This was right. This is what he’d been missing. Without conscious thought he’d said, “Marry me.” And immediately wished the words back into his mouth.
What was he doing? He didn’t want to get married and certainly not to Kathleen. This was a vacation fling. She went home tomorrow, he went to San Antonio for a short break, and then back to New York. What was he thinking?
Kathleen sighed again. “On the beach, just us and a justice of the peace and the ocean,” she said on a yawn. “Sounds perfect.”
She was dropping into sleep and probably wouldn’t remember, thank God, he thought. And then his worst fears came crashing onto his chest.
“I’ll train in Texas and you’ll photograph everything. We’ll go to New York together for your shows and travel the world.” She took a deep breath, exhaled. “Everything will be perfect.”
It took all of his control not to jump out of bed and run screaming into the night. Not a manly thought, but he didn’t care. What had his subconscious just done? And why did a small piece of him want to marry Kathleen on the beach and live in her fantasy world?
Her breathing softened as she fell into sleep. Jackson pulled away from her to pour a drink from the cabinet across the room. Sitting in the overstuffed chair near the window, he nursed the drink, staring into the night.
Did he even know what he wanted any longer?
Jackson snapped back to the present. He had done this. All him. So forget trying to talk Kathleen into a quickie divorce when they reached the ranch and start figuring out how to make the old man believe this was the real thing. Because he couldn’t let Kathleen’s dreams die when getting married was his fault.
He would stick to the plan and be the dutiful husband for the next month. After that, assuming there were no little Kathleens on the horizon, he would black out Texas and this whole mess. Move on with his life. Launch the editorial arm of his business and start building contacts at news magazines around the globe. He didn’t have time for this diversion but he wouldn’t shirk his responsibilities.
For the next month, Jackson belonged to Kathleen.
The Chevy hadn’t slowed when Jackson did and, afraid he’d lose his tour guide, Jackson stepped on the gas to catch up.
Both vehicles topped a hill and a small community lay spread out before them. A two-lane black top highway snaked perpendicular to the gravel road they were driving. As the town came into view Jackson made out an old-fashioned gas station, complete with manual pumps, what appeared to be a restaurant stuck inside an old sale barn, a farm implement store, and two bars. Across the street from the faded sale barn was a large, new barn surrounded by dusty holding pens. All were empty. Must not be a sale day. The town looked exactly the same as it always had and Jackson’s gut clenched.
He flashed his lights and pulled into the gas station. Ahead Kathleen slowed, pulled a U-y and headed back to him. An attendant hurried outside with a musty rag sticking out of his left pocket. The older man leaned on the hood of Jackson’s rented Honda 4-Runner and said, “Fill ’er up?”
Had they stumbled through a time warp at some point along the gravel road?
Befuddled, Jackson nodded and got out of his car to stretch his legs. Mitchum did the same and then walked over to the attendant, both men huddling at the gas tank to shoot the breeze. Jackson headed to Kathleen.
“Any problems?”
She shook her head. “I actually think he’s buying this,” she said, reaching out and then pulling her hand back quickly. Like she was afraid to touch him.
Jackson gritted his teeth. If their act was going to work she couldn’t be afraid to touch him and he couldn’t be afraid to touch her. He felt eyes boring into his back and straightened his spine. No time like the present to get acquainted without the assistance of alcohol.
He moved closer and before Kathleen could step back, Jackson reached out and pulled her to him. His chest pressed against hers. Her wide eyes raised to his. Jackson lowered his head.
“He may not be asking,” Jackson said as his lips brushed hers, “but the questions are still there. We better make this good.” And his lips pressed down on hers, demanding that she open to him.
Kathleen pushed her hands against his shoulders and tried to take a step back from his body. He countered every move she made with one of his own. His legs followed hers until her back was pressed against the side of the SUV. His hand captured hers, holding it tight against his side. For a brief moment he pulled back.
