Forgiving Jackson Read Free

ever been in a relationship committed enough where there could have been any cheating. Feeling superior was a whole different big bag of black sin and one he excelled at—that and getting people killed.
    He smelled soap and sensed someone was near. The flight attendant wasn’t in his personal space but had stepped near enough to get his attention. She had some wisdom. That was rarer than it ought to be. Maybe he would hire her away from Delta. Then he remembered. He didn’t have any jobs to give anyone anymore.
    He popped an earbud out.
    “Your guest’s flight just landed. We sent a courtesy transport for her.”
    Still getting special treatment. Or maybe not. Maybe they did that for everyone.
    “Thank you.” If it was special treatment, it wouldn’t last—not after the world got the message that he was done, that he didn’t owe them a song.
    There was a mild flurry up ahead and a woman with strawberry blond hair wearing a conservative, expensive-looking gray dress moved down the aisle like she had a mission. Unless he missed his guess, that would be one Carson Hamilton-Knox of
Twang,
the magazine that was the bottom line on the Nashville music scene. As she got closer he realized with horror that she was pregnant. Guilt washed over him. He had made a pregnant woman fly all the way from Nashville to Los Angeles, just to turn around and board this flight back to Nashville.
    But he hadn’t really made her, had he? No. He had simply stated his terms for granting this interview—the first and only interview he intended to do concerning the fire. And it would be his last interview. Carson Hamilton-Knox didn’t know that, of course, and neither did the world.
    She only knew that if she wanted the interview she was going to have to conduct it on this flight. She didn’t even know if he was changing planes in Nashville or staying there. And at the end of the interview she still wouldn’t know that. She wouldn’t have learned anything he didn’t want her to know.
    She approached and his good manners made him stand up and take the hand she extended.
    “Carson Hamilton-Knox.” Her voice had that cultured West Nashville/Harpeth Academy tone. He would have recognized it anywhere, knew it from his aunt, his mother, and the charm school days at Beauford Bend. Thank God that was over—for him and Beauford Bend.
    “Jack Beauford,” he said.
    She laughed. “I know.” She wasn’t flirting. He liked that, though she might be the kind he would have gone for,
if
she hadn’t been married,
if
she hadn’t been pregnant, and
if
he had been looking.
    Too late, he remembered to remove his cap. “Sorry. Bad manners.”
    A bit of surprise washed over her face. “You’ve cut your hair.”
    “Yeah.” He ran his hand over his close-cropped dark locks. He still wasn’t used to it. The people he’d paid good money to boss him around had insisted that he keep his thick, straight hair chin length, had said it was sexy the way he unconsciously slung it out of his eyes while on stage. But he wouldn’t be doing that again. “Sometimes you want a change.”
    “I understand.” She gestured to the seat beside his. “Should I sit here?”
    “Yes. Let me help you.” He took her laptop case while she settled into the seat. She wasn’t pregnant enough that she was likely to give birth on this flight but enough that she had to struggle a bit with the seat belt. She removed a pad and pen from the case.
    “If you don’t mind—slide my laptop under the seat, please.” Good. She understood the rules. No pictures. No recording. Just the two of them, a pen, and paper. In return, she had his undivided attention for the entire four-hour flight.
    After situating her bag he sat down, buckled his own seat belt, and settled his cap on his knee.
    “Why don’t you wear a cowboy hat?” she asked.
    This was going to be easier than he thought. He couldn’t believe that’s all she wanted to know. True, people had remarked for years that,