Texas Wishes: The Complete Series Read online

  She should never have made love with him last night. She should have made him listen to her instead and set him free. Obviously this morning he wanted out.

  “The eggs are great, Guillermo,” she said. Guillermo nodded and shoved another forkful into his mouth.

  Great conversation starter, Kathleen.

  She watched Jackson covertly from the corner of her eye. On his second helping of eggs and sausage, he didn’t seem to have a problem with the lack of conversation. But then he hadn’t said much more than two words to her since she woke, alone in her bed, and found him packing his camera case in the sitting room.

  What were his plans for the day? She asked upstairs but couldn’t understand his mumbled answer and couldn’t bring herself to ask a second time. Fine. He wanted strictly business she could do strictly business. Trio and Jester were waiting. Their training had to take precedence over her wounded pride. She pushed the eggs across her plate and cut the sausage link into even smaller bits. Gulped more coffee. Couldn’t make herself leave the table.

  Mitchum cleared his throat. “Jackson, how about a drive around the property this morning?”

  Swallowing, Jackson said, “Maybe next week, once we’ve had time to settle in. I need to finish a project in San Antonio today.” Mitchum raised his eyebrows. Kathleen, curious about Jackson’s mysterious “project” herself, put down her fork and turned to him. His jaw tensed but it was the only outward sign of discomfort he showed before continuing. Uncomfortable because he didn’t want to mess up their fictitious marriage or uncomfortable because he didn’t like talking about his work? Kathleen wasn’t certain; in Mexico he’d talked about his art show often, at least it seemed that way. She thought harder and realized Jackson had turned nearly every conversation that began to get personal to his work. Why would he do that?

  “For part of the show I’m preparing in New York. I’d planned to add just a section focused on the Malecon in Vallarta but adding in a bit of San Antonio color will enhance it even more. New Yorkers have a thing about Texas and the Alamo. The Southwest in general, really.”

  “You couldn’t go into town early tomorrow? Do your photography before the benefit?” Mitchum wasn’t asking, Kathleen realized. He wanted Jackson to drop everything and fill the role of grandson-in-law. He may have welcomed Jackson to the family yesterday but today he expected Jackson to jump head-first into his idea of what family did. Kathleen interrupted.

  “Jackson’s work is very important, Grandfather. Why don’t you two plan the tour for tomorrow — ” Jackson’s jaw clenched again. Uh-oh. Did he have plans for tomorrow? Or did he not want to tour the property at all? Kathleen had no idea. This was the kind of thing they should have talked about last night instead of jumping back into bed. Where was her head lately?

  “Or maybe even later this week? After all, we newlyweds will need some time alone, too.” She smiled brightly, hoping Grandfather would drop the subject.

  He didn’t.

  “The weather today will be perfect for a ranch tour,” Mitchum said, crossing his knife and fork over his plate to signal the end of the conversation. Guillermo began gathering plates, once again eager to leave the friendly fire from the dining room table.

  Kathleen opened her mouth to speak but Jackson’s firm thigh bumping hers stopped her. He wanted to argue with Grandfather? Fine with her.

  “The weather is exactly why I need to get into town today, Mitchum.” The use of his first name rather than the “sir” he had been using was clear. Jackson would respect the older man only if the older man respected him, as well. Kathleen was torn between wanting to kiss Jackson and duck for cover. “Days like today are perfect for the outdoor shots and local color I need. I’m sorry to disrupt your plans,” he said, placing his napkin over his plate. He picked the plate up and carried it into the kitchen, effectively stopping any more inquiries from Mitchum.

  “Well, I guess he told me,” Mitchum said, sounding suspiciously happy about it.

  Kathleen spun to face him but he was already walking away down the hall. Now what was that about?

