Читать книгу Her Kind Of Cowboy - Pat Warren, Pat Warren - Страница 9

He was going back. Back to face his past, to make amends, to right a wrong. And to revisit a lost love.

The hot summer wind whipped at his hair through the open windows of his Bronco. An outdoorsman through and through, Jesse Calder rarely engaged the air-conditioning, preferring the scent of the rich earth and of growing things. He’d passed Arizona’s Painted Desert a while back, heading south and deep into cattle country.

He’d passed tall, stately ponderosa pines, juniper and spruce, piñon and fir trees, most growing thick and wild. Now the land stretched as far as he could see, acres of cotton on one side and on the other, grasslands where cattle grazed under the watchful eye of cowboys on horseback. He could see cactus and brush and chaparral, so different from his native California.

Déjà vu. Jesse felt an uneasy familiarity on the last leg of the long drive from his home on the Triple C ranch in northern California to St. Johns, Arizona, near the state’s eastern border with New Mexico. This journey was very different from the first time he’d driven the same route six years ago. Then, he’d been twenty-five, high on life, driving his new red sports car with the top down. In perfect health and doing what he loved, he’d felt that the world was his oyster.

Amazing how quickly your life, your whole attitude could change, Jesse thought as he glanced at the Little Colorado River paralleling the highway. It was early June, just as it had been on his first trip, but that was pretty much where the similarity ended. Desert summer heat shimmered in waves from the pavement.

Not much traffic on Route 180 in late afternoon, so he put on the cruise control and breathed in the pungent smell of leather and livestock. Like his twin brother, Jake, ranching was in Jesse’s blood. It was the life he’d been born into and, more importantly, the life he’d chosen, during good times and bad.

And there had been plenty of bad.

Maybe things went wrong six years ago because of the deception, slight though it was, Jesse thought, a frown wrinkling his brow. His father, Cameron Calder, had decided that the time had come for the Triple C horse ranch to diversify, to add cattle or sheep, if it were to remain competitive and the finest ranch in the western states. That decision had changed Jesse’s life.

Cam had sent Jake to Montana to study sheep and Jesse to Arizona for the summer to learn all about cattle ranching. His father wanted no preferential treatment for his sons, so because the Calder name was already well-known throughout the west, Cam insisted his sons use an alias, a practice not uncommon in ranching circles. For that summer, he’d used the name Jesse Hunter.

Running a hand over his short beard, Jesse remembered that neither he nor Jake had been enthusiastic about a summer away or the deception. Still, they hadn’t wanted to go against their father’s wishes, not after he’d raised them single-handedly after their mother abandoned the family when the twins were only two.

Vern Martin, the owner of the Arizona cattle ranch where Jesse had wound up, hadn’t been all that taken with Jesse Hunter at first, figuring he was a drifter who spent all his money on fast cars and fun times, a ladies’ man with a questionable future. As the mother of two young daughters, Joyce Martin had been even less welcoming. But Vern needed help and Jesse was strong, plus he’d had ranching experience. Vern hired him.

Jesse was no stranger to hard work, having pulled his own weight on the Triple C since boyhood. The men on the Martin ranch worked from sunrise till sunset under the hot Arizona sun, he recalled as he drove along in his white Bronco. The vehicle was indicative of his change in maturity from his red convertible days. He’d worked without complaint, knowing that was what Cam expected of his son. He’d bunked with the rest of the hands, asked questions, listened and learned. He’d quickly earned the respect of the men as well as Vern Martin. There’d been precious little time left over for fun, even if he’d had the energy for it.

Until Abby Martin came home from college for the summer.

She was quite simply the most beautiful girl Jesse had ever seen, with long blond hair and huge green eyes. At nineteen, Abby rode like a pro and usually dressed casually in jeans and well-worn boots. She knew her way around the ranch and worked her favorite horses under the watchful eye of Casey Henderson, the ranch manager.

