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His mind ablaze with creative thoughts, a new idea and a fierce desire to be near her, Crockett set the box of petits fours on the ground, pulled off his boots and got into the inflatable house. Annette giggled because he was unstable, not used to being on something jiggly, so he put his hands down and pushed on the floor to make her pop up and lose control, too.
Valentine playfully pushed back, catching him off guard. This time, it was Crockett who flew—right into her lap.
Oh, God, she felt good. She was every bit as soft as she looked, and even better, she smelled like cinnamon. Her smile faded as she stared down at him, seeing something in his eyes he didn’t want her to see.
Bad, bad timing.
Rolling away, he rose to his feet. Valentine watched him, her smile completely gone now, her gaze questioning.
He was going to ruin a good friendship with his curiosity about Valentine. Curiosity? That was a shifty word for what he now realized was full-blown desire.
He was on a path toward certain heartbreak.
VALENTINE WATCHED as Crockett exited the inflatable house. He put his hat on, tipping the brim to her, and touched one finger to Annette’s small hand. Then he left.
Just like that. Gone.
Had he thought she was flirting with him? Something miserably like rejection seeped through her—an experience she’d had all too often recently, every time she came into accidental contact with Last.
She didn’t know what she would have done without the other Jefferson brothers. In her heart, she knew Last was a good man—he was very good to Annette. But there was always that wall of discomfort between them, and she’d really relied on the kindness of his brothers to make her feel less awkward.
She had been determined to make good in their eyes, to show them that she wasn’t the bad girl she’d been. Her sister Nina had made a wonderful marriage to Navarro Jefferson. Navarro and Nina were so happy on their land up North that sometimes Valentine was tempted to follow them up there. She would love to be near her sister, and she would love for Annette to be able to know her aunt and uncle.
What held her in Union Junction, Texas, quite simply, was Last. Although he hadn’t started out as the world’s best dad, he had begun a relationship with Annette that Valentine believed would strengthen and grow over the years. Annette seemed to know that Last was her special man, her daddy, among all the Jefferson brothers who came and went. There was a different sparkle in her eyes when she asked to be held by Last.
So Valentine stayed, though she knew Last would never be comfortable around her.
It was Mason who’d had faith in her, and he’d helped her turn her life around. She took a job at the bakery in town soon after Annette’s birth, and what started out as a way to gain monetary independence blossomed into true love. She was an artist of a different kind. Beautiful baked goods, lovingly crafted. Her reputation for beauty spread throughout Union Junction, and when the owner decided to sell out, it was Mason who had gone to the brothers and suggested that they back Valentine as the new owner.
She would never forget the moment the Jefferson brothers had told her of their gift, to her and to Annette. Her self-worth had been validated for the first time in her life, and she knew she would do anything to show them that she was a different woman from the one who had come to them pregnant and bringing a paternity lawsuit aimed at taking money from their family.
Now, her gaze followed Crockett as he strode away. She sighed. The Jeffersons had been far too good to her. It was ridiculous for her to want anything more than friendship from the good-looking, gentle cowboy.
“Unfortunately,” she told Annette, scooping her daughter into her lap, “everything in my life should stay just as it is, the best it’s ever been.”
Annette looked up at her with a smile, her chubby fingers reaching out to her mom. “One day,” Valentine told Annette, “one day I’ll find my real prince. And he won’t bear the last name of Jefferson.”
She lightly bounced Annette some more, but the one thing that no lighthearted playing could cure was the ache she’d felt when Crockett had so suddenly walked away.
Chapter Two
It unnerved Crockett how much he thought about Valentine. He was living in a fool’s world, dreaming the impossible dream.
He could hear the gossip in Union Junction now: “Yes, Crockett Jefferson’s twin, Navarro, married Nina, then Crockett went and married Valentine, Nina’s sister. And she’s the mother of Last Jefferson’s child. That’s one of the many reasons we call that ranch Malfunction Junction!”
Definitely a fool’s world. He wished Valentine’s sweet face and trusting eyes didn’t haunt him.
The only cure for thoughts a man couldn’t control was to busy himself with something that needed to be fixed. In this case, Crockett decided, what most needed fixing was himself.
There had to be room for two artists in the family. So the day after Bandera’s wedding, the day after Mason had sent Hawk and Jellyfish back out to look for Maverick, the day after most of his married brothers had left the ranch, he sat in front of a canvas in a quiet attic hideaway at the main ranch house, staring with determination at the empty white board in front of him. A tube of ochre tempted him to begin something warm and vibrant. But he couldn’t make his fingers pick up the tube.
His soul wanted to create, but his mind wanted to think about Valentine. His creativity was hiding from the chaos.
