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“I think…I think I’d feel better if I sat down here with you for a while.”
“I was just kidding about the mouse,” Jack said, feeling bad for taunting her.
“I know. But if you wouldn’t mind company—”
“Oh, sure, sure.” Jack waved at the sofa. “Help yourself. Nothing good on TV, anyway.” He winced at his weak joke.
She hesitated, and then to his great surprise—astonishment—Cricket reached out a hand toward him, the hand not holding the flashlight. Was she going to conk him with it? Jack stared up at her, perplexed by her actions.
She didn’t say anything, just looked at him.
Then he got it.
Cricket wanted him. Or at least she didn’t seem to want to sleep alone.
He took half a second to consider whether he should do this to the deacon—perhaps she was afraid of the dark, lonely, having a bad-girl fantasy, whatever—then threw any guilt out of his mind. Pulling her down into his lap, Jack kissed her the way he rode bulls, full out and with every intention of staying in the saddle for as long as he possibly could.
W HEN C RICKET AWAKENED the next morning, she blushed at the memory of the wild night she’d shared with Jack. If anyone had ever told her that lovemaking was such a fabulous, heart-pounding, please-don’t-stop experience, maybe she wouldn’t have waited so long. But she had, she’d always been waiting for Mr. Right. Last night, although she knew Jack was no Mr. Right, she’d decided she was tired of waiting for the prince who might never ride into her life.
It had been worth it. It could even be addictive, which was not a healthy thought. She slipped away from the sleeping cowboy on the floor in front of the fireplace. The fire had burned low now, mostly just embers, but outside, the sky was dawning clear and crisp. The roads, though still muddy, would be passable.
She tried to figure out how to escape without waking Jack. The last thing he would want was a girlfriend, and most people who made love together might assume there could be some kind of ongoing relationship. She didn’t relish him thinking that’s what she wanted from him. At least she’d accomplished her goal, which was to understand what other women who fell in love were so happy about. It was hard to understand the giddy excitement over men and sensual pleasures when she’d never experienced it. Now she had, and she totally understood why women could fall so hard for the wrong man, and also why they could love one man all their lives. If she could enjoy the giggling, the excitement, the tears of joy and rapture, the feeling of living outside of her body that she’d experienced with Jack, she’d love the man she married with devotion all her life, too.
So if she never saw Jack Morgan again, she’d be okay with that. A practical girl understood the cards she was dealt. She’d counseled plenty of women who’d had their hearts broken by Mr. Wrong, all the while hoping he was Mr. Right. Cricket would never fall victim to a lack of common sense.
Today it was back to her church for her, and no more mooning over the dashing cowboy who’d no doubt broken a hundred hearts. She gathered her clothes and crept into the hall to quickly dress, glancing back over her shoulder at Jack partially wrapped in the blanket. She prayed the front door would open and close without him hearing—it did—and ran to her VW. The car vroomed to life, and she headed toward Fort Wylie with only a slight regret that she wouldn’t see Jack again, at least not the way she’d seen him last night.
Last night’s indiscretion was the only time she was going to allow herself to live outside the bounds of good moral direction, she promised herself firmly.
J ACK HAD SLEPT with enough women to know that it was a good thing if they didn’t stick around for the difficult details of goodbye. Still, he was disappointed, and even ego-bruised, when he found Cricket had departed. Had she regretted last night? Wasn’t he the lover she’d wanted? Doubts assailed him, a rare occurrence. He didn’t like wondering about his performance. It was much more fun when women made him feel as if he was the greatest stud on earth.
In fact, Jack almost felt as if he’d been dumped. Dumped by the deacon, and refused by his father.
His father was understandable. They’d never been close, even though it was a reasonable assumption that a man who had so much to live for would be grateful for a kidney. After all, Josiah had given him life; Jack felt that returning the favor was good for his heavenly record. But no, neither Josiah nor Cricket seemed to feel the need to give Jack a little reciprocal gratitude.
He didn’t feel it would have been too much to ask of Cricket to hang around, make him some eggs, act appreciative, maybe even slightly worshipful. She was very difficult to understand, and he didn’t like that. Women shouldn’t make a man think too long and too hard; otherwise it took all the fun out of the pursuit.
Her hair had been every bit as soft as he’d imagined, and her skin had smelled sweet, like roses and strawberries. It had been a gentle, clean fragrance that made him burrow his face against her neck, her breasts. Her touch had driven him completely insane.
He had never, ever, had a woman leave him without saying goodbye. He had always been the one who’d left. There was something final about a woman who departed of her own accord; it left the other player no moves on the chessboard.
