“I see.” She didn’t push for more. Taking two steps toward the stairs, she said, “Well, good night.”
“Ben.” His voice stopped her. She glanced back at his harsh tone. “My name is Ben.” Her eyes widened. “Say it.”
She drew in a quick breath. “Ben,” she whispered. A quicksilver smile changed her face, edging out the caution and insecurity. The soft glow of her warmth appealed to him more than he cared to admit. “Good night, Ben.”
“Good night, Jessie.”
Jessie.
Jessie nodded once, her step lightening as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Humming, she prepared for bed, unsure why he’d had a change of heart about her—if he had a heart, she thought with a rueful smile. Perhaps they could be friends.
Wrapped in her quilt, she sat in her rocker, pretending to read the mystery she’d started. The book fell to her lap. Lost in her thoughts, Jessie smoothed the palms of her hands over the chair’s wooden arms and leaned her head back. The chair had belonged to her great-grandmother, part of a dowry. Jessie smiled—such an old-fashioned term. Her great-grandfather had traveled to Scotland for a bride. Had he loved her? He’d carved the chair by hand for their first child, her father’s father. It was all part of the past, real yet mystical.
Once, Jessie had dreamed of being part of a loving family. She’d dreamed of studying land conservation, restoring Stone’s End to its former glory, raising a family, rocking her own babies….
She closed her eyes to the empty room. What had happened to all her dreams? Ben, her mind whispered.
When his eyes touched her, he made her aware of things she’d never noticed before—the dark depths of his eyes, the shape of his hands. What would she do if he looked at her and saw a woman, not a girl? Faint hope. Her tension drained, she relaxed. Feeling drowsy, she went to bed. Since those first awkward days following his arrival, she’d lost most of her wariness and distrust. She wasn’t sure when she’d started to sleep despite his presence, just that she had.
Downstairs, Ben reached for his book again.
By morning, the rain had stopped.
Ben went out to check if many plants had survived. He walked through field after cultivated field and caught up with Fred in the west end. “What do you think?”
Fred spread his mouth into a wide smile. “I think we got lucky. That’s what I think.”
Ben looked over an expanse of green plants. “So do I.”
“Another day of rain would have done us in.”
“It’s well irrigated, aerated land.” Ben walked between two straight rows that seemed endless.
Fred joined him. “The best. Ira knows his stuff.”
“Mmm.” Ben agreed with markedly less enthusiasm. He stopped to pull up a weed.
“Thought you were hitting it off with Ira. He trusts you.” When Ben shrugged off the comment without making a reply, Fred added, “He’s a hard man. But his heart’s in the right place.”
Ben discarded the weed. “If Ira Carlisle has a soft side, I haven’t seen any evidence.”
“Now you’re talking about Jessie.”
Ben shrugged. “Yes, I guess I am.”
“Jessie reminds him of his wife.”
Ben had no intention of listening to gossip, yet he frowned and asked, “When did his wife die?”
“Avis isn’t dead. Least, far as anyone knows. She was a city girl. Young and pretty. Too young. Ira was forty— old enough to know better than to bring a girl like that home. Guess he fell hard.” Fred shook his head. “Jealous as all get-out. At first, she put up with his demands. In the end he drove her away. Heard tell there was another man. Anyhow, she just packed her bags and left.”
Ben released a long breath. “I see.” He started to walk again, his one desire not to hear any more.
Unfortunately, Fred didn’t take the hint. “Left Ira with two babies, a farm to run, and a pile of debts.” Tagging along, he continued. “Made a fool out of Ira, a laughingstock in front of the whole town, Avis did. When she wanted to come home, he wouldn’t let her see the kids. Sad business.”
“That’s rough.” Ben felt a pang of regret for Jessie’s lost childhood. No one had tied bows in her hair, read her stories. He couldn’t imagine Ira pretending to be the tooth fairy.
