Читать книгу Her Kind Of Cowboy - Pat Warren, Pat Warren - Страница 10

Abby Martin stood looking out her bedroom window watching the new hire follow Casey into the cabin. She waited until the lights went on and the door closed. Oddly uneasy and not quite sure why, she pulled the sheers over the window and picked up her hairbrush.

Dad had told her all about Jesse Calder, the man from California who’d had great success in working with traumatized horses. Apparently his father had learned from the teachings of Monty Roberts, the original horse whisperer who’d taught himself to communicate with horses starting years ago when he was a child.

At first, she’d been skeptical, worried a stranger might set Remus back even further. But Casey had researched the Calders and learned that they were not only legitimate, but owners of one of the largest horse ranches in the west. The ranchers they’d contacted who’d used Jesse’s services had nothing but praise for him and his methods. Casey had convinced her and Dad, and they’d invited the man to visit to see what he could do.

Abby pulled her long blond hair free of the band and began brushing. She was aware that one thing that had bothered her was the name. Jesse. The mere sound brought memories, sad ones, from a time she’d worked so hard to forget. Then, just when she’d convinced herself that there really was nothing to a name, a man named Jesse had shown up today.

Undoubtedly, her mind was playing tricks on her. But when she’d seen him walk over and get into the Bronco just now, then sit and gaze up at her, she’d felt something eerily familiar. Of course, she was being paranoid. He was tall and lean, like that other Jesse, but more muscular. And he had a beard, but then, any man could grow one. Then there was the limp. Not pronounced, but he walked slowly and carefully, as if denying he had a problem. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes from this distance, but, even if they were the same, all manner of people had blue eyes.

Bending over, she brushed her hair vigorously, as if she could brush away the errant thoughts. Foolish mind, conjuring up images of a man who’d pretended to care, then left her with a mere moment’s notice. That had been Jesse Hunter, not Jesse Calder. She would have to keep that in mind. She would make an effort not to prejudge and to give him a chance to help Remus.

As she heard four little feet scampering up the steps amidst giggles, she straightened and smiled. Bath time, she thought as she left her room to meet the girls.

Casey stood near the round pen, but back a ways so as not to distract Remus. It was seven in the morning and Jesse Calder had released the stallion from the barn half an hour ago. He’d moved inside, closed the gate and stood there quietly, not moving, a light cotton line coiled and hanging from one shoulder.

Casey waited, gazing from Remus to Calder and back, wondering when the man was going to do something. But he just stood there while the horse snuffled and snorted, first pawing the ground, then trotting around the pen nervously. Finally, Remus stopped near the center of the circle and made eye contact with the man standing so silently, each taking the other’s measure, it seemed.

Behind him, Casey heard quiet footsteps and glanced back to see Vern Martin arrive and stop alongside him. The two men studied both stallion and trainer for long minutes until Vern spoke.

“What’s he doing?” he whispered, not wanting to spook the horse.

“Damned if I know,” Casey answered softly. “He’s been standing there thirty minutes or more, staring him down. At this rate, he’ll be here till Christmas.”

“You’re the one said this Calder fellow could work miracles,” Vern reminded him.

“That’s what I heard, from more than one rancher. But like they said, you got to be patient and let him do it his way.”

A tall man with silver-blond hair thinning on top and a nervous twitch beneath his sharp blue eyes, Vern was not a patient man. He watched for another few minutes, then shook his head. “Well, I can’t stand here all day. I’ve got work to do.”

“Yeah, me, too.” But Casey was obviously reluctant to leave.

“I’ll meet Calder later,” the rancher said. He clapped his manager on the shoulder. “Let me know if anything happens.” Settling his white Stetson on his head, he walked away.

Casey’s curiosity kept him rooted to the spot. Another ten minutes and he saw Jesse walk slowly forward until he was in the center, the stallion backing farther away with each step. Then Jesse did an odd thing. He turned his back on the horse and just stood there as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Casey watched him take in several deep breaths as if to relax himself.

