by Devon McKay
Jessie was curious about William’s warning, but decided not to delve any deeper. She thanked him for the heads up and started walking toward the house. Taking the caution in stride, she figured she could be in and out of the house, showered and ready for work in less than fifteen minutes.
She was wrong.
Rosita met her at the front door with two large glasses of iced tea.
Steering Jessie to the front porch swing, she said, “You missed lunch. Come, sit a spell.” The housekeeper sat on the bench of the swing and patted the seat. The request, more a silent demand, left no room for discussion.
Rosita took a long sip of her iced tea, waiting for her to sit before speaking. “You work too hard, Jessie. It’s not right for you to work your fingers to the bone like this day in and day out. Your father was the same way.” And look at him now.
Jessie nodded her head in agreement, shifting in her seat. Finding the perfect position, she feigned relaxation.
“You need a husband.”
She opened her eyes with a start, staring in shock at the woman. Wincing, she read the clear disappointment etched on Rosita’s face. Everything made sense now, and she braced herself for the argument certain to follow. An argument they had many times. There were never any winners in this debate.
Jessie took a long sip out of her glass. The ice clinked against the side, and she preoccupied herself with trying to scoop out a sliver of the frozen cube with her tongue.
“And your children need a father,” Rosita continued.
She’d heard this speech before, too many times to count, but it was useless to disagree with the woman.
“Okay, I’ll start looking for one tomorrow,” she returned sassily, trying to lighten the mood with a joke.
Regarding her with a firm motherly stare, Rosita patted her leg with a firm hand. “Yes, that is funny, Jessie, very funny. But this is serious. It is no joke. This is no laughing matter. The children already have a father.”
Jessie knew the battle was lost the moment she saw the tears form.
“It’s just that I worry so much for you.” Several perfectly timed teardrops streamed down the older woman’s cheek. “And the children.”
And the children.
That was the clincher. An ebb of suspicion surged through her bones.
“You are too young and too pretty to have no husband,” the caregiver stated, wiping the tears off her cheeks with a handkerchief appearing as if out of thin air. Grabbing Jessie’s hand, she pulled it to her chest. “I have always had a great fondness for Nate, so hear me out.”
Jessie stood. The last thing she needed was for the formidable Rosita to be on his side. “I can’t talk about this right now, Rosie. I’m going to be late for work. Besides, how do you even know he’s back in town?”
Rosita shrugged, miraculously dry-eyed. A large smile radiated across her face, highlighting her youthful beauty. She could easily be mistaken for a forty year old woman, despite the fact she was well into her sixties.
“He might have come by for a little visit,” she replied with a nonchalant shrug. “He likes my cooking. I fed him blueberry pie.”
“He came by here?” Panic rose in her throat. During their outing, Jade hadn’t mentioned meeting a stranger.
“Did the kids see him? Oh my God, Rosita, please tell me the kids didn’t see him!”
Her meddling friend jumped to her feet. The skirt she wore swirled around her legs in a colorful dance from the sudden movement. She threw an arm around Jessie’s shoulders.
“Don’t worry. He came by yesterday while William and the kids were in town.” She squeezed her tight. “But it would not be such a bad thing would it, for the children to meet their papa?” A finely arched brow lifted.
“No. Yes. Honestly, I don’t know. Are you sure they were in town?”
“Of course they were. Why else would William tell me he was going into town? Now, do you want a piece of pie?” she asked, her coy, dark eyes implying innocence.
“No, I don’t want a piece of pie! What is wrong with you?” Jessie snapped, pulling free from the housekeeper’s grasp and swinging open the screen door. She marched into the house with Rosita close behind.
“He still loves you...”
The persistent woman’s words followed her inside as the door slammed behind her.
“Who loves you mommy?” Gage asked as she stomped into the kitchen. His face was stained with streaks of dark blue fruit.
Smiling, she grabbed a napkin, wiping the blueberries off. A tint of indigo remained on his angelic face.
