Texas Temptation

by Kathryn Brocato

  Alone but not to have sex. She was going to get him talking if it killed her. Which meant her bedroom suite was out of the question. Getting within ten feet of a bed when Jackson was in the room with her was asking for trouble.

  She hurried into the kitchen, grabbed a picnic basket from the pantry, and quickly filled it with fruit, cheese, and a loaf of crusty bread. A tray with empanadas waiting in the refrigerator, making Kathleen’s mouth water. Guillermo’s empanadas were better than his enchiladas.

  Didn’t matter. She needed time alone with Jackson.

  A chilled bottle of wine, blanket, and linen napkins completed her preparations. She checked the clock. Plenty of time to change before Jackson returned from San Antonio.

  Upstairs, she skipped the hot bath she wanted in favor of a quick, hot shower to scrub off the dirt of following Jackson around like a puppy most of the morning.

  Remembering how Jackson’s eyes heated when she wore the mini-dress, Kathleen went for a little more coverage with her favorite purple and black maxi-dress. A pair of black leather boots completed the look. She left her hair loose and put on only the basic makeup — a thin layer of lip gloss and a touch of the mascara brush. She didn’t need to look like one of Jackson’s models, just plain old Kathleen. His friend. Maybe the friend approach would lead to him opening up about the past.

  Who are you kidding? The last thing you want is to be Jackson’s friend.

  But at least he would talk to his friend from time to time. Unlike the end of school when he had disappeared without a word. She could live without all of him as long as she had a tiny piece of him.

  And wasn’t that just twisted?

  The rumble of the SUV engine reached through the open windows of her room and squeezed her heart. He was home early.

  Hurrying downstairs, Kathleen grabbed the keys to the Jeep, the picnic basket, and escaped the house before anyone could ask where she was going. She felt like a teenager sneaking out after being grounded. Only she’d never been grounded and had never had anywhere to go as a teenager. Most of the boys around Lockhardt were either afraid of Grandfather or annoyed that she could ride better than they could. Dates has been few and far between until she figured out that dating Lockhardt boys wasn’t nearly as much fun as dating boys from San Antonio. Boys who weren’t intimidated by her family.

  Just another reason for her to have fallen so hard for Jackson at school.

  Kathleen pushed the thoughts away and hurried to the Jeep. Grandfather would just have to survive dinner with one less Witte.

  Jackson was just climbing out of the SUV when Kathleen placed the basket on the backseat of the other vehicle and grabbed his arm. Sparks flew from her fingertips to her stomach in a micro-second but, as usual, Jackson seemed unfazed by their contact. Just another signal I’ve been ignoring for the fantasy of having Jackson in my life, she thought. A fantasy she was ready to let go if she could be his friend.

  She ignored the tiny shard of pain the thought of only being Jackson’s friend left in her heart. It was a friend that Jackson needed; why else would he spend countless hours wandering around a decrepit neighborhood alone?

  It had taken seeing Jackson alone in San Antonio that morning to remember all of the days — and nights — when she had seen Jackson alone. Although he was friendly with everyone on his dormitory floor and had a list of women ready to drop their plans for a night out with him, he had usually been alone. Set apart from the other students as if he were watching them through his camera lens.

  Did his sadness go all the way back to school? Was there a long string of events leading him to that desolate street? Or was she projecting sadness onto a man who had simply been transfixed by a sad neighborhood? No, she wasn’t projecting. What she saw that morning was pain, pure and simple. Needing to fix the pain she saw that day, Kathleen was certain that taking Jackson to her favorite place would help.

  It had to.

  Only now he was looking at her with those sardonic eyes, one eyebrow cocked. How long had she been holding his arm without speaking? Her face burned with embarrassment.

  “I thought we could skip out on the family,” she said, clearing her throat. “A newlywed night — as far as they’re concerned,” she quickly added. Her hand dropped to his and she squeezed, pulling him toward the Jeep. Their fingers twined together.

  Heat flared in his eyes, turning the butterflies in her stomach to bats. Okay, so the friendship angle would only be on Jackson’s part. That was fine. She could hide her true feelings. For his benefit.

  “Come with me?”

  “How could I resist?” He turned, placing his camera carefully on the SUV seat and pocketing the keys. “Where to, madam?”

  Kathleen wrinkled her nose. “I’m not your fifty-year-old aunt, Jackson. Just get in, hmm?” There, that sounded positively friendly.

  • • •

  She was doing it again, Jackson decided. Taking his plans and turning them upside down. Two minutes before, he was ready for a confrontation. Ready to point out that if Kathleen would only be honest with her family, specifically Mitchum, her plans would likely come to fruition.

  Now, not ten minutes after clapping his eyes on her again he was off-roading in a Jeep on the way to somewhere with a picnic dinner and a wife who obviously wanted to add some adventure to their sex life. Not that he was complaining. Sex in bed was an adventure with Kathleen. Personally, he couldn’t wait to see what she had in mind for the post-picnic dinner.

  And that was totally wrong. He should still be angry that she dragged him into her crazy plans when all they needed was a quick trip to a judicial office to right this incredibly stupid wrong. Yet he said nothing, content to listen to the music of the wind rushing by the Jeep and the low voices of the birds in the live oak trees.