“Braver man than me,” Casey whispered to himself, having seen Remus thrash about in his stall when anyone came too close, those strong legs like lethal weapons.

Clearly, Remus didn’t know what to make of this newcomer who seemed unafraid. He resumed circling the pen, round and round, over and over. Still, Jesse didn’t move.

Suddenly, the stallion stopped about ten feet behind the man, his ears sharply forward, showing his interest. Slowly, he moved toward Jesse as Casey held his breath. Closer, closer. Near enough that Jesse had to feel the stallion’s warm breath on his neck. Then the horse stopped. After a few moments, his head leaned closer and he appeared to be sniffing Jesse’s scent. The trainer let him, not moving a muscle.

Just then, the double steel doors to the barn slid open with a loud thud and two ranch hands walked out leading their mounts, talking loudly. Remus jerked back, startled, the spell broken. He rushed away from Jesse, stopping on the far side of the pen.

Frowning, Jesse walked to the gate and let himself out.

Casey went up to him, wanting an explanation. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but exactly what was it you were doing in there?”

Jesse recoiled the cotton line into a tighter circle. “Mostly just letting him get familiar with my scent, in a non-threatening way.” He glanced toward the men who’d left the barn. “Do you suppose you could ask the guys to use the doors on the other side for a while?”

“Yeah, sure.” Casey shuffled his scuffed boots, still not satisfied. “Okay, so now he knows your scent. What’s next? You going back in there?”

Turning to study the stallion, Jesse shook his head. “Not right now. Later this afternoon.”

“Why was it you turned your back on him? He could’ve hurt you bad.”

Jesse allowed himself a small smile. “I doubt that. Horses are flight animals, not fight animals. They won’t attack unless they’re attacked first. I was just standing there, no threat to him. He was making all the moves.”

“Yeah, but when you going to do something? I mean how long is this going to take, you think?”

Jesse shrugged. “That depends on Remus. He’s in charge of the timetable. I’ve got to get him to trust me before I can help him. No one can predict how long that will take.” With his peripheral vision, he’d seen Vern Martin watching for a short time. “Mr. Martin in a hurry for results? Because if he is, you’ve got the wrong trainer.”

“No, no. I was just wondering.” Casey hoisted up his jeans a notch. “You just take your time, son.” He started walking away, then stopped. “If you need anything, just ask.”

“I will. Thanks.” With one final glance at Remus, Jesse strolled thoughtfully toward his cabin.

No matter how many times he’d worked with damaged horses, especially on their owner’s turf, he always had to justify his methods. Everyone expected a quick fix, as if he had a magic wand. This sort of thing took time. Humans didn’t get over a trauma overnight, so why would they think horses would? It wouldn’t be until they began to see results that they’d finally come around. However, he was used to the reaction so he didn’t take it personally.

At his porch, he heard voices across the wide driveway and turned to see over a dozen children in front of the rainbow-hued schoolhouse playing ring-around-a-rosie in groups of four, led by Abby who was clapping in time to the music from a boom box set under the tree. Jesse sat down on the top step to watch.

It was obvious that the kids were different ages, from toddlers of around two to six and seven-year-olds. He spotted Grace and Katie, both with braided hair today. With the regular schools on summer vacation, there were probably more kids than usual. Yet they all seemed orderly and well behaved despite a few of the younger ones falling down as they twirled around, giggling. Abby had them well in hand.

She had on white shorts today and a loose-fitting pink shirt, her golden hair pulled back in its usual ponytail. The years seemed to vanish as Jesse watched her, thinking she hardly looked a day over the nineteen she’d been when he’d first seen her six years ago down by the big cottonwood tree alongside the stream. She’d been dancing at twilight with an imaginary partner, arms stretched as if holding him, humming a slow tune. Her naturalness, her fresh beauty, had blown him away.

“All fall down!” the children yelled out, then dropped to the ground, laughing. Jesse watched Abby pick up the smallest child—a boy who’d probably barely turned two wearing blue overalls at least a size too big for him—swing him around, then kiss his dark curls before setting him down with the others. She seemed totally at ease with the children, in her element, enjoying them. Jesse felt an unexpected jolt of envy and wondered at its source.

