by Marin Thomas
“But you can’t leave Maddie alone.”
“I’ll phone Corb. Have him on standby in case anything goes wrong.” He went back inside to call Corb and explain the situation, then he told Maddie that if she needed anything at all, she was to phone Corb. He could be at Silver Creek in ten minutes.
“I’ll be fine,” Maddie insisted. “I’ve got my water and my pills. And after such an exciting day, I’m sure I’ll sleep well tonight.”
It was satisfying to know she’d enjoyed the day so much.
Decorating for the holidays wasn’t really his thing. But hanging out with Winnie and her son was.
Then again, he figured he could muck out a barn with Winnie and still feel like he’d had a good day.
He made sure the phone was within easy reach of the bed, then checked the food and water for the dogs and cats. Finally he was ready to get into his truck. His intention was to see Winnie safely home, then go straight back to Silver Creek.
But when they arrived at Coffee Creek, it seemed only polite to offer to carry Bobby up the stairs for Winnie. Then he made a second trip with the Christmas tree, setting it in a bucket of water for Winnie to deal with later.
And then she invited him in—just for a few minutes. That was all it took for Winnie to change her sleeping little boy and have him settled in his crib in the new bedroom.
And then the two of them were alone.
A rare luxury.
He only meant to kiss her goodnight. But she responded so passionately that he had second thoughts.
He touched a strand of her hair, running it between his thumb and index finger, enjoying the silky softness. “I guess I should be a gentleman and leave.”
Winnie tilted her head and gave him a provocative sideways look. “Or maybe you should be a gentleman and stay.”
He swallowed, then cupped her head in his hand, holding her still so she had to look at him. “If I stay, I won’t be a gentleman.”
* * *
WINNIE HAD NEVER SEEN Jackson’s eyes this dark. They were almost black. He seemed fascinated by her face. One second her mouth. The next her eyes. Then her mouth again. He traced his finger over her bottom lip.
“You want me to stay, Win?”
She was almost trembling from how much she desired him. He’d worn a charcoal sweater today and she dared to slip her hands under it, to feel the cords of muscles running across his back.
He sucked in a breath, then did the same to her, gliding his hands under her sweater, then up from her waist to her ribcage. Slowly he moved his hands higher, flicked open her bra then pulled her in tight.
“Kiss me,” he demanded, his voice husky.
And when she did, something released in him. It was like a power surge. And suddenly he was out of control, kissing her, holding down her wrists and moving his lips down her neck, inch by sensuous inch.
She had guessed he was holding back the other times they’d been alone together. She’d been right.
“Oh, Jackson.”
He pulled back, eyes hooded, voice deep and rough. “Should I stop?”
“Never.”
* * *
MORNING CAME much too early. Jackson had stayed the night, and though they’d only slept for a few hours of it, Winnie couldn’t remember the last time she’d went down so deeply.
“Morning, beautiful.” Jackson’s scruffy morning beard scraped her chin as he gave her a tender kiss.
She put a hand on the side of his face, holding him close for a while longer. “You are...amazing.”
He laughed, but seemed a little embarrassed, too.
“You’re not used to staying the night, are you?”
“Not my specialty,” he agreed. “Until now.”
The look he gave her held so much love, she felt a happiness so complete it was almost awe. To think that this gorgeous, strong male should want to be hers.
And then reality struck, reminding her she was, above all, a mother.
“Up, Mama. Up, up, up!”
She groaned and pulled herself to her elbows. “Mama’s coming, Bobby.”
“Let me get him,” Jackson offered. A second later he was out of bed, slipping on his jeans and pulling the sweater over his head on his way out the door.
Winnie relaxed back into the pillow and closed her eyes. One more minute, then she’d get up...
The apartment was small. The walls thin. She heard Jackson. “Hey there, Bobby. Are you hungry?”
And then Bobby squealed, “Dada! Up, Dada, up!”
Winnie’s hand flew to her throat. She jumped from the bed in one quick flowing movement, grabbing her housecoat from the back of a chair. A second later Jackson was at the entrance to her room.
“Bobby needs you,” he said.
Everything was different. His eyes, his expression, his body language. He was like another man. Very distant and unapproachable.
“I have to go,” he said.
And then he did.
* * *
WHAT HAD HE DONE? Oh, God, what had he done?
Jackson took the stairs two at a time, not bothering to put on the jacket he’d grabbed on his way out the door until he reached the truck he’d left parked outside the Cinnamon Stick last night.
The town was quiet this early on Monday morning. But his head was full of sounds. A little boy, Brock’s little boy, calling him Dada.
The sound of it had broken his heart.
I’m not your daddy. Your daddy is dead. You’ll never even meet him. And it’s because of me....
He’d thought he was over the guilt, ready to move forward, but he’d been wrong.
He started the truck’s engine, then brushed four inches of snow from the windshield. The day was cold, but the sky was clear.
The storm was over.
But inside his heart, it had just begun.
