Her Kind Of Cowboy. Pat Warren
had a mean streak.
“Mm-hmm,” she purred. “Are you Jesse Calder?”
“One and the same.” He saw her smile widen as she uncrossed her spectacular legs and rose to her full height of about five-eight. Jesse had to admit she had a build that could make strong men weak, and she damn well knew it. And used it to her advantage, he’d wager. Unless she’d changed, which it didn’t appear she had.
“We’d like you to come to dinner at the big house,” she said as she slowly descended the stairs. “In about an hour?”
It was not something Jesse wanted to do, to face all the Martins around a dinner table, wondering who would figure out his identity first. He’d wanted to talk with Abby, but alone, not surrounded by her family. This charade had gone on long enough. He needed to clear the air, first with Abby, then the Martins. Yet right now, he saw no easy way out. Rejecting his host’s offer probably wouldn’t sit well with Vern.
Lindsay was alongside him now, waiting for his answer, her heavy cologne swirling around him. He was stuck and he knew it.
“Thanks. I’ll be there.”
Slowly she trailed a long red fingernail along his arm from shoulder to wrist. “See you then, sugar.”
Jesse watched Lindsay walk across the road in that undulating way he remembered. He couldn’t help wondering what her fiancé had been like and what had happened that they’d called off the wedding. Maybe the guy had gotten tired of Lindsay’s obvious flirtatious ways.
Sighing, he ran up the steps and went inside to take his shower.
Vern himself opened the door and greeted Jesse as an equal, no doubt due to his father’s reputation. The big house was old and home to third generation Martins, but looked as if it had been renovated not long ago. Jesse hadn’t been inside on his last visit, so he had no comparison. He thought the place was typical of many working ranch homes—spacious, red tile floors, western decor, big, comfortable furniture.
He smelled apple pie and heard sounds coming from the kitchen in back, but he saw no one except Vern who hustled him into his den and poured him two fingers of whiskey, neat, in an old-fashioned glass. Jesse preferred Scotch but beggars couldn’t be choosers and his back, even after a long shower, was still hurting.
Vern freshened his own drink. “Real nice to have another man in the house,” he said, motioning Jesse to twin leather chairs facing a stone fireplace large enough to roast a couple of pigs in. Sitting back, Vern took a generous swig of his drink, then sighed audibly. “Best part of the day, don’t you agree?”
Jesse didn’t necessarily agree, but he tossed back the whiskey and hoped it would dull the pain in his back. “I like your house,” he said honestly, glancing around Vern’s masculine retreat. “Built much better than they do these days.”
“You got that right.” Vern narrowed his blue eyes and studied the younger man. “Did you know I met your dad some years ago?”
“No, sir, I didn’t.”
“Sure did. At a rodeo in Colorado. We were both a lot younger back then.” He chuckled. “I regret not keeping in touch with Cam through the years. You look like him, you know.”
“So I’ve been told.” Had Vern Martin asked him over for a reason or was he just longing for some male companionship? Jesse wondered.
“How’s he doing these days?”
“Good. He had a heart attack a while back, but he’s doing real well.”
“You have a brother, don’t you? I always envied Cam with two sons.” He took a sip of his drink, then coughed into his fist. “I love my girls, but sometimes it’s hard living in a house full of women.” Vern paused, looking thoughtful. “How’s the Triple C doing?”
Was that inquiry Vern’s hidden agenda in asking Jesse over? he wondered. “Doing very well. Arabian market fell through, as you know, but quarter horses are going strong.”
“You breed and train, right?”
“Yes, and board horses, give riding lessons. A few years back, we added cattle. Diversification, my father believes, is the key to survival. Of course, we don’t have nearly the herd you have. We allocate about eighteen acres to cattle, have about three-hundred head cross cows. And we grow our own grass and hay.”
Vern nodded in agreement. “Ranching’s a tough business, some years worse than others. Good help is hard to find.”
Studying the man, Jesse could see worry lines by his eyes and his color wasn’t good.
Vern cleared his throat. “I found out I’ve got a bit of a heart problem, too.” He glanced toward the open door. “Don’t want the family to know. I’m thinking I’d be better off selling. You wouldn’t know of anyone looking, would you?”
“Not offhand, but I can check with Dad.”
“Yeah, that’d be good. And let’s keep this between you and me. No use worrying the others.” He downed the rest of his drink.
They heard footsteps just before Grace came scurrying into the den. “I’m supposed to tell you dinner’s ready.” She looked at Jesse. “Oh, hi. You’re the man who fixes horses, right?”
“You could say that,” Jesse answered, smiling.
“Okay, we’re coming, honey.” Vern stood as the child ran back out. “That’s my granddaughter, Grace. Pretty as a picture, isn’t she? Looks just like her mother.”
So this was the baby Abby had come home to have. “She’s cute.”
“Sure is.”
So Abby was raising a fatherless child. He knew all about how difficult it was to raise children alone, like his own father had had to do.
“Casey tells me that Abby’s husband died,” Jesse threw out, hoping Vern would elaborate.
“Yeah. Devil’s own luck.” He set down his empty glass. “We never even got to know him, you know. They met at college and eloped over a weekend. They were supposed to come here at semester’s end. Joyce was planning a reception, but two weeks later, he fell off a boat and drowned.” He shook his head. “Our girls haven’t had much luck with men. Lindsay almost got married a while back, but something happened between them and the wedding never took place. I have two beautiful, bright marriageable girls and not a suitable man in sight. What I need is a good, strong ranch man who could take over for me.” Vern sighed heavily. “And they’re scarcer than hen’s teeth.”
Jesse wondered for the hundredth time how different things might have been had that truck not hit his convertible. He’d have seen to his father’s health, come back and probably married Abby.
“You married?” Vern asked suddenly.
“No, sir.” He hated to hand this poor guy yet another disappointment by revealing his past. He’d have to do it soon, but not right now. First, he had to talk with Abby. Alone.
Abby was having trouble eating. Seated across the dining room table from Jesse Calder, she kept looking at him from under her lowered lashes. Up close, he was even more like Jesse Hunter with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to look right through her. She noticed a small scar above his left eyebrow and wondered what had happened.
He was fairly quiet, answering Dad’s questions, evading Lindsay’s overtures, trying not to notice that Mom wasn’t very friendly. Her mother hadn’t wanted to invite him to dinner, but Dad had insisted, for no apparent reason. However, Joyce had put on a great dinner, her famous roast pork with vegetables, but Abby might as well have been chewing sawdust.
Studying him, she didn’t think he had much of an appetite, either. He’d turned down Dad’s offer of wine as she had. The only one drinking was Lindsay, now on her second glass.
Keeping up with the conversation, Jesse