Читать книгу Wild Cat And The Marine - Jade Taylor - Страница 9

“HEY,” HE CALLED. “Cat? Wild Cat Darnell?” The tall Marine grabbed his duffel and loped across the street toward her, narrowly dodging a white Chevy tooling down the street much faster than was safe.

Her breath caught in her throat, just as it had the first time she’d met him. “Wel— Welcome home, Jackson.”

He grinned at her, dropped his duffel, then gave her a bear hug. “It sure is you! I thought so, but I could hardly believe my eyes. You haven’t changed a bit.”

Oh, but I have, Jackson. I have. Cat tried to breathe and couldn’t. He held her too tight. His arms were steel bands pressing her against a rock-hard chest. For the first time in years, a pool of heat centered in her breasts and trickled down her stomach. His embrace felt warm and familiar and, at the same time, dangerous. How had she forgotten, even for a minute the secret he must never guess? She tried to get away. He must have felt her movement. His grip loosened and, nose still jammed against his khaki shirt, she drew in warm, male-scented air. Her legs turned to water. Jackson chose that moment to release her and she stumbled.

He caught her again. “Easy there! I didn’t mean to knock you off your feet.”

For a single dizzying second, she ached to remain in his arms. Reason returned. She couldn’t.

Cat stepped away from the closeness of Jackson Gray. It was difficult to appear casual as she asked the first question that came to mind. “Is someone meeting you?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. “Nobody knows I’m coming. I didn’t call.” He glanced away, his fair cheeks a pinker shade than usual.

Embarrassed, she guessed.

“Not sure of my welcome, you know,” he muttered to the sidewalk.

Sympathy washed over her. “Cass called me the day after the accident. She hoped you’d choose to come home.” She took a deep breath, willed the butterflies in her stomach to quiet their frantic clamor, and reluctantly decided there was no help for it. “I’ll give you a lift out to the farm.”

He brightened. “That’s good of you, Wild Cat. Thanks.”

“Nobody calls me Wild Cat anymore,” she observed, as calmly as if his use of her old nickname hadn’t stirred a hundred heart-stopping memories.

He laughed. The same careless laugh that used to make her heart bump against her chest. And still did.

“Well, I’ve never stopped thinking of you as ‘Wild Cat Darnell.’ There was a time when you’d try anything. Nothing was too outrageous. Remember that Halloween we hoisted the coach’s old Volkswagen up to the roof of the school? And draped it with crepe paper in the school colors? It rained all night and the paper broke. Colors ran over the car until it looked like it had been painted with pieces of confetti.” Jackson chuckled as he stared down at her, warm regard in his eyes.

Remembering, Cat thought. Well, damned if she’d give him any sign that she remembered, too. She made an attempt at airy indifference. “I’ve grown up, Jackson. Didn’t you?”

“What’s the fun in growing up? Next thing you’ll be asking me if I’ve decided to return to farming.” A snide smile spread across his angular face.

Same old Jackson, she thought. I’ve changed. He hasn’t. Despite the rush of heat his smile caused, she took a firm grip on her emotions. “No. I won’t. I already know the answer. Let’s go. I’ve got chores to do at the ranch.”

“Right. That’s one thing that never changes.”

He followed her around to the driver’s side and held the door for her. One large hand hovered next to her elbow as if he would help her climb into the truck. Hurriedly, she rushed to get in by herself, knowing she’d react to his touch the same way cattle did to an electric prod.

He must have changed a little bit, though. The old Jackson had been too carefree to think about opening a door for a woman unless his father had an eagle eye on him. She watched as Jackson loped around the truck, threw his duffel carelessly into the back and climbed into the cab with her. For a big man, he was graceful—lean-hipped, wide-shouldered, and too sexy. And totally unaware of his breathtaking attraction.

Cat drew in a deep, calming breath. She’d been lonely too long. He endangered her peace of mind and she needed to stay far away from him.

As he closed the door, he said, “Thanks for the lift, Cat…Catherine.”

The cab, roomy when only she and Joey were in it, became tiny as he laid one arm along the seat back, dangerously close to her shoulder. She retreated into censure. “Since when would a neighbor not offer a ride?”

