Texas Rebel

by Jean Brashear

  “I told you I’d invest.”

  A frown skated over her features. “You don’t know me well, so I’ll let that insult go.”

  “It wasn’t meant as such.”

  She studied him curiously. “I’ll accept that. But I want you to promise me one thing, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  “You are definitely your grandmother’s offspring.”

  She grinned. “Neither of us would be married right now if we weren’t more stubborn than anything else. So…I get that your life isn’t here and maybe you won’t ever want it to be, but…I need family, Jackson. I’m greedy for all of it I can get. I spent my first thirty years with only my mother, then all alone in the world. I’m not going to let you retreat again. You don’t have to live in Sweetgrass, much as Ian and I both wish you would.” She laughed at his expression. “Don’t shudder so hard.” With a smile, she continued. “But you do have to stay in touch. Or I will hunt you down, I swear it.”

  “Ian know what a bulldog he married?”

  “And apparently he can deal with it most days. Of course, the man has his own way of being stubborn. He just wears you down over time.”

  “You pegged him. He’s like water on rock. You think he’s all amiable, but you look up, and he’s got you right where he intended all along.”

  “That’s my guy.” Sobering, she held out a hand. “I don’t want your money, I want you to be my family, Jackson. Deal?”

  “I’m not going to settle for a no on the investment, but we’ll argue about that later.” He eyed her hand as if it might bite. Then he exhaled. “I shouldn’t have come back if I didn’t want to be traceable, I guess.”

  “You’re toast. Don’t even bother trying to escape.” Her laughter was catching.

  He took her hand. “Deal. But I won’t ever live here. I can’t.”

  “Why not?—Okay, okay…we can argue about that one later, too.” She slipped her arm through his. “Now let’s go look at the second floor and I’ll let you in on Ian’s brilliance.”

  “I’m all ears,” he said as they climbed the stairs.

  When Jackson drove up to the Butler place much later than he’d planned, memories assaulted him. He and Ian and David had spent many hours roaming from this place to Ian’s down the road. As kids they’d hiked the acres and played pretend battles with the Tonkawa Indian braves attacking their forebears. They’d been Superman and Batman, Captain America and Luke Skywalker or Han Solo. They’d ridden horses as though born on their backs, and they’d swum in the river on scorching hot summer days. They’d competed to see who could pee the longest distance.

  And in high school, they’d talked about girls and bragged about their exploits—most imaginary—and they’d learned to drink and sicked up the liquor, they’d tried cigarettes and even once, a purloined joint…they’d battled to the death with Jackson’s first video game creation, one so simplistic he could only smile at his younger self now.

  They’d been inseparable, the three of them, and when Mackey moved to town in sixth grade, he’d woven himself seamlessly into their band of brothers.

  David had once told Jackson he had a crush on Veronica, back in junior high. It figured that when Jackson was out of the picture, David would seize his chance.

  It didn’t seem to matter that Jackson knew he was at fault—his buddy had wronged him, at least that was how it had felt. Worse yet, to hear everyone say how happy Veronica and David had been together.

  The place felt lonely. He wondered where she was as he parked his vehicle and got out. “Hello?”

  No answer.

  “Veronica?”

  Nothing. Should he check the house or…

  If she was running this place by herself, likely she’d be outside. He scanned the area, admiring the four greenhouses stacked side by side, and beyond them the fields that were an explosion of oranges and reds and greens.

  A flower farm. How had that come about? She’d loved flowers, but where had she learned about them? The Patton place had always been dirty and barren, hardly a shrub growing, but her mother had tended a large vegetable garden, as most people around here did. He passed one here, too, squash clinging to vines and broccoli spearing up from its foliage.

  An old dog came charging his way, growling.

  Jackson halted. Held out a hand. “Hello, boy.” He let the snarling dog sniff. Reminded himself to stand still and relax, though the dog’s powerful jaws spoke of danger.

  “Where is she, fella?”

