by Leger, Lori
Bill followed him out. “Don’t worry, I doubt if anyone else besides me and Carrie know about this.”
Jackson stopped and faced his uncle. “Carrie knows too?”
Bill shrugged. “We haven’t discussed it, but I’d bet my last dollar on it. She’s worked with the two of you forever.” He placed a hand to Jackson’s shoulder. “You don’t die from disappointment, son, or a broken heart over unrequited love. Believe me, I know.”
Jackson thought of the years he’d spent loving Giselle. Wanting her. “Every time I looked at Chloe, I wished for Giselle. I knew it wasn’t right, but hell, I couldn’t help myself. Throughout everything, I kept hoping that if Chloe had a child, things would get better.”
Bill grimaced at Jackson’s words. “I know I probably shouldn’t say this, but the thought of Chloe alone with an innocent baby always scared the living hell out of me.”
Jackson shook his head slowly. “I know, but I’d have protected it, would have raised it alone if push came to shove.” He shook his head. “My feelings for Giselle kept me going. Pitiful, ain’t it? Carrying around a torch for a woman with two kids and already in a wonderful marriage. I didn’t see the harm in holding out for a miracle.” He rested one hip against the opening of the barn door. “The day I met Toby it threw me for a freaking loop, I tell you. To make matters worse, he turned into my best friends for the entire last year. Hell, I was happy they were so good together. But even then, I wanted to be the one Giselle loved.” He crossed his arms against his chest and stared at his uncle. “You have no idea what that’s like.”
Bill got a misty look in his eyes. He took his hat off and slapped it against his thigh, sending particles of hay and dust flying. “Oh, I think I can empathize with you some. You see, a year or so after my wife died is when your Elise started her mission to get me married off again. The night you overheard us, I’d have said anything to get her off my back. I knew I couldn’t have feelings for anyone else. Just like you with Giselle, I’d fallen in love with your mother.”
Jackson’s gaze clashed with his uncle’s.
“And just like you, I never acted on it. I would never have dreamed of telling her or your dad. I was every bit as happy for your parents as you were for Giselle and Toby.” He looked at Jackson. “I’m only telling you this so you’ll know, that I understand exactly what you went through then—what you’re going through, now.”
Jackson stared at the man who had been so good to him, his mind working furiously to process this new information.
Bill must have taken his silence for something other than what it was. “I hope you don’t think less of me.”
Jackson snapped out of his musings. “Of course not. But I’m just realizing now that you’ve lost the most in all this. You’ve lost two women you loved, as well as a child, and a brother. No wonder it took you so long to move on. Jesus Christ, Uncle Bill. How the hell did you manage?”
“I had you, son. You put everything into perspective for me. You always have.”
Jackson thought of Mac and Lex and how he’d been willing to do anything it took to keep them smiling. It made perfect sense to him. He gave his uncle a brief nod before pulling out his wallet. He handed Bill a business card. “Here’s the carrier I use, and I can’t wait to see the truck you buy to impress Gwen. I sure hope you find happiness with her, because I can’t think of another person who deserves it more than you do.”
Bill glanced at the card, slipped it into his shirt pocket. “Oh, I don’t know. I can think of one other man who’s sure as hell due for some.”
Jackson released a long whistle as he walked up to Bill’s new truck, a beautiful Super Duty Ford F-350, ready for towing, bronze in color and trimmed up in chrome. The King Ranch accessory package dressed up the eye-pleasing, luxurious interior. The seats were tan saddle leather, heated for wintertime comfort, with front and back climate control. The truck boasted a built-in GPS and a premium sound system. “Gwen will be impressed. I promise you. Hell, I’m even impressed. You’re making me regret my Avalanche.”
Bill took off his hat and passed his fingers through his dark hair. “I just want her to be comfortable.”
“She will be. I nearly forgot. My new bike is coming in tomorrow, so I’m taking the day off,” Jackson explained. “They’re delivering it to my place tomorrow morning.”
“What’d you get?”