“Hazel and I never had kids, so we did what we could. Jared was a crackerjack kid. And Jessie…Well, Jessie was always special…. Kinda quiet, you know, but always thinking and feeling things.” Fred sighed. “Ira’s crazy about his son. Thought his heart would break when Jared left home. All he’s got is Jessie. Damn fool can’t see she’s just like him. Stone’s End is in Jessie’s blood. She’s no quitter.”
Ben smiled in agreement. “That she isn’t.”
Fred nodded. “That’s a fact.”
They trudged back to the main house. Ben stopped abruptly. In the shade of a giant spreading oak, a flashy red sports car stood parked in the drive.
Chapter Four
The pungent odor of tomato plants rose from the garden. From her kneeling position, Jessie looked up at the sound of a masculine voice. “Hi, Jess.” Drew Pierce stopped less than a foot away. She shaded her eyes against the sun’s glare.
“Are you looking for my father?” she asked.
“I just saw him. He doesn’t look too good.”
Rising, Jessie brushed the dirt from her knees. “He’s got an appointment next week. Dr. Peterson will fix him up.”
“Doc isn’t a miracle worker,” Drew said bluntly. With a suggestive smile, he let his gaze run down her body. “You need a man to run this place. You’re working yourself too hard. How about burying the hatchet? What if I invited you out to dinner?” Apparently he expected her to fall all over him with gratitude.
“Thanks, I don’t need a free meal that badly.”
His laughter sounded genuine. “You always had a sassy mouth. I like that. I could teach it to do something far more satisfying.” Catching her off guard with his humor, he reached for her. His hands spanned her waist. “Maybe you need a sample.”
“Don’t!” Jessie turned her face when his mouth descended.
“Come on, sweetheart, don’t be a prude. Give a little.”
“Let me go.” Aiming a kick at his ankle, she lost her footing and found herself squarely in his arms. Drew chuckled at her sputtered protest.
To her relief, she heard Ben’s drawled, “Is there a problem here?” Drew released his grip.
Freed, Jessie took an involuntary step toward Ben, then stopped. Hands in his pockets, he appeared casual, yet she sensed an alertness ready to spring at the first sign of trouble.
His gaze held a weary cynicism. “Introduce us.”
Her chin lifted at his frozen tone. His reluctance to interfere was evident. While Drew was all male ego, Ben’s mature control and steely level gaze made more impact.
Her tone clipped, she said, “Ben’s managing the farm.”
Drew glanced from Ben to her. “That means you have to report to him personally, Jess?”
“Jessie’s her own boss,” Ben said to her surprise. “But anything concerning the farm, you can deal with me.”
“Sure,” Drew agreed, his smile set in his handsome face. “I guess I’ll be going. I’ll be seeing you, Jess.” And with that he strolled back to his fancy car.
Slowly, almost reluctantly. Ben asked, “Are you all right?”
“Nothing happened.”
He looked relieved. “In that case, I’ll see you later.”
Jessie watched him go. How easy it was for him to walk away. She stared down at the ground at the hills of crushed, broken plants. Drew had carelessly destroyed them.
That evening, she served coffee and apple crisp for dessert. Ben had seconds. Obviously, Drew hadn’t put him off his food, she thought with a spurt of resentment.
Her father fixed her with a glance. “Drew came by today. Did you agree to go out with him? He’s a good man, Jess. You could do a lot worse than hooking up with him.”
“Hook up with Drew?” she returned in disbelief.
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Everything!” Her voice shook. Drew was the second son, the black sheep of the Pierce family. He’d earned his womanizing reputation. At twenty, he’d gotten a girl pregnant, then refused to marry her. His father had paid to avoid a scandal.
Aware of Ben’s appraisal, she felt her face burn with humiliation. She didn’t care what Ben thought. Yes, she did. Perhaps he found the situation distasteful. She could feel him putting mental distance between them, rearranging the encounter in the garden to suit himself. Outwardly, it must have looked as if she’d encouraged Drew.
“Think, girl,” her father argued. “You won’t get a second chance if you pass up his offer.”
An offer. A deal. This wasn’t about her, Jessie realized. “Well, I did refuse, so that’s that.” She forced herself to walk, not run, from the room.
Ben found himself alone with a disgruntled Ira.