Her sister, Lindsay, two years older, rarely left the main house without full makeup and a designer outfit. She seldom spoke to the hired help, but Abby knew most of the men by name and was friendly to all. Secretly, Lindsay liked to flirt, but when one of the men reacted, she’d run off. She’d come on to Jesse almost immediately, but to her annoyance, he hadn’t responded.

Because he’d had eyes only for Abby right from the start. And she for him. Soon they were meeting away from prying eyes despite Joyce Martin’s constant surveillance. They spent many wonderful hours together, but things had come to a head before Jesse could tell Abby the truth about who he really was. He’d gotten a phone call that Cam had had a heart attack and Jesse’s only thought had been to rush to his father’s side. He’d promised Abby he’d be back to explain everything, only then, the unthinkable happened.

Fifty miles from home, the drunken driver of a pickup had slammed into Jesse’s convertible head-on and changed his future. Spotting Curly’s Market just ahead, Jesse slowed, then exited the highway and turned into the asphalt parking lot. The summer he’d lived in this area, he’d often stopped on his evenings off at Curly’s to pick up incidentals and his favorite M&M’S.

Stepping out, Jesse stretched, then rolled his shoulders. Since the accident, sitting in one position too long made his six-two frame stiff, his muscles tight. Walking through the door, he wondered if Curly would recognize him; he’d often lingered to chat with the old ranch hand turned shopkeeper. Physically, Jesse knew he looked different after numerous surgeries. And there was the beard he’d grown to hide some of the facial scars and the slight limp that showed up when he was tired.

More important, he knew he was a different man inside than he’d been six years ago. There’d been a restlessness in him back then, a desire to see and do everything, to live life to the fullest. He was more settled now, more introspective, more at peace with who and what he was. A near-death experience, more than a week in a coma, months of physical therapy rebuilding his battered body and nearly a year recovering could change a person greatly.

Pushing open the screen door, Jesse let his eyes adjust from bright sunlight to the dim interior. Foodstuffs in cans and cartons were stacked on shelves along three walls, and a refrigerated section held milk and soft drinks. In the back were tools and jeans and work shirts piled on tables. In the middle of the sagging wood floor were bins of flour, sugar, rice and small barrels of penny candy. Two overhead fans tried their best to move the hot air around. He inhaled the scent of cinnamon, dust and the hot chili peppers that hung in clusters from the low ceiling. The store was empty except for Curly, who stood behind the short counter by the register, his white hair as curly as ever. No one seemed to remember his real name.

Jesse nodded to the owner, then wandered the aisles. He came to the conclusion that hardly a thing had changed in the market in six years, which somehow cheered him. Nice to know that, in an ever-changing world, some things stayed the same.

He grabbed a frosty root beer and a couple of packages of M&M’S, then strolled back to the register.

“That be all?” Curly asked as he rang up the sale.

“Right.” Jesse laid several bills on the counter. “Kind of quiet today.”

“It’s the rodeo down Springerville way. They have one every year ’bout this time.” He handed Jesse his change. “You new around here or just passing through?”

“I’m on my way to the Martin ranch. They’re having trouble with a stallion and…”

“Yeah, yeah. Remus. Got burned in that fire a while back. I heard you was coming. From California, right?”

“Right.” Jesse remembered how quickly news spread around the tight-knit ranching community. Looking full face at the man, he tried to spot a flicker of recognition in the shopkeeper’s curious brown eyes before holding out his hand. “Jesse Calder.”

Curly wiped his stained fingers on his pants before shaking hands. “I heard about your daddy. Heard he can talk to horses and they listen.” Looking skeptical, Curly leaned back against the wall. “Damned if I can figure how that can be done. Horse whispering, they call it, right? And now you do that, too?”

“Something like that.” Jesse flipped open the tab on his root beer.

Curly watched the young stranger take a long drink. “Mind if I stop by the Martins and watch? I’d sure like to see that.”

“If it’s okay with the Martins, it’s fine with me.” The man didn’t have a clue who he was, Jesse decided as he climbed back behind the wheel.

