JESSE HAWK: BRAVE FATHER

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  As Jesse gazed up at the porch roof, his mind drifted back to the day Tricia had betrayed him. She had come to his apartment that August afternoon, looking tired and pale.

  "I shouldn't have told my father about your scholarship," she said, her voice shaky.

  Jesse shook his head, dismissing her guilt. He'd just had a life-altering confrontation with her father—a man who despised him. "You didn't know he'd be able to use it against me." A cruel twist of fate had dealt that card, it wasn't Tricia's fault.

  Her voice continued to quiver. "What did you say to him?"

  "Nothing." Pride had kept him silent, masking the rage. Jesse knew Raymond Boyd had been trying to destroy his relationship with Tricia since it started, but despite her father's wishes, she had continued to date him. That thought gave him hope. After all, it was modern-day Oklahoma, and they were both adults—strong-willed eighteen-year-olds. A poor Indian boy loving a rich white girl was no longer a crime. "Don't worry, I'm going to fight back."

  Immediately her eyes filled with tears. "How? There's nothing you can do that will change any of this."

  Jesse took a deep breath. He could go to a different college, one Raymond Boyd didn't have an affiliation with. It wouldn't be easy, but with Tricia by his side, he could accomplish anything. She was part of his strength, his soul.

  "I want you to move in with me, Tricia."

  The tears collecting in her eyes began to fall. "If I do that, how will you be able to go to college? You know my father meant what he said. He'll have your scholarship taken away."

  Jesse's scholarship was from Winston College of Veterinary Medicine, a privately funded institution providing an education in conventional veterinary medicine as well as extended studies in holistic remedies, acupuncture and homeopathy. In spite of Jesse's reading difficulties, his advanced knowledge of herbal healing had earned him the rare scholarship. But now, Raymond Boyd had the power to take it away.

  As it turned out, Tricia's father and George Winston, the founder of the college, were fraternity brothers. So if Jesse didn't end his relationship with Tricia, he'd lose his scholarship. Fraternity blood, as Raymond had put it, was thicker than water.

  Jesse dried Tricia's tears, then took her in his arms, the fragrance of her hair, silk of her skin, creating an ache. Being that much in love scared the hell out of him, as did the fear of living without her.

  "I know that if you move in with me, I won't be able to go to Winston," he said, explaining his frantic plan. "But I'll find another school that will accept me. And I'll apply for financial aid. There must be government grants available."

  "Oh, Jesse." She blinked back another stream of tears. "You know how important the holistic care program is to the dean at Winston. So far, it's the only veterinary school in the nation that offers extended studies in alternative medicine. It's where you're meant to go."

  Deep down he knew what she said was true. The ancient practice of herbal healing had been passed on to him by Tall Bear, a Creek medicine man, and it was Tall Bear who had introduced Jesse to the dean at Winston, offering a trade. Jesse would assist the director of the holistic care program in exchange for an education in conventional veterinary medicine. The dean had agreed to the unusual scholarship proposal, but if George Winston, the man who held the purse strings, suddenly changed his mind about funding it, the deal would crumble.

  Jesse trapped her gaze. "I don't want to lose you, Tricia." Healing animals was his destiny. But so was Tricia. Choosing between them wasn't possible. He was willing to make sacrifices to have them both, work himself to the bone if he had to. And he knew Tall Bear would understand. The wise old medicine man would tell him to follow his heart. What Raymond Boyd proposed to do might not be illegal, but it was unethical. Morally wrong.

  Jesse took Tricia's hand and squeezed it. "Somehow I'll find a way to make this right. Maybe the dean at Winston will help. Maybe he'll recommend me to another school." Jesse swallowed back his nervousness, his fear. "Please, Tricia, move in with me."

  "Oh, God. I can't. Not now." She paused, inhaled a deep breath. "First of all, I would never expect you to prolong your education for me. You deserve that scholarship. Think about it, Jesse. We can be together after you finish college. You can come back for me." She closed her eyes, then opened them, blinking away her tears once again. "If we moved in together now, we'd never make it financially. We'd never earn enough money to survive, let alone get you through college."

