THE RANCHER'S SPITTIN' IMAGE

by Peggy Moreland

  Jesse chuckled. "No. I'm just taking his measure right now."

  Jaime cocked his head, frowning. "What does that mean?"

  Jesse gestured to the horse. "I'm just watching him, seeing how he responds to things. It's important to know how a horse is going to react before you climb on his back."

  Jaime nodded in understanding and turned his gaze on the horse. "Gabe said he's nothin' but a widow maker and that Mama ought to shoot him before he kills somebody."

  Jesse reared back, looking at Jaime askance, surprised by this bit of news. "Oh, really? And what did your mother have to say to that?"

  Jaime grinned sheepishly. "I don't know. She caught me eavesdropping and clammed up before I could hear anything else."

  Laughing, Jesse reached over and ruffled Jaime's hair. "It's not polite to listen in on a conversation not meant for your ears."

  Jaime looked down at his boots, kicking a heel against one of the rails and dislodging a chunk of caked manure. "Yeah, that's what my mama said, too," he said ruefully.

  "Your mama's right. They usually are, you know."

  Jaime rolled his eyes. "They're also a pain in the butt," he muttered.

  Jesse felt as if he ought to defend Mandy and mothers in general, but then thought better of it. After all, he was here to win Jaime's friendship, not build a case for Mandy. "She keeps a pretty tight rein on you, does she?" he asked instead.

  Jaime huffed out a breath. "You better believe it. Especially lately."

  Jesse wondered if that "especially lately" had anything to do with him. Did Mandy think he'd try to kidnap the boy or something? He shook his head. He didn't want to try to steal anything from Mandy, not even the boy's affections. He simply wanted to get to know his son and claim him as his own.

  Hoping to buy some time to do just that, Jesse pulled a bandanna from his back pocket and mopped the back of his neck. "It sure is hot today."

  Jaime squinted one eye up at the sun. "Yeah, it's a scorcher, all right. Wish I was down at the creek fishin' right now."

  "Mmm-mmm," Jesse said with feeling. "A mess of fried catfish sure would hit the spot, wouldn't it?"

  Jaime glanced up at him in surprise. "You like to fish?"

  "Sure do. You're not the only boy to poach in his neighbor's pond. When I was about your age I used to sneak over to the Double-Cross and fish that old pond that lies in that strip of bottom land. You know where I'm talking about?"

  "Yeah! There's a couple of felled trees that the catfish like to swim up under and nap. You wanna go fishin'?" he asked, nearly falling off the fence in his rush to issue the invitation.

  Although that was exactly what Jesse had been hinting at, he replied uncertainly, "Well, I don't know. What do you suppose your mother would have to say about you scooting off in the middle of the day?"

  "I bet she wouldn't mind if you were going along!" Jaime was already clambering down. "Let's go ask her."

  Trying to hide his pleasure at the thought of spending an afternoon with his son, Jesse jumped down and followed Jaime to the house. But at the back door, he hesitated, unsure whether Mandy's invitation to the Double-Cross included entry into her private quarters.

  "Come on!" Jaime encouraged him. "Mama's probably in her office workin'."

  Dragging off his hat, Jesse stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him, and followed Jaime through the kitchen and down a long hall. At the door to the office he stopped, the hairs on his neck prickling.

  Jaime might have called this his mama's office, but evidence of Lucas McCloud's prior claim to the space was apparent everywhere Jesse looked. The walls were covered with trophies from Lucas's hunting and fishing expeditions—a twelve-point rack of antlers, an elk's head, a swordfish posed as if it had just burst through the water's surface. A locked case held a small arsenal of guns. On the floor in front of a massive desk lay a thick bearskin rug. Behind the masculine desk sat Mandy, her chin tipped up from her work, her green eyes filled with what Jesse could only define as distrust.

  Feeling compelled to defend his presence, Jesse explained, "Jaime invited me to go fishing, but I told him we'd need to ask you first."

  Slowly Mandy rose from the deep leather chair, clutching the pen she'd been using as if it were a weapon she might need to defend herself. "I see." She forced her gaze to her son's. "Have you finished your chores?"

  "Yes, ma'am," he said proudly.

