“That’s because there’s just one growing in there.” Lizzie laughed. “Not that we don’t want a girl, I just don’t want to jinx it.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Barb said. “I never thought raising a girl would be the challenge Kadi’s putting us through. Did you know she wants her ears pierced? Apparently she’s the only child in her class that can’t wear earrings. And don’t get me started on the makeup argument.” Barb leaned over and touched her newborn son’s foot sticking out of the blanket covering the car seat. “Grey won’t give us half the trouble Kadi does.”
“Don’t count on it. Boys are different.” Angie sipped on her iced tea. “I’ll take her next weekend and get her ears pierced. You should have told me—I would have done it last month when we went clothes shopping.”
“Hunter would have a cow if she came home with studs in her ears.” Barb dipped a chip into the homemade salsa. “Let’s just give him some time to adjust to the pre-teen years, okay?”
“I just don’t see the problem. Let the girl live. She’s already had a taste of how unfair and short life can be. Losing her folks that young could have made her a basket case instead of turning into a horse nut.” Angie ran her hand through her hair. “Take it from someone who knows.”
“Believe me, I realize that every day.” Barb unhooked Grey from his carrier and sat the boy on her lap, kissing his bald head.
Angie glanced around the gathering, “Angelic was spot on with her prediction.”
Lizzie frowned. “What prediction?”
“She said if Jesse bought the gallery, change would happen.” Angie waved her hands indicating the yard. “And look at all the changes.”
“It’s called life, Angie. Life happened, not a fortuneteller’s prediction.” Barb held her palm flat for Grey to explore with his tiny fingers.
Angie sniffed. “Whatever you want to believe. I just know the woman is a godsend with her counsel.”
The women wore sundresses, shorts, and sandals for the parade. They waited for the boys to get ready to go. JR and James had gone ahead with the horse trailer, as they were riding as part of JR’s horse club. The twins ran around the edges of the yard playing chase with Kadi, who looked more like the child she was than the teenager she’d soon be. Hunter sat alone near the river, watching the water sparkle over the rocks.
Only two people were missing. Jesse and Taylor.
• • •
“I should wear the suit.” Jesse reached for the black suit lying out on the bed. Taylor slapped his hand.
“You look great.” She smoothed his button-down shirt, flipping his too-long hair over the shirt collar. “A suit is overkill. You wanted to have your first show here as part of Shawnee Rodeo Weekend. Now you have to dress like a cowboy, or all the critics will be disappointed.”
“I wanted to get away from the bull rider stigma. What was I thinking?” He sank onto the bed and put his head in his hands.
Taylor sat next to him. “Your show is going to be amazing. I’ve already heard from six of the major art sites. They have people here from Boise just for today’s opening. Bull riding is what you did, not who you are.”
“Tell that to Angie. I swear, she was showing everyone who walked into the studio last week photos from the championship last winter.” He took her hand. “You really think they’ll like the show?”
“You’re a talented artist. Why do you think DeMarco Gallery is sponsoring your show?” She kissed his cheek.
“Because I own the gallery?” He smiled. “I hear the tribe getting anxious out there. We better make our appearance.”
She stood and put her hand on his chest. “I love you, Jesse Sullivan.”
He kissed her, slowly and sweetly]. “I love you, Taylor DeMarco Sullivan.”
He went to step away but she held him.
“Seriously, they’ll come looking for us in about three minutes. Lizzie won’t miss JR riding in the parade.” He squeezed her hand. “I don’t have time to ravage you on the bed, or in the hot tub.”
“In your dreams.” Taylor bit her lip. “I just wanted to tell you one thing before we met up with your family. Something you should know. Although, I’m not sure how happy you’re going to be.”
“Oh God, you’ve already heard from the critics. They hate the show. They hate me.” Jesse searched her face. “Wait, you look happy. They liked me?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know.” She took a deep breath. “What I need to tell you, before we go meet with your family, is that we have a family right here. In this room.”
Jesse laughed. “Oh, honey, I know. You’re my family now. It’s just, the Sullivans are pretty in-your-face close, especially when we all get together. You’ll get used to it.”
