Texas Wishes: The Complete Series

by Kristina Knight

  “I love you, too, Jackson.” She sighed against his mouth and her fingers began tracing the contours of his neck and shoulders. After a few minutes she pushed against his chest and sat up.

  “One more thing: I don’t care about that pedigree you keep talking about, and I’m as clueless as you when it comes to marriage.” Her arms stole around his neck and she pulled him closer. “But I’ll marry you again, Jackson Taylor. I’ll marry you every day for the rest of my life.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Two weeks later, Kathleen had butterflies in her stomach. Again.

  She was about to marry Jackson and this time she would remember every single second. She had to be the luckiest woman in the world.

  If she could just make it through the day.

  Monica bustled around the bedroom, adding a sprig of baby’s breath here or there in Kathleen’s upswept hair. The full skirt of her dress flowed around her as she sat on the high stool so that the silk wouldn’t wrinkle. What seemed like ten pounds of crinoline and underskirts covered the new, pristine, white boots on her feet. Boots that, according to Monica, were so last year that they were new again. Kathleen didn’t care about the fashion statement, she was done with high heels for a while. At least in public.

  White silk stockings covered her legs, a garter with blue ribbon hidden on her upper thigh. Sequins and embroidered butterflies decorated the corseted bodice, pushing her breasts in and up and giving her more cleavage than she was completely comfortable with. Imagining the look on Jackson’s face she had told Monica to cinch the bodice a little bit tighter.

  Monica pressed a small white Bible in her hands. “It was your mother’s,” she said. “I found it in the attic when I was looking for some old pictures of my mother.” Her mouth twisted. “I was too angry at you at the time to tell you, so I hid it. Can you forgive me?”

  Kathleen leaned forward, hugging her sister and ordering herself not to cry. “We were both angry at one another for a long time but it was nobody’s fault. Dad was too busy trying to find his next wife back then to worry about the girls he already had at home. There’s nothing to forgive, sweetie.”

  “Just so you know, if I’d found something important to Vanessa I don’t think I’d give it to her. I’m not quite over that bit of anger yet.”

  “Don’t be so hard on her. I’m beginning to think she really did love Paul. Maybe refusing to move out of the house was the only way she knew to show him that.”

  Monica pulled a face. “That’s a big if, Kath. And today isn’t about Van. It’s about you and Jackson.”

  A knock sounded at the door and they both jumped. Nathaniel poked his head around the door. “You girls ready?”

  Kathleen took a final look in the mirror, wondering who was the beautiful woman smiling back at her.

  Her father shuffled at the door. “Monica, could we have a minute?” he asked. Monica reached up to kiss his cheek and then hurried out the door. “You look beautiful, darlin’,” he said. “As pretty as your mother was, all those years ago.” Tears pricked his eyes. “I, um, wanted to thank you…for letting me walk you down the aisle this afternoon.” When she would have spoken, he held up a hand. “I’ve been an absentee father for a long time and I would have understood if you’d asked your grandfather. Hell, I would have understood if you gave yourself away to Jackson. Since this is a day about making promises, I’m going to make one to you: I’m done with drinking. I have been for a while, but I know you needed to hear me say it. I think, maybe I needed to hear me say it, too.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and quickly handed Kathleen a tissue. “Now don’t ruin your makeup, sweetheart. This is a happy day.”

  “And these are happy tears,” she said, fanning her face to dry her eyes. “I don’t want you to promise never to drink. I want you to promise, when the urge hits, to come talk to me or grandfather or even Monica. Okay?”

  Her father nodded and took her arm. “Now we’d better hurry or we’ll be late.

  • • •

  Jackson heard the creaking of the old wagon’s tires on the rutted path long before the buckboard, team of horses, and Kathleen came into view. When they did, he sucked in a breath. Standing beneath the live oaks with the Soddy in the background and ribbons draped from the tree limbs, he felt almost like an actor on a stage.

  Nathaniel helped Kathleen down from the wagon as Guillermo began playing the wedding march on his violin. Jackson started breathing hard. Vanessa had been invited but was nowhere to be found this morning. Other than Mitchum, Barney, and a few ranch employees, the meadow was empty and exactly as he and Kathleen wanted it. After waking up married and remembering nothing they wanted only their closest friends and family to share this day with them.

  Monica walked sedately down the aisle first and stepped to the side so that Jackson could get the full effect of Kathleen’s dress. His wife, his future, was more beautiful than he could ever have imagined. Nathaniel wiped at his eyes every few steps but Kathleen kept marching forward, the white, leather tips of her boots showing her impatience to meet Jackson and the minister beneath the trees.

  Finally they arrived. Nathaniel placed Kathleen’s hand in Jackson’s and squeezed them. “Take care of her,” he ordered and Jackson nodded. Nathaniel stepped back to stand with Mitchum and Barney as the minister began talking about the sanctity of marriage and the bonds of love. The night before they said their private vows, promising truth, honesty, and no secrets. This morning they said the more traditional vows before friends and family, beaming at one another.