  • • •

  San Antonio was nothing like Jackson imagined. Even as a child growing up in Texas, he had never visited the historical place. The Spanish architecture fit beautifully with the countryside, tourists packed the sidewalks and as he passed the River Walk, he imagined slowly browsing the shops and restaurants one night with Kathleen. Maybe he should try convincing her to leave the ranch early tomorrow to come into San Antonio. Wander the streets before they had to make that appearance at the benefit. He liked the idea. Anything to get them away from Mitchum’s ranch-tour ultimatums.

  Before his thoughts could be completely sidetracked, he pushed Kathleen from his mind. He was here to work. Not the work he’d talked about at breakfast but work all the same. The sooner he got this over with the sooner he could stop wondering about his past. Move on with his life.

  Kathleen’s face, hurt that he was ignoring her this morning, hovered in his mind. He pushed the memory of her away as if it were a physical presence. She may have asked about his plans, but she wasn’t really interested. She couldn’t understand the need he had to answer questions that had plagued him since he was seven.

  He found the side street the private investigator noted in the report and turned west, wondering again why he didn’t let the P.I. do the legwork. He could read a report as well as the next person. Block after block, the area became more impoverished until all that was left of a once-trendy area was little more than a few hovels with bars over the windows and sad, defeated people sitting on the stoops. The faces were different but the people were the same — disillusioned, tired. More than the words on the pages the P.I. would have given him.

  He slowed the rented SUV to a crawl. Many of the building numbers had fallen off or been removed, but by counting the buildings he finally found what he was looking for: a small, two-story brick unit that had been turned into apartments several years before.

  Camera in hand, he lowered his window and took a few shots of the outside of the building. There were holes in the walls, making it look like a refugee from the battle of the Alamo. Most of the windows had bars but some were rusted through and some were missing pieces. The front door glass was cracked and a small red ribbon tied to the handle floated on the breeze.

  It was the most recent address the investigator had found and probably identical to the dozens of other hovels where Maria lived after abandoning him in Dallas. The likelihood of her still being here was slim, but a neighbor might know something. Part of him wanted to pound of every door in the place until he found a lead. Another part asked, for the hundredth time, why he still cared. Obviously Maria didn’t.

  In the past twenty-four years she made no attempt to find him. No birthday cards, no letters explaining why she left one morning and never returned. He clenched his teeth. Why couldn’t he forget about her the way she had forgotten about him? Looping the camera over his shoulder, he beeped the SUV locks and strode across the quiet street.

  “Whatever you’re sellin’, we don’t want any,” a voice said from the window near the front door. A wrinkled, veiny hand gripped one bar as the person coughed heavily on the other side.

  Jackson ignored the voice and tried the door. It didn’t budge. The building might be falling down on itself but the security system still worked. Just his luck.

  “I’m not selling anything,” Jackson said, returning to the window with the hand and wishing he could see the occupant inside. He couldn’t tell from the gravelly voice if he spoke with a man or a woman. “Just looking for someone.”

  “Most of us don’t want to be found, neither,” the person said. “You a bounty hunter or somethin’?”

  Jackson bit back a smile. “No. Not a salesman, not a bounty hunter, and I don’t work for the IRS, the police or a newspaper. I’m looking for…an old friend.�
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  “Old friends don’t usually take pictures from across the street.”

  Tired of the person’s questions, Jackson said only, “No.”

  “I’ve been here ’long as anybody. I suppose I’d know your friend, if he lived here.”

  “She,” Jackson said. “Maria Taylor. She would have lived here two or three years ago. Early fifties, dark hair.”

  The old man sat forward so that Jackson finally saw who he was talking with. “Maria ain’t here. Not for a long time.”

  Not surprised, Jackson only nodded. It had been a shot in the dark to go looking for his birth mother after all these years. From the information he had gathered, Maria never held down a job for long and seemed to float through Texas at her whim. Settling in any town or city where she could work a few weeks and then disappear again.

  The old man shook his head and coughed again. “She owe you money?”