He tilted his head, whispering, “He’s watching and whether he has asked or not he wants to know why I’m driving a rental car instead of riding back to the ranch with my new wife.” He turned the knife a little, knowing she would respond more quickly if she felt threatened. “This is your big plan, if you want it to work, work with me.”
Jackson held his face inches away from hers, watching and waiting. He saw the realization dawn in her eyes and watched as the fight drained from her body. He almost wished it hadn’t. Almost.
• • •
“Give me back my hand,” Kathleen demanded, trying to look over Jackson’s shoulder to her grandfather. No use. She couldn’t see over the man unless she wore four-inch heels. But she knew he was right. Mitchum was watching them. Wondering what had gotten into his granddaughter. Wondering why she would marry a virtual stranger while on vacation and then not want to kiss him after being separated for a few hours.
The problem was she did want to kiss her new husband. A little bit too much. And he wasn’t her husband. Not really. Sure he was a husband on paper but according to their rules — her rules — he wouldn’t be a long-term husband. He wouldn’t be the life partner she needed or the stomach-fluttering, romantic partner she wanted. She needed to remember that so she wouldn’t get attached to him.
Jackson released her but instead of ducking back into the truck like she wanted, she rested her hands lightly against his ribs. She gazed up at the man she would have done anything for in college and wondered for the first time if he had changed as much as she had. Realized she wanted to know him and not just for the next four weeks.
“I’m sorry. You just…surprised me before,” she said, and then stepped up on her tip-toes to kiss him back.
His lips were firm and he tasted of Dr. Pepper. For a second Kathleen tried to convince herself it was the sugar rush from the soda that made her heart race. But it wasn’t. It was simply Jackson. Rubbing her mouth against his, back and forth, back and forth, she let her fingers walk up his ribcage and felt the muscles in his abdomen shiver in response.
Good. So he wasn’t any more immune to her than she was to him. At least they were on even footing there. Good chemistry would help them fake the honeymooning love-birds her family would expect to see.
Clasping her hands behind his neck, Kathleen gave herself over to the kiss, opening her mouth and reaching her tongue out to trace the outline of his lips. Jackson’s mouth opened in response, his tongue pressing quickly against hers and then withdrawing inside his mouth. The contact wasn’t nearly enough.
Kathleen deepened the kiss, pressing her body closer to his. She stepped up, her left leg angling between his legs so that she could feel the heaviness of his erection against her upper thigh. No, he wasn’t immune to her. Not by any stretch of her imagination.
The knowledge was power and Kathleen drew back, opening her eyes.
A chuckle and a cough brought her back to the present. They weren’t alone. They weren’t in love.
They were putting on a show.
She looked around and saw Vern at the gas tanks, her grandfather standing off to one side. Mrs. Gillespie, the owner of the Cattle Café was standing beside Mitchum with old Mr. Yoder, the owner of the corner drug store on his other side.
They were putting on a show for the entire town.
Crap, crap, crap!
“As
I was saying,” Mitchum said proudly, “Kathy-bean here went off to Mexico and found herself a husband. That’s Jackson Taylor, y’all will remember him. Now he takes fancy pictures for magazines.”
“Um, Grandfather, Jackson’s one of the best fashion photographers in the world. He owns one of the best photography studios in New York and also has an office in Los Angeles,” she said, vaguely remembering dinner at a small restaurant near the Malecon in Puerto Vallarta when Jackson told her about his business.
“Well, isn’t that somethin’, Jackson,” said Mrs. Gillespie, fanning her face with a lace handkerchief.
Jackson pulled away from Kathleen long enough to offer a wave to the older folks. Kathleen watched him, stuck with a feeling that he would have tipped his hat to Mrs. Gillespie had he been wearing one.
