Texas Wishes: The Complete Series

by Kristina Knight

  Starting with sepia prints of the Alamo.

  Yet instead of pointing the SUV toward the River Walk or the Alamo, he took the exit for the highway into the Hill Country and Kathleen.

  Another mistake. She was on his mind too often lately. Today, in fact, she was everywhere. He thought he saw her driving a run-down truck outside Lockhardt. But Kathleen had a fleet of shiny SUVs and sportscars at her disposal. Jackson couldn’t recall seeing a vehicle more than five years old at the ranch. By the time he shook the image of her in the old truck, he thought she was the squat old man wandering the street near the apartment. But Kathleen could never be mistaken for an old man.

  Everywhere and nowhere. Kathleen filled his every thought. Just another reason to stop sleeping with her at night and take up residence on the pallet she made on the floor that first night. Only he knew he wouldn’t. He might not deserve Kathleen but he wasn’t a fool, either. His ability to keep his hands off her for more than a few minutes declined drastically as soon as her family disappeared after the nightly inquisition they called dinner.

  Sleeping on the pallet would weaken his resistance and he might do something really stupid. Like telling her about his past. Then instead of desire he’d see pity in her eyes. Instead of having a good time she would try to fix him. He didn’t need fixing. He needed space.

  He needed to get back to New York and his solitary life taking pictures.

  Pulling through Lockhardt, Jackson spotted Nathaniel’s Mercedes at the bar. Not ready to face Kathleen and her questions quite yet, he pulled into the lot and walked quickly inside. Maybe a round of beers with her father would give him enough time to figure out how to handle this strange connection they had.

  Even in the dim light it was easy to pick Nathaniel out of the group of older men inside. He sat at a table near the big, tinted window playing chess with the man from the gas station. The waitress delivered two giant mugs of amber liquid as Jackson walked up.

  She raised an inquisitive eyebrow and he motioned to the drinks on the table. “I’ll have what they’re having.”

  “Back in a second, honey,” she said, clucking her tongue like a chicken. A few patrons turned to watch him for a moment but seeing him at Nathaniel’s table they quickly lost interest.

  Nathaniel cut his eyes to Jackson. “Am I late for dinner or something?”

  Jackson shook his head. “I’m back in town early. Thought I’d check out the local color.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “You gonna make a move or should I finish the game myself?” his chess partner asked.

  Nathaniel moved a piece without looking at the board. “Bishop to Queen Six.” His partner clenched his teeth and studied the board. Not a bad move for a man who was usually drunk by now. Nathaniel hunched over the board, making a point to ignore Jackson. “Go home to your wife and leave me to my game.”

  “She was your daughter before she became my wife.” Jackson turned a chair around and sat. “I’m here for a drink. Just like you.”

  “Humph.”

  The waitress delivered his drink and Jackson took a long drink, nearly choking at the smooth taste of icy, sweet tea when he was expecting beer. Nathaniel was drinking tea? According to Kathleen the man was a drunk and from the slurred speech at dinner Jackson had agreed. Until now.

  Nathaniel took his opponent’s last pawn. He was making short work of the game so he definitely wasn’t drunk or even drinking.

  “Well? Are you going to leave or do I have to find another chess game?”

  “I wasn’t sent here to spy on you, Nathaniel,” Jackson said, standing to toss a few bills on the table. “But as long as I’m here, did it ever occur to you that acting like a drunk has Kathleen worried sick about you? Seems like a trick a kid would play, not a grown man. By the way, he’s left his king’s wing open,” Jackson said to the other man and stalked out of the bar.

  The Witte family was making him crazy. Kathleen was every sort of mad that he wouldn’t talk about his past when she should be paying attention to her own family. Mitchum was using Kathleen’s past to keep her in line. His line. Forget about Kathleen’s hopes for the ranch, the old man was holding her hostage to his hopes, killing her a little bit in the process.

