Hawk's Way (4 page)

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.

Jesse and Honey stared at each other while Jack washed his hands. He turned from the sink, still drying his hands with a dish towel, and asked his mother, “Are there any chores that need to be done before supper?”

Since Cale's death, Honey had taken the responsibility for almost all the ranch chores her husband had done in the evening. When Jack offered, she realized there was work that still needed to be done in the barn that she would appreciate having Jack's help completing. “You can feed the stock,” she said. “Also, I let General out into the corral. Would you bring him back inside the barn for the night?”

“Sure, Mom. Anything else?”

“That's all I can think of now.”

Without looking at Jesse again, Jack pushed his way out the screen door and let it slam behind him.

The tension was palpable once the two adults were alone.

Jesse started to apologize for interfering, then bit his tongue. He had been hard on the boy, but no more so than his father had been with him. A tree grew as the sapling began. Now was the time for Jack to learn courtesy and responsibility.

“I don't quite know what to say,” Honey began. “I don't agree with your methods, but I can't argue with the results. Maybe I've been too lax with Jack the past few months, but he took Cale's death so hard, I…”

Jesse heard the tremor in her voice and took a step toward her. As soon as he did, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

“It hasn't been easy for any of us,” she said in a firmer voice. “But we've managed to get along.”

Jesse heard “without your help” even though she didn't say the words. So be it. This was the last time he would get involved. If she wanted to let the boy walk all over her, that was her business. It was just fine with him.

Like hell it was.

“Look,” he said. “I can't promise I won't say anything more to the boy. We have to work together, after all. But I'll try not to step on any toes in the future. How does that sound?”

“Like the best compromise I'm going to get,” Honey replied with a rueful smile.

“Guess I'll go work on that fence.”

“I'll take my bath early,” she said. “That way the bathroom will be free when you get back.”

“Fine.”

He had to walk by her to get to the door. Honey marveled at how small any room got with the two of them in it. She stepped back until she pressed against the counter, but their bodies still brushed. Jesse hesitated just an instant before he continued past her. He didn't look back as he pushed his way out the screen door. But she noticed he caught the door and kept it from slamming on his way out.

Honey heaved a sigh—of relief?—when she had the kitchen to herself again. She wished she didn't need Jesse's help so much on the ranch,
because she wasn't at all sure she could handle having him around. His presence was already changing everything. She was beginning to feel things that she hadn't ever expected to feel again.

Nothing could come of her attraction to Jesse. He was a drifter. Sticking around wasn't in his nature. When the mood struck him, he would be moving on. And she would be left alone. Again.

She had best remember that when the yearning rose to let him get close.

H
oney scooted down, settled her nape on the edge of the free-standing, claw-footed bathtub and closed her eyes. Her entire body was submerged and steam rose from water that lapped at the top edge of the tub. There was no shower in the house, only this aged white porcelain tub. She smiled when she imagined what Jesse's reaction was going to be when he confronted this monstrosity.

It was easy to blame the absence of a modern shower on the lack of extra money over the
years she and Cale had been married. But the truth was, Honey loved the old-fashioned deep-bellied tub, with its brass fixtures and lion's paw legs. Instead of putting in a shower, she and Cale had expanded the capacity of the water heater so it was possible to fill the giant tub with steaming hot water all the way to the top.

Honey had laced the scalding water with scented bath oil, and the room reeked of honeysuckle. She was reminded of hot baths she and Cale had taken together. Honey crossed her arms and caressed her shoulders, smoothing in the bath oil. And imagined how it would feel if Jesse…

Abruptly Honey sat up, sloshing water over the edge of the tub. Her eyes flew open and she looked around her. Her daydreams had seemed so real. For a moment it had seemed as though that man was here. In her tub. With her. His hands—never mind where his hands had been! And his mouth—Honey shivered in reaction to the vivid pictures her mind had painted.

“Horsefeathers!” she muttered.

Honey lunged up, splashing water on the
floor, and grabbed for a terry cloth towel. She wrapped herself in it, then reached down to pull the plug. And felt a spurt of guilt. The water heater would fill the tub once—but not twice. Her remorse didn't last long, and a smile slowly appeared on her face. Jesse Whitelaw could stand to cool off a little. A nice cold bath ought to help him along.

Honey was in her bedroom and had almost finished dressing when Jesse knocked at her door.

“Hey, there's no shower in that bathroom,” he said.

“I know.” Honey tried to keep the grin out of her voice.

He muttered something crude under his breath, then said, “Where are the towels?”

“The linens on the rack in the bathroom are yours to use.”

