Mae Nunn - Texas Miracle

“It was kind of you to invite me in.” For some reason, Mac wasn’t bothered by her feet, even though he had a foot aversion. At least with other people’s feet.

“Are you cold?”

“A bit. Is it hard to keep this little old house warm?” Mac looked around for a thermostat.

“Check this out.” Jacqueline set down her tea and walked across the tiny room to the fireplace. She picked up a brass key off the mantel, fit it into a square on the hearth and turned it. Then she lit a match and tossed it into the firebox. Poof! A fire blazed, but there was no wood.

“Whoa! That’s old-school!”

“This whole house is old-school. I kind of love it.” Jacqueline sat back down on the couch, crossing one of her legs under her and picking up her tea again.

“How did you end up renting it? The King of Kilgore?”

“No, believe it or not. I found it on a website. It’s owned by the Methodist church. They rented it to me for three months.”

“That’s all?” Mac knew he sounded as disappointed as he felt.

“I think I’ll have the option to renew.”

“Good.”

“You may not want me on your payroll longer than that.”

“Are you kidding?”

Jacqueline grinned. Mac thought he detected a note of wistfulness when she said, “I told you from the beginning I wasn’t planning to stay.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t try to change your mind.” He set down his mug.

They both stared at the fire for a long moment. To Mac, a flame was mesmerizing.

“Well.” Jacqueline finally broke the silence.

“That’s a deep subject.” Mac straightened his glasses. “My dad used to say that.”

“Tell me about him.”

Mac took a deep breath. He never talked about his parents, didn’t know where to begin. “He was a doctor. A good guy.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Yes. Sometimes. All of the time, if I let myself.”

“Are you like him?” Jacqueline’s voice was breathy, soft.

“I think I’m the most like him of all of my brothers, except maybe Cullen.”

“The professor?”

“Yes. We’re both more studious, and that’s like my dad. But Cullen’s into history. My dad was very scientific, meticulous, also loved numbers.”

“That’s like you.” She grinned.

“Yes. We both need—or he needed—certainty. That’s how he died, you know. Trying to find Pap’s grave. I still want to find it, but I don’t know if I ever will.”

“I remember the plane crash. That must have been so impossibly difficult, losing both of your parents.”

Mac nodded. There were no words.

“I envy you, you know.”

Jacqueline’s comment seemed so strange, he searched her face for meaning. Surely he misunderstood what she’d said.

“Roots.” She put down her mug and reached for the bowl of pecans. Bypassing the nutcracker, she took two pecans in her palm and squeezed them together, cracking them both.

“Man, you must have a grip of steel,” Mac said with admiration.

She picked the pecans out of their shells, depositing the remains in her empty tea mug, and offered one to Mac. When their hands touched, Mac felt an electric shock. He took the pecan. “Thanks.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Mac. I know you’ve suffered horrible losses that no one would envy. And I’m truly sorry.” Her eyes burned with intensity. “But what I envy is how grounded you are—your roots. You know where you belong.”

“It’s funny, but I’ve never considered that as a big deal. It’s just who I am.”

“It is a big deal. It’s something a lot of people don’t have.”

“But do you want to be grounded, Jacqueline? Really? To put down roots somewhere? I don’t want to talk myself out of a good assistant, but it seems like that kind of life might be too boring for you. Too—limiting.”

Jacqueline sighed. “My parents definitely raised me to think so. But I don’t know. My maternal grandmother—her name is Violet—believes the opposite. I never saw her much growing up because my mother broke with her when she met my father. But the few times I’ve seen her are the closest things I have to memories of a home.”

“Where does she live?”

“Iowa. In the middle of a cornfield.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I need to go see her sometime while I’m in the country. It’s been years.”

“Why so long?”

“It was up to my parents to take me when I was a kid, and that didn’t happen much. Then in college I didn’t really have the means. But we wrote letters.”

“I see.” Mac couldn’t fathom it. He’d always had the means, just no living grandparent to go visit.

As if reading his thoughts, Jacqueline asked, “Are any of your other grandparents still living?”

“No. They’re all gone—all passed before my parents.”

Jacqueline nodded sympathetically, her hair falling forward over her shoulder like a dark silk curtain. Mac suddenly had the urge to reach out and touch the strands. But instead, he rose. “I guess I better get going.” He wanted to stay with every fiber of his being. But the reasons he should go were more certain than his feelings: Jacqueline was in his life for only the short-term. She was like some exotic bird of paradise, and nothing he was or could do would ever be enough to keep her in Kilgore. So he’d best not get too close before she flew away.

“Oh.” Jacqueline seemed a little surprised. “Okay. You have something going on tomorrow?”

“We have a workday down at the church. I’m cooking breakfast.”

“Really?” She smiled, eyes gleaming.

“And why does that amuse you, Ms. Aimes?”

“I, well.” She raised a finger and touched her pillowy lips. “You’re just full of surprises, boss.”

“Next time I’ll cook you dinner.” The words were out of his mouth before he could retrieve them. Embarrassed, he started toward the back door, but she stopped him.

Jacqueline’s eyes flickered with delight. “The front door will be closer to your truck. I’ll just get your coat.”

CHAPTER SIX

MAC PULLED UP at Star Stables, where Joiner was supposed to meet him, at six o’clock sharp. He waved to Buster, Stella’s father, who was already feeding his goats. At six ten, Mac squinted his eyes and spotted a dot that had to be Joiner sitting on a bigger black dot that had to be Pistol. They were kicking up dust across the frosty acreage that separated the stables, which were located near Buster Scout’s ranch house, and the north forty, the parcel of land he had given Stella and Joiner for building their house.

When Joiner jumped into the truck at six fifteen, after handing Pistol off to Buster, he apologized. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Rough night?”

“Stella’s having those pains again. We don’t know if they are Braxton Hicks contractions or what.”

“Braxton what?”

“Braxton Hicks. They’re contractions that get you ready for the real contractions when the baby comes.”

“I see.” Mac suppressed a smile. Joiner was a long way from the playboy polo player he’d been in college. A long way for the better.

“Only thing is, the pain’s not really in the right place for Braxton Hicks. It’s more right here.” Joiner pointed to the area right under his sternum.

“Did you call the doctor?”

“Yes. We called and got the doctor on call, of course, since it’s not during office hours, and she told Stella to take two Tylenol and two Benadryl and lie down.”

“What time was that?”

“Five fifteen.”

“So Stella did? Did it help?”

“At six o’clock, she was finally getting some relief. I couldn’t leave till then. Guess I should have called you.”

“Of course, I understand.” Mac nodded. “You don’t even have to go. Hunt, Cullen and I could handle it.”