Just Jessie

by Lisette Belisle

  “No,” he agreed. “I won’t need you.” That was the last thing he intended. He swung away before she could add a word.

  When she hastened after him, taking two steps to his one, he added, “You can go back. I’ll find my way back to the house.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just…”

  He turned back to her. “You’re right. We’ve both got work to do.”

  “Mr. Harding, I’m sorry.”

  He felt a stab of conscience. He’d done precious little to put her at ease. “Make that Ben, Jess.” His tone wasn’t exactly friendly, just less harsh and abrupt.

  She smiled, correcting him. “Jessie.”

  Ben hesitated. Something long forgotten in him recognized the unspoiled sweetness of her youth, the gentle persuasion in her eyes. “All right, Jessie.” He drew out the last syllable. What harm could it do? “See you at lunch.”

  Jessie watched him walk away. He’d left her standing in the middle of the field. Stunted trees bowed to the wind. Dried brush and dead leaves danced behind him. Under a pale sun, he cast a long, lonely shadow. She bit her lip at the urge to follow him. Shaking off the wayward notion, she went back to the truck and drove home.

  Lunch was a rushed affair.

  Ben had apparently put her out of his mind. Over chicken and gravy, he discussed the farm. “You said your son would be coming back,” he said at one point. “When do you expect him?”

  Ira’s face closed. “Soon.”

  Jessie glanced up. Her father averted his eyes. Two years ago, Jared had left and hadn’t been back since. She raised her cup. Her thoughts drifted to her absent brother while her father went into an explanation about some new equipment he intended to buy, come spring.

  Jared had escaped, she thought enviously. After an argument with his father, he’d enlisted in the army the day he turned eighteen. That was eight years ago. The break had added tension to their relationship. For the next three years, his infrequent leaves home had usually ended in arguments. After the service, he’d come home for a time, but left again to work his way through veterinary school with the help of scholarships. He’d come home for summers and holidays—until two years ago when he and his father had clashed again. Jared hadn’t been back since.

  Despite some natural resentment, Jessie missed him. He added a spirit of fun and adventure to the household—a spark she didn’t possess. She had no idea what had caused the argument between her father and Jared, or what it would take to end it. Perhaps something as simple as an apology, she thought ruefully. Jared had inherited her father’s stubborn streak. For that matter, so had she.

  Over lunch, it soon became clear that her father had no intention of airing the family squabbles. Jessie glanced across the table, surprised to encounter Ben’s gaze. It was steady, unwavering, curious, as if he’d read her troubled thoughts. She returned the look with equal intensity, until she saw a gleam of humor light the depths of his eyes. She amused him. A hot tide of color filled her face. Looking away, she lowered her cup. It rattled against the saucer. Inwardly she groaned at her gaucheness, wishing she had more experience in handling men like Ben Harding. If only she could find him as entertaining as he appeared to find her! She didn’t find him amusing at all. She found him scarred and brooding, dark and dangerous. And fascinating.

  “When does the danger of frost end?” he asked, turning back to his conversation with her father.

  “Sometime in late May. You’ll want to have everything in place by then,” Ira said, giving Ben a free hand with the spring planting.

  Her father must be more ill than she’d thought. Jessie hardly had time to register that when her father excused himself. “I’m going to lie down awhile.” She stared after him in concern.

  Ben left the table with a brief, “Thanks, Jess.”

  Jess.

  Her shoulders drooped. Her offer of friendship, barely acknowledged, withered and died. Whenever he ordered her to do something, her father called her Jess; when he asked, he softened it to Jessie. From earliest childhood, she’d understood the subtle difference. This would be the pattern, she thought, watching both men disappear. She shook her head at her foolishness. What had she expected from Ben? Friendship?

  The afternoon was busy, yet the day seemed to drag, until supper—when she saw Ben again. He ignored her.

  After supper, she went for a walk. Usually her solitary walk to the pond soothed her. This evening, she felt more than alone—she felt lonely. Spring tantalized her with its promise.

  It was still early when she prepared for bed.

