Honey and the Hired Hand
Honey and the Hired Hand
Joan Johnston
“Why can’t you just leave my mother alone?”
Jack said, glaring at Jesse.
How could Jesse explain what he felt for Honey in words the boy would understand? What did one say to a thirteen-year-old to describe the relationship between a man and a woman? It would be easier if he could tell Jack he was committed in some way to Honey. But Jesse had never spoken of “forever” with Honey, and he couldn’t.
“Will it help if I say I’ll try my damnedest never to do anything that would hurt your mom?” Jesse asked him.
Abruptly Jack stopped brushing the bull. “She’s never gonna love you like she loved Dad. There’s no sense in you hanging around. Now that school’s out, I can handle things around the ranch. Why don’t you just leave?” Jack yelled.
“I can’t,” Jesse said. “Your mother needs my help.” More than you realize, he added silently.
JOAN JOHNSTON
Honey and the Hired Hand
For my friends, Sally, Sherry and Heather—
the Square Table at JJ’s
Honey and the Hired Hand
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
One
The hairs prickled on the back of Honey Farrell’s neck. She was being watched. Again. Surreptitiously she scanned the room looking for someone—anyone—she could blame for the disturbing sensation that had plagued her all evening. But everyone in the room was a friend or acquaintance. There was no one present who could account for the eerie feeling that troubled her.
Her glance caught on the couple across the room from her. How she envied them! Dallas Masterson was standing behind his wife, his hands tenderly circling Angel’s once-again-tiny waist. Their three-month-old son was asleep upstairs. Honey felt her throat close with emotion as Dallas leaned down to whisper into his wife’s ear. Angel laughed softly and a pink flush rose on her cheeks.
Honey saw before her a couple very much in love. In fact, she had come to the Mastersons’ home this evening to help them celebrate their first wedding anniversary. Honey found it a bittersweet event. For, one year and one month ago, Honey’s husband, Cale, had been killed saving Dallas Masterson’s life.
Honey felt her smile crumbling. A watery sheen blurred her vision of the Texas Rangers and their wives chattering happily around her. Mumbling something incoherent, she shoved her wineglass into the hands of a startled friend.
“Honey, are you all right?”
“I just need some air.” Honey bit down on her lower lip to still its quiver as she hastened from the living room.
The overhead light in the kitchen was blinding, and Honey felt exposed. Shying from the worried look of another Ranger’s wife, who was putting a tray of canapés into the oven, Honey shoved her way out the back screen door.
“Honey?” the woman called after her. “Is something wrong?”
Honey forced herself to pause on the back porch. She turned back with a brittle smile and said, “I just need some air. I’ll be fine.”
The woman grinned. “I suppose it’s all the speculation about you and Adam Philips. Has he proposed yet? We’re expecting an announcement any day.”
Honey gritted her teeth to hold the smile in place, hoping it didn’t look as much like a grimace as it felt. “I—could we talk about this later? I really do need some air.”
She waited until the other woman nodded before pulling the wooden door closed behind her, abruptly shutting out the noise and the painful, though well-intentioned, nosiness of her friends and neighbors.
The early summer evening was blessedly cool with a slight breeze that made the live oaks rustle overhead. Honey sank onto the back porch steps. She leaned forward and lifted the hair off her nape, shivering when the breeze caught a curl and teased it across her skin as gently as a man’s hand.
She quickly dropped her hair and clutched her hands together between her knees. She felt bereft. And angry. How could you have left me alone like this, Cale? I’m trying to forget what it was like to be held in your arms. I’m trying to forget the feel of your mouth on mine. But seeing Angel in Dallas’s arms tonight had been a vivid reminder of what she had lost. And it hurt. It was hard to accept Cale’s untimely death and go on with her life. But she was trying.
At least she had learned from her mistake. She would never again love a man who sought out danger the way Cale had. She would never again put herself in the position of knowing that her husband welcomed the risks of a job that might mean his death. Next time she would choose a man who would be there when she needed him. Inevitably Cale had been gone on some assignment for the Texas Rangers whenever a crisis arose. Honey had become adept over the years at handling things on her own.
If her friends and neighbors got their wish, she wouldn’t be on her own much longer. Only this time she had chosen more wisely. The man who had brought her to the party tonight, Adam Philips, was a country doctor. Adam would never die from an outlaw’s bullet, the way Cale had. And Adam was reliable. Punctual almost to a fault. She would be able to count on him through thick and thin.
That was a definite plus in weighing the decision she had to make. For the good-natured gossip at the party about her and the young doctor was founded in fact. Adam Philips had proposed to her, and Honey was seriously considering his offer. Adam was a handsome, dependable man in a safe occupation. He liked her sons, and they liked—perhaps tolerated was a better word to describe how they felt about him. There was only one problem.
Honey didn’t love Adam.
Maybe she would never love another man the way she had loved Cale. Maybe she was hoping for too much. Maybe it would be better to marry a man she didn’t love. That way her heart could never be broken again if—
The kitchen door rattled behind her. Afraid that someone would find her sitting alone in the dark and start asking more awkward questions, Honey rose and headed toward the corner of the house where the spill of light from the kitchen windows didn’t reach. She almost ran into the man before she realized he was there.
He was leaning against Dallas’s Victorian house, his booted foot braced against the painted wooden wall, his Stetson tipped forward over his brow so his face was in deep shadow. His thumbs were stuck into the front of his low-slung, beltless jeans. He was wearing a faded western shirt with white piping and pearl snaps that reflected the faint light of a misted moon.
Honey felt breathless. She wasn’t exactly frightened, but she was anxious because she didn’t recognize the man. He might have been a party guest, but he wasn’t dressed for a party. He looked more like a down-on-his-luck cowboy, a drifter. It was better not to take a chance. Honey slowly backed away.
With no wasted movement, the cowboy reached out a hand and caught her wrist. He didn’t hold her tightly, but he held her, all the same.
Honey stood transfixed by the feel of his callused fingers on her flesh. “I’ll scream if you don’t let go,” she said in a miraculously calm voice.
The cowboy grinned, his teeth a white slash in the darkness. “No you won’t.”
There was a coiled tension in the way he held his body that she recognized. Cale had been like that. Ready to react instantly to any threat. Suddenly her curiosity was greater than her fear. She stopped straining against his hold. Instantly his grasp loosened, but he didn’t let go.
“I’ve been standing out on the front porch watching you through the window, waiting for a chance to talk to you,” the drifter said.
So, she wasn’t crazy. Someone had been watching her all evening. His eyes weren’t visible beneath the brim of his hat, but she felt the hairs rise on her nape. He was watching her right now. She ignored the gooseflesh that rose on her arms as he caressed her wrist with his thumb.
“I’m listening,” she said. Regrettably the calm was gone from her voice.
“I know you’re having some trouble handling things all by yourself at the ranch and—”
“How could you possibly know what’s going on at the Flying Diamond?”
“Dallas told me how things are with you.”
She exhaled with a loud sigh. “I see.” He was no stranger then, although just who he was remained a mystery.
“It wouldn’t have been hard to tell you’ve got problems just by looking at you.”
“Oh? Are you some kind of mind reader?”
“No. But I can read people.”
She remained silent, so he continued, “That frown never left your brow all evening.”
Honey consciously relaxed the furrows of worry on her brow.
“Judging from the purple shadows I saw under your eyes, you aren’t sleeping too well. You aren’t eating much, either. That dress doesn’t fit worth beans.”
Honey tugged at the black knit dress she was wearing. Undeniably she had lost weight since Cale’s death.
“Not that I don’t like what I see,” the cowboy drawled.
Honey felt a faint irritation—laced with pleasure—when his grin reappeared.
“You’re long legged as a newborn filly and curved in all the right places. That curly hair of yours looks fine as corn silk, and your eyes, why I’d swear they’re blue as a Texas sky, ma’am.”
Honey was mortified by her body’s traitorous reaction as his eyes made a lazy perusal of her face and form. She felt the heat, the anticipation—and the fear. She recognized her attraction to the man even as she fought against it. This tall, dark-eyed drifter would never be reliable. And he had danger written all over him.
“Who are you?” Her voice was raspy and didn’t sound at all like her own.
“Jesse Whitelaw, ma’am.” The drifter reached up with his free hand and tugged the brim of his Stetson.
The name meant nothing to her; his courtesy did nothing to ease her concern. She stared, waiting for him to say why he had sought her out, why he knew so much about her when she knew nothing about him.
He stared back. She felt the tension grow between them, the invisible electrical pulse of desire that streaked from his flesh to hers. Unconsciously she stepped back. His hold on her wrist tightened, keeping her captive.
His voice was low and grated like a rusty gate. “Dallas told me about your husband’s death. I came here tonight hoping to meet you.”
“Why?”
“I need a job.”
The tension eased in Honey’s shoulders. She released a gust of air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Despite what he’d said, the way he’d looked at her, he hadn’t sought her out to pursue a physical relationship. She couldn’t help the stab of disappointment, when what she ought to feel was relief. At least now she knew how to deal with him.
“I can’t afford to hire anyone right now,” she said. “Especially not some down-on-his-luck drifter.”
The smile was back. “If I wasn’t down on my luck, I wouldn’t need the job.”
She couldn’t hire him, but she was curious enough about him to ask, “Where did you work last?”
His shoulders rolled in a negligent shrug. “I’ve been…around.”
“Doing what?” she persisted.
“A little cowboying, some rodeo bull riding, and…some drifting.”
Bull riding. She should have known. Even Cale had never ridden bulls because he had thought it was too dangerous. Drifting. He was a man who couldn’t be tied to any one place or, she suspected, any one woman. The last thing she needed at the Flying Diamond was a drifting cowboy who rode bulls for fun. Not that she could afford to hire him, anyway.
Just today she had discovered over fifty head of cattle missing—apparently rustled—from the Flying Diamond. That loss would cut deep into the profits she had hoped to make this year. “I can’t hire anyone right now,” she said. “I—”
The back door opened, revealing the silhouette of a large man in the stream of light. “Honey? Are you out here?”
She recognized Dallas, who was joined at the door by Angel.
“Are you coming in?” Dallas asked Honey.
“Yes. Yes, I am.” She took advantage of Dallas’s interruption to slip from the drifter’s grasp. But he followed her. She could feel him right behind her as she stepped onto the porch.
Honey turned to the stranger to excuse herself and gasped. The harsh light from the kitchen doorway revealed the man’s features. She was suddenly aware of his bronzed skin, of the high, broad cheekbones, the blade of nose and thin lips that proclaimed his heritage.
“You’re Indian!” she exclaimed.
“The best part of me, yes, ma’am.”
Honey didn’t know what to say. She found him more appealing than she cared to admit, yet the savage look in his eyes frightened her. To her dismay, the drifter put the worst possible face on her silence.
His lips twisted bitterly, his grating voice became cynical as he said, “I suppose I should have mentioned that my great-grandfather married a Comanche bride. If it makes a difference—”
Honey flushed. “Not at all. I was just a little surprised when I saw…I mean, I didn’t realize…”
“I’m used to it,” he said. From the harsh sound of his voice it was clear he didn’t like it.
Honey wished she had handled the situation better. She didn’t think any less of him because he was part Indian, even though she knew there were some who would. She turned back to Angel and saw that the young woman had retreated into the safety of Dallas’s arms.
“I came outside for some air,” Honey explained to Dallas. “And I met someone who says he’s a friend of yours.”