  The minister cleared his throat. “You may now kiss the bride,” he said as Kathleen and Jackson looked sheepishly at one another. How many times had he invited them to kiss to seal their vows before they realized it?

  Their lips met, sealing the promise between them. A promise to love first and ask questions later. For the rest of their lives.

  What A Texas Girl Needs

  Kristina Knight

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Kristina Knight

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-5570-2

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5570-1

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-5571-0

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5571-8

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123rf.com

  For Shawn, D’Ann, Liz and Margie … who always believed in Texas, even before I did.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Vanessa Witte always hated stirrups. They were either too long or too short and they always came attached to very scary, large horses who blew snotballs as big as the main ranch house on the Double Diamond.

  She hated these stirrups even more.

  Dressed in a paper gown, legs spread into a wide V, knees bent at a forty-five degree angle, Vanessa decided she had never been in a more uncomfortable position. Okay, she had but then she’d been expecting it. Not now, when she’d come to Dr. Clark’s office because she had the flu. She stared at
a small spot on the ceiling. Did she shave her legs this morning? Vanessa couldn’t remember, which probably meant she hadn’t. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember the last time she had. From the waist down she probably looked like a female Bigfoot.

  No pedicure, either. She wiggled her big toe, which had a single chip of one brightly painted, yellow flower left. Her appointments at Fredericka’s had been misplaced for the first few weeks after the divorce and then they came right out and said it: Paul’s new girlfriend — Vanessa’s ex-best friend — didn’t want her there. She should have expected it and yet …

  She hadn’t protected herself. Not nearly enough. After that, she hadn’t the heart to find another nail salon.

  Dr. Clark rolled his little stool away from her legs and around the side of the exam table.

  “Everything looks fine — ,” fine her left foot “ — but, Vanessa, you don’t have the flu. You are pregnant, as I suggested fifteen minutes ago. Just about twelve weeks, from what I can tell.” He pointed to a computer screen to her right. “See that little peanut shape? That’s your baby. In another week or so, we’ll hear the heartbeat but, for now, I think we can safely say your flu is going to stick around for another couple of months. It should lessen as the pregnancy progresses, but some women experience nausea, headaches, and other minor issues throughout the pregnancy.”

  The world stopped moving. Pregnant? Not possible.

  “I can’t be pregnant.”

  “Oh, but you are, dear. The urine test confirmed it, but you didn’t want to believe us then. Now you can see for yourself.”

  She could see. Sort of. She saw the shape on the screen, a void with what looked like snow all around. Still, she didn’t want to believe. Vanessa didn’t have the slightest idea how to be pregnant. How to be a mother. For God’s sake, she was currently living in a hotel suite because she was afraid to go home because every memory she had in that house had to do with Paul-the-Rat-Bastard. Every floorboard replaced, every floral arrangement made, every historical relic purchased had been because of or with him. Their home was the jewel of the King William District in San Antonio. The one prize she won in the divorce.

  She couldn’t bring herself to drive into the garage.

  Now she was supposed to take a baby there?

  Nu-uh. Not happening.

  “This isn’t possible. I have the flu.”

  Dr. Clark nodded. “A mild case, probably brought on by your general fatigue, but I promise you, pregnancy is happening.”

  “But, how?”

  Concern shimmered from his big, brown eyes. The older man patted her gently on the arm and smiled. “This probably isn’t the best timing, but you are pregnant.”

  Vanessa did a little mental math in her head. Twelve weeks. Her older sister, Kathleen’s, wedding. Oh, God. She sagged back into the table. Kathleen’s gorgeous, country wedding, less than six months after finding her college crush, Jackson Taylor in Puerto Vallarta. Three months post-Paul and she’d still been so stung over his spectacular divorce request she’d spent most of the wedding sulking and the rest in Grandfather’s hayloft with Matias Barnes, the ranch foreman. She couldn’t stand to be alone, not that night. Not in that sea of celebration.

  Twelve weeks. But they’d been protected. She was on the pill. He used a condom.

  “Unless you don’t want the baby. There are … things that can be done, but only for a few more weeks … ” Dr. Clark trailed off. Things. No. She wasn’t doing things, not to this baby.

  Vanessa’s hand went instinctively to her belly. “No.”

  He nodded, the movement sending a shock of snow white hair over his high forehead. “Good. Then I’ll have the office set up a scheduling calendar for your appointments.”

  Dr. Clark closed the door quietly behind him. Vanessa lay her head against the foam pillow. Single and pregnant.

  God, her life went from bad to worse to — what was worse than worse? And what was she going to do now?

  Paul left her, her friends dropped her before the divorce papers were even signed. Her family didn’t like her. She could just hear her mother. Pregnancy wasn’t something Gillian celebrated; Vanessa heard that enough growing up. Pregnancy, babies, children were to be used to better one’s own situation.

