Claiming the Texan's Heart

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  * * *

  Cricket had just put the triplets down for their three-hour nighttime nap—they weren’t sleeping through the night, nowhere close, of course—when Jack walked in. Limped in, she realized.

  She didn’t ask him about his injury. If he wanted to talk about it, he would.

  “Hey,” he said to her.

  “Hi to you, too.”

  “How are the babies?”

  She smiled. “They had a big day. They were a little hard to get down, but they’re sleeping now.”

  He limped over to the sofa. She bit her lip, wanting desperately to ask him, knowing he wasn’t about to share. He was so much like Josiah, after all.

  “Can I help you get your boots off?”

  He shook his head. “I got it. Thanks.”

  She watched him struggle with his boots, then turned away. Tea was what she did best, she decided, tea and prayer. “I was just about to make a nice soothing cup of tea. Can I get you one? And maybe some chocolate cookies? I like chocolate cookies when I’m not... I mean, at night.”

  He glanced at her. “Cricket, you don’t have to wait on me. I’m living here to help you with the children. So how about you sit down, and I’ll make the tea and cookies?” Getting up, he took her hand, gently guiding her toward the place where he’d been seated. “Tea and chocolate. I can handle that.”

  She closed her eyes as she sat, listening to him rifle through the kitchen. He was stubborn—had she ever realized how much?—and the best thing she could do was let him be himself. It hurt; she desperately wanted to take care of him. But by opposing his livelihood, she had put a distance between them that only time would breach. Casting about for a safe subject, she finally said, “I got an offer from a church today. It was on my message machine when I got home.”

  He set tea and cookies in front of her, like an offering from a prince. “Congratulations. I’d like to hear all about that after you tell me where you went today.”

  She’d slipped. Jack’s eyes were on her, intent and interested. She could fib, but she wasn’t going to. He would find out soon enough. “I went to watch you ride.”

  The tea cooled between them, the cookies sat untouched. Cricket had no appetite.

  “I should have told you,” Jack finally said, leaning into the seat across from her. “And may I just make the observation that you’re not supposed to be driving yet.”

  “We should tell each other a lot of things,” Cricket said. “Later on. When we have time. Right now, why don’t you let me cut those jeans off of you and see what we can do about your knee.”

  He sighed. “I would actually appreciate that.”

  She carefully cut off his jeans, iced his knee with a bag of frozen peas and elevated it, grateful when he fell asleep on the sofa.

  He looked exhausted. This is what I signed on for when I fell for Jack Morgan, she thought, gazing at him, dark and tired and incredibly handsome on her flowered sofa. Thank God he came home to me and the children tonight.

  This was the starting point for everything to come, she decided. If Jack was going to be a road warrior, then she wanted him to know that he was always welcome to come back home to her.

  Having him in her life was worth the agony of separation, worry, loneliness. Yes, Jack Morgan was worth it.

  Chapter 21

  Early the next morning, Thad, Eileen and Reed came over to watch the babies while Cricket drove a protesting Jack to Lonely Hearts Station.

  “You’re not supposed to be driving,” Jack insisted.

  To that, Cricket just said, “Hush.”

  “At least drive my truck. I know you’re killing yourself driving that ancient Bug-thing.” If he won the rodeo, Jack determined right then and there that he was buying Cricket a minivan. Something like a tank, with all-around air bags. The babies were due to visit the doctor any day now for their first checkup, and little Miss Independent would probably insist on driving herself. If his woman and his babies were going to be on the road constantly, especially if she accepted whatever job she’d been offered, then they were going to be as safe as he could make them. He filed her job offer under the Next Emergencies to Deal With in his brain, took a brief moment to consider whether he wanted a working wife, decided that if he interjected an opinion on that at this moment he’d probably get his head handed to him. Cricket had already taken his rodeoing without protest; he’d best keep his mouth shut while he was ahead.

  Besides, until he got her to the altar, he had very little to zero say in her decisions, anyway. “My truck is newer,” he said, fighting one small battle at a time. And Cricket finally said, “All right. You just lie back there and visualize winning.”