A young girl who looked to be of high-school age came out of the big house carrying a pitcher of red liquid and paper cups. Probably a local teenager helping Abby for the summer, Jesse thought as they both herded the children into the little house. Squinting, he made out the sign above the door. Miss Abby’s Preschool. It would seem Abby’s dreams had come true.

He was about to go in when he heard a low, throaty bark, a shuffle of feet followed by a distinctive whine from the direction of the mess hall. Glancing down the walkway, he saw a big old hound dog headed his way, running in that comical way he remembered.

“Jughead,” Jesse said as the cocoa-brown mixed breed barreled up the steps and into his arms, nearly knocking him over. “How’ve you been, boy?” he asked as the dog proceeded to lick his face.

He’d forgotten about Jughead, the ranch dog that had been a youngster during Jesse’s first visit. Though he’d been friendly to all, Jughead had had a special affinity for Jesse, following him everywhere, even sleeping near his bunk. Missing his own Border collie back home, he’d spent some of his off hours trying to teach Jug some tricks. Like retrieving sticks thrown, or rolling over on command. He’d never learned any. The silly dog couldn’t even swim, always hanging back at the water’s edge, too scared to go in. But he’d been so loyal, so needy of affection since most of the men thought he was too dumb to bother with, that Jesse had sort of adopted him.

And now here he was, proving that dogs never forget. Looking around, Jesse wondered if anyone still here from back then would remember Jug’s devotion to Jesse and figure out his identity. “I think I met one of your sons,” he told Jughead, remembering the brown puppy named Spike. With a final fond scratch behind the dog’s ears, Jesse rose to go inside. He opened the cabin door and Jug scooted in before he could stop him. It wasn’t until he turned that he noticed Abby standing in her schoolhouse doorway, watching him with a thoughtful look on her face.

Resigned to the fact that sooner or later, the truth would come out as it usually did, Jesse followed the dog inside.

Early afternoon and there were half a dozen men lingering behind the horse barn to watch Jesse work with Remus. The word had spread and curiosity had been aroused. Casey had told everyone to use the other door and he’d warned all who came to watch that they had to be quiet. Curly from the store leaned against the barn wall and shaded his face from the hot sun by tipping his hat lower.

Even Vern was there, Casey noted. He’d taken the rancher to meet Jesse just before lunch and heard Vern ask the trainer to explain his methods. Lord knows the boy had tried. He’d said things like “silent communication with horses is far stronger than the spoken word,” and “the horse is an intelligent animal and should be in unison with man, not against him,” and finally “man should cause a horse to want to perform to his wishes.” Neither Vern nor Casey had understood half of what he’d said or meant.

A sudden movement caught Casey’s eye and he noticed Abby slip into the shadows of the barn to watch.

Now Jesse had the simple cotton line around Remus’s neck and had him circling the pen while he stood in the center holding the rope’s end. Round and round Remus went, slowly at first, up to a trot, then slowing down again. Patient as Job, Jesse held the line and steered him, changing directions now and again. After half an hour or so, the men began drifting away, murmuring their disappointment at a show that didn’t pan out. Soon after, shaking his head, Vern strolled off, too. Only Casey remained.

And Abby, who stood silently watching from the shadows, sure he couldn’t see her.

She didn’t know who interested her more, the man or the stallion. She decided there was an uncanny resemblance of this Jesse to the other, but they weren’t the same. This man was infinitely patient, with gentle moves, his gaze focused. The Jesse she’d known had been like a live wire, jumping onto his horse and riding bareback, racing with the wind, eager and enthusiastic. Much like she’d been back then. She doubted that that Jesse could have mellowed this much.

But her heart wasn’t convinced, reacting to seeing this man as if the two were the same. The beard camouflaged the lower half of his face, but it looked as if Jesse Calder also had a square chin hinting at stubbornness. The other Jesse had worn his thick, black hair longer, down to the collar of the denim shirts he’d preferred. This man also wore denim, the sleeves rolled up on muscular arms. And he had on sunglasses, rarely worn by anyone else on the ranch.