Dallas propelled Angel ahead of him onto the back porch and pulled the kitchen door closed behind him. “Hello, Jesse. I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
Jesse shrugged again. “I got free sooner than I thought I would. Anyway, I could have saved myself the trip. Mrs. Farrell says she can’t afford to hire anyone right now.”
Dallas pursed his lips in disapproval. “I don’t think you can afford not to hire someone, Honey.”
“I’m not saying I don’t need the help,” Honey argued. “I just don’t have the money right now to—”
“Who said anything about money?” Jesse asked. “I’d work for bed and board.”
Honey frowned. “I really don’t—”
“If you’re worried about hiring a stranger, I’ll vouch for Jesse,” Dallas said. “We went to Texas Tech together.”
“How long ago was that?” Honey asked.
“Fifteen years,” Dallas admitted. “But I’d trust Jesse with my life.”
Only it wouldn’t be Dallas’s life that would be at stake. It was Honey’s, and those of her sons, Jack and Jonathan. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
“I’m afraid I need something a little more definite than that,” Jesse said. He tipped his hat back and said, “A drifting man needs a reason to light and set, or else he just keeps on drifting.”
Honey didn’t believe from looking at him that Jesse Whitelaw would ever settle anywhere for very long. But another pair of hands to share the load, even for a little while, would be more than welcome. There was some ranch work too heavy for her to handle, even with her older son’s help. Honey brushed aside the notion that she would be alone with a stranger all day while the boys were at school. It was only a matter of weeks before her sons would be home for summer vacation.
She took a deep breath and let it out. “All right. When can you start?”
“I’ve got some things to do first.”
Honey felt a sense of relief that she wouldn’t have to face him again in the near future. It evaporated when he said, “How about bright and early tomorrow morning?”
Honey sought a reason to keep him away a little longer, to give herself some time to reconsider what she was doing, but nothing came to mind. Anyway, she needed the help now. There was vaccinating to be done, and she needed to make a tally of which cattle were missing so she could make a more complete report to the police.
Also she needed to add some light to improve security around the barn where she kept General, the champion Hereford bull that was the most important asset of the Flying Diamond.
“Tomorrow morning will be fine,” she said.
The words were barely out of her mouth when the kitchen door was thrust open and another silhouette appeared. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing out here?”
Adam Philips joined what was quickly becoming a crowd on the back porch. He strode to Honey’s side and slipped a possessive arm around her waist. “I’m Adam Philips,” he said by way of introduction to the stranger he found there. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Jesse Whitelaw,” the stranger said.
Honey watched as the two men shook hands. There was nothing cordial about the greeting. She didn’t understand the reason for the animosity between them; it existed nonetheless.
“Are you ready to come back inside?” Adam asked.
He had tightened his hold on her waist until it was uncomfortable. Honey tried to step out of his grasp, but he pulled her back against his hip.
“I think the lady wants you to let her go,” Jesse said.
“I’ll be the judge of what the lady wants,” Adam retorted.
The drifter’s eyes were hard and cold, and Honey felt sure that at any moment he would enforce his words with action. “Please let go,” she said to Adam.
At first Adam’s grip tightened, but when he glanced over at her, she gave him a speaking look that said she meant business. Reluctantly he let her go.
“It’s about time we headed home, don’t you think?” Adam said to Honey.
Honey was irked by Adam’s choice of words, which insinuated that they lived together. However, she didn’t think now was the moment to take him to task. The drifter was still poised for battle, and Honey didn’t want to be the cause of any more of a scene than had already occurred.
“It is getting late,” she said, “and I’ve got a long day tomorrow. It was nice meeting you, Jesse. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Honey anticipated Adam’s questions and hurried him back inside. It took them a while to get through the kitchen, which now held several women collecting leftover potluck dishes to be carried home.
“Aha! I expect you two were out seeing a little of the moonlight,” one teased.
“We’ll be hearing wedding bells soon,” another chorused.
Honey didn’t bother denying their assumptions. They might very well prove true. But it was hard to smile and make humorous rejoinders right now, because she was still angry with Adam for his caveman behavior on the back porch.
When they reached the living room, a Randy Travis ballad was playing. “Dance with me?” Adam asked. His lips curved in the charming smile that had endeared him to her when they first met. Right now it wasn’t doing a thing to put her in a romantic mood. However, it would be harder to explain her confused feelings to Adam than it would be to dance with him. “Sure,” she said, relenting with a hesitant smile.
At almost the same moment Adam took her into his arms, she spied the drifter entering the living room. He stayed in the shadows, but Honey knew he was there. She could feel him watching her. She stiffened when Adam’s palm slid down to the lowest curve in her spine. It wasn’t something he hadn’t done before. In the past, she had permitted it. But now, with the drifter watching, Adam’s possessive touch felt uncomfortable.
Honey stepped back and said, “I’m really tired, Adam. Do you think we could go now?”
Adam searched her face, looking for signs of fatigue she knew he would find. “You do look tired,” he agreed. “All right. Do you need to get anything from the kitchen?”
“I’ll pick up my cake plate another time,” she said. She felt the drifter’s eyes on her as Adam ushered her out the front door to his low-slung sports car. He opened the door for her and she slid inside. Protected by the darkness within the car she was able to look back toward the house without being observed. She felt her nape prickle when she caught sight of the drifter standing at the front window.
Honey knew he couldn’t see her, yet she felt as though his eyes pinned her to the seat. They were dark and gleamed with some emotion she couldn’t identify. She abruptly turned away when Adam opened the opposite door and the dome light came on.
Adam put a country music tape on low, setting a romantic mood which, before Honey had met the drifter, she would have appreciated. Right now the mellow tones only agitated her, reminding her that Adam had proposed and was waiting for her answer. He expected her to give him a decision tonight. To be honest, she had led him to believe her answer would be yes. They hadn’t slept together; she hadn’t been ready to face that kind of intimacy with another man. But she had kissed him, and it had been more than pleasant.
“Honey?”
“What?” Her voice was sharp, and she cleared her throat and repeated in a softer tone, “What?”
“Are you sure you want to hire that drifter?”
“I don’t see that I have much choice. There’s work to be done that I can’t do myself.”
“You could marry me.”
The silence after Adam spoke was an answer in itself. Honey knew she shouldn’t give him hope. She ought to tell him right now that she couldn’t marry him, that it wasn’t right to marry a man she didn’t love. But the thought of that drifter, with his dark, haunting eyes, made her hold her tongue. She was too attracted to Jesse Whitelaw for her own good. If she were free, she might be tempted to get involved with him. And that would be disastrous.
But was it fair to leave Adam hanging?
Honey sighed. It seemed she had sighed more in the past evening than she had in the past year. “I can’t—”
“You don’t have to give me your answer now,” Adam said. “I know you still miss Cale. I can wait a little longer. Now that you have that hired hand, it ought to make things easier on you.”
They had arrived at the two-story wood frame ranch house built by Cale’s grandfather. Adam stopped his car outside the glow of the front porch light. He came around and opened the door and pulled her out of the car and into his arms.
Honey was caught off guard. Even so, as Adam’s lips sought her mouth she quickly turned aside so he kissed her cheek instead.
Adam lifted his head and looked down at her, searching her features in the shadows. Something had changed between them tonight. He thought of the stranger he had found with Honey on the Mastersons’ back porch and felt a knot form in his stomach. He had always known that his relationship with Honey was precarious. He had hoped that once they were married she would come to love him as much as he loved her. He hadn’t counted on another man coming into the picture.
Honey kept her face averted for a moment longer but knew that was the coward’s way out. She had to face Adam and tell him what she was feeling.
“Adam, I—”
He put his fingertips on her lips. “Don’t say anything. Just kiss me good night, and I’ll go.”
Honey looked up into his eyes and saw a tenderness that made her ache. Why didn’t she love this man? She allowed his lips to touch hers and it was as pleasant as she remembered. But when he tried to deepen the kiss, she backed away.
“Honey?”
“I’m sorry, Adam. It’s been a long day.”
He looked confused and even a little hurt. But she had tried twice to refuse his proposal and he hadn’t let her do it. Maybe her response to his kiss had told him what she hadn’t said in words. Then he smiled, and she could have cried because his words were thoughtful, his voice tender. “Good night, Honey. Get some rest. I’ll call you next week.”
He would, too. Good old reliable Adam. She was a fool not to leap at the chance to marry such a man.
Honey stood in the shadows until he was gone. When she turned toward the house she saw the living room curtain drop. That would be her older son, Jack. He kept an eagle eye on her, which hadn’t helped Adam’s courtship. She called out to him as she unlocked the door and stepped inside.
“Come on down, Jack. I know you’re still awake.”
The lanky thirteen-year-old ambled back down the stairs he had just raced up. “He didn’t stay long,” Jack said. “You tell him no?”
“I haven’t given him an answer.”
“But you’re going to say no, right?”
She heard the anxiety in Jack’s voice. He wasn’t ready to let anyone in their closed circle and most certainly not a man to take his father’s place. She didn’t dare tell him how she really felt before she told Adam, because her son was likely to blurt it out at an inopportune moment. She simply said, “I haven’t made a decision.”
Honey put an arm around her son’s shoulder and realized he was nearly as tall as she was. Oh, Cale. I wish you could see how your sons have grown! “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go make some hot chocolate.”
“I’d rather have coffee,” Jack said.
She arched a brow at him. “Coffee will keep me awake, and I need all the rest I can get.”
Jack eyed her and announced somberly, “School will be out in about three weeks, Mom. I don’t think I can do any more around here until then.”
“You don’t have to,” she said. “I’ve hired a man to help out.”
“I thought we couldn’t afford hired help.”
“He’ll be working for room and board.”
“Oh. What’s he like?”
Honey wasn’t about to answer that question. She couldn’t have explained how she felt about the drifter right now. “He’ll be here in the morning and you can ask him all the questions you want.”
From the look her son gave her, she suspected Jack would grill the drifter like a hamburger. She smiled. That, she couldn’t wait to see.
Jesse Whitelaw had another big surprise coming if he harbored any notions of pursuing Honey on her home ground. Her teenage son was a better chaperon than a Spanish duenna.
Two
Honey yawned and stretched, forcing the covers off and exposing bare skin to the predawn chill. She scooted back underneath the blanket and pulled it up over her shoulders. She was more tired than she ought to be first thing in the morning, but she hadn’t slept well. For the first time in over a year, however, it wasn’t memories of Cale that had kept her awake.
The drifter!
Honey bolted upright in her bed. He was supposed to show up bright and early this morning. She glanced out the lace curtains in her upstairs bedroom and realized it was later than she’d thought. Her sons would already be up and getting ready for school. She tossed the covers away, shivering again as the cold air hit flesh exposed by her baby doll pajamas. She grabbed Cale’s white terry cloth robe and scuffed her feet into tattered slippers before hurriedly heading downstairs.
Halfway down, she heard Jonathan’s excited voice. At eight he still sounded a bit squeaky. Jack’s adolescent response was lower-pitched, but his voice occasionally broke when he least expected it. She was already in the kitchen by the time she realized they weren’t talking to each other.
The drifter was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee before him. Honey clutched the robe to her throat, her mouth agape.
“Catch a lot of flies that way,” the drifter said with a lazy grin.
Her jaws snapped closed.
“Good morning,” he said, touching a finger to the brim of his Stetson.
“Is it?” she retorted.
His skin looked golden in the sunlight. There were fine lines around his eyes and deep brackets around his mouth that had been washed out by the artificial light the previous evening. He was older than she’d thought, maybe middle thirties. But his dark eyes were as piercing as she remembered, and he pinned her with his stare. Honey felt naked.
