Texas Rebel

by Jean Brashear

  For the second time that morning, tears threatened.

  “I know I scare you and you don’t much like being close, but…” He shrugged. “I’d hug you if it would help.” A big, powerful man, he looked oddly helpless at the moment.

  She’d wronged him so much. “Tank, I’m really sorry. I escaped in my own way, into my life with David. But it wasn’t fair to you. None of what happened was your fault.” She hugged him first.

  His arms closed awkwardly around her.

  “I am really sorry. And I’m sorry about Beth. I wish I’d known, so you’d have had someone to talk to.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  But some hurts never faded, she knew. “I love you, big brother.” Had she ever said those words before?

  A tremor shook his big frame. “I love you, too, Sis.”

  She stayed in his embrace a little longer, then stepped back, wiping her eyes. “Thank you for coming to check on me.”

  “I’m here anytime you need me. You just—”

  She’d kept him at a distance. Well, no more of that. “Are you working tonight? Would you like to come have dinner with us?”

  His eyes widened. “My shift ends at six. No telling where in the county I’ll be, but…I’d like that.”

  “I don’t guess you get the benefit of clear-cut time off, do you?”

  “Not really. It’s a big county and a small force.”

  “I usually feed the kids at six, but I’ll postpone eating until six-thirty. If you need to be later than that, I’ll go ahead and serve them, and I’ll keep it warm for you.”

  “Really? You’d do that?” He seemed stunned. “I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a long time. Ruby’s is as close as I get to that.”

  “Ruby’s is very good.”

  He nodded. “I bet yours is better.”

  “You still like meat loaf?”

  He seemed surprised that she remembered. “I do.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll have.”

  Just then his radio crackled.

  “I’m sure you have plenty to do. I’ll let you get to it.”

  “Thanks, Sis.” He went to the door, then turned back. “I mean it. All you have to do is ask. You’re not alone if you don’t want to be.”

  “Thank you, Tank.” Unbearably touched, she smiled. “I’ll see you this evening.”

  He nodded and left.

  She glanced around and tried to find her place in this new universe.

  Fortunately, there was always work to be done.

  She got back to it.

  The melee had begun the second he walked into the building.

  “Mr. G, I have about a thousand messages from media,” said Lily, his receptionist.

  “Isn’t that Stephanie’s job, handling media?”

  “Yes, sir, but—”

  “But what?” He frowned. “Where is she?”

  “She’s trying to get answers from Mr. Gray.”

  “About what? No one called me on the plane. Has something happened?” He’d thought he and Ty and Steph were keeping developments inside their circle.

  She opened her mouth to answer, but he heard Steph’s voice first. “There you are.” She marched across the entry, long legs eating up the ground. She was in full war-paint mode. “Come with me.” She turned and strode toward the executive elevator.

  He kept his temper in check.

  Barely.

  The doors swished shut. “What the hell was that?”

  “Who is she?” Steph glared. “Who was worth letting this company self-destruct over?”

  “I don’t have to answer that. You work for me,” he reminded her.

  Her eyebrows flew upward. “Wow. I thought we worked together. I thought you found my services valuable. If that’s no longer the case…”

  He held up a hand. Exhaled his irritation. Just because Sweetgrass had left him in turmoil… “I apologize. Bring me up to speed.”

  She considered him. “I know there’s a she.”

  “I don’t know why you’d think that. That’s not how I operate.”

  She tapped her temple. “Woman’s intuition.” Her gaze narrowed. “Is that a bruise on your jaw?” Her eyes widened. “Were you…fighting? Over her?”

  When he didn’t budge, she caved. “All right, here’s the latest: we have a hacker with what must be access from inside somehow. Every programmer we can spare is working on trying to track down the source. Someone has apparently introduced a very clever bit of code that activates every time a backup is restored.”

  “Every time?” Each and every aspect of every game was backed up constantly, both in the cloud and to impregnable drives onsite. “That can’t be. It’s why we have such elaborate backup systems, so we can always recover.”

  “I know that’s how you designed things to work, but—” She huffed out a breath. “This is one very clever hack. It’s beyond a simple Easter egg,” she said, referring to hidden code that would cause unexpected things to happen, usually by design. Their design, that was, and meant to delight the players of their games.

  They could be used for mischief as well, however. “How do you know it’s not coming strictly from outside?”

  “You have to ask Ty. I’m not part of your geek squad. All I know is that Ty says it appears to be somewhere in the operating system itself, and backups don’t solve the problem. We made the mistake of trying that, going back to older versions of the game, but the same thing happens every time.”

  “How far back?”

  “As far as it goes, apparently. Ty stopped the attempts at Day Five.”

  Day…five? That far? That was nearly two years ago. “Holy shit.”

  “Exactly. The game is toast unless we figure out who’s doing this and why.”

  “Is it about money?”

  “We’ve received no demands.”

  “If access has been breached by someone inside—who? A disgruntled employee? I thought we didn’t have any of those.”

  “We offer one hell of an incentive package,” she agreed. “Best in the business.”

  “So…”

  “I’ve been thinking. What if it’s personal?”

