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In all his years, Jackson had never strayed from that sweet lady’s indelible instructions. Until Haley. Then there were no holds barred, no behavior too extreme. Even twinges of conscience weren’t enough to dissuade him from his unreasonable vendetta.
He was unkind and cruelly mocking. Yet, when he’d needed her, she hadn’t hesitated, or bristled, or backed down. Most of all, she’d refused to let him self-destruct by pushing her away one more time. Rather than exacting retribution for past mistakes, she’d pacified without groveling, and with dignity, called a truce. That small miracle accomplished, calmly and coolly competent, she’d done what she’d been called to do.
She’d saved his horse. But more than that, as Jesse pointedly reminded Jackson, she’d preserved the dream that had become his reason for living.
His antipathy for confident professional women was a learned response, based on one woman but applied to all for too many years for him to change. Yet only a fool wouldn’t realize he should rethink the sweeping assessment. And Jackson had. At least in Haley’s case. Though he wasn’t changing, and only adjusting, the last insult had been hurled. The last skirmish fought. But he knew she would still haunt him. There could be no escape from his dreams of Haley Garrett, slender, fragile, almost perfect, buttoned chastely into his best silk shirt. His pillow would always carry the scent of his soaps and oils as altered by her body chemistry. No matter how pristine the linens, in his mind they would always shimmer with locks the color of captured sunlight.
Locks he’d drawn from their pins and combed with his fingers, wondering all the while how each shining strand would feel flowing over his body. And for just a little while, an impossible thought intruded. One he knew he couldn’t allow, as he’d put her gently into his bed. Then, resolutely turning from her, he’d left her to sleep away the effect of Davis Cooper’s sedative.
Once she’d left the farm, Jackson had thought to escape this malady—to ease the attraction. Now that he understood there was but one means of ease, and escape was impossible, his only recourse was to keep his perspective, control his male urges, and coexist.
Yes. That was the solution. Perhaps then, in keeping with another truce, Jackson Cade and Haley Garrett could be casual acquaintances. The sort of people who meet on the street and exchange meaningless pleasantries. No longer antagonists. Not quite friends.
And never, ever lovers! No matter that she set every male impulse raging within him like wildfire. But, if he went carefully, if he minded his P’s and Q’s as Lady Mary had taught him…ah, yes, they could coexist.
“…a tough time of it.”
“What?” Drawn from his thoughts and pleased with his resolution, Jackson’s temper flared at Jesse’s observation. “What’s tough about it? If I set my mind to it, I’ll just do it.”
Jesse’s puzzled look questioned Jackson’s immediate sanity. “Would you like to tell me what the dickens you’re talking about? Or explain what it is you’ve set your mind to?”
Casting a wry smile at the cowhand, and stoking a hand over the taut muscles of his neck, Jackson shook his head. “Sorry, Jesse. I was thinking of something else. Nothing important.”
Jesse’s faded gaze narrowed. “Judging from your reaction just now, I’m not sure I would call it nothing important.”
“But I did,” Jackson reminded him. “So, since that’s settled, would you like to repeat what you were saying?”
“Which part?” Jesse drawled.
“Which part? What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve been jawing at you for the last five minutes, and if you heard a word of it, I’ll eat my hat.”
Jackson laughed. His peace made with himself, his path set, his mood improved. “With or without salt and pepper?”
“Won’t need neither one, will I?”
“No.” A slow grin accompanied the admission.
“I don’t reckon it would do a speck of good to speculate where your mind wandered off to,” Jesse ventured.
“Don’t reckon it would,” Jackson agreed. “So why don’t you run what you were saying by me again? At least the last part.”
“Be glad to.” Jesse’s tone was just a little smug. “I was saying Dancer’s had a tough time. But he snapped back real quick-like. For sure, he’s a handsome brute today, but I wouldn’t a give a plugged nickel for him five days ago.”
There it was again. The count. Five days and fourteen hours ago, to be exact. To Jackson’s mounting disquiet, like keeping score at a sporting event, keeping the hourly count had become the measure of his days, changing his nights.
First it was one day. Then two, next three and four. Now it was five days since Haley Garrett had answered his call, done what she considered no more and no less than her duty. Then, as if nothing extraordinary had occurred, she’d walked out of his life straight into his dreams.
Since the morning after, which was Jackson’s true timetable, there had been no word from her. No interest in Dancer’s progress. No anything. Probably because Davis Cooper was keeping her so busy. Coop made no secret that he’d like to add Haley to his list of conquests. “Still,” Jackson muttered sourly, “busy or not, you’d think…”
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