At least the electricity had come back on this morning. Jack grabbed the blanket off the floor, where they’d made love in front of the cheery—and romantic, if he did say so himself—fire he’d built in the fireplace. A strange spot on the blanket caught his eye; dumbly he stared at the stain. And that’s when he realized that Cricket Jasper had been keeping secrets. She hadn’t offered him the slightest clue that she’d been a virgin, which felt somehow as if she’d cheated.
She wasn’t a virgin anymore. Now it stung like crazy that she hadn’t hung around for a goodbye kiss. Jack felt worse than at any time in his life, even when he’d been thrown flat on his backside—and maybe even stomped—by an assorted collection of ill-tempered bulls, as he tossed the blanket into the washing machine.
Cricket’s desertion served as a reminder of the other people in his life who seemed to move on without saying goodbye. He didn’t have to put up with this crap. After he’d tidied up the place so that no one would ever know he’d been there, Jack grabbed his stuff and headed back to the one place he knew was a safe harbor—the rodeo circuit.
Chapter Five
“Marry me,” Josiah Morgan said to Sara Corkindale, the kind social worker who’d helped his son Pete and his daughter-in-law Priscilla adopt quadruplets last month. “Marry me and put me out of my misery.”
Sara laughed. “I’m not willing to be a secret bride, Josiah. And if you are at death’s door—as you’ve claimed you are, I suspect, to get sympathy from your family—why should I make myself a widow again? I’ve already done that once, and it’s very hard to say goodbye to a good friend and husband. Why would I marry you knowing you’re ready to hang up your spurs?”
He shook his head. “I like you,” he said simply.
“And I like you.”
She patted his arm affectionately in a way that was not at all condescending. Josiah hated everybody tiptoeing around him and treating him like an invalid. Sara made him feel as if he still had something to offer a woman.
“You’d like being my wife even better.” She didn’t seem inclined to bend to his way of thinking, so Josiah considered his other options. As he had moved himself into her house, where he knew none of his sons or their wives would think to look for him, he didn’t have many options. He was rather at his hostess’s mercy.
“You’re going to have to tell your children where you are eventually.” Sara looked at him with a gentle smile as she put a fresh-baked pound cake on the table, and then picked up her knitting. “If I marry you, they’ll say I took advantage of you.”
“No one has ever taken advantage of Josiah Morgan!” This was a fact; his sons wouldn’t dare suggest it because it would be ludicrous. “I’ll marry when and who I want.”
“You can’t hide behind my skirts, Josiah,” Sara said, and his jaw went slack.
“Sara Corkindale, I should take you over my knee and spank you for suggesting I’m a coward.” He thought about doing it and decided he didn’t dare. Hide behind her skirts, indeed! No one had ever suggested he might be a bit thin-skinned and he rather admired her spunk.
She held up her work. “This is a baby blanket. It’s going to be blue and white, and warm enough for winter’s chill.”
“It better not be for me,” he said darkly. “Sara, I’m a man, not beholden to anyone.”
“This blanket is for one of the babies at the orphanage. There are never enough warm things. And I know you’re a man, Josiah, but you know you’re hiding here when you should just express your opinion to your sons. If you don’t want to have the kidney operation, then say so.” She went on with her knitting serenely. “In the meantime, you can’t stay here forever.”
“I can’t?” Josiah had gotten used to the comfort and peace of Sara’s home in the past few days. He’d gotten used to the calm way she went about her business. In his mind, he’d envisioned himself living here until the end of his days.
She shook her head. “No, you can’t. Not until you straighten your life out with your children.”
She was still worried someone would think he’d been coerced into marrying her. She didn’t understand that no one had ever made him do a thing he didn’t want to. When Gisella had left him, there hadn’t been a durn thing he could do about that, but still, that had been Gisella’s choice. He’d always respected her decision, knowing he’d been at fault. But that hadn’t been coercion; he’d become a single father because he’d been a bit of a ham-handed dunce. “Are you saying that once I tell everyone I don’t want the surgery, that what I want is to get married, you’ll marry me?”
She stopped knitting and looked at him. “Josiah, I would marry you if you were going to be around a while.”
“Nothing’s certain in life.”
“I know that. But you seem determined to have an expiration date stamped on you, and it’s hard for me to want to get married knowing that.” She swallowed, chose her words carefully. “Don’t ask me to care about you and then say goodbye to you in less than a year.”
She had a point. Suddenly, he didn’t want that, either. It would be horrible, holding her at night, watching the stars with her, seeing the sun come up in the morning with Sara, and knowing each sunrise might be his last.
