After walking this earth for forty-two years, Jackson
North had drifted through enough fights to know how to
deal with a sticky situation.
If you were in a bar and a roughneck didn't take too
kindly to the way you sipped a beer, buy him enough to
either make him your buddy or make him pass out. If you
felt a pair of eyes boring into you from across a smoke-
shrouded room, never look up from the table to acknowledge
the threat. And if worst ever came to worst, let the fists
fly and worry about the damage later.
But Jackson was exhausted these days. Too bone-weary to
play peacemaker, too disillusioned to care about much of
anything anymore.
That's why โ when he felt the punch skim past him only to
miss the victim standing on the other side of his body โ
Jackson actually thought of turning tail and running from
this particular confrontation.
He tensed and glanced down at the battling little boy and
girl.
The punch thrower came perilously close to leaning against
Jackson while taunting his opponent.
"I'm gonna get you, Alina!"
"Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah!" said the girl tot who was hovering
ever closer to Jackson's other leg.
They were closing in. It was harder to breathe now. Why'd
this have to go and happen? Here he'd been, perfectly
content to linger on the fringes of the party when the two
children had burst out of nowhere. They'd caught Jackson
off guard when they'd sprinted over to him from the main
lawn of Oakvale Ranch โ where pony rides, a chili cook-
off, games and carnival attractions were sending off
sparks of laughter and country-western music.
Damn Rip McCain for dragging Jackson and the ranch's few
other workers over here, all but forcing them to be social
and "mingle with the neighbor people." Hell. It was bad
enough that Jackson's most recent home โ the Hanging R โ
would soon see the arrival of Old Rip's great-nephew,
who'd recently lost his parents and didn't have any other
relatives to take him in.
Dammit, if Jackson had known there'd be a little boy
living with them, he wouldn't have hired on just over a
month ago. If โ
The sound of a razzing tongue distracted him. "Stop that,
Konrad," the young girl said from Jackson's right
flank. "I'm telling Mom on you."
This time, the razzer did lean into Jackson's leg. The
touch completely froze him, lodging his heart in his
throat. Memories of two other children โ his sons โ
threatened to crush him.
"Kids..." The word choked out of him as he helplessly
raised his hands out of their way.
He should've retreated from the discomfort that was slowly
enveloping him, but when he'd first gotten to this
Leukemia Society fund-raiser, he'd made the unfortunate
choice of standing with his back to one of the festive
tents, cutting himself off from all human contact.
Cutting himself off from an escape, too.
As Alina swatted at Konrad, the boy hugged Jack-son's leg.
Jackson's three-year-old son, Lucas, used to do that โ hug
his leg.
Back when Jackson had been another man. Without thinking,
he rested his fingertips on this child's head, bringing
Konrad to a slow-motion halt as Jackson envisioned Lucas's
reddish-brown hair โ hair just like his ex-wife's.
As a long-suffering numbness swallowed the wrangler, he
remembered five-year-old Leroy's freckled smile, too.
When Konrad glanced up at Jackson, the man jerked his hand
away at the toothless surprise of a gaping mouth, an
unfamiliar face.
"Konrad! Alina!" said a female voice.
Stepping forward, away from the suddenly quiet children,
Jackson nearly bumped into the caller. Instinctively, he
reached out, grasping her soft shoulders, steadying her.
Beautiful blue.
Her eyes were all he saw before he averted his gaze,
lowering his hands so he could erase the burn of contact
by easing his palms against his hips and gripping the
denim for some mental balance.
She laughed, but he didn't look back up at her. "So," she
said. "You're all that was keeping the terror twins from
ripping each other apart?"
Jackson sort of grunted, hoping that would do for an
answer. In the meantime, he tried to distance himself inch
by inch, wondering if he could fade into the background
again. Wondering if he could get his pulse back to its
regular road-to-nowhere speed.
"Well, you two." He could hear her moving toward the
twins. "I think you need to say sorry to this man for
putting him in the middle of your silliness."
He chanced a wary look while she gathered the kids.
