Just Jessie

by Lisette Belisle

  “Ready?” he asked, amused. No, she wanted to shout; she wasn’t ready for this. Since his arrival, he’d put distance between them; now she wanted to maintain that distance.

  An impossible task, she realized a few moments later. She sat perched on the back of his bike. Aware of the astonished glances in town, she had even more difficulty clinging to her dignity. Oh, well. She relaxed and enjoyed an unexpected sense of freedom. Heads turned as they drove through town, but she didn’t worry about the gossip. Not then.

  The hospital gift shop offered a small selection. Jessie looked at the cut flowers. “What do you think?”

  Ben reached for a ceramic pot. “How about a cactus?”

  The saleslady chuckled. “Shall I wrap it up?”

  Ben’s eyes glinted with amusement when Jessie agreed, “Yes, please.” She was still smiling when she entered her father’s room. Ben’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder as he ushered her through the door ahead of him.

  “Take your hands off my daughter,” Ira warned ominously.

  Jessie felt Ben’s hand dig into her before he loosened his hold on her. She felt cold and abandoned when he did.

  “Sure, Ira.” Ben stepped back, hands up, like a fighter indicating he wanted a clean fight.

  Ira glared at her. “What’s this about you and Ben?”

  Cactus in hand, Jessie came to a stop at the foot of his bed. “What do you mean?”

  “I may be old and breathing through a tube, but you can’t fool me, girl. Drew came by to warn me. He had some interesting things to say about you and Ben. Seems like everyone’s talking.” Ira directed his next comment at Ben, who stood rooted by the door. “I trusted you to take care of Jessie and the farm. You took my money, slept in my house, ate my food. Then dragged my daughter’s reputation through the mud.”

  “Dad!” Jessie’s instinctive defense infuriated her father even more. “I’ve done nothing,” she whispered.

  Her father collapsed back on the pillows. “You’ve done enough to get yourself talked about.”

  Ben said quietly, “Ira, it’s not the way you think.”

  “You have no idea what I’m thinking!” her father shouted, sitting up. For a sick man, his voice contained a powerful rage. “Your sort only knows how to use a woman.”

  “Stop right there.” Ben’s voice grew taut.

  A staff nurse rushed in. “What’s going on in here? Now let’s relax,” she urged Ira. “I’ve paged Dr. Peterson.”

  Ira shrugged her off. “You relax. I’ve got business to tend to before I die.”

  “Mr. Carlisle! Ira,” she said more gently. “Don’t do this to yourself. You’re upsetting the heart monitor.”

  He swore hardily. “I’ve got things to say, and no spaceage machine’s going to stop me!” He glared at Ben. “What will it take to make you do the honorable thing?”

  Jessie choked on a dry sob. Years of large and small disappointments paled to insignificance. “Dad, please don’t.”

  “Tell me one thing, Jess. Have you ever been in his bed?”

  Her face flushed at the searing memory of that one night when Ben deliriously dragged her into his bed. Ira’s eyes sank at her sign of guilt. “Nothing happened!” she insisted too late.

  Catching the nurse’s warning look, she didn’t argue with her father—a futile exercise in any case. Somehow, he always won.

  Ben’s look of pity made her feel ill.

  Her father demanded, “What are you going to do about it?”

  “What are you suggesting?” Ben asked warily.

  His lips turning blue with effort, Ira laid his cards on the table. “I don’t know where you come from, but around here, it takes a wedding to repair a woman’s reputation. If you need more of a motive to do the right thing, Jessie stands to inherit half the farm. It’s yours…if you marry her.”

  At this wholesale auction of her future, Jessie cried out in shock. The clay pot fell from her nerveless hands and shattered. “Dad, you can’t mean it,” she whispered.

  His eyes met hers. “You going to shame me, just like your ma?” At the accusation, Jessie drew in a sharp breath.

  “Jessie.” Ben’s low voice reached her. Through her blurred senses, he looked like a fractured painting, like a portrait someone had cut up and pieced back together. He grasped her shoulders. “Jessie, honey.” He swallowed visibly. “Let’s get married.”

  Marry this stranger? “No.” The word squeezed past the lump in her throat.