  “But who would…” Who hated him that much? Who wanted to see him fail? “I’ve played hard, but I compete fairly in the marketplace. I don’t allow unethical behavior.” The ethical code of Sweetgrass Springs, he realized, had apparently been alive and well inside him all along.

  “Someone who doesn’t value fair competition. You’ve had opportunities to line pockets, and you’ve refused. Maybe someone here has been compromised.”

  She was right that some foreign markets didn’t operate like the U.S. There were countries that lived and died by graft—not that corruption didn’t happen everywhere—but it was a way of life with some governments. “Which one, though?” he mused.

  “Ty’s working on it, while I stave off the press.”

  There was a whole gleeful world of competitors out there who would like nothing better than to see him humbled. “Publishers?” he asked. He’d long refused to let the big game publishers handle his products. They’d insist on their own control of the product, and he was proud of what his company produced. The company was him, and vice versa. He wasn’t selling himself to any company that would compromise the beauty of what his teams created.

  So he’d stretched—overstretched, maybe—to do this on his own. To roll out this very ambitious game on his own.

  Which made him vulnerable. Public opinion could kill them. They were all in on this venture, and the livelihoods of a lot of people depended on the success of Doom Galaxy. The burn rate for funds to hire the caliber of people he did was staggering.

  He might be quite wealthy, but his funds weren’t endless. He’d thrown his personal fortune behind this product, and if it tanked, not only did Enigma go down…

  He would go down with it.

  “All right,” he said grimly. “Let’s sit down with Ty. I want to go over every step.�
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  “So you’re really back with us? Completely?”

  He thought of Veronica, of how it felt to be with her again. How her children walked right into his heart and took up residence.

  But he wanted to fix things for her, and he couldn’t if he lost everything here. He wasn’t as good a man as David, so he had to bring something different to her, and money was all he had.

  Right now, though, he had to put her away—put all of Sweetgrass away, all the last several days had made him feel too deeply—in a locked compartment, and focus on the problems here.

  He was good at locking away feelings.

  So he did.

  “Completely.” With grim steps, he stepped out of the elevator and turned toward his office.

  Fifteen hours later, the alarm on his phone sounded.

  Jackson rose from the bowels of line after line of code he’d been poring over.

  He’d promised to call Veronica’s children. Suddenly, vividly, all their faces rose in his mind.

  They weren’t so easily locked out, he realized.

  He scrubbed his hands over his face. Rose from his desk and stretched. Tried to find his way out of that world and into the one he’d left.

  Sweetgrass felt foreign again. Aunt Ruby was wrong. He didn’t belong there. That world and this would never mingle.

  But he’d promised two little girls.

  Had given his word to Veronica.

  He punched her number.

  “Prince!” Abby crowed. “I knew you would call.”

  The chipper little voice made him smile. “Hey, Abby. How was school today?” He smiled again as he listened. All you had to do was give her an opportunity, and she’d run with it. He could practically tune out and go back to the code. She wouldn’t wind down for a while.

  Instead he found himself clinging to every word.

  That life felt very far away, yes—but warm in a way he’d never realized he’d been cold. For years.

  Then he heard Veronica’s voice in the background, and even that tiny reminder made his heart seize.

  Oh, yeah. He could easily lock them out, all right. Sure thing.

  “Mommy says I have to let someone else talk now,” Abby sighed heavily. “Will you call tomorrow night so I can tell you about Billy throwing up on the bus?”

  He had to laugh. “I wouldn’t miss it, sweetheart. Good night.”

  “Good night, Prince. Wait—when are you coming back?”

  He glanced at the lines and lines of code that filled the display in front of him. “Not yet.”

  “But soon?”

  He tensed. Could he ever afford to? “I hope so,” he hedged.

  A loud smack. “That’s a kiss, Prince.”

  He touched his cheek. “I can feel it.” Then he smacked right back, feeling more than a little foolish.

  “Thanks, Prince! Here’s Beth.”

  “Hello?” Much quieter.

  “Hello, Beth.” Often she needed prompting. “How is Boo doing?”

  “He’s fine.” A little giggle. “He’s looking at the phone. Maybe he wants to talk to you.”

  “Maybe he just wants to eat it.”

  She giggled again. “It would taste terrible,” she said softly. A pause. “I miss you, Prince.”

  Oh, man… “I miss you, too, honey. How’s your mom?”

  “I think she misses you, too.”

  “Yeah?”

  “She seemed sad before. But she’s smiling now.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Would you read me a story over the phone, Prince?”

  He glanced around his office. “I don’t have any storybooks. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. I just like how your voice sounds.”

  “I will have a storybook before tomorrow night, I promise.”

  “You’ll call tomorrow night? Really?”

  What the hell. They were the only bright light in his crowded and hectic world. That padlock dissolved before his eyes. “Absolutely.” Even if he had no idea where he’d get the time. “Abby sent me a kiss over the phone. Here’s one for you, okay?” He repeated the smacking sound.

  She giggled, then a softer version than her sister’s kiss graced his hearing.

  “Thank you, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.”

  “Same to you, Prince. Is it nearly bedtime for you?”

