Every Jack Needs His Jil

By Mimi Riser

Two lonely guys, two unforgettable gals, and a town full of “stardust”...Texas will never be the same.

It’s the modern-day Wild West when two wandering black sheep return to claim the women they left. Difficult women. Jileana has spent years pining for Jack, while at the same time praying she never sees him again. Mind you, she has her reasons, and they’re good ones. But not good enough to withstand the impact of an old man’s deathbed confession. Now long-lost Jack is back. And Jil’s about to take the tumble of her life!... Meanwhile, Harper pursues Evangeline, who chased him off decades ago (she had her reasons, too). He’s hoping to bury the hatchet, but fifty years hasn’t been quite enough time for Evangeline’s temper to cool, and the only place she wants to bury it is in Harper’s head. Both couples have an uphill climb ahead of them. The road to love is a madcap obstacle course, but at least it runs through the right little town...dusty Star, Texas, a place where hearts can heal and dreams really can come true.

5 Angels and a ‘Recommended Read’ from Fallen Angel Reviews:
“Mimi Riser’s talent for the written word is outstanding. Her ability to bring these characters to life and into your heart will leave you laughing, crying and cheering for the underdog.”

5 Stars from eCataRomance Reviews:
“Everything about this story is just perfectly done. It was such a treat to witness Harper’s dogged pursuit of Vangie and Jack’s determination to finally have Jil along with all the madcap wackiness erupting around them.”

4.5 Blue Ribbons from Romance Junkies:
“Every Jack Needs His Jil by Mimi Riser is a wonderful, whimsical novel, which will have you laughing and seeing first hand what true Texas grit is all about. A guaranteed pleaser!”

[Note: This novel was originally published by New Age Dimensions, Inc. It has since been revised and reedited. This is the new, expanded edition and contains material not found in any earlier edition, either print or digital.]

Book Cover by Melissa Alvarez

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mimi Riser
• Release date: Mar 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458178626

Mimi Riser

Mimi Riser is a longtime author of fiction and nonfiction, including several series and spanning a variety of genres (with flavors ranging from sweet to spicy hot). Her books celebrate the upbeat, the offbeat, and “beating the odds.” She began life in the urban northeast, but now resides in the rural southwest with her best friend & husband Rob.

Book preview

From the reviewers…

5 Angels and a Recommended Read from Fallen Angel Reviews:

Mimi Riser’s talent for the written word is outstanding. Her ability to bring these characters to life and into your heart will leave you laughing, crying and cheering for the underdog.

5 Stars from eCataRomance Reviews:

Everything about this story is just perfectly done. It was such a treat to witness Harper’s dogged pursuit of Vangie and Jack’s determination to finally have Jil along with all the madcap wackiness erupting around them.

4.5 Blue Ribbons from Romance Junkies:

…a wonderful, whimsical novel, which will have you laughing and seeing first hand what true Texas grit is all about. A guaranteed pleaser!

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EVERY JACK NEEDS HIS JIL

MIMI RISER

Copyright 2011 by Mimi Riser

www.mimiriser.com

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novel is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

[Note: Every Jack Needs His Jil was originally published by New Age Dimensions, Inc. It has since been revised and reedited. This is the new, expanded edition and contains material not found in any earlier edition, either print or digital.]

Second Edition: Copyright 2011 by Mimi Riser

First Edition: Copyright 2004 by Mimi Riser

http://www.mimiriser.com

Cover: Copyright 2004 by Melissa Alvarez

http://BookCoversGalore.com

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This book is joyfully dedicated to

Love and Laughter.

The one may make the world go around…

But the other keeps things spinning!

Every Jack Needs His Jil

Chapter 1

Watchful…waiting…

Most would have thought the woman standing by the bed waited for death, but Samson Jones knew otherwise. Even in the act of comforting their father through the old man’s last days, Jileana waited for life. Not that she’d admit it, and not that there was much he could do about it in any case. Sam knew that, too. He paused in the doorway of the West Texas hospital room, studying her with an artist’s eye and a brother’s concern.