  Jesse pulled away. Money. The word alone clenched his gut. Once, Tricia had convinced him there was no dishonor in being born poor, orphaned or learning disabled. But suddenly the shame, the humiliation of being poor ripped through him like a knife, slicing his heart in two.

  When Tricia lifted her hand to his cheek, her gentle touch made his skin burn—a sickening combination of love, hate, confusion and pain. She had just chosen her father's money over him. She wasn't willing to live in a tiny apartment or ride around town in a battered pickup. She wanted the luxury her father could provide, the fancy car and designer clothes.

  "Come back after you finish college," she said, skimming her fingers over his jaw. "Come back for me, Jesse. Prove to Daddy that—"

  "Damn it, Tricia," he interrupted, still hurting from her touch. "You should hate your father for this, but instead you expect me to prove myself to him."

  She dropped her hand. "Daddy's wrong, but I could never hate him. He's raised me all by himself … and I…" She glanced away and clutched her stomach. "Please try to understand."

  He did understand. Tricia didn't love him the way he loved her. They had no future. All he'd be to her in a few years was the guy who had taught her how to please other men. Rich men Daddy wouldn't scorn. Fine, he thought. He'd take advantage of that scholarship, go on with his life and leave Tricia to her daddy's money.

  "You'll come back, won't you, Jesse?"

  "Damn right, I will," he told her, deciding then and there that he'd return to Marlow County someday, but not for the girl who had chosen her wealthy father over him. Jesse Hawk would come back to find his roots, make his home in the town where his parents had lived and died.

  And that's what he'd done. Of course now, twelve years later, Tricia was here stirring all those painful memories.

  Jesse sighed. He knew he should be a proper host and invite her into his home, but he wouldn't dare. He couldn't bear to see her among his belongings and then watch her leave. His house would seem far too empty afterward, and damn it, he'd suffered through enough loneliness.

  All because of Tricia. And her father.

  "Look," he said, "I know you didn't stop by to talk about the past, but there's something I need to say."

  When he paused, she gazed up at him, her hair catching a soft breeze.

  He focused on his next words, hating that she looked so beautiful. So ladylike. "I wasn't really in love all those years ago, and neither were you. I mean, we were only kids. Teenagers experimenting."

  Her skin, that flawless complexion, paled a little, and Jesse felt a pang of regret from his perverse need for revenge. But he'd be damned if he'd ever admit that he had pined for her, missed her so badly he'd actually unmanned himself with tears.

  "So," he said, finishing his speech, "I never should have asked you to live with me. What we had wasn't anything more than puppy love. A strong infatuation. It never would have worked."

  "I'm well aware of that," she responded, her voice tight.

  "That's just my point. I don't blame you for not moving in with me." And he didn't. Not now that he was older and wiser. The blame was in her loyalty to Raymond Boyd, in her expecting Jesse to come back to town and grovel at her old man's feet—worship the real estate tycoon as though he were some powerful pagan god. It still stung that Tricia had valued her daddy's money over Jesse's love. If she had asked him to come back to sweep her off her feet and tell Raymond Boyd to go to hell, Jesse would have been there with bells on. War paint and feathers, too.

  "I should go." She
placed the dog gently on its feet, stood and brushed off her skirt.

  Jesse remained seated a moment longer, looking up at her. If he'd rattled her, she was doing her best not to show it. Aside from the loss of color in her cheeks, she appeared cool and professional. Aloof.

  He rose slowly. "I'll walk you to your car."

  "That's not necessary."

  "I insist."

  The gravel crunched beneath their feet. Her steps were light, his heavy, just like the ache in his chest. The strays circled Jesse and Tricia as they walked, barking playfully. Cochise took his place at Jesse's side, and he patted the dog's head for comfort. Cochise had been his companion for longer than he chose to remember, and more loyal than any woman could ever be.