  When had he become such a sap?

  Finally, Kathleen turned off the dirt track and the Jeep began climbing a small hill. A stand of live oaks beckoned ahead and a narrow stream wound down the incline. And then he spotted it: an old wooden door in the side of the hill. Was this the original sod house that Mitchum mentioned? Jackson leaned forward. It had to be. He wanted to kick himself for leaving his camera behind. Photographs of an authentic Soddy, or what was left of one, would be a great addition to his portfolio.

  Kathleen parked beneath a twisted tree and shut off the engine and nodded when he turned questioning eyes on her.

  “I’ve always loved this place. It’s so peaceful here, even though the memories are hundreds of years old. My several-great-grandfather dug the soddy with a broken shovel,” she said as they walked toward the mound. “Or at least that is the legend.”

  The door opened outward and Jackson had to stoop just to see inside. The dirt floor and walls were perfectly smooth, no sign of crumbling. The place could have been built for a western movie just a few days before. A small rocking chair sat to one side, a rough-hewn bed in another corner with a small plank table and bench in the middle.

  “We come up here a couple of times a year, just to touch the place up,” she said, “but even that isn’t going to work much longer.” She pointed to the ceiling and Jackson saw several cracks running the length of the large room. “Soddy’s weren’t made to last more than a few years at a time. It’s a miracle this one has lasted as long as it has. Dinner?”

  Jackson allowed her to lead him back to the Jeep where he grabbed the basket and followed her to over to the creek. What did it say about a family so attached to their past that they maintained a virtually useless building?

  Just another sign you don’t belong here. Your family memories, such as they were, stopped suddenly twenty-one years ago. That isn’t the kind of history Kathleen needs to add to her happy memories.

  Kathleen spread the blanked under a weeping willow and they sat. Jackson broke off pieces of crusty bread while Kathleen placed bunches of gra
pes, slices of cheese, and rich, dark chocolate on two china plates.

  She nodded to the other basket. “Would you mind pouring?”

  The cabernet caught the dying light as he poured, turning it almost blood red. He handed one glass to Kathleen and poured another for himself. “Should we toast to our second week anniversary? Or to being one week closer to a quickie divorce?” he teased.

  Kathleen’s eyes glinted with pain and he wished he could take the words back. She recovered and said lightly, “How about to our dreams? In a few more weeks I’ll have the ranch and you’ll have your showing. I think that should be celebrated, don’t you?”

  And so they fell into a companionable silence, enjoying the picnic dinner. They talked about the weather, Vanessa’s hospital benefit in San Antonio. Jester’s training. The more they talked the more anxious Jackson became. When would the questions come? He could see them under the surface.

  When would Kathleen drop her How Was Your Day, Dear conversation in favor of more questions about San Antonio? Why did she want to know how he spent his days? He had no understanding of the training she did with Jester, Trio or the other horses but he didn’t ask incessant questions about them, either.

  He poured more wine, but the taste died on his tongue, and he put the glass down. Kathleen was prattling on about Jester’s training that afternoon. She hadn’t said so much about the horse’s training since…well, since ever. Obviously she was upset or nervous about something.

  If this was last week, he might think she was nervous about being alone with him at the homestead. Being alone with him in general. But this wasn’t last week. They had been too intimate over the past seven nights to have any nervousness left.

  Which left only her unending questions about San Antonio. Jackson tore another piece of bread from the loaf, slathered port wine cheese on it, and chewed.

  “And then Trio decided he didn’t want to run, so — ”

  “I thought you were exercising Jester?” he interrupted, tired of whatever game she was trying to work up the nerve to begin.

  “What?”

  “You just said Trio didn’t want to run, but you’ve been talking about Jester throughout the meal. Plus, Trio hasn’t been cleared to run by the vet.” He lifted the vile wine glass to his lips and choked down a sip. “And you’ve never transposed their names before. So why don’t you get to the subject you’ve been avoiding all night?”

  “I wasn’t avoiding anything,” she said in a huff and got to her feet, knocking over her wine glass. She clenched her jaw and bent to pick up the pieces of the glass, placing them in the bottom of the picnic basket. She put the remains of the bread, cheese, and grapes into small plastic containers, pointedly ignoring him until she finished stacking the containers, dirty plates, and stemware back into the their proper places.

  Standing, she grabbed a corner of the blanket and pulled but Jackson stayed where he was. He was not going to make this easy for her. He’d come here expecting a seduction scene. He wasn’t mad that this wasn’t a seduction, he was mad that she wouldn’t leave his past alone.

  “Are you getting up or not?”

  “Not. Until you get around to your usual questions about San Antonio. Come on, what will it be tonight?” He leaned back on his hands, crossing his legs. “Do you want to know how the shoot at the Alamo went? How many pictures I took of tourists? Curious why I keep returning day after day rather than spend hours on end wandering around the ranch house, waiting for you to stop training horses, and trying to avoid your family?”

  “You don’t have to avoid them.”

