As soon as he recognized the pleasant tones of Everett’s slow drawl, Jackson exhaled. He had urgent business, but he would come by as soon as he was finished.
It was almost a relief to hear Everett—almost. His mind wandered as he put the lemonade away. What would he do if she did apologize and beg his forgiveness? He had never believed in forgiveness, only hard work and honesty. If a person worked hard at being honest, there was never a need to be forgiven. Or did he need to reassess the reasons he was who he was?
He drew a deep breath and admitted that his mind was going in circles. He needed to be practical. It was a moot point anyway. She would never say she was sorry and be sincere, much less beg him to take her back, but that was fine. He rotated his head to ease the tension in his neck and shoulders. He was tired. The drive had taken everything out of him, and Jackson knew he should get some sleep.
Out of habit he stumbled toward his office and the lumpy couch. One look at it and he turned to his bedroom. He walked down the hall to his room as if he were sneaking up on a burglar, and when he pushed the door open, he felt like an intruder in his own home. Flipping the light on, he gazed across the dresser, filled with her cosmetic army of expensive bottles and tubes. Her clothes were in his closet, and her hairbrush was on his nightstand. Immediately the urge to bag everything that was hers and throw it out struck and he swept everything from the dresser.
Get a grip, Morgan. He wasn’t normally an impulsive person, given to rash decisions. If she wants them, let her send someone to get them. Unlikely. She’d just buy more. He pulled the tail of his shirt from his pants and slowly, methodically unbuttoned the front before he stripped it off. Next he slowly unbuckled his silver buckle and pulled the belt from the loops, then kicked off his boots and fell back on the bed.
By morning, he’d risen twice for more lemonade, changed the bed sheets because he couldn’t stand the overpowering aroma of honeysuckle, found out the smell was coming from a bottle that had broken when he’d cleared the dresser, and sat for forty-five minutes on the back lawn, looking at the stars before he finally gave up and went out to feed just before dawn broke.
Like a machine, he moved from one task to another, not allowing himself time to rest because there was so much to do after being gone for a long weekend and because he knew thoughts of her would creep like a plague back into his mind if he didn’t keep busy.
He rode horses despite the heat, pushing each one to the limit, and then saddling another, driving himself to the brink of exhaustion. He never admitted that Alexandria was his taskmaster, his private demon.
It was early evening the next day when Everett drove in to find Jackson splitting wood.
“Jehoshaphat, son,” he said as he stretched out of the shiny diesel dually. “Didn’t I teach you to come in outta the rain and stay in the shade when it’s over a hundred?”
Jackson wiped his brow. The sweat poured from his temples and ran down his naked back and shoulders. “You taught me that if I don’t chop wood, then I’m gonna be cold as hell all winter.”
“Well, it’s gonna be winter before you cool down. Take pity on an old man and let’s go inside and get us something to drink.”
Jackson shook his head and set the ax down. “You go. I have to finish.”
Everett pursed his lips and then answered. “I can probably still whip you if I need to, son. Why don’t you make it easy on us both and come on in.”
Jackson eyed him cautiously before he turned and headed for the house.
“I’ll have a beer,” Everett said when they arrived. “You got anything to eat?”
Jackson drank greedily, the cold water tasting better than he’d expected. “Nope. Guess you’ll have to go into town.”
“Good idea. We’ll take a break and eat at the Sloughhouse Inn, my treat.”
“Nope.” Jackson slammed the glass on the counter. “You go. Bring me a doggie bag.”
“Tarnation but you’re obnoxious today.”
Jackson looked at the older man. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be, but I’m not good company anymore. I—”
“Cowboy up, fella.” He came to Jackson’s side and put a loving arm around his shoulders. “You been stomped on twice now by women, and I know this last one was gettin’ to you, but I know you got it in you to see that life goes on and you’ve got a lot to look forward to.”