“An Indian Chief Road Master. It’s the motorcycle version of that truck.” He cocked his head toward Bill’s new wheels. “I’m hoping it’ll be the perfect distraction to keep my mind off Giselle.” He spotted Carrie approaching. “Look who’s coming. This is going to blow her mind.”
Carrie beamed at Bill as she approached. “If you’re trying to impress a certain Ms. Perry, this should do it. It’s not necessary, but a good looking man like you belongs in a truck like this.” She glanced inside the open driver’s door and gasped. “This is so Bill Broussard.”
Bill leaned over to hug her. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you properly, for Gwen, I mean.”
“You’re welcome, honey. I heard her story and knew God put her in my path for a reason, and it had to be you. I only want credit if it works out, though.”
“How about if I buy you lunch?”
She shook her head. “Not today, I’ve got errands to run. She called me this morning, you know. I hear you two had an interesting talk last night. A two hour phone call?”
“Sure did,” Bill admitted. “That much less to say next time I see her.”
“A little less talk and a lot more action?” she teased, as Bill gave her an enthusiastic nod.
Jackson scratched his head. “Two hours? Hell, I can’t get you to talk for five minutes on the phone.”
His uncle gave him a wink. “You don’t look like Gwen.”
Carrie grinned and turned to him. “Jack, are you going to lunch with Bill?”
“Yeah, we’re going to choose a wireless phone and a plan for him before lunch.”
Carrie’s mouth dropped in obvious shock. “Next thing you know, you’ll be setting up your own web page and surfing the net from your smart phone.”
“I don’t know about all that. I just want Gwen to be able to get a hold of me when she feels like talking. It’s going to be rough not to be around her twenty-four, seven, now that I’ve found her. I’ve waited a long time for this.”
“Oh yeah.” Carrie sent him a knowing smile. “I remember those days. Not wanting to be separated from Sam for one single night. Good times ahead for both you and Gwen. I’m happy for you, too.” She headed for the office, giving them a wave. “You two boys have a good lunch.”
Jackson’s bike was a far cry from the Honda 750 he’d ridden when he was in college. He pulled into the park the next afternoon for the Tuesday ballgame, an impressive sight, judging from the appreciative stares he got upon his arrival. He had just dismounted and taken his helmet off when he heard a sharp whistle.
Sam approached, his eyes glowing with admiration. “You got an Indian. Man, I am so freaking jealous right now, it ain’t funny.”
Jackson grinned at Sam. “Yeah, when I told Carrie I’d ordered one she got pissed. She said you had always wanted one, and that you were going to whine about it until you wore her down. So, you know what to do, don’t you?”
Sam nodded, and spent the next minute drooling over the bike. “Damn, and my wife’s here today, too. I think I’ll start that whining right now,” he said.
“You didn’t hear that from me,” Jackson added.
“Not a word,” Sam said as they walked over to the stands. He approached Carrie, who sat on one end of the bleachers. He tapped her arm. “Babe, look who’s here.”
She turned to face them. “Hey Jack, I wasn’t sure you were coming today since you’d taken the day off.”
“He came on his new bike, babe. Look, he got an Indian.”
Her gaze flew to the bike, then back to Sam who already wore the face of a deprived child.
“Babe
, can I have one, please?” he pleaded.
“Stop it, Sam.” She climbed down from the bleachers and poked a finger in Jackson’s chest. “I blame you for this.”
“Yes ma’am, I’m sorry,” he told her.
“No, you’re not, don’t even try to pull that crap with me,” she scolded.
He grinned. “You’re right. I love my bike.”
They walked over to examine it, and Gretchen and her girls joined them.
“Who’s this fine bike for?” Gretchen asked.
“It’s mine,” Jackson admitted.
“How’s it ride?” Sam knelt before it, almost reverently.
“Like a dream.”
“Oh for God’s sake, get up off your knees, Sam,” Carrie chided. “You look like you’re worshiping the damn thing.”
“But, that’s the one I’ve always wanted,” Sam groaned.
Gretchen laughed. “Oh, here we go. Mr. Sam won’t stop whining until mom lets him get one.”
Jackson cracked up at Gretchen’s astute comment, knowing by the look on Sam’s face that it was spot on. He stifled his laughter as Carrie’s glare seared him.