  Considering he’d only caught a short nap on the couch in his office over the last twenty-four hours, it should have been. “Not quite yet, but soon.” He wasn’t sure they understood time zones. “May I talk to Ben, please?”

  “Sure.” A pause. “I love you,” she whispered.

  Everything in him went still.

  “I love you, too, honey.” Damn his soul, he really did. He was helpless in the face of their affection.

  “Hey, old man. How’s it hangin’?” Relief surged as Ben saved him from wallowing in emotion he couldn’t afford.

  “How’d you do on the derivatives test?”

  “I nailed that sucker. My teacher couldn’t believe it. I rule derivatives now.”

  Jackson chuckled. “I bet you do. So how was your day?”

  And they were off, this boy of Veronica’s making him long for one of his own—while also reminding him of how insane the teen years could be.

  He was grateful Ben had a supportive parent who didn’t try to make him into something he wasn’t.

  “So, can we?”

  Hastily Jackson tracked backward. “Play virtually?” He glanced at the display once more and wanted to groan. He didn’t have time, but…

  “Not with your crappy connection, unfortunately.” But he could fix that. “You’ll be getting a package tomorrow—your mom tell you?”

  “She did, but she won’t tell me what’s in it.”

  “It’s nice to be surprised.”

  “Aww, man…you’re killing me.”

  “You won’t die. Anticipation is good for you. Cultivates patience.”

  “I have twin sisters. I don’t need any more patience.”

  They shared a chuckle. “How’s your mom?” He couldn’t resist asking.

  “Worn out, as usual,” Ben answered. “I think she misses you.”

  The hope in the boy’s voice stirred his own.

  But their lives were too different. “I’m glad I could help her. I wish she’d let me hire other help.” He remained deliberately obtuse.

  “She misses the work you did, too, yeah.” Ben let him know he got the dodge. One sharp kid, that one. “But she’s not going to budge on your offer to hire help. She’s determined to figure out a scale she can handle on her own. Uncle Tank was here for supper last night, though.”

  “How was that?”

  “It was okay. I guess he’s not that bad, maybe.”

  Jackson didn’t imagine Veronica had spent any time discussing her past with her children, so he couldn’t introduce the topic.

  “You don’t like him, though, right? No one does,” Ben added.

  “He’s your uncle, Ben. Family is important.”

  “He’s all getting up in your grill with everyone, you know? He embarrasses me.”

  Jackson found himself in the weird position of defending someone who’d never liked him. “He’s protective. And he’s a cop. That’s not an easy job. It doesn’t make believing in the good in people all that easy, I don’t think.”

  “I guess not. Anyway, he asked Mom if he could help, too.”

  “Think she’ll let him?”

  “Doubt it. Nice of him to offer, though. Ian and Mackey would pitch in anytime, if she’d let them. When Dad was here, it wasn’t like this.”

  “Yeah, your dad would have wanted life to be easy on her. He would have taken good care of all of you.”

  “My dad was the best.” A little hitch in Ben’s voice revealed still-sharp grief.

  “You were lucky as hell to have him. He was a great guy.”

  “I hate farming—” Ben burst out.

  Boy, did he relate. “It
’s honest work. Hard work. Important, too.”

  “You didn’t do it.”

  “I didn’t. It wasn’t my path. It doesn’t have to be yours. Is anyone telling you otherwise?” Jackson was surprised to find himself wanting to defend the boy.

  “No. Dad wanted me to use my brain to make a living, but—”

  “But what?”

  “What happens to Mom and the girls if I leave for college?” Suddenly he sounded very young. “I don’t think I can go.”

  Wow. This was one remarkable kid. “That’s not on your shoulders, Ben.”

  “It is! Mom counts on me. I do a lot around here.”

  How could he make promises to ease the boy’s mind?

  How could he not?

  “Ben, listen to me. I’d bet anything your mom wants you to go to college, am I right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Would it help you if I told you I’ll keep an eye on her?”

  “From there? You won’t know if something’s wrong.”

  The kid was tough. And too smart. “Okay, let’s think about it this way: you focus on your grades, and I’ll think about what to do, long-term. Ian and Mackey are there, and your uncle, too. The whole town cares about your mom. This is not on your shoulders, Ben. You get to have your own life.”

  “She can’t run this place without me.” But the longing for that not to be the case echoed in his voice.

  “Your mom has choices. She could sell the place and not have to work so hard.”

  “She would never do that. She says it’s my heritage. I’m the last male Butler. I have to keep the legacy going.”

  “Has she said that? That you have to stay?” He didn’t want to believe that.

  “Not really, but—”

  Jackson didn’t let him finish. “And she won’t, I promise you that. You don’t have to be a slave to that land, Ben.”

  “Roots are important, everyone says that.”

  It was like watching his entire past spool out before him. “Roots matter,” he agreed. “But they shouldn’t become chains.”

  “Ian stayed. Mackey came back. My dad stayed.”

  “And I didn’t, is that what you’re saying? Asking why?”

  “Would you tell me?”

  “It’s not a pretty story—” He glanced at the clock. “And it’s late.”

  “Aw, come on…”