“You love me,” she teased, opening her mouth for the bite of pie he offered.
“Yeah,” he answered, his broad grin showcasing a full set of blue teeth.
“Ice cream, ice cream. I get ice cream,” Jade chanted as she rushed into the kitchen, dragging her grandfather with her. At the sight of Gage enjoying his pie, her mouth fell open in shock. “Why do I get ice cream, and he gets to have blueberry pie?” A pout instantly appeared on the child’s lips.
Rosita solved the dilemma, scooping out a slice of the desert and placing it in front of the sullen girl. Satisfied, Jade shoveled a big scoop of pie into her mouth. Jessie sighed out loud, thankful for the momentary silence.
“See? Everyone loves my pie,” Rosita confirmed, tossing Jessie a knowing wink while wiping her hands clean on her apron. “I could teach you how to bake a pie. It’s the way to a man’s heart,” she said with a covert smile, ruffling her hand through Gage’s dark curls.
Jessie rolled her eyes, ignoring the not so hidden message the housekeeper implied. Kissing both of the kids on top of the head and waving to her dad, she made her way through the kitchen to her bedroom.
Stripping off her dusty work clothes, she was eager for the promise of a cool shower, hoping the water would wash away her problems. Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the free-standing, oval mirror, she paused.
She was no longer the bone-thin girl Nate had known.
Jessie turned to the side, peering at herself through a different angle, then turned so her back was to the mirror.
No, even though she was still on the thin side, she now had curves. Her breasts were fuller, at least two cups larger than her teen years. Even her backside contained a slight more padding. However, her stomach was flat, and she was blessed with arms and legs naturally toned with lean muscle. Would Nate prefer her body now?
When they were younger, he discovered every inch of her body with a fast fury, such devouring intensity. Would he still be the same eager lover? Or would he be slower now, taking his time to explore every part of her?
Just the thought made her insides quiver, and the annoying ache returned, spreading through her limbs, reminding her of Nate’s absence. The thought ran rampant, exciting and terrifying, highlighting every concern she had hoped a shower would wash away.
His absence didn’t appear to be a factor anymore. All of her worries seemed to start and end with the man who had now decided to stay. No matter what she did, he managed to upset her life.
She turned away from the mirror, certain water alone couldn’t fix her troubles.
Chapter 7
“Hello, beautiful.”
Nate held the phone away from his ear, prepared for the shrill scream sure to follow. Sandy didn’t disappoint as an excited shriek broadcasted from the receiver.
“Nate? Nate, honey, is that you? Doyle, come here...you won’t believe who is on the phone!” Sandy shouted both to her husband and into the phone.
He chuckled, picturing the short blonde, a cup of coffee in one hand while motioning to her husband with some kind of baked pastry in the other. Doyle would be by her side, towering a good two feet taller than his stocky wife, an exact opposite.
Where they differed in looks, however, they made up in heart. Hands down, they were two of the most giving, loving people he had ever met.
“How’s life at the O-K Corral?” Nate grinned, loving her reaction to his call. “Ho
w are the boys?”
“The boys? They’re fine. Everybody’s fine,” Sandy blurted out, her words released in a rushed flurry. “There are just too damned many of them.” She paused, only for a moment, laughing at her joke. “We have more boys than we have room for. As a matter of fact, I even have your cot occupied.”
No doubt she was overloaded with caffeine. He drank some of his own poison, savoring the perfect cup of coffee. A dark, murky blend, thick as mud.
“Some of them are even sleeping on the floor,” she rambled on.
Nate nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. He didn’t want to interrupt, missing her rash habit of saying whatever was on her mind. Her lack of a filter quite endearing. His grin broadened, wishing he were sharing breakfast with the two of them.
“You probably don’t need to know that, do you? Anyway, we all miss you, son.” She paused to take in a breath and another chuckle escaped him. She hadn’t stopped talking, even to breathe, since answering his call.
“When are you coming home?”