  He honestly didn’t need to lie down; the swelling was almost gone. The knee felt a bit stiff but it wasn’t enough to keep him from riding. “Why do I have the feeling that you’re being very understanding, even for a deacon?”

  “I have no idea,” Cricket said, backing out of the driveway.

  He gazed at the tea-shop side of the house as she drove away. It was quaint; he knew she loved it. But there was little yard for kids to play in and no place to keep ponies. Teaching the kids to ride was still a few years away; still, he dreamed about riding with his children. He thought about serving tea and cookies in their family tea shop, considered the fact that Cricket’s parents had offered to buy the place and run it. She hadn’t said anything lately about their offer; there was too much happening in her life for her to move now. Maybe if he won the million-dollar purse, he’d start a business, keep his wife at home.

  She’d never said a word about the prize money, just offered silent support. “You’re planning a jump, aren’t you?”

  Her eyes met his in the rearview mirror. “I did mention it to Thad. It’s too soon right now, obviously, but it’s been a long time. I’m ready to get back to my life.”

  Just like he was getting back to his were the unspoken words. “My dangerous love earns a living,” he pointed out.

  She said, “Let’s have this debate later.”

  “Nah,” he said. “Just go ahead and tell Thad that if the mother of my children jumps out of a plane, I’ll return the punch he welcomed me to the family with.”

  They spent the rest of the trip to Lonely Hearts Station in silence.

  * * *

  Jack Morgan was a pain in the patoot, Cricket thought, censoring her thoughts. Bossy, domineering...domineering...bossy. She grit her teeth, not about to fuss with him before he rode. With her luck, her stubborn cowboy would break his neck and the last words he would have heard from her would be Punching my brother would be a mistake on your part, you bigheaded creep. Cricket sighed. She loved Jack, even when he was annoying. Maybe attitude was part of his game-day preparation. She’d smooth that out of him later.

  She parked outside the arena and he got out. There was no reason to say anything; she didn’t know what he needed to hear before he rode, anyway. Did one say Good luck or Break a leg? Was he superstitious? She didn’t know.

  She squealed when he jerked the driver’s-side door open, shocked when he melted her with a steamy, heart-stealing kiss. His eyes blazed down at her when he finished, and then he walked away.

  “Okay,” she said after she’d recovered, “I think that was how we say good luck in Jack Morgan’s world.”

  She liked it. Her heart was racing, she was nervous as all get out, but she wasn’t about to not witness her man’s two rides today, win, lose or fall.

  * * *

  Josiah had never been as anxious as he was today. “There’s nothing worse than watching your son deliberately try to kill himself,” he said, carping to everyone in the double-cab truck.

  “Pop, it’s going to be fine,” Pete said, who was driving the brothers and Pop to Lonely Hearts Station. “Jack’s been doing this for years.”

  “And as I recall, getting stomped a few
times, too. I seem to remember a few—”

  “Pop,” Dane said, “don’t get agitated. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “There never was,” Josiah said on a sigh.

  “That’s right,” Sara said. “Now, just be proud.”

  “And be glad only one of our sons did this,” Gisella said. “I don’t think you could have survived the agony of more of them riding.”

  “Actually,” Josiah said, reflecting back over the years, “want to know what scared me the worst?”

  “Not really,” Gabe said, and everybody laughed.

  “What scared me the most was my other three sons going into the military. Now that made for some sleepless nights.” Josiah looked out the window, watched the landscape rush by. He’d been proud of their service to country, durn proud, knew they needed to do it. But he’d spent a lot of worried nights around the world, wondering if he’d stayed home more, if his boys would have known him better, wanted to be with him.

  “You never said that before,” Dane said.

  Josiah snorted. “What do you think? I had a Texas Ranger, a spy, a soldier and a bull rider for sons. Did you think I had a heart made of iron?”

  “Yes!” everybody in the truck exclaimed at once, then laughed. Josiah knew they were teasing him, but they were wrong. It was a wonder he hadn’t needed a new heart instead of a kidney.

  “Well, I did,” he said, okay with playing Tough Pop for the occasion. “I had to be strong to survive the lot of you.”