  “Why not? We discussed marriage, remember?”

  She felt a sense of unreality. Yes, they’d discussed marriage—between her and Drew. Not Ben. Without an ounce of sentiment, she could never agree to his proposal. She would never know if Ben married her for herself or for the farm. All her dreams dissolved in that one moment of realization.

  Ben continued, his voice soothing and persuasive. “It will make your father happy. We could make a go of it.” When she remained mute, he turned back to a silent, watchful gathering. “We’ll be married as soon as it can be arranged.”

  Ira’s eyes lifted in relief. “When?”

  Ben looked at her. “A week.”

  Jessie opened her mouth to argue, then saw her father’s face ease and knew she couldn’t risk his fury just now. When he felt better, she could explain. She would explain. Ben nodded at her in approval; she couldn’t recall agreeing to his proposal.

  The nurse hurried them out.

  Riding home on the bike made conversation impossible. At the house she hopped off and removed her helmet.

  “We have to talk,” Ben insisted. Nothing was settled.

  “Not now,” Jessie pleaded, feeling a headache coming on. Clearly, her father wanted her married at all costs. If she had to choose, Ben was the more obvious choice. It was so tempting to say yes.

  “The problem won’t magically go away.” Ben spoke in an exasperated tone. “I’d like an answer.”

  Couldn’t he see she was trying to save him from himself? “Then my answer is no,” Jessie’s voice trembled. She left the helmet dangling from a handlebar.

  Ben came around the bike. “Jessie, we are going to talk.”

  His tone stopped her. “Why, why are you doing this?”

  “Do I have a choice?” he asked dryly.

  “Is it the farm?”

  “No.” His gaze was direct, hard and cynical. “Although I do understand the farm means everything to you.”

  Not quite, she wanted to say, but couldn’t. “Should I be grateful for your generosity?”

  “Don’t make me the villain. On second thought, maybe you should be grateful,” he said, brutally frank, as if she’d driven him to it. “Maybe I just saved your father’s life.”

  Jessie closed her eyes. “Dear God.”

  Fred, who hadn’t gone home yet, approached at the sound of their raised voices. “What’s wrong? Is it Ira?” He looked apprehensively from one to the other.

  With a muttered exclamation at the interruption, Ben said, “Nothing’s wrong.” His gaze clashed with hers, daring her to deny him. “In fact, there’s going to be a wedding.”

  “No, there isn’t,” Jessie insisted.

  Ben laughed harshly. “Drew overplayed his hand.” A hint of satisfaction crept into his voice. Astounded, Jessie realized he was jealous of Drew. A small hope sprang to life. Ben’s next words crushed it. “Ira’s determined to have a wedding. It’s purely chance that I wound up playing the groom. If Drew hadn’t fed Ira a pack of lies, he’d be engaged to Jessie, not me.”

  Fred shot back. “Well, what do you expect? The doctors aren’t guaranteeing Ira much of a future. He’s looking out for Jessie. He can’t leave her alone with this farm to run.”

  Ben didn’t sound convinced. “As usual, Ira’s prime concern is Stone’s End, not his daughter.”

  Hurt and bewildered, Jessie fumed. They were discussing her as if she didn’t exist! Fred shrugged. “Maybe so, but a bride like Jessie tossed in with Stone’s End is a mighty fair ba
rgain. If you ask me, maybe you just got lucky.”

  Ben’s laugh sounded hollow. Unwilling to hear more, Jessie broke in. Her voice shook with suppressed anger. “In any case, there’s not going to be a wedding.”

  At her interruption, Fred managed to look shamefaced. “Aw, Jessie,” he groaned. “That didn’t come out right.”

  Ben remained cool and remote as he stared at her, his expression unreadable. She lifted her chin, her eyes fixed on her closemouthed fiancé. “It’s just as well I heard. As soon as Dad’s stronger, we’ll explain.”

  Ben’s eyes darkened. “I gave my word.”

  “Your word?” she repeated in disbelief. “And that’s more important than what I want?”

  “At the moment, yes,” he snapped.

  His admission cut through her, bringing instant rage to her response. “I won’t marry you!”

  He smiled without a shred of pity. “I think you will.”

