Wild Cat And The Marine

“Thank you,” Joey responded politely, then grinned at her mother. Though used to being told she was a good rider, hearing those words from a stranger excited her.

“I’ll see you again before I leave, Cat. Thanks for the coffee.”

Cat stood and walked with him to the door. A drum-beat of regret pounded at her. She wanted to hold him, to stop him, and at the same time, she wanted him to go quickly before he destroyed the small world she’d built without him.

He hesitated at the door, turned, leaned casually down and touched her cheek with his lips. “Bye, then.”

And he was gone. Again.

CHAPTER FOUR

JACKSON WROTE THREE LETTERS that night, including a note to Juan telling him about the ranch and a little about Cat Darnell. That surprised him, since he hadn’t planned on even thinking about her, or her midnight hair, or the leggy siren’s body that lied about having a child who must be…what? Six or seven years old. Where was the kid’s father?

Hadn’t Cat given him a thought after he left Engerville? Not that he’d expected her to carry a torch. After all, love hadn’t been involved in their one night of reckless teenage passion. Still…still, he remembered. Didn’t she?

It must have been the letter that caused him to dream about her. The dream began before sleep did.

The moon shining through the truck’s windshield made the night misty, brushing Cat’s face with dewy gold. She wasn’t beautiful, Jackson decided. Cat didn’t have Rebeka Anderson’s even-featured beauty. Rebeka was the girl he’d wanted to take to the prom, not Cat.

Her green eyes were mesmerizing. He wouldn’t mind kissing her, even if she wasn’t Rebeka. He surely wouldn’t mind one little bit.

He draped an awkward arm around her shoulders, then asked a clumsy, too-direct question. “You don’t have to be home right away, do you?”

Her clear gaze turned to him. “Not right away. Why?”

“I thought maybe we’d drive down to Needlepoint Rock.” He paused, suddenly diffident. The rumbling of the truck wheels on the gravel road nearly drowned out his words. “And count the stars…or something.” Okay, he’d said it. Nobody went to Needlepoint Rock to star-gaze. The Rock was a well-known make-out spot. If she said no, then he’d take her home and say good-night. If she said yes, maybe she wanted something to remember prom night by as much as he did.

The sound she made was a breathy soft whisper, as if she’d sucked in air too quickly. He almost missed her answer.

“There’s no reason why Rebeka and Roy should have all the fun.” She stroked back a long dark strand that had drifted away from the rest of her hair.

Sometimes, it seemed as if she used that thick hair to hide her face when she didn’t want people to know what she felt. He’d noticed that in school. He glanced sideways. She looked down so he couldn’t see her expression. “Goose River is pretty at night when the moon is full.”

Jackson let his fingertips dangle over her shoulder and very lightly brush the soft skin at the top of her dress.

Turning right at Elmer Anderson’s farm, Jackson drove down the arrow-straight dirt road to Needlepoint Rock near the band of pine trees along the riverbank. He tried to ignore how his fingertips were getting a little too familiar with Cat’s breasts. It was impossible to ignore the pebble-hard tip that rose to meet his exploring hand.

Her breath quickened as he parked the truck beneath the shadowed overhanging branches of a towering pine standing sentinel beside the rock.

“Jackson?”

“I won’t hurt you, Cat. Any time you want me to stop, just say so.”

“I’m not afraid, Jackson. Are you?”

“A little, I guess.”

Her answer was a silky-smooth arm wrapped around his neck, resting there for a moment, then tugging him closer. He heard her whisper words so soft he had to strain to hear her.

“I dare you.”

His nervous laugh sounded scared even to him, but he returned her embrace and let the heat claim him. He had her panties off inside of two minutes, afraid the whole time that she’d change her mind and half-afraid she wouldn’t.

Clean, crisp air with a springtime chill to it and the pungent scent of pine trees aroused from their winter’s sleep. The damp smell of Goose River swollen with spring rains and rushing between its banks with a noise like a faraway freight train. The heady perfume of Cat’s rose corsage. All became a permanent part of his memory.

He’d been so wrong. She was beautiful.

