Just Jessie

by Lisette Belisle

  Jessie heard the back door close with a bang. A moment later, the truck started with a crash of gears. The motor revved—Ben was waiting for her, despite their argument. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was angry, for which she was partly to blame. He’d tried to smooth things over; he’d even let her vent all her resentment. She’d finally worked herself up to an apology, and he hadn’t stayed around to listen.

  At the hospital, Jessie found her father asleep, his face a battle-weary gray. His years showed in the deep, troubled lines, the frown he wore in sleep. She’d never seen him this low. She swayed, suddenly fearful for his recovery. Ben entered the room directly behind her. When he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, she felt a ripple of shock to her senses, followed by an unfamiliar sense of comfort that was more than mere solace.

  Instinctively, she leaned back, seeking his strength.

  Ben’s hand tightened when Ira’s eyes opened. He saw the old man’s reaction—the slow blink of surprise, followed by fatherly disapproval. “Hello, Ira. How are you feeling?”

  Fully alert now, Ira raked his daughter and Ben with a look of suspicion. “I’ve been better.”

  Admiring Ira’s undaunted spirit, Ben let his hand fall and stepped back. He wasn’t about to tangle with Ira Carlisle over possession of his daughter. Ira’s expression eased.

  Conversation was stilted after that. Keeping his input to a minimum, Ben realized father and daughter had never shared a real conversation in all the time he’d been with them.

  The nurse popped her head around the door. “Time’s up.”

  Looking exhausted, Ira suffered Jessie kissing him on the cheek with a gruff, “Don’t get all mushy, girl.” He glanced over her head at Ben. “Don’t go writing me off just yet.”

  “I won’t.” Ben accepted the challenge. Escorting Jessie from the room, he felt angry for her sake. What would it hurt Ira to be kind to his daughter?

  When they reached the hospital exit, Ben held the door open and followed her out. “How about grabbing a bite at the diner?”

  “You look as if you’re planning to take a bite out of me,” she said. “Are you still annoyed with me?”

  “I’m not annoyed,” he snapped. She raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “It’s not you.” Ben stared down the nearly deserted street, then met her gaze. “Let’s not argue about your father.”

  “All right.” Jessie felt his tension. Had her father picked up on it? It wouldn’t be long before he realized things weren’t running smoothly at Stone’s End.

  In silent agreement, they walked to the nearby diner. Though medium height, she felt small next to Ben. At a crosswalk, he took her elbow. When his hand slipped down to hers, she felt aware, as if he’d claimed her. Claimed a piece of her, a piece of her heart.

  The waitress greeted them. “Back again, I see.” She chuckled. “I’ve got your table.”

  Jessie felt a bubble of laughter rise within her chest. Next, they’d be playing “their” song. They took their seats.

  Ben picked up the menu. “The stuffed flounder looks good. What do you think?”

  His mundane comment brought her down with bump. “That sounds good.” Clenching her hands, she dropped them into her lap when Ben caught the small movement. “Ben, I…”

  She stopped when the waitress returned to take their order.

  That accomplished, Ben asked, “You were saying?” His expression wasn’t inviting. The moment for an apology was lost.

  She shrugged. “Nothing. It’s not important.”

  The stuffed flounder was delicious. Jessie refused dessert, but had coffee while Ben devoured a wedge of chocolate-cream pie. Sweets were his one weakness. It made him seem human, and vulnerable. Suddenly she blurted, “I’d like to apologize.”

  He looked wary. “For what?”

  “For making things awkward when they don’t have to be.”

  “Don’t they?” he asked quietly.

  She sighed. “You’re not making this very easy.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re driving at.”

  So, he wanted it in black and white. “I appreciate all you’re doing. If I’ve made things harder, I’m sorry.”

  His eyes flickered over her, making her feel small and weak—with longing. “You have nothing to apologize for. Truce?”

  He extended his hand in a symbolic handshake. His fingers curled around hers. Unable to deny her response to him, she felt like a moth drawn to a flame. She wanted to love him. It was that simple, and that complex. With an indication of mutual involvement and encouragement, she would give herself without shame or regret. If only he wanted her for the same reasons. But he didn’t. The knowledge froze her heart.