  Unable to sleep, she read. Her eyes grew pensive as she heard Ben’s footsteps mounting the stairs. Moments later, she heard sounds from his room. Doors opened and closed. A drawer stuck, wood grated. More footsteps. The dog growled. A muttered curse. The old pipes in the bathroom protested, then gushed. Ben was taking a shower. She wouldn’t think of him shedding clothes from his sleek, muscled body. She wouldn’t.

  Her window was open. Soft night murmurs mingled with the sound of rushing water. A new moon played shadows on her ceiling. Jessie closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. At this rate, she would be a hag by week’s end. Drawing in even breaths, she groaned in defeat when she recalled her morning encounter with Ben. Even now, she felt a hot, piercing tide of embarrassment. And excitement. She reached for the clock and set it permanently for half an hour earlier.

  Jessie drove to town the following morning. Wherever she looked, tender leaves grew on limbs of beech, oak and maple trees. Here and there, pale shades of lilac budded. Gradually the hills sloped to the town, nestled in a valley. Henderson wasn’t a pretty place. It was a working town, with a sawmill at one end, a truck stop and a trading post at the other. And in between, a few official buildings and a row of businesses struggled to survive. Nevertheless, Jessie looked for beauty and found it. Beauty in the weathered faces of those whose ancestors had stubbornly carved out a town—a place to belong in the far reaches of a northern wilderness.

  She stopped at the health clinic where the receptionist greeted her. “Hi, Jess, what can I do for you?”

  “Dad’s prescription expired. Is there a refill?”

  “Let me check.” She left and came back with the doctor, a crusty old Mainer who looked more at home herding his precious sheep than doctoring people.

  Dr. Peterson didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “I warned that ornery old fool to come in for a checkup.” He waved a stern finger at her. “You tell Ira I want to see his hide in this office before the month is out.”

  “I will,” Jessie agreed, adding, “his medicine ran out.”

  “And I suppose he waited till today to tell you?”

  “Mmm.” Shrugging, she slipped the tips of her fingers into her pockets. “He probably forgot.” Her face turned pink at the blatant lie when the doctor grunted.

  He scratched a few words on a prescription pad and tore a sheet off. “How’s he feeling? Any chest pain?” He handed her the prescription.

  Jessie slipped it into her pocket. “He won’t tell me.”

  “Is he still working?”

  “Actually, he just hired someone to manage the farm.” She was aware of a small glow, probably relief, at the words.

  “Well, that will take the load off your shoulders. You know where to reach me.” The doctor’s troubled glance met hers. “And Jessie, call if you get worried.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, I’ll do that.” Her smile slipped the minute she walked out the door.

  Jessie drove to The Trading Post and pulled her truck into a narrow vacant space between two other pickup trucks. Hers was the most disreputable, she noted. The tailgate hung at an angle. More rust than paint clung to the battered green body. A layer of dried mud covered it all.

  The store was crowded. People greeted her with native curiosity. “How’s your dad?”

  She pinned on a smile and replied, “Better,” until her jaw ached. She couldn’t bring herself to reveal a litany of complaints
and concerns. Her fear for her father’s health went too deep, to the heart of her.

  With a bit of maneuvering, she managed to get her shopping cart up and down the aisles. She scanned the shelves with a practiced eye. She needed baking supplies. She hesitated over chocolate chips. They were on special—buy one, get one free. Ben had inhaled cookies hours earlier. At this rate, she could only hope he would earn his keep. She feared he was going to cost her more than the inflated price of a few groceries. With a resigned shrug, she tossed two bags into the cart. To that, she added a few more supplies, then two more bags of chocolate chips.

  She squirmed at the checkout when the items totaled to a staggering amount. Digging into her pocket, she came up with several bills and the exact change.

  Jessie left the store. A shadow fell over her as Drew Pierce fell into step beside her. His parents owned the neighboring farm. Cal, who worked at Stone’s End, was his youngest brother.

  “How’s Ira?” Drew’s gaze settled on her mouth. Classically handsome with curling dark hair and sinfully irreverent black eyes, he oozed confidence. He was also wealthy…and the local heartthrob. His bad-boy reputation only added to his appeal, but Jessie knew him too well. “Cal tells me your dad’s been sick.”

