Wild About A Texan

“I’d rather forget that weekend, Jackson. I…I don’t know what possessed me to— Well, I’m ordinarily much more sensible. It must have been the champagne. I’m not much of a drinker, and—” Realizing that she was blathering and that he was amused at her discomfort, she stopped and drew a deep breath. “I would appreciate it if you would be a gentleman and forget that night ever happened.”

A slow grin lifted one corner of his sensual mouth, a mouth that had haunted her for months after their encounter. She still remembered the taste of it, the feel of it on—

“Not likely, darlin’,” he said in a slow drawl as he ran a knuckle along her jawline. “Even though my mama did her best to raise a gentleman, nothing’s wrong with my memory.”

Her spine started to unravel, then Olivia caught herself and stiffened her resolve. She wasn’t going to fall into his trap again. There wasn’t room for a man in her plans. Certainly not a man like Jackson. If she hadn’t been so terrified when she’d spied her ex-husband across the dance floor, she would never have left with Jackson that night. But she’d been so shocked to realize that Thomas had found her that she’d acted impulsively, thinking only of escape and of Jackson as a heaven-sent protector.

“You might as well forget it,” she snapped. “There will never be a repeat performance. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She tried to push past him, but he blocked her way.

“Not so fast,” he said, pinning her between his arms and the wall. “Now that I’ve found you again, darlin’, I’m not about to let you get away this time.”

A door opened down the hall, and Jackson’s grandfather stuck his head out. “Jackson—” He gave a little hoot. “Might have known you’d have a pretty woman cornered somewhere. ’Scuse me, ma’am, but, Jackson, you’d better get in there or your mama’s gonna skin you alive.”

“I’ll be there in a minute, Grandpa Pete.”

“Please go ahead,” Olivia said.

“I’m afraid if I leave you might cut and run.”

Jackson’s grandfather, known to everyone as Cherokee Pete, ambled toward them. Well into his eighties, he was still ramrod straight, and merriment danced in his dark eyes. With his long gray braids, he reminded Olivia of Willie Nelson in a tuxedo.

“Well, as I live and breathe,” Pete said, “if it isn’t Olivia Emory. How are you, young lady?”

She smiled and held out her hand. “It’s Olivia Moore now, and I’m fine, Mr. Beamon.”

“Moore?” Jackson said sharply. “Are you married?”

“None of that Mr. Beamon stuff,” Pete said, both he and Olivia ignoring Jackson’s question. “Despite this monkey suit, I’m still just plain Cherokee Pete. Get along, Jackson. I’ll take care of Olivia until you’re through with the picture taking.”

Jackson didn’t budge. “Are you married?”

She started to lie. Lying would have solved a multitude of problems, but something in his tone wrung the truth from her. She sighed and shook her head.

“Then why the name change?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

“No, you ain’t,” Pete said. “Jackson, get going. You can jaw about this later.” After Pete shooed his grandson away, he tucked Olivia’s arm through his. “Little lady, how about you and me mosey on over to the reception? There’s plenty of room in that fancy limousine out front, and I’ll be the envy of every man in the room if I show up with such a beautiful woman on my arm. You wouldn’t deprive me of that pleasure, now would you?” He patted her hand and smiled in a manner so charming and infectious that she couldn’t help but return it.

“You’re a shameless flirt, Pete Beamon. Now I know where your grandsons get their charm.”

His grin widened and he winked. “Taught ’em everything they know. Come along, Miss Olivia. On the way to that highfalutin restaurant they reserved, you can tell me why your name is Moore now. I’m a mite curious myself. So you didn’t get remarried?”

“Not likely. Even though I’ve been divorced for three years, I just decided to take back my maiden name.” That wasn’t precisely the truth, but she’d decided that it was the simplest explanation. Actually, Moore was a name she’d picked from a phone book in Durango.

Pete nodded. “Decided to scrap the name of the sorry scoundrel you got shed of.”

“How did you know my ex-husband was a sorry scoundrel?”

“Just stands to reason. If he amounted to anything, you’d still be married to him. If you ask me, he was a blamed fool to let go of a woman like you.”

If he only would let go, Olivia thought as they neared one of the limousines waiting at the curb.

“Glad to know you’re single,” Pete said as he helped her into the car. “Seems Jackson’s taken quite a shine to you, and I’ve got a proposition to make.”

“A proposition?”