His grin disappeared as he imagined the concern lining her face. She was such a worrier. Guilt pooled in his gut knowing he added to her anxiety, a blessing and a curse. Although, he had to admit, it was kind of nice having someone care. And despite Sandy being less than twenty years his senior, she had filled the role of a mother figure quite well.
He had been lucky. Landing a gig at the O-K Corral was one of the best things to ever come his way, changing the rocky path his life was headed for.
Time to pay it forward.
“I’m not,” he said, letting her down gently. “I’ve had a change of plans. That’s the reason I’m calling. You know my father’s ranch...ah...my ranch now. It’s just...there’s a lot of land, and I was thinking about...” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Well, I want to do what you and Doyle are doing. I want this to be a place for the boys. A boy like I was.”
There. It was out. He breathed a loud sigh of relief as the words hung brittle in the air, untouched for a moment. The truth had been the one thing he had been scared of admitting, especially to Sandy and Doyle. His rough past had never been a secret, but the couple had never forced him to talk about it. Nor would they ever condemn him, pouring salt in an open wound.
Proving his point, Sandy ignored his confession, going straight to the heart of his statement.
“A lot of land, huh? How much room do you have?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “There’s some paperwork you’ll have to fill out. You know government stuff. And an inspection, but that’s a piece of cake. I think I have Mark’s number here somewhere.” The frantic rustle of paperwork in the background told him she was already searching. “Oh, here it is! The state inspector’s name is Mark Campbell.” She recited a number, and he scrambled for a pen and paper to write it down. “He can get you started, answer any questions you might have. Tell Mark I gave you his number. He’s one of ours, a corral kid. He spent one summer here.”
Nate choked on his coffee, inciting a bout of laughter from Sandy.
“You don’t think you’re the only one to spend a summer or two here, do you,” she asked in her sassy, no nonsense way. After a momentary consideration, she continued. “Do you have any work for these boys to do? Idle hands...”
Her words wavered, and he could hear her husband’s deep voice in the background.
“Okay, honey, I’ll tell him. Doyle says he can be there by next week. Is that soon enough? Hold on.” She giggled, sharing a few words with her husband.
Nate savored the sound.
“Doyle’s chomping at the bit to talk to you.”
The image her words provoked was humorous, and a smile pursed the corners of his mouth. The man was never in a hurry for much of anything. Doyle moved as slow as a tortoise. Instead of the smart comment Nate considered saying, he held his tongue.
“Hey, Nate. It’s good to hear from you, son.” His friend’s deep baritone spouted from the receiver, steady and sure, a slight bit calmer than his wife.
“Are you thinking of your own ranch? Well, to tell you the truth, we are in over our heads. As a matter of fact, we are over the legal capacity by ten boys, but you know how Sandy is. She won’t even turn away a stray cat. We got a couple of them, too. Do you need any cats?” A low rumble crossed through the phone line as he chuckled. “Yeah, Sandy says about ten boys, all of them ready for a new adventure. Is that too many?”
Ten.
A few doubts surfaced. Was this something he could handle? No, but if all else failed, he could always hire a few counselors to help out.
Taylor, a fourteen year old trouble maker, popped into his head. He’d had his hands full with the little rebel last year. Yet, he’d stood his ground as the boy pushed all boundaries. They had been able to form a formidable relationship. Through those trials and tribulations he had made a friend for life, making a difference in the kid’s life, and according to Doyle, Taylor was starting to show real promise.
After a brief hesitation, he swallowed his fears. “Yeah, ten boys would be perfect. And tell Sandy I’ve got plenty of work for them to do. For starters, I’ve got an old barn needing repair and about 200 acres of fence line. I hired a few guys from town to help around the ranch, but I’ve been focusing more on the sleeping quarters and my old man’s house. Both should be finished by tomorrow.” He drew in a shaky breath.
