Pat Warren - Her Kind Of Cowboy

Abby didn’t want to go into the details. “I came back home because I was pregnant with Grace.” Finally, she slowly turned around. “What exactly did Lindsay say to you? Do you remember?”

“Oh, yeah. She told me I wasn’t welcome around here, not to phone or send mail or come by ever again.”

“I… I guess she was trying to protect me.”

“From me? Why? I didn’t think your family even knew we were seeing one another.”

“Mom and Dad didn’t, but Lindsay’s enterprising. She probably saw us leaving to meet down by the river or maybe in the hayloft.” No, she didn’t want to think about those times. “Listen, I understand why you couldn’t come right back, but I still don’t see why you lied about your name. That’s…that’s…”

“That’s the way it’s done in ranching circles, Abby.”

“But it’s dishonest. It’s like spying to pick up another rancher’s secrets.”

Jesse shook his head. “What secrets? Ranching is ranching. I wasn’t running around taking notes and jotting things down. I was trying to see if we could handle raising cattle much as your father does here. To see if cattle would fit in with our herd.”

He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, and maybe he hadn’t. All in the eyes of the beholder, Abby thought. She rubbed at a spot over her left eye where a headache was forming. “Well, that’s all well and good, but I’m sorry. I can’t trust you, Jesse. And if my father should find out, he’d feel as betrayed as I do.”

“I think you’re wrong. I’m not ashamed of what I did, not any of it. I’ll go to your father right now and tell him everything and…”

“No! No, don’t do that. He’s got enough problems right now. You may have noticed at dinner that he’s distracted and worried.”

Jesse frowned. “What kind of problems is he having?” Vern had confided in him, but he wondered if Abby knew.

“I’m not sure. He won’t talk about it, but I think it has to do with money. He’s lost several good men. Don’t tell him about this right now. I don’t want to add to his worries.”

“All right.” He stepped closer, took both her hands. “What about us, Abby? Do you forgive me?” When she hesitated, he went on. “We were close once. I’ve missed you.” He saw the wariness in her eyes and knew he’d put it there.

She wasn’t without her own secrets, her own deception. She had no reason not to forgive him. How could she continue to blame him when he’d been in that terrible accident? But she certainly wasn’t about to fall under his spell again. Once you’ve been burned, it would be stupid to stick your hand back in the fire.

“Yes, I forgive you.” Gently, she removed his hand. “But that’s as far as it goes, Jesse. You’re here to help Remus and nothing more. There is no us anymore. Good night.” Turning on her heel, she started walking back, then shifted into a run.

Jesse watched her go. Had he made any headway today? Hard to tell. When he’d known Abby six years ago, she’d been a soft-spoken girl, sweet-tempered and gentle. This Abby was a woman who’d buried a husband, had a child, started a business and knew her own mind.

He smiled as he walked slowly to his cabin. He rather liked the new version.

Abby reached the big house, out of breath, the tears she’d hidden from Jesse wet on her cheeks. She paused at the porch, sitting down in the white wicker chair to wipe her face and pull herself together. It wouldn’t do to let her family see how upset she was. There was no telling what her father would do with this piece of news. But her mother worried her more.

Joyce Martin was a paradox, in her daughter’s view. Alternately loving and shrewish, she was a difficult woman to figure out. Abby knew she’d had back trouble for years and been taking medication for it, not to mention her more frequent migraines. Perhaps the pills were the cause of her inconsistent behavior. It was clear that she loved her children, though she particularly favored Lindsay, who resembled her the most. She rarely spoke of her life before marrying Vern. However, in a moment of weakness, Joyce had told Abby that she was illegitimate, that she’d not known her father, and the shame had affected her deeply. That was undoubtedly why she was overly protective of her daughters and very disappointed that neither was happily married.

No, her mother would figure things out quickly and that would be disastrous. Abby had gone to so much trouble to put her life back together after Jesse that she dare not risk another upheaval. Not only would she suffer, but Grace would, too. No matter the cost, she would have to protect her daughter.

Finally composed, she went inside.

It was only nine o’clock, but the downstairs was empty with nothing but a dim light on in the living room. Abby climbed the stairs and walked quietly down the hallway. She’d asked her mother to supervise Grace’s bath and put her to bed. At Grace’s room, she saw the door was ajar and went in.

A smile formed without her conscious knowledge as she gazed down at her sleeping daughter. Grace was on her tummy wearing her favorite Peter Pan pajamas, clutching the somewhat ratty stuffed dog she’d named Fred. Abby had rented the movie version of Peter Pan and Grace had loved watching it so much, Abby had finally bought it for her. The little girl viewed it almost daily, telling everyone she wanted to fly just like Peter Pan.

Leaning down, Abby brushed the golden hair from Grace’s face and rearranged the sheet so it covered her. For a long while, she stood, just looking at her child. The best part of her, the best thing that had ever happened to her. How could she regret any part of that year that had changed her life when it had given her this wondrous little girl?

She kissed Grace’s cheek, then quietly left the room.

Her parents’ bedroom door at the far end of the hallway was closed, no light showing beneath. Dad always went to bed early because he was up by five o’clock. Mom also was an early riser, in the kitchen by seven o’clock, even though she often stayed up late reading or knitting, saying she couldn’t sleep. Abby was grateful she didn’t have to face them tonight.

She paused at Lindsay’s room and knocked lightly. When she heard no response, she opened the door. The bedside lamp was on, but her sister’s bed was empty. Lindsay had probably gone to that new club she’d mentioned at dinner. Abby decided she’d have to wait until tomorrow to ask her about the phone call from Jesse. Not that she didn’t believe that part of his story. It would be just like Lindsay to throw cold water on any attempt a man might make to contact Abby. Things may have turned out very differently if she’d have taken down Jesse’s number and told Abby to call him.

Sighing, she left her sister’s room and went to her own. She undressed and put on her pale-green nightshirt, then lay back on her bed, knowing she was too churned up to sleep. More tears struggled to be freed from behind her eyes at the onslaught of the bittersweet memories being with Jesse again had evoked, but Abby ruthlessly blinked them away. She’d cried all she was going to over Jesse.

But once begun, she couldn’t help remembering the shy, introverted girl she’d been six years ago, feeling very much in the shadow of her older, sophisticated and confident sister.

She’d been so young, not yet twenty, but already finished with her junior year at Arizona State, having skipped a grade in high school. She felt comfortable with books and learning, almost as much as she enjoyed being with the horses. Casey had taught her to ride at six and she’d turned out to be a natural, able to ride like the wind. She’d spent hours in the barn, grooming her favorite horses, giving them treats and talking softly to each one. She didn’t mind that her interests were mostly solitary because she didn’t feel as socially adept as Lindsay or even her mother. With books and horses, she felt the confidence that eluded her with people.

Until Jesse showed up the week she’d come home for summer break.

She’d noticed him in the barn that first time. Most of the men came in from a long day in the saddle on the range and handed their horses over to the two young grooms before heading straight for the mess hall. Not Jesse.

Standing by one of the far stalls, she watched him rub down his mount, talking to the stallion all the while. It was beastly hot so he’d taken off his shirt. Wearing jeans and scuffed boots, his damp chest gleaming from his exertion, he looked like the pictures of James Dean that Abby had seen, only with dark hair. There was a restless energy about him, a devil-may-care look in his impossibly blue eyes. Yet he was gentle with the horse, revealing a soft side.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.