  "What about emptying the trash in the kitchen?"

  Jaime's expression fell. "No, I forgot about that one."

  "You'll have to finish all your chores before you can play."

  Jaime hung his head and gave the bearskin rug a stab with a frustrated toe. "Ah, Mom," he complained dejectedly. "Can't it wait 'til later?"

  "You know the rules," she reminded him firmly.

  Jaime lifted his gaze to Jesse's, obviously knowing it was fruitless to argue with his mother. "Wait for me, okay? It won't take me a minute, I swear." With that he was gone, leaving Jesse standing before the desk, his hat in his hand.

  "Does that go for me, too?"

  Mandy shifted her gaze from the doorway her son had just disappeared through to look at Jesse. "What?" she asked in confusion.

  "Do I have to finish my chores, too?"

  Mandy frowned, then sank back onto her chair and turned her attention back to her work. "My rules only apply to my son."

  Jesse took a step closer, peering at the ledger book that was spread on the desk. "From what I hear, they apply to the men who work the Double-Cross, as well."

  Without looking up, Mandy shifted the pen back into position between her fingers and began making notations on the page. "Yes, though I suspect there are a few who resent taking orders from a woman."

  That his presence made her nervous was obvious and only served to goad Jesse into wanting to rattle her a little bit more. He levered a hip on the corner of the desk and hooked his hat on his knee. "What are you working on?"

  "Not that it's any of your business," she replied, trying her best to ignore him, "but I'm recording the births of all the new foals."

  Grinning, Jesse leaned closer and almost laughed when he saw her fingers convulse on the pen. "Looks like your mares have dropped quite a few foals this year," he commented lazily. "You must have one hell of a good stud."

  He watched the heat crawl up her neck at the inflection he'd purposefully put on the words "you" and "stud."

  "We use two," she replied through tight lips.

  "Is Judas one of them?"

  "Yes. He has excellent bloodlines. Satan sired him."

  Jesse remembered Satan well—the black stallion that only Lucas McCloud had ridden. "Jaime tells me that Judas is a widow maker. Is that why you hired me on to break him? Are you hoping that he'll kill me and I won't be around to claim my son?"

  Incensed, Mandy jumped to her feet, tossing her pen to the desk. "Certainly not! I would never hire someone to break a horse if I didn't think he was more than capable of handling the task."

  Jesse stood, too, and shifted until he was between her and the desk. "So you think I'm capable, do you?" He touched a finger to the hollow of her throat where her pulse throbbed. When she stiffened, he smiled in satisfaction. She might pretend indifference to him, but he knew better.

  Angrily, Mandy batted his hand away. "If I didn't think you could handle Judas, I'd never have suggested that you try to break him."

  With a studied slowness, Jesse let his gaze slide up the smooth column of her throat, over the flush on her cheeks, until his eyes met hers. Beneath the fear, he was surprised to see that desire had darkened their green depths … and knew at that moment how best to punish her for what she'd done to him.

  "That's nice to know," he said slowly. He took a step closer, until his body brushed hers. "But I'm capable of taming more than just a wild horse," he murmured suggestively. "I can—"

  "I'm ready!"

  The announcement came from the hallway, allowing Jesse just enough time to step away from Mandy and p
retend to admire a plaque on the wall before Jaime burst through the open doorway. Turning, he smiled at the boy. "Me, too, son."

  He slung an arm around Jaime's shoulders and shot Mandy a wink that had her cheeks turning a brighter red. "I'll see you later."

  With her heart in her throat, Mandy watched them file out of her office, laughing and talking like two old friends. Weak-kneed, she sank to the leather chair. Grabbing the desk's edge, she drew the chair back into place, then propped her elbows on the ledger and flattened her palms against her burning cheeks. How can he do this to me? she cried silently. Better yet, why is he doing this to me?

  He was purposefully baiting her, she was sure, trying to incite some kind of response from her. He had acted similarly at the glen when they had met several days before. But why? He'd certainly made his feelings for her clear enough. He hated her … or at the very least he resented her for keeping Jaime a secret from him.

  The fact that she'd responded each time to his touch both angered and shamed her. She lifted her head from her hands and pressed trembling fingers to her lips as she stared at the empty doorway.