Jackson busied himself with fastening his seat belt. “It’s been a long time, Cat. You know that. Cut me a little slack.” He glanced out the window, then back at her and changed the subject. “Tell me what’s changed since I left. Cass tries, but she doesn’t remember our group of kids. Fill me in on what’s happened to the Dragons of Engerville High.”

His mention of the school’s team name brought memories of their high school years back with a hard focus on Jackson, the prince, and the girl who was Engerville’s blond princess. A bitter stir of jealousy replaced the heat his nearness caused. Of course, he wanted to know about Rebeka. Mutinous anger shot through her. Well, he could damn well find out from someone else. “Remember Roy Thoreson?”

He shot her a sideways look of unexplained disgruntlement. “Sure. Your boyfriend for a while in our senior year. Editor of the school newspaper.” He hesitated, then grudgingly added, “And pretty darn good for a kid.”

Cat downshifted at a red light and looked quickly at the man beside her. He’d matured physically in a powerful, shockingly attractive way. His beard-darkened cheeks had fascinating shadows and angles her hand itched to explore, but above the sensual lips were a pair of cold blue eyes that belonged to a man she no longer knew.

How could this man’s eyes flash intimate warmth one moment and look right through her the next? Jackson might be two men now. A little bit of the one she remembered and the rest of him a stranger. She returned her gaze to the road ahead, determined to resist this new Jackson. “Roy’s a reporter for the Traill County Tribune, now. The Express offered him a job in Fargo, but he turned it down.”

Jackson’s eyebrows shot up. “He actually turned down a newspaper job in Fargo to stay in this nowhere town? Is he still hanging around you or does he have another reason?”

“Some of us like living here, Jackson,” Cat reminded him.

Jackson’s cheeks reddened and he looked out the window. “Sorry. I have no business bad-mouthing Engerville,” he said.

He turned back to her, his engaging smile in place again.

“You know something? I’m so nervous about what Pop is going to say when he sees me that I really wasn’t thinking. I didn’t intend to be rude.” His lips twisted in rueful self-derision. “Why did you stay, Cat? You told me you’d be leaving, too, in the fall.”

She glanced at him and couldn’t help smiling at the stranger beside her. Despite the foreign air about him, he was still the boy she’d spent her high school years tagging along behind. Still the boy who hated the sameness of life in a farming community. Still the only male in Traill County who made her heart beat faster. With a straight face, she said, “No big mystery. I stay for the night life.”

He snorted with laughter. “Are you talking about the tavern or the diner? I’m serious. Tell me.”

Of course, she couldn’t tell him the truth, though for a split second, that’s what she wanted to do. His laughter brought back so many memories. Cat resisted the crazy impulse and shrugged. “I meant to. Things happen.”

“I guess so, but you sure sounded like you wanted to leave as bad as I did. What happened to you?”

Cat wondered if she had the nerve to admit she only pretended a desire to leave Engerville because that’s what he wanted. Truly, he was the only person who could have convinced her to leave the home she loved, but that was years in the past. He no longer had that power. She was indifferent to him. Touching the jade necklace around her throat as if it were a charm, she felt her stomach contract with tension.

Five minutes alone with him and she ached to tell him. Hurriedly, she diverted his attention with the one bit of news certain to interest him. “Did you know Rebeka and her husband are looking for a summer home in Engerville?”

“Really?”

Cat expected more interest, or at least a smidgen of surprise, from him. “They have a winter home in Virginia,” she added. That last bit of information startled him. He hadn’t known he’d been living in the same state with Rebeka. Unwanted satisfaction warmed her. How far was Quantico from Richmond?

His expression revealing nothing, Jackson shrugged, his broad shoulders straining the fabric of his jacket. “Very convenient. Mild winters and a cool summer home. Most people can’t afford two homes.”

The truck drifted to the right a bit as she glanced at him. Cat corrected the truck’s path and decided she’d better keep her attention on the road, for more reasons than avoiding a traffic accident. “Burt and Rebeka can. Everybody knows how wealthy they are.”

“Does anybody care?”

