Wild About a Texan
Page 14
He picked up the phone again and called the person he knew with the most political clout—Mitch. He briefly explained the situation and asked if he could help.
“As governor, I can’t do much directly,” Mitch said, “but the chief of police owes me a couple of favors. Let me call George and find out what’s going on. I’ll get back to you.”
For an hour Jackson tried to read the material for the upcoming commission hearings, but his heart wasn’t in it. Mostly he paced, waiting for Mitch’s call.
When the phone rang, he eagerly snatched it up. Instead of Mitch, Tessa was on the line, asking what had happened. “I had a cryptic message from Olivia, telling me about the break-in and that she was going to stay with a friend. Is she there?”
“No, I believe that she’s with a girlfriend, Tessa, and I’m glad to know that she’s safe.” He filled her in with the details, as much as he knew. He even told her about Olivia’s reaction to his trying to help.
Tessa’s advice was almost the same as his mother’s.
“I have the governor looking into things—but for gosh sakes don’t let Olivia know that. And I’ll call a carpenter to fix the door.”
“Forget the door,” Tessa said. “Ed and Bill will take care of it. See that she’s safe, Jackson. She’s been terrified by that man for so long it’s almost ruined her life. Be patient with her.”
“I will.”
Half an hour later Mitch called. “Did you know that Thomas Fairchild is a federal judge in California?”
“A judge? My God.”
“Yep. Would you believe Olivia called me for help not fifteen minutes after we talked?”
“I hope you didn’t tell her that I’d called you.”
“Sorry. I did. I didn’t realize it was a secret.”
Jackson groaned. Now she was really going to be hacked at him. “What’s going on?”
“I found out that Fairchild was about to worm his way out of jail in a few hours when George got involved. The most he can do is hold him for twenty-four hours, then the bastard can post bail and be out. Olivia can get a restraining order, but they don’t always do much good. I have a better idea.”
“Which is?”
“Harlon Swain and I are going to go visit Fairchild in jail.” Harlon Swain was also a federal judge, one with many years of service, who had the ear of the powers that be in Washington as well as a supremely commanding voice and presence. He was a male version of the late Barbara Jordan.
“We’re going to see if we can put the fear of God and Texas in this fellow,” Mitch said. “Ride him out of town on a rail, so to speak.”
“Think it will work?”
Mitch laughed. “You’ve got me, but Harlon seems to think it will. He’s asked around, and from what he’s found out about Fairchild, and from what Olivia told me, appearances are important to him. So is his judgeship. We can escort him to the airport and send him back to California with the charges dropped, or we can pursue the matter and get him thrown off the bench. If we let him off, he has to swear that he’ll get some psychological help and never set foot in Texas again.”
“Do it.”
“Say, buddy, what’s going on with you and Olivia? She was colder than a marble gravestone when I mentioned your name. Are things off with y’all?”
“Don’t go getting any ideas, Mitch. She’s still—spoken for.” Damn, he’d almost said “mine.” He was going to have to erase that word from his vocabulary. “Keep me posted, will you? And don’t mention to Olivia that we talked. She gets pissed if she thinks somebody is interfering in her business.”
Now, Jackson thought, if he could just manage to be patient.
He tried his dead-level best for the next few days. From what Mitch told him, he and Harlon had put on quite a show, and Fairchild had taken the first plane back to California. The bastard jumped on the chance to keep his job and his good name. Olivia was rid of him for good.
And she was back at her apartment. The door was fixed, and he saw her coming and going, but she wouldn’t take his calls or return his messages.
He sent her flowers and cards every day. Hell, he even had dinner delivered to her door every night with a note to call if she needed someone to share it with.
Nothing. Nada. Zip.
Not even a polite thank-you note.
Patience, his mother warned.
He muttered—and waited.
Olivia could ignore the prime rib, the lobster, the fillet of sole and chicken Florentine, each with a bottle of the finest wine, but when she opened the latest dinner box, she almost wept. Inside were four hotdogs with mustard, chili and cheese, and a big bag of potato chips. Instead of wine, there was a six-pack of Jackson’s favorite beer. The note said: “Call me, darlin’. I’m starving to death.”
She had tried to cut Jackson from her life, told herself that she was crazy to make herself vulnerable to a man again. Trouble was, she loved Jackson Crow, plain and simple.
She freely admitted that she’d overreacted to him the day of the break-in, but she’d been so keyed up that she couldn’t help it. Now that her life belonged to her again and she had time to think rationally, she realized that Jackson was nothing like Thomas or her father. Protective? Absolutely. Hadn’t he called Mitch to help her even before she thought of it? But manipulative and domineering? No.
And, darn it, she missed him something awful.
Picking up her phone, she punched in the familiar number.
Jackson answered on the first ring.
“Want to come over for a hotdog?” she asked.
“Damned right. I’m on my way.”
