The Cowboy and the Lady

by Marie Ferrarella

  This was what dying and going to heaven was all about, she couldn’t help thinking.

  And it wasn’t over. Because the next moment, Jackson was there, his handsome, rugged face looming over hers, a soft, gentle look in his sensually seductive eyes.

  A very strange sensation darted into her. And stayed.

  She reached up, placing her hands on either side of the hard planes and angles of his face. The next moment, she craned her neck so that she could reach his lips and press a kiss to them.

  His arms closed around her, gathering her to him as he kissed her over and over again until she was more than ready—

  Until she couldn’t hold back anymore.

  The next moment, he entered her, carefully, as if trying not to hurt her while giving in to what felt like an overwhelming need to possess her, to be one with her.

  This was her other half.

  This was how it was meant to be.

  One whole from two halves.

  Moving with urgency, Jackson increased his tempo by degrees, going faster and faster as she met him, movement for movement. Absorbing his rhythm.

  They raced to the summit of the highest peak that stretched out before them. Raced until they came to the very top and then, still joined, still together, they experienced the inevitable mind-blowing explosion that embraced them in a cloud of ecstasy.

  Pulses pounded like thunder as euphoria rained down on both of them. And when euphoria receded, he held on to her instead of the ebbing sensation, listening to the way her breathing slowed and became regular. Listening to her heart do the same.

  But the feeling of well-being that had been created remained.

  He smiled as his arms tightened around her. Jackson leaned over just slightly, kissing the top of her head, a deep affection spilling through him.

  Tomorrow would come, as it always did, with its own set of problems, its own set of challenges. Very possibly, with its own set of regrets—hers, not his—no matter what she’d said. But tonight, tonight the warm glow of making love to a woman, of loving a woman for what he knew was the first time in his life, wove through his body, making him feel that everything else was secondary. That any obstacles would work themselves out because, after all, he had made love with what had turned out to be the perfect woman as well as his soul mate.

  He had touched heaven.

  “You okay?” he asked Debi. She’d been so quiet, he thought that she’d fallen asleep.

  But she hadn’t.

  Debi smiled then, feeling far happier than she could remember being in a very long, long time. She turned her body into his.

  “I’m perfect,” she answered with a contented smile, all but intoxicated, tipsy on the giddiness still churning through her veins.

  “Yes,” Jackson agreed, wrapping his arm around her and drawing her closer still, “you are.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jackson deliberately took the long way around the ranch house to avoid being seen. He made his way into the stables. He knew he’d be alone here this time of day and he really had to be alone to work out the tension and conflicting feelings that were even now doing battle inside of him.

  One of the saddles needed mending and he put his mind to that.

  Except that his mind was elsewhere and wasn’t cooperating. A lot had happened in such a very short amount of time. Life-changing things. And it was all going to stop by tonight.

  He stared at the saddle, not seeing it. Seeing something else entirely.

  It had been a good run while it lasted, as Sam had been fond of saying toward the end.

  Jackson pressed his lips together, saddened beyond words.

  He’d had no examples to fall back on or to guide him when it came to male/female relationships. He never saw or heard anything but hot, angry words and cold silences exchanged between his own mother and father. No loving glances, no forgiving moments. None for each other and certainly none for him.

  And both had left him, first his mother, eventually his father, neither one stopping to spare so much as a second glance in his direction or a word in parting. A byproduct of their marriage, he hadn’t mattered to them just as their marriage hadn’t mattered to them.

  His father had cheated on his first wife with his second wife—the woman who had become his stepmother. And then he had cheated on her. And while his stepmother had done what she could to create a loving home for him and for his brother, that wasn’t the same thing as being in a home with parents who loved and respected each other at its core.

  While he had no example to guide him, he knew that Debi had a relationship that had failed her even though she had invested all of herself into it. She hadn’t been able to see what was right in front of her and somehow wound up living a lie for more than a few years.

  And yet, somehow, with all that holding them back, Debi and Jackson still seemed to trust one another, still reveled in what they had accidentally stumbled across and enjoyed.

  Hesitantly, cautiously, they’d approached one another the morning after their first encounter with barely contained hope in their hearts. Hope that was quickly rewarded by the first word, the first smile. The first caress.

  The first encounter turned out not to be an isolated one. Its existence bred another. And another. The night, Jackson felt, was their friend. And the calendar turned out to be their enemy because each day that went by brought him closer to the end.

  The one he was facing now, he thought, his hands tightening on the fraying saddle cinch he was supposed to be repairing.

  The boys who were brought to him had an average time in which their behavior would come around, if that was actually in their cards—and so far it always had been.

  Some took more time, some took less, but a reversal in behavior usually occurred somewhere around a total of four weeks.

  Ryan took less time to begin to come around. It was longer than two, but slightly less than three. Slightly less than three weeks to see that there was not just hope, but a definite reversal of behavior in the offing.