  Oh, God, how she'd missed his touch.

  Mandy heard Jaime and Jesse's arrival before she actually saw them. They returned to the house in much the same manner as they'd left several hours before: laughing and talking like two old friends. She knew she should be grateful for the ease with which her son accepted Jesse's offer of friendship—after all, that was the purpose behind Jesse's presence on the Double-Cross. But she couldn't help but resent it, as well. For twelve years she had been Jaime's only parent, the most important adult in his life … and now Jesse threatened that relationship.

  Forcing back the jealousy, she opened the back door and stepped out onto the patio. "Well!" she exclaimed, offering them both a smile. "The mighty fishermen return. Did y'all catch anything?"

  Grinning, Jaime held up a stringer of catfish for her inspection.

  "My, my, my," she murmured in approval. "That looks like enough for dinner."

  "That's what me and my amigo were thinkin', too," Jaime told her as he handed over the stringer.

  Mandy's eyebrows shot up. "Amigo?" she repeated.

  Jaime grinned. "It's Spanish for friend. Jesse taught me some Spanish words while we were fishin'."

  "Oh," Mandy murmured, cutting a glance at Jesse. His eyes seemed to dare her to find fault with him.

  "Jesse's gonna eat with us, okay?"

  Mandy snapped her gaze back to her son. Though she would have loved to have said no, she couldn't ignore the hope in her son's eyes … or the challenge in Jesse's. Smiling sweetly, she passed Jesse the stringer. "Sure. Why not? He can clean the fish while you go and take a shower."

  "A shower? But—"

  "No buts, young man. You smell like you've rolled in fish bait."

  Obviously knowing by the unrelenting look in his mother's eyes that the shower battle was one he was sure to lose, Jaime scuffed into the house, wearing a king-size pout and leaving Mandy and Jesse alone.

  Anxious to escape Jesse's nearness, Mandy nodded toward a stainless-steel table that sat on the edge of the patio. "You can clean the fish there. Knives and bowls are stored underneath and you can use the hose hooked up by the kitchen window for water." She started to turn away, but Jesse's voice stopped her.

  "Thank you."

  Though she might have pretended to think that he was thanking her for letting him know where everything was, Mandy knew by the level of emotion in his voice and the gratitude in his dark eyes that he was thanking her for a whole lot more. He was thanking her for allowing him to spend more time with Jaime.

  "I'm only doing what's fair," she murmured, then turned and headed for the kitchen door before he could say more.

  From the kitchen window Mandy had a perfect view of Jesse cleaning the fish. Not that she was watching him, she assured herself. He just happened to be in her line of vision each time she glanced up from the potatoes she was peeling.

  He'd taken off his shirt—in deference to the heat, she supposed—and with every slice of the knife he held, muscles bunched and rolled on his back while sweat ran down his spine in narrow rivulets to dampen the waist of his jeans. His shoulders were as wide as she remembered them, tapering down to a narrow waist and hips. He stood with one leg cocked, throwing one hip a little higher than the other, and Mandy couldn't prevent her gaze from sliding lower, over the swell of buttocks beneath the worn denim, to muscled thighs and calves and finally to boots scarred from years of use.

  Resting her wrists on the edge of the sink, Mandy let the paring knife go limp in her hand. His body had once been as familiar to her as her own, she remembered sadly. She'd known every scar and its cause, every sensitive spot and whether it would elicit a chuckle or a moan of pleasure at her touch. She'd touched even the most intimate parts of him and done so without fear or shame. She'd loved him and he'd loved her, just as thoroughly, just as completely.

  While she watched, her thoughts rooted in the past, Jesse set the bowl of filleted catfish aside and picked up the hose again. Dipping his head, he placed the spout on his hair, letting the water run down his back and over his chest. Shifting the hose to a position between his pressed knees, he filled his cupped hands with water and splashed his face, scrubbing his hands up and down its length and across the back of his neck.

  Without thinking, Mandy laid the paring knife aside, went to the pantry for a towel, and stepped outside.

  "I thought you might need this."