Remus looked better than she’d seen him in months. He marched around the pen and didn’t seem to mind the man holding the rope. But he never took his eyes from Jesse, still distrusting, still skittish. Abby knew it would take time getting through to Remus, if at all. This man seemed their only hope. She hated to give up on the stallion, on anyone.

She should go, Abby thought, yet she stood rooted to the spot. She’d left Susie, her teenage assistant, in charge at the little schoolhouse reading a story to the older ones while the younger ones napped. But Abby didn’t like to be away too long. She was about to leave when she saw Jesse step closer to Remus. Immediately, the stallion skittered away. Jesse widened the loop and yanked the line from the horse’s neck, then left the pen.

Abby stayed hidden, but Casey walked over to him. “So, was it a good day?”

Jesse knew he was trying the man’s patience. “Yes, I’d say so.”

“Don’t you get tired, standing out there for hours?”

“Not as tired as Remus is. He’s the one running. I’m just standing there holding the line.”

“So you figure you taught him something today?”

“Sure. He’s familiar with my scent, knows I’m not really afraid of him and he knows I’m patient. A good day’s work.”

“Uh-huh,” Casey answered, sounding unconvinced.

Jesse smiled. “I know you don’t see it yet, but you will.”

“I sure hope so.”

“Listen, I was wondering, is there a horse I could ride once in a while? I usually ride every day at home.” The doctors had also told him he had to stay active, to not let his muscles tighten from nonuse. He’d equipped a gym at the Triple C and did strengthening exercises daily. Already he was thinking that helping Remus was going to take a while so he’d have to improvise.

“Sure ’nuff,” Casey told him. “Domino’s good. Six-year-old quarter horse, black with white markings in the second stall. You’ll find saddles in the tack room. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” Checking his watch, Jesse saw that it was still several hours till the dinner bell. Exercise was what he needed, he decided as he walked to the barn.

Abby watched him go. She wished she could take the time to follow him, to see how he rode. The way a person rode a horse was distinctive and often revealing to the practiced eye. No two people rode quite the same way.

Maybe another day, she’d catch up to him, to check him out on horseback and up close. Just to put to rest the vague uneasiness she’d felt since he’d arrived.

Jesse finished cooling down Domino after his ride and left the barn. He’d run across several of the men cutting and clearing dead tree branches and had stopped to help out. Fatigue poured over him like a sudden spring shower. He ached, like he’d known he would, especially his back, but it was nothing a long, hot shower couldn’t fix.

Removing his hat, Jesse wiped his damp face on his shirt-sleeve as he headed for his cabin. A cold drink would hit the spot, preferably a frosty beer. He’d have to get over to Curly’s and stock a six-pack in his small fridge.

Man, it sure was hot! More accustomed to the cooler summers of California, the change was a little hard to get used to. He didn’t think the desert heat had bothered him as much the last time he was here. Another few days and he’d acclimate and…

Jesse stopped short when he noticed a long-legged woman in shorts and a tight top, her auburn hair short and windblown, sitting on the top step of his cabin. She was attractive without question, but in his opinion, she wasn’t even in Abby’s league. He recognized Lindsay and remembered that he wasn’t supposed to know her.

She smiled as she watched him come closer. When he stopped and propped one boot on the bottom step, her lazy brown-eyed gaze swept over him, head to toe, very slowly. “Hi,” she finally said. “I’m Lindsay Martin.”

“Hi, yourself,” Jesse answered cautiously. He vividly remembered the night six years ago when she’d come to his cabin looking for an easy seduction. Her eyes had blazed when he’d politely but firmly turned her down.

“If you’re the new horse trainer, I have an invitation for you.”

“Is that right?” He couldn’t help wondering if she’d recognize his voice or maybe his eyes. Lindsay was smart, but he’d long suspected she also had a mean streak.

“Mm-hmm,” she purred. “Are you Jesse Calder?”

