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The hair rose on the back of Lexie’s neck. Without thinking, she knelt next to Jackson, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Jackson.” She shook him gently. “You’re dreaming.”
“Don’t!” He sat bolt upright and gripped her arms above her elbows. Glazed eyes stared into hers.
“You’re fine. Everything’s fine. It was a bad dream,” Lexie said soothingly.
A violent shudder rippled through Jackson. He drew a deep breath. Then he seemed to return to wakefulness. At least his eyes blinked. His grip was starting to numb Lexie’s arms.
“Dad, you’re scaring me,” Heidi said in a small voice.
“Jackson.” Lexie pulled back slowly until his hands fell away.
Jackson washed a hand over his face. As quickly as he had snapped to awareness, he was gone.
Before she realized what she was doing, Lexie had pushed herself up off the floor and was following Jackson out the door. If he left like this, he’d never get to sleep later.
Jackson was opening the door to his truck when she reached the porch.
“Wait.”
The sun had gone down and the blue sky had given way to purple, casting Jackson’s face in shadow when he turned to face her.
“Wait,” she repeated, hurrying over to him.
Jackson stood outside his truck, watching her ungainly approach. “You shouldn’t move so quickly.”
“Then, don’t run out like that.” Lexie panted from the exertion it took to make her body move that fast. “Who’s Alek? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. No one.” He wouldn’t look at her.
Of course he’d say that. Lexie sighed. Why did she expect him to open up to her when he hadn’t done so in years? “I don’t know why I followed you out here. I guess I was worried. Never mind. Some things never change.”
Jackson stepped after her and caught her hand when she would have returned to the house. Against her better judgment, Lexie found herself facing him in the deepening shadows.
He clasped her other hand.
“Jackson—” Lexie warned, even as she felt her heart beat faster at his touch.
“I’ve missed you, Lex.”
Uh-oh. This was how she’d gotten into trouble the day they’d signed the divorce papers. “I should go inside.”
“We’re friends, right? Talk to me.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. He was turning on the charm, turning the attention from his problems to something he wanted to talk about. For some unexplained reason, Lexie’s voice and motor skills were conspicuously absent. She could only stand and listen.
“Two hearts destined to be together,” Jackson lowered his voice, quoting a phrase that had been part of their wedding vows.
The intimacy of the night, the feel of his hands clasped around hers, standing facing each other as they had on their wedding day… Lexie’s eyes filled with tears of regret. She wished the porch light were on so that she could break the spell between them.
She took a shuddering breath and tried to pull back, but Jackson held on to her.
Jackson searched the sky above them. “The first stars are beginning to shine, Lex. Tell me, what’s your dream?”
Lexie’s breath caught in her throat. It was a silly game they’d indulged in when they were younger—wishing on the first star of the evening. She’d wished for another baby, and later, when they learned a second child wasn’t in their future…
“Do you still wish for a business of your own?” Jackson completed her thought.
“How can you remember my dreams and not remember the important stuff?” Like Heidi’s birthday or their anniversary.
“I’ve always told you your dreams are important. Everyone says you should sell those marinades you make—”
“And call them Hot Shot Sauces. I haven’t forgotten.” She’d given up on making her people-pleasing spicy marinades a paying reality. His dream had always been to be a Hot Shot, like his father. His dream was a reality.
He cupped her cheek. “I don’t want to argue.”
“Me, neither.” It felt too good standing here in the darkness with her hands in his. Lexie knew that tomorrow the sun would come up and he’d still be the man who wouldn’t open up to her. She’d give herself sixty seconds more of the fantasy that Jackson was perfect for her, and then she’d gather her strength and return to the house.
As if sensing he’d pushed some limit, Jackson said, “You’ll remind me tomorrow why we can’t be together, won’t you?” His words were tangled with bitterness. “Damn it, Lex.”
“Don’t.” She placed her fingers over his lips. His warm breath wafted across her skin. She’d done her duty. She’d soothed whatever had unsettled him inside so that he had a better chance of getting some sleep. “I’m going inside now.”
Lexie felt his lips tighten as if in a frown. She pulled her fingers back and rested her hand on her belly.
He released her other hand.
“Before you go, can you…can you tell me about Deb?”
Lexie had to close her eyes against the tears. Deb was Lexie’s best friend, and had been since high school. “You heard she’s dying.” Leaving behind two beautiful, nine-year-old twin girls. Lexie stroked the baby in her tummy.
“Logan wouldn’t tell me much.”
“She’s got an inoperable brain tumor. By the time they diagnosed her, it was too late for chemo.” Lexie swallowed against the dryness in her throat, and tried to lighten her tone. “You should see her. She’s so strong and brave about it, it makes you feel guilty when you feel like crying in front of her.”
He leaned back against the truck. “And the girls?”
“They’re scared, but I don’t think they believe she’s really going to die. They still believe their mom is invincible. Logan’s the one who treats her like glass. I don’t talk with him much about Deb.”
He mulled that over for a bit. “Thanks for telling me.”
“You’re welcome.” Lexie turned back to the house. She’d survived that encounter well. They hadn’t hugged or kissed. She hadn’t ended up in a motel room with him. They seemed to be almost on friendly terms. Lexie thought she could handle their relationship turning into friendship.
“Lex?”
She paused, looking over her shoulder.
“Will you marry me?”
“SHE’S NOT TAKING ME BACK.” Jackson leaned against the door frame of his mother’s office in the Painted Pony, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The Hot Shot in him felt as if he should act like he didn’t care—be strong, be a man—while the rest of him felt bruised, spent and in need of a rest. Lexie and Heidi had just witnessed a display of his weakness.
He could still hear Heidi’s voice. “Dad, you’re scaring me.”