Something in his chest clenched at the sight of her: A
light-blue short-sleeved blouse and a wispy ankle-length
flowered skirt with a wide-brimmed hat to protect her fair
skin against theAugust sun. Long hair, as white-yellow as
the meringue on top of those pies they were selling in one
of the charity food tents. And when she tilted her head
toward him and smiled, he got a second gander at those
eyes: as playful as a kitten's, tipped up at the corners,
a twinkling shade of blue.
She was almost a throwback to simpler times. A prairie
girl full of light and innocence, caught in a museum
painting or a fantasy of days gone by.
Jackson cleared his throat and squinted. He'd been gaping.
Might as well face the music.
"If the kids here apologize to anyone," he said, "it
should probably be to each other. Not to me."
The little boy shrugged. "We fight all the time."
"Yeah," the girl agreed.
Growling in mock frustration, the blonde pretended to grab
the twins'ears. "You're both a real big help to your mom.
Here she is, just out of the hospital with another baby,
and you're running around wreaking havoc. Why, I oughta..."
She made an ear-twisting motion with her hands and the
twins giggled.
Jackson took a couple more steps back, chest heavy with
things he'd rather forget. Family. Kids. Inevitable
anguish.
"We'll be good, Felicia," the girl said, hugging the
blonde.
Not to be outdone, the boy joined the embrace. "Don't be
mad at us."
She laughed again, her words muffled by their enthusiastic
cradling. "I will be mad if I see you going after each
other again. I'm serious."
Unable to help it, Jackson found his eyes glued to her
once more.
"Go to your mom." She hustled the twins away, pointing
toward a well-padded woman holding a swaddled infant and
standing near a tiny merry-go-round. The kids took off,
greeting their mother with clumsy energy.
The blonde didn't move for a moment, just kept her gaze on
them. A sad sort of gaze. The corners of her mouth
twitched once before she sighed and crossed her arms over
her chest.
The sounds of carnival music mixed with a Clint Black
song, filling the silence between them. Finally, she
straightened up and walked toward him, all cheer and
sunshine once again.
"I really am sorry about that."
"Forget it." Could he leave without Rip getting all over
his case for being a curmudgeon?
Then again, did he really want to go now that the day had
become a little more interesting?
She was close enough so he could smell her perfume โ
something as pure as summer petals.
Closing his eyes, Jackson tried to fight whatever it was
that addled his brain. He was beyond flirtation and
intimacy. Had been for years.
When he looked again, she was sticking out her hand. "I'm
Felicia Markowski. I work in housekeeping here at Oakvale.
And those were two of many, many second cousins."
He hesitated to accept her touch, entertained a slew of
curse words in his mind then slid his fingers into her
gentle grip. Still, Jackson didn't allow himself the
luxury of enjoying her skin. Instead, he ignored the
warmth, the tingling bolt of awareness that jagged through
his body.
He disconnected. "Jackson North," he said. "Hanging R."
"Really?" She didn't seem to mind that he'd just about
treated her handshake like a man whipping off a clinging
snake that'd buried its fangs into him. "Old Rip hasn't
hired anyone in ages."
Discomfited, Jackson hoped he could leave soon. "I'm
surprised he took on another employee," she added, "what
with all the rumors about the ranch being in such bad
shape. We all love Rip McCain to death, but he wouldn't
ask for help even if it started licking his ankles and
begging for attention."
Jackson thought of the Hanging R's dilapidated buildings,
the dwindling stock of longhorn cattle, the rusted tools
and broken fences.
But he didn't say squat.
She must've noticed him fidgeting like a teenage boy who'd
been caught climbing out of a girl's window with his pants
around his ankles. Her smile was way too amused to be
casual.
"So you go by Jackson, huh? If we're going to be
neighbors, can I call you Jack?"
She wouldn't be calling him anything once he finally got
back to the ranch and stayed there. "If it pulls your
trigger. Sure."
"It does." A laugh bubbled out of her. "What brings you to
these parts, Jack?"
"I... Well, what brings most wranglers to a ranch?"
"Oh, a private man. Got it." She didn't seem very put off
by his clammed-up-ness. In fact, she was being so warm and
welcoming that he could've mistaken it for something
deeper.
Attraction?
Sure. Gorgeous blondes were always drawn to men like him:
as craggy as the face of a mountain, old enough to be her
babysitter. And plenty of off-putting attitude to boot.
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