  So Jackson braced himself. He knew in his heart that Debi would be leaving soon. Leaving because he had restored her brother to his former self.

  Leaving because he had a knack for what he did, was good at it, so there was no longer an excuse for her to stay.

  It was in his power to prolong the process, to drag it out and say things that would create stumbling blocks to reaching the desired final goal. But that would be unfair and selfish and he had learned not to be that way because years ago a good man had made him change his ways and his outlook.

  Stretched, Ryan’s complete return to decent behavior took a little more than four weeks. Jackson couldn’t honestly pretend he needed any longer than that.

  And now his honesty was going to cause him to lose the only complete happiness he’d ever known.

  Jackson bit off the curse that rose in his throat then tried to focus in on his work.

  He failed.

  * * *

  “YOU LOOK LIKE you’ve just lost your best friend.” Garrett commented.

  “What?” Preoccupied, Jackson stared at his younger brother uncomprehendingly. It took a couple of moments to replay Garrett’s words so that they registered in his head. “Oh, no, not yet anyway.”

  “But you’re going to?” Garrett questioned, then rephrased his question. “You’re going to lose your best friend? Hey, I didn’t know I was going anywhere,” he kidded.

  Jackson didn’t smile.

  “You want to talk about it?” Garrett gently prodded, drawing closer.

  Jackson avoided making eye contact. “No.”

  “Worse than I thought,” Garrett said, leaning against the stall right next to his brother and giving the impression that he wasn’t about to go anywhere. “Look, don’t play the no
ble, stoic Navajo warrior with me, you’re only half Native American. The other half of you is Caucasian. That’s the talkative half,” Garrett instructed. “What’s bothering you?”

  This time Jackson did look at his brother. “Other than you?”

  “Yeah, other than me.”

  Jackson turned his face away from him and looked back to the saddle repairs he had barely made a dent in. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Garrett shrugged. “You want to play hard to get? That’s fine by me.” He shifted so that he was in front of Jackson and his brother was forced to look at him. “I’ve got all day.”

  Jackson took a step, only to have his brother emulate it, matching him move for move. “You’re just going to stand there, blocking my way?”

  Garrett’s laid-back grin seemed to spread from ear to ear. “Yup.”

  Jackson drew himself up. He was taller, although Garrett was the more muscular one. “What makes you think I’ll let you? That I won’t just pick you up and toss you out of my way?” Jackson challenged.

  Garrett shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed. “Because you’re not a bully anymore. Because that’s not who you ever really were, at bottom. So spill it,” he ordered in a relatively quiet voice. “What’s got you all pensive and sullen like this?” Garrett asked.

  Jackson debated pushing his brother aside and storming away, but Garrett was right. This wasn’t him. And while he had never been one to consciously spill out his insides—or want to—he knew Garrett. His younger brother was nothing if not persistent. He would keep after him until he got the answers he was looking for.

  There was nothing to be gained by holding out on him. So he didn’t.

  “She’s leaving.”

  “You saw her packing,” he concluded, his tone compassionate.

  Jackson’s was both resigned and frustrated. “Yeah.”

  “Have you talked to her?”

  There was a long, exasperated pause before Jackson finally replied, “No.”

  Garrett stared at his older brother as if Jackson had just grown another head.

  “No?” he questioned in disbelief. “You didn’t talk to her?”

  “I said no,” Jackson snapped, irritated.

  “Let me get this straight. You obviously care about the woman—and from what I and the immediate world can see, the feeling is mutual—and you haven’t talked to her about staying?” he demanded, his voice rising an octave, possibly two.

  “What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?” Jackson shouted back.

  “All of it,” Garrett retorted. “Go, talk to her,” he ordered Jackson. “Tell the woman you don’t want her to leave.”

  But Jackson stubbornly remained exactly where he was. He was not about to beg—especially not when he felt it wouldn’t do any good.

  “If she didn’t want to leave, she wouldn’t,” Jackson maintained.

  Garrett could only shake his head in completely frustrated wonder. “Women are right, some men can be so dumb.”

  Jackson’s eyes narrowed as he glared at his younger brother. “Are you calling me dumb?”

  “Yes, I am,” he shot back, going toe-to-toe with Jackson. “Did it ever occur to you that she’s leaving because you haven’t asked her to stay? That she feels that as far as you’re concerned, this was just a nice little interlude, but now it’s over and it’s time for her to go back home the way you always knew she had to?”

  “She doesn’t think that,” Jackson protested angrily.

  “How do you know?” Garrett challenged. “You never talked to her about this.”

  A malevolent look washed over Jackson’s features, then gave way to the realization that his brother was right. “You’re annoying,” he told Garrett.

  The corners of Garrett’s generous mouth curved. “You’re only saying that because you know I’m right.”

  Jackson opened his mouth, then shut it again. Exasperation all but seeped out of every pore as he glared at his younger brother. Glared at him until Jackson abruptly turned on the heel of his boot and stormed out of the stable.