Three times that night he awoke and lay in the narrow bed remembering. Twice he got up and looked out his bedroom window toward the Darnell farm. It seemed incredible that he was back in Engerville. Impossible that he’d had the same dream nearly every night he’d been here. Unbelievable that he couldn’t figure out why. The third time he awoke, he knew the answer but, like fog fleeing before a sudden breeze, the answer was gone with his return to awareness.

JACKSON REMOVED THE CLAMP and tugged the fuel line loose. He peered into one end of the line. Pointing it toward the ground, he took his finger off the opening. A few drops of fuel trickled out, then nothing. “Must be junked up,” Jackson muttered under his breath.

“Have you checked the fuel filter?” Will Gray asked.

Jackson turned around. His father stood behind him, leaning heavily on a polished walnut cane. A twinge of concern zapped through him. His father shouldn’t even be out of the house, let alone limping around the farm. Jackson grunted his annoyance. Just try telling him that. The old man was stubborn to a fault. “Pop, go back to the house. You aren’t well enough to be running around this dirty old shed telling me how to fix the tractor.”

“I just asked if you checked the filter. What are you so grouchy about?”

Jackson modulated his growl. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

Will nodded, looked all-knowing, and said, “I heard you tossing and turning half the night. Musta been those pork chops. I told you to stay with the beef stew Bertie fixed before she left.”

“Pop, never mind me. What are you doing out here? If you fell on this junk—” Jackson looked around the shed, gesturing toward the many pieces of old farm equipment that hung on the walls and spilled over to the floor, leaving only narrow aisles to navigate through “—you’d be hurt for sure. Probably get lockjaw.”

“Don’t you think I’ve had about all the bad luck one man is due? At least for this summer.” Will flung out his left arm in a gesture that included the whole farm.

“Yeah, yeah. Go back to the house, will you?” Jackson turned back to the engine, his mind already spinning past a dozen solutions for its reluctance to fire. This chore was one he enjoyed. No shovels involved, anyway.

“I have to start back to work sometime. I can’t sit around that house another day without going crazy.” Will limped to his other side and peered over his shoulder.

Jackson stared at his father and tried not to show the concern he felt every time he noticed how much weight his father had lost, how much gray blunted the copper in his hair and how hard his father sought to regain his strength. Pop ought to sell this damn back-breaking, pancake-flat piece of godforsaken prairie and try raising a little hell for a change, instead of sugar beets. Maybe he’d quit looking around every corner as if he expected Jackson’s mother to be there. Jackson gave a dry snort of annoyance. “Then why don’t you take the other tractor and plow the south forty, if you’re feeling so blasted good?”

“You sure are grouchy! When I was a kid like you, I could go a week without sleep and never show it.” The older man stepped back, more weight on his good leg than his bad, so he looked off-balance with the movement.

Jackson picked up a greasy rag and wiped his hands with it, swiped his shirt sleeve across his face, then turned to his father. They were inches apart. His father looked ready to flinch at harsh words. He was past that. In a quiet, even voice, he protested, “Pop, I’m not sixteen anymore. Look at me. I’m not a kid.”

His father, unshaken by his gritty announcement, replied softly, “Time sure flies, doesn’t it? I’ve got eyes in my head, son. You’re an inch taller than me, but I can’t help thinking of you as my boy. Wait ’til you have kids of your own, then you’ll know what I mean.”

Jackson sighed in resignation. “Okay, I’ll wait. Now, you go on back to the house like a good Pop, so I can figure out why this hunk of junk won’t run.”

Will leaned closer to the tractor, peering into the tangle of wires and hose. “Did you check the carburetor?”

Jackson straightened and took a deep breath. “I was just going to do that when you came in. Be a sport, Pop. If you fall in here, you could be hurt really bad.”

Faded blue eyes looked skeptical. “You’re honestly worried about me, not just irritated that I’m in here bugging you?”

Jackson gave up. He laughed and patted his father’s cheek. “Yes, Pop, I am honestly worried about you.”

Will nodded. He turned to go. “I’ll get out of your hair then.”