  Stooping, Jackson picked up a handful of gravel and tossed a rock toward the trees across the way. What was he doing here? He couldn’t solve Kathleen’s problems any more than he could answer questions about Maria. He tossed another rock, listening as it pinged against a tree branch.

  He didn’t need this but he couldn’t stop thinking about the family he’d started to care for. Nathaniel obviously wasn’t spending his days drinking at the bar. Why he pretended to be a drunk Jackson couldn’t comprehend. After a week with no communication from her ex, Vanessa still couldn’t seem to grasp the reason he’d kicked her out of their house, which had the Witte clan walking on eggshells around her.

  He was so out of his depth it wasn’t funny. And he was turning in to Mr. Fix-It from all Kathleen’s keep-it-together talks. His skin itched with the need to leave. Get out of Texas as quickly as possible and lose himself in his work again.

  No, he couldn’t do that to Kathleen. He tossed the last rock and returned to his rental.

  Annoyed that he cared, Jackson shoved the SUV in gear and roared off down the highway. Why was he intent on helping a woman who couldn’t or wouldn’t do anything to help herself? Her reasons for going along with Mitchum were weakening every day: sure, he might sell the ranch, but she could take Jester to another facility. Get a job at a different training stable. She didn’t need to keep the ranch going so that her drunken father would have a place to stay. Her drunken father would probably just move into the bar so he could play chess all day long.

  And forget about Vanessa. The spoiled sister would land on her feet, probably with another deep-pocketed husband, before the summer was out.

  The ranch came into view and Jackson slammed his foot against the brake pedal. This whole plan was a waste of his time and Kathleen’s, too, and it was time to put all of it behind him.

  Time to go back to New York, where he belonged.

  Chapter Twelve

  By the time Kathleen reached the ranch, she was certain of two things: Jackson would never feel for her the way she felt for him, but she couldn’t let him live with whatever pain was in his heart. So she hatched a plan to skip the family dinner and go straight to being alone with Jackson.

  Alone but not to have sex. She was going to get him talking if it killed her. Which meant her bedroom suite was out of the question. Getting within ten feet of a bed when Jackson was in the room with her was asking for trouble.

  She hurried into the kitchen, grabbed a picnic basket from the pantry, and quickly filled it with fruit, cheese, and a loaf of crusty bread. A tray with empanadas waiting in the refrigerator, making Kathleen’s mouth water. Guillermo’s empanadas were better than his enchiladas.

  Didn’t matter. She needed time alone with Jackson.

  A chilled bottle of wine, blanket, and linen napkins completed her preparations. She checked the clock. Plenty of time to change before Jackson returned from San Antonio.

  Upstairs, she skipped the hot bath she wanted in favor of a quick, hot shower to scrub off the dirt of following Jackson around like a puppy most of the morning.

  Remembering how Jackson’s eyes heated when she wore the mini-dress, Kathleen went for a little more coverage with her favorite purple and black maxi-dress. A pair of black leather boots completed the look. She left her hair loose and put on only the basic makeup — a thin layer of lip gloss and a touch of the mascara brush. She didn’t need to look like one of Jackson’s models, just plain old Kathleen. His friend. Maybe the friend approach would lead to him opening up about the past.

  Who are you kidding? The last thing you want is to be Jackson�
��s friend.

  But at least he would talk to his friend from time to time. Unlike the end of school when he had disappeared without a word. She could live without all of him as long as she had a tiny piece of him.

  And wasn’t that just twisted?

  The rumble of the SUV engine reached through the open windows of her room and squeezed her heart. He was home early.

  Hurrying downstairs, Kathleen grabbed the keys to the Jeep, the picnic basket, and escaped the house before anyone could ask where she was going. She felt like a teenager sneaking out after being grounded. Only she’d never been grounded and had never had anywhere to go as a teenager. Most of the boys around Lockhardt were either afraid of Grandfather or annoyed that she could ride better than they could. Dates has been few and far between until she figured out that dating Lockhardt boys wasn’t nearly as much fun as dating boys from San Antonio. Boys who weren’t intimidated by her family.

