Hawk's Way

by Joan Johnston

  “If he doesn’t like the way I do things he can tell me so himself,” Jesse said. “Meanwhile, I don’t want any more cattle stolen from the Flying Diamond.”

  The look in Mort’s eye was purely malicious. “The Boss don’t like bein’ told what to do.”

  “If he wants that bull, he’ll stay away from here. And tell him the next time one of his henchmen shows up around here he’d better not be carrying a gun.”

  Mort raised the rifle defensively. “I ain’t rid-in’ around here without protection.”

  Jesse worked hard not to smile. It was pretty funny when the badman thought he needed a gun to protect himself from the good guys.

  “Don’t bring a gun onto the Flying Diamond again,” Jesse said. “I won’t tell you twice.”

  It was plain Mort didn’t like being threatened, but short of shooting Jesse there wasn’t much he could do. The outlaw had kept a constant lookout, so he spotted the rider approaching from the direction of the ranch house when there was no more than a speck of movement in the distance.

  “You expectin’ company?” Mort asked, gesturing toward the rider with his gun.

  Jesse glanced over his shoulder and knew immediately who it was. “Dammit. I told her I’d come get her,” he muttered. “It looks like Mrs. Farrell. Get the hell out of here and get now!”

  Mort grinned. “Got plans of your own for the Missus, huh? Can’t say as I blame you. Mighty fine lookin’ woman.”

  Jesse grabbed hold of Mort’s shirt at the throat and half pulled the man out of the saddle. The look in Jesse’s eyes had Mort quailing even though the outlaw was the one with the gun. “That’s no way to talk about a lady, Mort.”

  The outlaw swallowed hard. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

  Jesse released the man’s shirt. He straightened it with both hands, carefully reining his temper. “Back up slow and easy and keep that rifle out of the sunlight. No sense me having to make explanations to Mrs. Farrell about what you’re doing here.”

  Mort wasn’t stupid. What Jesse said made sense. Besides, the Boss would skin him alive if he got caught anywhere near Mrs. Farrell. “I’m skedaddlin’,” he said.

  Without another word, Mort backed his horse into the copse of pecans and out of sight. Jesse whirled the stud and galloped toward Honey to keep her from coming any closer before Mort made good his escape.

  Why hadn’t she waited for him at the ranch, as he’d asked? Damned woman was going to be more trouble than he’d thought. But she was sure a sight for sore eyes.

  Her hair hung in frothy golden curls that whipped around her head and shoulders as she cantered her bay gelding toward him. She ought to be wearing a hat, he thought. As light-skinned as she was, the sun would burn her in no time at all. He remembered how her pale hand had looked in his bronzed one, how soft it had felt between his callused fingers and thumb. Never had he been more conscious of who and what he was.

  Jesse hadn’t known at first what it meant to be part Indian. He had learned. Breed. Half-breed. Dirty Injun. He had heard them all. What made it so ironic was the fact that neither of his two older brothers, Garth and Faron, nor his younger sister, Tate, looked Indian at all. He was the only one who had taken after their Comanche ancestors.

  His brothers hadn’t understood his bitterness at being different. They hadn’t understood the cause for his bloody knuckles and blackened eyes. Surprisingly, it was his half-English, half-Irish father who had made him proud he was descended from a warrior people, the savage Comanche.

  That knowledge had shaped his whole life.

  Jesse had often wondered what would have happened if he had been born a hundred years earlier; he often felt as barbaric as any Comanche. He had not been able to settle in one place, but needed to wander as his forebears had. While it was still a ruthless world he lived in, the conventions of society had glossed over the ugliness so it was not as apparent. Except, he had chosen a life that brought him into daily contact with what was cruel and sordid in the modern world. And forced him daily to confront his own feral nature.

  Jesse no longer apologized for who and what he was. He had not tied himself to any one place, or any one person. He had never minded being alone or even considered the loneliness and isolation caused by his way of life. Until he had met the woman riding toward him now.

