Honey and the Hired Hand

by Joan Johnston

  Honey ran upstairs, not allowing herself time to contemplate the drifter's compliment. He probably didn't spend much time around respectable women. He probably didn't realize he shouldn't be blurting out what he was thinking that way. And she shouldn't be feeling so good about the fact the hired hand liked the way she looked.

  She was grateful to discover that her mascara had been clumped, rather than smudged. She took the time to wash her face and reapply a layer of sun-sensitive makeup. It was a habit she'd gotten into and had nothing to do with the fact there was now a man around to see her. Honey dressed in record time in fitted Levi's, plaid western shirt, socks and boots.

  Even so, by the time she reached the barn, Jesse was already on the roof, hammer in hand. He had his shirt off and she couldn't help looking.

  Jesse had broad shoulders and a powerful chest, completely hairless except for a line of black down that ran from his navel into his form-fitting jeans. His nipples provided a dark contrast to his skin, which looked warm to the touch. She could see the definition of his ribs above a washboard belly. His arms were ropy with muscle and already glistened with sweat. Here was a man who had done his share of hard work. Which made her wonder why he had never settled down.

  It dawned on her that the drifter had chosen the most dangerous job to do first. He was standing on the peaked barn roof without any kind of safety rope as though he were some kind of mountain goat. How could he be so idiotically unconscious of the danger!

  She started up the ladder he had laid against the side of the barn and heard him call, "No need for you to come up here."

  She looked up and found him hanging facedown over the edge of the roof. "Be careful! You'll fall."

  "Not likely," he said with a grin. "I grew up rambling around in high places."

  ' 'I suppose you had the top bunk in an upstairs bedroom," she said with asperity.

  Jesse thought of the high canyon walls he had scaled as a youth on his family's northwest Texas ranch and grinned. "Let's just say I spent a lot of time climbing when I was a kid and leave it at that. By the way, I found the spot that needs to be patched. I brought the shingles up with me, but I didn't see hide nor hair of the roofing nails."

  "I put them away. I'll get them for you." Honey headed back down the ladder and into the barn. As she passed General's stall, she patted the bull on the forehead. She and Cale had raised him from birth, and though he had a ring in his nose, he would have followed her around without it.

  "Hi, old fella. Just let me get these nails for Jesse and I'll let you out in the corral for a while."

  The barn was redolent with the odors of hay, leather and manure. Rather than hold her nose, Honey took a deep breath. There was nothing disagreeable to her about the smell of a ranch- or a hardworking man. Which made her think of the hired hand standing on the roof of her barn.

  Honey didn't want to be charmed by Jesse Whitelaw, but there was no denying his charm. Maybe it was his crooked grin, or the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled, creating a sunburst of webbed lines. Or maybe it was the fact his dark eyes glowed with appreciation when he looked at her.

  "Hey! Where are those nails?"

  Honey jumped at the yell from above. "I'm getting them!" She grabbed the box of nails and headed back into the sunshine. Jesse had come to the edge of the roof and bent down to take the nails as she climbed the ladder and handed them up.

  When he stood again, a trickle of sweat ran down the center of his chest. As Honey watched, it slid into his navel and back out again, down past the top button of his jeans. It was impossible to ignore the way the denim hugged his masculinity. It took a moment for Honey to realize he wasn't moving away. And another moment to realize he was aware of the direction of her gaze. Honey felt a single curl of desire in her belly and a weak feeling in her knees. Her fingers gripped the ladder to keep from falling. She was appalled at the realization that what she wanted to do was reach out and touch him. She froze, unable to move farther up the ladder or back down.

  "Honey?"

  Jesse's voice was gruff, and at the sound of it she raised her eyes to his face. His lids were lowered, his dark eyes inscrutable. She had no idea what he was thinking. His jaw was taut. So was his body. Honey was afraid to look down again, afraid of what she would find.

  She felt her nipples pucker, felt the rush of heat to her loins. Her lips parted as her breathing became shallow. Honey knew the signs, knew what they meant. And tried desperately to deny what she was feeling.

  "Honey?" he repeated in a raw voice.

  Jesse hadn't moved, but if possible, his body had tautened. His nostrils flared. She saw the pulse throb at his temple. What did he want from her? What did he expect? He was a stranger. A drifter. A man who loved danger.

