Making A Texas Cowboy (Home at Last Texas #1)

Chapter Twelve

“S o he really just up and walked away?”

Nic heard Tris’s sigh as she kept watching her nephew on the pinto pony. “So it seems.”

“What happens now? On the show, I mean?”

The star’s sister shrugged. “I gather they’re trying to decide what to do. To kill off the character, or leave a door open.” She grimaced. “He did kind of dump this on them without notice. I know he feels bad about that, but he was afraid for Jeremy.”

“And that trumped everything?”

“And anything,” Tris agreed. Then, in a tone of aggravation, she went on. “I just get so angry at all those bloggers and internet geniuses who think they know why, that it was some actor-y thing, some ‘clash of vision’ kind of thing. Because an actor couldn’t really walk away from the one thing they’re all obsessed about, a big hit, for the sake of someone else, even his own child.”

She gave Nic a sideways look, and there was a bit of color in her cheeks. And her tone was calmer when she said, “Sorry. It’s just that I know he’s been in such anguish over Jeremy, so much that he’s barely dealt with his own grief. He truly loved Leah, always said she was what kept him sane and balanced.”

“Don’t apologize for feeling strongly,” Nic said as she felt an inward twinge. Because there had been a time when her mother had told her almost the same thing about her father. He’s kept me from going crazy, given me the strength to keep fighting. I don’t know what I would have done without him.

She’d never considered that the man she’d thought of as a guy pretending to be someone he’s not was also a human being with real, genuine feelings powerful enough to make him walk away from a career-making part. Especially a guy who’d been a virtual unknown before he’d stepped into the skin of a character named Austin Holt.

“Jeremy is having such fun. It’s absolutely wonderful to see after all this time,” Tris said.

“I’m glad.”

“It’s the pony, I think. Jackson has tried to get him to ride with him when he goes on trail rides, but I think Jeremy was intimidated by a full-sized horse.”

That surprised her. “Your brother actually rides voluntarily? When not on camera?”

Tris gave her a sideways look. Nic sensed her hesitation, realized the probable cause; she didn’t want to anger the person letting Jeremy do what was making him so happy. “Don’t worry about slapping me down. I probably have it coming. I admit to being a bit... prejudiced against Hollywood.”

“Well, that’s the first step to overcoming it,” Tris said, smiling now.

Nic smiled wryly. “Seems like one I need to take, at least in this case.”

Tris’s smile widened. “In answer to your question, yes, Jackson rides a lot. He loves it, and the horses, and has ever since his friend Tucker got him started when he got him his first job on a film crew, helping wrangle the animals for a movie. That was where Miles Flint first spotted him, helping that horse.”

Helping?

...go look at how Jackson Thorpe was, as they say, discovered.

Her mother’s words came back to her. Obviously, the story must be well-known, since the man’s sister seemed to be assuming she’d know it. But she didn’t. She’d always had the idea he’d just been swept up out of nowhere and plopped into the role that had morphed into being the lynchpin of one of the biggest television hits ever.

She felt more than a little embarrassed now at her assumption he’d never done a lick of actual hard work to get where he was. She’d remembered her mother telling her about how some famous golden age actress had been “discovered” sitting at a lunch counter, and figured some agent or other had taken one look at Thorpe’s admittedly gorgeous face and body and said, “There’s my guy!”

She’d made a lot of assumptions about the man, and they were falling apart one by one. Which made her start wondering why she had, so far, been so wrong. True, she’d only had his Hollywood image—and her own feelings about such things—to base it on, but still, it wasn’t like her to... well, to judge like this.

Maybe she needed to quit thinking about Jackson Thorpe and do a little work on Nicole Baylor.

*

Jackson had continued his walking tour after his encounter with the chief, an encounter that had made him think of stopping to speak to the man’s brother. The saloonkeeper. A juxtaposition that still made him smile.

He’d gone into the saloon, and the man—Slater, he said to call him—had asked if he wanted a drink, on the house.

“As Tris’s brother,” he said pointedly. “Not as the big star.”

He grimaced. “Neither guy ever drinks before dark, and then not much. He crashed and burned once, at the worst possible time, and is making sure it never happens again.”

The other Highwater brother studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Hang on a sec,” he’d said, and disappeared into the back. He came out with something that looked almost slushy, an odd shade of yellow orange in a tall, frosty glass with a straw.

“It’s better when the peaches are in season and it’s fresh, but I keep some frozen on hand most of the time.”

Peaches? Jackson took a sip, and the flavor practically burst over his tongue. “Wow. That’s amazing.”