  His eyes narrowed on Honey Farrell. He wished he could tell her about himself. Wished he could explain how she made him feel, but he couldn’t even tell her who he really was. Nevertheless, he had no intention of letting the circumstances keep them apart. It wasn’t honorable to keep the truth from her, but he consoled himself with the thought that when this was all over, he would more than make it up to her.

  It was unfortunate she didn’t—couldn’t—know the truth about him, but he convinced himself that it wouldn’t matter to her. He would make her understand that they belonged together. And who—and what—he was would make no difference.

  “Hello, there!” Honey called as she rode up to Jesse. “There was a phone call for you after you left.”

  Jesse took off his hat, thrust his hand through his too-long black hair and resettled the Stetson. “Can’t imagine who’d call me,” he said. His family had no idea where he was—and hadn’t known for years.

  “It was Dallas.”

  Jesse frowned. “Any particular reason for the call?”

  “He invited you to dinner tonight.” Honey didn’t mention that Dallas had invited her to dinner as well. She had tried to refuse, but Dallas had put Angel on the phone, and Honey had succumbed to the other woman’s plea for company.

  Honey felt that same inexplicable tension she always felt around Jesse. Her gelding sidestepped and their knees brushed. That simple touch produced goose bumps on her arms. She was grateful for the long-sleeved Western shirt that hid her reaction. She stared off toward the copse of pecans in the distance, avoiding Jesse’s startled glance.

  And spotted a glint of sunlight off metal.

  “There’s someone in the trees behind you,” Honey said in a quiet voice. “I think he has a gun.”

  Jesse said a few pithy words under his breath. “Don’t let him know you see him. Help me get these steers moving toward the barn.”

  “Do you think it might be one of the rustlers?” Honey asked as she loosened the rope from her saddle.

  “Don’t know and don’t care,” Jesse said. “That’s a matter for the police. Best thing for us to do is get ourselves and these cattle out of here.”

  There was no discussion as they used whistles and an occasional slap with a lasso to herd the steers back toward the barn. When they were a safe distance away, Honey kneed her gelding over to join Jesse.

  “I’ve lost a lot of stock to rustlers since Cale died,” Honey said. “I suppose they don’t believe I’m any threat to them. But I didn’t think they’d dare let themselves be seen in broad daylight. I’ll call the police when we get back to the house and—”

  Jesse interrupted. “There’s no need for that. I’ll tell Dallas about it when I call to accept his dinner invitation.”

  Honey frowned. “I guess that’ll be okay. Uh…I suppose I should have mentioned I’ve also been invited to dinner. Would you mind if I got a ride with you?”

  Jesse kept the dismay he felt from his face. He had hoped to use the time he was away from the ranch to do some other business without Honey being any the wiser. Having her along meant he would have to curtail his plans. But he couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse her a ride that wouldn’t raise suspicion. “Sure,” he said at last. “Why not? What time do you want to leave?”

  “Around six, I suppose. That’ll give me time after we finish with the vaccinating to get cleaned up and make some supper for Jack and Jonathan.”

  “That sounds fine. Meanwhile, until those rustlers are caught you’d better stay close to home.”

  Honey glanced at Jesse to see if he was serious. He was. “I have a ranch to run,” she said.

  “I’m here now. I
f there’s work that needs to be done away from the house, I can do it.”

  “You’re being ridiculous. I don’t think—”

  “No, you aren’t thinking!” Jesse interrupted in a harsh voice. “What’s going to happen if you chance onto those rustlers at the wrong time? They’ve killed before and—”

  “Killed! Who? When?”

  Jesse swore again. He hadn’t meant to alarm her, just keep her safe. “A rancher near Laredo was found shot to death last month.”

  “Oh, my God,” Honey whispered. “Surely it wasn’t the same rustlers who took my cattle!”

  “What if it is? Better safe than sorry. You stay around the ranch house.” It came out sounding like the order it was.

  Honey bristled. “I’m in charge here. And I’ll do as I please!”

  “Just try leaving,” he said. “And we’ll see.”