She gripped the front of the masculine robe tighter, conscious of how she was dressed—or rather, not dressed. She thrust a hand into her shoulder-length hair, which tumbled in riotous natural curls around her face. She wondered how her mascara had survived the night. Usually it ended up clumped on the ends of her eyelashes or smudged underneath them. She reached up to wipe at her eyes, then stuck her hand in the pocket of the robe. It wasn’t her fault he’d found her looking like something the cat dragged in.
Honey didn’t want to admit that the real reason she resented this unsettling man’s presence in her kitchen so early in the morning was that she hadn’t wanted him to see her looking so…so mussed.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
He raised a brow as though the answer was obvious. And it was.
“I let him in,” Jack said, his hazel eyes anxious. “You said the hired hand was coming this morning. I thought it would be okay.”
Honey took several steps into the room and laid a hand on her older son’s shoulder. “You did fine. I’m just a little surprised at how early Mr. Whitelaw got here.”
“He said we can call him Jesse,” Jonathan volunteered.
Honey bristled. The man had certainly made himself at home.
“Jesse helped me make my sandwich,” Jonathan added, holding up a brown paper bag.
Honey’s left hand curled into a fist in the pocket of the robe. “That was nice.” Her voice belied the words.
“Jesse thinks I’m old enough to make my own lunch,” Jonathan continued, his chest pumped out with pride.
Honey had known for some time that Jonathan could make his own sandwich, but she had kept doing it for him because the routine morning chore kept her from missing Cale so much. She was annoyed by the drifter’s interference but couldn’t say so without taking away from Jonathan’s accomplishment.
“Jesse rides bulls and rodeo broncs,” Jack said. “He worked last at a ranch in northwest Texas called Hawk’s Way. He’s gonna teach me some steer roping tricks. He’s never been married but he’s had a lot of girlfriends. Oh, and he graduated from Texas Tech with a degree in animal husbandry and ranch management.”
It was hard for Honey not to laugh aloud at the chagrined look on Jesse’s face as Jack recited all the information he’d garnered. The drifter had been, if not grilled, certainly a little singed around the edges.
The shoe was on the other foot as Jack continued, “I told him how you haven’t been coping too well since Dad—well, this past year. Not that you don’t try,” he backtracked when he spied the horrified look on his mother’s face, “but after all, Mom, the work is pretty hard for you.”
Honey was abashed by her son’s forthrightness. “I’ve managed fine,” she said. She didn’t want Jesse Whitelaw thinking she needed him more than she did. After all, a drifter like him wasn’t going to be around long. Soon enough she’d be managing on her own again.
She stiffened her back and lifted her chin. Staring Jesse Whitelaw right in the eye she announced, “And I expect I’ll still be managing fine long after you’ve drifted on.”
“The fact remains, you need me now, Mrs. Farrell,” the drifter said in that rusty gate voice. “So long as I’m here, you’ll be getting a fair day’s work from me.”
The silence that followed was uncomfortable for everyone except the younger boy.
In the breach Jonathan piped up, “Jesse thinks I should have a real horse to ride, not just a pony.”
“I’m sure Jesse does,” Honey said in as calm a voice as she could manage. “But I’m your mother, and until I decide differently, you’ll stick with what you have.”
“Aww, Mom.”
This was an old argument, and Honey cut it off at the pass. “The school bus will be here in a few minutes,” she said. “You boys had better get out to the main road.”
Honey gave Jonathan a hug and a quick kiss before he headed out the kitchen door. “Have a nice day, sweetheart.”
Jack was old enough to pick up the tension that arced between his mother and the drifter. His narrowed glance leapt from her to Jesse and back again. “Uh, maybe I ought to stay home today. Kind of show Jesse around.”
Honey forced herself to smile reassuringly. “Nonsense. You have reviews for finals starting this week. You can’t afford to miss them. Jesse and I will manage fine. Won’t we?”
She turned to Jesse, asking him with her eyes to add his reassurance to hers.
Jesse rose and shoved his chair under the table. “Appreciate the offer,” he said to Jack. “But like your mom said, we’ll be just fine.”
“Then I better run, or I’ll miss the bus.” Jack hesitated another instant before he sprinted for the door. Honey would have liked to hug Jack, too, but at thirteen, he resisted her efforts to cosset him.
A moment later they were alone. Jesse was watching her again, and Honey’s body was reacting to the appreciation in his dark eyes. She rearranged the robe and pulled the belt tighter, grateful for the thick terry cloth covering. She felt the roses bloom on her cheeks and hurried over to the stove to pour herself a cup of coffee.
Too late she realized she should have excused herself to go upstairs to dress. If she left now without getting her coffee, he would know she was running scared. There was absolutely no reason for her to feel threatened. Dallas wouldn’t have recommended Jesse Whitelaw if she had anything to fear from him. But she couldn’t help the anxiety she felt.
“Would you like another cup of coffee?” she asked, holding up the pot.
“Don’t mind if I do, Mrs. Farrell,” Jesse said.
“Please, you might as well call me Honey.”
“All right…Honey.”
Her name sounded far more intimate in that rusty gate voice of his than she was comfortable with. She stared, mesmerized for a moment by the warmth in his dark eyes, then realized what she was doing and repeated her offer.
“More coffee?”
He brought his cup over, and she realized she had made another tactical error. She could actually feel the heat from his body as he stepped close enough for her to pour his coffee. She turned her back on him to pour a cup for herself.
“Those are fine boys you have.” Jesse moved a kitchen chair and straddled it, facing her.
She leaned back against the counter rather than join him at the table. “In the future, I’d appreciate it if you don’t come inside before I get downstairs,” she said.
“I wouldn’t have come in except Jack said you were expecting me.”
“I was—that is—I didn’t expect you quite so early.”
That was apparent. Honey’s bed-tossed hair and sleepy-eyed look made Jesse want to pick her up and carry her back upstairs. He wasn’t sure what—if anything—she was wearing under the man’s robe. From the way she kept tightening the belt and clutching at the neck of the thing, he was guessing it wasn’t much. His imagination had her stripped bare, and he liked what he saw.
It was too bad about her husband. From what he’d heard, Cale Farrell had died a hero. He supposed a woman left alone to raise two kids wouldn’t be thinking much about that. At least he was here to help her with the ranch work. Not that he would be around forever—or even for very long. But while he was here, he intended to do what he could to make her life easier.
He knew it would be easier for her if he didn’t let her know he was attracted to her. But he wasn’t used to hiding his feelings for a woman. The way he had been raised, part of respecting a woman was being honest with her. Jesse planned to be quite frank about his fascination with Honey Farrell.
He liked the way she’d prickled up last night, not at all intimidated by him. He liked the way she had stood her ground, willing to meet him eye to eye. He bristled when he thought of her with any other man—especially that Philips character. Jesse wasn’t sure how serious their relationship was, but he knew Honey couldn’t be in love with Philips. Otherwise she wouldn’t have reacted so strongly to his touch.
At any rate, Jesse didn’t intend to let the other man’s interest in Honey keep him from pursuing her himself. Which wasn’t going to be easy, considering her opinion of drifters in general, and him—a half-breed Comanche—in particular. His look was challenging as he asked, “What did you have in mind for me to do today?”
Honey had been watching Jesse’s fingers trace the top rail of the wooden chair. There was a scar that ran across all four knuckles. She was wondering how he’d gotten it when his fist suddenly folded around the back of the chair. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”
“I asked what you wanted me to do today.”
“There are some steers that need vaccinating, and the roof on the barn needs to be repaired. Some fence is down along the river and a few head of my stock have wandered onto the mohair goat ranch south of the Flying Diamond. I need to herd those strays back onto my land. Also—”
“That’ll do for starters,” Jesse interrupted. He rose and set his coffee cup on the table. “I’ll start on the barn roof while you get dressed. Then we can vaccinate those steers together. How does that sound?”
Honey started to object to him taking charge of things, but she realized she was just being contrary. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll come to the barn when I’m dressed.”
She waited for him to leave, but he just stood there looking at her. “What is it? Did I forget something?” she asked.
“No. I was admiring the view.” He flashed a smile, then headed out the kitchen door.
Honey ran upstairs, not allowing herself time to contemplate the drifter’s compliment. He probably didn’t spend much time around respectable women. He probably didn’t realize he shouldn’t be blurting out what he was thinking that way. And she shouldn’t be feeling so good about the fact the hired hand liked the way she looked.
She was grateful to discover that her mascara had been clumped, rather than smudged. She took the time to wash her face and reapply a layer of sun-sensitive makeup. It was a habit she’d gotten into and had nothing to do with the fact there was now a man around to see her. Honey dressed in record time in fitted Levi’s, plaid western shirt, socks and boots.
Even so, by the time she reached the barn, Jesse was already on the roof, hammer in hand. He had his shirt off and she couldn’t help looking.
Jesse had broad shoulders and a powerful chest, completely hairless except for a line of black down that ran from his navel into his formfitting jeans. His nipples provided a dark contrast to his skin, which looked warm to the touch. She could see the definition of his ribs above a washboard belly. His arms were ropy with muscle and already glistened with sweat. Here was a man who had done his share of hard work. Which made her wonder why he had never settled down.
It dawned on her that the drifter had chosen the most dangerous job to do first. He was standing on the peaked barn roof without any kind of safety rope as though he were some kind of mountain goat. How could he be so idiotically unconscious of the danger!
She started up the ladder he had laid against the side of the barn and heard him call, “No need for you to come up here.”
She looked up and found him hanging facedown over the edge of the roof. “Be careful! You’ll fall.”
“Not likely,” he said with a grin. “I grew up rambling around in high places.”
“I suppose you had the top bunk in an upstairs bedroom,” she said with asperity.
Jesse thought of the high canyon walls he had scaled as a youth on his family’s northwest Texas ranch and grinned. “Let’s just say I spent a lot of time climbing when I was a kid and leave it at that. By the way, I found the spot that needs to be patched. I brought the shingles up with me, but I didn’t see hide nor hair of the roofing nails.”
“I put them away. I’ll get them for you.” Honey headed back down the ladder and into the barn. As she passed General’s stall, she patted the bull on the forehead. She and Cale had raised him from birth, and though he had a ring in his nose, he would have followed her around without it.
“Hi, old fella. Just let me get these nails for Jesse and I’ll let you out in the corral for a while.”
The barn was redolent with the odors of hay, leather and manure. Rather than hold her nose, Honey took a deep breath. There was nothing disagreeable to her about the smell of a ranch—or a hardworking man. Which made her think of the hired hand standing on the roof of her barn.
Honey didn’t want to be charmed by Jesse Whitelaw, but there was no denying his charm. Maybe it was his crooked grin, or the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled, creating a sunburst of webbed lines. Or maybe it was the fact his dark eyes glowed with appreciation when he looked at her.
“Hey! Where are those nails?”
Honey jumped at the yell from above. “I’m getting them!” She grabbed the box of nails and headed back into the sunshine. Jesse had come to the edge of the roof and bent down to take the nails as she climbed the ladder and handed them up.
When he stood again, a trickle of sweat ran down the center of his chest. As Honey watched, it slid into his navel and back out again, down past the top button of his jeans. It was impossible to ignore the way the denim hugged his masculinity. It took a moment for Honey to realize he wasn’t moving away. And another moment to realize he was aware of the direction of her gaze. Honey felt a single curl of desire in her belly and a weak feeling in her knees. Her fingers gripped the ladder to keep from falling. She was appalled at the realization that what she wanted to do was reach out and touch him. She froze, unable to move farther up the ladder or back down.
