LITMIR.BIZ

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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.”

      “Could have fooled me.”

      “I didn’t run away. I left.”

      “Why in such a blamed hurry?”

      “I explained that in my note. I had to catch my flight home.”

      “But you didn’t stay home. You disappeared off the face of the earth. I know because I looked everywhere for you. Your roommate Kim didn’t know where you were. Not even Irish, your best friend, knew where you were. I thought Kyle might strangle me when I interrupted his and Irish’s honeymoon trying to find you.”

      “I told you that I went to visit a friend in Colorado. I had a sudden opportunity for a job, so I went.”

      “And left no forwarding address?”

      She shrugged, then, looking as if she would like to bolt any minute, she chugalugged her champagne.

      Back off, Crow, he warned himself. Instead of pressing her, he smiled and held out his untouched glass. “Want another?”

      She shook her head.

      “Irish didn’t tell me you were coming to the wedding. Is this your first time in Texas?”

      “I’ve been in Texas once or twice, and I didn’t know about the wedding. I was just passing through Dallas and decided to call Irish and Kyle, and you know Irish. The next thing I knew I was their house-guest and getting dressed for the ceremony.”

      “Passing through?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

      She nodded.

      There was a long silence while he waited for her to expand on her comment. Finally he asked, “Going where?”

      “To Austin.”

      “Austin?” He waited again for her to elaborate.

      “Yes,” was all she said.

      Getting information out of her was harder than trying to put socks on a rooster.

      “Jackson, my man,” a deep voice said as a big hand clamped his shoulder. “Might have known you would try to monopolize this lovely lady. Olivia, it’s good to see you again. I’m Mitch Harris. We met at Irish and Kyle’s wedding. I understand that you’re going to be working with Dr. Jurney at the University of Texas. That’s great, really great. Looks like we’ll be neighbors. May I be the first to welcome you to our capital?”

      Rankled that Mitch seemed to know more about Olivia’s plans than he did, Jackson scowled and said, “Get lost, Mitch. This is a private conversation.”

      Mitch only grinned and shook him playfully by the nape. “Now, Jackson, is that any way to talk to your governor?”

      “You’re not my governor. Hell, I didn’t even vote.”

      And, blast it, Olivia’s eyes widened as if she were impressed with the big lug who was standing there looking as smug as a packed-pew preacher.

      “Of course I remember you, but I didn’t realize that you were the governor,” she said, extending her hand to Mitch.

      “I wasn’t when we met. Hadn’t even decided to run then. I was just inaugurated this past January.”

      “Congratulations, Governor.”

      Mitch kept holding Olivia’s hand a lot longer than necessary, which burned Jackson good. “The only reason Mitch got elected,” Jackson said, “was that he used to play a little pro football. People didn’t know he got his brains scrambled from all the hits on the

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