He didn’t even say goodbye, just hung up. From her kitchen window, she saw him charging out the courtyard gate, dragging a shirt over his head. She laughed. He was barefoot, and it was cold outside.
She heard his feet hit the stairs and in three seconds he was knocking on her door. When she opened it, he was leaning casually against the jamb, grinning in that delightfully endearing way of his.
“Come in,” she said, resisting the urge to throw her arms around him and kiss him senseless. “Want a beer?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Thumbs hooked in the belt of his jeans, he sauntered in.
“Aren’t your feet cold?”
He looked down and, as if noticing for the first time that he was barefoot, wiggled his toes. “Damn! And I was trying to be so cool.”
She laughed. “You are cool, Jackson Crow. Supercool. Or is it hot?” Unable to resist any longer, she put her arms around his neck and pulled him to her.
He didn’t need any urging. His lips met hers in a kiss that made her knees sag.
He kissed her eyes and her cheeks and nuzzled his way under her chin. “Oh, darlin’, I’ve been out of my mind. I love you so much.”
“I love you, Jackson.”
“Do you mean it? Honest to God?”
She smiled. “I do. I’ve missed you, too.”
“Promise that you’ll marry me, darlin’, and put me out of my misery.”
He reached for her lips again, but she pushed him away and took his face in her hands. “Jackson, I can’t promise you that. I’m not ready to make that kind of commitment again. I may never be. There’s so much that you don’t know about me, about the kind of life I’ve had.”
Leading her to the sofa, he sat down and pulled her into his lap. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”
She did. She told him everything about her father’s abuse of her mother, then of her brother and her, about her college fiancé’s abuse, about her ex-husband’s abuse. She related every ugly bit of the story.
Jackson closed his eyes during parts of the account, and she could see the muscles in his jaw moving as he controlled his anger, but he didn’t say a word until she was finished. He only held her close and stroked her.
“So now do you see why I’m anxious about relationships?” she asked quietly. “It’s not that I don’t love you, Jackson. It’s just that I’m…very wary.”
/> “I’ll wait.”
“Jackson, I may never be ready to get married again. You should know that.”
“Olivia, I love you with all my heart and soul. I’ll wait. And in the meantime I’ll settle for what I can get. You’ve brought joy into my life beyond measure.” He smiled and traced her lips. “And you’ve brought colors that opened up a new world to me and changed the way I perceive everything, but the only color that’s worth a damn is the color of your name.” He kissed her deeply. “I’ll wait.”
Epilogue
The roadsides were a blanket of blue as Texas bluebonnets bloomed in profusion. Here and there along the highway to Dallas were patches of orange Indian paintbrush, pink evening primrose and other breathtaking spring wildflowers.
Olivia and Jackson were on their way to see Irish and Kyle’s new son. Joshua had been born three days before, and mother and son were doing fine.
“Kyle sounded like he was about to pass out,” Jackson had told Olivia after the call came, “but Irish and the baby are doing great. Seven pounds, nine ounces and gorgeous.”
Olivia was anxious to see her friend. They talked weekly and had visited again at Christmas, but she could hardly wait to see that adorable baby.
She settled back, content to be with Jackson as he drove. In the months they had been together, she’d learned a great deal about him. He was totally different from her father and Thomas. He had a temper, yes, but his anger was never directed against her. Jackson was a strong man with strong opinions, and he was very protective of her, sometimes overly so, but she knew for certain that he would never hurt her. Hadn’t she deliberately provoked him several times to prove it to herself?
Every day she grew more and more sure that she was ready to commit to a permanent relationship. Instead of making her shudder, the notion filled her with warmth. She did adore the man. She smiled. And he was such a hottie.
After what seemed forever, they arrived in Dallas and went directly to Irish and Kyle’s home. All the clan had gathered, even Jackson’s sister, Congresswoman Ellen Crow O’Hara and her husband were there. Only Kyle’s brother Smith was missing. He hadn’t shown up at Christmas, either.
“I don’t know what’s the matter with that boy,” Cherokee Pete said. “I miss him like the dickens.”
“So do I,” Sarah Rutledge said. “I wish he was here to see his new nephew and my new grandson. Isn’t he beautiful?” she asked, folding back the blanket for Olivia and Jackson to get a better view of the bundle she held.
“He’s precious,” Olivia said. “May I hold him?”
Sarah transferred the baby to her, and as Olivia held him in her arms, a flow of maternal tenderness stole over her. “How wonderful to create this little soul.” She smiled up at Jackson. “Why don’t we have a little one like this?”
“I’m willing. But only if you’ll marry me.” He brushed her cheek with his knuckle, love shining from his eyes.
“I will.”
“Do you really mean it, darlin’?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Folks could hear his whoop all the way to Austin.
ISBN: 9781408942321
Wild About a Texan
© Janece O. Hudson 2002
First Published in Great Britain in 2002
Harlequin (UK) Limited
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