“I still don’t want to do it,” he said quietly. “My son is reckless. He’ll always be a hell-raiser. Sara, you don’t know my boy, but Jack…Jack deserves the chance at the kind of full life I’ve had. And nothing’s ever going to stop him from rodeoing, not even being minus a kidney.”
“You’ll have to stop trying to live everyone’s lives for them, Josiah,” she said, pulling her chair close to him. She put her head on his shoulder. “Our children have to make their own choices.”
“So you’re saying I should accept one of his body parts and then just sit around and wait for the phone call that he…he’s gone to the great rodeo in the sky?” He didn’t think he could do that. Some things were too awful to contemplate.
“Or you could accept his gift, and then go watch him ride as often as you can,” she said.
“Watch him ride!” Josiah exclaimed. “Not durn likely!”
“Have you ever seen him ride?”
“No, and I ain’t gonna start now!” Josiah felt an urge to yell, but knew he better keep his voice down. This was a lady’s home, and he respected Sara too much to yell. But for pity’s sake, the woman asked a lot of a man.
“I’ll go with you,” she said softly, and he melted like a pile of snow in August. “And I’ll take you back to the hospital, too, so that they can finish looking you over. I think you’d want to do that. I’m sure you’ve scared your kids half to death.”
“All right,” he said, surrendering. “That’s the first time in my life I’ve ever been sweet-talked into anything, you know.”
She kissed his cheek. “Didn’t it feel good?”
He felt like warm dough under her benevolent, cheerful gaze. “Yes,” he said, “it felt mighty good.”
I N THE LAST TWO MONTHS Jack had been to South Dakota, North Dakota and a few other states, chasing buckles and trying to forget Cricket. He hadn’t heard from her, not that he’d expected to. It was crazy how he couldn’t get the deacon off his mind.
He hadn’t heard from stubborn old Pop, either. He had a new cell-phone number, so his brothers hadn’t been able to reach him. Now that it was May and he’d ridden off a lot of angst, he’d had time to think about everything.
He wondered if Pop was still as opinionated as the devil. His brothers would have gotten word to him through the circuit if Pop had passed. Still, a strange itch tickled at him, telling him it was time to call home.
He called Pete. “It’s Jack,” he said.
“Jack,” Pete said, “are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Just checking in.”
His brother hesitated. “Where are you?”
Jack squinted at a sign he was parked under. “Somewhere in the Dakotas.”
“Coming home anytime soon?”
“Not sure.” Jack scratched his head. “Should I?”
“I don’t know,” Pete said, “but I think Pop wants to get married.”
“He does?” Jack blinked. “How?”
“By a minister of some sort, I imagine.”
“But last time I saw him, he was in a hospital.”
“Yeah, and he maybe should still be in one. But Sara Corkindale, his lady friend, keeps him perked up.”
“That’s good news.” Jack really didn’t know what more to say. “When’s the wedding?”
“I believe after he has the kidney operation.”
Jack’s eyes went wide. “You mean he’s changed his mind?”
“She’s changed his mind, more to the point. But I think the window of opportunity is closing.”
Jack got the point. “I can be home in two days. Maybe less.”
“I’ll tell Pop.”
“Hey,” Jack said before Pete could get off the phone, “you haven’t happened to talk to that preacher woman lately? Has she been by to visit the quads?”
Pete cleared his throat. “You haven’t. Why should she?”
Damn. He hadn’t seen them since he’d visited Pete at the hospital. Never held them, never touched them. “Man, I’m sorry. I’m an ass of an uncle.”
“I won’t tell them that,” Pete said, “but I bet they’d like having an uncle around who can teach them how to ride a horse.”
“That’s a few years away, isn’t it?” Jack frowned. Would they even be walking by now? He had no frame of reference for how fast children developed. They’d been in bassinets at the hospital when he’d seen them three months ago—had it been that long already?
“Time flies,” Pete said.
Jack replied, “Okay, what are you hinting around about?”
“Not me,” Pete said. “I’m not hinting about a thing. Would never spill any beans. Know how to keep my mouth shut. You just get home, and everything will take care of itself.”
Jack grunted as the phone line clicked dead. What the heck had that been all about? Starting his truck, he turned due south and headed home to Texas.
C RICKET COULDN’T BELIEVE how ill she felt. Pregnancy was supposed to make a woman glow; all she wanted to do was gag. She couldn’t seem to catch her strength. Priscilla Perkins had sold her house to Cricket when Priscilla married Pete Morgan and Cricket felt at home in her new sanctuary, but she hadn’t felt well enough to enjoy it in the past month. She’d hoped one day to reopen the cute little tea shop that was part of the house, but now she realized her hands were full for the moment. Her life was changing fast, and nothing was ever going to be the same.
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