Settling the can in the cup holder, he started the engine, wondering if the Martins or Casey would figure out his identity. Then he wondered if it wouldn’t be better if they didn’t recognize him. Six years ago, he hadn’t called Vern Martin to explain why he wasn’t coming back, to say nothing of how they’d react if they learned he’d used a phony name.

Back on the highway, Jesse frowned. He was aware that deceptions always have a price tag. No matter how small, no matter how worthy the motive, the deception erases all credibility, all trust. And often one lie leads to another. If he had it to do over…

He’d wanted to explain, at least to Abby, who’d been so loving and sweet. Though it had been cut short, they’d had a special time that summer. As soon as he’d been released from the hospital, he’d called the Martin ranch, hoping Abby would pick up. Only Lindsay had answered and said that Abby wasn’t there. When he’d asked if she’d gone back to college, Lindsay in a smug tone had told him that Abby had gotten married and moved away. That had surprised him. Only weeks before, she’d been meeting him, holding him, making love with him.

Jesse had asked to speak to Vern so he could explain why he hadn’t returned, but Lindsay wouldn’t allow him to get in another word. In no uncertain terms, she told him he was persona non grata at the Martins, ordering him to quit calling and to stay away.

Somewhat shocked, Jesse had hung up. He knew that Abby had had no way to reach him, not knowing his real name. Yet he had trouble imagining that she’d met someone in such a short time and gotten married. That didn’t seem in character for the girl he’d known. Maybe she wasn’t the person he’d thought she was, after all.

Even as a youngster, Cam had often remarked that Jesse was stubborn. As his health had improved, he’d wanted to go to the Martins, to explain to Vern that an accident had kept him from returning, that he wasn’t the sort who’d leave someone high and dry without a damn good reason. And he’d wanted to hear from Abby’s own lips that she was happy with this new guy. But Cam and Jake, very aware he was still weak, still not up to par, had talked him out of the trip.

It hadn’t been easy, trying to forget Abby. During his slow healing, the hours of exercises, memories of their time together haunted him. He’d begun to think he was falling in love with her and she with him before he’d left. They’d had a lot in common—their love of ranching and horses and even children. Abby had told him she wanted to be a teacher. They’d lie in each other’s arms on the grassy hillside and talk for hours, once almost till dawn. Who knows where their feelings would have taken them if fate hadn’t intervened? Yet now, he knew he had to put her out of his mind because she belonged to another man. It seemed to Jesse that their time together hadn’t meant as much to her as it had to him if she could so easily, so quickly marry another.

It had been a fluke, the Martins hearing about Jesse Calder and his work with traumatized horses. Casey, the Martin ranch foreman, had called and all but begged him to take a look at Remus. Despite his family’s cautious warnings, he’d decided to go, to see for himself. Especially because Casey had said that Remus belonged to the youngest Martin daughter.

But now, spotting the arched entrance to the Martin ranch just ahead, Jesse couldn’t help wondering if he’d made the right decision as his stomach muscles tightened.

Before he’d made the decision to go, he’d looked into just what kind of operation the Martins had. After all, his last visit had been six years ago and he’d been concentrating on cattle, not horses. He’d learned that the ranch had been in the Martin family since 1880 and currently consisted of more than one-thousand acres with fifteen-hundred Brahman cross cows, nine-hundred head mother cows, six-hundred head yearlings and eighteen bulls. They raised their own native grass and hay, about two-thousand tons yearly. They had forty saddle and workhorses and a staff of about thirty including Casey, the manager, and Carmalita, the cook.

At first glance, Jesse could see a few changes since he’d last set foot on Martin soil. Sporting a fresh coat of white paint and new green shutters, the big house, as everyone called the owners’ three-story home, stood off to the right from the entrance and down a ways. On the grass in front was the same old cottonwood tree and around the perimeter of the wide porch were flowers that he remembered Joyce Martin planted and pruned herself.