His tone of voice said more than the words did. Cat hurried to fill the awkward space. “Without Burt’s money, our farm would have gone under six years ago.” She hadn’t intended to tell him, but his attitude irked her. Of course he cared that the girl he’d been crazy about in high school had ditched him for a rich man’s son, as Jackson had characterized him on that long-ago prom night. Cat liked Burt, though, and Jackson’s attitude couldn’t change her mind.

She might have liked Rebeka more, if the teen queen hadn’t claimed Jackson as her private property from elementary school all the way through high school. Until the last three months of their senior year, the two had appeared to be joined at the hip.

Jackson looked curious. “Did he loan your dad money or something?”

“Not exactly. He bought a very expensive colt from us. Burt sells horses, hunters mostly, in Virginia and he liked the looks of the colt well enough to pay a darn good price for it.”

“But your father inherited that property. How could he need money that bad?” He frowned, swiping his hand across his forehead where beads of sweat had formed. “Sorry, Cat. That’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“I don’t mind. The farm had a major mortgage on it when Aunt Johanna died, so it wasn’t free and clear when Dad inherited it. Then Gary Jansen needed help and Dad cosigned a note when his wife was in the hospital with cancer. After she died, Gary gave up. The bank took over his farm and he couldn’t pay us back.”

Jackson looked disapproving. “That’s too bad, Cat. Your dad shouldn’t have cosigned for him. Not if he had to put the farm up for security.”

His selfishness disturbed Cat. If this was the real Jackson, then she’d wasted a lot of years wanting him. Her tone more caustic than she intended it to be, she said, “It may not have been the practical thing to do, but my father wasn’t famous for practicality, you know.”

Jackson protested, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Just that he shouldn’t have risked the farm. I’ve helped friends before.”

An unbidden chuckle escaped from Cat. “I can imagine what a footloose, carefree guy like you considers ‘helping a friend.’ With a ten-spot for the bar?”

Jackson’s expression became stony. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”

Bitterness that he’d have no way of understanding colored her answer. Bitterness and piled-up, long-buried resentment. “You’ve been gone a long time, Jackson. I don’t think of you at all.”

It had been her choice not to tell him, but the resentment didn’t disappear. Apparently, Jackson didn’t know how to answer her hostility. He stared out the window, watching an endless field of corn stalks slide past the truck. The sharp line of his jaw stood out against the sun-splashed window. No flicker of regret showed in his face.

Another mile to his father’s farm. Cat’s feelings, always inconsistent where this man was concerned, softened in sympathy. What had happened wasn’t his fault, or at the very least, it was as much her doing as his. Now, forced by circumstances beyond his control, he had to return to a lifestyle and a town he hated. Nine years hadn’t changed the way Jackson Gray felt about sugar beets, hogs, cows and Engerville, North Dakota.

Cat couldn’t be a part of making him stay. She couldn’t tell him, now or ever. The pain of not telling replaced the fear of telling. A chill settled in her chest, spreading icy hurt to every part of her body.

WHEN THE TRUCK ROLLED to a stop in his father’s front yard, Jackson hesitated before opening the door. Cat’s attitude puzzled him. He’d felt a rush of joy when he’d seen her across the street, like a missing part of him had suddenly been found.

He’d been stunned by the changes in her. Skinny teenager had morphed into a delightfully curved woman. Gawky adolescence left so far behind it was like looking at a different person. Different, yet the same. She still had the world’s most stubborn chin. She definitely had the same gemstone eyes, but the green was deeper now. The same wide mouth, though the lower lip had a pouty fullness that hadn’t been there in high school. Or if it had been, he didn’t remember it. Jackson was sure he’d have remembered.

Cat still wore the jade necklace her mother had given her before she left and she still clutched the necklace when emotion got the better of her. Cat had always hoped that her parent’s separation wasn’t final. It was too bad her mother’s accidental drowning years ago had destroyed any chance of reconciliation.

The jade beads, as green as her eyes, curved around her slender throat. The pendant, an uneven circle, lay in the vee of her shirt opening, though now her skin gleamed a darker shade against the soft denim. Her breasts made his hands itch. He reacted like a pimply teenager all over again. That part was exactly the same. He shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench seat.