* * *
WINNIE DIDN’T HEAR a word from Jackson all that day. Or the next. She hardly slept either night and didn’t have much of an appetite, either. She had to do something to get rid of these knots in her stomach, and calling Jackson didn’t seem like the smart thing.
Finally she was so desperate, she actually went back into the kitchen to talk to Vince.
He was sprinkling yeast over a glass bowl filled with warm milk. “Shut that door.”
She guessed he meant for her to be on the other side of it, but she did as he asked.
“I need your advice, Vince.” She perched on a stool, resting her feet on one of the rungs and leaning back against the counter.
“You’ve come to the wrong place for that.”
It was true, not many people would think about approaching the gruff, ex-bronc rider for his thoughts on matters of the heart. But in this case, Winnie figured he was the perfect choice.
“Things were going so well between Jackson and me. And then Bobby called him daddy. And it spooked him. He went running and hasn’t talked to me in two days.”
“Daddy, huh?”
“Well, dada to be exact. I’m not sure Bobby even knows what it means, though maybe he does. Every time she sees him, Olive shows him pictures of Brock and says daddy about a thousand times. Or maybe he picked it up from the time he’s spent with Laurel, Corb and Stephanie.”
Vince rubbed a hand along the side of his unshaven cheek. “Is Jackson kind of uncomfortable around your kid?”
“No. He’s great with Bobby. He’s a natural dad.”
“So it’s not the role of caring for a child that frightens him.”
“Not at all. It’s the fact that this child belongs to Brock. Jackson feels guilty that he’s taking over Brock’s life. Especially since he was the one driving when Brock died.”
Vince rubbed his chin. “I figured he moved to
Silver Creek Ranch to put some distance between himself and the Lamberts. But he’ll never really be free of them. Not if you two stay together. Because Bobby is a Lambert and always will be.”
Winnie pressed a hand to her forehead. “It’s such a mess, isn’t it? I felt guilty, too, in the beginning. But I’d grieved for Brock for a year and a half and I realized I was ready to move on. Why can’t Jackson?”
“We don’t all heal at the same rate. And Jackson, he’s had a difficult life. His mother had troubles, with drugs and such. And even once he went to live on Coffee Creek Ranch, he had his trials. Olive didn’t want him there. And he knew it.”
“I realize he had a rough childhood. But why does that make it so hard for him to love me?”
“It’s not loving you that’s hard. It’s giving himself permission to be happy.”
Vince’s words rang true. Winnie looked at her baker with respect. “That’s it. How the heck did a bachelor like you get to be so wise?”
“Aw, heck.” Vince waved his hand as if he were shooing away a fly. “I’m no Dear Abby.”
Despite her worries, Winnie had to laugh, imagining a picture of the wiry old cowboy above a Dear Abby column.
“Your advice is probably just as good as hers.”
“Who’d want to listen to an old man who’s made as many mistakes as I have?”
She supposed he was talking about his drinking problem. “At least the only person you harmed was yourself.”
“I wish that was true.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never you mind. Just get the hell out of here. And don’t let in a draft or the yeast won’t rise.”
* * *
IF THIS WASN’T REAL, then why could he feel the sun on his face? The roof of the SUV was gone and the airbag had Jackson pressed tightly against the back of his seat.
The three of them had been singing along with the radio, a rowdy song about getting knocked down and getting up again.
But the music was off now, like the engine. Outside Jackson could hear some robins calling back and forth. They sounded worried.
He shouldn’t look. He knew it would be awful. But he couldn’t stop himself. Slowly he turned his head to the passenger side of the vehicle.
Brock. Oh, God. No. So much blood.
He closed his eyes. Swallowed. Then called to the backseat. “Corb? You okay?”
No answer.
He must have killed them both.
“No!” Jackson shot up from his pillow.
He was in bed. It was still dark.
Hell. The nightmares were back. With a vengeance.
He waited a minute for his heart to stop thundering, then made his way to the washroom, where he rinsed the slick coating of sweat from his face.
He checked the time on his phone. Five-thirty. He might as well do the chores. Downstairs, as he put on his warmest clothes, the dogs sleeping in Maddie’s room heard him and came to follow him outdoors.
He almost welcomed the bitter cold. This was the third night he’d woken this way. Jackson was living in his own personal hell again, and he knew he deserved it.
He must have been crazy to think he could take Brock’s place in Winnie’s life and not pay the consequences.
Olive had been right, after all. That was one of the most annoying things about her. She often was.
After a quick romp in the snow, Trix and Honey went into the barn while he loaded bales on Maddie’s old flatbed truck. When he had enough hay, he drove out to the feed bunk, following the trail he’d cleared through the snow after the last storm. The cows were huddled together under the shelter. Kind of a pathetic herd now, but in a few years, that would change.
Snow and even a few icicles clung to the cattle’s dark coats. He tossed their bales into the feed bunk, then checked to make sure the heaters were working and the water wasn’t frozen.
He drove back to the barn, where he fed the horses and mucked out their stalls. It was warmer in here, but not toasty. He thought longingly of the Lamberts’ heated, high-tech barns. It would be at least a decade before he’d have anything that fancy here at Silver Creek.