  “You’re wrong.” She clenched her hands and unclenched them. Men and their misguided code of honor were a complete mystery to her. She wanted to be calm, matter-of-fact and distant. Like Ben. But her attempt fell flat. “Arguing with you is like talking to a stone wall!”

  In a temper, she left the two men standing there. Or at least, she tried. Unfortunately, Ben wasn’t about to grant her the last word. Hearing his footsteps crunch on the gravel drive behind her, she speeded up—her one aim to escape another confrontation.

  She’d almost reached the barn before he caught her.

  Ben grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Jessie, I’m sorry you had to hear what I said to Fred.”

  She brushed his hand away. “At least I know how you feel.” At his determined expression, she took a step back.

  “You have no idea how I feel.” Ben took a step toward her.

  “Then tell me.” She wanted to shout it. Tell me!

  “Look, I know you’re frightened.” There was that bone-melting look in his eye.

  “I’m not.” Jessie drew back, recalling the other times he’d looked at her that way. Suddenly she felt a new threat. More than his feelings or hers were at stake. He would want a complete marriage in every sense. A few days ago, she would have jumped at the chance. She’d wanted him that badly—and she’d dared to hope he wanted her. Now she couldn’t imagine letting him sleep in her bed. And by the wolfish expression on his face, she knew neither of them would be getting much sleep.

  “I won’t rush you,” he said, as if he’d read her thoughts. “That night in my room, I overreacted. Making love doesn’t have to be like that. It could be good.”

  She stared at him in amazement. Even now he was looking at her with a gleam of admiration. Even while struggling to come to terms with her own emotions, she couldn’t fight the attraction she felt for this enigmatic man. In fact, she wanted him with frightening urgency. There, she’d admitted it. And he thought she was afraid of him. How could he be so blind? All she feared was his leaving.

  Jessie grasped at any defense. “I won’t sleep with you.” She despised the cowardly desperation in her voice.

  “Won’t you?” Ben’s expression didn’t change.

  He was simply stating his intentions. The fact that they were honorable left her speechless. Somehow, he’d backed her through the open barn doors. Her heart beat madly. Humiliated, hurt, disappointed, she’d never considered the possibility of a marriage proposal from Ben, much less a coerced one. She reached for the nearest defense—a pitchfork—and aimed it at him.

  “Don’t you dare,” he warned, his eyes gleaming.

  Undaunted, Jessie whipped her anger into a fury to keep Ben from touching her, because if he touched her…

  “I won’t marry you.” Her voice started evenly, then gradually rose. “You lying, leaving, low-down polecat. You, you…” She searched for the right word, something lower than low, and came up with one. She threw the final insult at him with venom. “You…Southerner!”

  His gaze narrowed, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. His eyes were nearly black—with fury or arousal? Jessie wasn’t about to risk finding out. “What did you call me?” he said.

  She leaned the pitchfork against the wall, then backed away, repeating the litany in a cracked voice, “You lying, leaving, low-down…”

  He shook his head. “Not that.”

  “Southerner,” she spat.

  Ben laughed and caught her before she could run. “That’s what I thought you said.” Dragging her against him, he gazed into her eyes, his own gleaming, as he bent his head to kiss her. She struggled briefly but he held her close, until all the fight went out of her. “Yankee witch,” he rasped with evident satisfaction against her lips and kissed her until she was breathless and clinging to him. Pleasure curled her insides, turning her bones to putty and her objections to empty denials.

  When he ended the kiss, she kept her eyes closed, afraid to look at him, afraid of what she would see—triumph. “Let me go,” she whispered, wincing at the desperate sound of her own voice.

  This time, he let her go with no objection.

  He’d made his point, she realized. She felt a moment’s weakening, but, avoiding his gaze, she walked away before she gave in to it. Ben didn’t love her. Nothing he’d said reassured her about their relationship. This time, he didn’t follow.

  Jessie let herself into the house and flipped on a light to ward off the emptiness. She rubbed her eyes, weary of all the emotional strain. What if she simply gave in and married Ben? Did she dare take the risk? Stone’s End needed a strong hand to manage things, at least temporarily, until her brother returned. What if Jared never returned? She still hadn’t heard from him.

