In the past twenty-four years she made no attempt to find him. No birthday cards, no letters explaining why she left one morning and never returned. He clenched his teeth. Why couldn’t he forget about her the way she had forgotten about him? Looping the camera over his shoulder, he beeped the SUV locks and strode across the quiet street.
“Whatever you’re sellin’, we don’t want any,” a voice said from the window near the front door. A wrinkled, veiny hand gripped one bar as the person coughed heavily on the other side.
Jackson ignored the voice and tried the door. It didn’t budge. The building might be falling down on itself but the security system still worked. Just his luck.
“I’m not selling anything,” Jackson said, returning to the window with the hand and wishing he could see the occupant inside. He couldn’t tell from the gravelly voice if he spoke with a man or a woman. “Just looking for someone.”
“Most of us don’t want to be found, neither,” the person said. “You a bounty hunter or somethin’?”
Jackson bit back a smile. “No. Not a salesman, not a bounty hunter, and I don’t work for the IRS, the police or a newspaper. I’m looking for…an old friend.”
“Old friends don’t usually take pictures from across the street.”
Tired of the person’s questions, Jackson said only, “No.”
“I’ve been here ’long as anybody. I suppose I’d know your friend, if he lived here.”
“She,” Jackson said. “Maria Taylor. She would have lived here two or three years ago. Early fifties, dark hair.”
The old man sat forward so that Jackson finally saw who he was talking with. “Maria ain’t here. Not for a long time.”
Not surprised, Jackson only nodded. It had been a shot in the dark to go looking for his birth mother after all these years. From the information he had gathered, Maria never held down a job for long and seemed to float through Texas at her whim. Settling in any town or city where she could work a few weeks and then disappear again.
The old man shook his head and coughed again. “She owe you money?”
“No.” She owes me a life. And then Jackson knew: he looked for Maria not to learn why she left, but to know he wasn’t like her. She’d been the dancer his father didn’t want. He’d been the seven year old she left behind. Not even the quiet acceptance of the foster family he’d been placed with before Hugh Henderson acknowledged him filled the hole in his heart. And it was her fault. She’d scarred him and now he needed to know he wouldn’t scar anyone else.
Like Kathleen. Only wasn’t he hurting her by helping her lie to her family? He was certainly poking at old wounds he’d thought healed. He was a throw-away child who’d decided it was better to depend on no one than allow anyone close. He liked his life that way, so was he now contemplating what a future would be like in the middle of the Witte family, warts and all? He shouldn’t want the roots they offered; he should have jumped at the chance to leave last night.
Kathleen’s beautiful face filled his mind. No. He wanted her physically, but even if he could come to terms with his past, she didn’t fit into his future. She couldn’t. “Did she leave a forwarding address?”
This time the old man snickered. “People who live in this neighborhood don’t leave forwardin’ addresses, sonny. They move in, collect a check or two, and move on. Your Maria’s probably found herself in another town by now.”
And maybe it was time for Jackson to stop looking at the past and find himself in another town. Did it really matter why she left? He had a good life in New York. Friends. Steady, well-paying work and a growing business. His own show in a few weeks. Didn’t that prove that he wasn’t like Maria?
That he could have Kathleen and not hurt her?
He heart stuttered. He didn’t have Kathleen. Didn’t want her. Well, okay, he wanted her, but they were too different. She needed space and her horses and the outdoors. He needed his camera and a subject. He didn’t need the drama that came with three generations living under the same roof. He couldn’t have Kathleen for any more than the next few weeks and then maybe he could forget her.
“She isn’t my Maria,” Jackson said and turned from the window. He watched the SUV for a few minutes but couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet. He started walking, stopping now and then to capture a building or a silhouette through his camera lens.
• • •
Where was he? Kathleen rubbed down Trio in the horse barn, one ear listening for Jackson’s SUV as she talked half-heartedly to the horse. He had been gone since breakfast. She glanced at the wall, watching as the time ticked toward five o’clock.
His explanation about taking tourist pictures for his showing didn’t make sense. One thing the art world didn’t need was more pictures of tourists in vacation spots. At least the pictures from the Malecon weren’t touristy. She had watched Jackson capture stall workers, artists, and even surfers on the famed boardwalk; none of the pictures looked touristy. Photographing the Alamo, River Walk or the Historical District? The art world wouldn’t give those post-card pictures a second glance.
So where was he?
Tired and hungry, Trio pushed his head against her hands and tried to step back.
“Sorry, boy. I guess I lost track of the time,” she said before unclipping his halter and sending him into his paddock.
Lost track of time? More like she had lost control of her brain. All day long she watched the road, hoping Jackson was just around the corner. All day long she had been disappointed when no dust cloud, no SUV appeared in the distance. Even Vanessa’s grousing about Paul barely registered.
Was he even coming home? Had he taken her up on the offer to end their fake marriage earlier than planned?
Her stomach dropped and her fists clenched. Was last night’s love making his way of saying good-bye?