Honey heard the water run for a short while, then stop. She left her bedroom and stood outside the bathroom door listening. There was a long silence, followed by a male yelp and frantic splashing. “This water's like ice!” he bellowed.

“I know,” she said loud enough to be heard through the door. By now her grin was huge.

Jesse muttered again.

“I'm going downstairs to fix some dinner for Jack and Jonathan. Enjoy your bath.”

Her laughter followed her down the stairs.

Jesse shivered, but not from the cold. It was the first time he'd heard Honey laugh, and the sound skittered down his spine. His lips curled ruefully. At least now he knew she had a sense of humor.

He soaped a rag and washed himself vigorously, as though that could obliterate his thoughts of her. But Honey Farrell had gotten under his skin. Every breath he took filled his lungs with the honeysuckle scent she had bathed in. Everywhere he looked there were reminders that he had invaded her feminine domain.

The pedestal sink was cluttered on top with all sorts of female paraphernalia—powder and lipstick and deodorant and suchlike—except where she had cleared a tiny space for his things.

Jesse cursed a blue streak as he rinsed himself
with the icy water, then grabbed a towel and stepped out onto the deepest pile rug he had ever felt beneath his feet. It was decorated with whimsical daisies—as was the towel he had wrapped around his hips. If his brothers could see him now, they would rib him up one side and down the other.

He quickly pulled on clean briefs and jeans, then slung the towel around his neck while he shaved. He debated whether to leave his straight edge razor and strop in the bathroom, then decided that as long as she had left the space for him, he might as well use it. When he saw his things beside hers, he pursed his lips thoughtfully. It was as though an unfinished picture had been completed.

He spread the damp towel over the rack and put on the shirt he had brought into the bathroom with him. He had hoped the steam from a hot shower would ease some of the wrinkles out of it. Since he'd ended up taking a cold bath, he had no choice except to shrug into the wrinkled shirt.

Jesse started to borrow Honey's hairbrush but
changed his mind and finger-combed his hair instead. It would hang straight once it dried no matter what he did with it now.

Jesse came down the stairs quietly and stood at the kitchen door undetected by the trio at the table. Honey was serving up her younger son's dinner. Her face was rosy, probably from all that hot water she'd bathed in, he thought with a silent chuckle. He was glad to see she wasn't wearing black again, but he thought the pale green was wrong for her.

She ought to be wearing vivid colors—reds and royal blues—that were as full of life as she was. He liked the way the dress clung to her figure, outlining her breasts and defining her slim waist and hips. She looked very much like a woman, and he felt the blood surge in his loins at the sight of her.

He watched unnoticed as Honey brushed a lock of hair off Jonathan's forehead. She put a hand on Jack's shoulder as she set the salt and pepper before him. Then she found another reason to touch Jonathan. Jesse wondered if Honey had any idea what she was doing. He felt his
body tauten with the thought of her touching him like that.

Jesse's family members were fiercely loyal to each other, but they weren't much for touching. He could count on one hand the number of times his mother had caressed him in any way. He hadn't realized until now just how needful he was of Honey's touch and the feel of her hands on his body.

“Oh, there you are!” Honey froze with her hand outstretched for the butter dish. She wondered how long Jesse had been standing there. He had a way of watching her that she found totally unnerving. His dark, hooded gaze revealed a hunger that took her breath away, but there was a yearning, almost wistful expression in his eyes as well.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

Honey took a good look at what the hired hand was wearing and frowned. She wondered what kind of life Jesse Whitelaw had led when this was all he had to wear to dinner. His jeans were clean but worn white at the stress points and seams. The faded western shirt was frayed
at collar and cuffs and badly creased. His leather belt was dark with age and had a shiny silver buckle she felt sure he had earned as a prize at some rodeo. He wore the same tooled black leather boots he had worn all day; the scuff marks showed the hard use they'd had.

She almost offered to iron his shirt, then changed her mind. Somehow she knew he wouldn't appreciate the suggestion. Besides, if he had really been concerned about his appearance, he could have asked for the iron himself. “I'm ready anytime you are,” she said.

The ride to Dallas's place in Jesse's pickup truck—which was barely two years old and in surprisingly good shape compared to his clothing—took barely an hour. Because of the long, uncomfortable silences between inane bits of conversation, it felt a lot longer.

Even in the modern West, a man was still entitled to his privacy. Thus Honey didn't feel she could ask Jesse about himself. That left a myriad of other subjects, not one of which came readily to mind.

The silence was deafening by the time Jesse
said, “How long have you known Dallas and Angel?”

Honey grabbed at the conversational gambit like a gambler for a deck of cards. “I met Dallas about four years ago when he and Cale started working together on assignments for the Texas Rangers. Dallas introduced me to Angel a little over a year ago, about the same time she and Dallas met each other.”