Jackson pulled away to refill his glass. “You’re right. I know it. And I’m not down by a long shot. I just need a little time to myself to think.” He leaned on the kitchen counter and held his glass high. “To finding two women who will clean stalls, ride a horse, and.…” A quiet but solemn smile spread across his face. “And love the hell outta us.”
Everett laughed with him. “And not take us to the poorhouse in the meantime.”
Jackson forced himself to perk up for Everett’s sake, and for the remainder of the two days Everett stayed, he was as cordial as he knew how. There were times when it felt like the old days, but many more when he knew deep inside that Alexandria had changed him forever. The trick now was to outlive the problems she’d caused him.
When Everett said good-bye, his last words repeated in Jackson’s mind later that evening. “Don’t let her make you bitter, son. There’s a lot of sunshine that’s free for the taking.”
Easier said than done, he thought as he boiled spaghetti. She’d betrayed them both and the fact that she had broken through the layers of protection he’d laid so carefully continued to eat away at his sense of well-being. It seemed that now simple survival was the only thing left. He drained and buttered his pasta. Not gourmet, but filling, he thought.
He sat, alone, eating spaghetti with no sauce, searching his soul for answers. All his life, he’d put honesty on a pedestal: if he was angry with her for not being honest, then he had to be honest with himself and admit that the part that made him most bitter was the fact that from the moment he first saw her, he’d been drawn to her like a bee to honey. Something about her had blinded him and made him think he had a chance when she had told him right away that he had none.
She’d made him believe, she’d made him laugh, and like a classic tale, she’d led him to a tragedy. She’d made him love her. Just like the song—“Fools rush in where wise men never go. Wise men never fall in love.”
CHAPTER 10
Less than a week after Temecula her check arrived by messenger. Just like lightning striking too near, seeing her precise handwriting on the envelope made Jackson tense. He tossed it on the kitchen counter and tried to ignore it while he fixed lunch, but it called to him like a Siren calls to a sailor. Finally he opened it. There was no greeting, no note, only the check for ten thousand plus three thousand “for expenses” as it said on the check.
It was hard to ride Hattie. Jackson seemed to have lost the knack of dealing with the mare who, if he hadn’t known better, seemed to be pining away for Alex. Before, the horse had been docile and willing, but now she put her ears back when he came with a halter and then sulled up when he rode her. It took all the patience and know-how he possessed to get through a twenty-minute workout. It seemed that Hattie had picked up her stubborn, obstinate attitude from Alexandria.
The days were beginning to reflect the slow approach of fall. Daylight hours were shrinking and the evenings growing. Jackson had no shortage of horses to ride and even had a waiting list of clients eager to bring babies to him for training. The two-year financial drought brought on by the fines, and the suspension, and by trusting the wrong people were over, but the barren desert of his soul had just begun its odyssey.
Every evening he found himself wandering out to see Joker. He grabbed a couple of brushes and went to Joker’s pasture where he brushed the aging black body until it was glossy and shiny. He ran his hand over Joker’s neck and played with his mane. The horse was a loyal trouper; he was the childhood friend who never thought poorly of the boy who had nothing going for him and who always had the patience to forgive him while he was learning.
Jackson lost himself for a moment in memories of his first cutting victories—victories made possible by the old horse, victories that tasted like honey to a child who had none. Joker nudged him, his soft muzzle prodding, searching for more attention.
“Not enough ear rubbing for you, huh, fella.” He massaged the knot on top of the horse’s head and ran his fingers around the swelling at the base of each ear while Joker leaned into him, begging for more. “If I could take twenty years off your life, we’d be a team again.” He hugged the horse’s neck. “We’re still a team—you and me. We still need each other.”
It was hard to think about need without Alex creeping into the picture, but Jackson kept telling himself that obsession and dependency were unhealthy, that she was only a passing fancy. He stroked Joker’s silken forehead and remembered how the horse had taken to her. “I suppose if I asked you about her, you’d tell me the truth.”