“Girl doesn’t know what’s good for her,” Ira complained. “The Pierce operation is first-rate. What more does she want?”
Ben raised a cynical eyebrow. “How about love?”
Ira’s snort refuted that remark.
Ben shifted restlessly. He was the outsider here and destined to remain that way.
Apparently tired of the discussion, Ira drew Ben into their nightly game of cribbage. Ben lost the first and second games. After a third win, Ira complained, “You’re making this too easy. Get your mind on the game, boy.”
Ben grasped the excuse for a break. “How about coffee?”
He left Ira sputtering and found Jessie in the kitchen washing dishes. At her age, she should be spreading her wings, enjoying her youth before it declined. He cleared his throat.
“I was going to make coffee. Would you care for some?”
She ignored him.
“Jessie, your father means well,” he said awkwardly. “He just wants the best for you.” As far as reassurance went, the words sounded empty even to him.
Nothing.
All right, so she was annoyed with her father, probably with good reason, but she needn’t take her hostility out on him.
“Look,” he snapped, reaching for her shoulder and spinning her around with a firm grasp. Somehow, his hand got tangled up in her hair. Jessie blinked at him in obvious shocked reaction to his touch. At the same moment he noticed a wire wrapped around his thumb—a thin black wire connected to headphones and a portable radio. As the earpiece pulled away from her head, he could hear the staccato speech of a baseball announcer. She was listening to a baseball game! Well, it certainly beat bagpipes and highland flings, Ben thought, relaxing his grip.
He found the entire situation highly amusing. Was that how she retained her sanity and escaped her father’s interference—along with his earsplitting bagpipes? She simply tuned them out. His mouth relaxed into a smile. Her hair felt like silk.
“Who’s winning?” Ben asked.
“The Red Sox, four to one.”
Standing this close, he felt the whisper of her voice, a breath against his lips. With the start of warm weather, she’d gotten some sun. Her winter pallor had faded; a healthy rose color kissed her cheeks. Her eyes looked larger, deeper.
“Are you a baseball fan?” he murmured.
“Jared taught me when we were kids.”
He could imagine Jessie as a child—a sturdy little girl, a tomboy tagging after Jared, chasing balls, climbing trees. Somehow, his fingers had gotten tangled in her hair again. “I came in to make more coffee.” His voice dropped to a husky tone.
“Did you want something to go with that?”
At the provocation, his gaze dropped to her mouth— those pale pink lips. Were they innocent? At the moment, he would give an arm and a leg to know. Living this close to Jessie was either heaven or hell; he hadn’t decided which. At the oddest times, he thought about her. Now, he watched her awareness grow as her eyes darkened with some hidden emotion. He dropped his hand to her shoulder and felt her tremble. The cloth of her denim shirt was thin cotton, softened by countless washings, the color faded to match the incredible ash gray of her eyes.
“There’s more apple crisp,” she offered.
“No, thanks.” His mouth twitched at her attempt to distract him. He’d met plenty of women who gave themselves for kicks or money, never for love. He’d never been able to take them, never been able to see past the hard emptiness in their eyes. When he looked at Jessie, he saw only his reflection. He filled her eyes…and knew he wanted more. Aware of their closeness, the silk of her hair, the scent of lemon soap, the tightening of his body in direct response, Ben released her.
Coming to his senses, he turned toward the stove. “Don’t go to any trouble. Just coffee will do.” He reached for the pot. Only hours earlier, he’d caught her in the arms of another man.
He swore as he burned his hand on the pot.
A few days later, Jessie backed the truck out of the driveway. When Ben hailed her to stop, she rolled down the window. “Did you want something?”
“If you’re going into town, can you give me a lift?”
She stumbled over some sort of response.
Ben climbed into the passenger side. He eased his long legs into the confined space. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”
She was equally courteous. He was always scrupulously polite, but distant. Perhaps he was just a naturally cold man; a man like her father, she thought. To fill the awkward silence, she tuned in to a soft-country rock station on the radio. After a bit of static, Willie Nelson’s crusty, lived-in voice sang about a man never being there for a woman. Jessie smiled ruefully at the timely reminder. Brushing a stray hair from her brow, she released a long breath and fixed her eyes on the road.