  “He’s doing better,” Jessie murmured. The thought of a scarred, dark-browed stranger crossed her mind. Not breaking her stride, she reached the truck. Shifting one grocery bag to her hip, she reached for the door handle.

  Drew leaned a hand against the door and stopped her. “I saw your father’s newspaper ad. Get any applicants?”

  “As a matter of fact, we—”

  He interrupted her in midsentence. “Tell Ira not to worry. I can spare some time until he gets back on his feet.”

  “Thanks, but we already hired someone.” Jessie didn’t trust Drew, or his motives. The Pierce property bordered Stone’s End. In addition to importing migrants, Drew’s family controlled extensive logging and banking interests where they employed half the locals—the half who weren’t farming. Just a month ago, her father had refused Drew’s offer to buy Stone’s End.

  “Who did he hire?” he asked curiously.

  “You wouldn’t know him. He’s from out of town.”

  “Ira hired an outsider? What does he know about this guy?”

  She shrugged. “Enough, I suppose.”

  “I hate to say it, but your dad’s losing his touch. He should know better than to trust some drifter looking for a free ride.”

  “We’re doing just fine.”

  “Are you?” He cast a disparaging glance at her pickup, then turned his appraisal on her. “When was the last time you had a day off?” His gaze slid down the front of her shirt tucked into her jeans. He chuckled when she reached for the edges of her open jacket and drew them together. “Call if you need anything.”

  “Thanks anyway,” she snapped. “We can manage.”

  He merely grinned and walked away.

  Jessie drove home, feeling harassed by Drew’s offer of assistance. He made her uneasy; he always had. As a child, he’d taunted her with cruel nicknames. Jared had always risen to her defense. Who would protect her now?

  She was ten miles out of town when Drew’s flashy red car came up behind her on a curve marked with a No Passing sign. It would be just like him to ignore the law.

  At a bend in the road, Jessie averted her eyes from a crude marker under the gnarled maple tree. Jared’s dog, Sunny, was buried there. The memory still had the power to upset her. That fall, to please Jared, her father had posted the farm against deer hunters. That hadn’t stopped Drew and his college friends from trespassing. Somehow, they mistook Jared’s golden Labrador retriever for a deer. Jessie was with Jared when they heard the shots. They’d found Sunny, critically wounded. After wrestling a gun from Drew, tears streaming down his face, Jared sighted in his dog. One of Drew’s friends laughed nervously. In growing horror, Jessie watched helplessly. The dog yelped with pain.

  Jared’s hands were shaking so bad…

  In the end, she’d grabbed the gun, aimed and fired one clean shot. An awful silence followed. Jared had simply looked at her with gratitude. Now, Jessie blinked moisture from her eyes as she recalled his expression. In ways, the silence had never been broken. Drew had never apologized. From that day on, no one had discussed the incident. But Jessie knew how much Jared had loved his dog. Sunny was special, a last gift from his mother.

  Her thoughts came back to the present when Drew’s car tried to pass on a straightaway. He didn’t have room. To the right, gray rock slabs had tumbled in a recent mud slide. All the way home, he tailed her. At her driveway his car turned, then veered away. Puzzled, she glanced at the house and saw the hired man walk out of the shadow of the porch and into the sun.

  She drew a relieved breath. The rich scent of chocolate filled the interior of the truck. She released her whiteknuckled grip on the steering wheel. Fighting a wave of nausea, she sat still until it passed, then swallowed and gathered the tattered remnants of her composure.

  Steeling her nerves for another encounter with Ben, she climbed down from the truck. He watched as she reached back for the groceries, then slammed the door with a metallic clang. His gaze remained fixed on her face and rigid mouth as she crossed the driveway and the yard.

  He raised an eyebrow. “That the boyfriend?”

  She released a shaky laugh. “No!”

  His gaze sharpened. “Anything wrong?”

  “No,” she said, her breath a whisper of release as the tension drained. “That was just Drew Pierce, a neighbor.” She looked into his sun-bronzed face and met his sober gaze; a response stirred inside her. For the first time since his arrival, she felt a strong emotion other than confusion or resentment. Perhaps irrationally, she no longer felt threatened by his scars, his silence, his dark brooding glance.