“One and the same.” He saw her smile widen as she uncrossed her spectacular legs and rose to her full height of about five-eight. Jesse had to admit she had a build that could make strong men weak, and she damn well knew it. And used it to her advantage, he’d wager. Unless she’d changed, which it didn’t appear she had.

“We’d like you to come to dinner at the big house,” she said as she slowly descended the stairs. “In about an hour?”

It was not something Jesse wanted to do, to face all the Martins around a dinner table, wondering who would figure out his identity first. He’d wanted to talk with Abby, but alone, not surrounded by her family. This charade had gone on long enough. He needed to clear the air, first with Abby, then the Martins. Yet right now, he saw no easy way out. Rejecting his host’s offer probably wouldn’t sit well with Vern.

Lindsay was alongside him now, waiting for his answer, her heavy cologne swirling around him. He was stuck and he knew it.

“Thanks. I’ll be there.”

Slowly she trailed a long red fingernail along his arm from shoulder to wrist. “See you then, sugar.”

Jesse watched Lindsay walk across the road in that undulating way he remembered. He couldn’t help wondering what her fiancé had been like and what had happened that they’d called off the wedding. Maybe the guy had gotten tired of Lindsay’s obvious flirtatious ways.

Sighing, he ran up the steps and went inside to take his shower.

Vern himself opened the door and greeted Jesse as an equal, no doubt due to his father’s reputation. The big house was old and home to third generation Martins, but looked as if it had been renovated not long ago. Jesse hadn’t been inside on his last visit, so he had no comparison. He thought the place was typical of many working ranch homes—spacious, red tile floors, western decor, big, comfortable furniture.

He smelled apple pie and heard sounds coming from the kitchen in back, but he saw no one except Vern who hustled him into his den and poured him two fingers of whiskey, neat, in an old-fashioned glass. Jesse preferred Scotch but beggars couldn’t be choosers and his back, even after a long shower, was still hurting.

Vern freshened his own drink. “Real nice to have another man in the house,” he said, motioning Jesse to twin leather chairs facing a stone fireplace large enough to roast a couple of pigs in. Sitting back, Vern took a generous swig of his drink, then sighed audibly. “Best part of the day, don’t you agree?”

Jesse didn’t necessarily agree, but he tossed back the whiskey and hoped it would dull the pain in his back. “I like your house,” he said honestly, glancing around Vern’s masculine retreat. “Built much better than they do these days.”

“You got that right.” Vern narrowed his blue eyes and studied the younger man. “Did you know I met your dad some years ago?”

“No, sir, I didn’t.”

“Sure did. At a rodeo in Colorado. We were both a lot younger back then.” He chuckled. “I regret not keeping in touch with Cam through the years. You look like him, you know.”

“So I’ve been told.” Had Vern Martin asked him over for a reason or was he just longing for some male companionship? Jesse wondered.

“How’s he doing these days?”

“Good. He had a heart attack a while back, but he’s doing real well.”

“You have a brother, don’t you? I always envied Cam with two sons.” He took a sip of his drink, then coughed into his fist. “I love my girls, but sometimes it’s hard living in a house full of women.” Vern paused, looking thoughtful. “How’s the Triple C doing?”

Was that inquiry Vern’s hidden agenda in asking Jesse over? he wondered. “Doing very well. Arabian market fell through, as you know, but quarter horses are going strong.”

“You breed and train, right?”

“Yes, and board horses, give riding lessons. A few years back, we added cattle. Diversification, my father believes, is the key to survival. Of course, we don’t have nearly the herd you have. We allocate about eighteen acres to cattle, have about three-hundred head cross cows. And we grow our own grass and hay.”

Vern nodded in agreement. “Ranching’s a tough business, some years worse than others. Good help is hard to find.”

Studying the man, Jesse could see worry lines by his eyes and his color wasn’t good.

Vern cleared his throat. “I found out I’ve got a bit of a heart problem, too.” He glanced toward the open door. “Don’t want the family to know. I’m thinking I’d be better off selling. You wouldn’t know of anyone looking, would you?”