  After a final sniff of his boots, the dog trotted off.

  Jackson kept looking, peeking into one greenhouse after another and seeing plants of all sizes, from beginner shoots to lush foliage. How on earth did she take care of all this by herself?

  He nearly stumbled over her, and his heart seized. She sat against a tree trunk, fast asleep, exhaustion in every line of her thin frame.

  Her hands were still encased in leather gloves, and beside her a water bottle had tilted on its side and spilled. There were bruised shadows beneath her eyes and lines in her forehead. Her cheeks held hectic color. Beside her was a wide-brimmed hat he hoped she’d been wearing.

  He studied her closer and noted her even breathing. He was hesitant to wake her, but he also wanted to be sure she wasn’t dehydrated.

  Carefully he counted her pulse at the wrist and was relieved that it was even.

  She never stirred, seeming absolutely worn out.

  He glanced around to see if he could figure out what she’d been doing so he could help, but all he noticed was a van crammed with buckets full of flowers, shaded by a tree.

  He glanced at his watch and wondered how long she’d been asleep. She looked as if she could use a month in bed.

  He settled to the ground in front of her, some vague notion of watching over her flitting through his head. He was tempted to pick her up and take her inside, put her to bed.

  But she would awaken for sure, and she clearly needed the rest.

  As he sat there, the peace of the place settled in. The silence breathed all around him, punctuated by birdsong and chickens clucking. He heard light hoof beats and glanced across the way to see goats staring through the fence at him.

  He studied her and wondered if she’d been happy. This was not the life she’d said she wanted, one where they’d travel the world together, where she’d paint to her heart’s content and he’d create his code, where they’d live like gypsies and make love in foreign lands and they’d never, ever live in a valley filled with small minds and hard hearts again.

  What happened to you, love? Was it me?

  Of course it was, you jackass. You left her behind.

  But he hadn’t meant to. If she’d only waited… he couldn’t drag her away before she graduated, not to live in abject poverty with him. The plan was always for her to finish school and join him at college, then once they’d both finished, him at MIT where he’d been accepted, and her at Wheaton nearby.

  But then everything changed. Beth had died, and he’d been exiled. Many were the days he’d wondered if he’d get to eat at all, too proud at first to accept a meal in a shelter. He’d panhandled, he’d picked up odd jobs.

  He’d been so lonely he’d thought he’d die.

  He’d gotten sick once, so sick he was sure he really would die, cold and aching and frightened and hopeless.

  And alone. So very alone.

  That was the night he’d called Aunt Ruby. She’d asked him to come home, and he’d been tempted for a minute…

  But then she’d told him Veronica had run off with David and married.

  After that, his heart had hardened. All his softness had fled. He’d given up on her, so hurt his only refuge had been anger, smoldering and deep, a coal he could cling to in the years to come when he’d been so lonely.

  She’d had David, then her children.

  He’d had no one. Women aplenty, yes, but… He looked back at her.

  Not you. Never you.

  The only woman
I wanted.

  He shoved to his feet, anger catching fire again. He was done here. He would leave tomorrow and promises to Scarlett notwithstanding, he would not be back. He’d stay in touch, all right, but not—

  “Jackson?”

  His gaze whipped to the woman at his feet. He began backing away. “I’m sorry. I just…I wanted to check on you before I left, but—”

  Her eyes still dreamy with sleep and softly unprotected, she smiled. “You’re here…”

  That look. He’d lived for it.

  In a flicker it switched, her gaze growing wary. She rose. “What are you doing here?” Her arms wrapped her middle, and her frame went stiff.

  A thousand questions hovered on his lips.

  Why did you marry him? Why didn’t you wait? Did you ever love me?

  But the woman looking back at him was full of suspicion.

  Any dreams he’d had fled.

  “I’m sorry about David,” he said stiffly.

  Pain filled those hazel eyes. “I miss him.”

  Did you ever miss me?

  He fell back on politeness. “I…heard about your flower farm.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What did you hear? That I’m the poor widow, that I can’t manage this on my own?”