  “We know, we know,” Gabe said, chuckling, but Josiah didn’t care that they were teasing him. Almost all of his boys had come home—he figured he’d gotten everything he wanted, and then some.

  * * *

  Cricket put her hands over her eyes when the bull charged from the gate, accompanied by the announcer yelling, “Mighty Jack Morgan, riding Hell-Beast! Come on, come on, Morgan!” She peeked through her fingers, her heart completely arrested in her chest. Up and down Jack went, mimicking the rolling, thrashing motions of the bull. Never had time passed so slowly. Never had she been so afraid. This was nothing like jumping out of a plane; watching your man at the mercy of a bull with nothing but his wits was horrible. She was so proud, she didn’t know what to do except hang on.

  When the buzzer sounded, Jack flung off hard; he hit the ground, jumped up out of the way of the whirling bull. Cricket leaped to her feet, her hands clasped, as everyone in the arena clapped wildly—when the announcer called out Jack’s score of ninety-three and a half, the applause was earsplitting.

  “We thought we saw you down here,” Pete said, startling her.

  “Did you see that?” Cricket cried, throwing her arms around Pete’s neck.

  “Yeah,” he said, chuckling, “he’s about to give Pop a coronary. Come sit up here with the family.”

  She scurried up after him, and hugged all the Morgans one by one. “Aren’t you proud?” she asked Josiah, who wiped his brow.

  “I’m just glad to be here,” he said, “durn glad I am.”

  “Me, too,” Cricket said. “Me, too.”

  * * *

  Jack leaned his head against the boards of a stall, held his breath against the pain. I can do this. I’m so close. I win, I have college education funds paid for, I can stay at home with my children the way my father never could. I can figure out a business that I can run from a tea shop. I can be with Cricket for as long as she’ll put up with me.

  He’d read his mother’s letters and he knew family was everything. Family was his dream. That’s why he rode.

  “Bro,” Jack heard.

  He raised his head. “Hey, Pete. What are you doing here?”

  “Same thing we were doing here yesterday. Pop wanted to see you ride.”

  Jack perked up. “He did?”

  “Oh, yeah. Wild horses couldn’t have kept him away. Let’s take a look at that knee.” Pete squatted next to him. How Pete had found him, Jack wasn’t sure. He’d found the most private place he could find to rest, hide, disguise the fact that his knee was killing him. He didn’t want anyone telling him he couldn’t ride.

  “What do you mean, my knee?” Jack asked.

  Pete shrugged. “You got a couple hours before you ride. There’s a place down the street where we can put you in a bathtub and ice your knee.”

  Jack knew Pete’s suggestion was wise. He still chafed at it, cursed his injury. “I’d really rather stay here.”

  Pete looked at him sideways. “Ice bath and a shot at a million, or pride and a knee that won’t let you stay on.”

  “Have you seen the draw?” Jack asked.

  “Man-O’-War,” Pete said, needing no further elaboration.

  A registered bounty bull. He was in a great place for the ride of his life—or the stomping of his life. “Ice,” he said, “and an ibuprofen Big Gulp, durn it.”

  “Durn it” was Pop’s favorite expression. Pete grinned.

  “Now you’re talking like a champ,” Pete said, helping his brother up.

  Actually he was thinking like Pop, Jack realized. Jack felt Pop’s steely stubbornness strengthening him, and he was thankful.

  * * *

  Cricket called her family to check on the babies, reassured by her parents’ calm words.

  “Don’t worry, Cricket,” Eileen said, “I’ve raised a few children, you know. Anyway, we’re delighted to have them all to ourselves. Three of them, three of us—we’re equally matched, I’d say.”

  Cricket smiled. “Thank you.”

  “So, I’m almost too excited to ask, but how is Jack doing?”

  “Fine, as far as I can tell,” Cricket said. “He had a great ride this morning.”

  “Good,” Eileen said. “Tell him we said ‘bust a move’ or whatever young people say these days. I heard that on TV. We’ve been watching kids’ shows when we’re feeding the children. Reed and I have decided we’re going to order them some good old-fashioned sitcoms, like The Honeymooners. These kids aren’t going to know about some of the best things in life if they have to grow up on what serves for family programming today.”

