Page 12 of In Her Sights

Mrs. Winslow dogged her heels, though, and called up the stairs after her. "Mark my words, Tessa James. Sam Spivey's shadow hangs dark and long over that boy. Stay by his side, and it will swallow you both."

* * *

Early the next morning, Jackson strode through the alley that stretched behind the Addison Hotel and knocked on the back door of the kitchen.

It opened to reveal the heavyset cook in his white chef's coat and toque. "Ah, Mr. Spivey. Did you get the duck I requested?"

"Yes, sir." He held out a sack filled with fresh game. "Six of them. Also brought down a couple geese and a nice, plump turkey."

"A turkey?" The chef's eyes lit, and Jackson imagined him running through a mental list of possible recipes. "Excellent!" After opening the sack and verifying the contents, he signaled one of his assistants to come over. "John, take these birds and get them plucked and cleaned."

The man collected the sack with a nod and a slight grimace as he disappeared back into the depths of the kitchen.

"And if you'll wait right there, Mr. Spivey, I'll fetch your pay."

The chef left him standing in the alley, closing the door all but an inch to prevent the warm air from escaping. Jackson scanned the dim lane, but there was nothing to see besides trash bins and the occasional rodent skittering along the wall in the shadows.

Was this what his life would be? A series of back alleys and back doors—always one step short of respectable? Tessa deserved so much better. She deserved a man people admired, one whose name she could wear with pride, not shame. People accepted him well enough as long as he stayed in his place—at their back door or in a gun shop where knowledge carried more weight than social standing. But if he dared step out of the pigeonholes they'd placed him in, feathers would ruffle in staggering proportions. Hortense Winslow was just the beginning.

Hinges creaking brought Jackson's mind back to the present as he turned to face the opening door.

"Here you are, my boy." The chef counted out Jackson's fee into his hand. "I have a delivery of beef coming in on the next train, so it might be good to augment that with fresh fish, if you're able. Perhaps some largemouth bass?"

Jackson much preferred hunting to fishing, but he'd supply whatever the Addison Hotel was willing to buy. Even if it meant freezing his hindquarters off in the process. A man had to provide for his kin. And if Tessa stuck with him long enough to become kin, he aimed to put a better roof over their heads than the leaky clapboard one he was living under now.

"I'll see what I can do," Jackson promised as he tucked the money into his trouser pocket.

He tipped his hat and made his way to the gun shop. He needed to sweep the floors and dust the cases before opening at nine. Mr. Poindexter came in every morning at ten to tally the receipts from the previous day and prepare the deposit. He expected the shop to be pristine, and Jackson hadn't cleaned as well as he should have last night in his eagerness to spend time with Tessa.

He strolled past the courthouse on Echols Street with his head down to avoid the worst of the wind. But when he mounted the boardwalk that stretched in front of the line of shops that flanked his, he caught a glimpse of someone waiting outside the gun shop door. Someone wearing a pink skirt, flowery bonnet, and a familiar green coat. Her arms were wrapped around her midsection, and her breath fogged the air in front of her. Jackson kicked into a jog as he dug in his coat pocket for the key to the shop.

"What are you doing out here, Tessa? It's far too cold." Frowning, he moved past her to unlock the door. Good grief. He didn't even have the fire going yet. "Let me get the stove lit." He hurried her inside, then fiddled with the kindling, his cold hands clumsy.

She came up beside him and placed a hand on his arm. "I can't stay, Jackson."

His heart froze on the spot. Here it came. The goodbye he'd feared. He straightened away from the stove and did his best to look unmoved. "I understand. It's probably better for both of us. Hard to run a dress shop with a name that's synonymous with thievery." He offered a sheepish smile. "No hard feelings."

Her brow crinkled. "No hard feelings? I have plenty of hard feelings. All aimed at Mrs. Winslow. I couldn't believe the way she behaved toward you last night. It was shameful, and I'll have you know I gave her a piece of my mind. Not that it did any good, I'm afraid. She told me at breakfast this morning that I’m not to sit with you on her porch swing any longer either. Afraid of what the neighbors might think. I'll tell you what they'll think. They'll think I'm sparking the handsomest fellow in town, and all the single ladies will be mad with jealousy. Though I fail to see what that has to do with my dress shop or thieves."

Jackson stared at her, the flurry of words that had just poured out of her leaving him dizzy. He wasn't certain, but he thought she'd just called him handsome. And nowhere in that deluge had she bid him farewell. Though there'd been something about not sitting on porches. Was that some kind of feminine code for letting a fella know his company was no longer welcome?

"I'm sorry." He wagged his head, hoping the skull rattle might shake a few pieces into place so he could make sense of this conversation. "Are you telling me that we can no longer see each other? If so, I want you to know that I don't hold nothin' against you. The Spivey name will do you no favors. You deserve a man who'd be a help to your career, not a hindrance."

He'd learned at an early age not to expect good things to last. They never did. Well, not until Crockett and Joanna took him under their wing. That's probably what had made him soft. Made him believe a woman like Tessa might actually want him. 'Cause as much as he told himself it was all right if she left him, he felt like his heart was about to bleed to death in his chest.

The lines cleared from her forehead and scrunched into the space between her brows as a scowl took over her face. She turned on him and poked him right in the chest, as if she could see his pain and intended to inflict more.

"I'll not have it, Jackson. I've fought too long and hard to win a chance at your heart for you to back out the first time trouble arises. And how dare you think so little of me to assume I would toss you over just because a few small-minded biddies started squawking? I'm not fickle!"

She jabbed him again, harder, though it was her eyes that started to water. "I love you, Jackson Spivey, and if I'm ever fortunate enough to carry your name, I'll wear it with pride. I can live a happy life without owning a dress shop, but I'd be miserable without you. And if you're so worried about your name, then let's just move somewhere where nobody knows Sam Spivey. Laura has a cousin in Oregon. We could go there. I'm sure they've never even heard of your pa. We can make this work, Jackson. Please. Fight for us."

She'd riddled his assumptions with so much buckshot, they disintegrated from all the holes. She loved him! Enough to surrender her dreams, her unsullied name, and even her home. Just to be with him. Heaven knew he didn't deserve her, but he wasn't fool enough to let her go twice.

If Tessa wanted him to fight for them, he'd fight with every ounce of strength he had. And he knew which attack to launch first. Snatching her about the waist with one arm, he pulled her flush against his chest, then cupped his free hand around her cheek and drew her face upward. His eyes met hers for a heartbeat. Hers widened, the anger-fueled passion glistening in them giving way to a passion fueled by desire. Heart throbbing with love for this amazing woman, Jackson captured her mouth in a kiss that held nothing back.

Tessa softened against him, then clutched his shoulder and kissed him back with an enthusiasm that spawned a groan deep in his chest. Her kiss unleashed the hope he'd kept tied up and locked away in his heart. No longer afraid of losing the few scraps he'd salvaged from a life of disappointments, he set that hope free, only to have it gush through him like a flood, filling every crack and crevice of his being.

Man, but he loved this woman.