Haloed by the early morning light filtering in through the blinds, the slender, russet-haired figure looked more fragile than a flutter of moth-wings, a vision of ethereal grace. The painter in Sam couldn’t help transposing the sight onto canvas in his mind. Was it the profile of an angel, cool and serene, gazing down upon the world’s follies and woes?

No, this was more like a Madonna, inextricably part of the world, but forever untouched by it. A pang struck as he stood staring. Beautiful as they were, Madonnas always made him wistful. They seemed to miss so much.

His chest heaved with an audible sigh, and Jileana turned to notice him. The Madonna vision evaporated into an extremely pale lady who looked like the only thing holding her upright was the fact she was too exhausted to sit down. Sam frowned as he angled past an untouched cot on his way to her side.

Considering the red tape I had to cut through to get an extra bed hauled in here, you could at least pretend to use it, he whispered.

I’ll try to remember to ruffle the blankets and bounce around on it some tonight, she whispered back. The characteristic Jileana Jones smile—barely more than a whisper itself—flashed through her weariness like an errant ray of sunshine escaping clouds. Lanky and blond, Sam was a foot taller and two years younger, but he acted as though he were her older brother.

What about you? She traced a fingertip over the dark smudges under his blue eyes. Did you get a good sleep last night like you promised me you would?

I finished the etchings for the Albuquerque show. That just leaves the last of the paintings, then I can start framing, he said, thereby evading and answering the question at the same time. He hadn’t even lain down, of course, but Jileana was too numb to argue.

She was already gathering her things in preparation for their changing of the guard. A bittersweet task, this bedside vigil. With their mother in no condition to leave the house these days, and the rest of their siblings busy with road-tours, it had fallen on her and Sam to manage as best they could. Somehow Sam had ended up with the day shift while Jileana took the nights. All things considered, it hardly mattered who got what.

Pausing by Sam on her way to the door, she stretched up on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek. Her nose crinkled when his two-day growth scratched her lips. You need a shave.

What if I said I was thinking of growing a beard?

I’d say you were a fool for wanting to hide such a handsome jaw line. Besides, your hair is Bohemian enough. A beard might be overkill. She reached around behind him and gave his ponytail a tug. If you’re smart, you’ll take advantage of that cot yourself. Dad had a rough night, but the nurse just gave him a pain shot, so he’ll probably sleep the rest of the day. You should do the same.

Yes, mother. Sam waited till she was out the door, then pulled a chair beside his father’s bed and collapsed into it.

Sleep? Right. Sleep was for those with a clear conscience, something Sam was a little short on these days. A slap-in-the-face surprise he’d received in Albuquerque the previous month had left his conscience hanging on tenterhooks. Sometimes he really hated being the understanding one, the sympathetic ear to whom people confided their deepest fears and darkest anxieties. Especially because no one ever took his advice, and everyone always swore him to secrecy.

Breathing out a heavy sigh, Sam stared at his father’s weathered face, almost envying the man’s drug-induced slumber. No secrets in that old head, Sam thought. God, how he wished there were no secrets in his own.

* * *

The soul of a poet, a mind to rival Einstein’s, and a body like a Greek athlete’s. That was how his wife had loved to describe him. Only now, there was little of that body left. Joseph Jones knew he was dying. In fact, at this stage of the game, he could hardly wait. He’d never been burdened with an overabundance of patience. He’d always had so much to explore, so much to accomplish. If he’d been patient, half of it never would have gotten done.

Well, actually, half of it never did get done. But that was the wonderful paradox of theoretical physics. Every discovery raised a dozen new questions. Perhaps if he could have another few years, he might begin to… No, it was better this way. He suspected death would give him the answers to the cosmic riddles he hadn’t solved in life.

His only real regret was something he’d left too late to be fixed now. He should have dealt with it years ago. He should have told the boy, shouldn’t have let that old promise stop him from telling. Now, Jack would never know…

* * *

Dad?