A short distance from the big house was a new small building decorated in a rainbow of colors. Jesse couldn’t imagine what that was used for.

He parked the Bronco and stepped out. His back hurt like the devil after the hours sitting behind the wheel, a legacy from his accident. He’d been given pain pills, which he didn’t take because they made him fuzzy-headed. A generous shot of Scotch when the pain got really bad helped more than the pills and tasted better.

Jesse removed his sunglasses, hooked them on his shirt pocket and glanced to the left. Two rustic cabins with wide porches running along the front of each sat side by side, just as before. The first one looked empty, but he remembered the second was where Casey lived. Strolling past the cabins, he saw what he’d been looking for adjacent to what looked like a brand new horse barn: a freshly built round pen he’d told Casey he’d need to work with their stallion.

He walked over, propped a booted foot on the lowest rung and leaned onto the white fencing. His practiced eye noticed every detail; the swing gate at one end that opened to the barn’s far door and the patted-down dirt floor, free of grass and stones.

“So, what do you think?” a raspy voice asked from behind him. “That round enough for you?”

Jesse turned. Casey Henderson still looked like a fireplug with his short, stocky body, his ruddy face and the red suspenders he was never without. A black patch covered his left eye, a souvenir from his rodeo days. His right eye searched the younger man’s face intently.

“Yes, sir, the pen’s just fine.” He held out his hand. “Jesse Calder.” For a fleeting instant, he thought he saw a flash of recognition or perhaps just suspicion on the manager’s tanned face.

But Casey’s grip was strong and brief as he introduced himself, then whipped a red kerchief out of the back pocket of his worn jeans. “Still can’t figure why you had to have a round pen.” Removing his black hat, he ran the kerchief over his sweaty, nearly bald pate.

“You’ll see when I start to work with Remus,” Jesse told him.

Casey motioned with his chin toward the large aluminum horse barn gleaming in the hot sun. “Let’s go see him then. You think you can help Remus?” he asked as they walked.

“We’ll find out,” Jesse answered noncommittally as he fell in step with Casey. Working with damaged horses, both with his father and alone, he’d learned that most responded well to their methods, given enough time. But there were a few too badly traumatized to ever be helped. “What happened to him?” On the phone, the ranch manager had been fairly vague.

“Well, it’s a sad story, really.” Casey waved to a group of men strolling to the mess hall across the wide drive from the barn. Beyond that was the bunkhouse for the single men and a couple of small cabins for the married ones.

“Martins’ youngest daughter, Abby, ran across Remus three or four years ago. She teaches a little preschool class and she was picking up one of the kids over on Pickerel Lane. Seems the family across the street from where she stopped had moved away and abandoned Remus. He was wandering around a messy corral, half-starved. Abby’s got a real soft heart so she looked into it. Seems he’d been abused for quite a while.”

At the mention of Abby, Jesse’s interest accelerated. He well remembered how much she’d loved horses. He also wasn’t surprised she was working with children since she’d talked about doing just that all those years ago. She and her husband must live close by.

They reached the barn door where Casey paused, squinting up at the sun. “Naturally, she talked Vern into bringing the stallion here and she nursed him back to health. She tamed him, too. He became real gentle.”

Three or four years ago, Jesse noted. Had Abby and her husband lived here with the Martins back then? He wondered if he dare ask Casey without giving himself away. If they learned who he was, so be it, but he’d hoped to buy a little time first, perhaps get a chance to talk with Abby and explain.

“Then along came that damn fire.” Casey adjusted his big hat that all but engulfed his head, his eyes downcast. “It was my fault. One really cold night last February, I put a space heater in next to Remus’s stall on account of his end of the barn was the original from before the building was redone and there was no heat. Don’t know what happened, but somehow the heater fell over and started a fire. By the time me and the boys saw the blaze, poor Remus was wild, screaming, burns along his left side. We got him sedated, got the vet. He’s pretty much healed now, but he don’t trust no one, not even Abby. Won’t let anyone touch him, much less ride him. Vern wanted to put him down, but Abby wouldn’t let him. Then we read about your work.”