  Just another reason for her to have fallen so hard for Jackson at school.

  Kathleen pushed the thoughts away and hurried to the Jeep. Grandfather would just have to survive dinner with one less Witte.

  Jackson was just climbing out of the SUV when Kathleen placed the basket on the backseat of the other vehicle and grabbed his arm. Sparks flew from her fingertips to her stomach in a micro-second but, as usual, Jackson seemed unfazed by their contact. Just another signal I’ve been ignoring for the fantasy of having Jackson in my life, she thought. A fantasy she was ready to let go if she could be his friend.

  She ignored the tiny shard of pain the thought of only being Jackson’s friend left in her heart. It was a friend that Jackson needed; why else would he spend countless hours wandering around a decrepit neighborhood alone?

  It had taken seeing Jackson alone in San Antonio that morning to remember all of the days — and nights — when she had seen Jackson alone. Although he was friendly with everyone on his dormitory floor and had a list of women ready to drop their plans for a night out with him, he had usually been alone. Set apart from the other students as if he were watching them through his camera lens.

  Did his sadness go all the way back to school? Was there a long string of events leading him to that desolate street? Or was she projecting sadness onto a man who had simply been transfixed by a sad neighborhood? No, she wasn’t projecting. What she saw that morning was pain, pure and simple. Needing to fix the pain she saw that day, Kathleen was certain that taking Jackson to her favorite place would help.

  It had to.

  Only now he was looking at her with those sardonic eyes, one eyebrow cocked. How long had she been holding his arm without speaking? Her face burned with embarrassment.

  “I thought we could skip out on the family,” she said, clearing her throat. “A newlywed night — as far as they’re concerned,” she quickly added. Her hand dropped to his and she squeezed, pulling him toward the Jeep. Their fingers twined together.

  Heat flared in his eyes, turning the butterflies in her stomach to bats. Okay, so the friendship angle would only be on Jackson’s part. That was fine. She could hide her true feelings. For his benefit.

  “Come with me?”

  “How could I resist?” He turned, placing his camera carefully on the SUV seat and pocketing the keys. “Where to, madam?”

  Kathleen wrinkled her nose. “I’m not your fifty-year-old aunt, Jackson. Just get in, hmm?” There, that sounded positively friendly.

  • • •

  She was doing it again, Jackson decided. Taking his plans and turning them upside down. Two minutes before, he was ready for a confrontation. Ready to point out that if Kathleen would only be honest with her family, specifically Mitchum, her plans would likely come to fruition.

  Now, not ten minutes after clapping his eyes on her again he was off-roading in a Jeep on the way to somewhere with a picnic dinner and a wife who obviously wanted to add some adventure to their sex life. Not that he was complaining. Sex in bed was an adventure with Kathleen. Personally, he couldn’t wait to see what she had in mind for the post-picnic dinner.

  And that was totally wrong. He should still be angry that she dragged him into her crazy plans when all they needed was a quick trip to a judicial office to right this incredibly stupid wrong. Yet he said nothing, content to listen to the music of the wind rushing by the Jeep and the low voices of the birds in the live oak trees.

  When had he become such a sap?

  Finally, Kathleen turned off the dirt track and the Jeep began climbing a small hill. A stand of live oaks beckoned ahead and a narrow stream wound down the incline. And then he spotted it: an old wooden door in the side of the hill. Was this the original sod house that Mitchum mentioned? Jackson leaned forward. It had to be. He wanted to kick himself for leaving his camera behind. Photographs of an authentic Soddy, or what was left of one, would be a great addition to his portfolio.

  Kathleen parked beneath a twisted tree and shut off the engine and nodded when he turned questioning eyes on her.