Stiff from long sitting, Sam had begun pacing the room, but was back at his post in two long strides when the groans sounded. Late afternoon sunlight slanted across the bed as he brushed damp tendrils of hair off a brow that felt like old parchment. Jileana had been right. Their father had slept for hours, but now he fussed beneath the covers, his face puckered with strain.

Dad? Shall I call the nurse? You need another shot?

Eyelids fluttered open. Pale lips twisted into the shadow of a grin. I’d rather whiskey.

Sam grinned back. Me, too. You buying?

He reached for the buzzer over the bed. A withered hand closed over his, stopping him.

Not yet. I don’t like how those shots muddy my head. Let’s hold off a bit. Pain’s not too bad right now.

I’d find that easier to believe if you hadn’t just been groaning.

A dry chuckle wheezed out as the eyelids drifted shut. That’s a different sort of pain, son. Your old man’s just been thinking too much…remembering too much.

Joseph’s voice was barely more than a rasp, and Sam leaned forward to better hear.

I was remembering one of my students…small, dark-haired girl. I never should have—

It’s all right, Dad, you don’t have to explain. I understand. Sam thought he knew what was coming, that little mistake-of-a-marriage, which had produced the oldest of Dr. Jones’s children.

But Sam was wrong.

Joseph’s eyes opened again, and he searched his son’s face. No you don’t. No one does, that’s the problem.

His gaze shifted to the ceiling, and he sank deeper into the bed with the weight of what he now told, a tale that began over forty years ago. He’d been working late one night in his Princeton office when he heard glass shattering. A dash toward the sound, and he found the girl alone in the lab, a broken beaker in one hand, a slender wrist about to be slashed.

Because she was pregnant. And the father of the baby had disappeared…left her, he said on a ragged breath. She wouldn’t tell me who he was, just kept saying she wanted to die. Poor kid. It was a different era back then. Unwed mothers had it hard. She was desperate. No family, no close friends… What was I to do, Sam?

Sam thought most people would have turned her over to the police, or a mental hospital. But his father was not most people. He’d realized that long ago.

I had to help, Joseph said, as though that explained it all. And to anyone who knew him, it did. So, I made a bargain with her. She was to calm down, focus on school and complete her master’s thesis. In return, I promised to take responsibility for her child. Full responsibility. I married her just to give the baby a name. You understand? A formality, that’s all it was. Neither of us wanted it to be anything more. We stayed together a few months for appearance’s sake, then divorced. But I continued to help. Gave her money…found her a good teaching position after she graduated. And when she was killed in an accident, I…I brought her son to live with us.

Jack, Sam said, his voice hoarse because his throat had gone dry. Jack, the angry, rebellious son who had left home years before. The brother who hadn’t been seen or heard from since. Sort of.

Yes…Jack. Joseph dragged in a rocky breath and clutched the covers. I’ve never told anyone. Not even your mother. I promised…promised the girl I wouldn’t. Only now…

Only what, Dad?

The words came slowly. "I wish I could see Jack one last time. I want to tell him the truth. He left thinking I resented him, that I took him in only because it was my parental duty. Hah. He never suspected how that ‘duty’ came about, that he wasn’t my son. I raised him not because I had to. I did it because I wanted to. If I could explain that, maybe…maybe he’d understand how much I honestly did love him…how much I still do."

Yeah, you and someone else I could name, Sam thought.

But maybe was a loaded word. There were suddenly a lot of maybes to consider. Reaching for his father’s trembling hand, Sam sat there holding it steady a long moment, while his mind played maybe. He stared at the shrunken features half buried in the pillow, but saw only the beautiful Madonna-like face of Jileana.

Since you’ve never told anyone this before, he finally said, I’m wondering why…um, you’ve chosen me to confide in now.

Under the circumstances, it did seem one heck of a coincidence.