Leaving the barn, Kathleen hurried by the pool, ignoring Vanessa’s order to bring her more lemonade.
“I swear, you ask for something simple — ”
Kathleen closed the French doors on her sister before the rant could really get started. She didn’t need Vanessa’s whining today. She could just get her own lemonade for once. Kathleen was beginning to see why Paul packed up Vanessa’s belongings while she wasn’t at home.
Upstairs Kathleen breathed a sigh of relief. Jackson’s suitcase and clothes were still in the closet. He was coming back.
She sat down, holding a fist to her chest, and took two deep breaths.
What was wrong with her? It would have been better if he’d gone. He belonged in New York, could barely wait to get back from the way he tore off the ranch this morning to get to San Antonio. She belonged here, with her horses. Protecting Grandfather’s legacy. Helping her father get back on his feet, assuming he ever admitted he needed help. She barely knew Jackson, and she was definitely not still hanging on to that silly crush. Why did it matter where he had gone? Why he wouldn’t talk to her this morning?
A ragged breath tore from her throat.
If Kathleen didn’t know herself better, she would think she was falling in love. But that couldn’t be. There hadn’t been enough time to fall for Jackson, hot body or not.
She could not love Jackson Taylor. Not. Not. Not.
Pushing off the settee, Kathleen drew her hair off her face and fanned herself with her right hand. She was just overtired and all of that alcohol from the Vallarta trip was still working its way out of her system. That was all. A quick shower and fresh clothes and she would be fine.
Better than fine.
Grabbing her favorite teal and brown Lucchese boots from the closet, Kathleen shucked her work boots and jeans, then her tee-shirt. Fresh under things were next and an old stand-by — a teal halter babydoll dress that did amazing things to her chest and legs. This was exactly the outfit she needed to stop feeling like Frumpy Kath
leen. Frumpy Kathleen in the dirty jeans and sweaty tee-shirt were the reason she was feeling so weird about Jackson.
It certainly wasn’t her heart.
The hot shower spray was heavenly and Kathleen stayed under the pulsing water until it started to run cold. She shut off the taps, combed out her hair, and secured the Velcro tab on her body wrap before opening the bathroom door — and running straight into Jackson.
Her heart skipped a beat and she forgot to breathe. What was wrong with her, she wondered for the hundredth time. She saw him less than eight hours ago and now her heart was pounding as if he was home after months away. He’d seen her naked for goodness’ sake. Several times. Just last night in fact. Why did it matter that now he saw her, fresh from the bath, with little more than a towel around her body?
She swallowed hard. Licked her lips.
“Hi,” she said, hating the self-conscious sounding word. Cold water dripped from her hair onto her suddenly over-heating skin and she shivered. “You’re just in time for dinner.”
Heat leapt into his eyes and he smiled. “And you look like a great appetizer.”
Fire burned in her belly, but she knew she had to stop this. They needed to talk, get acquainted. Stop jumping into bed when they were within five feet of one another. Oh, but skipping dinner and feasting on Jackson sounded like heaven.
Stop that.
She pushed against his chest with her free hand, holding the Velcro closure secure with her left. Just in case.
“You’ve got about ten minutes to change before we’re expected downstairs. And if you thought Grandfather’s grilling this morning was bad you definitely don’t want to miss dinner.” She inched around him, behind the old-fashioned dressing screen and finished drying off.
Eyebrows furrowed, Jackson asked, “What grilling?”
“Ha-ha. You and Grandfather arguing about the ranch tour? Remember that?” She pulled on black lace panties and bra, then slipped the dress over her head. “You can’t have forgotten.”
Jackson looked even more confused. “That was an argument? I thought I was perfectly nice.”
Kathleen sat on the settee to pull tiny footies onto her feet before slipping on her boots. “You may have thought it was a discussion but no one ‘discusses’ plans with Grandfather. Usually he talks, we jump. And if you want to clean up at all before we head back to the Lion’s Den, you’d better hurry because I still need to dry my hair.
She stood, self-conscious, when Jackson simply stared at her. “What?”
“You look like this girl I used to know in college,” he said, voice gruff with wanting. “Until five minutes ago I thought that girl was gone forever.”
Chapter Nine
Kathleen kept from stumbling back a few steps by sheer force of will. She would not be a shrinking violet. She would not jump back into bed with Jackson. It was too late to come clean with Grandfather without creating an even worse impression. She should have told him at the villa. At the very least during the four hour flight back home or the hour spent driving to the ranch. Dinner last night was another option. At any point during the eight hours Jackson had been wherever he had been.
But she had run scared, digging the hole deeper with every second of lies. Now she was stuck. Well and truly stuck, but she would make the best of it. They had three and a half weeks left to play newlyweds, and since Jackson hadn’t run screaming into the Texas night when she gave him an out last night he was obviously still up for the act.
An act, though, required a plan. A plan meant she had to stop daydreaming about who Jackson might be and get to know the real man — fast.
“Dinner first, then we’ll talk about…” she motioned toward the bedroom.
