The Texas Rancher's Vow. Cathy Gillen Thacker
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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.
So maybe, Matt thought, if he let them all concentrate on the business at hand, there would be no more romantic disasters.
He sure didn’t need to be acting on impulse and kissing her. Either to make a point, or to ease a natural desire that had gone unfulfilled for way too long.
What he should do, he decided, was adopt a formal attitude. Be helpful, yet reserved. Become a sort of emotional Switzerland for Jen and his dad to come to if and when they needed him. Clearly, they were both grappling with some deep-seated issues, but he wasn’t exactly sure what was at the root of it all.
All Matt knew for certain was that Jen wanted the money and fame that came with this commission, badly enough to put up with the rest of the flack.
Wanted it enough to come into the formal dining room—even after he’d admitted to having her investigated—and sit down for a meal with him and his dad.
Luckily, from that moment on, Emmett dominated the conversation with talk about the Texas art scene. Jen was only too happy to oblige. When the meal concluded, they rose from the table, and Emmett, looking happier and more content than he had in weeks, led the way to the library.
More than a dozen storage boxes sat in front of the oversize mahogany desk.
“I’d like to have the sculptures commemorate my adult life on this ranch, and I’d like them all to honor my first wife, Margarite, as well. I’ll leave it to you to figure out how to do this, Jen, but the bronzes should include our courtship, marriage, and the birth and upbringing of our only child.”
“Sounds good.”
“I don’t want to look old or infirm in any of the sculptures,” Emmett further stipulated. “And I don’t want Margarite to ever look ill, or be confined to a wheelchair or a hospital bed in any of the bronzes. She would not have wanted to be remembered that way.”
That was true, Matt acknowledged.
“Not a problem,” Jen declared. “I’ll make sure she appears vibrant and healthy in all the sculptures.”
Matt wanted to concentrate on the positive, too.
“Too many of my fellow ranchers and friends are becoming ill or dying,” Emmett continued, still on the same depressing tact. “I am not interested in memorializing that.”
Seeing the conversation about to continue down a path it shouldn’t, Matt interjected firmly, “Dad, you’re fine.”
Matt realized, of course, that Emmett was getting older. That sometimes his dad felt a little sluggish and occasionally suffered from tired, aching muscles. But these things happened to everyone when they reached their sixties. Bodies began to age and wear out. It was just something everyone dealt with at that point in their life. It didn’t mean they were sick.
If his dad were really ailing, he would go see his doctor. And he hadn’t. So…
Emmett harrumphed. “Life can change in an instant, Matt. Not always in ways we want. Your mother proved that.”
There it went, Matt thought in frustration, the maudlin attitude that inevitably led to chaos.
He turned to Jen. “My mother died ten years ago of multiple sclerosis. She’d been ill for a long time.” She’d had a difficult, depressing decline.
Emmett grimaced. “It was hard on Matt. He was just a kid when Margarite became sick.”
But it was his dad who’d gone off the deep end. “It was harder on you,” Matt said.
His father stared at him. “I don’t know how you can say that. Since I’m not the one who eloped to Vegas with a woman who was barely even a friend.” Emmett paused, letting his words sink in. “And then never even bothered to consummate the marriage.”
* * *
WOW, JEN THOUGHT. I have not seen drama like this since my own marriage ended. She held up a hand, more than ready to excuse herself. “I really think you two should continue this discussion in private.”
Jaw set angrily, Matt stepped to block her exit. “No need for that. Dad and I are done.”
“We certainly are,” Emmett agreed, just as tersely.
Matt stomped off.
The older man sighed and returned to the boxes. He opened one and pulled out a big stack of photographs. For the next thirty minutes, they looked through them. Finally, eager to get the conversation back on track, Jen said gently, “Let’s talk more about what you’d like to see in the bronzes.”
Beginning to relax, he sat down next to her.
“I want to go out—at least in the public perception—very much the way I’ve lived. With my boots on. If and when I ever do get sick, I am not going to put Matt through that. It’s enough what he went through with his mother.”
Matt reappeared in the doorway—clearly unable to stay away no matter how much he wished he could, Jen noted curiously.
Looking much calmer after a brief respite, Matt ambled in. He looked at his dad. “With the exception of your slightly elevated cholesterol and blood pressure—both of which are well controlled through the medicines you take—there isn’t a thing wrong with you, Dad.”
Emmett looked at him for a long moment, an undecipherable emotion on his craggy face. “The point is,” he said at last, “you never know.” He pressed a hand on the table and pushed himself to his feet, looking suddenly too weary to go on.
“I’m going to bed,” he announced with an apologetic glance at Jen. “We’ll talk again in the morning?”
Seeing firsthand how the constant bickering with his only son was taking a toll on Emmett, she nodded. Why couldn’t Matt just let his dad be?
“Yes, sir. Thank you again for the opportunity.”
Emmett looked at Matt, his brows lowered. “Don’t you chase her away with your bad behavior.”
Jen jumped to reassure him. “He won’t, I promise. You have nothing to worry about on that score.”
“Good to know.” Emmett exited, leaving them alone.
Jen slid Matt a reproachful look. “You really don’t have to stay. The silver is safe.”
He slid his hands into his pockets, looking totally at ease. “Ha, ha.”
Feeling way too aware of him, Jen began sorting through the photos. “All I want to do is work.” And forget about that kiss we shared earlier…
Matt sat on the library table, hands braced on either side of him. “I know you think I’m being ridiculously on guard.”
Jen hated feeling so vulnerable whenever she was near Matt. And she resented knowing how intensely attracted she was to him.
Hadn’t she done the rich-man’s-son thing once?
Hadn’t she seen how badly that had turned out?
She swallowed and continued laying out the photos in a haphazard collage. “I