“Honey?”
Jesse’s voice was gruff, and at the sound of it she raised her eyes to his face. His lids were lowered, his dark eyes inscrutable. She had no idea what he was thinking. His jaw was taut. So was his body. Honey was afraid to look down again, afraid of what she would find.
She felt her nipples pucker, felt the rush of heat to her loins. Her lips parted as her breathing became shallow. Honey knew the signs, knew what they meant. And tried desperately to deny what she was feeling.
“Honey?” he repeated in a raw voice.
Jesse hadn’t moved, but if possible, his body had tautened. His nostrils flared. She saw the pulse throb at his temple. What did he want from her? What did he expect? He was a stranger. A drifter. A man who loved danger.
She wasn’t going to get involved with him. Not this way. Not any way. Not now. Not ever.
“No!” Honey felt as though she were escaping some invisible bond as she skittered down the ladder, nearly falling in her haste.
“Honey!” he shouted after her. “Wait!”
Honey hadn’t thought he could get off the roof so fast, but she had no intention of waiting around for him. She started for the house on the run. She was terrified, not of the drifter, but of her own feelings. If he touched her…
Honey was fast, but Jesse was faster. He caught her just as she was starting up the front steps and followed her onto the shaded porch. When Jesse grabbed her arm to stop her, momentum slammed her body back around and into his. He tightened his arms around her to keep them both from falling.
Honey would have protested, except she couldn’t catch her breath. It was a mistake to look up, because the sight of his eyes, dark with desire, made her gasp. Jesse captured her mouth with his. His hand thrust into the curls at her nape and held her head so she couldn’t escape his kiss.
Honey wished she could have said she fought him. But she didn’t. Because from the instant his lips took possession of hers, she was lost. His mouth was hard at first, demanding, and only softened as she melted into his arms. By then he was biting at her lips, his tongue seeking entrance. He tasted like coffee, and something else, something distinctly male. His kiss thrilled her, and she wanted more.
It was only when Honey felt herself pushing against Jesse that she realized he had spread his legs and pulled her into the cradle of his thighs. She could feel his arousal, the hard bulge that had caught her unsuspecting attention so short a time ago. She heard a low, throaty groan and realized it had come from her.
Jesse’s mouth mimicked the undulation of their bodies. Honey had never felt so alive. Her pulse thrummed, her body quickened. With excitement. With anticipation. It had been so long. She needed—craved—more. How could this stranger, this drifter, make her feel so much? Need so much?
At first Honey couldn’t identify the shrill sound that interfered with her concentration.
Pleasure. Desire. Need.
The sound persisted, distracting her. Finally she realized it was the phone.
Honey hadn’t been aware of her hands, but she discovered they were clutching handfuls of Jesse’s black hair. His hat had fallen to the porch behind him. She stiffened. Slowly, she slid her hands away.
“The phone,” she gasped, pushing now at his shoulders.
Honey felt Jesse’s reluctance to release her. Whether he recognized the panic in her eyes, or the presumption of what he had done, he finally let her go. But he didn’t step away. Honey had to do that herself.
“The phone,” she repeated.
“You’d better answer it.” It was clear he would rather she didn’t. His body radiated tension.
Honey stood there another moment staring, her body alive with unmet needs, before she turned and raced inside the house. For a second she thought he would follow her, but from the corner of her eye she saw him whirl on his booted heel and head toward the barn.
She was panting by the time she snatched the phone from its cradle. “H-hello?”
“Honey? Why didn’t you answer? Is everything all right?”
Dear Lord. It was Adam. Honey held her hand over the receiver and took several deep breaths, trying to regain her composure. There was nothing she could do about the pink spots on her cheeks except be grateful he wasn’t there to see them.
At least there was one good thing that had come from the drifter’s kiss. Honey knew now, without a doubt, that she could never marry Adam Philips. The sooner she told Adam, the better. Only she couldn’t tell him over the phone. She owed him the courtesy of refusing him to his face.
“Honey, talk to me. What’s going on?” Adam demanded.
“Everything’s fine, Adam. I’m just a little breathless, that’s all. I was outside when the phone started ringing,” she explained.
“Oh. I called to see if your hired hand showed up.”
“He’s here.”
There was a long pause. Honey wasn’t about to volunteer any information about the man. If Adam was curious, he could ask.
“Oh,” Adam said again.
To Honey’s relief, it didn’t appear he was going to pursue the subject.
“I know I said I wouldn’t call until next week,” he continued, “but an old school friend of mine in Amarillo called and asked me to come for a visit. His divorce is final and he needs some moral support. I’m leaving today and I don’t know when I’ll be back. I just wanted to let you know.”
Good old reliable Adam. Honey rubbed at the furrow on her brow. “Adam, is there any chance you could come by here on your way out of town? I need to talk to you.”
“I wish I could, but I’m trying to catch a flight out of San Antonio and it’s going to be close if I leave right now. Can you tell me over the phone?”
“Adam, I—”
Honey felt the hair prickle on the back of her neck. She turned and saw that Jesse had stepped inside the kitchen door.
She stared at him helplessly. She swallowed.
“Honey? Are you still there?” Adam said.
“I’ll see you when you get back, Adam. Have a good trip.”
Honey hung up the phone without waiting to hear Adam’s reply. She stared at Jesse, unable to move. He had put his shirt back on, but left it unsnapped so a strip of sun-warmed skin glistened down the middle of his chest. He had retrieved his Stetson and it sat tipped back off his forehead. His thumbs were slung into the front of the beltless jeans. He had cocked a hip, but he looked anything but relaxed.
“The repairs on the roof are done,” he said. “I wanted to make sure it’s all right with you if I saddle up that black stud to round up those steers that need vaccinating.”
“Night Wind was Cale’s horse,” Honey said. “He hasn’t been ridden much since—”
Naturally Jesse would want to ride the wildest, most dangerous horse in the stable. And why not? The man and the stallion were well matched.
“Of course, you can take Night Wind,” she said. “If you wait a minute, I’ll come with you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
She didn’t ask why not. He could use the distance and so could she. “All right,” she said. “The steers that need to be vaccinated are in the west pasture. Come get me when you’ve got them herded into the corral next to the barn.”
He tipped his hat, angled his mouth in that crooked smile and left.
Honey stared at the spot where he had been. She closed her eyes to shut out the vision of Jesse Whitelaw in her kitchen. It was plain as a white picket fence that she wasn’t going to be able to forget the man anytime soon.
At least she had a respite for a couple of hours. She realized suddenly that because of Jesse’s interruption she hadn’t been able to refuse Adam’s offer of marriage.
Horsefeathers!
She should never have kissed Jesse. Not that she had made any commitment to Adam, but she owed it to him to decline his offer before he found her in a compromising position with some other man. And not that she intended to get involved with Jesse Whitelaw, but so far, where that drifter was concerned, she hadn’t felt as though things were under control. The smart move was to keep her distance from the man.
That shouldn’t be a problem. No problem at all.
Three
The black stud had more than a little buck in him, which suited Jesse just fine. He was in the mood for a fight, and the stud gave it to him. By the time the horse had settled down, Jesse had covered most of the rolling prairie that led to the west pasture. It wouldn’t take long to herd the steers back to the chutes at the barn where they would be vaccinated. Only he had some business to conduct first.
Jesse searched the horizon and found what he was looking for. The copse of pecan trees stood along the far western border of the Flying Diamond. He rode toward the trees hoping that his contact would be there waiting for him. He spotted the glint of sun off cold steel and headed toward it.
“Kind of risky carrying a rifle around these parts with everyone looking out for badmen, don’t you think?” Jesse said. He tipped his hat back slowly, careful to keep his hands in plain sight all the time.
“Don’t know who you can trust nowadays,” the other cowboy answered. “Your name Whitelaw?”
Jesse nodded. “From the description I got, you’d be Mort Barnes.”
The cowboy had been easy to identify because he had a deep scar through his right eyebrow that made it look as if he had come close to losing his eye. In fact, the eye was clouded over and Jesse doubted whether Mort had any sight in it. The other eye was almost yellow with a black rim around it. Mort more than made up for the missing eye with the glare from his good one. Black hair sprouted beneath a battered straw cowboy hat and a stubble of black beard covered his cheeks and chin.
Jesse evaluated the other man physically and realized if he had to fight him, it was going to be a tooth and claw affair. The cowboy was lean and rangy from a life spent on horseback. He looked tough as rawhide.
“Tell your boss I got the job,” Jesse said.
Mort smiled, revealing broken teeth. The man was a fighter, all right. “Yeah, I’ll do that,” Mort said. “How soon you figure you can get your hands on that prize bull of hers?”
“Depends. She keeps him in the barn. He’s almost a pet. It won’t be easy stealing him.”
“The Boss wants—”
“I don’t care what your boss wants. I do things my way, or he can forget about my help.”
Mort scowled. “You work for the Boss, you take orders from him.”
“I don’t take orders from anybody. I promised I’d steal the bull for him and I will. But I do it my way, understand?” Jesse stared until Mort’s one yellow eye glanced away.
“I’ll tell the Boss what you said. But he ain’t gonna like it,” the cowboy muttered.
“If he doesn’t like the way I do things he can tell me so himself,” Jesse said. “Meanwhile, I don’t want any more cattle stolen from the Flying Diamond.”
The look in Mort’s eye was purely malicious. “The Boss don’t like bein’ told what to do.”
“If he wants that bull, he’ll stay away from here. And tell him the next time one of his henchmen shows up around here he’d better not be carrying a gun.”
Mort raised the rifle defensively. “I ain’t rid-in’ around here without protection.”
Jesse worked hard not to smile. It was pretty funny when the badman thought he needed a gun to protect himself from the good guys.
“Don’t bring a gun onto the Flying Diamond again,” Jesse said. “I won’t tell you twice.”
It was plain Mort didn’t like being threatened, but short of shooting Jesse there wasn’t much he could do. The outlaw had kept a constant lookout, so he spotted the rider approaching from the direction of the ranch house when there was no more than a speck of movement in the distance.
“You expectin’ company?” Mort asked, gesturing toward the rider with his gun.
Jesse glanced over his shoulder and knew immediately who it was. “Dammit. I told her I’d come get her,” he muttered. “It looks like Mrs. Farrell. Get the hell out of here and get now!”
Mort grinned. “Got plans of your own for the Missus, huh? Can’t say as I blame you. Mighty fine lookin’ woman.”
Jesse grabbed hold of Mort’s shirt at the throat and half pulled the man out of the saddle. The look in Jesse’s eyes had Mort quailing even though the outlaw was the one with the gun. “That’s no way to talk about a lady, Mort.”
The outlaw swallowed hard. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
Jesse released the man’s shirt. He straightened it with both hands, carefully reining his temper. “Back up slow and easy and keep that rifle out of the sunlight. No sense me having to make explanations to Mrs. Farrell about what you’re doing here.”
Mort wasn’t stupid. What Jesse said made sense. Besides, the Boss would skin him alive if he got caught anywhere near Mrs. Farrell. “I’m skedaddlin’,” he said.
Without another word, Mort backed his horse into the copse of pecans and out of sight. Jesse whirled the stud and galloped toward Honey to keep her from coming any closer before Mort made good his escape.
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Joan Johnston
“Why can’t you just leave my mother alone?”
