wasn’t about to tell her exactly what his life had been like. It wasn’t like she needed to know all the dirty details for their fake honeymoon, so he shrugged. She rolled her eyes, curled up in a Queen Anne chair before the fireplace, and invited him to take the chair across from her. Jackson did but felt two sizes too big for the feminine seat. He refused to let her know, though, and remained where he was.

  “We raise horses and cattle. Most we train as working cow horses for ranches all over the West. Our Quarter horses have won some of the biggest competitions in the world, and one will compete in the World Equestrian Games later this year.” Pride showed in her voice. Had she trained the animals? He vaguely remembered she was studying some kind of agriculture-related field at UTEP and once again wished he had paid just a little more attention to her rambling, teenager ways. She continued. “Most we train as working show horses for rodeoers or show riders.”

  “You’re training show horses?”

  She nodded, a genuine smile crossing her face for a moment. “I convinced my father just after college to buy a retired Thoroughbred — Jester’s Daughter. We bred her with King’s Ransom, our farm’s best performer, and were rewarded with Jester Six. Grandfather thought buying J.D. was silly, especially when Six wasn’t fast enough for the Worlds, but I kept training the second foal. Next year Jester Eight will compete in the Endurance leg at World’s. He’s the strongest horse I’ve seen and he’s fast.” She closed her eyes, as if feeling a rush of wind by her face. Jackson’s pulse raced just watching her. “Very, very fast.”

  “So your grandfather is against horse racing?”

  She shook her head. “Not against, per se, but he thinks the Quarter horse training should take precedence, or that I should start training Quarter-Racers. But I’m going to put us on the map as more than that.” There was steel in her voice, quickly tempered when she opened her eyes. “Or I was until our…”

  “Until our…whatever this is came along and messed up your plans?” Before she could deny it, he waved a hand. Suddenly he couldn’t stand the feminine confines of the room and stood. “It’s okay. We’re here and I’m on-board for the next few weeks. After that, you’re on your own. But that’s how you want it, isn’t it? I’d better get to Mitchum’s study. Which way?”

  • • •

  Kathleen watched the closed door for several minutes after Jackson left, feeling as if the air had left the room with him. He hadn’t said anything she didn’t already know. This wasn’t a love match. It wasn’t even a like match. It was a please-don’t-ruin-my-plans match. For her at least. She didn’t want to love anyone, especially not Jackson Taylor, who had broken her heart every day her freshman year.

  Frustrated with herself she left her chair and began straightening th
e already pristine room. This was her plan, darn it. Her idea. She could deal with Jackson Taylor now; she wasn’t a simpering eighteen-year-old any longer. He was bailing her out and she should be grateful. She was grateful.

  With nothing left to do in the sitting room, she continued into her bedroom and stopped cold. Her hands became clammy as she realized that in just a few hours she would be sharing her bed with Jackson, like it or not. How could she do that?

  She couldn’t. Not and keep her heart firmly under control.

  Peeking into the hall, she saw it empty and hurried to the linen closet at the end. She grabbed a few blankets and extra pillows before hurrying back inside. Through the sitting room and into her bedroom, she quickly made up a pallet on the floor between her bed and the window — a pallet that no one would see unless they came all the way into the bedroom. If Jackson didn’t want to sleep on the floor, then she would.

  Suddenly tired, she twisted the taps on the claw-foot tub in her bathroom and waited as hot water filled the tub and steam filled the room. She felt as if she still had sand in areas where sand should never be. Clipping her long hair at the nape of her neck, she pushed her traveling clothes through the laundry chute and then sank into the blissful heat and bubbles, trying to push Jackson Taylor out of her mind.

  Four weeks. If she could just stop worrying for four weeks, everything would turn out as she had planned.

  • • •

  Jackson made his way to Mitchum’s study, wondering at the seemingly endless hallways, the collection of antique vases filled with fresh flowers, and the Persian rugs covering the hardwood floors. He’d been to enough fashion shoots to know the real thing when he saw it. He had enough money to buy his own expensive rugs to soften the atmosphere of his Greenwich Village apartment, but refused to bother. His apartment was just a place to crash between photo shoots, and if his upcoming show at one of Manhattan’s best museums was successful he would be on the road twice as often. Traveling to the far reaches of the planet, photographing anything that interested him. Never in any one place long enough to get bored or put down roots.

  It sounded like heaven, especially with the evidence of the roots he would never have all around him.

  Suddenly the life he envisioned didn’t seem quite as bright, but Jackson put his unwelcome thoughts down to too much alcohol and not enough sleep over the past few days. He needed serious sack time if they were going to pull off Kathleen’s big plan to get control of the ranch for her birthday. Before he could get that sleep, though, he had one more hurdle. A confab with Mitchum.

  He took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the study.

  Bookshelves filled with well-worn, leather-bound first editions covered three walls. The fourth, directly behind Mitchum’s desk, opened on the vast hills of Texas. Wildflowers covered the grass, more horses frolicked in the pastures and he wondered which were working and which were Kathleen’s show horses. Did they all play together, as children did in day-care?

  He shook himself. He needed to concentrate or Mitchum would see through their scheme in two seconds flat.

  Mitchum motioned him to one of the leather, wing-back chairs facing the massive cherry-wood desk. Papers and old-fashioned ledgers littered the desktop, a gold lamp with a green shade offered unneeded light, and a phone that looked like a relic from the 1950s sat in one corner. No computer that Jackson could see. Just pens and pencils in every known color, and paper.

  Mitchum was truly old school. He was beginning to understand Kathleen’s fear and awe of the man. This only served to annoy him further. He didn’t want to feel anything for any of these people. He had enough on his plate for the next few weeks without growing fond of Kathleen’s family.