“Not offhand, but I can check with Dad.”

“Yeah, that’d be good. And let’s keep this between you and me. No use worrying the others.” He downed the rest of his drink.

They heard footsteps just before Grace came scurrying into the den. “I’m supposed to tell you dinner’s ready.” She looked at Jesse. “Oh, hi. You’re the man who fixes horses, right?”

“You could say that,” Jesse answered, smiling.

“Okay, we’re coming, honey.” Vern stood as the child ran back out. “That’s my granddaughter, Grace. Pretty as a picture, isn’t she? Looks just like her mother.”

So this was the baby Abby had come home to have. “She’s cute.”

“Sure is.”

So Abby was raising a fatherless child. He knew all about how difficult it was to raise children alone, like his own father had had to do.

“Casey tells me that Abby’s husband died,” Jesse threw out, hoping Vern would elaborate.

“Yeah. Devil’s own luck.” He set down his empty glass. “We never even got to know him, you know. They met at college and eloped over a weekend. They were supposed to come here at semester’s end. Joyce was planning a reception, but two weeks later, he fell off a boat and drowned.” He shook his head. “Our girls haven’t had much luck with men. Lindsay almost got married a while back, but something happened between them and the wedding never took place. I have two beautiful, bright marriageable girls and not a suitable man in sight. What I need is a good, strong ranch man who could take over for me.” Vern sighed heavily. “And they’re scarcer than hen’s teeth.”

Jesse wondered for the hundredth time how different things might have been had that truck not hit his convertible. He’d have seen to his father’s health, come back and probably married Abby.

“You married?” Vern asked suddenly.

“No, sir.” He hated to hand this poor guy yet another disappointment by revealing his past. He’d have to do it soon, but not right now. First, he had to talk with Abby. Alone.

Abby was having trouble eating. Seated across the dining room table from Jesse Calder, she kept looking at him from under her lowered lashes. Up close, he was even more like Jesse Hunter with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to look right through her. She noticed a small scar above his left eyebrow and wondered what had happened.

He was fairly quiet, answering Dad’s questions, evading Lindsay’s overtures, trying not to notice that Mom wasn’t very friendly. Her mother hadn’t wanted to invite him to dinner, but Dad had insisted, for no apparent reason. However, Joyce had put on a great dinner, her famous roast pork with vegetables, but Abby might as well have been chewing sawdust.

Studying him, she didn’t think he had much of an appetite, either. He’d turned down Dad’s offer of wine as she had. The only one drinking was Lindsay, now on her second glass.

Keeping up with the conversation, Jesse managed to study the Martin clan, one by one. Joyce had her auburn hair up in some sort of twist that added to her stern look. She wore a navy-blue dress with a little white collar and matching shoes. All that for a weekday meal with someone she didn’t know yet. Or did she dress so formally every night?

Vern had on his usual jeans and checkered shirt, the line on his forehead showing just where his hat usually sat. Having said his piece in the den, he was quiet. Lindsay wore a low-cut blouse and a short leather skirt, her eyes bright from the wine she seemed overly fond of. Grace looked cute in a T-shirt and shorts that matched her cornflower-blue eyes. She wasn’t much of an eater but she loved to chatter, bombarding him with questions.

But it was Abby who held his attention. She’d brushed out her blond hair and let it hang past her shoulders, making him remember the times he’d thrust his fingers through the silky thickness. Her incredible green eyes rarely met his and when they did, she quickly looked away. Had she figured out his identity yet?

Jesse didn’t smile much, Abby couldn’t help noticing, except when he talked to Grace who’d insisted on sitting next to him. He answered her questions patiently and didn’t talk down to her. He had nice hands, she decided, his fingers lean and strong. She rather liked the beard, but it was his eyes that disturbed her, that deep blue.

So like the other Jesse’s.

“Tell me, Mr. Calder,” Joyce Martin asked, her first comment to him that didn’t involve serving the food, “is your mother involved in ranching with your father?”

“No. My mother’s gone.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Joyce managed to sound sympathetic. “When did she die?”

