On My Knees - J. Kenner Page 0,65

for me to come along like Christmas Day, and I can’t help thinking of all the other—shit.”

I cut myself off because I’m saying too much. And honestly, I didn’t intend to say any of this. Hell, I hadn’t even fully processed any of this until I started talking. All I know is Megan. Jealous. Other women. Jealous.

Apparently I have unplumbed jealous depths. Who knew?

Jackson has been sitting beside me on the lounger, but now he moves to kneel in front of me. He rests his hands on my knees, and the contact is warm and comforting. “There’s only you. There has only ever been you. Even before I met you, it was just you.” His smile is a little crooked. “And there will only ever be you.”

He leans forward, then kisses me softly. “Wait here.”

My lips are still tingling as he descends below deck. I have no idea what he is doing, and so when he comes back up carrying the trunk, I actually gasp with surprise. “Jackson?”

He looks at me just long enough to smile, and then he moves to the side of the boat and—before I have time to realize what he’s doing—he drops the entire trunk over the side of the boat.

“Jackson!” I leap to my feet and hurry to his side, just in time to see the dark water settle. I turn to him. “Why—”

“Only you,” he repeats, then pulls me to him. “And I assure you, we’ll have a very good time filling a new trunk.”

I can’t help it—I laugh. But when the laughter fades, I have to shake my head. “I don’t like this part of me. The jealous part. It’s shrewish and icky and all sorts of things I don’t like. But I don’t want to lose you. And I see things like that. Pictures. Or you keeping secrets. And I just get scared and twitchy, and I’m sorry.” I take a deep breath, because those words spilled out of me fast and furious.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was going out with Megan today.”

“No, no. I’m the one who’s sorry. Really. I was just being bitchy. And I’m sorry.”

“Oh, baby.” He strokes my cheek. “Come with me.”

He takes my hand and leads me below deck to the small galley. I sit at the table, and he comes to join me, bringing a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a box of Chips Ahoy cookies. He takes one, then holds out the box to me. I don’t really need it, but I take it anyway, then take a tiny bite as Jackson leans back in his chair and starts to speak.

“I didn’t know Megan had come back to town,” he says. “She went home after the screening, and I just assumed she was still in Santa Fe.” He pauses to wash his cookie down with wine. “She called before lunch. Said she was downtown and needed to talk. Her husband died about a month ago.”

“Oh.” Now I feel even more like a bitch. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s been … hard on her.” He sighs and presses his fingertips to the bridge of his nose. “I told you she was a friend, and that’s true. But it’s not just Megan I’m close to, it’s the whole family. Especially Ronnie.”

“The little girl.”

“She’s three going on thirteen.” His smile is broad and it’s clear he adores her. “Smart as a whip and as sweet as she can be. She’s—” He drags his fingers through his hair, and I can’t help but think that he looks completely exhausted. He shakes his head and smiles sadly. “She’s a very special kid.”

I frown, because his words don’t match the sadness I see on his face and hear in his voice. “Something’s wrong.” I get out of my chair and circle the table until I’m beside him and leaning against it. “What’s happened? Is Ronnie okay?”

“Yes, yes. Ronnie’s fine. It’s Megan.” He takes a deep breath, then drains the last of his wine. He runs his fingertip over the rim idly as he speaks, and I don’t think he’s even aware that he’s doing it. “You asked why I don’t want the movie made. Well, Megan’s a big part of the reason.”

“Megan?” I don’t understand what this redhead has to do with a movie about a house Jackson built in Santa Fe.

Santa Fe.

“It’s her house? She’s a Fletcher?” The Santa Fe house—the one that pretty much launched Jackson’s career—was commissioned by Arvin Fletcher.

Jackson nods. “He’s her dad.”

“Oh.” Arvin Fletcher is one