“You see? She knows how he is. This is not funny to me, not at all. That’s the price of a mobile home, Sam. Or that really nice RV we agreed we couldn’t afford.”
Giselle and her girls approached the group, all standing around in obvious admiration of one of the most beautiful bikes she’d ever seen. “Wow, who’s bike?”
“It’s Jackson’s, dammit!” Sam growled, as everyone laughed—everyone except for Carrie.
“Is it really yours?” Giselle faced Jackson, thinking how good he probably looked on it.
“Yep, it was delivered this morning.”
“It’s so big, and it’s pretty!” Lexie said.
“I like the fringes on the seat,” Mac said. “Can we ride?”
“No sweetie, not just sitting behind me. It wouldn’t be very safe. Sam, you want to take it for a spin?”
Sam’s eyes lit up at the prospect. “Will you be here for a while?”
Jackson nodded. “I can be here for as long as you need me to be.”
“Then I’ll take it for a spin after the game.”
They headed to the bleachers as a group. Giselle turned to Jackson, who’d taken the last seat below her on the end of the bleachers. “I never took you for the motorcycle type.”.
He shrugged. “I’m sure there are a lot of things you don’t know about me.” He stretched one of his long legs out on the bleacher in front of him. “I had one the entire time I attended LSU. It was a hell of a lot easier to find parking spots.”
“Toby had a bike too, before we got married, but it wasn’t very practical for us as a couple. We had to sell it and buy a car.” She sighed, remembering the last ride they’d taken before they let it go. “I loved that bike.” She found herself imagining what it would feel like to be behind Jackson on that bike, the wind blowing in her face. Her hands wrapped around his waist—the feel of those well-defined, rock hard abs under her hands. Those abs, with the perfect amount of dark feathery hair leading down the happy trail path to that—towel. That damned towel.
His long leg welcomed her to feast her man-starved eyes upon him. Feeling suddenly hot, she tore her gaze from the sight of him and used her hand to fan her face. Toby had always looked better in preppy clothes than dressed down in jeans. But damn if Jackson didn’t wear them better than any male model she’d ever seen. Who the hell knew her former supervisor could look so freaking hot in a pair of faded jeans. She sent him another covert glance, thinking Jackson Broussard would look just as comfortable working on a ranch as sitting behind a desk with a computer in front of him. She looked quickly away, unable to escape her thoughts. He’d look hot as hell dressed in black leather and riding a big, beefed up bike—or better yet—nothing at all.
Unable to resist his masculine presence, she turned back to watch him from beneath her dark glasses. He drew one long leg slowly up to shift his position, having to pull up on the jean material above his knee to adjust them over his bulging thighs. He stretched the opposite leg out in front of him and bending the leg closest to her at the knee. She bit her lip as her heat level rose, pushing its way further her neckline to her ears, and beyond.
Oh damn.
With concentrated effort, she pooled her will power and forced herself to turn away from the flesh and blood Jackson. She congratulated herself at her personal victory.
Especially since she’d long since stopped turning away from the dream version of the man.
Halfway through the game, Jackson rose to stretch his legs. “I’m going to the concession stand. You ladies want anything?” Though he’d asked them as a group, his gaze lingered on Giselle, who’d been unusually quiet during the competition.
She glanced at him, smiled, but turned quickly away again.
Several other “I’m goods,” preceded her mumbled “No thanks, I’m okay.”
Carrie was waiting at the concession stand window when he walked behind her and goosed her in the side.
“Hey!” She turned, her hand up, ready to slap someone. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, obviously expecting to see her husband, who’d teased her non-stop about the bike since he’d seen it. She pointed at him. “I’m still a little pissed at you, you know.”
“I gathered.”
She wiped a hand across one cheek, her fair skin pink from the heat. “It’s hot today. God, I hate summer time.”
Jackson nodded. “It was hot as hell on that bike.” He grinned, waiting for it. Wasn’t disappointed by her accompanying snort.
“No sympathy here, asshole. Not one damned bit.”