Jesse set down his fork and looked at her. “I’m not sure she did. She left my father, my twin brother and me when Jake and I were only two. From what I’ve heard, she wasn’t fond of the ranch. Dad got full custody of us.” He turned to Abby across from him. “It’s not easy, raising kids alone.”

Abby saw compassion on his face, but she didn’t want him thinking of her as the pitiful widow. “It’s not like that here. I have a lot of help from my family.”

“You’re lucky. My brother has a two-year-old son who lives with us. The three of us take care of him.”

“And his mother?” Joyce wanted to know.

“It was a messy divorce. Jake has custody.”

Joyce raised a questioning brow. “Three men raising a child alone? I don’t know.”

“No offense, ma’am,” Jesse answered, “but some women don’t make good mothers.”

Apparently, Joyce decided to drop the matter as she glanced around the table and saw that everyone was finished. She rose. “You all sit still and I’ll bring in some pie.”

Jesse saw Abby rise to help her mother as he spoke to his hostess. “Thanks, Mrs. Martin,” he said, “but I couldn’t eat another bite. The dinner was delicious.”

Halfway out of the room, her arms full of plates, Joyce glanced over her shoulder. “Well, all right, if you’re sure.”

As Abby moved to clear his side of the table, Jesse caught her attention. “I’d like to show you what I’m doing with your horse, if you’ve got a minute.”

“You don’t mean tonight?” Lindsay interrupted. “It’s nearly dark. I thought we might go out by the highway, the three of us. There’s this new little club that opened up—”

“Not me, not tonight, but thanks,” Jesse told her. He turned back to Abby expectantly.

She made her decision quickly, before she could change her mind. Perhaps if she talked with this man, she’d get it in her head that he had nothing to do with that other Jesse. “I’d like to see your progress with Remus. I don’t often have time during the day. I’ll meet you as soon as I finish helping Mom.”

“Great. I’ll let Remus out into the pen.”

Grace jumped down. “Can I go, too, Mommy?”

“No, sweetie, not this time.” The little girl followed her mother into the kitchen.

Lindsay flounced out of the room, but Jesse didn’t have time to worry about her. He had to talk to Abby, to convince her he hadn’t meant to leave the way he had.

“Thank you, Mr. Martin.” He reached to shake hands with his host who appeared half-drunk.

“Sure, sure.” Vern didn’t notice the offered hand as he busily poured himself more wine.

Jesse saw himself out.

Abby leaned on the top board of Remus’s specially built pen and watched Jesse with her horse. He’d turned on the outside lights and she could clearly see that he was holding a rope lightly coiled at his side. Jesse walked closer to the stallion, using the rope as a threat, as if he intended to lasso him with it. Remus danced out of range, his twitching tail revealing his discontent at this evening invasion.

Over and over, Jesse crowded him, closer and closer, and each time, the stallion would back away. Abby drew in a nervous breath as Remus reared back, pawing the air, but Jesse moved quickly out of harm’s way. She couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever gotten hurt working with wounded horses.

After a few more encounters, Jesse stopped, speaking softly to the horse, then left the pen and joined her by the fence.

“You have a way with horses,” she told him, knowing there were plenty of men who’d never get in a pen with a horse like Remus.

Jesse hung the coiled rope on a post. “And you have a way with children.” He motioned toward the little schoolhouse. “That’s a lot of kids to keep in line.”

“I’ve always liked children.” She glanced at Remus standing at the far end, watching them warily. “I’m curious. Why a round pen?”

Jesse shrugged. “It’s going to sound obvious and silly, but often when you work a horse and he wants to escape, he heads for one of the corners and you have to tug and coax him away. In a round pen, there’s nowhere to hide. And I don’t have to butt heads with him over it.”

“That makes sense.”

There was precious little moonlight, which was why he’d hit the lights. Turning, Jesse leaned his back against the rail and looked her over. She was wearing a soft-blue shirt over tan slacks and her hair was hanging loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were that incredible cornflower blue that he remembered so well. Like he remembered how they’d darken when he’d touched her, loved her.