“Yep. Nothing I ever wanted more than for my four grandsons to find a good wife and settle down to raising a family. I was mighty tickled when Kyle hooked up with Irish and when Matt and Eve got together, though both of those pairs had some rough spots, let me tell you. That makes two down and two to go. Now it’s about time that Jackson, being the oldest, got himself hitched to that very particular woman he finally found. I can tell he’s ready.”

“Ready?” Olivia felt her chest clutch and her face go warm. “Who’s the very particular woman?”

“Why,” Pete said, “you are.”

“Me?” Her voice went up an octave.

He nodded. “Irish speaks very highly of you, and I can tell Jackson’s taken with you. He was like a bear with a sore paw when he lost track of you. Scoured the woods good for your whereabouts, kept looking for the longest time. Hired a passel of people to help, too. In my book that makes you a special lady. Now, here’s my proposition. If you’ll marry Jackson, I’ll give you two million dollars on your wedding day.”

Dumbstruck, Olivia could only gape at Pete. She knew that the old man, despite his folksy talk and simple ways, was enormously wealthy and could well afford what he was offering. She just couldn’t believe that he was actually making the offer. Finally she managed to stammer, “Two million dollars? Ma—marry Jackson? Me? You’re kidding.”

“Nope, I’m dead serious. I just handed Eve her two for marrying Matt.”

“But, Pete, that’s ludicrous! I certainly wouldn’t marry your grandson for two million dollars.”

The old man sighed. “Well, truth to tell, Jackson would be a handful for any woman to put up with—not that he’s lacking in character, you understand. He’s a fine boy. But he’s the oldest, and I’d like to see him under the steadying hand of somebody who could see through all his hoorah. It’s past time for him to give up his wild ways and settle down. You strike me as the perfect person to tame him, you being a psychologist and all. Irish tells me that you’re a real smart lady.”

“Too smart to want to marry Jackson Crow. I’m not interested in taming him, nor am I in the market for a husband, thank you very much.”

“Now don’t you decide too quick. Take some time and think about it. It would mean a lot to me to see that boy happy. Why, I’ll even up the ante to five million if need be.”

Two

Jackson didn’t wait for any of the family. As soon as the photographer snapped the last picture, he took off like his tail was on fire. He must have broken every speed limit between the church and the restaurant on Turtle Creek, but he didn’t care. He aimed to find Olivia fast. The notion that she might skip out again had him in a cold sweat.

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why she had affected him so, but something about Olivia had turned him seven ways to sundown. Even after a year and a half, he still thought about her all the time. Maybe he’d built her up into some kind of goddess with no good reason. Maybe if he spent a little time with her he’d find that she was just an ordinary woman, nothing like the person he remembered.

Maybe—

But when he walked into the reception and saw Olivia standing with Grandpa Pete, all the maybes disappeared. Just looking at her made his heart swell in his chest until it hurt, and he felt a big grin spread over his face. Lord, she was beautiful. Long legs, lush body, lips that begged to be kissed and big bedroom eyes that he wanted to dive into.

Beautiful, absolutely. But there was something else about her that grabbed him by the throat, something he couldn’t quite define or understand. It was the kind of thing that some people wrote poems about, except he couldn’t write a poem if his life depended on it. Every time he was around Olivia, an old memory popped up. She reminded him of a bird he’d once encountered. A blue jay.

When he’d been about ten or eleven years old, he’d received an air rifle for Christmas, something he’d been begging for. He’d half listened to the usual lecture about safety, thinking he knew just what to do. After all, he’d been shooting Scooter Franklin’s rifle for nearly a year. Feeling very mature and full of himself, he’d gone into the woods behind Grandpa Pete’s store with the rifle and hung a target on a tree.

When the paper bull’s-eye had been shot to shreds, he looked around for another target. He tried a few pine cones on a fence post. Easy stuff. That’s when he spied the jay. Without half thinking, he took aim and pulled the trigger.

The bird fell to the ground, and Jackson had rushed to view his prey. But the jay wasn’t dead; it was only wounded, and it flapped around the ground with a bum wing. Suddenly feeling like a dirty dog for what he’d done, Jackson had tried to pick it up, thinking to take it somewhere for help. The bird wouldn’t let him near. It pecked and squawked and fought him until Jackson’s hands were bloody and he was in tears. Finally, he’d taken off his shirt and thrown it over the jay to capture it. Held close, it had calmed.