“Whatcha doing, Uncle Crockett?” a young voice asked as Kenny crawled through the attic hole to stare at him. “Dad wants your help fixing our windmill. It has a squeak in its turn.”
“Dad” was Crockett’s brother Calhoun, the significant drain on Crockett’s creativity.
“Hey, Kenny,” Crockett said, not surprised when Kenny’s big sister Minnie crawled up behind her brother. “And, Miss Minnie.”
“Hi, Uncle Crockett.” She stood beside his chair and squinted at the blank canvas. “Gonna get started soon? Or are you pondering?”
“Pondering.”
He loved Calhoun’s kids, but right now, he wished they hadn’t brought their inquisitiveness into his sanctuary. It was the only place he’d thought of where his nosy brothers might not figure out what he was up to. He needed to create in peace. If he was lucky, it would all come back to him—and then he could keep his wandering mind off Valentine.
Minnie looked at him sympathetically. “Dad’s been painting some portraits of Widow Fancy. She wanted some for her grandkids.”
Crockett nodded. “That’s nice.”
“Maybe you could draw our windmill. Or our horse,” Kenny added. “Gypsy would love to be painted.”
“She is an old show pony,” Crockett agreed. “But you can get Calhoun to do that for you.”
“Nah,” Minnie said. “Mama says you’re the real artist in the family.”
Crockett perked up. “Really? Olivia says that about me?”
“Yeah.” Minnie nodded. “She says you’re all moody and soulful, and surely that equates to great talent just waiting to be sprung.” Minnie sighed dramatically. “Of course, Dad says it’s not your talent that needs to be sprung, it’s your drawers.”
“Yeah,” Kenny said. “We can’t understand what’s wrong with your drawers. Are they stuck? I sure hope it’s not your sock drawer,” he said. “You won’t like wearing boots without socks. One time I did that, and I had blisters—”
“Kenny,” Crockett interrupted kindly. “Minnie, would the two of you run and tell your father that I will be happy to help him fix the windmill?”
They nodded solemnly.
“I’ll be down there sometime this afternoon. But I need the two of you to do me a favor,” he said, making his tone conspiratorial.
“Okay,” Minnie whispered.
“Please don’t tell Calhoun or anybody else that I was up here or that I was painting.”
“Thinking about painting,” Kenny reminded him. “You haven’t painted anything yet.”
Crockett sighed at his childish honesty. “True. Off you go, both of you, and remember, this is our secret. Only the two of you know where to find me.”
“Okay.” Minnie’s eyes shone. “We’re great at keeping secrets!”
He thought about the jibe that Calhoun probably hadn’t meant for his kids to overhear and repeat. “I know you are,” he said. “Thanks.”
They hugged him, then carefully descended the ladder.
“Hey, kids,” Crockett heard someone say. He froze as he recognized Valentine’s voice. “What are you two doing up there?”
His heart seemed to stop beating as he waited for Minnie and Kenny to reply. He did not want Valentine to visit the one place where he could hide out and try to paint her out of his memory.
“We were looking for something,” Minnie said. “It’s kind of dusty up there, though, and there’s not anything interesting.”
He grimaced. More honesty.
“Attics are fun to look through,” Valentine said. “My sister and I used to have an attic. Here, let me help you close it.”
Crockett heard the stairs fold, then boom! The attic door closed, securely locking him away with his floundering creativity.
“Wonderful,” he grumbled, feeling more moody and soulful than ever. Quickly, he strode to the window, looking down into the yard. He was rewarded by the sight of Valentine walking with Kenny and Minnie across the lawn.
He loved looking at Valentine. Okay, so maybe he was spying, but she was so feminine that he even enjoyed watching her walk away.
Just then, Minnie turned around, her little face tipped up in his direction. Very discreetly, she waved.
He jumped away from the window, his heart beating hard. Too close. He had to stop getting funky over that little package of female dynamite. Back to my creation.
After a long fruitless period of staring at the blank canvas, his cell phone rang, startling him out of his churning thoughts. “Hello?”
“Crockett, it’s Calhoun. Minnie says you’re going to help me with the windmill.”
“Yeah,” Crockett said reluctantly, knowing that Valentine had walked the kids home. She would be at Calhoun’s house. Even if he didn’t want to avoid her, which he did, he was trapped in the attic. The biggest problem of the two was Valentine, hands down. “Not right now,” he said.
“When?” Calhoun asked. “Valentine’s here. Olivia says she’ll whip up some barbecue if you want to head this way. She’s going to teach Valentine how to ride Gypsy after supper.”
That would be worth seeing, but he knew he shouldn’t see it. “Tell Olivia thanks, but I can’t do it, dude.”
“Why?
“I’m busy,” Crockett said. “Look for me tomorrow.” He snapped the phone off and sat in front of his canvas again, trying to gather his scattered thoughts.
