Wild About a Texan

by Jan Hudson

  As Jackson put the matching wrap around her shoulders, he’d kissed her nape and whispered, “How about you and me skip this shindig and stay home in bed?”

  “Not on your life, buster. I didn’t go to this much trouble to spend the evening in the dark.”

  He’d grinned. “We can leave the lights on.”

  “I don’t think so,” she’d said, picking up her evening bag. “Let’s go see the president and the first lady. By the way, how are the new glasses working out?”

  “Great. They’re even better than the overlays. And, uh, sugar, I haven’t told Matt and Kyle about…you know.”

  “Then I won’t tell them, either.” She’d given him a quick kiss on the cheek before they went downstairs to join the others.

  Now the limo was pulling up to the front of the stately governor’s mansion with its huge white columns and view of the state capitol and grounds. The place was ablaze with lights and thick with security.

  Irish and Kyle were the first out of the limo, then Eve and Matt. Jackson climbed out and offered her his hand, smiling as she exited the car.

  Cherokee Pete would have been proud of his grandsons, three handsome men in their tuxedos going to meet the president of the United States. Irish was gorgeous in an emerald-green suit with a floor-length skirt and a boxy beaded jacket to accommodate the first signs of her pregnancy, and Eve was equally beautiful in a dusky-rose silk gown.

  Jackson tucked Olivia’s arm in his, and, after they passed through a security check at the gate, they started up the walkway with the others. She felt like a movie star, smiling and girlishly giddy as cameras flashed around them.

  Inside, she actually met the president and the first lady, though later she couldn’t for the life of her remember what she’d said to them. She hoped it was something sensible.

  Mitch had hugged her, and Jackson had glared at him. They nibbled from the bountifully filled buffet tables and chatted with the movers and shakers in attendance. Jackson seemed to know everyone—and those he didn’t know, he quickly befriended.

  He was a charmer, no doubt about it. Men liked him, and women grew more animated when he was around. And she thought his new glasses made him look more distinguished.

  Matt had noticed the glasses first thing. “Had to break down and get some cheaters, huh, big brother?”

  “We’re all getting older, fly boy,” was all Jackson had said.

  The evening passed in a whirl of introductions and conversations, and before Olivia knew it, it was time to leave.

  At Irish’s insistence they all stopped by the hotel to have a nightcap. Olivia had fallen in love with the historic old Driskill with its Romanesque exterior and sumptuous Victorian interiors. The bar was a huge room done in a Western motif with overstuffed leather sofas, ranch paintings and a stuffed longhorn head over the fireplace.

  “Gruesome, isn’t it,” Eve said, shuddering and sitting with her back to the steer head.

  “Sweetheart, not everybody is the animal lover that you are,” Matt said. To Olivia he said, “Would you believe that not only do we have two cats, four dogs and an aria-singing parrot, we have a pig as a house pet?”

  She laughed. “I understand that pigs are very bright.”

  “Minerva is extremely bright,” Eve said. “And neater than Matt.” She winked at her husband.

  After everyone ordered drinks, Irish said, “I almost forgot to mention it, Olivia, but Kyle and I are having Thanksgiving at our house this year. I hope you’ll come with Jackson. We’d really love to have you. Everybody is pitching in, and it will be so much fun. We’re doing the turkey, Grandpa Pete is making corn-bread dressing and gravy, Mother is making pumpkin pies, Kyle’s mother is providing vegetables—”

  “And we’re bringing homemade bread and butter,” Eve added.

  “Mom and Dad are springing for the wine,” Matt said.

  “Mom doesn’t cook anymore,” Jackson added, “not since they live in the hotel.”

  “I didn’t realize that your parents lived in a hotel,” Olivia said.

  “Mmm-hmm. In San Antonio. They own it and live in the penthouse when they’re in town. They travel a lot. Where are they now, Matt? I forget.”

  “I think the last postcard we got was from Japan. They should be on their way home about now.”

