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Contents:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14
Epilogue
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Chapter 1
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Patricia Boyd loved him, more than life itself. She sat on the edge of his bed and brushed her fingers across his forehead, sweeping strands of dark brown hair away from his face. Eleven-year-old Dillon Hawk. Her son. Her heart and soul.
The morning sun shimmered through the blinds, illuminating the boy's room with slats of light. Patricia smiled. Dillon kept his room tidy. Each carefully constructed model car, battleship and airplane had its place, as did a favored pair of inline skates.
"Hey, Mom." He grinned sleepily. "Are you leaving for work?"
"No. Today's Sunday."
"Oh, yeah," he said, pulling himself up against the oak headboard. "Breakfast at Grandpa's."
Sunday breakfast was a family tradition in the Boyd household. Omelets, hash browns and fresh-squeezed orange juice. "I have something else to do this morning, but Grandpa will fix your eggs."
"Cool. He always makes those spicy Spanish kind." Dillon pushed the covers away. "Where are you going today, Mom?"
To see your father, she thought nervously. Jesse was back, twelve years later. He'd bought the old Garrett farm, a piece of property between Arrow Hill and Hatcher. Of course, Jesse wasn't expecting her. He hadn't made an attempt to contact the woman he'd shunned.
"I'm going to visit an old friend," Patricia told her son. My first love. The man who gave me you. "I'll drop you off, then stop by Grandpa's later."
"Okay, but we might be at the hobby store by then."
Another family tradition, Patricia thought. Raymond Boyd purchased his grandson a new model every Sunday. He spoiled the boy, but then Dillon was easy to shower with affection and expensive gifts. Her son appreciated every heartfelt hug as much as every toy he'd ever received.
She kissed his forehead. "Wash up and get dressed."
"I'll hurry."
Twelve years had passed. Thirty more minutes wouldn't make a difference. If anything, it would give her a chance to check her appearance again, maybe sip a cup of herb tea. Anything to calm her nerves. "That's all right. There's no need to rush."
Patricia left his room and entered her own, a bedroom that was neither frilly nor bland. Antique wood furnishings, accented with winter-white and splashes of royal-blue, complemented the stained-glass windows. Every morning the sun reflected prisms of light across the bed.
She walked to the mirror and lingered over her reflection. She had chosen a straight white skirt, a pale-peach blouse and low heels—casual designer wear on a not-so-casual day.
Would Jesse recognize her right away? Or would he look twice to be sure? Her body was still slim, but her hips flared a bit more—a testimony to maturity and motherhood. Her hair hadn't changed much, she decided, aside from a slightly shorter cut and subtle caramel highlights framing her face.
Her face. She touched her skin, remembering how Jesse marveled at what he called its "flawless texture." Would he find flaws now? The skin of a thirty-year-old?
What in God's name was she going to say to him? I was pregnant when you left. I waited year after lonely year for you to come back. You were supposed to prove to my disbelieving father that you really loved me.
"Mom?"
She turned to the sound of her son's voice, her heart leaping to her throat. "You're finished already?"
"Yep." He stood grinning at her, his damp hair slicked back with gel, his baggy khakis sporting a trendy label. "Ten minutes flat."
How could she forget Jesse's face when she saw a youthful replica of it every day? Dillon's straight white smile enhanced ethnic cheekbones, a stubborn jaw and sun-burnished skin. But it was his eyes, Patricia thought, that were the true gift from his father's mixed-blood heritage. Light-gray or a pale shade of blue, depending on the child's mood.
"I'm ready, too," she said, wondering if she'd ever be ready to face Jesse Hawk again.
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The old Garrett farm came into view nearly thirty-five minutes later. It held an address in Hatcher, although the acreage spanned into Arrow Hill. How fitting, Patricia thought, that Jesse would choose a home located on the dividing line between dusty country living and opulent wealth.
Opulent wealth? Good Lord, her father was the most successful man in the county. He owned real estate—houses, apartment buildings, neighborhood shopping centers.