She held him tight as he tried to step away. “Listen to me. We’re a family. You, me, and …” Taylor let her gaze drop down to her stomach. “Lizzie’s not the only one expecting a new arrival.”
Jesse’s eyes widened. “You’re pregnant? What, when?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure it happened on our trip to Sun Valley a few months ago. I thought I was just busy, that I had forgotten. But when I started feeling sick, Brit took me to the doctor last week. We’re having a baby.”
Jesse picked her up and swung her around the cabin bedroom. “A baby.”
As they walked out to the backyard to tell the family about their newest addition, Taylor felt tears fill her eyes. She saw the picture take shape in front of her. Their life had become a painting Norman Rockwell could have done; one called
A Summer Gathering
. Family. Messy, crazy, and most of all, loving. Her family now.
She was a Sullivan.
Lynn Cahoon’s a multi-published author. An Idaho native, her stories focus around the depth and experience of small town life and love. Lynn is published in the
Chicken Soup
anthologies, has explored controversial stories for the confessional magazines, has short stories in
Women’s World
, and contemporary romantic fiction. Currently, she’s living in a small historic town on the banks of the Mississippi river where her imagination tends to wander. She lives with her husband and four fur babies. She can be found at her
website
.
Jackson Taylor’s toes clenched as he came abruptly awake, the left side of his body shivering. The right, however, was delectably warm. A soft weight held his shoulder down, the feel of a woman’s curves pressed hard against his chest. Cold water tickled his feet and wet sand dug into his butt. The tangy, salty smell of the ocean filled his nostrils. Another tickle of water. A slight shiver came from the curvaceous woman beside him before she settled back into sleep.
A flash of red hair, spinning lanterns, and Latin dance music raced through his mind before it went blank. The infernal pounding started again behind his right temple.
Must have been a great night.
The naked body lying next to his on the beach said as much.
Jackson levered his eyes open as the first fingers of yellow touched the white sand beach. He winced as intense sunlight hit his eyes. Another postcard perfect day in Puerto Vallarta. He would be perfectly happy spending it with the drapes closed and a couple gallons of hair of the dog. If he could just get back to his hotel room.
Damn. Thirty-one was years too old to be waking up, hung-over, not knowing where he was or how he had gotten there.
Pretty chestnut hair hid the woman’s face. At least the woman he almost remembered seemed to be the woman he was with, but for the life of him Jackson couldn’t draw a mental picture of her. Just what the hell had he done last night?
Well, the what was fairly simple to answer if the sand digging into his butt was any indication. No clothes tempered the feel of her soft skin against him. It had been a long time since Jackson had woken up beside a woman unable to recall who she was or how they had met. He had never liked the feeling, and liked it even less this morning.
Chilly water washed over his feet to his ankles. As the water returned to the sea, his heels dug deeper into the sand creating tiny tide pools.
He had to move. But if he moved he would disturb the woman sleeping softly on his right shoulder. Somehow he didn’t think she would appreciate his jumping up and running for the nearest rock to answer the call of nature, leaving her alone in the chilly morning tide.
Another flash, this time of long, smooth leg sliding over his hips and sinking into the sand. Jackson squeezed his eyes together, trying to make the vision last. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t follow the woman’s leg up her body to her face.
Had he picked up a random woman on the Malecon the previous night?
Where were their clothes? If he could get up, he could at least cover the woman with a shirt or something before running for the rocks rimming the beach. Jackson angled his head but couldn’t see anything except sand and some seaweed on either side of them. Sunlight glinted off glass high above.
A villa. They were probably trespassing on a private beach. He had to get out of here. The quicker the better.
This was not going to go over well with the nameless woman.
Water splashed over his ankles to his calves. He didn’t have much time. Why wasn’t she waking up? Jackson bent his neck and saw that her legs barely reached below his knees. No wonder she was still asleep. She was dry.
Taking a deep breath, Jackson tried to wriggle his arm free. He managed to gain a couple of inches of freedom before she burrowed back into his chest. Great. A cuddler.