Jack said, glaring at Jesse.
How could Jesse explain what he felt for Honey in words the boy would understand? What did one say to a thirteen-year-old to describe the relationship between a man and a woman? It would be easier if he could tell Jack he was committed in some way to Honey. But Jesse had never spoken of “forever” with Honey, and he couldn’t.
“Will it help if I say I’ll try my damnedest never to do anything that would hurt your mom?” Jesse asked him.
Abruptly Jack stopped brushing the bull. “She’s never gonna love you like she loved Dad. There’s no sense in you hanging around. Now that school’s out, I can handle things around the ranch. Why don’t you just leave?” Jack yelled.
“I can’t,” Jesse said. “Your mother needs my help.” More than you realize, he added silently.
JOAN JOHNSTON
Honey and the Hired Hand
For my friends, Sally, Sherry and Heather—
the Square Table at JJ’s
Honey and the Hired Hand
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
One
The hairs prickled on the back of Honey Farrell’s neck. She was being watched. Again. Surreptitiously she scanned the room looking for someone—anyone—she could blame for the disturbing sensation that had plagued her all evening. But everyone in the room was a friend or acquaintance. There was no one present who could account for the eerie feeling that troubled her.
Her glance caught on the couple across the room from her. How she envied them! Dallas Masterson was standing behind his wife, his hands tenderly circling Angel’s once-again-tiny waist. Their three-month-old son was asleep upstairs. Honey felt her throat close with emotion as Dallas leaned down to whisper into his wife’s ear. Angel laughed softly and a pink flush rose on her cheeks.
Honey saw before her a couple very much in love. In fact, she had come to the Mastersons’ home this evening to help them celebrate their first wedding anniversary. Honey found it a bittersweet event. For, one year and one month ago, Honey’s husband, Cale, had been killed saving Dallas Masterson’s life.
Honey felt her smile crumbling. A watery sheen blurred her vision of the Texas Rangers and their wives chattering happily around her. Mumbling something incoherent, she shoved her wineglass into the hands of a startled friend.
“Honey, are you all right?”
“I just need some air.” Honey bit down on her lower lip to still its quiver as she hastened from the living room.
The overhead light in the kitchen was blinding, and Honey felt exposed. Shying from the worried look of another Ranger’s wife, who was putting a tray of canapés into the oven, Honey shoved her way out the back screen door.
“Honey?” the woman called after her. “Is something wrong?”
Honey forced herself to pause on the back porch. She turned back with a brittle smile and said, “I just need some air. I’ll be fine.”
The woman grinned. “I suppose it’s all the speculation about you and Adam Philips. Has he proposed yet? We’re expecting an announcement any day.”
Honey gritted her teeth to hold the smile in place, hoping it didn’t look as much like a grimace as it felt. “I—could we talk about this later? I really do need some air.”
She waited until the other woman nodded before pulling the wooden door closed behind her, abruptly shutting out the noise and the painful, though well-intentioned, nosiness of her friends and neighbors.
The early summer evening was blessedly cool with a slight breeze that made the live oaks rustle overhead. Honey sank onto the back porch steps. She leaned forward and lifted the hair off her nape, shivering when the breeze caught a curl and teased it across her skin as gently as a man’s hand.
She quickly dropped her hair and clutched her hands together between her knees. She felt bereft. And angry. How could you have left me alone like this, Cale? I’m trying to forget what it was like to be held in your arms. I’m trying to forget the feel of your mouth on mine. But seeing Angel in Dallas’s arms tonight had been a vivid reminder of what she had lost. And it hurt. It was hard to accept Cale’s untimely death and go on with her life. But she was trying.
At least she had learned from her mistake. She would never again love a man who sought out danger the way Cale had. She would never again put herself in the position of knowing that her husband welcomed the risks of a job that might mean his death. Next time she would choose a man who would be there when she needed him. Inevitably Cale had been gone on some assignment for the Texas Rangers whenever a crisis arose. Honey had become adept over the years at handling things on her own.
If her friends and neighbors got their wish, she wouldn’t be on her own much longer. Only this time she had chosen more wisely. The man who had brought her to the party tonight, Adam Philips, was a country doctor. Adam would never die from an outlaw’s bullet, the way Cale had. And Adam was reliable. Punctual almost to a fault. She would be able to count on him through thick and thin.
That was a definite plus in weighing the decision she had to make. For the good-natured gossip at the party about her and the young doctor was founded in fact. Adam Philips had proposed to her, and Honey was seriously considering his offer. Adam was a handsome, dependable man in a safe occupation. He liked her sons, and they liked—perhaps tolerated was a better word to describe how they felt about him. There was only one problem.
Honey didn’t love Adam.
Maybe she would never love another man the way she had loved Cale. Maybe she was hoping for too much. Maybe it would be better to marry a man she didn’t love. That way her heart could never be broken again if—
The kitchen door rattled behind her. Afraid that someone would find her sitting alone in the dark and start asking more awkward questions, Honey rose and headed toward the corner of the house where the spill of light from the kitchen windows didn’t reach. She almost ran into the man before she realized he was there.
He was leaning against Dallas’s Victorian house, his booted foot braced against the painted wooden wall, his Stetson tipped forward over his brow so his face was in deep shadow. His thumbs were stuck into the front of his low-slung, beltless jeans. He was wearing a faded western shirt with white piping and pearl snaps that reflected the faint light of a misted moon.
Honey felt breathless. She wasn’t exactly frightened, but she was anxious because she didn’t recognize the man. He might have been a party guest, but he wasn’t dressed for a party. He looked more like a down-on-his-luck cowboy, a drifter. It was better not to take a chance. Honey slowly backed away.
With no wasted movement, the cowboy reached out a hand and caught her wrist. He didn’t hold her tightly, but he held her, all the same.
Honey stood transfixed by the feel of his callused fingers on her flesh. “I’ll scream if you don’t let go,” she said in a miraculously calm voice.
The cowboy grinned, his teeth a white slash in the darkness. “No you won’t.”
There was a coiled tension in the way he held his body that she recognized. Cale had been like that. Ready to react instantly to any threat. Suddenly her curiosity was greater than her fear. She stopped straining against his hold. Instantly his grasp loosened, but he didn’t let go.
“I’ve been standing out on the front porch watching you through the window, waiting for a chance to talk to you,” the drifter said.
So, she wasn’t crazy. Someone had been watching her all evening. His eyes weren’t visible beneath the brim of his hat, but she felt the hairs rise on her nape. He was watching her right now. She ignored the gooseflesh that rose on her arms as he caressed her wrist with his thumb.
“I’m listening,” she said. Regrettably the calm was gone from her voice.
“I know you’re having some trouble handling things all by yourself at the ranch and—”
“How could you possibly know what’s going on at the Flying Diamond?”
“Dallas told me how things are with you.”
She exhaled with a loud sigh. “I see.” He was no stranger then, although just who he was remained a mystery.
“It wouldn’t have been hard to tell you’ve got problems just by looking at you.”
“Oh? Are you some kind of mind reader?”
“No. But I can read people.”
She remained silent, so he continued, “That frown never left your brow all evening.”
Honey consciously relaxed the furrows of worry on her brow.
“Judging from the purple shadows I saw under your eyes, you aren’t sleeping too well. You aren’t eating much, either. That dress doesn’t fit worth beans.”
Honey tugged at the black knit dress she was wearing. Undeniably she had lost weight since Cale’s death.
“Not that I don’t like what I see,” the cowboy drawled.
Honey felt a faint irritation—laced with pleasure—when his grin reappeared.
“You’re long legged as a newborn filly and curved in all the right places. That curly hair of yours looks fine as corn silk, and your eyes, why I’d swear they’re blue as a Texas sky, ma’am.”
Honey was mortified by her body’s traitorous reaction as his eyes made a lazy perusal of her face and form. She felt the heat, the anticipation—and the fear. She recognized her attraction to the man even as she fought against it. This tall, dark-eyed drifter would never be reliable. And he had danger written all over him.
“Who are you?” Her voice was raspy and didn’t sound at all like her own.
“Jesse Whitelaw, ma’am.” The drifter reached up with his free hand and tugged the brim of his Stetson.
The name meant nothing to her; his courtesy did nothing to ease her concern. She stared, waiting for him to say why he had sought her out, why he knew so much about her when she knew nothing about him.
He stared back. She felt the tension grow between them, the invisible electrical pulse of desire that streaked from his flesh to hers. Unconsciously she stepped back. His hold on her wrist tightened, keeping her captive.
His voice was low and grated like a rusty gate. “Dallas told me about your husband’s death. I came here tonight hoping to meet you.”
“Why?”
“I need a job.”
The tension eased in Honey’s shoulders. She released a gust of air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Despite what he’d said, the way he’d looked at her, he hadn’t sought her out to pursue a physical relationship. She couldn’t help the stab of disappointment, when what she ought to feel was relief. At least now she knew how to deal with him.
“I can’t afford to hire anyone right now,” she said. “Especially not some down-on-his-luck drifter.”
The smile was back. “If I wasn’t down on my luck, I wouldn’t need the job.”
She couldn’t hire him, but she was curious enough about him to ask, “Where did you work last?”
His shoulders rolled in a negligent shrug. “I’ve been…around.”
“Doing what?” she persisted.
“A little cowboying, some rodeo bull riding, and…some drifting.”
Bull riding. She should have known. Even Cale had never ridden bulls because he had thought it was too dangerous. Drifting. He was a man who couldn’t be tied to any one place or, she suspected, any one woman. The last thing she needed at the Flying Diamond was a drifting cowboy who rode bulls for fun. Not that she could afford to hire him, anyway.
Just today she had discovered over fifty head of cattle missing—apparently rustled—from the Flying Diamond. That loss would cut deep into the profits she had hoped to make this year. “I can’t hire anyone right now,” she said. “I—”
The back door opened, revealing the silhouette of a large man in the stream of light. “Honey? Are you out here?”
She recognized Dallas, who was joined at the door by Angel.
“Are you coming in?” Dallas asked Honey.
“Yes. Yes, I am.” She took advantage of Dallas’s interruption to slip from the drifter’s grasp. But he followed her. She could feel him right behind her as she stepped onto the porch.
Honey turned to the stranger to excuse herself and gasped. The harsh light from the kitchen doorway revealed the man’s features. She was suddenly aware of his bronzed skin, of the high, broad cheekbones, the blade of nose and thin lips that proclaimed his heritage.
“You’re Indian!” she exclaimed.
“The best part of me, yes, ma’am.”
Honey didn’t know what to say. She found him more appealing than she cared to admit, yet the savage look in his eyes frightened her. To her dismay, the drifter put the worst possible face on her silence.
His lips twisted bitterly, his grating voice became cynical as he said, “I suppose I should have mentioned that my great-grandfather married a Comanche bride. If it makes a difference—”
Honey flushed. “Not at all. I was just a little surprised when I saw…I mean, I didn’t realize…”
“I’m used to it,” he said. From the harsh sound of his voice it was clear he didn’t like it.
Honey wished she had handled the situation better. She didn’t think any less of him because he was part Indian, even though she knew there were some who would. She turned back to Angel and saw that the young woman had retreated into the safety of Dallas’s arms.
“I came outside for some air,” Honey explained to Dallas. “And I met someone who says he’s a friend of yours.”
Dallas propelled Angel ahead of him onto the back porch and pulled the kitchen door closed behind him. “Hello, Jesse. I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”
Jesse shrugged again. “I got free sooner than I thought I would. Anyway, I could have saved myself the trip. Mrs. Farrell says she can’t afford to hire anyone right now.”