  “Why, of all the high-handed, macho cowboy talk I ever heard—”

  Jesse grabbed the reins and pulled her gelding to a halt. “These guys aren’t fooling around, Honey. They’ve killed once. They’ve got nothing to lose if they kill again. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

  The back of his gloved hand brushed against her cheek. “I don’t intend to lose you.”

  Honey’s heart missed a beat. He was high-handed, all right, but when he spoke to her in that low raspy voice and looked at her with those dark mysterious eyes, she found herself ready to listen. Which made no sense at all.

  “How does a drifter like you know so much about all this?” she asked.

  “Dallas filled me in,” he said. When she still looked doubtful, he said, “Ask him yourself at dinner tonight.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  The entire time they vaccinated bawling cattle, Honey said nothing more about the dinner at Dallas Masterson’s house. She was thinking about it, though, because she realized Jesse would have to use the upstairs bathroom to clean up. She had yet to explain to him that she planned for him to sleep in a room in the barn that hired hands had used in the past.

  She decided to confront him before the boys got home from school, in case he decided to argue. They were both hot and sweaty from the work they’d been doing, so it was easy to say, “I could use some iced tea. Would you like some?”

  “Sounds good,” he replied. “I’ll be up to the house in a minute. I have a few things to put away here first.”

  Honey was glad for the few moments the delay gave her to think about how to phrase what she wanted to say. She took her time in the kitchen, filling two glasses with ice and sun-brewed tea. She wasn’t ready when he appeared at the screen door, hat in hand.

  “May I come in?”

  His request reminded her that she had met Jesse Whitelaw less than twenty-four hours earlier. It seemed like a lot longer. Like maybe she had known the cowboy all her life. It left her feeling apprehensive. She avoided his eyes as she pushed the screen door wide and said, “Sure. I’ve made tea for both of us.”

  He moved immediately to the glass of tea on the table and lifted it to his lips. She watched as he tipped the glass and emptied it a swallow at a time. Rivulets of sweat streamed down his temples, and his hair was slick against his head where his hat had matted it down. He smelled of hardworking man, and she was all too aware of how he filled the space in her kitchen.

  Jesse sighed with satisfaction as he set the empty glass on the table. The sound of the ice settling was loud in the silence that followed as his eyes found hers and held.

  “I think I have time to look at whatever fence you have down before I have to get ready for supper,” Jesse said. “If you’ll just head me in the right direction.”

  “Certainly. There are a few things we need to discuss first.” Honey threaded her fingers so she wouldn’t fidget. “When I offered you room and board I wasn’t thinking about where I’d put you. There’s a room at the rear of the barn I can fix up for you, but you’ll have to use the bathroom in the house.”

  Jesse worked to keep the grimace off his face. It would be a lot more difficult explaining how her prize bull had been stolen from the barn if he was sleeping there. “Are you sure there isn’t somewhere in the house I could sleep? I don’t need much.”

  Honey chewed on her lower lip. “There is a small room off the kitchen.” She pointed out the closed door to him. “It’s awfully tiny. I’ve started using it for a pantry. I don’t think—”

  Jesse opened the door and stepped inside. The room was long and narrow. Wooden shelves along one wall were filled with glass jars of preserves, most likely from the small garden he had seen behind the house. An iron bed with a bare mattress stood along the opposite wall under a gingham-curtained window. A simple wooden chest held a brass lamp and an old-fashioned pitcher and bowl for water.

  “This’ll do fine,” he said.

  “But—”

  He turned and she was aware of how small the room was, or rather, how he filled it. She took a step back, away from the very strong attraction she felt. “The room in the barn is bigger,” she argued. “You’d have more privacy.”

  He grinned. “I suppose that’s true, if you don’t count the livestock.”

  “I have to come in here sometimes to get food from the shelves,” she explained.

  “You could knock.”

  “Yes, I suppose I could.” It was hard to argue with logic. Yet Honey didn’t want to concede defeat. Otherwise, she was going to find herself with the hired hand constantly underfoot. She made a last effort to convince him the barn was a better choice. “The boys sometimes make a lot of noise. Morning and evening. You won’t get much peace and quiet if you stay here.”

  “I expect I’ll be going to bed later and getting up earlier than they will,” he replied.