I don’t know. Nothing you can do about it. Deathbed confession, I suppose. The old man tried to smile. Can’t die with something like that on my conscience, now can I?

No, I guess not. Sam pondered his own conscience—and quickly made his decision. It involved his recent trip to Albuquerque, and that wretched secret he’d been carrying around since. A secret that stabbed at him every time he saw the quiet, hopeless waiting in his sister’s eyes. A secret he was now going to crack wide open, because the time for secrets was finally past. Thank God.

Well, I have a confession for you, too, Dad. He drew a determined breath. I know where Jack is. I think I can get him here for you.

And for Jil.

Although he wouldn’t tell her anything about this yet. It might be better to wait until their wandering black sheep was safely home in the fold.

Chapter 2

With her father’s death, Jileana’s life began. Not that she realized that at the time. Sure, Sam seemed a little too quiet when she relieved him at the hospital, but that was to be expected, wasn’t it? They were both exhausted and emotionally drained. She never suspected he’d nearly melted his cell phone with a heated call to Albuquerque that day. And Sam wasn’t about to tell her until he was sure that call had worked. Joseph, on the other hand, was beyond subterfuge by that point and didn’t care who heard him. But Jileana had a different interpretation for that—wrong, but perfectly logical under the circumstances.

He seemed barely conscious of her during his last hours. Pumped full of painkillers, he seemed delirious, croaking out, Jack? Where’s Jack? over and over again.

Jack? Good God...

That was a name she hadn’t heard from his lips in over twenty years. It hit her like a slap in the face. Then the shock wore off with repetition, and she could think clearly again. Her father was dying, no secret there. But as ghastly as it had been, the long illness had given them time to prepare. Joseph was reconciled to his end and had done all he could to ensure his family was, too. Considering the talks he’d had with her and his other children, his cries now shouldn’t surprise her. She should have anticipated he’d want to make peace with the son he had quarreled with so long before.

Jileana closed her eyes at the hospital bedside, remembering that awful night, feeling once more that earthquake of emotions. Her father’s freezing rage. Jack’s blistering rebellion. And her own near paralyzing anguish. It had seemed a miracle to her when she was still alive the following morning. At eighteen, she hadn’t known a heart could suffer so much pain and keep on beating.

He should be here… Jack…

Okay, Dad, don’t worry. She drew a deep breath to steady herself, then smoothed his covers, held his hands, did what she could to comfort and soothe. He’s coming. Jack will be here soon.

Forgive me for lying, she thought. But what difference did it make now? Her father had so little time left in this world and, for all she knew, Jack had already dropped off the face of it. Not one word had been heard from him since he’d stalked grim-faced out the door of their Princeton home.

The final time Joseph roused he stared straight into her eyes, all trace of the drugs abruptly washed from his expression, and a clarity in his gaze that froze her where she sat.

Don’t think Jack’s going to…make it in time. Never was…very punctual, he labored out, his mouth opening and closing between the words. Tell… He fought for speech, but it was a losing battle. Tell him…

Suddenly, the ravaged face on the pillow relaxed into an easy grin. For a split second Joseph looked almost healthy again, almost as handsome and strong as he had when Jileana was a child.

Never mind. I’ll tell him, myself, wh— He dragged in one last breath, but there was no longer anything to breathe it out with.

Very gently, Jileana reached forward and closed his eyes, then rang for a nurse. That sometimes difficult, often demanding, always dear man, who’d never lacked for words in his entire life, had just died in mid-syllable. It was a Wednesday, a little before dawn.

* * *

The black sky was fading to pearly gray as a flash of red came streaking around the ranch road’s hairpin curve. Cursing under his breath, the lone occupant of the sports car groped down by his feet for the coffee cup he’d sent flying. Some of its contents had splashed inside his boots.

Soggy socks. Great. Just what he needed.

He grabbed the cup, jammed it back into its holder, and heaved an aggravated sigh. A long night of driving pedal-to-the-metal lay behind him. His nerves felt like raw hamburger. He was achy, anxious, bone-tired, and increasingly aware of a need to pull over and water some of the roadside weeds.

