Hot Quit

by Kathryn Roberts

“Look.” Everett leaned forward and set his elbows on the table. “I can see straight through you. You’re still pining for that woman.”

  Never losing focus of the tracks in the glass, Jackson answered. “I can’t get her out of my mind. Everywhere I go, she’s there, and everything I do, I remember doing it with her or think about how she’d like it.”

  Everett was sure nothing he said would ease Jackson’s mind. “I knew when you fell for something in tight Wranglers and a hair ribbon, you’d fall hard.”

  He looked to the older man. “Thanks for the confidence builder. I’m trying to forget her, not have you tell me how impossible it is.”

  “I don’t mean to interfere, but—”

  Suddenly Jackson spoke up. “Then speaking of bets, why did you bet Rawlins? Why did you set her up for the fall?”

  “Now wait a minute. The pot is calling the kettle black. You were the one who threw away that last work so she could win, so she could take Rawlins.”

  “I had to know if she would do it, but I ask you again, why did you do it?”

  “You know me, I can’t resist gambling a little.” Each word bounced carelessly across his lips, but then he stopped, regarding Jackson as a man with a serious problem—one that he had helped create, one that deserved an honest answer. His second try was more sober. “I checked up on her as soon as I met her because I didn’t want you getting into another mess like the one with Trisha. She was offering you easy money and you were taking it faster than a deacon takin’ up a collection.”

  “You shouldn’t have interfered.”

  “Maybe so, but in defense of myself, as soon as I found out she was APM, the outfit that had tried to move heaven and earth to buy Rawlins, I figured she had something up her sleeve. I needed to find out as much as you needed to find out if she would take the bait.”

  Jackson’s vacant gaze was still fixed on Everett, and he knew if he ever cared about the boy he’d helped raise, that he couldn’t stop here. He took a long, deep drink of tea when Jackson said nothing and then it was his turn to play with the glass.

  “She didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?”

  “She didn’t take the bait.”

  Jackson rose a little and grabbed Everett’s weathered hand. “Alex didn’t buy Rawlins?”

  “No.” Everett watched interest rise in the young man’s face.

  “You mean you never agreed on terms?”

  “No. I mean she turned it down flat. I sent her several contracts, the last one practically gave it to her for a nickel, but she sent them all back. When I tried to talk to her, she wouldn’t answer my calls. Paul Maitland was pretty bent out of shape about it as I hear, but she refused.”

  Jackson sat back. “Then nobody got a damn thing out of this whole mess.”

  “You can change that.”

  “No, the damage has been done. I can’t forget Trisha and I can’t forget—”

  Everett stood up, digging in his pocket. “I thought I taught you that ‘I can’t’ doesn’t belong in your vocabulary.”

  Jackson watched Everett throw money for the bill on the table, then turn and walk toward the door. Ever since he could remember, Everett had led him to water and then let him decide whether or not to drink. He could feel the cool taste of water on his lips, but wasn’t sure he wanted to swallow.

  Everett strolled to the truck and Jackson followed. The evening air still had a hint of heat left over from the day, but for the most part, it felt like the kind of evening that makes a person want to breathe deep and stretch. Jackson breathed deep all right, but he wasn’t relaxed enough to stretch.

  The rest of the night and most of the next morning, he and Everett avoided the topics of Rawlins, laying bets, and Alexandria, but she was as much in Jackson’s mind as ever. He rode in three classes the next day, and for the next three days, each work came up with scores good enough to put him in the top five for the finals in two classes. Everett took him to dinner to celebrate, and between a few rounds of Jack Daniels and lots of horse, cutting, and people talk, it was late before they hit the sheets.

  Jackson was tired and knew better than to stay up late before another full day of showing, but suspected he might sleep better if he was completely worn out.

  He was wrong. About one thirty he was still awake and angry with himself for not sleeping. He’d tossed and turned, driven Alex from his mind several times and made mental plans for the way he was going to ride each horse to its fullest. Finally he turned on the television and settled back, hoping to be bored into sleep.

  He found a local cable sports program and saw the last half of a Forty-Niners game. Afterwards, he was still quite awake and watched the news. Nothing new, the same crime and no punishment, followed by a sportscaster whose neck looked to be as big as Jackson’s thigh. Suddenly the picture switched to a taped segment on the cutting horse show that was in town, and Jackson’s interest rose slightly.

  The newscaster interviewed several well-known trainers and competitors first, then took a tour of the stables, trying to show how laid back these expensive horses were. Then the camera switched to a sweeping view of the audience during the competition, and while the discussion moved to an interview with the show manager, Jackson saw her.

  He sat upright in bed as if he’d been struck by a thunderbolt. The camera stayed in one place, but in the background he saw Alex at a vendor’s booth. He was sure it was her. Her blonde hair was done in a braid he’d recognize anywhere, and when she turned toward the camera and walked away with her drink, her face was sober and serious.

  Then she was gone.

  The sports reporter’s words were a garbled jumble and might as well have been Greek to Jackson. He didn’t know what to do or think. Then he took a deep breath.

  Logically, the only reason Alexandria would be here was to continue her mission to get to Everett. Throwing the Rawlins contract back in his face had probably been a strategic attempt at manipulation to get a better deal, and she was here to close it.

