Wild Cat And The Marine

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.”