  “I’ve always loved this place. It’s so peaceful here, even though the memories are hundreds of years old. My several-great-grandfather dug the soddy with a broken shovel,” she said as they walked toward the mound. “Or at least that is the legend.”

  The door opened outward and Jackson had to stoop just to see inside. The dirt floor and walls were perfectly smooth, no sign of crumbling. The place could have been built for a western movie just a few days before. A small rocking chair sat to one side, a rough-hewn bed in another corner with a small plank table and bench in the middle.

  “We come up here a couple of times a year, just to touch the place up,” she said, “but even that isn’t going to work much longer.” She pointed to the ceiling and Jackson saw several cracks running the length of the large room. “Soddy’s weren’t made to last more than a few years at a time. It’s a miracle this one has lasted as long as it has. Dinner?”

  Jackson allowed her to lead him back to the Jeep where he grabbed the basket and followed her to over to the creek. What did it say about a family so attached to their past that they maintained a virtually useless building?

  Just another sign you don’t belong here. Your family memories, such as they were, stopped suddenly twenty-one years ago. That isn’t the kind of history Kathleen needs to add to her happy memories.

  Kathleen spread the blanked under a weeping willow and they sat. Jackson broke off pieces of crusty bread while Kathleen placed bunches of grapes, slices of cheese, and rich, dark chocolate on two china plates.

  She nodded to the other basket. “Would you mind pouring?”

  The cabernet caught the dying light as he poured, turning it almost blood red. He handed one glass to Kathleen and poured another for himself. “Should we toast to our second week anniversary? Or to being one week closer to a quickie divorce?” he teased.

  Kathleen’s eyes glinted with pain and he wished he could take the words back. She recovered and said lightly, “How about to our dreams? In a few more weeks I’ll have the ranch and you’ll have your showing. I think that should be celebrated, don’t you?”

  And so they fell into a companionable silence, enjoying the picnic dinner. They talked about the weather, Vanessa’s hospital benefit in San Antonio. Jester’s training. The more they talked the more anxious Jackson became. When would the questions come? He could see them under the surface.

  When would Kathleen drop her How Was Your Day, Dear conversation in favor of more questions about San Antonio? Why did she want to know how he spent his days? He had no understanding of the training she did with Jester, Trio or the other horses but he didn’t ask incessant questions about them, either.

  He poured more wine, but the taste died on his tongue, and he put the glass down. Kathleen was prattling on about Jester’s training that afternoon. She hadn’t said so much about the horse’s training since…well, since
ever. Obviously she was upset or nervous about something.

  If this was last week, he might think she was nervous about being alone with him at the homestead. Being alone with him in general. But this wasn’t last week. They had been too intimate over the past seven nights to have any nervousness left.

  Which left only her unending questions about San Antonio. Jackson tore another piece of bread from the loaf, slathered port wine cheese on it, and chewed.

  “And then Trio decided he didn’t want to run, so — ”

  “I thought you were exercising Jester?” he interrupted, tired of whatever game she was trying to work up the nerve to begin.

  “What?”

  “You just said Trio didn’t want to run, but you’ve been talking about Jester throughout the meal. Plus, Trio hasn’t been cleared to run by the vet.” He lifted the vile wine glass to his lips and choked down a sip. “And you’ve never transposed their names before. So why don’t you get to the subject you’ve been avoiding all night?”

  “I wasn’t avoiding anything,” she said in a huff and got to her feet, knocking over her wine glass. She clenched her jaw and bent to pick up the pieces of the glass, placing them in the bottom of the picnic basket. She put the remains of the bread, cheese, and grapes into small plastic containers, pointedly ignoring him until she finished stacking the containers, dirty plates, and stemware back into the their proper places.

  Standing, she grabbed a corner of the blanket and pulled but Jackson stayed where he was. He was not going to make this easy for her. He’d come here expecting a seduction scene. He wasn’t mad that this wasn’t a seduction, he was mad that she wouldn’t leave his past alone.

  “Are you getting up or not?”