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“I’m glad he doesn’t do that anymore.”
“So’s his entire body,” Jackson said. “So, what do you say we go in and get you some Texas-style stuff?”
Jeremy lit up, something he rarely did anymore, and Jackson was grateful once more for the impulse that had brought them here.
“Could I get some cowboy boots? Nic said it’s easier to ride in them.”
“I think we can manage that,” he said, his voice a little gruff because his throat had tightened up on him again.
“Welcome to Last Stand, you two!”
The woman just coming out of the western wear store smiled broadly at them, but somewhat to Jackson’s surprise, left it at that and continued on her way. He liked that she’d included Jeremy, though.
In fact, everyone they’d encountered today seemed to be in the same mode—acknowledge, but don’t intrude. Apparently Lily Highwater had been right about the Last Stand grapevine, both in its speed and responsiveness to a Highwater request.
“People are nicer here.”
Jeremy’s quiet statement as they went into the store was unusual. The boy usually didn’t comment on things like that. And Jackson couldn’t argue with the truth of it, he just didn’t like thinking that it was so noticeable, even to a seven-year-old. Or that his son had been at the mercy of too many not-so-nice people. Not that he’d ever been mistreated, but Jeremy was very good at sensing sincerity. Or the lack thereof. Probably better than he was.
The people of Last Stand seemed completely sincere to him, and Jeremy apparently agreed. He was beginning to think there was something to the old small-town warmth vs. big-city chill debate. And in that moment, he was very glad they’d left Hollywood behind.
Chapter Fourteen
Okay, this wascrazy.
She missed him. The kid had only been here twice, and she missed him. Missed seeing him so happy, and the look of relief and joy on his aunt’s face—or okay, his father’s—as they watched him.
Or maybe it was just that she’d had a restless night and so had gotten up early and had all her chores for the day done by ten. Then she’d ridden over to Clark’s old house, which they periodically checked on simply because it went against the Baylor grain to just let it go. And besides, she loved the place, the simplicity of it, and most of all the location, atop a rise with a view out over the hills, toward the creek that ran across the northwest corner of the ranch in the distance. A view that she wished the main house had.
The place had been well built and was in good shape. All she’d had to do was dust a little, run some water to check the pipes, and flip on the circuit breaker to make sure the power still worked. That, plus cleaning the windows, and she was done, and it was still only eleven.
That left her too much time to think. That was all that “missing the kid” feeling was.
She thought about taking Sass out for a run, but this was his relax day, and the most she generally asked of him on Sunday was to happily roam the big pasture and roll in the dirt as he so liked to do. It meant a bath for him later, but she didn’t mind that because the horse enjoyed it so much, and would play with the water, most often trying to spray it back on her.
She slipped a halter on Pie and led him out to the corral attached to the barn. He was small enough that that was plenty of room for him to romp in. And he needed to work off the energy that never seemed to fade. As she watched the pony kick up his heels, she found herself back on the original thought she was trying to avoid, wondering if Jeremy would come back. If his father would let him.
Wondering if his father would bring him.
She owed him an apology. Not that she was in a hurry to do it. It would be awkward and embarrassing, but she owed it, and she would do it.
She’d gone back and watched that video of him saving the mired horse again. A couple of times. There was no denying the heroic effort he’d made. No denying that he’d been the only one there who’d even tried.
No denying how utterly hot he looked doing it.
So, you joining the Jackson Thorpe fan club now?
No, she told herself. She was just dropping out of the hate-him-on-sight club.
She heard the wheels on the path her father had built and turned to see her mother heading for her. She handled the chair with the ease of long practice, and Nic wasn’t really kidding when she joked that she’d put Mom’s arm strength up against any hand on the ranch.
“How is he doing?” her mother asked without preamble.
“Fine,” Nic said. “I think he enjoyed being back under saddle. It’s been a while.”
“I can see Pie is fine. I meant,” her mother said rather pointedly, “the little boy.”
“Oh.” Nic felt a touch of heat in her cheeks. If her mother ever ventured one of her rare criticisms, it was about her focus on the animals, to the exclusion of almost everything else.