Casey stuffed the kerchief back into his pocket. “I’d be right grateful if you could fix him. And Abby would be, too.”

Jesse had seen the same kind of guilt before and knew it was a heavy load to carry. “I’ll try, but I want you to know I don’t do it for the owner. I do it for the horse. If he won’t let anyone near him, like you say, he’s unhappy and afraid. That’s what needs fixing.”

“Any way you call it, just fix him.” Casey shoved open the heavy sliding door.

Jesse decided to take a chance. “So then Abby lives here and still has an interest in Remus?” When Casey turned and settled his one piercing eye on his face, trying to read him, Jesse shrugged. “I’d heard she married and moved away.”

The older man studied him for a long moment before answering. “She did, but that was a while ago. Her husband died so she came back.” Again Casey aimed his chin in the direction just beyond the big house. “That there’s her schoolhouse for the little ones around here, before they go to regular school. Started out small but she’s got about a dozen of ’em now, coming and going. But she’s still mighty interested in Remus.”

A widow. That was one he hadn’t thought of. Jesse followed Casey into the barn and along the concrete walk with horse stalls on both sides. He noticed that the dividers were in good repair, the hay fresh and the lighting dim. He remembered that the Martins had run a clean operation. Half a dozen workhorses were in their stalls.

“Most of the horses are still out, but they’ll be coming in soon, ’cept for the overnighters,” Casey explained. He greeted two cowboys by name as they walked by.

A partition separated the main building from a much smaller area at the far end. Jesse slowed as he moved within sight of a single stall where a black horse stood perfectly still watching their approach.

“That’s our Remus,” Casey said, standing aside.

The stallion’s right side, Jesse noted, looked perfectly normal. But as he silently stepped closer, he saw the damaged hide that started on his face and ran along his left flank, leaving a large section mottled and scarred. The wound appeared healed. The real trauma was inside Remus’s brain.

Gauging his mood, Jesse took one step closer and talked to him, his voice low and soothing. The horse’s ears, revealing his emotions, were suddenly split, one forward and one back, displaying concern at this newcomer, trying to figure him out. Again Jesse said a few words, but when he stepped closer, Remus’s ears pinned back in an angry, aggressive response just before he reared up on his back legs, blowing out through his nose, his eyes going wild. Jesse retreated to join Casey who was looking very skeptical.

“See what I mean? Ornery cuss. Doesn’t seem to like you, either.”

“It’s about the reaction I expected, given all he’s been through. I’ll start with him in the morning.”

“You’re not afraid to get in that round pen with all that dangerous horseflesh?” Casey asked as they walked away.

“I have to gain his trust first in order to work with him.”

“Maybe we need to get the vet to give him a shot, calm him down before you start.”

“No, I don’t want him sedated. I’ll just need a light cotton line once you open the door and let him into the pen.”

Casey shook his head as they left the barn. “All right, it’s your funeral.” He turned to close the double doors, then remembered something. “Hold on a minute.” He disappeared inside.

Jesse shoved his hands in his back pockets and glanced toward the huge cattle barn next door, recalling that it was divided into sections for milk cows, the calving stalls, the insemination area. Now in the summer, most of the cattle were out to pasture, the cowboys who watched them drifting in staggered groups to chow down. Through the wide mess hall windows, he saw about half a dozen men seated at long tables. The Martin ranch seemed shorthanded, which was not usual during the busy summer season.

The sound of a horse’s hooves approaching from the range interrupted his thoughts. A sleek chestnut galloped closer, the rider a woman with a blond ponytail, her face flushed as she passed him and smoothly slowed to a stop at the far door to the horse barn. He recognized Abby immediately as she expertly dismounted and moved to the chestnut’s head to stroke the mare with a loving gesture. A tall man with bandy legs came out of the barn and took the mare’s reins from her, probably to cool her down. He said something to Abby and she laughed, the sound carrying to where Jesse stood.