  Strange. Everett hadn’t mentioned seeing her or hearing from her. His throat was suddenly very dry, and he ripped the sheet from his body. He stomped to the bathroom to get a drink of water. Everett seemed to be softening about her. Maybe. Until she stepped back in for the kill. If that was so, that would explain his dropping the subject. It wasn’t like him to quit on something he thought was right. But perhaps he also neglected to mention her in order to keep from twisting the knife Alex had left in his back.

  He swallowed hard and set the glass down. He was rambling like the village idiot. The face before him in the mirror used to have lines created by laughter, but now there were equally deep lines in his forehead generated by a month of frustration.

  He turned the light off and lumbered back to bed. Lying alone in the early morning glow of the television, he cursed the day he’d met her. His life hadn’t been perfect before her, but at least he had peace of mind. At least he had control of a life he’d fought so hard to manage. Before Alexandria Payne, he’d had control.

  It set her heart all aflutter just to see him. He was warming up a horse; it looked like the little sorrel mare that came in for training just before…before Temecula, before he’d thrown her out. He still rode like a king, proud and confident, and he still had an air about him that would have made him stand out from all the rest even if she didn’t love him.

  When a representative of APM had been asked to a meeting of the board of directors of a company based in Salt Lake, she’d been the one to go since Paul was busy with a buyer from England. At the time, she had no idea that a cutting extravaganza would be so close at the same time. She had seen it advertised the first day she had come and then argued with herself for two days before she finally went.

  The first work she’d seen had been smooth and aggressive, just the way the judges like to see a horse, and Jackson had scored 151. Sitting in the stands, she was privy to scattered comments about the contestants and horses. It was his family, Alexandria reme
mbered. People who looked to be real cutters usually had good things to say about Jackson. Occasionally there was a quick reference to the scandal, but it was clear that those who knew him thought he’d been unfairly judged. An older couple seated directly in front of her seemed to know the most, although they were closemouthed about the specifics.

  When the performance was over, Alexandria wanted to confirm that Everett had given her the straight story.

  “Pardon me, I’m considering Jackson Morgan as a trainer, and I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying.” The white lies slipped out effortlessly. She knew Jackson wouldn’t approve, but she needed to know the truth about his past and if he was in some bind that she had made worse. “Would you mind telling me more?”

  The woman, wearing an expensive silver Concho necklace with amber stones, waved her hand, a prelude to setting Alexandria’s mind at ease. “Of course not. Tell her, Bert.” The man opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

  “It wasn’t his fault, you know, and I would recommend the young man. Are you familiar with the National Cutting Horse Association?”

  “A little,” Alexandria said truthfully.

  “Tell her about the rules, Bert.”

  Alexandria suspected the two were married, but when again Bert did little more than open his mouth before she interrupted, it seemed a certainty.

  “There are a lot of rules about ownership, and a non-pro or an amateur rider must ride their own horse in most classes.”

  Bert nodded in the background. Alexandria smiled at both of them.

  “Well, he had a client who had been taking lessons on a particular horse and wanted to buy that horse so Jackson agreed. At the next big show, the woman entered the horse, rode one go-round and then was disqualified for riding a horse that belonged to Jackson. She had bought and paid for the animal, but had not sent in the transfers; she had entered without the proper documentation.”

  “Now they’re both in trouble,” Bert interjected quickly, running his hand through his gray hair.

  “But he didn’t know anything about it?” Alexandria said, less a question than a statement.

  “Right.” The bejeweled woman stepped in and rolled her eyes. “Then to make it worse, the woman jumped all over the judge who disqualified her, which upped the ante as far as disciplinary procedures go, and then she sued the association and the judge.”

  “Don’t forget the drug test coming back positive, which cost her and Jackson a bundle,” Bert added.

  “He was suspended for a year, had no real income, couldn’t show or train, you understand.”

  “Now he’s back,” Bert said as he wrapped his arm around his little wife, “and most of us have a soft spot for him because he never cried or tried to blame anyone. He’s back, and we’re glad.”

  Alexandria smiled. “I see.”

  “If I was looking for a trainer, I’d sure look his way.” Then the woman leaned close and whispered, “But I’d stay far away from that Trisha Wolcott.”

  “She was the client?” Alexandria asked without really having to. Lots of things made sense now. She’d wondered why a good trainer like Jackson had so few clients.

  “Enough, Mabel.” Bert finally put his foot down. “Don’t be spreading dirt.”

  She looked to him, brows knit in a dark frown. “Dirt’s only dirt when it’s not true.”

  Alexandria sensed now was the time to quit. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your honesty.”

  “Well, you give your business to him, you’ll never be sorry. Stick around for the finals. Most of us are rooting for him to win the open.”

  “Thanks, I might do that.” Alexandria watched the couple climb to the mezzanine level and disappear in the crowd. She sat back down. They were a cute couple. They were a fit and complemented each other. They belonged together. Once she had thought that she and Jackson fit, but here, now, Alex felt as if she were looking in from a distance. Any relationship between Jackson and her except a business one had been doomed from the beginning. They were two very different people from two very different worlds, and although it had been a pleasant interlude, it couldn’t have gone on forever.