  They stopped at Tricia's car, an expensive white model. She'd graduated from a sporty convertible to four-door luxury. As she searched the interior of a leather handbag for her keys, Jesse caught a whiff of her perfume. The scent was unfamiliar, but it sparked a weakness in him he couldn't deny.

  Damn her. Unable to stop himself, he cupped her face.

  Her eyes flashed. "Don't touch—"

  He silenced the rest of her protest with his lips, crushing them brutally against hers. The kiss was demanding, hard, hungry and lustful—filled with years of pain. He pressed her against the car and felt a shiver slide from his body to hers. She responded to his blatant tongue thrusts and melted like warm, scented wax, her hands gliding down his arms.

  Satisfied that he'd made her as weak as he, Jesse tore his mouth away. "Don't come back, Tricia," he said, forcing air back into his lungs. "I don't want to see you again."

  He turned and left her standing at the car, hating that a part of him still missed her—a flaw he intended to keep buried. Forever.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  After a long, shaky drive, Patricia parked her car in the circular driveway on her father's estate and willed herself to take control. Jesse's kiss had left her skin tingling and her heart pumping, conjuring needs and feelings that were best to ignore. She twisted the end of a lipstick tube, leaned toward the rearview mirror and attempted to camouflage his aftertaste with an icy-mauve hue.

  The feminine maneuver failed. Jesse was still there, hard, sexy and demanding. Patricia sighed and checked her appearance. Hopefully no one would know. She looked cool and polished, as always. She'd learned long ago how to keep her nerves inside where they belonged. She was, after all, Patricia Boyd, the daughter of the most prestigious man in the county. She had an image to uphold. And she'd fought to preserve that image even when she'd become the object of raised eyebrows and none-too-subtle whispers. Giving birth to an illegitimate child wasn't what the citizens of Marlow County had expected from Patricia Anne Boyd. Attending Princeton and marrying a Harvard man was more her style, but she'd done neither. Instead she'd stayed in Arrow Hill, become an active member of Boyd Enterprises and raised Jesse Hawk's son.

  Patricia made her way to the front door and opened it, grateful her father's domestic staff didn't work on Sundays. Because she'd been raised with cooks, housekeepers, chauffeurs and nannies, she'd always wondered what being part of a "normal" family would feel like. Patricia's mother had died before Patricia's second birthday, and as far as she was concerned, there wasn't a nanny alive who could replace what she'd lost. Raymond Boyd had done his best, though. And Sundays were special in his house—no staff, just family—a union that now included Dillon.

  The Boyd mansion was stereotypical of old money and power: fresh flowers at every turn, a marble foyer, a winding staircase with a slick wood banister. The white-tiled kitchen was a cook's delight with its industrial-size refrigerator, abundant counter space and center isle. Copper pots and pans dangled above the stove—a kitchen cliché that lent the massive room a homey appeal.

  Patricia found her father in his office, a room rife with masculine furnishings. Since he rarely worked at home, the ornate antique desk seemed like a rich man's prop, decked with brass ornaments and a humidor filled with imported cigars. The French doors that led to an impressive flower garden were open, inviting a blend of summer fragrances.

  He glanced up and smiled. He sat at the desk with impeccable posture, a handsome man nearing the age of retirement, trim and fit with manicured hands and neatly styled graying hair. He looked like what he was, Patricia thought, domineering and headstrong, yet, below the surface, capable of immense kindness. And from what she remembered, Jesse had similar personality traits, only the younger man's were packaged in a more rugged appearance with long, windblown hair and large, callused hands. Neither would appreciate the comparison, she knew, although under different circumstances, Jesse Hawk and Raymond Boyd might have found each other admirable.

  "I took Dillon into town for a new model, then dropped him off at the Harrison estate," her father said. "They called and invited him for a swim."

  Mark Harrison was Dillon's best friend. He was a nice, enthusiastic boy, and her father approved of the family. The Harrisons, too, came from old money. It sounded snooty, but things like that mattered in Raymond Boyd's world. Patricia also knew her father overlooked Dillon's illegitimacy, something the Harrison family had done.