As Patricia steered her Mercedes down the graveled drive, she took note of the house and its condition. Habit, she decided, and a means to keep her mind on something other than her fluttering stomach. Although the wood structure had been neglected for some time, the splendor of the primitive architecture shone through. The house resembled a homesteader's cabin, small and rustic, and currently, it appeared, under renovation. She parked where the driveway forked, the other path leading to a newly constructed building behind the house, not nearly as rustic, but still charming.
She stepped onto the porch, fighting the urge to flee. Sooner or later she and Jesse would cross paths. It wouldn't be long before people realized her son and the new resident in town shared the same last name. And then there were those who knew the truth. Wasn't that how she'd learned he was back? A discreet female colleague had quietly mentioned that a man named Hawk was restoring the old Garrett place.
When she knocked on the door, the sound of barking dogs followed. She waited, waited some more, then headed toward her car. If Jesse was home, surely he would have responded to the yapping hounds.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone was here," a deep voice said behind her. "I was working on the kennel out back. I've got a house full of strays." He chuckled. "But then I always do."
Patricia exhaled a shaky breath. She turned to see a tall, dark-skinned man squinting in the sun, his hand shielding his eyes, a dog—a sturdy rottweiler—at his side. When he moved closer and lowered his arm, her knees nearly gave way.
Jesse, in faded jeans and black construction-style boots, his bare chest a hard mass of sinew and muscle. The lean eighteen-year-old was gone. In his place stood a stranger.
"Oh, God," he said, and stopped dead in his tracks. "Tricia."
The nickname flowed through her like wine—a long-forgotten vintage. Sweet yet bitter. No one had ever called her Tricia but him. She lifted her chin, strode toward him, and extended her hand in a businesslike gesture. "It's nice to see you, Jesse."
Clearly caught off guard, he placed his hand in hers. "I hadn't expected you to come around here."
The handshake made them both uneasy, so she ended it quickly, choosing to adjust her purse strap instead. "Why not?"
"Just didn't."
"You could invite me in." After all, damn you, I am the mother of your child. The innocent who waited for you all those years, believing like a fool, that you'd come back for me. Waited until hope turned to despair.
He slid his gaze over her in one slow sweep, reminding her of the day they had met. Only this time, there was no glimmer in his eye, no young, flirtatious smile. "The other dogs will just jump all over you."
"I like animals." She glanced at the loyal rottweiler beside him. It made no move toward her. It was an attractive dog, fit and muscular, its black coat gleaming in the sun. Jesse, too, had a gleaming mass of ebony hair. He still wore it long and flowing across his shoulders, but neatly trimmed sideburns added an air of maturity.
"What are you doing here, Tricia?"
"I thought it would be awkward if we ran into each other in town." She shifted her feet, stirring the gravel below. "I was hoping we could talk. Catch up a little." She needed to know what sort of man Dillon's father had bec
ome. Eventually she'd have to introduce them. Marlow County was too small for secrets.
Although Jesse frowned, he accommodated her. "We could sit on the porch a spell, I suppose." As he turned in the direction of the house, so did the dog. "Do you want a cold soda? I've got a cooler out back."
"No, thank you. I'm fine." She followed him up the stairs and sat beside him in a twig-style chair.
The rottweiler curled up at Jesse's feet, clearly content to be near its master. "What's his name?" she asked, assuming the massively built canine was a male.
"Cochise."
"That fits him. A warrior's name."
"In a sense, he is a warrior," Jesse said. "He's trained to know the difference between friend and foe. And he's been socialized since he was a pup."
Naturally, Jesse was a responsible pet owner. He wouldn't own a dog as powerful as a rottweiler without having it professionally trained. As for the strays he claimed to have, they made sense, too. Tricia remembered how he used to bring abandoned kittens into his apartment and feed them, even though he could barely afford food for himself.
"Are all the dogs inside the house strays?"
"Yeah." He tapped the windowpane and grinned. A curious mutt had its nose pressed against the glass. "I picked them up at the Humane Society just this week. I was in the process of building another kennel when you arrived."