He jerked his attention back to the horse. “Casey tells me Remus had been mistreated when you found him. How’d you get him over that?”

“It wasn’t easy. That was why I was so upset when he got burned. He’s already been through so much.” She scooched up and sat on the top railing, her feet on the second rung. “Mostly I was just gentle with him, helping his wounds to heal, letting him get to know me and realize I was no threat to him. His previous owner, a big, burly man, made a contest out of it, demanding dominance to satisfy his own ego, so his neighbors told me. Then he abandoned him and moved on.”

“Some people should never own horses. Common sense isn’t as common as you might think.” He smiled at her. “You may have a career as a horse whisperer.”

“Mmm, I doubt that. I saw you work Remus earlier this afternoon. I’ve never seen such patience.”

“That’s what it takes. You’ve got to stand steady. If you move fast or demonstrate too much energy, the horse will bolt. I’ve learned to stop, breathe slowly and deeply, to visibly relax so he can see that. Horses are attuned to instincts as much as voice and actions. He instinctively knows that if I’m relaxed, I’m no danger to him. Even tonight, although I pressed him with the rope, I didn’t capture him with it.”

Abby was listening on two different levels: the first, all about Remus, the second the struggle inside her about the familiarity of this man. His voice had the same timber as the old Jesse. How could that be?

She cleared her throat. “So now he’s used to your scent and knows you’re no threat. What is the next step?”

“To get him to allow my touch, to learn some simple commands and follow them.”

“He’s pretty high-spirited.”

“That’s fine and you want some of that. But he also has to learn to interact with people and other horses.”

A light breeze shifted a lock of Abby’s hair and settled it on her cheek. Jesse’s hand half raised to brush it back when he stopped himself. He hadn’t the right to touch her, not yet. Maybe not ever.

Now that he had her here, he searched his mind about how best to tell her the truth. Before he could speak, Abby interrupted his nervous thoughts.

“How do you go about breaking a horse? For years I’ve watched how they do it here and I’m not real happy with their methods.”

Jesse took a step closer to where she sat, inhaling her soft floral scent. “The original horse whisperer, the man who taught my father, and then later Dad taught me, didn’t believe in breaking horses. He called it starting them or joining up, as the horse joins with man. That sort of communication results in the horse voluntarily cooperating.”

She wondered if his short beard would feel soft or prickly, then chided herself for her roving thoughts. “We have this mare that absolutely won’t take the bit, won’t cooperate at all. Dad got her from a friend in a trade. No one can seem to get through to her. I don’t suppose you’d want to give it a try?” Then she quickly thought better of the request. “Oh, but, I shouldn’t ask since that’s not why you’re here.”

“I’d like to try. I can’t work with Remus all day. You work a little, then let him rest and remember what he’s learned. Then go back and try again.” He smiled up at her. “Keep in mind, though, that I’m not a magician.”

“Absolutely. I just wondered if there was a better way. I hate the idea of dominating any animal, making him give up his will to suit ours. It seems wrong.”

“I think it is. Along the way, the owner gets frustrated, which can cause him to hurt the horse he’s trying to grind down into submission. The male ego is the cause of most horse cruelty.”

She smiled down at him. “And as a man, you don’t have a problem admitting that?”

“No, because I’m not one of those men.”

“I’m glad you explained things to me.” She had no reason to linger and should probably go in.

Jesse held out his hand to help her down.

Feet on the ground, her eyes went to his big hand that all but swallowed hers. Suddenly, her heart picked up a beat as something familiar caught her eye.

There on his thumb was an X, a scar she remembered. Jesse Hunter had told her he’d gotten cut on a barbed wire fence when he was only ten, leaving a clear scar in the shape of an X. How could two men with the same first name have so similar a scar?

Still gripping his hand, Abby’s eyes rose to his, questions swimming in them. “This scar…it can’t be! But it is. You and Jesse Hunter, you’re one and the same!”

Disbelief and shock had her trembling as the truth slammed into her. “Oh, God!”