Dallas pursed his lips in disapproval. “I don’t think you can afford not to hire someone, Honey.”
“I’m not saying I don’t need the help,” Honey argued. “I just don’t have the money right now to—”
“Who said anything about money?” Jesse asked. “I’d work for bed and board.”
Honey frowned. “I really don’t—”
“If you’re worried about hiring a stranger, I’ll vouch for Jesse,” Dallas said. “We went to Texas Tech together.”
“How long ago was that?” Honey asked.
“Fifteen years,” Dallas admitted. “But I’d trust Jesse with my life.”
Only it wouldn’t be Dallas’s life that would be at stake. It was Honey’s, and those of her sons, Jack and Jonathan. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
“I’m afraid I need something a little more definite than that,” Jesse said. He tipped his hat back and said, “A drifting man needs a reason to light and set, or else he just keeps on drifting.”
Honey didn’t believe from looking at him that Jesse Whitelaw would ever settle anywhere for very long. But another pair of hands to share the load, even for a little while, would be more than welcome. There was some ranch work too heavy for her to handle, even with her older son’s help. Honey brushed aside the notion that she would be alone with a stranger all day while the boys were at school. It was only a matter of weeks before her sons would be home for summer vacation.
She took a deep breath and let it out. “All right. When can you start?”
“I’ve got some things to do first.”
Honey felt a sense of relief that she wouldn’t have to face him again in the near future. It evaporated when he said, “How about bright and early tomorrow morning?”
Honey sought a reason to keep him away a little longer, to give herself some time to reconsider what she was doing, but nothing came to mind. Anyway, she needed the help now. There was vaccinating to be done, and she needed to make a tally of which cattle were missing so she could make a more complete report to the police.
Also she needed to add some light to improve security around the barn where she kept General, the champion Hereford bull that was the most important asset of the Flying Diamond.
“Tomorrow morning will be fine,” she said.
The words were barely out of her mouth when the kitchen door was thrust open and another silhouette appeared. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing out here?”
Adam Philips joined what was quickly becoming a crowd on the back porch. He strode to Honey’s side and slipped a possessive arm around her waist. “I’m Adam Philips,” he said by way of introduction to the stranger he found there. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Jesse Whitelaw,” the stranger said.
Honey watched as the two men shook hands. There was nothing cordial about the greeting. She didn’t understand the reason for the animosity between them; it existed nonetheless.
“Are you ready to come back inside?” Adam asked.
He had tightened his hold on her waist until it was uncomfortable. Honey tried to step out of his grasp, but he pulled her back against his hip.
“I think the lady wants you to let her go,” Jesse said.
“I’ll be the judge of what the lady wants,” Adam retorted.
The drifter’s eyes were hard and cold, and Honey felt sure that at any moment he would enforce his words with action. “Please let go,” she said to Adam.
At first Adam’s grip tightened, but when he glanced over at her, she gave him a speaking look that said she meant business. Reluctantly he let her go.
“It’s about time we headed home, don’t you think?” Adam said to Honey.
Honey was irked by Adam’s choice of words, which insinuated that they lived together. However, she didn’t think now was the moment to take him to task. The drifter was still poised for battle, and Honey didn’t want to be the cause of any more of a scene than had already occurred.
“It is getting late,” she said, “and I’ve got a long day tomorrow. It was nice meeting you, Jesse. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Honey anticipated Adam’s questions and hurried him back inside. It took them a while to get through the kitchen, which now held several women collecting leftover potluck dishes to be carried home.
“Aha! I expect you two were out seeing a little of the moonlight,” one teased.
“We’ll be hearing wedding bells soon,” another chorused.
Honey didn’t bother denying their assumptions. They might very well prove true. But it was hard to smile and make humorous rejoinders right now, because she was still angry with Adam for his caveman behavior on the back porch.
When they reached the living room, a Randy Travis ballad was playing. “Dance with me?” Adam asked. His lips curved in the charming smile that had endeared him to her when they first met. Right now it wasn’t doing a thing to put her in a romantic mood. However, it would be harder to explain her confused feelings to Adam than it would be to dance with him. “Sure,” she said, relenting with a hesitant smile.
At almost the same moment Adam took her into his arms, she spied the drifter entering the living room. He stayed in the shadows, but Honey knew he was there. She could feel him watching her. She stiffened when Adam’s palm slid down to the lowest curve in her spine. It wasn’t something he hadn’t done before. In the past, she had permitted it. But now, with the drifter watching, Adam’s possessive touch felt uncomfortable.
Honey stepped back and said, “I’m really tired, Adam. Do you think we could go now?”
Adam searched her face, looking for signs of fatigue she knew he would find. “You do look tired,” he agreed. “All right. Do you need to get anything from the kitchen?”
“I’ll pick up my cake plate another time,” she said. She felt the drifter’s eyes on her as Adam ushered her out the front door to his low-slung sports car. He opened the door for her and she slid inside. Protected by the darkness within the car she was able to look back toward the house without being observed. She felt her nape prickle when she caught sight of the drifter standing at the front window.
Honey knew he couldn’t see her, yet she felt as though his eyes pinned her to the seat. They were dark and gleamed with some emotion she couldn’t identify. She abruptly turned away when Adam opened the opposite door and the dome light came on.
Adam put a country music tape on low, setting a romantic mood which, before Honey had met the drifter, she would have appreciated. Right now the mellow tones only agitated her, reminding her that Adam had proposed and was waiting for her answer. He expected her to give him a decision tonight. To be honest, she had led him to believe her answer would be yes. They hadn’t slept together; she hadn’t been ready to face that kind of intimacy with another man. But she had kissed him, and it had been more than pleasant.
“Honey?”
“What?” Her voice was sharp, and she cleared her throat and repeated in a softer tone, “What?”
“Are you sure you want to hire that drifter?”
“I don’t see that I have much choice. There’s work to be done that I can’t do myself.”
“You could marry me.”
The silence after Adam spoke was an answer in itself. Honey knew she shouldn’t give him hope. She ought to tell him right now that she couldn’t marry him, that it wasn’t right to marry a man she didn’t love. But the thought of that drifter, with his dark, haunting eyes, made her hold her tongue. She was too attracted to Jesse Whitelaw for her own good. If she were free, she might be tempted to get involved with him. And that would be disastrous.
But was it fair to leave Adam hanging?
Honey sighed. It seemed she had sighed more in the past evening than she had in the past year. “I can’t—”
“You don’t have to give me your answer now,” Adam said. “I know you still miss Cale. I can wait a little longer. Now that you have that hired hand, it ought to make things easier on you.”
They had arrived at the two-story wood frame ranch house built by Cale’s grandfather. Adam stopped his car outside the glow of the front porch light. He came around and opened the door and pulled her out of the car and into his arms.
Honey was caught off guard. Even so, as Adam’s lips sought her mouth she quickly turned aside so he kissed her cheek instead.
Adam lifted his head and looked down at her, searching her features in the shadows. Something had changed between them tonight. He thought of the stranger he had found with Honey on the Mastersons’ back porch and felt a knot form in his stomach. He had always known that his relationship with Honey was precarious. He had hoped that once they were married she would come to love him as much as he loved her. He hadn’t counted on another man coming into the picture.
Honey kept her face averted for a moment longer but knew that was the coward’s way out. She had to face Adam and tell him what she was feeling.
“Adam, I—”
He put his fingertips on her lips. “Don’t say anything. Just kiss me good night, and I’ll go.”
Honey looked up into his eyes and saw a tenderness that made her ache. Why didn’t she love this man? She allowed his lips to touch hers and it was as pleasant as she remembered. But when he tried to deepen the kiss, she backed away.
“Honey?”
“I’m sorry, Adam. It’s been a long day.”
He looked confused and even a little hurt. But she had tried twice to refuse his proposal and he hadn’t let her do it. Maybe her response to his kiss had told him what she hadn’t said in words. Then he smiled, and she could have cried because his words were thoughtful, his voice tender. “Good night, Honey. Get some rest. I’ll call you next week.”
He would, too. Good old reliable Adam. She was a fool not to leap at the chance to marry such a man.
Honey stood in the shadows until he was gone. When she turned toward the house she saw the living room curtain drop. That would be her older son, Jack. He kept an eagle eye on her, which hadn’t helped Adam’s courtship. She called out to him as she unlocked the door and stepped inside.
“Come on down, Jack. I know you’re still awake.”
The lanky thirteen-year-old ambled back down the stairs he had just raced up. “He didn’t stay long,” Jack said. “You tell him no?”
“I haven’t given him an answer.”
“But you’re going to say no, right?”
She heard the anxiety in Jack’s voice. He wasn’t ready to let anyone in their closed circle and most certainly not a man to take his father’s place. She didn’t dare tell him how she really felt before she told Adam, because her son was likely to blurt it out at an inopportune moment. She simply said, “I haven’t made a decision.”
Honey put an arm around her son’s shoulder and realized he was nearly as tall as she was. Oh, Cale. I wish you could see how your sons have grown! “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go make some hot chocolate.”
“I’d rather have coffee,” Jack said.
She arched a brow at him. “Coffee will keep me awake, and I need all the rest I can get.”
Jack eyed her and announced somberly, “School will be out in about three weeks, Mom. I don’t think I can do any more around here until then.”
“You don’t have to,” she said. “I’ve hired a man to help out.”
“I thought we couldn’t afford hired help.”
“He’ll be working for room and board.”
“Oh. What’s he like?”
Honey wasn’t about to answer that question. She couldn’t have explained how she felt about the drifter right now. “He’ll be here in the morning and you can ask him all the questions you want.”
From the look her son gave her, she suspected Jack would grill the drifter like a hamburger. She smiled. That, she couldn’t wait to see.
Jesse Whitelaw had another big surprise coming if he harbored any notions of pursuing Honey on her home ground. Her teenage son was a better chaperon than a Spanish duenna.
Two
Honey yawned and stretched, forcing the covers off and exposing bare skin to the predawn chill. She scooted back underneath the blanket and pulled it up over her shoulders. She was more tired than she ought to be first thing in the morning, but she hadn’t slept well. For the first time in over a year, however, it wasn’t memories of Cale that had kept her awake.
The drifter!
Honey bolted upright in her bed. He was supposed to show up bright and early this morning. She glanced out the lace curtains in her upstairs bedroom and realized it was later than she’d thought. Her sons would already be up and getting ready for school. She tossed the covers away, shivering again as the cold air hit flesh exposed by her baby doll pajamas. She grabbed Cale’s white terry cloth robe and scuffed her feet into tattered slippers before hurriedly heading downstairs.
Halfway down, she heard Jonathan’s excited voice. At eight he still sounded a bit squeaky. Jack’s adolescent response was lower-pitched, but his voice occasionally broke when he least expected it. She was already in the kitchen by the time she realized they weren’t talking to each other.
The drifter was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee before him. Honey clutched the robe to her throat, her mouth agape.
“Catch a lot of flies that way,” the drifter said with a lazy grin.
Her jaws snapped closed.
“Good morning,” he said, touching a finger to the brim of his Stetson.
“Is it?” she retorted.
His skin looked golden in the sunlight. There were fine lines around his eyes and deep brackets around his mouth that had been washed out by the artificial light the previous evening. He was older than she’d thought, maybe middle thirties. But his dark eyes were as piercing as she remembered, and he pinned her with his stare. Honey felt naked.