He turned toward Patricia. She gripped the chair and steadied her breath. Dillon had flashed the same handsome smile earlier that morning. As their gazes met and held, Jesse's grin faded.
His eyes were guarded, she noticed, but still breathtaking. Most people would call them gray, yet Patricia knew they turned silver when he made love, glittered sensuously when he lowered his head to kiss a woman—touched his tongue to hers—filtered his fingers through her hair.
How many women had there been? she wondered. How many had watched those eyes change color, enjoyed that staggering touch?
Patricia smoothed her skirt. Jesse Hawk should have been hers. He should have come back, kept his promise. On the night he'd taken her virginity, he'd pledged his love forever. They had snuggled in each other's arms, tasted each other's skin, made secret vows. Young, romantic vows. And she'd kept hers, kept them locked in her heart until she'd cried herself to sleep at night. No, she hadn't agreed to move in with him when he'd asked, but she'd had her reasons—good reasons. The young man she'd loved needed a fair chance to pursue his career, and the baby in her womb needed some sort of financial stability. So she'd sent Jesse away, believing he'd return for her.
I'll never forgive you, she wanted to say. But Dillon has the right to meet you. She had told her son about his father, promising Jesse would be back someday. They just had to be patient and let him finish college.
"I'd heard this place sold a few months ago," she said, unaware then that Jesse had been the buyer. The property had been purchased under a corporate name.
"I've been coming back and forth from my rental in Tulsa, spending weekends out here, trying to get the renovations done. I hired a crew to build the clinic, but I'm doing most of the work on the house myself."
Immediately she thought about Dillon's interest in architecture. "I didn't know you had experience in carpentry."
He shrugged. "I did a little construction work during college. It put food on the table, paid the rent."
Patricia wanted to ask him about his education, if his studies had been difficult. She knew dyslexia made reading a struggle. Her son suffered from the same confusing disability. But asking Jesse about college would probably rehash their past and the part her father had played in it—a moot point after all these years. "So I can assume the building out back is a veterinary clinic."
He nodded. "I share a practice with three other doctors in Tulsa. We decided it was time to open a facility in the country."
That explained the company that had purchased his house. Apparently Jesse and his colleagues had formed a small corporation, the property serving as a tax deduction. "Looks like things worked out for you."
"Yeah."
They sat silent for a time, staring out at the dusty road. A butterfly winged by, and Patricia felt herself smile. As a toddler, Dillon used to chase the butterflies that graced his grandpa's abundant flower garden.
Jesse rocked his chair. "Are you sure you don't want a soda?"
"No, but if you're thirsty, go ahead."
His chair scraped the side of the house. "That's okay. I'm all right."
Think of something to say, she told herself, as they suffered through another bout of awkward silence. She tucked her hair behind her ears while he crossed one leg in male fashion, then uncrossed it, stretching both long limbs out instead. Physically, he'd changed. He'd put on weight, but the virile bulk suited his tall frame, considering it came in the form of muscle. And against the hard wall of his chest lay a small leather pouch, the medicine bag he'd always worn. She knew it contained items that were special to him. He had even placed a small lock of her hair within it. Surely he had discarded that romantic memento long ago.
"So, have you officially moved in?" she asked, not wanting to think about the past.
"Yeah, but I was in California not too long ago. My brother lives there, and his wife had a baby."
"Your brother? You mean you found him?" Patricia knew Jesse and his older brother, Sky, had been separated as children and taken to different foster homes when their parents died. Since Jesse was only two at the time, he hadn't known about Sky's existence until years later. At eighteen, Jesse had begun to search for his brother. But by then, Sky was long gone.
"Sky returned to Marlow County looking for me. So actually, we found each other." A warm smile touched his lips. "He's great. Everything a guy could want in a brother. And he has such a loving family. A sweet wife and an adorable baby daughter."
Hurt and envy pricked her skin. If you had come back for me, you could have had a loving family, too. "Sounds like you two got along well."