The companionable catching up on hometown news and old friends hadn’t happened as he’d thought it would. Still, he and Rebeka, along with Roy Thoreson and Cat, had been closer than best friends, so whatever caused her glacial manner couldn’t be his doing.

“I’ll stop by in a few days,” he offered, just to be polite. “I’d like to talk to you and catch up on everything. I’ve missed all the people I knew.” He paused, then continued. “I never hated anybody here, just slopping the hogs, plowing the fields, planting ten million potatoes and picking corn worms.”

She nodded, her gaze focused on something he couldn’t see.

“Is that okay?” he prompted.

Jackson studied her as she took too long to reply. Her eyes flashed green fire. Her tawny complexion reflected hours in the sun. Her blue denim shirt, though faded and obviously old, set off her straight black hair as well as the finest silk might. The color of her hair had changed, too, he realized. It used to be inky black, falling down her back. Now it seemed a shade lighter, with more texture and fullness. She wore it in a single plait, with dusky strands falling loose around her face. Her lower lip, full and sexy, disappeared for a second beneath strong white teeth. Desire shook him.

“Of course it’s okay.” Cat glanced at him, her face reflecting nothing.

He struggled to remember what he’d asked. She’d taken so long over her answer that he’d lost his concentration. Why had she hesitated? “It’s been a while. I’m not butting in, am I?”

The provocative lips widened in a delicious, pensive smile, though her answer still sounded reluctant. “Not at all. I’ll show you RugRat.”

“RugRat?” He tried to shift his gaze and couldn’t. Had she always been this incredibly desirable? Was that why she haunted his dreams?

Enthusiasm brightened her mood. “He’s our three-year-old thoroughbred-quarterhorse cross. One of six we’re working with now, but Dad thought Ruggie could pay for the ranch all by himself. He’s a rogue, and I’m not having much luck reforming him. Even so, I think I can get a decent price for him from Burt. He’ll be worth more, if I can get him calmed a bit.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing your devil horse.” Hoping to see that grin again, he smiled to show he was kidding. She stared straight ahead. “Okay, then. I’ll be seeing you.”

Jackson watched her pull the truck out of the driveway and onto the gravel road. Why did Cat seem glad to see him one minute and angry the next? He waved, but she didn’t look back.

Behind him the house waited like a dark cloud ready to descend on him. He could put it off no longer. He swung around to face old memories.

The shabby farmhouse, two stories high, surrounded by weathered barns and outbuildings, hid behind a huge maple tree. The wild roses his mother had planted covered the back side of the barn.

The acrid smell of manure and wheatstraw rode the cool breeze. Off to the right, new corn plants broke through dark soil. The sugar beets would be in the far field this year. He pictured his father atop the green and yellow tractor, the muffled roar of its engine shattering the quiet. Though he dreaded seeing him, the remembered picture brought him a sense of security he hadn’t felt since he’d left Engerville. A cot in the barracks wasn’t much of a home, certainly not one that could replace this familiar farmhouse.

A broken rope dangled from the barn’s loft door. He and Cassidy had swung from it and then jumped to land in a pile of hay below. It could have been the same rope or another just like the one they’d used. Wooden rocking chairs and a porch swing with peeling white paint still sat on the front veranda where they’d gathered in the late evenings to listen to Pop playing his guitar and singing country songs.

It was still the place he’d escaped from. No matter how nostalgic he felt on seeing it again, the wide fields still marched in furrowed rows to the horizon, interrupted only by tall pine windbreaks. Faintly, he heard the high-pitched squeal of a hog coming from the distant barn. If he closed his eyes, he’d be able to smell the stink from here. He shuddered. There was nothing he hated more than pigs.

Jackson swung his gaze back to the house. Would he be welcome? Or would Pop stare at him coldly, wishing he’d stayed away as Jackson had vowed he would when he left his home that June morning. A moment of cowardice pierced him to the backbone. He thought about slinking away. Just heading to the road and loping back toward town. He might get a ride, after all, and it wasn’t so far, if he didn’t. Within a few hours he could be back on a Greyhound bus heading to Seattle, where the rest of his life awaited him with a new, exciting career.

The moment of indecision faded as he realized he couldn’t leave. His father needed him, whether the stubborn old man wanted to acknowledge that fact or not. Too late, anyway. The front door opened and Cassidy stuck her head out and shouted in delight.