He was about to head into the house, anticipating that first cup of hot coffee, when he heard the barn door open.
He turned to see the baker from the Cinnamon Stick, Vince Butterfield. He had on a heavy sheepskin jacket, but still the old cowboy looked cold.
“Hell of a morning.”
“Welcome to Montana in December.” He couldn’t imagine what Vince was doing here, and a terrible thought occurred to him. “Are Win and her son okay?”
Vince held up a reassuring hand. “They’re fine.” He let out a long breath. “Look, I know you must be surprised to see me. But can we talk for a bit?”
“Don’t see why not. I’m finished here. Let’s go inside and I’ll make some coffee.”
“If it’s okay with you, I’d rather talk in my vehicle. It’s nice and warm.”
Jackson looked the older man in the eyes. It was a strange request. But he supposed it had to do with the history between Vince and Maddie. “Maddie’ll still be in bed, if that’s what’s worrying you.”
“I don’t want to run the risk of disturbing her.”
Vince seemed uncomfortable. Maybe even nervous. “Fine.”
Jackson made sure to close the barn door behind them. Parked beside his own truck was Winnie’s little SUV with the decal of the steaming latte on the back window.
The surprise of seeing her vehicle made him freeze for a moment.
“She doesn’t know I borrowed her car. I shouldn’t really be driving at all since I don’t have a license.”
Jackson remembered then that Vince’s only mode of transportation was a bicycle, even though he’d been sober for several years now.
As he walked alongside the other man toward the idling vehicle, Jackson noticed their strides were exactly the same length.
They parted at the SUV, each heading to a different door. Once inside, Jackson looked at the older man again. “So what’s this about?”
“Winnie came to talk to me yesterday. She’s very upset.”
“Oh, hell.” Why would Winnie talk to this old coot about their personal problems?
“I’m not a fan of butting my nose into other people’s problems.” Vince grasped the steering wheel with both hands, facing out the front window instead of looking at Jackson. “But don’t you think that little lady has been through enough?”
Jackson felt sick to his stomach at the thought of Winnie hurting. Because of him.
“It was a mistake to get involved in the first place. I wish I could undo it. And I wish I hadn’t hurt her. But it’s too late now.”
“Too late because you don’t love her?”
Right. As if it was even possible for him to not love her.
“I do love her. But it’s wrong. I’m the last person who should be trying to take Brock’s place in her life. He was practically my brother.” Jackson’s voice choked in his throat.
He swallowed. Forced himself to say the rest. “Bobby called me his daddy the other day. Me. When it should have been—” His voice failed him again, and he stared out the side window bleakly. The dogs were sitting at the door to the house, waiting for him to let them inside. “I’ve got to go.”
As he groped for the door handle, Vince grasped his arm. The old guy had a real tough grip.
“We’re not finished. The dogs will be okay for five more minutes.”
“I have nothing more to say.”
“Really? Well, I was hoping you could explain something to me. If you love Winnie, why is Bobby seeing you as a father figure such a deal breaker?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“You feel guilty about his father dying. Well,
how does that help Bobby?” When Jackson didn’t answer, Vince tried a different tack. “You grew up without a dad, didn’t you? How was that?”
Hell. Jackson gave the old guy a dirty look. “What would you know about me and my childhood?”
“More than you would guess.”
A sudden cold rippled down Jackson’s spine. It had nothing to do with the weather. And everything to do with the man sitting beside him. “What are you trying to tell me?”
Chapter Fourteen
“I hate talking about my past. It’s nothing to be proud of.” Vince was hanging on to the wheel again, as if he could steer his way out of this conversation.
Jackson had a feeling he wouldn’t like what was coming, either. But he felt as pinned to his seat as if the air bag had exploded and was holding him there.
“I grew up in Coffee Creek, but I left town when I was twenty. I wanted to be a rodeo cowboy. And I got what I wanted. I spent most of my adult life following the circuit, and most of that time I was also an alcoholic.”
Jackson knew all this. But hearing the pain in Vince’s voice as he recounted the story of his past made it seem all the more real. And sad.
“Maddie Turner and I were high school sweethearts. I wanted her to marry me and live my vagabond lifestyle. She turned me down. Can’t blame her. I didn’t offer her much. Over the years I turned to different women. One of them was a pretty gal who liked to drink almost as much as I did.” He hesitated, then added, “Your mother.”
In the silence that followed, Jackson wondered if he’d heard right. “You can’t be saying...”
“I’m your father.”
Jackson shifted in his seat and stared at him. Searching the face that he’d never paid much attention to before, he suddenly noticed similarities. The line of his jaw. The color of his eyes. Before Vince had gone gray, his hair had probably been almost black, like Jackson’s.
“I was drinking heavily in those days. I went to Maddie for advice. We were still friends and I saw her every time I passed through town. She told me I should sober up and marry your mother. But I couldn’t. So I gave your mother the sum total of my savings, which was about thirty thousand dollars, and that was it. I never saw her again.”