  “Well, anyhow, Olivia,” Irish said. “I hope you’ll come.”

  “Sure she will,” Jackson said.

  “What can I bring?”

  Jackson grinned. “She makes a mean coconut cake.”

  “Great!” Kyle said. “Coconut is my favorite.”

  Irish rolled her eyes. “Any kind of cake is your favorite.”

  “Can I help it if I have a sweet tooth?” He leaned over and playfully gnawed on Irish’s shoulder.

  Olivia laughed at the bantering of the two couples who were obviously so much in love. She wondered if it was wise to spend the holiday with the families. She had a premonition that there would be a lot of matchmaking going on.

  After they finished their drinks, Olivia and Jackson said their farewells and rode home in the limousine. Jackson had the driver drop them off at his house.

  “My bed is roomier,” he said as he unlocked the door, “and I’ve been itching to unzip that dress all night.”

  They were barely inside when he tossed her wrap aside, pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She felt his fingers at her back and the slow slide of the zipper as he drew it down. She shivered and melted against him.

  Their tongues met and their moans mingled and her dress fell into a puddle around her feet.

  His jacket joined it. Then his tie and cummerbund.

  His studs and her shoes were scattered along the path to his bedroom.

  “New undies, I see,” Jackson said as he kissed her shoulder and unclasped her bra.

  “Mmm. Irish and Eve talked me into buying them at Victoria’s Secret. They matched the dress. Like them?”

  “Love them.” He tossed the bra across the room. Her panties landed on top of the lamp. “I think garter belts are sexy. Remind me to buy stock in Victoria’s Secret.”

  She slipped off his shirt and ran her tongue along his collarbone.

  His boots landed with a thud, thud, and he shucked his pants and hung them on the bedpost. The last of his clothes landed in a heap near the chair.

  “I’ve never made love to a woman wearing only stockings and a garter belt, but I always thought it would be a turn-on. Saw a picture in a magazine when I was a kid, and I’ve fantasized about it ever since.”

  “You told me, and I remembered.”

  “Did you now?” He circled her nipple with his tongue, then sucked gently.

  She gasped at the sensation. “I did. Nobody wears garter belts with stockings much anymore.”

  He laid her on the bed and stroked up the length of her leg. “They should. It feels sensational.”

  He kissed her and stroked her and touched her until she was begging him to enter. At last he slipped into place and plunged deeply. He moved slowly at first, but she urged him on, and the pace quickened.

  Their rhythm was wild and sensuous, and their climaxes powerful.

  When the last shudder had stilled, Jackson ran his hand up one of her stockinged legs and over the garter belt.

  “Darlin’, I may have these bronzed.”

  On Sunday morning they lay in bed, sipping coffee and reading the papers.

  “I still can’t believe this,” Jackson said. “I’m actually reading a newspaper. It’s amazing. Oh, I’m going to have to have some extra tutoring for a while to improve my skills, but, dammit, I’m actually reading. And looka here, sugar, our pictures are in the Austin paper.”

  “Where?” She craned her neck to peer at the section he held.

  “Right here in living color. There’s a write-up about the president’s reception.” Very slowly and deliberately he read: “‘From left to right—Dr. Kyle Rutledge and his wife Irish, the former New York model. Matthew Crow o
f Crow Airlines and his wife Eve, Dallas ad executive. Olivia Moore, university professor, and Jackson Crow, railroad commissioner.’”

  “Let me see that. I’m not a professor! I’m merely an instructor.”

  He grinned. “Wanna sue?”

  “I’ll pass. That’s an excellent picture. I wish I had a copy.”

  “I’ll check with the newspaper office. Maybe I can wangle one out of them.” He touched the picture, then ran his finger over the caption. “You know, it’s a miracle, Olivia. With these colored filters I can actually see your name. It’s so beautiful.”

  Tenderness filled her, and she rubbed her cheek against his. Things were just about perfect.