The old horse snorted, a sneeze of sorts.
“Of course you would,” he said, sadness filling in the silence as he patted the gelding. “I won’t be here for a couple days. Juan will, though. This is a biggie for me, the first National show since, well, since the trouble.” The old gelding’s ears perked and he seemed to be listening. “I wish you could be there with me for moral support.” Joker rubbed on Jackson’s chest as if moral support could be had by osmosis. “Anyway, hang in there. I’ll be back.”
Life had been simple for the last month since she’d left, and although it hurt to say her name, the thought of her brought sadness instead of searing pain. Jackson had gone on living, working with breakneck intensity, climbing to the top of his profession without missing a step.
He planned to take six horses to Ogden, Utah, to the National Cutting Horse Association Western Nationals. Money had been added to every purse, and if the extraordinarily rich pots weren’t enough, it was a Championship Cutting, which meant that placing counted as points toward the cutting horse of the year award. Everyone who was anyone on the West Coast would be there. Everett was coming, and Jackson knew he’d see many old friends. Normally, it would be something he looked forward to with a child’s eagerness, but right now, as he packed, he couldn’t say there was any overwhelming joy in his heart.
Everett was the one exception. Jackson welcomed the sight of the Texan who was more than a father to him. It was a matter of things infinitely more important than blood. Everett had always been there when he needed him and never had condemned him for doing things his own way. He owed the man his life; had he not met him, he would probably have gone the way of countless other juvenile delinquents. Jackson would always have a special place in his heart for the man and that was what made it so difficult to forgive or forget Alexandria’s plan to manipulate him. As he hooked the truck to the trailer, he couldn’t understand why there was any question in his mind where his allegiance lay.
Two days later, with four of his horses and two of Everett’s that had been with him for a month or so, he pulled into Ogden’s Golden Spike arena. He was exhausted, partially by the drive, but partially from hours alone, trying to settle the turbulent waters of his mind. He drove to the stables and unloaded the horses. He was feeding the last one when he heard Trisha’s always-on voice behind him as he turned.
“Jackson, darling.” She marched up, trapped his head between her hands, and kissed him on the mouth. “Where have you been hiding? I’ve been telling everyone I see what a fantastic trainer you are, but really, I didn’t intend for you to be working all the time.” Her hands dribbled down his cheeks, over his neck, and rested possessively on his chest.
He leaned over, set the feed bucket down, then straightened and calmly removed her hands and set them by her sides. “Hello, Trisha. You’re right. I’ve been busy, and thank you for sending the Praters to me. They have several really well-bred two-year-olds that I am going to like working with.”
He stooped for the bucket and began walking toward the truck.
Trisha followed. “Don’t I get a reward for finding them?”
He stopped and turned to find she had also stopped and now stood with an incredibly pouty expression that demanded attention.
“Let satisfaction be your reward, Trisha.” He walked on. “Are you showing that little bay horse you bought from Carol Rose?” Her exasperated sigh behind him was the first clue that she was losing patience.
She wiggled her way to him as he tucked the bucket in the bed of the pickup. “Let’s start over, Jackson. I know that trashy woman from Los Angeles is gone, and I know that whatever she did to you—”
Jackson had a slow fuse, but Trisha was playing with dynamite and didn’t know it. “Drop it, Trisha.”
“No. I can see how much she’s hurt you, and I want you to know I’m here if you want to talk.” She pressed her tiny body along his backside and ran her hand along the length of his arm.
The feel of her made Jackson sick in the same way he’d feel if a snake had slithered over his body. He turned on her, swallowing his disgust, trying to be gentle as he set her away. “A lot has passed between us, Trisha.” He hesitated. “But I don’t think either one of us really wants to start over.”
“You’re wrong, Jackson. I do want to start over. I want you to treat me like you used to, not like everyone else. I want you to forgive—”
“I can’t.” He turned his back on her and pretended to search for something behind the truck seat.
