Читать книгу The Taming Of Jackson Cade - Bj James - Страница 8

In a rare moment of peace, unmindful of the blaze of light spilling through the barn door to lie like pale fire on the ground before him, Jackson Cade stood as rigid as a figure of stone.

In sudden, blessed quiet, his bleak gaze ranged over the land beyond. But he didn’t see.

His mind was too full of turmoil and grief to appreciate how beautiful the acres of lush pasture were in moonlight. He didn’t smell the perfume of a southern night drifting on a breeze that touched his heated skin in a cooling kiss.

Once he would have stood in this exact spot with a sense of pride in all he saw. For this was River Trace. His land, his home, and he’d made it what it was. But tonight there was no pride, no sense of accomplishment. Only the knowledge that he’d fought a fierce and frenzied battle…and failed.

Because of his failure and stubborn pride, a magnificent suffering creature would die. And with it his dreams.

Footsteps sounded behind him, a hand clasped his shoulder. Jesse Lee, a trusted friend, an expert horseman, asked gruffly, “What are you doing standing here like this?”

A heavy shoulder lifted beneath the old cowboy’s rough hand. “Wishing I could change things, I suppose.”

Jessee nodded even though he knew the younger man wouldn’t see. “I reckon we both wish we could change a lot of things. But fact is we can’t. And there’s no going back. Only forward.”

Jackson laughed, a bitter, defeated sound. “How do I do that? Accomplishing what?”

“You do it by taking yourself into the house to make the phone call you’ve refused to consider.” Jesse’s fingers tightened on Jackson’s shoulder. In compassion, in respect, in regret for a man too proud for his own good. “I can’t say what it will accomplish, but it’s a chance. And if it saves the poor, mad critter back there in that stall, or even if it only eases his suffering, what’s the eating of a little crow in comparison?”

“You don’t mince words, do you, old man?”

“Never have,” Jesse drawled. “And just like you said, I’m too old to start.”

Jackson nodded but didn’t look away from the land.

This was more than River Trace. It was his dream. His life’s work. The investment of all he had, his heart, his blood, his sweat and tears. After years of struggle, success beyond his wildest dreams was only a colt or two away. Colts that might not ever be. Unless a phone call could make the difference.

“Unless,” he muttered, stepping into the moonlight.

“What does that mean?” the older man questioned, his arm falling to his side.

“Exactly that, Jesse. Unless.” Jackson walked, grimly, determinedly in a stilted pace toward the house. A tattered, historic treasure neglected in favor of barns and horses, but his.

“Where in thunder are you going, Jackson Cade?”

Without slowing his pace, Jackson called back over his shoulder, his voice grimly resigned, as stilted as his step. “To make a phone call. Eat some crow. Say a prayer.”

“Care if I join you in the prayer part?”

“You do that.” At the steps leading to the back door, Jackson swung about. Over the little distance, young eyes met old and held. “Thanks for coming tonight, Jesse. I know you tried.”

“We both did, Jackson. What we could do just wasn’t enough.”

Jackson drew a long, harsh breath, nodded again, then turned away from the night to climb steps of stone.

The darkness of the house enveloped him, blocking him from sight, but the old cowhand still stood in the barn door. “Our bad luck was that your brother isn’t here. The good is that there is someone else.

“Call,” Jesse urged softly in a whisper no ear but his would hear. “Take a chance. What you find just might be worth all the crow in the world.”