“Jackson! You came! I knew you would. Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” Then she launched herself off the porch straight into his arms.

Cassidy held on to him as if it had been centuries since they’d seen each other. It had only been a bit over a year. She’d invited him to Minneapolis to meet her new husband and to see his very new nephew. It had been a lot longer since he’d seen Pop. In nine years, he’d only come back once and that occasion had been his mother’s funeral. He’d arrived in town one day and left the next, hardly exchanging more than a cool hello with his grief-stricken father.

“So how’s the old man?” he asked, finally setting Cass down. Her short height had given him an unfair advantage with her from the start. Now she looked up at him, a happy smile lighting her whole face.

“He’s so much better, Jackson. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to come home, but, darn it, it’s way past time for you two to make up.”

He gave her a freezing stare, which didn’t seem to bother her at all. “I’m certainly glad he’s recovered, but if this is your idea of a joke, getting me to come home on false pretenses… I can damn well tell you I don’t find it a bit funny.”

Cass snorted. “Oh, cool it! I told you the exact truth. Pop is doing better, but he’s far from well. Very far. He’s out of danger and the doctor is happy with his progress, but the truth is, he’s still a long way from being back on his feet.”

“Then what the hell are you trying to tell me? Is he hurt bad or not? Dammit, I’d like a straight answer.”

“Don’t cuss at me, Jackson! I’m a mother, you know. Show a little respect!”

He laughed. Her bright red hair and defiant stance couldn’t enhance her five feet, four inches much. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pointed her toward the door. “Inside, Cass. And while you’re leading the way, spit out a few answers about how Pop is going to treat me when we get there.”

Twisting around, she glared back at him. “He’ll chew you up and spit out the pieces, Marine! For heaven’s sake, Jackson, what can he do to you? He’s practically chained to his bed.” She softened a tad. “He’ll be glad to see you. Don’t worry.”

Easy for her to say. He and Pop had almost come to blows the morning he’d left, the day after the senior prom. He tried not to think about the cruel, callow things he’d said to Pop. Tried not to remember Pop’s reasoned, soft-spoken advice and the way he hadn’t lost his temper at all until Jackson had yelled at him. Jackson tried not to think about anything as he followed Cass inside his boyhood home.

The rooms were cool and shadowed, a welcome change from the heat outside. Through the doorway into the kitchen, he saw an older woman, her back to him. Bertha Jean Gillis stood stiff and straight in a blue housedress and a large white apron, her Swedish blond hair plaited and wrapped in a coronet. She turned at their approach. An unusual sight to see the woman the whole town had nicknamed “Crabby” smiling at him, even if it was a brief wintry token of a smile not intended as a personal welcome.

“I’m glad to see you, young man, and not one second too soon, either.” Her faded gray eyes snapped with concern.

Before he could reply, she spoke again. “Will woke up a few minutes ago. Go on in and say hello.”

For a single moment, time stood still. The faded kitchen linoleum butted against the worn cranberry carpet he stood on. The hardwood floor in the hall needed waxing. Then, time restarted. Two doors down the short hallway, the stern, older man waited.

Jackson strode toward Pop’s room, trying to walk like a Marine, proud and confident, but feeling more like a little boy about to get his hiney tanned. He tapped on the open door. Tentatively, he spoke. “Hi, Pop.”

“Is that you, boy?” the reply came back. “You’ve grown a foot, seems like. Cass said you’d come, but I guess I didn’t believe it.”

Jackson’s heart jerked to his mouth. The worn-out old man lying in the bed his mother had died in looked as if he, too, were ready to cross over. Jackson tried to say something, but no words came out.

The old man spoke again, his voice stronger. “I’m not dead yet, so quit looking at me that way. That damn black bull Bertie sold me just beat up on me some, out of pure hell, I guess.”

“I’ve missed you, Pop,” Jackson said, and wondered why it had taken so long to get over his anger.

The appallingly weak voice pleaded, “Son, I’ve waited a long time. Are you going to come over here and hug your old man or not?”

Jackson stumbled toward the bed on weak legs, his heart beating so loud it sounded like the bass drum in a parade.