  “No.” She owes me a life. And then Jackson knew: he looked for Maria not to learn why she left, but to know he wasn’t like her. She’d been the dancer his father didn’t want. He’d been the seven year old she left behind. Not even the quiet acceptance of the foster family he’d been placed with before Hugh Henderson acknowledged him filled the hole in his heart. And it was her fault. She’d scarred him and now he needed to know he wouldn’t scar anyone else.

  Like Kathleen. Only wasn’t he hurting her by helping her lie to her family? He was certainly poking at old wounds he’d thought healed. He was a throw-away child who’d decided it was better to depend on no one than allow anyone close. He liked his life that way, so was he now contemplating what a future would be like in the middle of the Witte family, warts and all? He shouldn’t want the roots they offered; he should have jumped at the chance to leave last night.

  Kathleen’s beautiful face filled his mind. No. He wanted her physically, but even if he could come to terms with his past, she didn’t fit into his future. She couldn’t. “Did she leave a forwarding address?”

  This time the old man snickered. “People who live in this neighborhood don’t leave forwardin’ addresses, sonny. They move in, collect a check or two, and move on. Your Maria’s probably found herself in another town by now.”

  And maybe it was time for Jackson to stop looking at the past and find himself in another town. Did it really matter why she left? He had a good life in New York. Friends. Steady, well-paying work and a growing business. His own show in a few weeks. Didn’t that prove that he wasn’t like Maria?

  That he could have Kathleen and not hurt her?

  He heart stuttered. He didn’t have Kathleen. Didn’t want her. Well, okay, he wanted her, but they were too different. She needed space and her horses and the outdoors. He needed his camera and a subject. He didn’t need the drama that came with three generations living under the same roof. He couldn’t have Kathleen for any more than the next few weeks and then maybe he could forget her.

  “She isn’t my Maria,” Jackson said and turned from the window. He watched the SUV for a few minutes but couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet. He started walking, stopping now and then to capture a building or a silhouette through his camera lens.

  • • •

  Where was he? Kathleen rubbed down Trio in the horse barn, one ear listening for Jackson’s SUV as she talked half-heartedly to the horse. He had been gone since breakfast. She glanced at the wall, watching as the time ticked toward five o’clock.

  His explanation about taking tourist pictures for his showing didn’t make sense. One thing the art world didn’t need was more pictures of tourists in vacation spots. At least the pictures from the Malecon weren’t touristy. She had watched Jackson capture stall workers, artists, and even surfers on the famed boardwalk; none of the pictures looked touristy. Photographing the Alamo, River Walk or the Historical District? The art world wouldn’t give those post-card pictures a second glance.

  So where was he?

  Tired and hungry, Trio pushed his head against her hands and tried to step back.

  “Sorry, boy. I guess I lost track of the time,” she said before unclipping his halter and sending him into his paddock.

  Lost track of time? More like she had lost control of her brain. All day long she watched the road, hoping Jackson was just around the corner. All day long she had been disappointed when no dust cloud, no SUV appeared in the distance. Even Vanessa’s grousing about Paul barely registered.

  Was he even coming home? Had he taken her up on the offer to end their fake marriage earlier than planned?

  Her stomach dropped and her fists clenched. Was last night’s love making his way of saying good-bye?

  Leaving the barn, Kathleen hurried by the pool, ignoring Vanessa’s order to bring her more lemonade.

  “I swear, you ask for something simple — ”

  Kathleen closed the French doors on her sister before the rant could really get started. She didn’t need Vanessa’s whining today. She could just get her own lemonade for once. Kathleen was beginning to see why Paul packed up Vanessa’s belongings while she wasn’t at home.

  Upstairs Kathleen breathed a sigh of relief. Jackson’s suitcase and clothes were still in the closet. He was coming back.

  She sat down, holding a fist to her chest, and took two deep breaths.