  Cricket smiled at the thought of her mother and father perusing old TV-show catalogs for her babies. “Thanks, Mom.”

  Eileen giggled. “You should see your father kowtow to these babies,” she said on a whisper. “They don’t wave a finger that he’s not completely immersed in the moment.”

  “I’ll call you later, Mom,” Cricket said. “I hear the announcer saying something and I don’t to miss anything.”

  “Good luck!” Eileen said, hanging up.

  Cricket hurried back to her seat. “Did I miss anything?” She glanced around. “Where’s Pete?”

  “He went to do something,” Gabe said. He handed her a bag of popcorn. “He should be back soon.”

  Cricket turned around, scanned the arena. Clowns moved barrels, workers began to take their positions where there were either open gates for departing bulls or help cowboys out of the arena. Cricket put the popcorn on the seat, suddenly lacking appetite. She whipped back around, staring at Dane and Gabe. “Pete went to see Jack, didn’t he?”

  “I believe so,” Dane said, his voice calm.

  Cricket realized he was trying to comfort her. “Because of his knee?”

  “Because everybody needs a coach,” Gabe said. “Don’t worry, Cricket. Jack’s ridden a ton of times, he’s good at what he does.”

  “Okay.” Cricket turned around, determined not to be the kind of woman who made everybody worry about her. Gisella briefly patted her on the back; Sara came and sat next to her. She took a deep breath, warmed by the support.

  Before she realized it, the first bull of this round shot from the gate, accompanied by the announcer’s voice excitedly calling his name. Cricket didn’t hear a thing; it all blocked out. She heard Gabe say that Jack would ride last and consi
gned herself to sitting in a stonelike trance.

  But this day wasn’t about her, Cricket remembered, so silently she reached her hand over to Josiah, slipping her fingers between his. He didn’t look at her, kept his gaze locked onto the arena, but he held her hand tightly.

  “Jack Morgan!” the announcer called suddenly, “in second place, and needing a score of ninety-four to win! Ride, Man-O’-War, Go-o-o-o-o-o!”

  Cricket and Josiah clutched each other’s fingers; Pete, Gabe and Dane jumped to their feet. Gisella and Sara clung to each other as the bull threw itself in the air time and again, Jack hanging on with every ounce of his strength. Cricket could feel him straining; understood exactly what he was riding for, could even feel his focus. She’d never felt so close to him, almost reading his soul. In a flash, he went by, punishing leaps from the bull absorbed into his body. Cricket had no breath; she almost thought she saw a vision of three knights riding beside him, part of him, glorying in his quest.

  The buzzer buzzed and with one mighty leap, the bull threw off Jack. He landed on the ground and Cricket was so dizzy she thought she saw the three knights help him to his feet. She and Josiah and all the family jumped up, cheering wildly.

  “Did you see that, folks?” the announcer shouted with glee. “A bounty ride! A quicker-picker-upper if we ever saw one! Mighty Jack Morgan, folks, with a score of...ninety-five and a half! We have a winner of the Lonely Hearts Station Rodeo! Jumping Jack Flash!”

  Someone shoved a microphone in front of Jack’s face as he rose from the ground. “Words from the winner!” the reporter demanded, and Jack took the microphone.

  His chest was heaving, his face stuck with bits of sawdust, but he was grinning. “I do have something I want to say. I want to thank my sponsor, Lonely Hearts Station Rodeo, my family, the good Lord and his angels. But more than anything, I want to say to Cricket Jasper, deacon from Fort Wylie and the most amazing woman I have ever had the pleasure to meet—” he dropped onto his good knee “—Cricket Jasper, I love you like crazy, I’m in love with you the way I never thought I’d love anyone. To paraphrase an old movie, The Music Man, somewhere along the line I got my foot stuck on my way out the door when I met you. It’s been the best thing that ever happened to me. Do me the honor of marrying me and I promise I’ll be the husband you deserve.”