Slater grinned at him. “Local peaches make all the difference.”

“I never thought of Texas as peach-growing country.”

“Nobody did, until somebody did.”

That made him laugh. And he realized it wasn’t just Jeremy who had relaxed here; he’d laughed more himself since they’d arrived than he had in the last three years.

They’d begun talking about him staying a while and needing a car. Slater suggested a dealer over in Fredericksburg that also leased vehicles. That, Jackson greatly appreciated, but when the man pulled out a phone to call someone who could give him a ride there, he was a little stunned.

“Isn’t there a taxi or ride share or something?” he asked.

“A couple, but only a couple, and they’re usually pretty busy. Besides, it’s only about twelve miles, and I know just the person. My sister-in-law. She has today off, since my brother Sean and his wife are watching their son today.” He grinned. “Elena can’t help herself when it comes to babies.”

“I’m sure she’s got better things to do—”

“Than give Jackson Thorpe a ride? I doubt it. But fair warning, she used to be a reporter.”

His long-conditioned wariness sprang to life. “Used to be?”

Slater nodded. “Now she just does human-interest stuff. So I can’t say she won’t ask questions, but she won’t be pushing you for a gossip column or anything. She’s not a small-picture kind of woman.”

He made the call before Jackson could stop him, and he couldn’t see any way out of it after that. And when the woman walked into the saloon, he realized he should have guessed; it was the woman he’d seen coming out of the newspaper office.

It only belatedly hit him that Slater had said his sister-in-law. And he’d looked at the saloonkeeper, who was nonchalantly drying a glass. “Which brother?” he asked dryly.

“I think you already guessed.”

“The police chief is married to a reporter?”

“Ex-reporter.” The woman’s voice was cheery as she came up behind him. “I don’t do news anymore. Kind of a conflict of interest when you’re married to one of the biggest newsmakers in the county.”

He remembered the story he’d seen in the window of the paper. “And one of the biggest heroes?”

The look that came across her face then made his throat tighten. It was so full of not just love, but admiration and respect. Leah had looked at him that way, even when he didn’t deserve it, when they’d been struggling just to get by. She’d never, ever given up on him.

“Yes,” she said simply. “Lily Highwater,” she added, holding out a hand.

He took it, just for a moment. “Look, you don’t need to—”

“I have an errand in Fredericksburg I’ve been putting off, so you’ll actually be doing me a favor by making me do it.”

“I…thank you.”

And so he ended up in a car with the chief of police’s wife, who happened to be a writer of human-interest stories. He’d expected a barrage of questions, but Slater hadn’t lied. She didn’t push. At all. It didn’t take him long to figure out that Joey hadn’t told only her husband about his situation. Or her husband had told his brother, who had told his wife. But back home, his situation wouldn’t have stopped any reporter, ex or otherwise, from grabbing this chance to batter him with prying inquiries. In fact, it would have resulted in even more pressure, more paparazzi hiding behind every tree and bush and wall, hoping to catch a shot of either him or Jeremy in some kind of emotional state of trauma.

But Lily Highwater hadn’t. She’d asked only one question, after a few minutes in silence as they worked their way out to the highway that would take them to Fredericksburg. She’d glanced at him and said honestly, “As a new mother myself, I greatly respect anyone who would do this for their child, Mr. Thorpe. I know who the nexus of the local grapevine is, and if I tell him to put the word out on why you’re here, I can promise ninety percent of Last Stand will back off and give you the room and time to see to your son. Shall I do it?”

“In exchange for what?”

She gave him another glance, her expression almost sad now. “Is everything a trade-off in that town?”

He didn’t have to ask what town she meant. “Pretty much.”

“Well, this is Last Stand, Texas, Mr. Thorpe. And I give you my word we’re not that way.”

He didn’t know what to say. Finally, with a sideways look at her as she drove, he asked, “Is that a word with your husband’s position behind it?”

She didn’t deny it. “If necessary. To borrow a cliché, his word is law in Last Stand.”

“I can see why,” he said, thinking again of that story in the window, and the plaque on the statue.

“So, yes or no, Mr. Thorpe?”

He took a deep breath. It was all in or get out of the pool, as Tucker was wont to say. “Yes. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Stop calling me Mr. Thorpe.”

She laughed, and it was a lovely sound. And he had the feeling that Shane Highwater had found a woman worthy of him. Which was saying something.

Last Stand was indeed a different town than Hollywood. And that could only be a good thing.

Too bad the woman he had to deal with was Nicole Baylor.