  But what did go on forever in life? Certainly not the good things. Flowers wilted and died, sunshine left you to darkness every day, and all life ended. Why should she think that what they shared would continue? Losing was part of life; surely she had learned that lesson when she lost her mother or when her father left home all those times she’d begged him to stay.

  She looked out over the arena. The bleachers were empty. Cows were gone, as were horses and riders. Even the tractor was gone, and while there were single sounds of life somewhere along the commercial booths in the mezzanine, she was alone. Better get used to it, she thought to herself. Better get back to believing there’s only one person in the world who—

  Suddenly she was aware that there was someone behind her. She turned in her seat and saw him. Standing tall on the steps, he looked even more rugged and daring than she remembered. He was braced for a fight.

  “You’ve got no right to be here.”

  His eyes were full of rage and his face faceted by lines drawn by anger. It took her a moment to realize what he’d said.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t beg anything from me, just leave. You’ve done enough. Leave Everett alone.” He ground out each word, then turned and began to climb the stairs.

  She jumped to her feet. “Just a minute. You haven’t got a clue what’s in my mind, but I’m going to tell you.”

  He stopped and turned to her. “Go ahead, but try to stick to the truth this time.”

  It felt as if a knife hit and twisted in her gut, but years of training kicked in and she hid it well. “If I wanted to see Everett, it would be none of your business. And I have every right to come here, to a public gathering, and watch a sports event. I even rooted for you and Everett in the final go, but you can bet I had no intention of ever going near either one of you again.”

  “At this point, I suppose you’ve been lying so much, you can’t tell it from truth.”

  She set her purse down and pointed to him, like a lecturing teacher. “I’m damn tired of you calling me a liar. The truth is I don’t owe you any explanations. I paid you for everything you gave me and that was it.”

  Something unrecognizable flitted across his face, something that stayed in his eyes a little longer, but disappeared before she could identify it. “I told you it was a business deal right from the start,” she added, losing the strength to continue.

  He stood still glaring, but the longer he listened to her, the harder it got to breathe. She was beautiful. That night in Temecula her hair wasn’t bound up; it was free and falling over her shoulders. Her lips had trailed over his, leaving tracks of electric sensations. He swallowed.

  “I don’t know how we both got so…”

  “It was all a mistake. We need to agree that everything was a mistake,” she prompted. “It was an unfortunate daydream, but none of this would ever have worked.”

  Jackson’s heart pounded in his chest. “I made the payment,” he said, trying to remain angry when he saw the pain in her eyes. “I want to make sure Paul doesn’t screw it up.”

  “I’ll see to it. I am a fair person, Jackson. Even if I don’t do things the way you would, I am not into cheating people.”

  Bringing Everett into the picture again rekindled his anger. “I suppose you were going to level with Everett that you wanted Rawlins and that getting close to me had nothing to do with it.”

  “Let’s not even get into that, Jackson. It’s too complicated to explain. Just leave it that I’m not interested in Rawlins, at any price, and never will be.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  She couldn’t tell him she’d come because she missed everything. The horses, the thrill of a good go, the people—and him. She’d come to be near something he loved, she’d come in the hopes of seeing him, of watching the poetry h
e wrote as he worked. “To be honest,” she cringed as she lied, “I did come here to talk to Everett, but I’ve changed my mind. Like I said, I’m not interested in Rawlins anymore. You have my word on it.”

  “Fine,” he growled. “Well, fine.” He started to turn away but something held him. “I’d like Paul to send some kind of acknowledgment that the balloon is paid in full.” He kept looking at her, hoping she’d say something, but she only nodded in silence.

  He turned and climbed the stairs where he disappeared beyond the commercial booths. “Never would have worked,” she whispered. “Never.” Her legs were jelly and her heart felt like it was going to explode. She sat down. “But I do love you, Jackson Morgan.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Jackson stomped back to the stall where he had left the little palomino saddled. Somehow there was no satisfaction in telling her to stay away from Everett, and certainly none in seeing her again. He jerked the saddle from the horse’s back and threw it in the stall serving as a tack room. Muttering that he wished he’d never met Alexandria Payne, he grabbed a brush and gave a good imitation of brushing the horse, except that he never moved from the same place on the glossy neck.

  “Whoa there, fella,” a familiar drawl caught him from behind. “If you scrub that particular spot much more, it’ll be shiny and bald.”

  Jackson exhaled, laid his arm across the palomino’s back, and rested his forehead on it.

  “You look like a man who’s mad enough to kick his own dog.”

  In answer to Everett, Jackson straightened, shook his head, and threw the brush like a wild pitch into the tack room. “She’s here.”

  Everett hung his head as he propped a hip against the stall door. “Guess I don’t need to ask who ‘she’ is, and it’s just another guess that you had words with her.”

  Tearing at the knot tethering the palomino, Jackson replied, “Stop guessing. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “OK. I can see that you want to bury it.”

  He led the horse into the closest stall, removed the halter, and came out. “That’s right, I don’t want to talk about her at all.” He latched the door. “Do you know why she was here?”