  “We were friends,” he said. “Shall we try again?”

  It was such a pale imitation of what she wanted. Could a man and a woman be just friends? Could she and Ben? Not by her definition. A friend wouldn’t make her mouth go dry and her pulse quicken at a glance. A friend wouldn’t have her mind at war with her body. And her heart? She could only hope Ben would leave soon, before he broke her heart.

  “Jessie?” he murmured.

  Despite all the sound mental advice, when his thumb ran over the back of her hand in a soft fleeting caress, her will to resist started to crumble. “Yes,” she whispered.

  They got home before eight. Even for country hours, it was too early to go to bed. Jessie made some excuse and disappeared inside. Ben stayed outside on the porch.

  The languid day’s heat had cooled; the hills were dusk-shadowed and sleepy looking. He felt tense. At a movement by the door, he looked up and knew exactly what— correction, who—was troubling him. It wasn’t the weather.

  “I just wanted to thank you for dinner,” Jessie said softly from the screen door. The lamplit room behind clearly outlined her delicate curves. Her softness was so inviting.

  “You’re welcome,” he said. It seemed they’d used up all their polite conversation at the restaurant. What could he say to put her at ease that wouldn’t add heat to another sort of tension? He was relieved when Fred’s old pickup turned into the driveway. Fred and his wife, Hazel, got out.

  Fred called out a cheerful, “Thought we’d just stop by for a neighborly visit.”

  Ben smiled wryly when Jessie turned to them with an obvious sense of deliverance. “I was going to make coffee.”

  Hazel climbed the porch stairs. She was a solid woman, as solid as the earth. Her eyes were kind, and Ben was glad that she was there for Jessie. “We’re praying for Ira.” She squeezed Jessie’s hand. “And for you, dear. I know it’s hard.”

  Grateful for Hazel’s concern, Jessie worried that things were going to get harder. She had no idea what she would do when Ben actually left. While the men played chess, the women chatted. At one point, Jessie glanced across the parlor at Ben. He caught her looking at him. He smiled wryly. They were being chaperoned. The small private exchange made her feel connected to Ben. The realization filled her with dismay.

  She was so unbearably aware of him—every gesture, every spoken word, every lift of his brow. Cradling a carved chess piece, he looked outwardly relaxed—like a lone wolf lying low, waiting to spring an attack. His thumb lazily smoothed over the marble piece, a queen, as he appeared to contemplate his next move. Jessie could imagine the cold marble warming to his touch, just as she had. His hands were lean, long-fingered and tanned; strong, yet gentle when he’d stroked her. He’d awakened strange new sensations that somehow seemed familiar.

  It was odd, but at times she could read his thoughts, as if he’d awakened some dormant instinct in her, some feminine impulse that somehow linked her to him. She couldn’t control it; she might as well stop the tide or shout at the full moon to stop shining.

  Jessie flushed when his gaze snagged hers, suddenly wondering if he could read her thoughts. She sprang to her feet. When everyone looked at her in surprise, she said, “How about coffee? There’s cake.”

  She took her time performing the mundane act to
restore her composure. When she returned with a coffee-and-dessert tray, she found Drew had stopped by. “Just being neighborly,” he said.

  My, my, so much attention, Jessie thought, feeling a sense of unreality. Since when had events at Stone’s End become such a center of interest? She could see the speculation in Drew’s eyes as he looked from her to Ben.

  “I’m sorry about Ira.” Drew took her hand before she could object. “If there’s anything I can do, just ask.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate the offer.” She pulled her hand away. Obviously, she’d become a challenge to Drew. Her resistance only added interest to his pursuit. “How’s Cal?”

  Drew smiled. “Bored out of his mind.” He left soon after, having extracted a promise to call if she needed anything.

  At her words, Ben’s expression darkened. After Drew drove off, he observed dryly, “If you didn’t encourage him to drop in whenever he pleases, he’d give up.”