  She wasn't going to get involved with him. Not this way. Not any way. Not now. Not ever.

  "No!" Honey felt as though she were escaping some invisible bond as she skittered down the ladder, nearly falling in her haste.

  "Honey!" he shouted after her. "Wait!"

  Honey hadn't thought he could get off the roof so fast, but she had no intention of waiting around for him. She started for the house on the run. She was terrified, not of the drifter, but of her own feelings. If he touched her…

  Honey was fast, but Jesse was faster. He caught her just as she was starting up the front steps and followed her onto the shaded porch. When Jesse grabbed her arm to stop her, momentum slammed her body back around and into his. He tightened his arms around her to keep them both from falling.

  Honey would have protested, except she couldn't catch her breath. It was a mistake to look up, because the sight of his eyes, dark with desire, made her gasp. Jesse captured her mouth with his. His hand thrust into the curls at her nape and held her head so she couldn't escape his kiss.

  Honey wished she could have said she fought him. But she didn't. Because from the instant his lips took possession of hers, she was lost. His mouth was hard at first, demanding, and only softened as she melted into his arms. By then he was biting at her lips, his tongue seeking entrance. He tasted like coffee, and something else, something distinctly male. His kiss thrilled her, and she wanted more.

  It was only when Honey felt herself pushing against Jesse that she realized he had spread his legs and pulled her into the cradle of his thighs. She could feel his arousal, the hard bulge that had caught her unsuspecting attention so short a time ago. She heard a low, throaty groan and realized it had come from her.

  Jesse's mouth mimicked the undulation of their bodies. Honey had never felt so alive. Her pulse thrummed, her body quickened. With excitement. With anticipation. It had been so long. She needed-craved-more. How could this stranger, this drifter, make her feel so much? Need so much?

  At first Honey couldn't identify the shrill sound that interfered with her concentration.

  Pleasure. Desire. Need.

  The sound persisted, distracting her. Finally she realized it was the phone.

  Honey hadn't been aware of her hands, but she discovered they were clutching handfuls of Jesse's black hair. His hat had fallen to the porch behind him. She stiffened. Slowly, she slid her hands.away.

  "The phone," she gasped, pushing now at his shoulders.

  Honey felt Jesse's reluctance to release her. Whether he recognized the panic in her eyes, or the presumption of what he had done, he finally let her go. But he didn't step away. Honey had to do that herself.

  "The phone," she repeated.

  "You'd better answer it." It was clear he would rather she didn't. His body radiated tension.

  Honey stood there another moment staring, her body alive with unmet needs, before she turned and raced inside the house. For a second she thought he would follow her, but from the corner of her eye she saw him whirl on his booted heel and head toward the barn.

  She was panting by the time she snatched the phone from its cradle. "H-hello?"

  "Honey? Why didn't you answer? Is everything all right?"

 
Dear Lord. It was Adam. Honey held her hand over the receiver and took several deep breaths, trying to regain her composure. There was nothing she could do about the pink spots on her cheeks except be grateful he wasn't there to see them.

  At least there was one good thing that had come from the drifter's kiss. Honey knew now, without a doubt, that she could never marry Adam Philips. The sooner she.told Adam, the better. Only she couldn't tell him over the phone. She owed him the courtesy of refusing him to his face.

  "Honey, talk to me. What's going on?" Adam demanded.

  "Everything's fine, Adam. I'm just a little breathless, that's all. I was outside when the phone started ringing," she explained.

  "Oh. I called to see if your hired hand showed up."

  "He's here."

  There was a long pause. Honey wasn't about to volunteer any information about the man. If Adam was curious, he could ask.

  "Oh," Adam said again.

  To Honey's relief, it didn't appear he was going to pursue the subject.

  "I know I said I wouldn't call until next week," he continued, "but an old school friend of mine in Amarillo called and asked me to come for a visit. His divorce is final and he needs some moral support. I'm leaving today and I don't know when I'll be back. I just wanted to let you know.''

  Good old reliable Adam. Honey rubbed at the furrow on her brow. "Adam, is there any chance you could come by here on your way out of town? I need to talk to you."

  "I wish I could, but I'm trying to catch a flight out of San Antonitf and it's going to be close if I leave right now. Can you tell me over the phone?"

  "Adam, I-"

  Honey felt the hair prickle on the back of her neck. She turned and saw that Jesse had stepped inside the kitchen door.