“It’s a little overwhelming, huh, son? Leave all the worrying to Sandy. She’s good at it. You and me, we build things. Let’s see, I can be there by Friday. Three days. How’s that sound?” Doyle questioned. After a long pause, he continued, “I wouldn’t be steppin’ on your toes if I wanted to hang around for a week or two, would I?”
Nate released his breath, unaware he’d been holding it. “I’d appreciate it. Yeah, I would like it if you stuck around for a bit. Did I mention there is a creek full of fat trout running through my land? I caught one yesterday, must have been at least a foot long—”
“Like I said, I’ll see you in two days.”
Nate smiled and stared at the receiver in his hand long after his friend hung up. The phone call had been bittersweet. It was good to talk to them again, but he hadn’t realized just how much he missed their company until this very moment. He would see Doyle in a few days. And Sandy, well, she was just a phone call away. The thought was reassuring.
The sound of hammers caught his attention as his friend’s words echoed in his head. We build things. He was right. Time to start building.
He dialed Mark Campbell’s number, and scheduled an appointment at his office later in the day.
Chapter 8
Wednesday morning, Nate pushed himself back from the kitchen table and poured the rest of his coffee down the drain. Staring out the kitchen window, he was drawn to a rusty, brown pick-up coming up his drive.
Walking outside, heat and humidity slammed into him like a brick wall, although neither sucked the oxygen out of the air like the confrontation headed his way.
Thomas Calhoun.
The older man got out of his truck, and Nate noted how long the act seemed to take. As Thomas approached, he couldn’t help but reflect on how much older and slower the man seemed. The years had taken a toll on him, aging Jessie’s father more than his sixty years.
They sized one another up. He had always admired the man, even looked up to him as a role model. Today, however, he was taken aback, noticing several differences about Jessie’s dad. For starters, he balanced the majority of his weight on his right side, favoring his left.
“What...are you doing here...Nate?” Thomas asked, his voice low as he stepped forward.
“What am I doing here?” he returned, crossing his arms over his chest, an immediate reaction of his defiant past. “I live here.” The sharp retort sliced through the air like hardened steel. His jaw tightened, the heat of shame coloring his face. This was not the way he wanted to handle the situation. Softening his reproach, he asked, “What’s on your mind, Thomas?”
> His mentor appeared tired, as if time had not only sapped some of his vigor, but some of his will. The shell of a man standing before him was not who Nate remembered, a distinct opposite of the idol he had placed high upon a pedestal many years ago.
“Did you come to catch up on old times?” He attempted to change direction of the conversation.
There was an untrusting coldness in the older man’s eyes. “I came...to see what...”
Thomas shifted his weight again, leaning heavily on his right leg and Nate’s attention centered on the man’s left arm hanging listless at his side.
“...what your...intentions are...Nate,” Thomas continued, his words meticulous and drawn out.
Before responding, he hesitated, sucking in a deep breath. It wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning and the muggy air smothered him. Underneath Calhoun’s thorough examination, the humidity was even more unbearable, making his shirt cling to his body like a second skin.
“Well, if you must know, I’m working on the house, fixing the barn, that sort of thing. I plan on setting up roots.” And getting your daughter back.
He studied the man’s face, keeping a controlled expression as the truth confronted him. It all made perfect sense now. Jessie’s father would have never given up control of his ranch...not unless he was forced to.
“Your idea...of setting up...roots...” Thomas wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his right hand, offsetting his balance. “...not the same...as mine.”
Nate reached out to help center him, but the man swatted his hand away. He couldn’t help the path of his thoughts, wondering if Thomas had suffered a heart attack or stroke, but didn’t ask. Such a question would only stab at a man’s pride. Instead, he nodded his head in agreement.
He perceived what Thomas was implying—he’d hurt Jessie. A foolish decision he could never forgive himself for.
“You’re right. I never was one for staying put, was I? And we both know who paid for that don’t we?” He owned up to his past, wanting to make sure Thomas got the full picture. He needed both Jessie and her father to know he had changed, determined to clear his name and make up for stupid mistakes.