  Jesse glanced up, blinking water from his eyes, to find Mandy standing in front of him, offering him a towel. The desire was there in her eyes again, he noted, minus the layer of fear that had covered it before.

  Warily, he accepted the towel. "Thanks," he mumbled as he dragged it down his face, obscuring his view of her. When he dropped the towel, he saw that her gaze had lowered and was fixed on his chest. She reached out and placed a trembling finger against the scar her father's bullet had left on his shoulder. When she lifted her face to his again, he saw that her eyes were filled with tears.

  "I'm so sorry," she whispered huskily.

  Something in her eyes had Jesse reaching up and catching her hand in his before he even realized what he was doing. He pressed her fingertips against the scar, absorbing the warmth of her skin into his. "You didn't pull the trigger," he reminded her. "Lucas did."

  "Yes, but—"

  He stepped closer, placing a finger against her lips. "I never blamed you for Lucas shooting me."

  In dark eyes that seemed to pull her closer, Mandy searched for some sign that he'd forgiven her for the other blow, the one to his heart. "But you've never forgiven me, have you? For refusing to—"

  "Hey! Where is everybody?"

  Jesse dropped Mandy's hand at the sound of Jaime's voice and picked up the bowl of catfish fillets. "Out here!" he called back. "Are you hungry?"

  The screen door slapped open and Jaime charged through it, his wet hair gleaming as raven-black as Jesse's in the fading sunlight. "You bet! Is everything ready?"

  Jesse sat with his shoulders pressed against the wall of the bunkhouse and his boots propped on the low railing that bordered the structure's narrow front porch. Darkness stretched in front of him while a herd of mosquitoes buzzed at his ear. Irritably he swatted at them while he silently cursed himself for a fool.

  He should have just knocked her hand away when Mandy had dared to touch him, he told himself. But, oh no, not Jesse! Fool that he was, he'd let himself be suckered by a set of tear-filled eyes.

  He knew damn good and well that if Jaime hadn't shown up when he had, he'd have had Mandy in his arms again, kissing away the telltale tears and filling his hands with those delicious curves.

  And Jesse didn't need or want the distraction. He'd learned long ago not to trust Mandy. She made promises she didn't intend to keep and Jesse wasn't about to fall prey to her lies anymore. He'd done so once and had spent years trying to forget.

  He had a son no
w. And his son was all he wanted from Mandy McCloud.

  Margo stepped inside the barn, squinting to adjust to the sudden change in light. About halfway down the alley, Pete stood, saddling his horse.

  "Where is he?" she snapped impatiently.

  Pete turned his head, sparing her a look. "If you're referrin' to Jesse, he ain't here."

  "I can see that. Where is he?"

  Pete turned back to his horse, hooking a stirrup over the saddle horn. "Where he goes and what he does is his business, not mine."

  Margo folded her arms beneath her breasts, glaring at Pete's back. "I should've known I couldn't depend on you to offer any information as to his whereabouts."

  "Then why'd you ask?" Pete muttered dryly.

  Incensed by his blatant disregard of her position as mistress of the Circle Bar, Margo sucked in an angry breath. The man would never have dared to talk to her in such a high-handed way when Wade was alive. But obviously, with Jesse's arrival to claim his inheritance, Pete no longer felt he had to show Margo the respect she was due. "You always did try to protect him," she said bitterly. "Even when he was a child."

  "Somebody had to look after the boy," Pete replied. "Neither you nor Wade seemed to want the job."

  "It wasn't my place to look after him! He was Wade's bastard, not mine."

  At the word 'bastard,' Pete slowly turned. "Better watch your mouth, Margo," he warned dangerously. "That 'bastard' you're referrin' to is the head of this outfit now."

  Piercing him with a damning look, Margo whirled away. "Not if I have any say in the matter," she muttered under her breath.

  And as to learning where Jesse spent his time when away from the Circle Bar … well, she had other sources to turn to.

  Jesse stood in the center of the Double-Cross's corral, his gaze fixed on the prancing stallion. He'd worked with the horse for four days and he was no closer to putting a saddle on him than he was on the first day he'd arrived. Sweat soaked his back and stung his eyes. "Ho, boy," he murmured in a soothing voice. "Ho, now."