JACKSON
Rayford quietly hung up the library phone. I didn’t look up from the paperwork I’d been perusing when I asked, “Who was that?”
“Telemarketer,” he said. “Annual fund-raising for the local police.”
Now I did look up, surprised. “I wonder why the chief didn’t call me himself? He knows I don’t like to talk to telemarketers.” I thought for a moment. “Didn’t they just have the police fund-raiser a few months ago?”
Rayford’s expression was bland. “You write so many checks for fund-raisers, sir, I can never remember which one’s which.” From the corner of my desk he picked up my crystal decanter, tilted it over my empty glass, and smiled. “Refill?”
I sighed heavily. I knew I’d been drinking too much lately, but it was the only thing getting me through the nights. “Yes. Thanks.”
He poured me a generous measure, then turned to the young woman in a navy pantsuit and sensible shoes seated across the desk from me. “Miss Taylor, would you care for a drop?”
Her mouth pinched. Which was a feat, because her mouth was already so small it looked like a tiny puckered butthole. Her choice of brown lipstick was an unfortunate one that only added to the effect. Every time I looked at her, I had to bite the inside of my cheek so I didn’t laugh.
“No,” she said, like she was offended by the question. “I don’t drink.”
Rayford and I shared a glace. My heavy sigh came again.
“Call me if you need anything else, sir,” said Rayford. He nodded at Taylor, then excused himself, leaving the library doors open behind him.
Miss Taylor didn’t waste a moment getting back to the subject at hand. “Section four D could be problematic. I think it’s too vague.”
My head pounded. We’d been reviewing the paperwork for almost two hours, and every time I thought we were close to finishing, she found something else she deemed problematic.
The crick in my neck was problematic. The cramp in my lower back was problematic. The raw ache in the place in my chest where my heart was supposed to be beating was also problematic, but I wasn’t thinking about that.
It makes no sense to dwell on things that are out of your control.
I took another big swig of bourbon instead.
“Four D,” I repeated, flipping through the document. “Right.” I stared at the page. Legal terms swam up into my vision. I poured more booze down my throat.
How is she? What’s she doing right now? Is she thinking about me?
Fuck. Who was I kidding? No amount of bourbon or denial could stop me from thinking about Bianca. I knew I’d be thinking of her for the rest of my life, which was part of the reason I was so depressed.
“Excuse me?”
I snapped my head up. Taylor was staring at me like I’d farted in church.
“What?” I asked apprehensively.
“You made an odd sound. Like you were trying to say something.”
Oh, no, Taylor. That’s only the sound of rampant despair. Please ignore me, I’m just over here dying. “Thinking out loud,” I said with a straight face. “Sorry.”
She looked like she had an itch somewhere indelicate that she really needed to scratch. She folded her hands over the contract in her lap and glared at me. “Mr. Boudreaux,” she said, her pinched lips barely moving, “would you like to take a break?”
I almost groaned in relief. “Yes. I need to stretch my legs. Back in ten.” I was already on my feet and headed toward the door.
“I’ll be right here,” she said, adding to my misery.
I had to get out of the house before I started throwing things.
Ignoring Rayford’s startled glance when I passed him in the kitchen, I burst through the French doors and out into the cool evening air. Then I stood on the lawn in the backyard with my hands on my knees, gulping in deep breaths, wondering how long it would take before the taste of Bianca’s skin would fade from my memory.
It had been six days since the funeral, and I was dying by degrees without her.
But the nights were the worst. The dreams, dear God. Torture. Every little moment I spent in her presence had somehow seared itself into my subconscious, so when I fell asleep I was treated to a Technicolor replay of everything she’d ever said to me, every look, every smile, every touch. They were nightmares of a sort. Especially the dreams about our time together at Moonstar Ranch.
Even in my dreams I could taste her.
“Fucking hell,” I muttered. I straightened and ran a hand over my face. My beard, which grew like weeds, was almost as thick as it had been the night I met her. It was a scratchy mess, not unlike my brain.
I spent a few minutes just breathing, letting the fresh air clear my head. Then I wandered down to the lower lawn where the tent had been set up for the Wounded Warrior benefit, leaned against the rough bark of an ancient willow, and stared out at the lake. It glittered like a thousand stars under the light of the rising moon.
Being with Bianca had changed me in ways I didn’t know I could change. They say it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, but that was a big, steaming pile of bullshit. It was infinitely worse for me now. I thought I’d loved Cricket, but that was nothing compared to the fire Bianca stoked in my heart.
I loved her so much it burned. It scorched and glowed white-hot in all the dark places inside me, like I’d swallowed the sun.
But this was reality now. Loneliness and longing and arms that ached to hold someone who was no longer there. Who would never be there.
Who would never love me.
My eyes stung. I realized when I swiped my fingers over my cheeks that they were wet. I laughed—a hoarse, ugly sound—and turned away from the lake. I couldn’t stand to look at it suddenly. It made me sick. The moonlight reflected off its surface was too romantic, and I was in no mood for romance.
Let’s get this over with. Glaring at the house, I took a moment to steel myself, then I trudged back inside, not ready to finish what I’d started with Taylor, but knowing it had to be done.
Rayford wasn’t in the kitchen. From down the long hallway, I heard raised voices.
Someone was shouting in the library.
A woman.
I knew it was only my lovesick heart that made the voice sound like Bianca’s, but I took off at a run anyway. My steps echoed like gunfire off the marble floor.
When I reached the open library doors, I skidded to a stop, blinking in astonishment.
Rayford lounged on the sofa, an amused smile lighting his face. Standing on opposite sides of the coffee table were Taylor and Bianca, squared off like pistoleros about to draw their guns. Bianca was dressed in rumpled pink pajamas with little blue bunny rabbits all over them, a beige raincoat, and a pair of those hideous clogs she wore to work. Her hair was sticking up in wild tufts all over her head.