She gripped the front of the masculine robe tighter, conscious of how she was dressed—or rather, not dressed. She thrust a hand into her shoulder-length hair, which tumbled in riotous natural curls around her face. She wondered how her mascara had survived the night. Usually it ended up clumped on the ends of her eyelashes or smudged underneath them. She reached up to wipe at her eyes, then stuck her hand in the pocket of the robe. It wasn’t her fault he’d found her looking like something the cat dragged in.
Honey didn’t want to admit that the real reason she resented this unsettling man’s presence in her kitchen so early in the morning was that she hadn’t wanted him to see her looking so…so mussed.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
He raised a brow as though the answer was obvious. And it was.
“I let him in,” Jack said, his hazel eyes anxious. “You said the hired hand was coming this morning. I thought it would be okay.”
Honey took several steps into the room and laid a hand on her older son’s shoulder. “You did fine. I’m just a little surprised at how early Mr. Whitelaw got here.”
“He said we can call him Jesse,” Jonathan volunteered.
Honey bristled. The man had certainly made himself at home.
“Jesse helped me make my sandwich,” Jonathan added, holding up a brown paper bag.
Honey’s left hand curled into a fist in the pocket of the robe. “That was nice.” Her voice belied the words.
“Jesse thinks I’m old enough to make my own lunch,” Jonathan continued, his chest pumped out with pride.
Honey had known for some time that Jonathan could make his own sandwich, but she had kept doing it for him because the routine morning chore kept her from missing Cale so much. She was annoyed by the drifter’s interference but couldn’t say so without taking away from Jonathan’s accomplishment.
“Jesse rides bulls and rodeo broncs,” Jack said. “He worked last at a ranch in northwest Texas called Hawk’s Way. He’s gonna teach me some steer roping tricks. He’s never been married but he’s had a lot of girlfriends. Oh, and he graduated from Texas Tech with a degree in animal husbandry and ranch management.”
It was hard for Honey not to laugh aloud at the chagrined look on Jesse’s face as Jack recited all the information he’d garnered. The drifter had been, if not grilled, certainly a little singed around the edges.
The shoe was on the other foot as Jack continued, “I told him how you haven’t been coping too well since Dad—well, this past year. Not that you don’t try,” he backtracked when he spied the horrified look on his mother’s face, “but after all, Mom, the work is pretty hard for you.”
Honey was abashed by her son’s forthrightness. “I’ve managed fine,” she said. She didn’t want Jesse Whitelaw thinking she needed him more than she did. After all, a drifter like him wasn’t going to be around long. Soon enough she’d be managing on her own again.
She stiffened her back and lifted her chin. Staring Jesse Whitelaw right in the eye she announced, “And I expect I’ll still be managing fine long after you’ve drifted on.”
“The fact remains, you need me now, Mrs. Farrell,” the drifter said in that rusty gate voice. “So long as I’m here, you’ll be getting a fair day’s work from me.”
The silence that followed was uncomfortable for everyone except the younger boy.
In the breach Jonathan piped up, “Jesse thinks I should have a real horse to ride, not just a pony.”
“I’m sure Jesse does,” Honey said in as calm a voice as she could manage. “But I’m your mother, and until I decide differently, you’ll stick with what you have.”
“Aww, Mom.”
This was an old argument, and Honey cut it off at the pass. “The school bus will be here in a few minutes,” she said. “You boys had better get out to the main road.”
Honey gave Jonathan a hug and a quick kiss before he headed out the kitchen door. “Have a nice day, sweetheart.”
Jack was old enough to pick up the tension that arced between his mother and the drifter. His narrowed glance leapt from her to Jesse and back again. “Uh, maybe I ought to stay home today. Kind of show Jesse around.”
Honey forced herself to smile reassuringly. “Nonsense. You have reviews for finals starting this week. You can’t afford to miss them. Jesse and I will manage fine. Won’t we?”
She turned to Jesse, asking him with her eyes to add his reassurance to hers.
Jesse rose and shoved his chair under the table. “Appreciate the offer,” he said to Jack. “But like your mom said, we’ll be just fine.”
“Then I better run, or I’ll miss the bus.” Jack hesitated another instant before he sprinted for the door. Honey would have liked to hug Jack, too, but at thirteen, he resisted her efforts to cosset him.
A moment later they were alone. Jesse was watching her again, and Honey’s body was reacting to the appreciation in his dark eyes. She rearranged the robe and pulled the belt tighter, grateful for the thick terry cloth covering. She felt the roses bloom on her cheeks and hurried over to the stove to pour herself a cup of coffee.
Too late she realized she should have excused herself to go upstairs to dress. If she left now without getting her coffee, he would know she was running scared. There was absolutely no reason for her to feel threatened. Dallas wouldn’t have recommended Jesse Whitelaw if she had anything to fear from him. But she couldn’t help the anxiety she felt.
“Would you like another cup of coffee?” she asked, holding up the pot.
“Don’t mind if I do, Mrs. Farrell,” Jesse said.
“Please, you might as well call me Honey.”
“All right…Honey.”
Her name sounded far more intimate in that rusty gate voice of his than she was comfortable with. She stared, mesmerized for a moment by the warmth in his dark eyes, then realized what she was doing and repeated her offer.
“More coffee?”
He brought his cup over, and she realized she had made another tactical error. She could actually feel the heat from his body as he stepped close enough for her to pour his coffee. She turned her back on him to pour a cup for herself.
“Those are fine boys you have.” Jesse moved a kitchen chair and straddled it, facing her.
She leaned back against the counter rather than join him at the table. “In the future, I’d appreciate it if you don’t come inside before I get downstairs,” she said.
“I wouldn’t have come in except Jack said you were expecting me.”
“I was—that is—I didn’t expect you quite so early.”
That was apparent. Honey’s bed-tossed hair and sleepy-eyed look made Jesse want to pick her up and carry her back upstairs. He wasn’t sure what—if anything—she was wearing under the man’s robe. From the way she kept tightening the belt and clutching at the neck of the thing, he was guessing it wasn’t much. His imagination had her stripped bare, and he liked what he saw.
It was too bad about her husband. From what he’d heard, Cale Farrell had died a hero. He supposed a woman left alone to raise two kids wouldn’t be thinking much about that. At least he was here to help her with the ranch work. Not that he would be around forever—or even for very long. But while he was here, he intended to do what he could to make her life easier.
He knew it would be easier for her if he didn’t let her know he was attracted to her. But he wasn’t used to hiding his feelings for a woman. The way he had been raised, part of respecting a woman was being honest with her. Jesse planned to be quite frank about his fascination with Honey Farrell.
He liked the way she’d prickled up last night, not at all intimidated by him. He liked the way she had stood her ground, willing to meet him eye to eye. He bristled when he thought of her with any other man—especially that Philips character. Jesse wasn’t sure how serious their relationship was, but he knew Honey couldn’t be in love with Philips. Otherwise she wouldn’t have reacted so strongly to his touch.
At any rate, Jesse didn’t intend to let the other man’s interest in Honey keep him from pursuing her himself. Which wasn’t going to be easy, considering her opinion of drifters in general, and him—a half-breed Comanche—in particular. His look was challenging as he asked, “What did you have in mind for me to do today?”
Honey had been watching Jesse’s fingers trace the top rail of the wooden chair. There was a scar that ran across all four knuckles. She was wondering how he’d gotten it when his fist suddenly folded around the back of the chair. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”
“I asked what you wanted me to do today.”
“There are some steers that need vaccinating, and the roof on the barn needs to be repaired. Some fence is down along the river and a few head of my stock have wandered onto the mohair goat ranch south of the Flying Diamond. I need to herd those strays back onto my land. Also—”
“That’ll do for starters,” Jesse interrupted. He rose and set his coffee cup on the table. “I’ll start on the barn roof while you get dressed. Then we can vaccinate those steers together. How does that sound?”
Honey started to object to him taking charge of things, but she realized she was just being contrary. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll come to the barn when I’m dressed.”
She waited for him to leave, but he just stood there looking at her. “What is it? Did I forget something?” she asked.
“No. I was admiring the view.” He flashed a smile, then headed out the kitchen door.
Honey ran upstairs, not allowing herself time to contemplate the drifter’s compliment. He probably didn’t spend much time around respectable women. He probably didn’t realize he shouldn’t be blurting out what he was thinking that way. And she shouldn’t be feeling so good about the fact the hired hand liked the way she looked.
She was grateful to discover that her mascara had been clumped, rather than smudged. She took the time to wash her face and reapply a layer of sun-sensitive makeup. It was a habit she’d gotten into and had nothing to do with the fact there was now a man around to see her. Honey dressed in record time in fitted Levi’s, plaid western shirt, socks and boots.
Even so, by the time she reached the barn, Jesse was already on the roof, hammer in hand. He had his shirt off and she couldn’t help looking.
Jesse had broad shoulders and a powerful chest, completely hairless except for a line of black down that ran from his navel into his formfitting jeans. His nipples provided a dark contrast to his skin, which looked warm to the touch. She could see the definition of his ribs above a washboard belly. His arms were ropy with muscle and already glistened with sweat. Here was a man who had done his share of hard work. Which made her wonder why he had never settled down.
It dawned on her that the drifter had chosen the most dangerous job to do first. He was standing on the peaked barn roof without any kind of safety rope as though he were some kind of mountain goat. How could he be so idiotically unconscious of the danger!
She started up the ladder he had laid against the side of the barn and heard him call, “No need for you to come up here.”
She looked up and found him hanging facedown over the edge of the roof. “Be careful! You’ll fall.”
“Not likely,” he said with a grin. “I grew up rambling around in high places.”
“I suppose you had the top bunk in an upstairs bedroom,” she said with asperity.
Jesse thought of the high canyon walls he had scaled as a youth on his family’s northwest Texas ranch and grinned. “Let’s just say I spent a lot of time climbing when I was a kid and leave it at that. By the way, I found the spot that needs to be patched. I brought the shingles up with me, but I didn’t see hide nor hair of the roofing nails.”
“I put them away. I’ll get them for you.” Honey headed back down the ladder and into the barn. As she passed General’s stall, she patted the bull on the forehead. She and Cale had raised him from birth, and though he had a ring in his nose, he would have followed her around without it.
“Hi, old fella. Just let me get these nails for Jesse and I’ll let you out in the corral for a while.”
The barn was redolent with the odors of hay, leather and manure. Rather than hold her nose, Honey took a deep breath. There was nothing disagreeable to her about the smell of a ranch—or a hardworking man. Which made her think of the hired hand standing on the roof of her barn.
Honey didn’t want to be charmed by Jesse Whitelaw, but there was no denying his charm. Maybe it was his crooked grin, or the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled, creating a sunburst of webbed lines. Or maybe it was the fact his dark eyes glowed with appreciation when he looked at her.
“Hey! Where are those nails?”
Honey jumped at the yell from above. “I’m getting them!” She grabbed the box of nails and headed back into the sunshine. Jesse had come to the edge of the roof and bent down to take the nails as she climbed the ladder and handed them up.
When he stood again, a trickle of sweat ran down the center of his chest. As Honey watched, it slid into his navel and back out again, down past the top button of his jeans. It was impossible to ignore the way the denim hugged his masculinity. It took a moment for Honey to realize he wasn’t moving away. And another moment to realize he was aware of the direction of her gaze. Honey felt a single curl of desire in her belly and a weak feeling in her knees. Her fingers gripped the ladder to keep from falling. She was appalled at the realization that what she wanted to do was reach out and touch him. She froze, unable to move farther up the ladder or back down.