And then to limit himself to holding Lexie’s hands in the darkness, trying to draw her back emotionally into the past where their love had been strong, only to have her put a friendly distance between them. Reclaiming their love seemed hopeless.
He doubted his mother would be able to put a bandage on his heart, kiss his brow and make him feel better. She couldn’t fix a broken heart or give him back his courage. He didn’t care, as long as he could get some rest and perhaps a bit of her advice.
His mother looked at him over the top of her reading glasses. Bills, invoices and receipts were scattered across her desk. An old calculator was perched at her elbow. Jackson recognized the distracted look in her eyes. She was focused on something and didn’t want to be disturbed.
“She told you she’s not taking you back?” his mom asked.
“Several times.” It was easier to talk about his failed marriage than his grim future. With a sigh, Jackson walked over to the kitchen cupboard and took out two fluorescent light bulbs. “The light isn’t strong enough in here for you to be reading that fine print.”
As he replaced the burned-out bulbs in the ceiling above her, Jackson felt his mother’s scrutiny. Any time now, she’d tell him what she thought he should do. When he was finished, he stood next to her desk. Only, she’d returned her attention to her work.
“I was chugging along until you came in. I’ve got a bridge game tonight, you know.” His mother focused on the stacks of paper in front of her.
Jackson sank into a chair next to the desk. Waiting. She’d start lecturing him any time now.
His mother added up a stack of invoices. She jotted the figure down on a yellow pad, then slipped the papers into a folder. Jackson drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
“I’m about to become a father for the second time. And I’m not sure what to do about it.”
Without acknowledging him, his mother began to add up a pile of receipts.
Jackson leaned forward. “Aren’t you going to say something?”
She stared at him over the top of her glasses again. “About what?”
“About me. About my life and how I screwed it up.”
“We’ve had that discussion. More than once. We disagreed, as I recall.” She straightened the pile of receipts and began to add them up a second time.
“Let’s have it again.”
“Jackson, I don’t have time for this.”
“She’s not going to take me back.” His voice sounded weak and pitiful. He pushed himself out of the chair, telling himself that at thirty a man shouldn’t need his mother’s advice. “Never mind.”
“Jackson—”
“I know you said I couldn’t stay with you, but I really need a place to bed down until I get back on my feet. I’ll bring a sleeping bag out of the garage so you won’t have to wash any sheets.” He started down the hall.
“Of course you can stay with me. You’re always welcome home. I was joking earlier.”
“My home is on Lone Pine Road.” There was that defeated tone of voice again. He walked quickly toward the back door, away from people he knew in the Pony’s dining room, as if he could escape the fact that he’d lost his family for good. Never mind that he’d already lost the guts to fight fires.
“Jackson, you don’t need a sleeping bag. You can sleep in your old room. How you’ll fit into that single bed is beyond me. Although I know you and Lexie spent some time there in your youth.”
He hesitated, head hung at the reminder of the love he once had. His mom laid her hand on his shoulder.
“I didn’t mean to ignore you.” She chuckled once. “Well, maybe just a little. I do need to finish the monthly expenses before I go to Birdie’s. And it was the only way I could stop myself from giving you advice.”
The pressure that had built on Jackson’s chest eased a bit. There had been two constants in his life after his father died—Lexie and his mother. “You know I always listen to what you say.”
She chuckled again. “You may listen, but I know you don’t hear me.”
Jackson spun around, reached for his mom and squeezed her tight. She knew him too well—it was true, he hadn’t listened to her advice in the past. If he had, he wouldn’t have gotten Lexie pregnant, wouldn’t have married her so young, and would have crawled back to her on his hands and knees when she asked for a divorce.
After a moment, Jackson released his mom. “Is your advice in abridged form or a long-winded version?”
“Need you ask?”
“We better sit down.” Jackson led his mother back to the office.
“I need a cup of coffee first,” she said, detouring into the kitchen. His mother was a coffee fanatic. “Want one?”
“Sure.” If he could, he’d load up on caffeine and never sleep—or dream—again.
A few minutes later, when his mom was settled in her chair, Jackson raised one eyebrow. “Well?”
“I’m not sure where to begin.”
That didn’t sound encouraging. Needing something to do with his hands, Jackson sipped his coffee.
“Why on earth would Lexie take you back? I wouldn’t take you back if I were her.”
Jackson very nearly sprayed coffee all over his mother. “This is your advice?” he asked when he could manage to speak.
“I love you, dear, but sometimes I don’t understand you.”
With deliberate movements, he set the coffee cup on the desk. “So you think I should just give up?”
“Not at all.”
Closing his eyes, Jackson sank back into the chair.
“I know that you love Lexie. She’s wonderful. She did everything around the house. She cooked. She cleaned. She even mowed the lawn. You didn’t have a care in the world.”
It was the same argument Lexie always made. Jackson used his standard defense. “I bring home a steady paycheck. I don’t drink too much, and I don’t beat my wife. Why does it always comes back to how much she did around the house? My job takes me away.” A job he was giving up. But Lexie still wasn’t going to give him a second chance.
Jackson slumped farther into the chair. “Besides, you do everything around the Pony and the house.”
“Yes, but I took on all those responsibilities after your father died because they wouldn’t have got done if I hadn’t. I see now that Theresa and I pampered you far too much.” Jackson’s father had died fighting a fire when Jackson was twelve, leaving Jackson as the man of a house where he was outnumbered by two females more than happy to take care of him.
“I’m lazy. Is that it? She left me because I’m lazy?” This was the last thing he wanted to hear from his mother. His mother was supposed to be his strongest supporter. Suddenly Jackson couldn’t sit still any longer.
“Well—” she began.
“I’m a deadbeat Dad, like you see on those afternoon TV shows. That’s what you mean.”