He remembered that laugh, musical and lighthearted. She’d laughed often back then; he wondered if she did now. Seeing her even briefly brought memories of their time together rushing back. Did she remember them with fondness or pain, or at all? How long ago had her husband died and how? From this distance, she looked the same, but maybe, up close, she’d changed as much as he had.

Casey came out, closed the doors and followed Jesse’s gaze. “That’s Abby, the youngest daughter. I’ll let you settle in first, then take you to meet her and Vern tomorrow.” He nodded toward the mess hall. “Hope you’re hungry. Our Carmalita’s the most popular gal on the ranch ’cause she cooks like an angel.” He led the way to the long one-story building.

Tugging his gaze from Abby, Jesse followed.

“Vern had the cabin next to mine near the big house fixed up for you. Figured you might like some privacy, you know.”

“Very thoughtful of him.” Only how would Vern Martin feel if and when he learned of Jesse’s past deception?

Inside, Casey introduced Jesse to the men still eating, explaining why he was there. Several had heard about the Calder methods and expressed curiosity and skepticism, but Jesse didn’t say much, just that they should wait to make up their minds after he had a chance to work with Remus.

But it was when Casey took him over to Carmalita that Jesse had his first nervous moment. Six years ago, he’d spent some time talking with the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman who’d worked as cook for the Martins for twenty years, ever since her husband had been killed in an accident on the ranch. Vern had told her she had a lifetime job and a retirement when she chose to quit, but at fifty, she showed no signs of slowing down.

A dish towel draped over her shoulder, one small hand buried in a pot holder, she stirred something deliciously fragrant in a big pot on the large stove in the back room, her dark eyes looking Jesse over as closely as she might a chicken she was choosing for dinner. He noticed that she still favored peasant blouses with her long black skirt and the large gold hoop earrings he remembered. He met her gaze silently as Casey explained who he was.

Finally, she put down the spoon. “You look familiar. You got a brother?”

“Yes. His name’s Jake and we’re twins.”

“Mm-hmm. It’s the eyes, those blue eyes. He ever been here?”

“I don’t think so,” Jesse answered honestly.

“I knew another Jesse once,” she continued. At last, she shook her head. “Anyhow, welcome. Go help yourself.”

Relieved, Jesse thanked her and walked with Casey to the heavy buffet table laden with food. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he’d smelled the barbecued chicken. He took a plate, filled it and sat down at the nearest table where Casey joined him. Most of the men were finished and gone, only a few lingering over coffee.

Jesse ate silently, wondering just when Carmalita’s memory would put two and two together. He noticed that Casey had been quiet since they’d left the kitchen. Although Jesse hadn’t had very much to do with Casey back when he’d worked the ranch, he’d known the manager to be honest and intelligent. Probably only a matter of time before someone would challenge Jesse. He’d known from the start that might happen and also known that he’d admit everything and hope they’d understand. Especially Abby.

He searched his mind for a subject to distract Casey. “Is Vern Martin a hands-on rancher or does he leave most of the decisions up to you?”

Casey finished a piece of chicken before answering. “Fairly hands-on, I’d say. I’ve been working here going on thirty years, when old man Martin was still alive. That man worked like a horse, day in and day out. Vern, he don’t work that hard, but he knows what’s going on in every corner of this ranch. He talks over stuff with me, but he’s the final say-so.” He slathered butter on an ear of corn.

“And his wife?” Years ago, Jesse had found Mrs. Martin to be prickly, condescending and critical, but maybe she’d mellowed.

“Joyce, she keeps the books. She don’t go out much. Got a bad back.”

Jesse could relate. “There’s another daughter, right?” He’d been wondering where stuck-up Lindsay had wound up.

Casey wiped his hands on a napkin. “That one, she’s not a bit like her sister. Got herself engaged ’bout six months ago. Fellow from San Francisco, real nice. He stayed with us awhile, seemed to like it here. But something happened and they broke it off.”