  “Can you?”

  She gestured toward the van. “I can. I’m doing it.”

  He studied her. “But at what price?”

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” Her lips pressed together in an angry line.

  He sought to explain, but before he could muster an argument, she turned away. “Feel free to look around. I have work to do.” She bent and grabbed the water bottle, then turned. In a polite tone she asked, “Would you like some iced tea or water?”

  He might have been a complete stranger, not the man to whom she’d first given her body. To be so dismissed infuriated him. “I’m fine,” he said through clenched jaw.

  “Very well, then. As I said, look around. I have work to do.”

  “Let me help you.”

  She turned, gave his clothing a withering scan. “It’s not your kind of work. You hate ranching and farming, remember?”

  “So did you, once.”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “That was a long time ago. Our lives are different.” She stalked toward the van.

  He quickened his strides to catch up to her. “Veronica…” He gripped her elbow.

  She jerked away. “Don’t touch me—”

  Brakes squeaked on the road. He glanced back to see a school bus.

  “Veronica, we need to talk—”

  “You need to go,” she spat. “My children are here.”

  “I want to meet them.”

  Her eyes studied his. “No, you don’t.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  “Mommy, it’s the prince!” cried one little girl, racing toward them. “Hi, Prince.”

  He couldn’t stifle a chuckle. “Um…prince? My name is Jackson. What’s yours?”

  Beside him, Veronica stirred, so he stepped closer and crouched. The girl’s identical twin approached carefully.

  “I’m Abby. This is Beth.”

  Hearing that name again stabbed him to the heart. He glanced back at Veronica. Her chin jutted defiantly.

  But two innocent little girls waited. “Hi, Beth,” he managed, trying to ignore how very much she looked like her namesake. It was hard to breathe, so he turned toward the other one who also resembled Beth Butler but bore a different name. “Are you Princess Abby?”

  The girl giggled. “He’s funny, Mommy.”

  Innate fairness made him turn to the girl who hadn’t spoken yet. “Princess Beth, I presume?”

  A sweet, soft smile as the girl shook her head.

  He turned back to Abby. “So why am I a prince?”

  “You look like the one in Sleeping Beauty. Ben says you make video games. Do you make one with ponies?”

  “I don’t, but maybe I should. What else would it have in it? Flowers, I guess?” He turned to Beth. “What about bunnies?”

  “And kittens,” the little girl said softly.

  “And a dog like that one,” he suggested.

  “Boo!” Abby crowed. “You can be in a video game!”

  Abruptly, she launched herself into Jackson’s arms and hugged him.

  Jackson stiffened at first, but the feel of it was amazing. No one had hugged him in years, not unless sex was involved.

  He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the simple joy.

  As quickly as she attacked, Hurricane Abby darted away. “What’s for snack, Mommy? Can Prince have one, too?”

  Veronica looked startled. Uncomfortable.

  Jackson rose. “I want to move those buckets of flowers. Where do they go?”

  Veronica’s expression shifted to mulish. “They’re fine. I’ll deal with them later.”

  “Over there,” Abby pointed. “In that cooler. I’ll show you.” She grabbed his hand and started skipping off.

  He halted her and turned to her shy twin. “Want to come with us?”

  Beth slid her small hand into his.

  He looked up at Veronica. “I’ll be careful with them, I promise.”

  “Jackson…” She worried at her lush lower lip. Finally she nodded.

  He clasped Beth’s hand, and they followed in her exuberant daughter’s wake. Once they were at the van, Abby declared they were staying with him. “Mommy says work gets finished quicker if everybody pitches in.” She tried to carry a bucket, but it was nearly as big as she was.

  “How about you open the cooler door for me? And Beth, would you mind making sure the van door doesn’t close?”

  Beth brightened and nodded.

  Abby skipped ahead. “I’ll be strong one day. And I’ll make Aaron Coleman sorry he called me a sissy.”

