Chapter Four

Jackson told Clare all about how Brittany had him dangling for more than two years, then how she left him, and how he’d walked around in a fog for a long time afterward. He didn’t tell her how or when that fog had lifted. Somehow he didn’t think she’d believe him. He still didn’t believe it, but here she was sitting beside him. Clare was the reason he felt alive again.

“I’m sorry, Jackson,” she said.

“Over and done with,” he said, his voice low, barely audible above the pounding rain.

Clare nearly leapt off the couch. “I should clear the table.”

Listening to his story, sitting near him on the couch, wanting—it didn’t matter. What she wanted, she couldn’t have. Getting involved with a man was not how to go about getting her life back in shape. They were friends now, and that’s what she really needed. A friend. She did not need a lover.

“I’ll give you a hand,” he said, getting to his feet.

“No need, there’s not much.”

“It’s the least I can do. You cooked, so I should clean. That’s how it works at our house.”

She shrugged and took the plates to the kitchen sink. There was no use arguing over dirty dishes, although it would bring him close to where she stood, which was bad, but she’d deal with it.

He placed the glasses by the sink. “So now that your grandmother is gone, what are you planning to do? I mean you came back for a visit, and now you’ve got a ranch.”

Clare started the water and put soap on a sponge as the sink filled. “Actually I’d come home for good. Funny how things work out.”

“So you don’t miss California?” He threw the paper napkins in the trashcan.

“Not at all.” She turned off the water and started washing the plates. “I was an overworked waitress…for a little while,” she added under her breath.

“And after that?” He took the first clean plate and a cloth and started to wipe it dry.

Clare paused her hands in the soapy water, her gaze turning to the window over the sink. The dark gray sky, the rain, it really was like the day Grandpa brought her home. She had runaway, and here she was a runaway once again. Would she ever stop running?

A warm hand on her shoulder pulled her from her thoughts.

“Hey, you okay?” Jackson asked.

She nodded and went back to scrubbing the plate. “I was just thinking about the rain.”

“I don’t think so. You were a million miles away, but that’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I understand.” He put the plate on the shelf beside the stove, stacking it atop the others.

She turned and handed him the last plate, and their gazes met. “I want to tell you, but I don’t know if I can.”

He took the plate and wiped it dry. “Hey, anything you tell me is between us. I won’t go running to my brother or his wife with all the details of your life.” He grinned then put the plate on the shelf. “That’s not how I work.”

She turned back to the sink and washed the glasses. “It’s not that,” she muttered.

He appeared beside her and leaned back against the counter and waited.

She shifted her gaze to his and knew, deep down, that she could tell him anything, and he wouldn’t laugh or judge. He’d just be the friend she needed and listen.

She’d not been able to tell Granny the truth. It would’ve made her furious and probably broken her heart that she’d not been able to protect her.

Clare handed him a glass and he began to dry it.

“I was in a relationship. And it didn’t go all that well.” She washed the last glass then handed it to him.

“Sounds familiar,” he said.

She pulled the plunger from the bottom of the sink and watched the soapy water drain away. “No, it wasn’t like that.”

“Go on.” He put the dry glass aside and offered her the towel, and she took it to dry her hands.

“What I mean is, it was fine in the beginning, but after a couple of weeks…” She rubbed at her hands with the towel, then harder and harder.

Jackson gently pried it away from her, threw it on the counter, and took her hands in his. “Hey,” he said, drawing her gaze up to his. “It’s okay. It’s in the past.”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “Right,” she said, taking a deep breath. “It’s just that…well, it’s hard to say it without sounding like a complete idiot.”

She pulled her hands from his, his touch more than just a little bit disturbing, and moved to stand before the kitchen table, her arms wrapped around herself, her back to him as she gazed at the rain.

“We all do stupid things sometimes,” he said.

She shook her head. “But I should’ve known—”

“Stop right there,” he said, cutting her off. He came up beside her. “You can’t change history, you can’t change the choices you made in the past based on what you know today. If you try you’ll be beating yourself up about it forever. I know, that’s what I did for far too long.”

She gave him a small smile and nodded. “You’re right. Doesn’t make it hurt less or make me feel less stupid, but you’re right.”

“So what happened?”

“I convinced myself that my boyfriend hadn’t meant to hurt me.” She made herself turn to face him. “The first time he hit me, he was drunk.” Her fingers dug deeply into her arms. “The second time, he wasn’t.”

“What’s his name?” he asked, his voice low.

“Mark,” she said, puzzled by the odd look on his face.

The muscle in Jackson’s jaw clenched as he gazed at her. “Mark what?”

Her fingers stopped digging into her skin as a gentle warmth smoothed the pitted surface of her heart. Never had she ever imagined that someone other than her grandparents would care about her in such a way.

Tears threatened to form, but she held them back. She’d cried enough over the last year. Even happy tears were no longer welcome, but a tremulous smile touched her lips.

“Jackson, he doesn’t live here. He’s in California. You can’t go beat the hell out of him, which I’m guessing is what’s on your mind by the look on your face.”

“I’m not going to beat the hell out of him, I’m going to kill him. What’s his name?”

The low growl punctuating his question brought a soft chuckle up from her chest. “Oh, Jackson. I always wanted a knight to slay my dragons for me, but this one isn’t worth the effort.” Without a thought, she popped up on her toes and pecked a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you.”