  “Everything I have in this life is because of you, Vanessa,” her mother’s voice echoed in Vanessa’s mind. “Call your father to tell him about these grades. They should be good enough for some new granite in the kitchen. And get me a vodka on the rocks.”

  Nathaniel Witte paid. He always paid because paying meant he didn’t have to deal with Vanessa — or her mother — in person. At least she wouldn’t have to use her child for money. Matias didn’t have any, and even if he did, she wouldn’t take it. She had the quarterly stipends, she winced, thinking of the ridiculous scene in Grandfather’s study just before Kathleen’s birthday party.

  Demanding money, making a fool of herself. Giving Grandfather even more reason to look at her with condescension. Putting another barrier between her and the family and why? Because to her so-called friends, money and status were everything. A little more expendable cash and maybe she’d have kept the friends, the fancy appointments with Fredericka. The life Vanessa thought she wanted.

  If necessary, she could sell the house because she and her baby would be dependent on no one.

  In fact, she should. It was hers, after all, and she didn’t see herself living inside it in this century.

  Step one: Call a real estate agent.

  Vanessa straightened her shoulders and the paper on the exam table crackled. This pregnancy wasn’t about money. She didn’t know what, exactly, it was about, but not money. She swallowed and exhaled a deep breath.

  Time to figure things out.

  She got dressed, wondering why her clothes still fit perfectly. The new Stella McCartney dress pulled just right across her chest, the leather belt emphasized her small waist. Gillian once told her that PV — pre-Vanessa — she could wear size six shoes. AV, she insisted, she couldn’t wear anything smaller than an eight. Would she have to buy maternity shoes as well as clothes?

  A few minutes later, Vanessa, appointment schedule in hand, sped across San Antonio to the hotel. There was no logical reason for what she was about to do. She didn’t need those people when Gillian shipped Vanessa off to Texas for her junior and senior years in high school. Didn’t need them when Gillian took the familiar Miami penthouse away because her latest boyfriend wanted Vanessa in his bed. Instead of dumping the guy, Gillian dumped her daughter on the Double Diamond Ranch in a house filled with the family Vanessa hadn’t known and with whom she didn’t fit in. She didn’t need them when Paul decided her ex-best-friend was better trophy wife material. When every person on her contacts list blocked her calls.

  Yet now all she could think about was the Double Diamond.

  Going home. Even if, growing up, the ranch seemed more like the home of the dysfunctional Ewing family than The Brady Bunch.

  • • •

  A few hours later, Vanessa stood at a gas pump, looking over the roof of her Porsche at Lockhardt, Texas. A few cars stopped at the single stoplight before continuing on their way. The Cattle Café was quiet at two in the afternoon, no stragglers finishing up a heart attack on a plate. She would bet her last twenty Mrs. Gillespie stood to the side of the front window, watching the gas station carefully as was her custom. She had a need to feed the gossip mill and was probably on the phone with Mr. Yoder at the drugstore across the street, wondering why Vanessa was in town so early this year.

  For the first time in her life, she had no urge to run for the bright lights of the city, and she wasn’t quite sure why. Even before Paul swept her off her stilettos, she’d longed for more than Lockhardt could offer. More than a single stoplight, barn dances and rodeos. Now, when the bright lights would drown out her
loneliness, why was she coming back here where the nightly cicada calls would only prove how alone she was? Her phone bleeped inside the car. Think of the devil. Paul’s picture grinned at her from the screen, notifying her of a new text. Vanessa’s fingers itched to paint red horns, an ugly goatee, and red pitchfork over his face. But that would be childish.

  “We should talk. Dinner tomorrow?”

  She sighed. Talk? She had nothing to say to him. He would keep texting until she answered, though.

  “Busy. Maybe when hell freezes over?”

  Vanessa clicked off the notifications for her phone — she didn’t want to see his reply — and topped off the tank.

  Gillian was right. Paul hadn’t loved her when they got married, she was just a way to his trust fund. No one in Lockhardt used her. Most considered her a nuisance, but at least she wouldn’t get the pitying looks here. She wouldn’t be alone, living in a hotel room because she couldn’t face the house she’d shared with Paul.

  Of course staying meant coming clean with Matias, and she needed to do it soon. Working on the ranch, he’d see the changes in her body before long.

  Vern hustled around the car to check the total on the pump. He wrote the numbers down in his little book.

  “I’ll take the bill, Vern,” she said, holding out her hand. It was about time she started paying her own way. One tank of gas wouldn’t exactly repay the family, but it was a start. Added bonus, paying her own bills might help overhaul the character she’d found so seriously lacking in the last few months.

  “It’s easier for ol’ Mitch to keep his records if I just add it to the ranch total.”

  “I’m not a ranch employee. This isn’t a ranch vehicle. I’ll take the bill.” Vanessa couldn’t remember ever paying for a tank of gas here. Come to think of it, unless she was trying to impress someone, she had rarely paid for anything to this point in her life.