In direct contrast to her mood, the sun sparkled, dappling the winding tree-lined country lane. Sunbeams danced in and out of the thick shade.
“I’ve been meaning to ask…” His Southern drawl washed over her, making her aware of an inner heat that had nothing to do with the weather. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal deeply tanned arms, lightly sprinkled with wiry black hairs. His hands were strong, lean, controlled—like him.
He was waiting for her attention. “About what?” she asked.
“About hiring extra help for the season,” he continued.
She wondered if he ever lost that formidable control. “My father’s probably made the usual arrangements. The migrant farmworkers work under contract for the Pierces.”
“I see.” Ben frowned, as if he had some doubts about the usual arrangements. More than likely, he would rather be giving orders than taking them from her father.
Impatient with her preoccupation with Ben, she found a convenient parking spot on Main Street. Before she could make a move, he came around and opened her door. Unaccustomed to the attention, she was surprised by his small act of consideration. He offered her a hand as she climbed down from the truck. Though fleeting, his touch was sure and firm, yet gentle. It hardly registered before his hand dropped. The memory remained.
A chance breeze cooled her hot face. He made her feel so silly, gauche…and young. Her great-grandmother would have said she was sickening. “Shall we meet back here?” she asked, aware of the need to escape him. “My errands will take about an hour.”
“Suits me.” He glanced up and down the short blacktop thoroughfare that made up downtown Henderson. “Where can I buy some jeans? I seem to be outgrowing mine.”
His wry comment drew her gaze to the snug fit of his jeans. They looked just fine to her. Soft and faded with wear, they clung to his long, lean muscled legs and taut hips. She flushed when her gaze hastily swept up to encounter his.
His smile formed faint lines of humor in the tanned weathered skin around his eyes—faint because he rarely smiled. “Too many cookies, I guess.”
“I could stop baking them.”
“You needn’t on my account,” he said dryly.
Ch
uckling, she pointed to the sign. “It isn’t fancy, but you’ll find almost anything you need in The Trading Post.”
His gaze took in the sight of six-foot-wide moose antlers hanging over the door. “That’s mighty impressive.” He stepped back for a clearer look. “I’ve been hoping to spot a live one.”
Jessie laughed. “Typical tourist.” On that note, she left him to find his way inside the store. She found her smile lingering and felt foolish when someone threw her a curious look.
Sobering at the thought of being caught mooning over some man who generally treated her like one of the boys, she hastily selected three dozen healthy tomato plants to replace the ones Drew had destroyed. Her errand accomplished, she went back to find Ben at the front of the store.
She found him at the checkout counter, apparently waiting for change. Leaning casually against the counter, he watched her approach, his gaze narrowing. His eyes never wavered, making her aware of the unconscious sway of her hips, the inner rush of pleasure at his masculine appraisal.
“Have I kept you waiting?” he asked.
“Not at all.” Jessie hoped she didn’t sound as rattled as she felt. The place was crowded. Heads were turning.
Ben was aware of the wagging tongues.
Apparently, his appearance with Jessie in tow had set off the gossip. After completing his transaction, Ben took a firm hold of Jessie’s elbow and steered her past several customers. When she stepped aside to allow someone to pass in the narrow aisle, she brushed against him. He felt her resistance to his touch. And her softness. Cursing himself, he let his hand fall. Hands-off was the best policy where she was concerned.
Outside, he stopped at a soft-drink machine. “How about a soda?” He flipped the tab and handed her one.
“Thanks.” She hopped up on the truck’s tailgate and sat. She looked like a mischievous little girl.
Smiling slightly, Ben helped himself to a soda. “Folks aren’t too friendly around here, are they?” He glanced down the empty street. Henderson was a narrow, tree-lined strip of white-painted, tin-roofed buildings bordering a highway. He wondered where it went. Probably to another town exactly like this one.
Just Jessie Page 5