  “Really? And I quote, ‘We can’t be married without knowing our history,’ end quote.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest but remained standing, one hip jutted out in annoyance. She chewed her cheek for a moment and then said, “I didn’t mean you couldn’t talk to anyone. I just meant we needed to have a few details straight.”

  “Like why I go into San Antonio to photograph tourist attractions every day?” he pushed, knowing that was exactly what she wanted to know. Along with every other reason he had for everything from brushing his teeth to why he lived in New York. Each time she asked why he kept photographing San Antonio she was really asking why he kept himself so distant from life. From her.

  “No, like why you’re wandering around some dirty neighborhood with more weeds than people!” She sucked in a breath and had the grace to look ashamed.

  So it had been her in the old-man get up. And it had probably been her in the old truck, slowing down and speeding up between the ranch and Lockhardt. Was her erratic driving another ploy to keep him at the ranch?

  “I’m sorry, I just had to know what keeps taking you to San Antonio.”

  “The SUV,” he said flippantly. He immediately regretted the words when a tear escaped the corner of her eye.

  Jackson shook himself. He was losing his mind and being a Class A jerk in the process. Kathleen wasn’t kidnapping him or forcing him to stay at the ranch against his will. This is exactly what he signed on for. Her questions were normal. Following him wasn’t, but it was understandable. A little bit.

  He got to his feet and reached out to her but she pulled away.

  “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

  “No, you’re not,” she said, sniffling. “You’re not sorry. You leave every day and put all of this out of your mind and for what? A few hours spent in that dusty neighborhood, taking pictures that will never be in your New York show? Are we that terrible?”

  Jackson didn’t know what to say, so he kept quiet.

  “I saw you today, Jackson. Really saw you and I didn’t like what I saw. You’re secrets are hurting you.’

  He bristled. “I don’t have any secrets.” Liar.

  She turned, smiling sadly at him. “We all have secrets, Jackson. The difference between you and the rest of the world is that most of us share our secrets eventually or deal with them so that they don’t interfere with our lives. But you keep it all inside. Why didn’t you tell me what you were really doing in San Antonio?”

  It was Jackson’s turn to clench his jaw. His fists. “I did. I’m just photographing an area that interests me.”

  Kathleen slapped her hands against her thighs. “In a historical city like San Antonio the best thing you can find to photograph are empty streets?” She shook her head. “Now you’re keeping secrets and you’re lying. That’s not a way to build a relationship.”

  Angry that she was seeing so much and afraid that she would figure everything out, Jackson grabbed her upper arms and turned her to face him.

  “Relationship? Kathleen, you’re the one who set out the rules: this is a four-week, pretend marriage. There is no relationship and will never be. Because as soon as your birthday is over, I’ll be on a plane to New York. Like I should have been eight days ago. You don’t need me to run interference with your Grandfather. You don’t need a pretend marriage to cover a silly, drunken mistake. Just tell him what happened and if he turns on you, turn right back on him.” He shook her. “He’s turning you inside out and for what? A grandson-in-law? Sit him down and make him listen to your plans. I’ve known you for less than a month and I bought in. He’s known you your entire life, there is no way he could turn his back on you now.”

  “You don’t know anything about this.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. She ripped her arms from his grasp. “You can’t understand how hard it’s been for him. I can’t let him know that his worst fears are true.”

  What was she talking about? Worst fears? From where Jackson stood, Kathleen was the pillar of the Witte family. Dedicated to the ranch, her father, sisters. What more could Mitchum want? Before he could question her Kathleen turned and fled.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Twilight painted the sky with watercolor pinks, purples, and oranges. Had Texas been this
beautiful when he was a kid?

  Jackson finished loading the picnic supplies into the Jeep and started back down the narrow track toward the barn. He would make this up to her. He hadn’t jumped to conclusions but he had jumped to the wrong motivation and he knew he owed Kathleen an apology.

  He also needed to develop a tougher exterior if he was projecting pain all over Texas. What was that about? He wasn’t in pain. Turmoil, maybe. An early-mid-life crisis? Mostly he just had his own questions and being around her was making them echo in his head. How could he even think he was the man she needed in her life?

  But he wasn’t going there just now. This was about Kathleen’s pain, not his. Because Jackson had a feeling that fixating on his “pain” was just another way for Kath to pretend the issues in her own life were normal.

  He slowed the Jeep, wanting to clear his head and develop his arguments before catching up with his wife.

  Only she wasn’t his wife. Not really. They had the paper but none of the trust and Jackson was finally ready to admit that was his fault. He couldn’t afford to trust Kathleen with his past because it could harm her future. A drunken wedding was one thing. There was no way over-protective Mitchum would accept someone with his background happily into the family. He had as much as accused Jackson of wanting the Witte fortune that first night.

  This train of thought was getting him nowhere. The fact was that Kathleen would never be his true wife because Jackson didn’t want a wife. He didn’t want commitment. He wanted to live life on his own terms, just as he’d been doing his entire life.

  He wanted to travel the world, spend time with beautiful women, and view life through his camera lens. That was what he had always wanted. Certainly he wasn’t going to change that now. They were nearly three weeks into their fake marriage and, if anything, the days and nights spent with Kathleen only reinforced his certainty that they were completely wrong for one another.