  "That's fine." She sat in a tuck-and-rolled leather chair and absently ran her fingers over the brass tacks. Not having to face Dillon immediately after facing Jesse seemed like a small blessing. At times, her eleven-year-old son appeared capable of reading her emotions, no matter how well hidden. No one but Dillon could do that.

  "Did you eat?" Raymond asked. "It's past the lunch hour."

  Patricia glanced at her watch. Food was the furthest thing from her mind. This was, she decided, a perfect opportunity to tell her father who and what occupied her thoughts. Dillon was gone, and the household staff wouldn't be poking about, dusting furniture or offering entrées from a carefully-selected luncheon menu.

  She scooted forward. "Dad, Jesse's back."

  He turned his chair slowly, although she imagined his heart had taken a quick, unexpected leap. "For good?" he asked.

  Patricia nodded. "He bought the old Garrett place. I went by there this morning."

  "So you've seen him, then?"

  "Yes."

  "Did he come back for you?"

  She kept her eyes steady and her expression blank. The question hurt almost as much as the answer. She had insisted years before that Jesse would do right by her, and her father had called her young and naive for believing so. Jesse would forget about her. Eighteen-year-old boys often confused lust for love. For Patricia the lesson had been a difficult one. Jesse had seemed so sincere. He had even offered to sacrifice his scholarship to be with her. That alone had convinced her it was true love.

  "No. He's opening a veterinary clinic behind his house."

  Raymond squared his shoulders as though preparing for an emotional battle. "Did you tell him about Dillon?"

  "No. Not yet." She held up her hand in a failed attempt to confront her father's disapproval. "Jesse and Dillon have the right to know each other."

  "Oh, Patricia." He let out a long sigh. "Do you honestly think someone like Hawk is going to make a suitable father?"

  "But Jesse was raised in foster care. Establishing roots was important to him. He wanted children more than anything." For Dillon's sake, she prayed that was still true.

  "Really? So is he married with a family now?"

  She dropped her gaze. "No." A happily married man wouldn't have kissed her like that. And as far as children went, the strays he took in were as close as he got, of that she felt certain.

  Raymond drummed his fingers on the desk.

  Tricia looked up. "What am I supposed to do? Keep my son a secret? His name is Dillon Hawk, Dad."

  "Giving the boy that name was a mistake. Dillon should be a Boyd."

  Patricia rubbed her temples. That useless argument always resulted in a headache. "It's too late to turn back the clock. And somehow I've got to get Jesse to agree to see me again."<
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  Her father's eyes hardened. "What happened? Did he toss you off his property?"

  "Not exactly, no." She pressed her temples again. Worse than having been told not to come back, was Jesse's admission that he'd never really loved her. After all these years, hearing it out loud had been like a blow to the heart. "He told me he didn't want to see me again."

  "Mom? Grandpa?"

  Patricia and Raymond turned simultaneously toward the open doorway to find Dillon staring into the room, his hair still wet from an afternoon swim.

  Patricia slanted her father a nervous glance. How much had Dillon heard? "You're back early," she commented casually to her son.

  "Mark ate too much candy and got sick, so his mom brought me back."

  "Did you eat a lot of candy, too?" Raymond asked, smoothing his sideburns in what Patricia recognized as an anxious habit.

  "Not as much as Mark." The boy moved a step closer, his ever-changing eyes a steely shade of gray. He turned to Patricia. "How come my dad doesn't want to see you again?"

  Oh, God. So he had been eavesdropping. "Dillon, come sit down. We need to talk. Dad?" She looked at her father, dismissing him politely. Raymond Boyd didn't know how to be objective when it came to discussing Jesse.

  "I'll take a walk." The older man stood, then squeezed his grandson's shoulder as the child took a seat next to Patricia. "I'll be in the garden if you need me." He exited through the French doors, his loafers silent as they touched the stone walkway.

  Patricia reached for Dillon's hand and found it cold. She rubbed it between her palms. He shouldn't have heard what he did. She should have been more careful. "Just because your father and I parted ways doesn't mean that you shouldn't get to know him."