  “Who’s Aaron Coleman?” he asked as he strode toward the cooler.

  “He’s this stupid, icky boy who climbed up on the courthouse roof and almost fell down ’cept Mr. Mackey was a hero and rescued him. But he’s still stupid and icky and he doesn’t know anything but he thinks he’s so big and…”

  Jackson barely managed to keep his amusement contained as she chattered on, moving from Aaron Coleman’s apparent cooties to how Samantha had a crush on an Eric he could only assume was Mackey’s boy, skipping there and yon to some girl’s kitten and her teacher’s pretty hair, never running down until they heard the school bus arrive.

  “Ben’s here!” Abby turned to him. “You’d better come now, Prince. Mommy makes the best snacks, and when Ben gets started, he’ll eat every last bite. Daddy always said he inhaled his food and didn’t chew it and…”

  Jackson listened and smiled. Beth was a heartbreaker, with those big brown eyes full of intelligence and brimming with sweetness, and Abby…

  Abby was a force to be reckoned with, for sure. He’d never doubted Veronica would be a good mother, but just how good was evident. This child had never had to be cautious or fear being noticed. She’d known from birth the saving grace of unconditional love.

  Idly he wondered if Veronica would have been more like her if her formative years had not been lived in a constant state of terror. That she’d still been such a warm and generous soul was a miracle.

  Her children had no idea how fortunate they were.

  But he did.

  The sight of Jackson with her girls struck Veronica like a fist to the heart. Once he had been her dream, going to art school while he attended MIT, then traveling with him, exploring the world outside Sweetgrass Springs. One day, when the time was right, they’d planned to make babies together, babies who would be cherished from their first second, protected by their father, never terrorized. She’d had a terrible example of motherhood from her own, but she hadn’t been afraid to try. She had been determined to be a good mother, and she was.

  But she hadn’t shared their nurturing with Jackson, after all.

&nb
sp; And she could not afford to let herself focus on the expression that had stolen over Jackson’s features when Abby had hugged him.

  He had looked so alone. So hungry for connection and surprised to find it.

  Her girls were starved for a father, she realized. She hadn’t known.

  Nothing she could do about that, though, except perhaps ask Ian or Tank to visit more often. That would only be a bandaid slapped over a gaping wound, but wasn’t so much of her life like that anymore?

  She watched out the window and heard the girls giggle and saw Jackson carrying two buckets as if staggering under the weight, mugging for them.

  Was he as surprised as she was, that he was so good with them?

  She’d forgotten, she realized, that he’d been a kind young man. He’d been good with his sisters, protective of his mom, a teenager with a raft of good friends.

  What was his life like now?

  He seemed so isolated. So reserved. An observer, not a man coming home.

  A man expecting the worst.

  Then brakes squealed at the end of their road, and Ben’s bus rolled to a stop. She waited for him and saw the instant that he spotted Jackson. He immediately veered away from the house and toward the tall man closing the door to the cooler, his entire face alight as his steps quickened.

  “Hey, Mr. Gallagher!”

  Jackson turned as Veronica’s son approached. “Hey, yourself—Ben, right?”

  “That’s right. What are you doing?”

  Jackson shrugged. “Your dad was one of my best friends. I came to pay my respects, and your mom looks tired, so…”

  Ben shucked his backpack and moved in to grab two more buckets. “She’s always tired,” he said. “Girls, shouldn’t you be having snacks already?”

  “We want to stay with Prince,” Abby protested.

  Ben’s head whipped around. Jackson only grinned and shrugged at the title. Ben flashed him a smile and shook his head. “You know you can’t eat your snack too late or it will ruin your supper. Go on, now. Mom’s waiting.”

  Beth picked her way across the back of the van, dodging buckets. “Would you come, too?” she asked Jackson quietly.

  Jackson glanced at Ben to take his cues from the boy.

  “Mom made cookies last night. Chocolate chip.” He, too, seemed eager for Jackson to join them.