Trisha grabbed his arm and pulled him around. “You mean you won’t. I made one little mistake and you’re never going to let me forget it—you’re going to punish me forever.”
He drew a deep breath and looked directly into her smoldering eyes. “It has nothing to do with punishment, and no, I probably won’t forget that you nearly ruined my career as a cutter and you almost made me lose my ranch.”
“I would have given you the money.”
“That’s the point, Trisha. Everett would have given me the money. It wasn’t the money as much as it was all the rest.”
“I tried to hire a lawyer for you.”
“And I refused.” He stepped toward her, his features growing harder even though his eyes were tired. “We’ve been through this a thousand times and it never gets any better.”
“I know,” she said, sticking her nose in the air and looking very defensive. “I should have sent the papers in on that mare, and yes, I knew when I entered that I was illegal. The drugs were a big mistake, but she was sore. And yes, I know now that when I was caught, I should have played ignorant or something that didn’t involve arguing and going after that judge.”
He shook his head. Hearing her recap brought it back all too clearly. The anger, the embarrassment, having his name published in dishonor, the court hearing. The resurgence of all the ugly rumors and the year of suspension when he wasn’t allowed to show or earn money in the cutting horse industry were all because of the woman standing before him, who now wanted him to forget how it felt to have his good name and reputation dragged through the mud.
Jackson stood silent and strong. “If you aren’t careful, you’ll get caught again with your pants down, Trisha. There are a lot of people around to hear you.”
She sniffed, probably for effect. “How can you still be mad for one mistake? I’ve told you how sorry I am that I involved you. Everybody knows you had nothing to do with it; it’s just that you were a trainer and—”
“And I should have known better,” he said, frustration boiling to the surface. “The bottom line is that I was the one who paid for it, and it’s done. I have the money to pay off the balloon on my ranch, I’m back in good standing with the cutting horse association, and I have a full barn. Drop it, Trisha. Drop it right now, and don’t expect me to be anything more than polite to you. You don’t really want me anyway; you want another trophy, and so far you haven’t got a Jackson Morgan in your collection. At one time, I thought you were a friend to me—”
“We were more than friends,” she whispered, seeming hurt.
&
nbsp; “Maybe, but you never treated me in a loving way. You never cared if I was happy, you never took the time to watch the sun set with me…” His voice slowed as he realized what he was saying. He swallowed hard. “You never insisted that I take a long look at life and see what good things I already had.”
For several seconds there was nothing but silence between them.
Trisha put her hands on her hips. “I can do more for you than she can.”
He continued to be silent.
“She’s not even here.”
Jackson’s mind danced with a million scattered thoughts. He’d banished her, but he had no choice. She’d betrayed him. He hadn’t listened when she tried to explain. She’d given up on them. She was the most beautiful thing in his life, yet she’d done the ugliest kind of thing to him. He turned, and for the first time, he knew why a swan grieved the loss of a mate. He knew why the lone wolf sat on a mountaintop and howled.
He took one last look at Trisha and felt nothing but pity. “I have survived everything you’ve done to me, but you are still fighting for something you can’t quite put a name to. I’d like to say I will help you, but I have to go pick up Everett at the airport. Good luck tomorrow.”
He got in his pickup and started the engine. Ten minutes later, he watched Everett land. An hour later they were in the Mexican restaurant at the crossroad, finishing dinner.
“I got a side bet with Lester Murray. He says I can’t beat him on two out of three works—any ones I choose.” Everett sipped ice tea between sentences, then set the glass down when he noticed Jackson’s silence. “You want part of the action, son?”
Jackson shook his head. “No. Can’t say I want any part of that deal.” His mind flitted back to Everett’s bet with Alexandria.
“Come on. Last time you won a dinner.” Everett leaned back in his chair eyeing Jackson. “It’s a friendly wager.”
Jackson ran his fingers up and down the iced tea glass, making tracks in the condensation.
Hot Quit Page 15