  He had somewhere else to be.

  “Remember to use your words, Jackson,” Garrett called after him. “The woman’s not a mind reader.”

  Jackson made no parting comment. He was too busy framing what he was going to say to Debi. He had to get this right.

  Because he felt as if his very life depended on it.

  * * *

  DAMN HIM, ANYWAY.

  Jackson knew she was leaving today and he hadn’t said anything about it.

  Not one single word.

  Last night, he’d come to her bedroom, the way he had every other night since they’d first been together, and they’d made love. Wonderful, glorious love, the way they always did.

  But afterward, when they lay there and he’d held her in his arms, Jackson didn’t say anything. Didn’t talk about what they both knew was happening today. Didn’t even comment on Ryan and his complete about-face from being the angry, troubled teen who’d first crossed The Healing Ranch’s threshold.

  Nothing.

  Not one single word.

  He’d acted just like the next day—this day—was just another day instead of her last one here with him. Hers and Ryan’s.

  What that told her was that she had an unblemished track record, she thought bitterly. She still couldn’t pick ’em. Couldn’t pick a man to care about who would ultimately care about her.

  Pick a man? Debi thought, mocking herself. Damn it, she didn’t just “pick” him, she fell in love with him. In love with a man who didn’t even care enough to come to see her today.

  She stared down at the suitcase she’d finished packing more than an hour ago and blinked. A teardrop fell, landing on her tank top. It darkened the strawberry color as the moisture sank into the material.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she admonished herself, angrily wiping away the wet stain left on her cheek. Why was she crying? He wasn’t worth it. The entire male species wasn’t worth it.

  Except for Ryan, she reminded herself. She had to think of her brother, not herself, she silently lectured. She had to remember that leaving here was going to be hard for him, too. He’d made friends here, worthwhile friends. Friends she knew he was going to remain in contact with.

  Unlike Jackson with her.

  The sigh shuddered through her as she let the suitcase lid fall into place. She snapped the locks closed one at a time. She had to stop stalling, Debi upbraided herself. The drive back to Indianapolis was a long one.

  She was already tired.

  Dragging the suitcase off the bed, she deposited it on the floor just as she heard the light knock on her door.

  Ryan, she thought.

  He’d finally found his manners. She could thank Jackson for that, too.

  Debi pressed her lips together, struggling to bank down the emotions that threatened to burst through. She told herself not to think of Jackson. Not now. She wasn’t strong enough to deal with that now.

  The knock came again, more forcefully this time.

  “It’s open,” she called to her brother. “I’m almost read—”

  She didn’t finish the word because she forgot it. Forgot everything.

  Everything but the man standing in the doorway.

  “Jackson.”

  He had no memory of crossing the threshold, or of entering the room. The sound of her voice just pulled him in, blotting out everything else but her, and his overwhelming need for her.

  All the carefully selected words he’d rehearsed in his head walking here completely vanished, leaving him with only two.

  “Don’t go.” He took her hands in his, his eyes pleading with her. “I know I have no right to ask this. I know that your whole life is back in Indiana
polis. But if you go, you’ll take my whole life with you. Because you are my whole life and if you leave, I won’t have a reason to breathe.

  “I won’t be able to breathe,” he emphasized. He pressed the hands he was holding against his chest, to his heart, his eyes still not leaving hers. “Is there anything, anything I can say to get you to reconsider and stay?”

  For a second, she didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. She’d wanted this so much, had longed for it so hard, that now that it was actually happening, that she was actually hearing him say it, it didn’t seem real and the ability to form words, let alone the right words, momentarily deserted her.

  “I can’t, can I?” Jackson said, guessing at the reason for her silence. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, misunderstanding.

  “No, no,” Debi cried, finally finding her voice. “You already said it,” she told him. He eyed her quizzically and she explained, “You asked me not to go.”

  “Then you’ll stay?” he asked, almost afraid to believe her even as he pulled her to him with one arm, sealing her to his chest.

  The tears insisted on coming again, but this time she laughed through them.

  “You just try to get rid of me,” she dared.

  “Maybe in a hundred years—or two,” he speculated just before he brought his mouth down to hers—and pushed the door to her room closed with his free hand.

  Epilogue

  “I’m not, like, going to be Debi’s maid of honor or anything like that, am I?” Ryan asked Garrett uncertainly as he tried to watch what he was doing.

  The latter was helping him tie the black bow tie he was supposed to be wearing to his sister’s wedding. Never having worn one before—hardly ever having even seen one before—he had no idea where to even begin.

  “I mean, I love her and all. There’s nobody I love more—and I really care about Jackson, too,” he quickly assured the groom’s young brother. “But a guy’s gotta keep an eye out for his overall reputation, you know? People would always remember something like his being a maid of honor for his sister, even if he became something important—like the owner of a baseball team, or something like that.”