“I saw that damned pallet is still on the floor, let’s talk about that.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
She was honest enough to admit that she didn’t want to keep Jackson out of her bed forever. Not even for one night. “I just haven’t had time to put the blankets back. I agree, the pallet is out.” They could use their attraction to her benefit. Everyone at the table would see the sparks she could feel right now, but they would still expect conversation. Would have questions about Jackson.
She needed some answers.
“But we only have a few minutes to give each other a crash course about our lives pre-Puerto Vallarta. Do you want to go first or should I?” There. That even sounded businesslike.
Jackson pulled back, the heat in his eyes dampened. “No one expects us to do more than make moon-eyes at each other and run back to the bedroom as quickly as possible.”
Kathleen chuckled. “Moon-eyes, yes. But last night Vanessa took the heat off of us. Tonight, she’ll turn up the heat by being a perfectly polite guest. She’ll ask us questions and she won’t give up easily. So do you want to give me your history first or do you want mine?”
“I already know your history. Raised on the ranch, went to UTEP, degree in Veterinary Sciences. Plans to take the horse world by storm, married on a beach in Mexico.”
That stopped her cold. “We were married on a beach?” Did he remember? Oh, please don’t let him remember that this ordeal was her fault. He might be more willing to play along if he thought getting married was his idea.
Jackson shrugged. “Where else do drunken tourists get married? I’m just giving us an option for our wedding story.”
Kathleen felt strangely deflated. He didn’t remember. She should be relieved, so why wasn’t she?
“Is a beach wedding a bad idea?”
“What? Oh, no that’s fine. Let them draw their own conclusions.” Kathleen pushed away her questions and paced the room. “You know the basics but you need some filler. So, what do you want to know about me?” He turned away, obviously not interested in her Getting To Know You plan. Well, tough. Two quick steps and they were face to face again.
“Is Vanessa the middle child or youngest?”
Jackson’s face was blank.
“How many times has my father been married?”
Another blank look.
“See, there are blanks to be filled in other than those few days in Mexico. Okay, the blurbologist version of my life: I’m the oldest. My mother, Naomi, was Nathaniel’s first wife, she died when I was one. Vanessa is the middle child, recently divorced from Paul and ready to make all of us pay for it. Her mother’s name is Gillian, a.k.a. Step-Monster. Monica is the baby, she’ll be here sometime next week for her annual ‘hick trip’ where she’ll beg money from Grandfather and leave with all of her bills paid for the next month. She’s never been married and — ”
“How many boyfriends?”
“That’s none of your business! Vanessa won’t expect you to know — ”
“Your dating history, and before you say it isn’t relevant, you know that it is. I can fake my way through your family history, but dating history? That needs to be spelled out. I know about Ty, who else?”
Kathleen clenched her teeth. He was right. Unfortunately.
“Five serious.”
He leaned in until she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Define serious.”
“Serious equals sex,” she said through clenched teeth. She would not want him at this moment. He was making fun of her and making her tell him things she didn’t want to at the same time. “What about you?”
“I like serious sex. And silly sex. Strange sex. Outdoor sex — ”
“How. Many. Women.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Do you really want to know?”
Yes. No. Kathleen swallowed. The number of women before her was suddenly very important.
His eyes softened. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “The only one who matters is you.”
She pulled away from his touch. Could he even count the number of women i
n his life? The question was a knife to her heart. She didn’t want to be another in the long line of women falling at Jackson Taylor’s feet. Better to focus on the plan and the next few days. That would keep her heart under control.
“What’s my favorite color?”
“Teal,” he said without a second of hesitation.
Her jaw dropped open. “How did you know that?”
“Would you really buy Lucchese boots with teal insets if you didn’t love the color? You paid more for those boots than most of the population pays for rent. Custom boots don’t come cheap.”
“You’re very observant.”
“I’m a fashion photographer. I’m paid to be observant. Do I know enough about you now?”
No, not nearly enough. He didn’t know how Tommy Jameson broke her heart in seventh grade. How hard she had struggled in school.
The grandfather clock downstairs chimed.
“We only have a few more minutes. Why didn’t you take the last name Henderson? It’s your birthright, the same as Ty’s.”
His expression shuttered again. “Janice made it clear I wasn’t wanted there. I didn’t make waves because I had nowhere else to go. Now I do and I like the name Taylor just fine.”
“Where is your mom?”
“Dead.”
Her heart stopped for a split second. He was alone in the world? “I’m so sorry, Jackson, I didn’t know.”
He shrugged and turned to the closet, grabbing a fresh polo shirt and jeans. He grabbed his dirty things and hers, pushing them through the laundry chute to the basement. “It happened a long time ago. I’m over it.”
She knew she should stop talking, but couldn’t seem to get that message from her brain to her mouth. “So your mother died, you were sent to boarding schools — I remember that much from town gossip — and Mr. Henderson died just after Ty and I started high school. Is that the reason you became a photographer? So you could look at life through a lens instead of bearing those terrible moments directly?”
Texas Temptation Page 28