  She felt safe.

  Jessie stifled the thought at birth. Nevertheless, she must have communicated it to Ben. She caught a gleam of sharpened awareness before a shutter came down over his eyes. She might have imagined that look, but suddenly she felt like a rare endangered species—a virgin.

  Chapter Three

  Rounding a corner of the barn the following morning, Ben heard a warning shout, “Watch it, Jessie! Homer’s on the warpath!” Too late. Jessie had just released the barn door.

  Ben froze in his tracks as the ugliest bull he’d ever seen came charging out, straight at her. Holding back a hoarse shout, his breath suspended, he watched Jessie turn and spring for the nearest fence. She nimbly caught the highest rail, hauled herself up and straddled the top of the fence. The black sway-bellied bull rammed it—inches below her left boot. A thick, curled, ivory-colored horn scored the wood fence. The bull bellowed a roar of frustration.

  “Whooeee, that-a-girl!” A young man—Cal Pierce?— cheered her on. “Homer’s fast, but no match for you.”

  Ben watched in disbelief as Jessie grinned and hung on. Her perch shook as the bull again rammed his huge head into the fence before veering away with a disgruntled snort.

  Jessie was still grinning when she felt two hard hands circle her waist and haul her down. She landed on her feet with a teeth-rattling thud.

  Ben grabbed her shoulders and spun her around to face him. “Are you trying to get yourself killed!”

  She gulped. “I…” His hands clenched, stopping her speech. She stared into the black depths of his eyes. His face contorted with a deep-felt emotion she couldn’t identify.

  He lashed out, biting off each word. “What kind of fool would pull a stunt like that? If I ever see you anywhere near that beast again, I’ll have him sliced an inch thick and served up for dinner! You got that?” He shook her when she didn’t respond at once.

  She caught her breath and swallowed. “Yes.” His fury drained, Ben looked as pale and shaken as she felt.

  Beads of perspiration dotted his brow. He released her, leaving the marks of his fingers branded on her skin and in her memory. He shot a dark look
at the two men staring in awe and snapped, “You! And you!”

  Eighteen-year-old Cal rocked back on his heels and nearly fell. “Yes, sir.” His voice cracked.

  “I want that bull on a lead. Anytime you can’t handle him, come and get me. Don’t let her anywhere near him again.” Ben walked off, eating up the ground with a long, furious stride.

  Once he was out of sight, Fred Cromie spoke in an awed voice, “Hell’s fire! Who in tarnation was that?”

  Jessie released a long slow breath. Her heart steadied to a regular beat. Arms crossed against her chest, she rubbed her shoulders. The day was warm. She felt the heat of the sun beating down on her bare head. So why was she shivering?

  “That’s the new boss.” Her eyes remained fixed on the corner of the barn where he’d disappeared.

  Fred took off his hat, holding it between two fingers as he scratched his head, and mumbled, “Well, I’ll be.”

  A faint smile touched Jessie’s mouth. She angled her hands into the side pockets of her jeans and turned back to the men. “Let’s get Homer’s stall cleaned out and sweetened up.”

  Homer snorted.

  Jessie decided she would rather tangle with her father’s prizewinning Angus bull than Ben any day. Giving orders seemed to come naturally to him; he would be a hard man to cross. As if a finger had trailed down her spine, she recalled the chaotic feel of his hard hands, the turbulent, cold dark fury in his eyes.

  And the anguish.

  Ben rounded the corner and stopped cold. He leaned against the barn siding, welcoming its ridged hardness against the taut muscles of his back. He closed his eyes. The girl had almost gotten herself killed! And he’d stood there, frozen. Unable to save her, unable to distract the crazed bull. Fear had paralyzed his ability to act. He’d lost his nerve. Damn it! He’d been trained; conditioned to act first and think later. He’d lost it. One second’s hesitation could have cost her life. If anything had happened to her…

  An ache twisted in his gut. He couldn’t bear to have more blood on his hands. A groan rose from the depths of his soul. He rammed his fist into the barn siding.