“Ma’am,” Jackson said in that same smooth, Texas twang that Kathleen remembered. She wondered why he was bringing out the twang now when she couldn’t remember him so much as slurring a word up until this moment. “Excuse me,” he said and kissed Kathleen lightly on the lips, his eyes dancing the entire time. “Looks like we’ve got a fan club,” he whispered, clasping her hand and stepping away from the SUV. “But next time, don’t talk about me as if I’m just a resume. Doesn’t look good.”
Mrs. Gillespie tittered and Mr. Yoder chuckled. “Young love,” he said. “Sure isn’t wasted on those two.” He waved at Kathleen and headed across the street to his store. The rest of the town would know just how hot Kathleen and Jackson were for one another by sundown.
Maybe this wouldn’t be such a hard thing to pull off after all. A few kisses here and there, Jackson showing up at the dinner table. They could pull this off. She would still be married on her twenty-eighth birthday, giving Grandfather the confidence that she was ready to settle down. Jackson could leave a few days after that, ready to return to his big life in New York and they would divorce.
No harm. No foul. They both knew the rules going in.
So why was her heart cold at the thought of Jackson returning to New York?
Chapter Five
The rest of the drive passed quickly. Four weeks of wedded bliss with Kathleen would be simple enough to handle. He called his office to let Heather know he would be reachable by cell if anything huge popped onto the calendar. Knowing he had already cleared most of the summer for his trip to San Antonio and the upcoming gallery showing he wasn’t worried.
Last minute fashion shoots were the norm but his contacts at the agencies knew he wouldn’t jump just because they called. If they wanted his personal touch, they had to give him notice.
After watching the scenery passing by his window during the drive from the city, Jackson was positive that on the days he didn’t go into the city he could find plenty to keep his camera busy.
All in all, this wasn’t such a bad plan.
They rounded a final curve and he sucked in a breath. He knew Kathleen’s family had roots in Texas going back practically to the conquistadores, but he hadn’t known their roots were quite this rich.
The main house — if you could call it a house — was immense. Three stories with triple-decker porches winding around the structure. Rocking chairs, swings, and comfortable Adirondack loungers placed in groups at intervals. Even from this distance he could see the fine mahogany grain of the massive front door, and the glittering knob was most likely gold and not gold-plated. There seemed to be two huge barns flanking the house, acres and acres of white picket fences — Mitchum must employ a herd of contractors just to keep the fence up — and fine looking horses playing in the pastures. He couldn’t see any cattle and that struck him as odd. The Witte ranch was renowned for its beef cattle.
They pulled around the main house and into a garage he hadn’t noticed filled with trucks, sports cars, and one antique Cadillac that had to be the real thing. They probably drove it in local parades, tossing candy to the kids along the route and causing most of the men to salivate at the condition of the historical car. All of the vehicles gleamed in the muted, afternoon sunshine.
He really should have paid more attention to her in college. If he had, he would never have agreed to her ridiculous plan, even though this marriage business was obviously his fault. Despite his self-made success he didn’t belong in a world like this. Just ask his stepmother.
Kathleen helped Mitchum from the passenger seat and he waved, telling Jackson to come to his study once he was settled.
“I thought you said this was a ranch?” he asked once Mitchum was out of earshot.
Kathleen pulled a suitcase from the cargo area and frowned at him. “It is.” She hoisted another bag, dropping it beside the first and finally pulling set of Vera Bradley totes from the space.
“Where are the cows? The smell of manure? All I see are horses and hot cars.”
The last of the bags made it to the pile at her feet and she started to the house once more leaving him to follow. Wasn’t she going to take in her bags?
Jackson’s temper began to fray. Surprise husband he might be but general bag carrier he most definitely was not!
A balding, rotund gentleman with leathery skin and a limp hurried toward them, grinning from ear to ear.
“Mr. Mitchum spread the news already! Congratulations Miss Kathleen!” He bussed her cheek and looked across to Jackson. In his light, Spanish accent, he continued. “This must be the man who stole your heart in Mexico. What did I tell you about my country? Love, love, love is always in the air.”