  Of course, there was always Drew. Given a choice between the two, she would choose Ben any day. Her gaze fell on the mason jar filled with cash. She picked it up. It was a bitter affront to her pride. For weeks, Ben had deliberately kept her at a distance, treating her like a servant instead of a friend, paying for her services. Now, in some misbegotten notion of honor, he was going to concede to her father’s demands and marry her. In a wild moment, Jessie wondered if he planned to pay her for sex as well as for everything else.

  Her anger restored, she wanted to smash the glass jar, but she didn’t. The money would salvage some of her pride. It was her money—she’d earned it. She twisted the lid off and took out a wad of dollar bills. She stared at it. Her determination almost failed, but then she hardened her heart.

  She was through with being manipulated by the men around her. She had a clear choice. If Ben left—Drew, or someone like him—would attempt to get his hands on her property. Stone’s End needed a strong man. At least, Ben was fair and evenhanded—-except when it came to her, she thought with some bitterness.

  However, from a purely practical standpoint, her decision was easy. The only sensible choice, really, was to marry Ben. She ignored all the impractical reasons why she wanted to marry him. Those she could control. All she had to keep in mind was the knowledge that sooner or later he would leave. Their marriage was only temporary, a last-ditch effort to hang on to Stone’s End.

  A week later, the ceremony was performed at Ira’s bedside. The only festive note was Jessie—in her white bridal finery. Ben wondered where she’d gotten a new dress. In any case, no bride could be purer on her wedding day. She’d made sure of that by making Ben sleep in the barn— “to stem the gossip.” No amount of argument could convince her it was too late.

  Now, Ben’s eyes took their fill of Jessie. The delicate white eyelet embroidery of her dress flattered her slim grace with a pretty round neckline, full sleeves and a skirt adorned with a flounce or two. He wanted to smile when he saw it. The dress suited Jessie—cool and crisp, and feminine.

  She’d arrived on Fred’s arm. Fred was beaming ear to ear. Jessie’s eyes sparkled—with resentment. She barely looked at Ben before turning away. For the hundredth time since he’d proposed, he wondered why he’d done it. To save her? To save himself?

  In time, h
e might even open his heart—the part she didn’t already own—and fall in love with her. There was also the matter of beds to negotiate. Ah, well, she could be stubborn. But then, so could he. And he was tired of sleeping with Homer. In the meantime, he was just glad he’d bought a new suit.

  Ben’s wry gaze fell on Ira sitting erect in the bed. Unable to add to an overburdened conscience, Ben hadn’t been able to break a deathbed promise to Jessie’s father. Thus, he’d insisted on going through with the wedding— over Jessie’s objections. Of course, once Ira had gotten his way, he’d improved daily. He’d survived. In a few minutes, Ira Carlisle was going to be his father-in-law.

  Hell, Ben hadn’t thought of that until now. Till death do us part. With the fire of self-righteous indignation burning in his eyes, Ira looked as if he was going to outlive them all.

  The reverend, a jovial little man clearly determined to ignore the sour faces all around him, placed a worn Bible, a Carlisle family heirloom, on the table—a firm reminder to the participants that this was indeed a sacred moment not to be taken lightly. Nevertheless, Ben thought the sterile atmosphere bore a gloomy foreboding for the bride and groom. Jessie looked miserable. She looked alone, although she stood only a foot from his side—a very significant foot. They should be holding hands, shouldn’t they? The irony of his situation carried Ben through the brief sermon, the vows.

  Reverend Bissette intoned the words from a worn missal, “Do you, Jessica Carlisle, take this man…”

  Aware of Jessie to the depths of his soul, Ben felt her stiffen, then whisper a thready, “I do.”

  “Do you, Benjamin Harding, take this woman…”

  Ben had the sudden urge to run. He’d been running for two years. He searched the room for a way out. Several nurses barred the door. A bedside table stood directly in his path. Then there was Ira—the biggest obstacle of all.

  Trapped well and tight, Ben stated firmly, “I do.” After he’d said it, he heaved a sigh of relief, until he realized everyone was looking at him expectantly. Now what?