  What was wrong with her? It would have been better if he’d gone. He belonged in New York, could barely wait to get back from the way he tore off the ranch this morning to get to San Antonio. She belonged here, with her horses. Protecting Grandfather’s legacy. Helping her father get back on his feet, assuming he ever admitted he needed help. She barely knew Jackson, and she was definitely not still hanging on to that silly crush. Why did it matter where he had gone? Why he wouldn’t talk to her this morning?

  A ragged breath tore from her throat.

  If Kathleen didn’t know herself better, she would think she was falling in love. But that couldn’t be. There hadn’t been enough time to fall for Jackson, hot body or not.

  She could not love Jackson Taylor. Not. Not. Not.

  Pushing off the settee, Kathleen drew her hair off her face and fanned herself with her right hand. She was just overtired and all of that alcohol from the Vallarta trip was still working its way out of her system. That was all. A quick shower and fresh clothes and she would be fine.

  Better than fine.

  Grabbing her favorite teal and brown Lucchese boots from the closet, Kathleen shucked her work boots and jeans, then her tee-shirt. Fresh under things were next and an old stand-by — a teal halter babydoll dress that did amazing things to her chest and legs. This was exactly the outfit she needed to stop feeling like Frumpy Kathleen. Frumpy Kathleen in the dirty jeans and sweaty tee-shirt were the reason she was feeling so weird about Jackson.

  It certainly wasn’t her heart.

  The hot shower spray was heavenly and Kathleen stayed under the pulsing water until it started to run cold. She shut off the taps, combed out her hair, and secured the Velcro tab on her body wrap before opening the bathroom door — and running straight into Jackson.

  Her heart skipped a beat and she forgot to breathe. What was wrong with her, she wondered for the hundredth time. She saw him less than eight hours ago and now her heart was pounding as if he was home after months away. He’d seen her naked for goodness’ sake. Several times. Just last night in fact. Why did it matter that now he saw her, fresh from the bath, with little more than a towel around her body?

  She swallowed hard. Licked her lips.

  “Hi,” she said, hating the self-conscious sounding word. Cold water dripped from her hair onto her suddenly over-heating skin and she shivered. “You’re just in time for dinner.”

  Heat leapt into his eyes and he smiled. “And you look like a great appetizer.”

  Fire burned in her belly, but she knew she had to stop th
is. They needed to talk, get acquainted. Stop jumping into bed when they were within five feet of one another. Oh, but skipping dinner and feasting on Jackson sounded like heaven.

  Stop that.

  She pushed against his chest with her free hand, holding the Velcro closure secure with her left. Just in case.

  “You’ve got about ten minutes to change before we’re expected downstairs. And if you thought Grandfather’s grilling this morning was bad you definitely don’t want to miss dinner.” She inched around him, behind the old-fashioned dressing screen and finished drying off.

  Eyebrows furrowed, Jackson asked, “What grilling?”

  “Ha-ha. You and Grandfather arguing about the ranch tour? Remember that?” She pulled on black lace panties and bra, then slipped the dress over her head. “You can’t have forgotten.”

  Jackson looked even more confused. “That was an argument? I thought I was perfectly nice.”

  Kathleen sat on the settee to pull tiny footies onto her feet before slipping on her boots. “You may have thought it was a discussion but no one ‘discusses’ plans with Grandfather. Usually he talks, we jump. And if you want to clean up at all before we head back to the Lion’s Den, you’d better hurry because I still need to dry my hair.

  She stood, self-conscious, when Jackson simply stared at her. “What?”

  “You look like this girl I used to know in college,” he said, voice gruff with wanting. “Until five minutes ago I thought that girl was gone forever.”

  Chapter Nine

  Kathleen kept from stumbling back a few steps by sheer force of will. She would not be a shrinking violet. She would not jump back into bed with Jackson. It was too late to come clean with Grandfather without creating an even worse impression. She should have told him at the villa. At the very least during the four hour flight back home or the hour spent driving to the ranch. Dinner last night was another option. At any point during the eight hours Jackson had been wherever he had been.