“How did the two of them meet?” Jesse asked.

“You know, they never said. Every time I asked, Angel blushed and Dallas laughed and said, ‘You wouldn't believe me if I told you.'”

“How did you and that Philips guy meet?” Jesse asked.

That was more personal ground. Honey hesitated, then grinned and admitted, “Dallas invited me on a double date with Adam and Angel. By the end of the day, Dallas ended up with Angel, and Adam and I were a couple.”

“How serious are things between you and Philips?”

Honey shot a quick look at Jesse, but his ex
pression was bland. “I don't think that's any of your business.”

“I think maybe it is.”

“I can't imagine why—”

“Can't you?” His piercing gaze riveted her for a moment before he had to look at the road again.

Honey's pulse began to speed. She grasped at the opportunity to put the hired hand in his place once and for all. “Adam has asked me to marry him,” she said.

A muscle jerked in Jesse's cheek. “You don't love him,” he said curtly.

“You can't possibly know whether I love him or not.”

He cocked a brow and his lips drew up cynically. “Can't I?”

Honey turned to stare out the window, avoiding his searching look.

“Are you going to marry him?”

“I—” Honey considered lying. Perhaps if she told Jesse she was committed to another man, he would leave her alone. But she couldn't use Adam like that—simply to keep another man at arm's length. “No,” she admitted.

“Good.”

Nothing else passed between them for the few minutes it took to traverse the length of the road from the cattle guard at the entrance to Dallas's ranch to the Victorian ranch house. At least, nothing in words. But Honey was aware of the portal the drifter had forced open between them.

“I won't ever hurt you,” Jesse said in a quiet voice.

“You can, you know,” she said in an equally quiet voice.

His lips flattened. “I don't want you to be afraid of me.”

“Then leave me alone.”

“I can't do that.”

“Jesse…”

The Mastersons' porch light was on, and Jesse pulled the truck up well within its glow. He killed the engine and turned to look at Honey. “Is it your husband?” he asked bluntly.

Honey felt the pain that always came with memories of Cale. “Cale is dead.”

“I know that. Do you?”

Honey gasped and turned to stare at Jesse. “What do you want from me?”

“More than it seems you're willing to give.”

Jesse's sharp voice cut through her pain, and Honey realized she was angry. “You can hardly blame me,” she said. “I'm not in a hurry to get my heart torn out again.”

“Who says you have to?”

Honey snorted inelegantly. “That sounds pretty funny coming from a man like you. How many women have you loved and left, Jesse? How long should I plan on you hanging around? And what am I supposed to do when you're gone? I'd have to be a fool to get involved with you. And whatever else I might be, I'm no fool. I—”

Honey broke off when she saw Angel come running out onto the porch to greet them. She flashed Jesse a look of frustration and quickly stepped out of the truck and headed up the porch steps.

“It's good to see you again, Honey,” Angel said as the two women hugged. She didn't offer her hand to the drifter and kept her distance.
“Dallas is putting the baby to bed. He'll be down in a minute. Won't you both come inside?”

She stepped away from Jesse and held the door. Honey saw the other woman actually shiver as Jesse passed by her. Honey wondered what it was about the drifter that caused Angel to shy away from him. Was it possible that Dallas had told her something about Jesse? Something sinister?

Honey shook her head and dismissed the possibility. She didn't know much about Jesse, but she didn't see him as a villainous figure. Probably there was something in Angel's own past that was causing her to react so strangely to Dallas's friend.

Dallas had none of his wife's reservations. He greeted Jesse warmly and shook his hand. “I'm glad you could come on such short notice,” Dallas said. “I thought maybe we could talk about old times, maybe get reacquainted. How are your brothers and your sister?”

Honey's eyes widened and she stared at Jesse as though she had never seen him before. “You have a family?”

Jesse grinned. “Two older brothers and a younger sister.”

“Where?” Honey asked.

“At the family ranch, Hawk's Way, in northwest Texas near Palo Duro Canyon.”

So, Jesse wasn't as much of a footloose drifter as he had led her to believe. He had some roots after all.

“Would anyone like something to drink?” Angel asked.

“Whiskey and water,” Jesse said.

“Iced tea for me,” Honey said.

“Dallas?”

“I'll join Jesse and have a whiskey, but without the water, Angel.”

Honey sat on the Victorian sofa and Dallas took the leather chair that was obviously his favorite spot in the living room. Jesse joined Honey on the narrow sofa. It barely held the two of them, and Jesse's jean-clad leg brushed against her as he sat down.