Her left hand rested over his sternum, sunlight glinting off the thin gold band on her ring finger.
He hadn’t just had a one night stand; he had apparently had a one night stand with a married woman. He sank back onto the sand, the rising tide forgotten for a moment.
Jackson Taylor liked sex, everyone knew that. But he drew the line at having sex with married women. Some things were meant to be sacred. Damn it, how drunk could he have been not to notice a wedding ring?
And why hadn’t the husband been hanging all over her? How had Jackson been allowed not only to dance with her but to take her away?
Another snippet of music flashed in his brain along with a wide, laughing smile. Perfectly shaped lips, head thrown back, beautifully shaped neck. And then everything went black again. Jackson didn’t have to see her face to know the woman lying on his chest was a beauty. He felt her soft curves and silky skin against his body. If she were his woman he would be hounding any man within a twenty mile radius who got too close.
Not that she, whoever she was, would ever be his woman. Jackson wasn’t built for permanent. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. He had to get out of here. Now.
Yanking a little harder, Jackson managed to free his arm to the elbow. The red-head’s hand clasped and unclasped over his chest as if she were reaching for something. Probably him. A couple more tugs and he would be free of her. Jackson didn’t feel so bad about leaving her, naked and alone, on the beach now that he knew she was married. What kind of woman did that?
What kind of man sleeps with a woman he doesn’t even know? an ugly voice in his head asked. The voice made him pause. What kind of man, indeed.
• • •
The earth was moving. And not in a good way.
Kathleen Witte reached out, trying to grab on to something. Anything. But her hands met only with air.
She shifted, and her shoulder dug into damp sand. Where was she? Her eyes flew open, and she winced at the bright sunlight.
The beach? What happened to the villa? And her… Sweet Mary, Mother of God, what happened to her clothes? Quickly, Kathleen flipped over so she was lying stomach-down on the sand. She shivered as a splash of water reached her feet. Looking left and then right, Kathleen scanned the area. No white dress. No strappy sandals. Had they been washed out with the tide? Had she come to the beach naked? No. She wouldn’t have.
She took a deep breath. Her clothes had to be here somewhere. Maybe she had decided to go skinny-dipping. She was in Mexico, after all. What better way to blow off a little steam than with some late night skinny-dipping? The villa included a private beach, it wasn’t as if she’d run into anyone. The old Kathleen would have balked. Said no with a quiet smile and watched as her sisters had all the fun. The new and improved Kathleen wasn’t leaving life to her sisters, and God knew she had plenty of steam to blow off. So maybe that was all this was. Blowing off a little steam with a naked swim in the warm Pacific. Colorful lights and a heavy bass rhythm had filled her head before everything went dark. The feel of a man’s hands on her waist, leading her around the dance floor echoed in her memory.
With sudden certainty she knew she hadn’t spent the night alone and that she’d not been innocently skinny-dipping last night. Oh, God.
Seven months of fighting with Grandfather about running the ranch, of twisting her life inside out to prove she had the heart and commitment to become the all-work-no-play girl Grandfather needed had blown up after only a couple of nights in Mexico.
Seven months without the feel of a man against her body, holding her close. She shivered, imagining the phantom lover from her dreams.
Seven months of no life was long enough. She’d get one, even if it were only for the next week. That’s what this whole trip to Mexico was about. Declaring her independence. And damn the whole family if they didn’t get on board.
But waking up naked on a Mexican beach was a little too large a statement.
Kathleen took a harder look around. Her dress and shoes had to be here somewhere. Even in her most inebriated state — and with the amount of pounding in her head she had to have been on one huge bender — she wouldn’t have paraded around Puerto Vallarta in the buff.
She saw a crescent-shaped rocky enclave on one side of the beach, and the other side stretched as far as she could see. Above was a thatch of greenery with a path leading upward. Probably to a road. A reflection high above caught her eye. Twin A-shaped V’s rose out of the bushes and trees on the cliff, both filled with high windows. Her villa. Thank you, God.