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

Chapter Twenty-Five

G obsmacked.

Jackson didn’t know where the word originated, but it was the only one that fit how he felt.

He shifted restlessly on the bed he had, up until now, been sleeping well on. He’d thought he would tonight, as well, after the fun of reading from Jeremy’s favorite book to him again. But here he was, stuck in a morass of tangled thoughts.

For two years he’d never even thought about getting close to another woman. Even though he’d had his instructions from Leah.

If anything happens to one of us, the other needs to move on.

She’d said it after finishing a book that had obviously gotten to her. He’d been scrambling, trying to think of something to reply to the unexpectedly intense comment when the Leah he so loved had emerged, with that impish smile that made him smile back no matter what was going on.

But if you ever do it while I’m still alive, I’ll kill you.

They’d ended up making long, sweet love right there on the sofa she’d been curled up on. He’d thought often of that night and was still convinced that was the night Jeremy had been conceived. Just the memory of her words always caused that pain somewhere down deep, as if it had been physically able to deliver a blow. He waited for the punch.

It didn’t come.

Instead, all he felt was a wistful sadness, not even about how much he missed her, but how much she was missing. She wasn’t seeing Jeremy grow, seeing how much and how fast he was learning.

She couldn’t see the change in him since they’d come here.

But somehow he knew she’d approve. She’d approve of anything that helped their son.

Even Nic?

Because he couldn’t deny she was helping Jeremy. The boy was never more excited than when he was aboard Pie, and more than once he’d paused in his day to watch, and had seen both of them laughing with delight over some leap of progress in his riding.

Nic told me it was okay to be mad about Mom being gone. That she was mad her mom got hurt, ’n’ if she’d died, like my mom did, it’d be a bazillion times worse.

He remembered that evening, when that had come out over a bowl of ice cream before bed. He hadn’t really thought about what else Jeremy and Nic might be talking about in their time together, but he should have. When the boy was actually riding, that was the focus, but there was all that time when he was grooming Pie or cleaning the tack or the pony’s stall, all part of the privilege of riding, according to the Nicole Baylor method. All that time to talk about... anything. Which they apparently did.

She said when she got really sad about her mom never being able to walk again, she’d ride out to one of her favorite places. An’ just stay there, looking, until she felt better.

He understood that. Leah would have understood that.

Would she have understood that kiss?

If anything happens to one of us, the other needs to move on.

Maybe. Maybe she would have understood. Even approve. Because anyone who could make Jeremy happy the way Nic did, especially now, would be okay in Leah’s book.

“I’ll never stop loving you, Leah,” he murmured into the darkness, as if he felt like he had to reassure her. Why? Because of that kiss?

Or because that kiss was just the first step? The first step on a path he’d never thought he’d walk again...

He rolled over, giving the pillow beneath his head a solid punch. The constant ache of losing Leah had become part of him, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it easing. Guilty, perhaps. Did it belittle what they’d had if he did what she’d said and moved on? Or was he a beaten, helpless washout who couldn’t function at all without the woman who had been his support, who had kept him sane in a crazy world?

When he finally fell asleep, it was to dream of Leah as he often did, yet this dream was different. It began, as usual, with something entirely unrelated, something about being in Last Stand in the old days, just after the battle. But then, dressed for the period, Leah appeared. She was farther away than usual, and the image of her was a bit fuzzy around the edges. He felt Jeremy’s hand in his, but couldn’t tear his gaze away to look at him.

The dream image said something, faintly, and Jeremy pulled on his hand as he asked, “What did she say?”

“She said . . . let me go.”

He woke up abruptly, jerking half upright before he even realized he’d been asleep. His heart was racing, and he felt a bit clammy.

Let me go.

He didn’t believe in supernatural stuff like messages from beyond, or the afterlife, or whatever they called it.

But he had no other explanation for this.

*

There had been an underlying hum of tension between them ever since that evening. Nic didn’t know if it was coincidence or intent—on his part or even hers—but they weren’t alone together for more than a moment or two for the next couple of days. And when they were, it was always in the middle of a job or some work that required all hands.

And work was something the man couldn’t seem to get enough of. He seemed to be taking on more and more, and when she’d told him he didn’t have to work quite that hard, he simply said he wanted to learn. She’d believed it... until Maggie Rafferty had mentioned she’d told him about Dad’s heart attack. The timing lined up too perfectly to deny. He was taking on more work to help her father.

Which only makes you like him even more.

She’d just reached the point of accepting that fact when her mother dropped a figurative bomb on them. But, being Mom, she disguised it cleverly.

“If it’s all right with you, Jackson,” she’d said when he’d come down to watch the end of Jeremy’s riding lesson for the day and she was there, “Jeremy’s going to spend the evening with us. One of my favorite riding-related movies is on, and he wants to see it.”

“I . . . sure.”

It was unlike Mom to not invite him to stay as well, and that was Nic’s tip-off that something else was up. So, when it hit, she wasn’t surprised. Not that that stopped her pulse from kicking into overdrive.

“Jeremy can stay overnight. We’ve already discussed it, and he’s fine with it. So why don’t you two go out on the town? Jackson, you haven’t been to the saloon on a Friday night yet, have you? You can’t be an official Last Stander until you do that.”

And that simply, they’d both been maneuvered. They either had to do it, or one of them had to come up with a decent excuse to get out of it. Except... she didn’t want to get out of it. But maybe he did. Maybe he regretted those moments on the porch, regretted that kiss that had so blown her away. If he did, she wanted to know now, before she did anything stupid.

Well, more stupid than kissing him.

But then he kissed you . . .

He had. And it had lit her up from head to toe. And so she simply looked at him, clearly handing the decision over to him.

It was a moment before he switched his gaze from her mother to her. Just long enough, she guessed, to let Mom know he saw through her ploy. But when he did look at her, she couldn’t read his expression at all.

He’s an actor. He can probably turn that utterly neutral expression on and off at will.

But that would mean he’d meant her to see his response to her kiss. Or the flash of heat that had inspired her to take the reckless step. Or had he been so far away from his work in that moment that the actor part of him hadn’t even been present? She’d like to believe that.

When he finally spoke, it wasn’t what she’d expected at all.

“Do I have to dress up for this?”