Then it came to him. He should start easy, with a warm-up. Nothing difficult. Something that would waken his muse and loosen up his inner artist.
A small challenge would totally keep his mind off Valentine and how she would look while learning to ride the cagey Gypsy. A still life would keep him from sitting here thinking about how all of Valentine seemed to bounce so cutely whenever she…well, bounced.
A pear would be the perfect thing to paint. “A pear in a bowl,” he murmured. “Very still.”
Slowly, his hand unsure, he trailed his first colored stroke against the empty whiteness.
“IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE supernatural,” Crockett heard someone whisper. “Don’t you get it?”
“I think it’s extraterrestrial maybe.” The voice sounded puzzled. “Could be a heart, Van Gogh style. With something cut off. Wasn’t Van Gogh famous for cutting things off?”
“I don’t quite see that,” came the quiet reply. “I think it’s a woman’s buttocks.”
Crockett’s eyes snapped open. Last and Mason were standing over him, staring at his painting. He jumped to his feet. “What the hell?” he demanded, trying to cover his precious secret from their puzzled glances.
“Sorry,” Mason said. “We sent out a search team for you when you didn’t hit the table for supper. It’s not like you to miss a meal.”
“Nope,” Last said, his eyes huge. “What the hell is that thing you painted? And why are you up here, hiding out with the dust bunnies?”
“So you wouldn’t bug me,” Crockett snapped. “And I wish I’d stayed hidden. I’m feeling very intruded upon.”
Last’s eyes widened. “We were worried about you.”
“Entirely unnecessary.” He’d just gotten tired and had decided to stretch out and rest his eyes. “How’d you find me up here?”
Mason shrugged. “There’s all kinds of dirt on the floor from the attic door being opened. I don’t guess anybody’s been up here in ages. We really ought to clean it out.” Glancing around, he sighed. “When we have time.”
“So, what did you paint?” Last said. “Mason thinks it’s a Picasso-style heart—”
“Van Gogh,” Mason corrected.
“I’m thinking the red tones are sexual,” Last said. “The curves are feminine and delicate, so it’s probably a woman’s fanny. It almost reminds me of Georgia O’Keeffe. You know how she revealed the sexual nature of women when she painted those petals.” Last scratched his head as he looked at his brother. “But you never think about sex when you’re holding a paintbrush. I probably just didn’t get your vision. Let me have another look.”
“No!” Crockett hopped away with his overcritiqued treasure. Gently, he set it down where it could dry in peace. “Look, do you guys mind getting the hell out?”
“No problem, Picasso,” Mason said. “But since it seems your creativity has fizzled for the moment, you think we could get you to come down for supper?”
“Why not?” Crockett said, following them down the stairs. “I have nothing better to do than be harassed by my brothers.”
“Excellent.” Mason headed into the kitchen, then sat at the table and tucked a napkin into his lap. “Helga cooked a wonderful meal.”
He beamed, delighted that Mimi didn’t borrow the housekeeper so much now that Mimi lived in town. With a smaller place and with her daughter being older, things were going more smoothly for Mimi.
Except for her cockamamy idea of running for sheriff, with Mason as deputy, an idea that Crockett knew Mason opposed. It was no job for a woman, Mason had said, especially a woman like Mimi.
The brothers had rolled their eyes, ignoring Mason. Mimi would do whatever the heck Mimi wanted—and Mason would no doubt find himself neck-deep in Mimi-schemies.
“It’s delicious, Helga,” Crockett said to the housekeeper. Actually, now that he was eating, he was glad his brothers had rescued him from his upstairs jail. He had gotten hungry. And now that he’d survived their mockery and realized they hadn’t made as much fun of his first attempt at painting as he’d feared, he was feeling almost good about his dysfunctional family.
And then the door opened and Valentine walked in with Olivia, Calhoun and the kids.
“Ah, just in time for dinner,” Calhoun said, grinning as he helped his kids and Olivia onto the plank seats.
Crockett stared, all his contentment shriveling. “I thought you were eating at your house.”
“Yeah, but Helga called and said she’d made extra, and why didn’t we come on up? So here we are,” Calhoun said.
Yes, here they were, Crockett thought, before remembering his manners. He stood and pushed the plank seat back a bit so Valentine could more comfortably seat herself. Beside him, of course, because the table was then balanced with an equal number of people on each side. Helga quickly handed out extra plates, but Crockett’s creativity and hunger left all at once, replaced by a different kind of need.
He suddenly realized the delicate floral scent he smelled was coming from Valentine. He quickly drank some water. She looked at him, her smile somehow unsure, and he put the glass down.
Across the table, Last watched them curiously. Minnie and Kenny ate happily, and Annette sat in her father’s lap, grinning as she dug her fingers into Last’s mashed potatoes.
