longest time. Hired a passel of people to help, too. In my book that makes you a special lady. Now, here’s my proposition. If you’ll marry Jackson, I’ll give you two million dollars on your wedding day.”
Dumbstruck, Olivia could only gape at Pete. She knew that the old man, despite his folksy talk and simple ways, was enormously wealthy and could well afford what he was offering. She just couldn’t believe that he was actually making the offer. Finally she managed to stammer, “Two million dollars? Ma—marry Jackson? Me? You’re kidding.”
“Nope, I’m dead serious. I just handed Eve her two for marrying Matt.”
“But, Pete, that’s ludicrous! I certainly wouldn’t marry your grandson for two million dollars.”
The old man sighed. “Well, truth to tell, Jackson would be a handful for any woman to put up with—not that he’s lacking in character, you understand. He’s a fine boy. But he’s the oldest, and I’d like to see him under the steadying hand of somebody who could see through all his hoorah. It’s past time for him to give up his wild ways and settle down. You strike me as the perfect person to tame him, you being a psychologist and all. Irish tells me that you’re a real smart lady.”
“Too smart to want to marry Jackson Crow. I’m not interested in taming him, nor am I in the market for a husband, thank you very much.”
“Now don’t you decide too quick. Take some time and think about it. It would mean a lot to me to see that boy happy. Why, I’ll even up the ante to five million if need be.”
Two
Jackson didn’t wait for any of the family. As soon as the photographer snapped the last picture, he took off like his tail was on fire. He must have broken every speed limit between the church and the restaurant on Turtle Creek, but he didn’t care. He aimed to find Olivia fast. The notion that she might skip out again had him in a cold sweat.
For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why she had affected him so, but something about Olivia had turned him seven ways to sundown. Even after a year and a half, he still thought about her all the time. Maybe he’d built her up into some kind of goddess with no good reason. Maybe if he spent a little time with her he’d find that she was just an ordinary woman, nothing like the person he remembered.
Maybe—
But when he walked into the reception and saw Olivia standing with Grandpa Pete, all the maybes disappeared. Just looking at her made his heart swell in his chest until it hurt, and he felt a big grin spread over his face. Lord, she was beautiful. Long legs, lush body, lips that begged to be kissed and big bedroom eyes that he wanted to dive into.
Beautiful, absolutely. But there was something else about her that grabbed him by the throat, something he couldn’t quite define or understand. It was the kind of thing that some people wrote poems about, except he couldn’t write a poem if his life depended on it. Every time he was around Olivia, an old memory popped up. She reminded him of a bird he’d once encountered. A blue jay.
When he’d been about ten or eleven years old, he’d received an air rifle for Christmas, something he’d been begging for. He’d half listened to the usual lecture about safety, thinking he knew just what to do. After all, he’d been shooting Scooter Franklin’s rifle for nearly a year. Feeling very mature and full of himself, he’d gone into the woods behind Grandpa Pete’s store with the rifle and hung a target on a tree.
When the paper bull’s-eye had been shot to shreds, he looked around for another target. He tried a few pine cones on a fence post. Easy stuff. That’s when he spied the jay. Without half thinking, he took aim and pulled the trigger.
The bird fell to the ground, and Jackson had rushed to view his prey. But the jay wasn’t dead; it was only wounded, and it flapped around the ground with a bum wing. Suddenly feeling like a dirty dog for what he’d done, Jackson had tried to pick it up, thinking to take it somewhere for help. The bird wouldn’t let him near. It pecked and squawked and fought him until Jackson’s hands were bloody and he was in tears. Finally, he’d taken off his shirt and thrown it over the jay to capture it. Held close, it had calmed.
Grandpa Pete had fixed the injured wing and kept the jay in a cage on the porch until it was able to fly again.
Jackson had put the air rifle in the back of his closet and never picked it up again. He never forgot that panicked, injured bird, needing help but instinctively fighting for survival against him.
Olivia had that same fierce way about her, as if she were fighting for survival. Had she been badly injured in some way? He was almost sure of it. Everything in him ached to gather her close, to calm her and hold her till she healed.
A crazy notion, he supposed. After all, she was the psychologist. He was just a lucky stiff who had more money than sense and who, to keep from being called a goof-off, built and ran a fancy golf club for his buddies in the millionaires’ club.
Still, he wasn’t going to let her get away. She might not know it, but she needed him.
He strode toward her.
Play it cool, Crow. Play it cool, he told himself. Don’t scare her off.
She looked like a startled doe when he took the wine glass from her fingers and handed it to his grandfather.
“Let’s dance,” he said, drawing her into his arms.
“There’s no music,” she said, pushing against his chest. “The band is still setting up.”
“I’ll hum until they start.” He pulled her back to him. “What do you want? Waltz? Fox-trot? Tango? I do a mean tango.”
Laughing, she stepped out of his arms. “Jackson, you’re still a piece of work. Behave.”
He winked. “I’d rather misbehave with you.”
“Jackson!” she whispered. “Your grandfather.” She gestured with her eyes, indicating someone was behind her.
“Grandpa Pete’s gone.”
She glanced around. “Where did he go? We were talking.”
He shrugged. “No telling. But Pete’s sharp. He knows when three’s a crowd. If you won’t dance with me, would you like a drink? I see that the bar is open.”
“Just the wine I didn’t get to finish.”
“That’s easy.” He signaled a waiter with a tray of champagne glasses and plucked two from the load he carried. He handed one glass to Olivia.
“Thanks,” she said, ducking her head to study the bubbles rather than look at him.
He touched a bit of dark hair at her shoulder, letting the shiny strand curl around his finger. He couldn’t help touching her. “You’ve cut your hair.”
She nodded. “Just a little.”
“Have you lost weight?”
“Just a little.”
He lifted her chin and ran his thumb over the sexy dimple there. “Why did you run away from me?”
“I didn’t run away.”