Kathleen grinned back at the man and hugged him. “I’ve missed you, Guillermo, truly missed you.” She waved a hand at the stack of bags between the SUVs. “Just tell Lucy to throw everything in the laundry and we’ll sort it out later. Oh! And Jackson’s bags are still in the rental SUV.” She paused and then whispered conspiratorially, “Grandfather isn’t working you too hard is he?”
Guillermo chuckled and tapped Kathleen’s arm with his elbow. “He yells to me to walk more laps in the pool. I yell to him not to eat so much sweets.” He patted his leg. “But it is feeling much better,” he said and then nodded before continuing into the garage. Jackson was left with the urge to tip the man as he would a bellman in New York. What was with these people?
Through the marble foyer and up a curving staircase, Jackson followed Kathleen. She turned left down the hall, passed by five doors, and finally opened the door to the sixth. She peeked down the hallway after Jackson entered and then snicked the door closed.
“Home sweet home,” she said sardonically. “Welcome to the honeymoon you’ve always dreamed of.”
“Actually I’ve always dreamed of not having a honeymoon. No wedding, either,” Jackson said before he could stop himself. He ignored the hurt look on Kathleen’s face. “Now would you please tell me why the Witte ranch, renowned for prime Angus cattle, has none in view?”
“The cattle are still here, the horses just take precedence.”
Jackson watched her for several minutes but she made no further explanation.
“I’m going to need a little bit more than that if you want me to be convincing at dinner tonight.” He paced to the fireplace, candles ready for burning at night in the hearth. Lavender walls, overstuffed furniture, an old chest with a throw over the top. Pillows everywhere. The faint smell of saddle oil mixed with rose potpourri from the antique cedar chest on the floor. A woman’s sitting room, pure and simple. He pulled at the collar of his shirt.
“You grew up in Texas and don’t know what a horse ranch is?” Kathleen laughed, making Jackson feel shorter than the pile carpet.
“You know the story — Dallas with Maria until I was seven, remember? Home of tourist attractions like Cowboys Stadium and the Dallas World Aquarium. The only horses I knew about marched in parades or galloped across the movie screen. Once the old man accepted I was his it was straight off to boarding school so his new, rich wife didn’
t have to deal with me. And now I live in New York, not exactly the ranching capital of the world. Humor me, why don’t you?” He hated asking for information, but did the ranch even have Wi-Fi so he could Google for information?
“Really, you’re playing poor little rich boy?”
Jackson wasn’t about to tell her exactly what his life had been like. It wasn’t like she needed to know all the dirty details for their fake honeymoon, so he shrugged. She rolled her eyes, curled up in a Queen Anne chair before the fireplace, and invited him to take the chair across from her. Jackson did but felt two sizes too big for the feminine seat. He refused to let her know, though, and remained where he was.
“We raise horses and cattle. Most we train as working cow horses for ranches all over the West. Our Quarter horses have won some of the biggest competitions in the world, and one will compete in the World Equestrian Games later this year.” Pride showed in her voice. Had she trained the animals? He vaguely remembered she was studying some kind of agriculture-related field at UTEP and once again wished he had paid just a little more attention to her rambling, teenager ways. She continued. “Most we train as working show horses for rodeoers or show riders.”
“You’re training show horses?”
She nodded, a genuine smile crossing her face for a moment. “I convinced my father just after college to buy a retired Thoroughbred — Jester’s Daughter. We bred her with King’s Ransom, our farm’s best performer, and were rewarded with Jester Six. Grandfather thought buying J.D. was silly, especially when Six wasn’t fast enough for the Worlds, but I kept training the second foal. Next year Jester Eight will compete in the Endurance leg at World’s. He’s the strongest horse I’ve seen and he’s fast.” She closed her eyes, as if feeling a rush of wind by her face. Jackson’s pulse raced just watching her. “Very, very fast.”
Texas Temptation Page 24