  Olivia was in her living room grading term projects and half listening to the evening news on TV, when “president” and “Austin” caught her attention. She looked up and saw the last of a story about the president’s vacation in Texas and the Saturday reception at the governor’s mansion. There was a film clip of Mitch and the president and the first lady receiving guests, and—ohmygod! There she was! And there was Jackson and the others.

  Panic rushed over her. What if Thomas saw that? She’d been so careful to lie low and cover her trail, and now here she was on television. Slapping her hand on her chest, she forced herself to breathe deeply and relax. But panic clawed at her insides. Her picture in the local paper had made her uneasy; seeing herself on television was horrifying.

  When she realized that she’d been watching a local newscast, she sighed with relief. It was highly unlikely that Thomas Fairchild, in California, had access to Austin newspapers or TV broadcasts.

  Keep calm, Olivia, she told herself. Thomas wasn’t going to find her. In all probability he had given up on her by now and moved on with his life.

  She hoped.

  No matter how much positive self-talk she used, a niggling doubt lingered and worried a corner of her mind.

  She slept poorly that night and awoke early to sit in her rocking chair, her gown tucked around her toes, and stare into space. And she prayed.

  When the phone rang, she almost jumped out of her skin.

  It was Irish.

  “Have you been watching CNN?” Irish asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “We’re on. They have a film clip of the president’s visit to Austin and all of us shaking hands with him at the reception. Isn’t that neat?”

  Olivia’s mouth went dry. “No, Irish. It’s not neat.”

  There was dead silence for a moment.

  “Thomas,” Irish said.

  “Thomas.”

  “Oh, Lord, Olivia, I’m sorry. But I’m sure you don’t need to worry. Even if he sees the film, he might not realize that it was you. I mean, you were only on for a fraction of a second. I recognized the dress first. And you aren’t identified in any way. You’ve changed your name, and your phone is unlisted. It’s unlikely that he’ll find you.”

  “Unlikely. That’s what I’ve told myself.”

  “Olivia, have you told Jackson about Thomas?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Tell him, sweetie. Tell him and let him protect you.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “We’ll talk more when you come to Dallas. When are you arriving?”

  “We’ll be driving up Wednesday afternoon and staying in a hotel. We’ll see you Thursday morning.”

  “Oh, I wanted you to stay with us. We have scads of room in this big house.”

  Olivia smiled when she recalled Jackson’s reaction to the suggestion. Not no, but “Hell, no,” he’d said. “That place will be like fleas on a farm dog with all the relatives coming in. Let’s stay where we can have some privacy.”

  “But I suppose you two would rather have a place with more privacy,” Irish said.

  “Those were almost Jackson’s exact words.”

  Time dragged by, and Olivia was exhausted by the time she returned home Tuesday afternoon. It seemed that everyone she’d met for the past two days had seen her picture in the paper or on television. Apprehension and lack of sleep had her nerves on edge.

  The phone rang.

  She started and cried out at the sudden sound. Her hand hovered over the receiver, and it rang again.

  It was probably Jackson. Or Tessa. Or Irish.

  It rang again.

  She snatched it up.

  “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  “Hello?” she repeated, louder. After the third hello, she slammed the phone down and rubbed her arms to ward off a prickly chill.

  Thomas, the frightened part of her said. Wrong number, her stoic self said.

  The phone rang again. She reached for it but couldn’t make herself pick up the receiver. Instead she let the answering machine click on. Ed Jurney’s deep voice said, “This is 555-6304. Leave a message and we’ll call you back.”

  Thank heavens that Ed, for security’s sake, had made the recording for her when she’d first moved in.

  “Hey, darlin’, it’s me,” Jackson said. “I’m going to have to work late—”

  She snatched up the phone. “I’m here.”

  “Good. I was afraid that I’d missed you.”

  “Did you call before?”

  “Before now? No. I have another hour or two’s work to do here, and I didn’t want you to wait on me for dinner. Mrs. Lopez said there was one of those casserole things that you like in the refrigerator. She said all we have to do is heat it up and toss a salad to go with it. Go ahead and eat, and I’ll eat when I get home. And, babe, would you mind taking care of Streak?”