“Carrie, is that any way to talk to your boss?” he teased, backing up in case she decided to take a swing at him.
“Not here, you aren’t,” she growled. “This is my turf—”
“Ooh honey! Is that your gorgeous bike over there?”
Jackson cringed at the irritating screech that erupted from behind the two of them. He turned, to see a youngish woman, although questionable as to whether she was a lady; blonde, obviously bleached, wearing a pair of tight shorts, and a skin-tight, low-cut tank top. She wore huge, dangly earrings and several metal, bangle style bracelets on her wrists that jangled when she moved. And she moved—a lot. She could have walked right on to a Kabuki theater stage with the amount of eye makeup she wore. His nose wrinkled involuntarily, overpowered by the sickeningly sweet smell of whatever perfume she’d bathed herself in. The woman’s single-minded vocabulary apparently had no acquaintance with two words: subtlety or moderation. She reached over and latched onto his arm like a leech in marsh water.
“You want to take me for a ride, cowboy?”
Jackson didn’t have to wonder who she was. Giselle’s more than accurate description of ‘Rode hard and put up wet’ told him he was in the presence of the infamous Izzy whatever-the-hell-her-name-was.
“My name’s Isabelle, but everybody calls me Izzy.” She pushed her considerable bust right up against his torso. “And who are you?” She cracked her chewing gum loudly.
All Jackson could think when he looked at her was the heartache this woman had caused Giselle, and the months of frustration she had caused him. He wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled, but his uncle had raised him to be a gentleman. “Excuse me, please.” He turned to walk away but Izzy was persistent, as well as loud, brassy, and no doubt, easy as hell.
She grabbed his waist with both hands. “Oh come on now, don’t go away just yet. Don’t you want to ride me on your big, bad motorcycle? I can show you a real good time.” She slid her hands down his stomach to his crotch.
He grabbed her hands, and jerked her to a halt. “Honey, you don’t have a damn thing I want,” he growled, before pushing her hands roughly aside, then turning to leave.
“Uh! Forget him.” Izzy turned to her equally trashy sidekick. “He must already be screwing Giselle Granger.”
Jackson stopped in
his tracks and turned to glare at her. By the time he closed the distance between them, Carrie had her by the arm, and was pulling her behind the concession stand. Izzy’s sidekick looked as though she would assist her friend, until Jackson’s icy glare made her dart off in the opposite direction.
Jackson walked back up to the window and paid for three waters, then waited around for Carrie, just in case she needed any assistance from him. A minute later, a terrified Izzy stumbled out from behind the building. When she saw Jackson, she tried her best to salvage what little dignity she never had. She flounced off, wagging her ass, jingling loudly with every exaggerated step and pronounced swing of her arms and hips.
Carrie appeared next, grumbling to herself. “That tramp has got some nerve.”
Jackson stared down at her and grinned. “I can say, without a doubt, I’ve never been that hard up.”
Carrie shook her head, that left eyebrow of hers lifted as she considered his comment. “No, I wouldn’t imagine you had been. Come on stud, let’s go watch the game.”
Mac and Allie’s team finished off the opposition in an easy win. The group migrated over to Jackson’s bike, and soon stood watching Sam drive off on Jackson’s motorcycle.
“Crap, I’ll never hear the end of this now,” Carrie complained. She headed to her car, but not without giving Jackson the evil eye.
“Do I have to bring him back home?” he called out.
“No, his truck’s here. I imagine he’ll be back when he gets hungry enough. Serves you right, troublemaker!” she snapped.
Jackson waved Carrie off and turned to find Giselle waiting to speak to him.
“Um, Jackson. I wanted to let you know that Lexie’s game has been cancelled for Thursday. The coaches are going on vacation, and I’m taking the girls to New Orleans. We won’t see you for a week.”
He nodded, and kicked at nothing with his boot. A week without seeing the girls—or her. That’s gonna suck. Bad.
Giselle watched him scuff and kick at the dirt. He looked younger, standing there with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his just right tight jeans. His red T-shirt, bearing the name of the bike dealership, hugged his torso just enough—a perfect showcase for his muscular body.