He scowled as he crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not right that he’s still walking around. He needs—”

She patted his arm and noted the tenseness of his muscles. With a shake of her head, she said, “He needs to be left where he is. The last thing I want is to ever see or hear from him again.”

Their bodies close, her hand still atop his arm, the warmth spreading throughout her chest made for a tempting situation. One she needed to avoid, but she couldn’t make herself pull away.

His scowl fell away as his gaze traveled over her features. “How bad was it?” he asked, his voice soft and low. “I mean, are you okay?”

She removed her hand before she did something stupid like kiss him, and not just for caring about her.

“I’m fine.” Her fingers went to the old scar as she turned away.

Jackson stopped her with a hand on her arm and turned her back around. His gaze went to her scar, and he gently lifted the hair from her brow to see it better. She let her gaze travel over his face as he examined hers, pushing aside the reason he was looking at her so intensely. It was a chance to memorize every feature of his face, every expression, and know that someone cared about her, no matter what happened. No matter what the future held for her or for him. She never wanted to forget that someone else cared.

His jaw clenched tight as his gaze slid back down to hers. “I still want to kill him.”

“And I appreciate that you want to.”

He slid his arms around her and pulled her deep into his embrace as his lips touched the scar at her temple. It took all she had not to let the tears fall, but one or two may have escaped the corners of her eyes.

They stood there for several minutes just holding one another as her one or two tears became several. His strong hands rubbed her back as she dampened his shirt. They both knew she was crying for far more than how Mark had treated her, and she treasured having someone who understood, someone who cared about her, help soothe the bone-deep grief. It didn’t matter that they’d only just met. They connected in some way, perhaps through their mutual love of her grandparents. Whatever it was, they were instantly comfortable with one another. It was as if she’d known him her whole life. If only that were true. What a difference it would’ve made of her life.

Jackson rested his cheek against the crown of her head, hating her silent tears, but knowing she needed to get it out. All of it. He was tempted to pick her up and carry her to the sofa and sit there all afternoon with his arms around her, comforting her, letting her know he was there and that he understood. But a move like that could cause more harm than good, now that he knew what her boyfriend had done to her, and he suspected he didn’t know all of it. He didn’t want her to think he was making any moves on her. She needed a friend, and he was determined to be one.

Her tears slowed as did the rain. The silence in the old house seemed heavy, filled with something he didn’t dare name. She must have sensed it as well, and eased from his arms.

She moved to the old desk standing in the corner, and grabbed a tissue. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, afraid he would pull her back into his arms. But a thought had been itching the corner of his brain since she told him her story.

“Clare, is this Mark character why you greet strangers with a gun?”

She wiped her nose and looked at him with a crooked smile. “I know it’s silly. Mark isn’t out there looking for me. He wouldn’t waste his time. And I doubt there’s anyone around here that would hurt me. But it just—it just makes me feel safer.”

Jackson nodded, not convinced this Mark person wasn’t still a threat. He’d heard that abusers felt like they owned the woman, that she was their property, and would go to any lengths to make sure she never got away. There were reasons safe houses existed for abused women and children.

“Does he know about your grandparents? I mean, where you’re from?” he asked.

She shook her head, then crossed the room and tossed the tissue in the waste basket. “No. We never talked about our pasts much. At least not mine.” She sat down on the sofa with a heavy breath. “I’m not exactly proud of my background, but Mark didn’t seem to care about it either. I guess that should’ve been a sign or something.”

Jackson sat down beside her. “When you’re in love, you tend to ignore the obvious.”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t in love with him. I was overwhelmed by him. He’s successful, handsome, has movie stars as friends. He seemed like a dream.” She let out a soft snort. “I still don’t know why he wanted an overworked waitress for a girlfriend.”

He reached over and took her hand. “Even scum like him know beauty when they see it.”

She blushed and slipped her hand away and shoved her fingers between her thighs.

He rose from the couch, although he didn’t want to, but he knew he needed to leave. It was that, or he’d do something he shouldn’t, like try and kiss her, and it was way too soon for that. She’d had a big day, got out a lot of hurt, and needed to recuperate.

“I’d better get going. My brother and his wife, Billie Jo, will be wondering about me.”

She followed him to the door. “You didn’t tell them about me and the stuff you’re doing around here?”

“Nope. After all, you were my mystery to solve,” he said with a wink.

“Hmm, never been anyone’s mystery before,” she said, her smile bright and her eyes twinkling.

He was glad to see her recovering so quickly, but that’s when he knew he was about to go down the rabbit hole. There was no going back.

This woman lit something inside him, something no other woman had ever done before, and he wasn’t going to let it go without exploring every inch of it.

His fingers twitched, wanting to touch the faint blush of her cheek, but he stopped himself in time. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, and stepped out onto the porch.

“You’re, um, coming back?”

He warmed in light of the hopeful yet nervous look on her face. “Yep, although I finished the roof, the barn is a mess. It needs some work if you ever plan to have any livestock again.”

She shook her head with a frown. “You know I can’t afford to pay you for all this.”

“I don’t need your money, Clare. I’m just helping out a neighbor.”

“A friend,” she added softly.

“A friend,” he repeated, and with a smile he trotted through the lingering rain drops to his truck.

Glancing in his rearview mirror, his chest clenched at the sight of her standing in the doorway watching him drive away.

He’d have to tell his brother and Billie Jo something. He couldn’t keep disappearing like this or they’d send out a posse. The question was, how much he should tell them.

He certainly couldn’t tell them he’d just met the woman he was going to marry.