She looked like an escapee from an insane asylum, and also the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“And another thing!” she shouted at Taylor. “You really shouldn’t wear brown lipstick!”
“Well hello there, sir,” said Rayford calmly. “As you can see, Miss Bianca and Miss Taylor were just gettin’ acquainted.” His smile grew wider. “I tried to tell Miss Bianca you were busy, but she almost broke down the front door, so here we are.”
“Bianca,” I said, my voice raw. “What’re you doing here?”
She turned to me with burning eyes and a heaving chest, the color high in her cheeks. She shouted, “I’m here to stop the man I love from marrying the wrong woman!”
Taylor’s mouth dropped open.
Rayford giggled.
And my heart stopped dead in my chest.
I wheezed, “Love?” before Bianca cut me off.
“Yes, that’s right. I love you, Jackson Boudreaux!”
It sounded like an accusation or a confession of something terrible and terminal, like you’d say, “The tumor is inoperable and I only have a week to live.”
But she kept talking, and my heart rebooted and took flight like a phoenix rising from the ashes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, but I think I’m just about as stubborn as you are. You’re the best man I’ve ever known, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you hitch your wagon to some cash-hungry bottom-feeder just to save your inheritance!”
She gestured to Taylor, who cried an offended, “Oh!”
I exhaled, and it was like fire.
Bianca stepped toward me. She squared her shoulders and looked up into my face.
She said, “My whole life I’ve been waiting for someone like you. Only I didn’t know that someone would come with a caveman beard and a bossy streak and a scowl that could peel paint from the walls. And then you came at me with your ridiculous proposal, and then Mama died, and then I lost my mind, so it took me a minute to figure it out.”
She swallowed. When she spoke next her voice was quieter.
“But I love you, Jackson. And I hope you know that I don’t give a damn about your money, because I don’t. In fact I think it would do you a world of good to flush that inheritance right down the toilet and live like a normal person for once.”
She added drily, “I’ve recently been informed by my attorney that I’m a millionaire, anyway, so it’s not like we’d be broke.”
Taylor huffed. “Mr. Boudreaux, will you please tell this woman—”
“Shut up, Taylor,” I said.
She threw her hands in the air and rolled her eyes.
Bianca took another step closer to me, then another, until she was so close I could see the flecks of gold in her beautiful brown eyes. She flattened her hands over my chest.
I thought my heart would explode it pounded so hard.
Bianca said softly, “We went about this whole thing ass backward. Marriage proposals are supposed to come after you’ve fallen in love, not before, but I have a feeling nothing we’re ever going to do will be in the proper order. So what I’m proposing is that you tell this skinny little mercenary with the weird brown lips to go pound sand, and you and me get married.”
Her lips curved into a shy smile. “Because I would like to date you.”
I took her sweet face in my hands. She slid her arms around my waist and hugged me, and I wondered if it was possible for a person to die of happiness. I felt like I might float right off the floor.
I whispered, “That skinny little mercenary is my attorney, sweetheart.”
Bianca blinked. Her brows pulled together into an adorable frown. “What?”
A rumble of laughter burbled up from somewhere deep inside me, shaking my whole body, loosening decades of anguish and pain.
“Taylor is my attorney. Has been for years. We’re not getting married. We’re working on the contract for the new division Boudreaux Bourbon’s going to open in New Orleans. The one I’m going to run.”
Bianca’s eyes went wide. She squeaked, “Contract? Division?”
I nodded. “My father and I had a long talk after you and I left Kentucky. We agreed that opening a new distillery in Louisiana would be good for business. There’s no wedding going on here.”
Bianca’s gaze turned to the paperwork on my desk, then to Taylor. She paled. Then she whispered, “Oh, shit.”
From the sofa, Rayford cackled and clapped his hands.
Bianca whirled around and glared at him. “Rayford! You did that on purpose!”
He shrugged. “Sometimes you gotta give the blind a helping hand.”
Bianca turned to Taylor. She put her hand over her chest and said, “I am so, so sorry. Oh my goodness. I take back what I said. You’re not a mercenary. I’m sure you’re a wonderful woman. You look very . . . smart. And you’re not skinny, that was just me being jealous. You have a lovely figure.”
Taylor crossed her arms over her chest. “And the brown lipstick?”
Bianca grimaced. “Well . . .”
“Enough apologies. Come here.”
I grabbed Bianca by the arm and kissed her. She took big handfuls of my shirt and kissed me back like she was starving.
At some point Rayford and Taylor must’ve left the room, but I didn’t hear them go. I was too busy drowning in Bianca.
“What about your inheritance?” she asked breathlessly, breaking away.
“It was get married or work for the company, remember? Not that I care about the money anymore. It was just time for me to let go of the past and grow up.” I stroked her satin cheek. “You’re responsible for that, you know. I never would’ve reconnected with my parents if it weren’t for you.”
Bianca rested her forehead on my chest. “So you don’t need to get married after all.”
A little tremor went through her. It made me smile.
“Technically, no,” I whispered. “But I want to.”
She lifted her head and stared at me. Her eyes glimmered with moisture.
“And I noticed you’re still wearing your engagement ring, so I think you still want to, too.”
A tear crested her lower lid and slid down her cheek. In a broken voice she said, “I just want you. Rich, poor, smiling, growling, bearded or clean-shaven, I just want you, Jax. There’s nothing in the world I want more than you.”
My happy sigh slipped past my lips, barely audible. “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” I murmured, my heart singing. “If you think I’m a beast, you haven’t seen this beard when it really gets going.”
Bianca’s eyes were dreamy. She went up on her toes, wound her arms tightly around my neck, and whispered into my ear, “I can hardly wait.”