  She stared at him helplessly. She swallowed.

  "Honey? Are you still there?" Adam said.

  "I'll see you when you get back, Adam. Have a good trip."

  Honey hung up the phone without waiting to hear Adam's reply. She stared at Jesse, unable to move. He had put his shirt back on, but left it unsnapped so a strip of sun-warmed skin glistened down the middle of his chest. He had retrieved his Stetson and it sat tipped back off his forehead. His thumbs were slung into the front of the beltless jeans. He had cocked a hip, but he looked anything but relaxed.

  "The repairs on the roof are done," he said. "I wanted to make sure it's all right with you if I saddle up that black stud to round up those steers that need vaccinating."

  "Night Wind was Cale's horse," Honey said. "He hasn't been ridden much since-"

  Naturally Jesse would want to ride the wildest, most dangerous horse in the stable. And why not? The man and the stallion were well matched.

  "Of course, you can take Night Wind," she said. "If you wait a minute, I'll come with you."

  "I don't think that's a good idea."

  She didn't ask why not. He could use the distance and so could she. "All right," she said. "The steers that need to be vaccinated are in the west pasture. Come get me when you've got them herded into the corral next to the barn."

  He tipped his hat, angled his mouth in that crooked smile and left.

  Honey stared at the spot where he had been. She closed her eyes to shut out the vision of Jesse Whitelaw in her kitchen. It was plain as a white picket fence that she wasn't going to be able to forget the man anytime soon.

  At least she had a respite for a couple of hours. She realized suddenly that because of Jesse's interruption she hadn't been able to refuse Adam's offer of marriage.

  Horsefeathers!

  She should never have kissed Jesse. Not that she had made any commitment to Adam, but she owed it to him to decline his offer before he found her in a compromising position with some other man. And not that she intended to get involved with Jesse Whitelaw, but so far, where that drifter was concerned, she hadn't felt as though things were under control. The smart move was to keep her distance from the man. That shouldn't be a problem. No problem at all.

  Three

  The black stud had more than a little buck in him, which suited Jesse just fine. He was in the mood for a fight, and the stud gave it to him. By the time the horse had settled down, Jesse had covered most of the rolling prairie that led to the west pasture. It wouldn't take long to herd the steers back to the chutes at the barn where they would be vaccinated. Only he had some business to conduct first.

  Jesse searched the horizon and found what he was looking for. The copse of pecan trees stood along the far western border of the Flying Diamond. He rode toward the trees hoping that his contact would be there waiting for him. He spotted the glint of sun off cold steel and headed toward it.

  "Kind of risky carrying a rifle around these parts with everyone looking out for badmen, don't you think?" Jesse said. He tipped his hat back slowly, careful to keep his hands in plain sight all the time.

  "Don't know who you can trust nowadays," the other cowboy answered. "Your name Whitelaw?"

  Jesse nodded. "From the description I got, you'd be Mort Barnes."

  The cowboy had been easy to identify because he had a deep scar through his right eyebrow that made it look as if he had come close to losing his eye. In fact, the eye was clouded over and Jesse doubted whether Mort had any sight in it. The other eye was almost yellow with a black rim around it. Mort more than made up for the missing eye with the glare from his good one. Black hair sprouted beneath a battered straw cowboy hat and a stubble of black beard covered his cheeks and chin.

  Jesse evaluated the other man physically and realized if he had to fight him, it was going to be a tooth and claw affair. The cowboy was lean and rangy from a life spent on horseback. He looked tough as rawhide.

  "Tell your boss I got the job," Jesse said.

  Mort smiled, revealing broken teeth. The man was a fighter, all right. "Yeah, I'll do that," Mort said. "How soon you figure you can get your hands on that prize bull of hers?"

  "Depends. She keeps him in the barn. He's almost a pet. It won't be easy stealing him."

  "The Boss wants-"

  "I don't care what your boss wants. I do things my way, or he can forget about my help."

  Mort scowled. "You work for the Boss, you take orders from him."

  "I don't take orders from anybody. I promised I'd steal the bull for him and I will. But I do it my way, understand?" Jesse stared until Mort's one yellow eye glanced away.

  "I'll tell the Boss what you said. But he ain't gonna like it," the cowboy muttered.

  ' '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 qua
iling 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. Farreil 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 Co-manche 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.