  Jessie flushed. “I do not encourage him.”

  His eyes glinted with irritation. “Don’t we have enough problems without Drew having free run of the place?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t trust him,” Ben said flatly. “Who do you think is responsible for all the ‘accidents’ around the place?”

  “Do you have any actual proof he’s done anything?”

  “Are you defending him?”

  “No.” She sighed. Was she avoiding the issue?

  Ben looked away without giving her a chance to explain. Fred and Hazel said nothing. They left about ten. Jessie walked out to their car to see them off. Hazel climbed in.

  Fred shook his head. “Heck, I don’t know why you’re mad at Ben, or Drew, for that matter. Seems to me there’s only one reason a man interferes between a woman and another man.”

  Jessie fell for it. “What’s that?”

  “’Cause he’s cutting her out of the herd.”

  She laughed. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Well, you asked.” He took a moment to contemplate her with a wizened expression. His face bore more laugh lines than frown lines. “It’s male instinct. You ever watch old Homer when he sets his heart on a fresh young heifer…?”

  “Fred!”

  He tried to look innocent. “Well, it’s only nature taking its course. Homer, well, he’s pretty good at doing what comes naturally. On the other hand, Beauregard doesn’t appear to have a clue. Now, Ben here…”

  “Stop.” Red-faced, she placed both hands over her ears. She couldn’t prevent a smile at his comparing Drew and Ben to the moose and the bull—only which was which?

  “Well, you sleep on it. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to choose.” Fred climbed in and drove off.

  How could she choose what wasn’t offered?

  Jessie strolled back to the house, in no hurry to go inside just yet. She felt keyed up, as if waiting for the eye of a storm to pass over. At a movement in the shrubbery, she caught her breath in alarm, but it was only Beauregard.

  The large, ungainly moose delicately nibbled at her hydrangea bush. She warned him, “Scat,” and chuckled when he actually did. She shook her head, amused when he made it only as far as the next bush. Still smiling, she approached the porch.

  Ben was there. A shiver ran over her as she realized he’d been watching her. She felt exposed, as if each raw nerve lay bare. In the moonlight, he could most likely see her expression as clearly as she could read his. The moon was bright, and the night was soft and slow. It reached out to her.

  With his back against a porch column, Ben sat on the rail. “Care to share the joke?”

  She sat on one of the steps, then realized she’d practically planted herself at his feet. “Nothing, really—just Beauregard up to his usual late-night snacking.” Her gaze fell on the rosebush he’d planted for her. It seemed so long ago. Although she’d neglected to water and nourish it lately, it flourished—its thick leaves and pale delicate rosebuds just ready to open.

  Ben smiled down at her. “Fred tells me Beau’s been mooning after a shy young heifer all week.”

  “That sounds like Fred.” She laughed, then stopped when she felt his eyes heavy on her. “I could make more coffee.”

  Ben hesitated. “Jessie, this is not a good idea.” He kept the harshness out of his voice. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him?

  “I just wanted to…”

  “I know.” His gaze took in the trembling mouth. “Don’t make this difficult.”

  Fire sparked in her eyes. She lifted her chin. “I wasn’t offering more than coffee.”

  “Weren’t you?” The words vibrated between them.

  “No,” she whispered across the dividing space.

  “And what if I asked? Would you let me into your bed?”

  She threw him a fathomless look that had him wanting to grab her and drag her to bed, or turn tail and run. He drew in a breath and did neither. She spoke softly. “But you won’t ask.”

  Her voice drifted over him, tempting him to forget all his reasons for not taking what the fates so generously offered. A night of love—something he hadn’t had in so long it didn’t bear thinking about. But there was still Ira. And honor.

  Somehow he found the strength to resist. “No, I won’t.” When she started to withdraw, he should have left it at that. “It would be a mistake. I might be tempted to take advantage of Ira’s absence tonight, but I like you too much to hurt you.”

  “Are you so sure I’d let you?”

  Smiling wryly, he shook his head. “I refuse to answer that. Let’s just say you bother me and leave it at that.”

