The Texas Rancher's Vow. Cathy Thacker Gillen
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mouth lightly with his; not when he responded to the slight opening of her lips and moved in to kiss her hard and deep. And
especially not when he heard her make a soft, sexy sound that was part frustration, part need.
And then, suddenly, she was surprising him again by meeting his demand. Going up on tiptoe. Wreathing her arms about his shoulders once again.
Her breasts pressed against his chest. He felt the hardness of her nipples, the quick beating of her heart, the erratic rasp of her breath. And knew he had invited way more than should be happening….
Jen knew Matt was only trying to prove a point.
She was proving one, too. Not only could she handle a forbidden kiss. Or two. Or in this case, three… She could handle him.
Yes, he was hard and sexy. Yes, he looked really hot, whether dressed up, as he’d been the first time they’d met, or in a simple chambray shirt and worn jeans, as he was now.
Yes, he knew how to fit her against him for maximum contact, angle his head and kiss her breathless.
He tasted good. A combination of cool spearmint, warm summer sun…and man.
And he made her feel wonderful.
All soft and willing and womanly.
Even when she knew she was not going to let this go any further than it already had, for fear her knees would collapse under her and she’d lose what precious little common sense she had left.
Not when this was solely for the purpose of proving a point.
Deliberately, Jen broke off the kiss.
Ignoring the molten look in his eyes, she drew a halting breath and stepped back. Watched him get control of his faculties, too.
She struggled for calm, reminding herself this was very dangerous territory they were in. “Look. I get you trying to control everything, because there have been times when I tried to do that, too. But life doesn’t work that way. You don’t get to control someone else’s actions or prevent their mistakes. Never mind engineer their epiphanies.”
He quirked a brow but allowed her to continue.
Jen aimed a lecturing finger at the center of his chest. “You get to be the master of your destiny. Make your own decisions. Control your own reactions to things. And that, pal, is it.”
Matt’s lips compressed. “Sounds like the credo for Al-Anon,” he said, in a voice dripping with cynicism.
Reeling from the verbal left hook, Jen sucked in an anguished breath. She had expected Matt to fight hard. But this was a low blow. She scowled at him, making no effort to hide her resentment. “Nice, Briscoe, bringing that up.”
Shock had him going completely still.
Jen groaned and bit down on an oath. Darn it all. He didn’t know!
Working to get her pulse under control, she slid him a look. “I thought you had me investigated.”
He met her gaze, his eyes dark and heated. “Briefly. Just in terms of your professional expertise and general background.”
She studied him intently. “Then you know I grew up in the economically disadvantaged part of Austin.”
“And that your mom died when you were three, and your dad raised you,” he stated in a quiet voice.
Her stomach quivered. This was stuff she never discussed. “What else?”
Matt cocked his head, still studying her. “That your father was a self-employed housepainter who worked sporadically, usually eking out just enough to get by.”
The hardships of that time still haunted her. Jen was working on being okay with it, but she hadn’t quite gotten there yet.
Deciding if Matt was going to hear this, he was going to hear it from her, she moved a step closer and asked, “Do you know why?”
Matt continued watching her as if something didn’t quite add up. “The investigator didn’t get that far, but I can go back and see what else can be found out….”
Jen shook her head and lifted a staying palm. “No need for that,” she declared firmly, forcing herself to hold his steady gaze.
Might as well get this over with.
“I’ll just tell you.”
She swallowed as another wave of emotion swept through her. “My father drank.” Her throat closed in a way that made it difficult to get the words out. “A lot. Not all the time, but…whenever something set him off. Instead of dealing with his frustration and anger over the hand that fate had dealt him, he would self-medicate with booze.”
Compassion flashed across Matt’s face. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged off the sympathy. She didn’t want his pity. “I wouldn’t have survived my childhood had it not been for Alateen. The people there—the counselors, the sponsors, the other kids—helped me realize that my father’s problem with alcohol was not my fault.” Tears stung her eyes.
Matt clamped his hands on her shoulders, gave her a brief, comforting squeeze. “Of course it wasn’t,” he said softly, looking a little rough around the edges himself. “He was the adult. You were just a kid.”
A kid with a big heart and a sensitive nature…and a hopelessly idealistic outlook on life.
Jen had worked hard to erect a hard shell around her vulnerable inner self, to put all her pent-up emotion into her artistry, where it could do some good.
The trouble was, with just one steamy embrace, and an unexpectedly gentle word or two, Matt tempted her to undo all that.
She had no intention of letting the floodgates open. “Unfortunately, I didn’t learn my lessons well enough until I got a lot older.”
Matt locked eyes with her. “And this caused problems.”
“Oh, yes. Tons of them. In big and little ways.” Jen hitched in a restless breath and resisted the urge to pace. “Because for a while there, I still chased after lost causes. Thinking if I could just make someone else’s life better, it would make up for the fact that I never got through to my father. Never managed to get him to a single meeting.”
Matt’s expression softened. The empathy in his eyes gave her the courage to go on.
“So I got involved with someone else, someone with family problems of his own, hoping to help him in a way I hadn’t been able to help myself.”
“Only, that didn’t work, either.”
“No,” Jen said tautly. “It didn’t.”
“Which is why you got divorced.”
Jen nodded.
Pushing the turmoil away, Jen lifted her chin. “But don’t worry. I am not interested in sponsoring you.” Jen threw up her hands, her boundaries firmly in place once again. “Your issues are your own. And so,” Jen emphasized flatly, “are your father’s.”
Jen spun around and made a beeline for the door, which she flung open, gesturing for him to take his leave. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get ready for dinner.”
* * *
MATT HAD WEATHERED a lot since his mom died. Some of it was caused by his own grief and reaction to loss. The rest was due to his dad. So Matt didn’t feel guilty about trying to prevent more heartache for all of them.
This, he figured, was his duty as Emmett Briscoe’s son.
But he also knew enough to realize he was holding Jen Carson accountable for far more than she deserved. She hadn’t pursued his father, as the other women had.
Emmett had evidently done his research this time and sought Jen out for the clearly defined purpose of commemorating his life.