But, as that last mentioned discomfort was one of the things helping to keep him awake, Jack Jones set his jaw, loosened his belt a notch, and flatfooted the accelerator even more. He’d just passed a large complex of buildings surrounded by a wire fence. Blocky, gray, ugly as sin. It was the new penitentiary Sam had given as a landmark in his directions. That meant the town was barely five miles away.

Jack heaved another sigh, although it sounded more like a groan. He still didn’t know what he would say or do when he arrived. He’d had all night to think about it—hell, he’d had years to think about it, but—

Suddenly he swerved, cursed, and almost lost control of his car and his bladder. Skidding to a stop on the two-lane’s shoulder, he strained around in his seat and stared back at the empty stretch of road behind him.

Empty? But there had been a man standing in the middle of the highway, straddling the centerline. Hadn’t there?

Very carefully, Jack faced forward again. The short hairs on the back of his neck prickled. His hands shook as he nosed his Corvette back onto the road and continued toward town—slowly—because the need for speed had just passed.

Along with the man who’d raised him.

Against all logic, Jack was certain of that. He didn’t believe in ghosts—well, he never had before—but he believed his own eyes. And that vanished figure? The one with the smile and an arm raised in salute?

That figure had looked just like Joseph Jones.

* * *

The phone was ringing off the hall table when Jileana arrived back at the house that morning. She rushed to answer, hoping it was Sam.

It wasn’t.

A tearful Buffy sobbed into her ear, explaining how she’d tried to reach Jileana at the hospital and had reached news of their father’s death, instead. She said The Red Hots were still performing in Ruidoso, but Muffy was maneuvering to get them out of their current contract and, whatever it took, the jazz trio Joneses would be home by tomorrow at the latest.

After her younger sister hung up, Jileana rang Sam. She’d already called him from the hospital and promised to call again when she got home. Only now there was no answer.

Strange. He should be there.

Jileana let the phone ring until her ear buzzed with the repetitive noise, then gave up, dragged herself into the kitchen, and put up a pot of desperately needed coffee. While it brewed, she started up the stairs to take an equally needed shower.

Drifting down to greet her from the second-floor enclosed porch came the flip-flop-flapping of photo-album pages, little trills of laughter, and a woman’s melodious voice. Mama obviously had company. She’d been entertaining more and more lately. As Jileana passed by the closed door, en route to the shower, she paused to listen.

This is a picture of Jilly, my oldest girl, her mother was saying. My husband and I made her on our honeymoon. She was born almost nine months to the day after our wedding. I always said that if she’d been premature there might have been some talk, eh? More laughter. Two years later, we had our twins. That’s them in their stroller. They look like a couple of cherubs, don’t they? I was going through a Shakespearean phase at the time and considered calling them Romeo and Juliet, but Joseph thought that was silly. So I named them Samson and Delilah, instead.

As though that had been any better.

And—her mother’s voice was bubbling to a triumphant climax—not quite three years after the twins, we had our triplets! Here’s an adorable photo of them. That’s Buffy with her thumb in her mouth. That’s Muffy in the center. And the chubby little rascal pulling her hair while she’s kicking him, is Duffy.

Despite her weariness, Jileana smiled at the memory of those three musical copper-tops as toddlers. The Uffys they had been collectively dubbed back then. Buffy, Muffy, and Duffy—like Mama thought she was naming a litter of kittens, Muffy, often complained. Although, personally, Jileana suspected their whimsical mother had simply been reading too much Beatrix Potter to her and the twins right before the triplets came along.

After the triplets, I had my tubes tied, Lydia said in the matter-of-fact way she always discussed intimate subjects (frequently to the embarrassment of others). I mean, first it was a single birth, then a double, then a threesome… I certainly didn’t want to risk the next batch being quadruplets, now did I? One has to draw the line somewhere. That