Eleven #3
Of course, with his stubbornness, strength, and her guidance, the Cub settled into the hangar in no time. After she shut the hangar doors, she moved to escape him, but his fingers curled around her wrist, keeping her in place.
“We have to talk, Jackie,” he said, his voice low.
Her chin lifted. “I agree.”
“There’s plenty to be said, but before you say anything, I want to go first. Deal?”
Her brow arched. “That depends. Am I supposed to sit quiet and behave?”
“For starters.” He held out his hand. “Let’s sit at the picnic table.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. She absolutely would not take his hand. She refused to accept his gentleness and protection and all those things he always made her feel when their fingers were laced together.
Allowing her refusal to slide, he pulled a little stem of ponderosa from her hair instead, and the small careful touch slid a soft shiver through Jackie.
“Pine,” he murmured, showing it to her.
She huffed a little, not having known it was there, but after he discarded the piece, his touch continued along her cheek in a caress clear down to her jaw.
His thumb stroked her lower lip, his eyes such a piercing blue, it seemed she could fall right into them, and she couldn’t pull away if her life depended on it.
Which, with all that languished between them, maybe it did.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said huskily. “I want you to know that.”
Archer land will always be Archer land. No one else’s.
The declaration he’d given to Clint Varner sailed back into her memory, and her eyes immediately stung. Her throat clogged. Because she couldn’t think of a thing he could say that wouldn’t hurt. A lot.
Taking hold of her wrist again, as if he didn’t trust her not to bolt, he walked with her across the yard to the picnic table, bypassing the attached bench seat to ease his lean body right on top, knees spread, elbows propped on his broad thighs.
She sat, too, and in a burst of desperation to get the whole thing over with, she turned toward him, bumping one of his knees with one of hers.
“I have an appointment with Tom Caldwell tomorrow,” she blurted.
A corner of his mouth lifted. “You talking first isn’t part of the deal.”
“I intend to ask him to cancel my loan with the bank and return my land to you. In your name, of course.”
“You do, huh?”
She drew in a breath, let it out again. “All I ask is that you give my down payment back to me so that I—I can—”
“Jackie.” He gripped her chin tenderly, coaxing her to look at him. “I’ve already met with him.”
She braced herself. This was it. The moment she’d been dreading ever since she’d learned Wade Archer had willed the east pasture to go to Beck, his firstborn grandson.
“And?” Her voice wavered on that lone word. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him that I’d fallen in love with you. And that if I could convince you to marry me, we’d have to rework the deed.” His mouth curved. “But only by a little.”
Jackie could only stare at him. For one suspended second, and then another, she forgot how to breathe, how to do anything but feel like the world had shifted and tilted beneath her feet.
“You told him that?” she whispered at last, her eyes shining.
“I got the feeling he was disappointed.” He stroked her finger, the fourth on her left hand, as if he envisioned his ring being there, his tone pensively amused. “I think he wanted to court you.”
She merely frowned. “He did ask me out to dinner once.”
“He won’t anymore.”
“Tom was never the one I wanted.” She joined her hand with his, then held both against her bosom.
“I carried you home in my heart from Korea long before I ever thought I would find you again,” she said softly.
“I only knew something in me wouldn’t let you go.
” She blinked away the emotion. “I guess I’ve always loved you, Beck. One way or another.”
He murmured her name on a low groan and slid his hand behind her neck, beneath her hair, pulling her closer.
He took her mouth to his in a long, slow kiss, until everything melted away but the fierce joy of being loved by him.
Her body absorbed his nearness, his strength, his warmth, taking all of him, her heart knowing he would always be hers.
After the kiss ended, he gave a little tug on the silver chain she wore around her neck.
“May I?” he asked gently.
“Of course.”
She dipped her head, allowing him to remove Martha Washington’s necklace, and he cradled the locket in his palm. His expression softened into wonder. “You’re wearing it.”
She smiled. “Yes. Since last night, when you gave it to me.” She sighed. “I read all the Marriage Notes from the couples who’d fallen in love and gotten married because of her and this beautiful locket, and I wanted to believe that we would, too.”
“I think it was always meant to find its way to us.”
“Yes.”
“Then I suppose we shouldn’t disappoint Martha by waiting too long to get married.”
Jackie laughed and snuggled into him the best she could while they were both sitting on the picnic tabletop. “That does seem to be the next step, doesn’t it?”
If this was how a woman got talked into marrying a cowboy, then Martha Washington would be pleased with how well her matchmaking turned out.