“Honey?”
Jesse’s voice was gruff, and at the sound of it she raised her eyes to his face. His lids were lowered, his dark eyes inscrutable. She had no idea what he was thinking. His jaw was taut. So was his body. Honey was afraid to look down again, afraid of what she would find.
She felt her nipples pucker, felt the rush of heat to her loins. Her lips parted as her breathing became shallow. Honey knew the signs, knew what they meant. And tried desperately to deny what she was feeling.
“Honey?” he repeated in a raw voice.
Jesse hadn’t moved, but if possible, his body had tautened. His nostrils flared. She saw the pulse throb at his temple. What did he want from her? What did he expect? He was a stranger. A drifter. A man who loved danger.
She wasn’t going to get involved with him. Not this way. Not any way. Not now. Not ever.
“No!” Honey felt as though she were escaping some invisible bond as she skittered down the ladder, nearly falling in her haste.
“Honey!” he shouted after her. “Wait!”
Honey hadn’t thought he could get off the roof so fast, but she had no intention of waiting around for him. She started for the house on the run. She was terrified, not of the drifter, but of her own feelings. If he touched her…
Honey was fast, but Jesse was faster. He caught her just as she was starting up the front steps and followed her onto the shaded porch. When Jesse grabbed her arm to stop her, momentum slammed her body back around and into his. He tightened his arms around her to keep them both from falling.
Honey would have protested, except she couldn’t catch her breath. It was a mistake to look up, because the sight of his eyes, dark with desire, made her gasp. Jesse captured her mouth with his. His hand thrust into the curls at her nape and held her head so she couldn’t escape his kiss.
Honey wished she could have said she fought him. But she didn’t. Because from the instant his lips took possession of hers, she was lost. His mouth was hard at first, demanding, and only softened as she melted into his arms. By then he was biting at her lips, his tongue seeking entrance. He tasted like coffee, and something else, something distinctly male. His kiss thrilled her, and she wanted more.
It was only when Honey felt herself pushing against Jesse that she realized he had spread his legs and pulled her into the cradle of his thighs. She could feel his arousal, the hard bulge that had caught her unsuspecting attention so short a time ago. She heard a low, throaty groan and realized it had come from her.
Jesse’s mouth mimicked the undulation of their bodies. Honey had never felt so alive. Her pulse thrummed, her body quickened. With excitement. With anticipation. It had been so long. She needed—craved—more. How could this stranger, this drifter, make her feel so much? Need so much?
At first Honey couldn’t identify the shrill sound that interfered with her concentration.
Pleasure. Desire. Need.
The sound persisted, distracting her. Finally she realized it was the phone.
Honey hadn’t been aware of her hands, but she discovered they were clutching handfuls of Jesse’s black hair. His hat had fallen to the porch behind him. She stiffened. Slowly, she slid her hands away.
“The phone,” she gasped, pushing now at his shoulders.
Honey felt Jesse’s reluctance to release her. Whether he recognized the panic in her eyes, or the presumption of what he had done, he finally let her go. But he didn’t step away. Honey had to do that herself.
“The phone,” she repeated.
“You’d better answer it.” It was clear he would rather she didn’t. His body radiated tension.
Honey stood there another moment staring, her body alive with unmet needs, before she turned and raced inside the house. For a second she thought he would follow her, but from the corner of her eye she saw him whirl on his booted heel and head toward the barn.
She was panting by the time she snatched the phone from its cradle. “H-hello?”
“Honey? Why didn’t you answer? Is everything all right?”
Dear Lord. It was Adam. Honey held her hand over the receiver and took several deep breaths, trying to regain her composure. There was nothing she could do about the pink spots on her cheeks except be grateful he wasn’t there to see them.
At least there was one good thing that had come from the drifter’s kiss. Honey knew now, without a doubt, that she could never marry Adam Philips. The sooner she told Adam, the better. Only she couldn’t tell him over the phone. She owed him the courtesy of refusing him to his face.
“Honey, talk to me. What’s going on?” Adam demanded.
“Everything’s fine, Adam. I’m just a little breathless, that’s all. I was outside when the phone started ringing,” she explained.
“Oh. I called to see if your hired hand showed up.”
“He’s here.”
There was a long pause. Honey wasn’t about to volunteer any information about the man. If Adam was curious, he could ask.
“Oh,” Adam said again.
To Honey’s relief, it didn’t appear he was going to pursue the subject.
“I know I said I wouldn’t call until next week,” he continued, “but an old school friend of mine in Amarillo called and asked me to come for a visit. His divorce is final and he needs some moral support. I’m leaving today and I don’t know when I’ll be back. I just wanted to let you know.”
Good old reliable Adam. Honey rubbed at the furrow on her brow. “Adam, is there any chance you could come by here on your way out of town? I need to talk to you.”
“I wish I could, but I’m trying to catch a flight out of San Antonio and it’s going to be close if I leave right now. Can you tell me over the phone?”
“Adam, I—”
Honey felt the hair prickle on the back of her neck. She turned and saw that Jesse had stepped inside the kitchen door.
She stared at him helplessly. She swallowed.
“Honey? Are you still there?” Adam said.
“I’ll see you when you get back, Adam. Have a good trip.”
Honey hung up the phone without waiting to hear Adam’s reply. She stared at Jesse, unable to move. He had put his shirt back on, but left it unsnapped so a strip of sun-warmed skin glistened down the middle of his chest. He had retrieved his Stetson and it sat tipped back off his forehead. His thumbs were slung into the front of the beltless jeans. He had cocked a hip, but he looked anything but relaxed.
“The repairs on the roof are done,” he said. “I wanted to make sure it’s all right with you if I saddle up that black stud to round up those steers that need vaccinating.”
“Night Wind was Cale’s horse,” Honey said. “He hasn’t been ridden much since—”
Naturally Jesse would want to ride the wildest, most dangerous horse in the stable. And why not? The man and the stallion were well matched.
“Of course, you can take Night Wind,” she said. “If you wait a minute, I’ll come with you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
She didn’t ask why not. He could use the distance and so could she. “All right,” she said. “The steers that need to be vaccinated are in the west pasture. Come get me when you’ve got them herded into the corral next to the barn.”
He tipped his hat, angled his mouth in that crooked smile and left.
Honey stared at the spot where he had been. She closed her eyes to shut out the vision of Jesse Whitelaw in her kitchen. It was plain as a white picket fence that she wasn’t going to be able to forget the man anytime soon.
At least she had a respite for a couple of hours. She realized suddenly that because of Jesse’s interruption she hadn’t been able to refuse Adam’s offer of marriage.
Horsefeathers!
She should never have kissed Jesse. Not that she had made any commitment to Adam, but she owed it to him to decline his offer before he found her in a compromising position with some other man. And not that she intended to get involved with Jesse Whitelaw, but so far, where that drifter was concerned, she hadn’t felt as though things were under control. The smart move was to keep her distance from the man.
That shouldn’t be a problem. No problem at all.
Three
The black stud had more than a little buck in him, which suited Jesse just fine. He was in the mood for a fight, and the stud gave it to him. By the time the horse had settled down, Jesse had covered most of the rolling prairie that led to the west pasture. It wouldn’t take long to herd the steers back to the chutes at the barn where they would be vaccinated. Only he had some business to conduct first.
Jesse searched the horizon and found what he was looking for. The copse of pecan trees stood along the far western border of the Flying Diamond. He rode toward the trees hoping that his contact would be there waiting for him. He spotted the glint of sun off cold steel and headed toward it.
“Kind of risky carrying a rifle around these parts with everyone looking out for badmen, don’t you think?” Jesse said. He tipped his hat back slowly, careful to keep his hands in plain sight all the time.
“Don’t know who you can trust nowadays,” the other cowboy answered. “Your name Whitelaw?”
Jesse nodded. “From the description I got, you’d be Mort Barnes.”
The cowboy had been easy to identify because he had a deep scar through his right eyebrow that made it look as if he had come close to losing his eye. In fact, the eye was clouded over and Jesse doubted whether Mort had any sight in it. The other eye was almost yellow with a black rim around it. Mort more than made up for the missing eye with the glare from his good one. Black hair sprouted beneath a battered straw cowboy hat and a stubble of black beard covered his cheeks and chin.
Jesse evaluated the other man physically and realized if he had to fight him, it was going to be a tooth and claw affair. The cowboy was lean and rangy from a life spent on horseback. He looked tough as rawhide.
“Tell your boss I got the job,” Jesse said.
Mort smiled, revealing broken teeth. The man was a fighter, all right. “Yeah, I’ll do that,” Mort said. “How soon you figure you can get your hands on that prize bull of hers?”
“Depends. She keeps him in the barn. He’s almost a pet. It won’t be easy stealing him.”
“The Boss wants—”
“I don’t care what your boss wants. I do things my way, or he can forget about my help.”
Mort scowled. “You work for the Boss, you take orders from him.”
“I don’t take orders from anybody. I promised I’d steal the bull for him and I will. But I do it my way, understand?” Jesse stared until Mort’s one yellow eye glanced away.
“I’ll tell the Boss what you said. But he ain’t gonna like it,” the cowboy muttered.
“If he doesn’t like the way I do things he can tell me so himself,” Jesse said. “Meanwhile, I don’t want any more cattle stolen from the Flying Diamond.”
The look in Mort’s eye was purely malicious. “The Boss don’t like bein’ told what to do.”
“If he wants that bull, he’ll stay away from here. And tell him the next time one of his henchmen shows up around here he’d better not be carrying a gun.”
Mort raised the rifle defensively. “I ain’t rid-in’ around here without protection.”
Jesse worked hard not to smile. It was pretty funny when the badman thought he needed a gun to protect himself from the good guys.
“Don’t bring a gun onto the Flying Diamond again,” Jesse said. “I won’t tell you twice.”
It was plain Mort didn’t like being threatened, but short of shooting Jesse there wasn’t much he could do. The outlaw had kept a constant lookout, so he spotted the rider approaching from the direction of the ranch house when there was no more than a speck of movement in the distance.
“You expectin’ company?” Mort asked, gesturing toward the rider with his gun.
Jesse glanced over his shoulder and knew immediately who it was. “Dammit. I told her I’d come get her,” he muttered. “It looks like Mrs. Farrell. Get the hell out of here and get now!”
Mort grinned. “Got plans of your own for the Missus, huh? Can’t say as I blame you. Mighty fine lookin’ woman.”
Jesse grabbed hold of Mort’s shirt at the throat and half pulled the man out of the saddle. The look in Jesse’s eyes had Mort quailing even though the outlaw was the one with the gun. “That’s no way to talk about a lady, Mort.”
The outlaw swallowed hard. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”
Jesse released the man’s shirt. He straightened it with both hands, carefully reining his temper. “Back up slow and easy and keep that rifle out of the sunlight. No sense me having to make explanations to Mrs. Farrell about what you’re doing here.”
Mort wasn’t stupid. What Jesse said made sense. Besides, the Boss would skin him alive if he got caught anywhere near Mrs. Farrell. “I’m skedaddlin’,” he said.
Without another word, Mort backed his horse into the copse of pecans and out of sight. Jesse whirled the stud and galloped toward Honey to keep her from coming any closer before Mort made good his escape.
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Joan Johnston
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Honey and the Hired Hand, электронная книга автора Joan Johnston на английском языке, в жанре современная зарубежная литература