  He had a mission — track down Maria. Find out about his past. Close that chapter of his life and continue making obscene amounts of money by taking pictures of beautiful women, gorgeous scenery and seldom visited places.

  He wasn’t quite sure what he expected, maybe a request for his Social Security Number, but Mitchum’s, “How do you like the house?” had him stumped for a moment. He offered Jackson a cigar from a box on the desk. Surely the older man wanted more from him than a smoke and a casual conversation about antique vases and flowers?

  “It’s a beautiful home, sir,” Jackson managed, taking the cigar and sniffing it. The aroma was sickly sweet but he smiled as if he enjoyed it. Sitting, he crossed his ankle over his knee and tried to look relaxed in the chair. He had the sick feeling Mitchum could see through every expression and word he said. “Kathleen told me about the ranch but I have to confess I never imagined more than a log cabin or simple frame house.”

  Mitchum preened. “My granddaddy built this place. His mail-order bride was from Philadelphia society and he thought she’d be more comfortable here than in the homestead. Have Kath show it to you one of these days. What a hoot!” He laughed, lit his cigar, and then got down to business. “Kathy-bean loves it here, you know. Now that I think about it, I don’t recall you ever coming by as a kid.”

  He wouldn’t, Jackson thought, because he’d never been invited to his own West Texas home much less been allowed to tag along to dinner parties or barbecues. Even on school vacations he’d been expected to stay on the campus. The one time he’d come back — Jackson pushed the thought away.

  Mitchum offered matches and a cigar clip to Jackson but he declined.

  Jackson knew the loaded comment went deep for Mitchum. It was his way of telling Jackson he belonged here now. Of telling him not to expect to fly back to New York — or any city closer than Dallas — for more than a few days. Jackson felt the room grow smaller at the thought.

  “I know just how important the ranch is to Kath. How important the showing at World’s is — ” Mitchum shrugged at this. Did the man really not understand Kathleen’s need to create something of her own from his legacy? “How important training the working horses is to her. I know all of this is sudden for you, but I don’t have any plans to take Kathleen away from the ranch. It’s her home.” That, at least, was the full truth.

  After seeing Kathleen for a few hours in Mexico and now at her home, he could see how much she loved — needed — the ranch and the space it provided. Just another sign that the two of them were ill-matched.

  The words were as much for his own benefit as for Mitchum’s. It wouldn’t do to forget this home would never be his. No amount of money could buy the kind of ties Kathleen had. Just like the lack of rugs and plants in his New York apartment reminded him that he had no one to fall back on. No one to disappoint. And that was the way he liked his life.

  “You have to be giving up a lot to move out to a Texas ranch, though,” Mitchum said.

  Jackson shrugged. “I’m a photographer. I can work from anywhere that has good light and a subject. From what I’ve seen, the Hill Country has plenty of both.”

  “Are you going to see Janice and Ty while you’re here?”

  Jackson shrugged noncommittally, resisting the urge to squirm under Mitchum’s direct gaze and the need to move his now-asleep right foot. “Janice and Ty haven’t been interested in my life to this point, I’m not sure why they would want to know anything now.” He flexed his toes, trying to wake his slumbering limb. It was time to cut to the chase, not run from Mitchum’s unsaid questions.

  “This can’t be what you expected when Kath left for vacation last week. It isn’t want I expected when I went to Vallarta for an assignment. But as sudden and as unreal as it all seems, I’m not here to hurt your granddaughter or raid the family coffers to fund my life in New York. I own a multi-million dollar photography studio and personally took home a salary in the high-six-figures last year. That may not be a lot to your family, but it’s plenty for me. Any of my photographers can pinch-hit if we’re overbooked or if I’m needed elsewhere.”

  He drew in a breath, hoping Mitchum wouldn’t have a pr
oblem with a fine arts photographer in the family. Even if said fine arts photographer was only around for a limited time. “I’ve also got an art showing in a few weeks. My first. Something I’ve always wanted to do.”

  Mitchum inhaled and exhaled several times, each time sinking farther back into his desk chair. Finally, he leaned back and crossed his booted feet on the credenza, for all the world looking like an oil tycoon from the old days. “I already know about your income, your reputation in New York and the upcoming show.” He motioned to a few papers on his desk. “That doesn’t interest me.”

  Jackson clenched his jaw, wondering just how far Mitchum’s private detective had gotten while they were flying home. Not that it mattered. Jackson wasn’t proud of his past but he would not run from it, either. He tossed the cigar back on Mitchum’s desk and stood.

  “Now don’t get all upset, I was just protecting Kathy-bean,” Mitchum cajoled. His booted feet hit the floor with a thump as he stood. He poked his cigar in Jackson’s face. “What I found is that you’ve built up quite the business since UTEP, despite doing it without the Henderson money behind you. You’ve got a solid reputation and you do good work for your clients. That’s all any man can ask for his family. So, welcome to the family, son,” he said.

  Jackson was torn between relief that he had apparently been found worthy of the great Witte family and remorse because deep down inside he knew he wasn’t.

  Chapter Six

  The rabbit hole was getting larger, thanks to a horse in the swimming pool.

  Jackson took a wrong turn shortly after leaving Mitchum’s office. So far he’d found a solarium filled with exotic ferns, bonsai trees, a flower that had to be Hawaiian, and orchids. The different plant species should have looked odd together but instead the room awed him. The kitchen, empty of people but filled with every possible appliance, was massive. A stainless fridge and glass-fronted wine cooler dominated the space.