But Jesse really wanted to hear about Abby. “So the younger sister moved back home after her husband died and she teaches kids in the little schoolhouse,” he said, thinking aloud. At least Abby had realized part of her dream. “Was her husband from around here?”

Leaning back, Casey looked at Jesse, as if debating how much to tell. “She met him at college, down in Tucson. Weren’t married but a month when he up and drowned in a boating accident. Abby came home on account of she was going to have a baby.” He shook his head. “Those girls are twenty-six and twenty-eight and still living under their daddy’s roof. Joyce is happy about that, but Vern, he’d like a couple of son-in-laws to take over the ranch one day.” He stood and adjusted his suspenders. “Trouble is, we don’t always get what we want, right? I’m going to get more iced tea. Want a refill?”

“No, thanks.” Jesse tossed his napkin onto his empty plate, then sat back thinking over what he’d just learned. Abby had never so much as mentioned anyone at college. Must have been a whirlwind romance. Or did she marry him on the rebound when Jesse didn’t return? No, they’d never discussed marriage or even love. Still, she hadn’t struck him as the type who’d quickly move into another relationship. Well, he’d likely find out soon enough.

Rising, he cleared his plate and walked outside while Casey stopped to talk to Carmalita. The sun was just sinking beyond the far horizon, bathing the hillside in oranges and yellows. At home in California, the sun usually set beyond the mountains surrounding the Triple C, nothing at all the way it did here. Jesse had never seen more beautiful sunsets than in Arizona.

Turning toward the house he was to occupy for a while, he noticed two little girls playing with a brown puppy in front of his porch. They had to be four or five, one very blond, the other with a dark braid down her back. Smiling, he walked toward them. As soon as the puppy spotted Jesse, he ran forward, all big feet and pink tongue, then rolled over onto his back, inviting a belly rub. Jesse squatted down and obliged the little guy as the two girls came rushing over.

“What’s his name?”

“Spike,” they both answered.

“Whose puppy is he?” Jesse asked as the little dog squirmed in ecstasy.

“Hers,” said the blond child, indicating her friend. “I’m Grace and she’s Katie. What’s your name?”

Pleasantly surprised that she wasn’t the least bit shy, he smiled at her as she plunked herself down in the grass. Katie sat down close to her friend, obviously a little bashful. “Jesse. Where do you girls live?” he asked, thinking the two must be holdovers from the little schoolhouse.

Grace pointed toward the big house. “I live over there and Katie lives in town but she’s staying over ’cause her mom’s sick. Where do you live?”

He couldn’t help but be taken by the precocious little girl with the big blue eyes. “I guess I’ll be living over there for a while.” He pointed to the cabin Casey had said was his.

Before he could get in another question, he saw from the corner of his eye that someone was running toward them. Standing up, Jesse recognized Joyce Martin as she stopped in the middle of the drive and called both girls by name, urging them to go to her immediately. Thinking to introduce himself, Jesse took a step closer, but Joyce sent him a warning glance before hustling the girls inside.

Casey came alongside. “I see you’ve met Mrs. Martin.”

His tone told Jesse that the woman wasn’t one of Casey’s favorites either. “Not exactly. Is she always that friendly?”

“Pretty much,” he answered, chuckling. “She’s over-protective of her family. Guess she’s got her reasons.” He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. “Why don’t you go get your bag and I’ll show you through your cabin?”

“Okay.” Jesse had parked his Bronco in the wide apron by the big house and decided to move it nearer the cabin. As he got behind the wheel, he glanced up to the second-story window that he remembered used to be Abby’s room.

She was standing there, holding back the sheer curtains on both sides, watching him. Too far away to read her expression, he stared back for several long seconds, then pulled his gaze away and parked the Bronco by the cabin. Stepping out, he saw that she hadn’t moved, her head still turned toward him.

Right then, he’d have given a lot to know what she was thinking.