  “Not at all. And I’ll wait for you. I’m sorry you have to work late.”

  “Everybody wants to get off early for the holiday, so we’re trying to finish up some things. Gotta go, sugar. Love you.”

  He was gone before she could say anything else—not that she would have confided her fears. This was something that she would deal with. Thomas was her problem, her nemesis, her nightmare.

  Familiar anxiety began to build inside her.

  If he hadn’t seen the TV clip, she was sure some mutual acquaintance would have seen it and told him about it. Pretending that she was safe was a fantasy. Hadn’t he told her that last time? Hadn’t he shouted, as she hid behind a neighbor’s shrubbery, that she could never escape him? Hadn’t he tracked her and almost caught her three times?

  She grabbed the stack of student papers from her desk and fled her apartment. She ran across the street, unlocked Jackson’s front door, then reset the alarm and dead-bolted the heavy door behind her.

  But she couldn’t lock out the memories or outrun the fears. They followed her inside. She could never forget that night.

  Thomas had beaten her before, once so badly that she had to be hospitalized. She’d told the doctor that she’d been attacked when she surprised a burglar. She’d had to lie. Thomas was standing at the foot of the gurney—acting like a loving, overwrought husband—and had threatened to kill her if she didn’t lie. Anyhow, who would have believed that Thomas Fairchild would have done such a thing? He was a federal judge, highly respected in the town. He played golf with the mayor and the chief of police…and her own father. Besides, everyone knew that he adored his wife, doted on her.

  In his own sick way, he had loved her. And in the beginning she’d loved him, too, but as their marriage deteriorated, as his abuse escalated, her love had quickly died.

  She’d tried many times to leave him, but he always found her and brought her back. Twice, when she’d fled to her childhood home, her father, the bastard, had called Thomas and told him where she was. Thomas was always contrite after one of his outbursts, begging her to forgive him, showering her with gifts, proclaiming his deep love for her. Things would be fine for a while. He would be the perfect husband—loving, tender, considerate. Then something would set him off again.

  She was sensible enough to realize that his abuse wasn’t going to end, but she was terrified of the man. And with good reason. Controlling he
r in every way, he’d made her an emotional cripple. The mere mention of her getting a job would send him into a tirade. She never had more than a few dollars in cash, nor did she have access to their bank accounts. Oh, he’d been generous with her, but everything had to be charged, and she knew that he could cut off her credit with a phone call. He kept the most costly of her jewelry in a safe in his study, not trusting her with the combination, but taking out pieces as she needed to wear them—even the things that had been her mother’s.

  But she’d learned to be devious. She searched until she found the combination to the safe. She began stockpiling cash, charging lunch with friends and taking their money, returning purchases and getting cash. A little here and a little there began to add up. She hid it in an old purse in the back of her closet, waiting for her chance.

  That last night, she’d finally screwed up enough courage to tell Thomas that she was divorcing him. He’d grown wild with rage, slapped her to the floor, then dragged her back up and shaken her, shouted obscenities and struck her again. He threw her against a wall mirror and her head shattered the heavy glass.

  “You’ll never leave me, Olivia. You’re mine! No other man will ever touch you. I’ll see you dead first.”

  When he reached for the fireplace poker, Olivia knew that he meant to kill her. Somehow she’d found the strength to run from the house. Keeping to the shadows, she’d hidden behind the oleanders at the Almont’s house, a block away.

  She’d waited there for hours, bruised and bleeding and terrified, until she saw Thomas leave in his car. She’d hurried back to the house and grabbed money, jewelry and what she could fit into her car and fled.

  She hadn’t stopped running.

  A coldness rippled over her and set her to shivering.

  He was going to find her. She knew it.

  Her instincts told her to run. Fast and far away.

  Thirteen

  Olivia didn’t relax until they were on the freeway headed to Dallas. Even then, she kept looking behind them to see if anyone was following the car.