"Yeah. My brother and I talked about everything. Our heritage, our childhood, our work. He's been learning the Muskokee dialect." He rocked his chair again. "So what about you, Tricia. How's your life going?"
"Fine. I'm happy." I adore our son. He's my entire world. "I'm a real estate broker."
Jesse narrowed his eyes. "You buy and sell property for Daddy, right?"
Patricia lifted her chin. The sarcasm in his tone set her on edge. "Yes. I buy and sell property for my father's business." A highly successful company Dillon would inherit someday. "The income benefits the family trust."
"And what a tight little family it is," Jesse mocked. "Daddy and his precious daughter." He combed his fingers through his hair. "Or are you married, Tricia? Did you bring a suitable young man home for your father's approval?"
She waved her left hand. Apparently he hadn't noticed the absence of a wedding band. "I'm single," she snapped. "But I've matured, Jesse. Unlike you. Your childish grudge is most unbecoming."
"So sue me. Or better yet, try to run my life again."
She didn't want to have this conversation. Not now. Her father had been wrong all those years ago, but he'd made it up to her. He had loved her son from the moment the boy was born. And being a parent herself, she'd come to understand her father's motives, his overly protective nature.
"I didn't come here to dredge up the past."
He sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry. And I'm glad you're happy, Tricia."
Since the gentleness in Jesse's voice reminded her of the man he used to be, the youth she had loved so desperately, Patricia glanced up at the window for a diversion. Two dogs were perched there now, panting against the glass. She couldn't help but smile.
"You can let them out. I don't mind."
He grinned, flashing a set of straight white teeth. "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you."
The dogs, three of them, barreled out the door in a whirl of fur and excited barks. Cochise sat, ears perked, watching the activity. Patricia was all but attacked, n
uzzled and nudged with wet noses and hairy paws, so she tried to give each dog equal attention, petting them simultaneously. Jesse laughed as a small wiry brown-and-white mutt made its way onto her skirt.
Jesse knelt to stroke the dog on her lap while the other two lost interest and zoomed down the porch steps, Cochise staring longingly after them.
Jesse turned to his loyal companion. "Go on, boy."
The rottweiler instantly joined the strays.
While Patricia pretended to watch the dogs, she scanned Jesse's profile—features familiar yet changed—a man she no longer knew. A man, unfortunately, still capable of capturing her eye. The thought disturbed her. Patricia liked to think of herself as immune to tall, dark and rugged.
When he turned suddenly toward her, she focused her attention on the wiggling canine on her lap, hating that she'd been caught staring. "This one's cute," she said, scratching the dog's ears. "He looks like one of those movie dogs. You know, the sweet, scruffy stray."
His expression turned almost wistful. "You used to love those kinds of movies. They always made you cry."
She nodded, hoping she appeared less affected than she felt. "I remember. The happy-ending tearjerkers. My goodness, how many of those did we watch?"
Too many, Jesse thought, his heart clenching. Cuddling in front of the TV with Tricia was an image that still haunted him. How many times over the years had he thought about her, missed her, ached for her?
Tricia had changed, grown even more beautiful than in his memories. She wore her silky brown hair a tad more stylishly these days, a professional chin-length streaked softly with golden lights. Her body had blossomed into a womanly blend of cleavage and curves, and those legs, those long trim gams looked as though they had the strength and agility to wrap themselves around a man for hours. And they had, he remembered, as his groin tightened. Those were the most painful images of all. The youthful passion, the sensuality of shyness, the tender, inexperienced lovemaking.
Fresh out of high school, Jesse had moved to Marlow County in search of his roots, but found Tricia instead. Nervous about college, he'd gone to the public library where he'd debated signing up for a free literacy program. When he'd walked away without joining, she had approached him—a sleek brunette in shorts and sandals claiming she had volunteered as a tutor. He'd lingered over her in one slow torturous gaze and fell instantly in love. And then three months later his world fell apart.
JESSE HAWK: BRAVE FATHER Page 1