  Honey sighed. This wasn’t working out as she had planned at all. Somehow she had ended up with this part-savage stranger, this drifter, living under her roof. She wasn’t exactly frightened of him, but she was uneasy. After all, what did she really know about him?

  He seemed to sense her hesitation and said, “If you don’t feel comfortable with me in the house, of course I’ll sleep in the barn.”

  There it was, her chance to avoid coping with his presence in the house. She opened her mouth to say “Please do” and instead said, “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure this will work out fine.”

  At that moment the kitchen screen door slammed open and Jonathan came racing through. “Hi, Mom! Hi, Jesse! I’m missing cartoons!” He was through the kitchen and gone before Honey could even gasp a hello.

  A few moments later Jack appeared at the door. He didn’t greet his mother or the hired man, simply dropped his books on the kitchen table and headed straight for the cookie jar on the counter. He reached inside and found it empty. “Hey! I thought you were going to bake some cookies today.”

  “I didn’t have time,” Honey apologized.

  He opened a cupboard, looking for something else to eat.

  Honey saw Jesse’s jaw tighten, as though he wanted to say something but was biting his tongue. Perhaps Jack wasn’t as courteous as he could have been, but from what Honey had gathered from the mothers of Jack’s friends, it was typical teenage behavior. She was used to it. Apparently Jesse wasn’t.

  Jack seemed oblivious to them as he hauled bread, peanut butter and jelly out onto the counter and made himself a sandwich.

  Honey watched Jesse’s expression harden. She wasn’t sure whether to be more vexed and annoyed by Jack’s conduct, or Jesse’s reaction to it.

  Jack picked up his sandwich, took a bite that encompassed nearly half of it, and headed out the kitchen door toward the den and the television.

  “Do you have any homework?” Honey asked.

  “Just studying for tests,” Jack said through a mouthful of peanut butter. “I’ll do it later.”

  Honey hadn’t realized Jesse could move so fast. Before Jack reached the kitchen door, the hired hand blocked his way.

  “Just a minute, son.”
>
  Jack stiffened. “You’re in my way.”

  “That was the general idea.”

  Jack turned to his mother, clearly expecting her to resolve the situation.

  Honey wasn’t sure what Jesse intended, let alone whether she could thwart that intention. For her son’s sake, she had to try. “Jesse—”

  “This is between me and Jack,” Jesse said.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you,” Jack retorted.

  “Maybe not. But I’ve got a few things to say to you.”

  Jack balled his fist, turning the sandwich into a squashed mess. “You’ve got no right—”

  “First off, a gentleman greets a lady when he comes into the room. Second, he doesn’t complain about the vittles. Third, he asks for what he needs from a lady’s kitchen, he doesn’t just take it. Fourth, he inquires whether chores need to be done before he heads for the bunkhouse. And finally, he doesn’t talk with his mouth full.”

  Jack swallowed. The soft bread felt like spiny tumbleweed as it grated over the constriction in his throat. This was the kind of dressing-down his father might have given him. The kind of talking-to he hadn’t had for more than a year, since his father’s death. He resented it. Even though he knew deep down that the hired hand was right.

  Jack angled his face to his mom, to see what she was going to do about the drifter’s interference. He felt sick in the pit of his stomach when he saw how pale her face was. Jack turned from his mother and confronted the hired hand. He let the hostility he was feeling show in his eyes, but for his mother’s sake, struggled to keep it out of his voice. “Maybe I was wrong,” he conceded.

  Jesse continued to stare at the boy and was pleased when the gangly teenager turned to his mother and gritted out, “Hello, Mom. Thanks for the sandwich.”

  Jack looked down at the mess in his hand and grimaced.

  “You can wash your hands in the sink,” Honey said.

  Jesse stepped aside to allow the boy to pass and in doing so, glanced at Honey. Her dark blue eyes were afire with emotion, but it wasn’t gratitude he saw there. Obviously he had stepped amiss. He clenched his teeth over the explanation for his actions that sprang to mind. She didn’t look as though she wanted to hear reason.