  “I bother you?” Her words held skepticism.

  He watched her smile start in her eyes. He’d noticed that before; now it meant more. Her smiles meant more— he counted each one, storing memories for when he was gone. In his life, no woman had ever made a lasting impression. Jessie Carlisle would.

  He observed as her eyes rounded in amazement. Hadn’t anyone ever told her she was perfectly delightful and unspoiled? Strong and independent, gentle and vulnerable, she was a special lady. He envied the man who would someday convince her. He envied the man who would teach Jessie how to love.

  “You deserve someone who will love you like crazy,” he found the strength to say. “Don’t settle for less.”

  She stood abruptly. “But not you?”

  His mouth tightened. “Not me.”

  Jessie absorbed the words. How many times could he hurt her? Once again, he’d warned her off effectively. He’d once accused her of attempting to keep him here. If her life depended on it, she would never give him the ammunition to level that accusation again. When it was time, she would let him go. He’d never been hers, after all.

  “I know, just friends.” She had to get away from him, away from temptation. “Well, I’m going to—”

  “There’s only one problem,” he said huskily. Without warning, he drew her up to his lounging position on the rail. She was helpless against him. Their shoulders knit together. He bent his head and took her mouth, kissing her deeply until she opened to his invasion. With the tips of his fingers, he stroked her shoulders and throat. Easing undone the buttons on her shirt, his thumb slipped inside and grazed her breast.

  The results were devastating, carving inroads into her self-control. How could she resist the sweet rush of desire? His groan revealed he was having difficulty reining in his own hunger for her. Silently she let her mouth speak, kissing him back with an eager response that must have betrayed her deep longing.

  “Ben,” she whispered. When she clutched his shirt and collapsed weakly against him, he released her.

  The abruptness shocked her, as did his hard expression when he raised his head and drew in a ragged breath to speak. “I still want you, Jessie. That hasn’t changed.”

  “I thought we’d agreed—”

  “I never agreed to a damn thing. I’d be a liar if I did.” The scar on his face looked stark white against the dark tan of his
brow. “Just so there won’t be any more misunderstandings, let’s agree to stay out of each other’s way, or else. At least, until your brother comes home.”

  Silenced, she simply stared back. How could she have forgotten for even a minute? He was itching to leave. Forget her dreams—she would cling to sanity. How could she depend on a man who kept his possessions in a saddlebag, and his motorcycle tanked up and aimed for the open road?

  Ben wasn’t at breakfast.

  Jessie was relieved. She wasn’t, prepared to face him after his ultimatum—she was to stay out of his way, or else…Or else what? The thought tantalized her.

  Fred came looking for Ben. “The work crew never turned up. With rain coming, we need to start that corner field.”

  “I’ll look into it.” Jessie reached for the phone.

  Drew answered on the second ring. “Jessie, hello.”

  At the smug smile in his voice, she took a breath. “I think there’s been a mistake. We’re expecting a crew.”

  “No mistake,” he said. “Why don’t we talk about it? I’m at the camp store. I’ll be expecting you.” The line went dead.

  Jessie stared at the receiver. He’d hung up!

  Without taking a moment to consider, she drove to the Pierces’. Their farm boasted new barns and a gracious brick farmhouse. A mile farther, the migrants’ camp was another world. Gray buildings with tin roofs and small windows. Some windows were broken, she noted with concern. Although it was August, nights turned cold. Several children played on an old swing set. There was no grass, just dirt—dirt everywhere. Jessie recognized Ramon’s son, Miguel. When he waved, she waved back.

  A small grocery store and gas station serviced the tenants. When she pulled into the parking lot, Drew opened her car door. “That was fast,” he said. “My mother’s expecting us for lunch.”

  “This isn’t a social call. We can talk right here.”

  He shook his head, his smile amused yet determined. “Jess, Jess, why make this more difficult? I’m beginning to think I missed something all these years. You’re a lot more entertaining than I expected. But the game’s up.”

  “This isn’t a game,” she snapped, infuriated at his baiting.