Plots and Pans (6 page)

“Unfair!” Ed half rose out of his seat. “You know we care more about Jess than we do about the cows. Even Tucker, and she’s not related to him. Dad thought England kept her safe and helped her grow into the sort of woman Mama would want her to be, so she could marry well and have children and live a long, happy life. Who are we to say Pa raised his daughter the wrong way?”

“You know I won’t speak ill of yore papa.” Desta raised a fluttering hand and laid it over her heart. “But that man got intimidated by the idea of trying to raise a daughter on his own after yore mama passed on. Maybe he had good reason—a daughter needs a mother figure—but she’s been gone more than long enough to become ladylike. I suspect he got so used to having her gone, he just didn’t know what he’d do with her when he brought her home.”

“And you think
we’ll
know what to do with her when she comes back?” Tucker’s astonishment had him talking before he made the decision to join the conversation.

“You don’t have to know what to do with her,” Desta promised. “I’ll settle her in.”

“My sister doesn’t settle into anything she does.” Ed reached for his coffee mug, realized it was empty, and thumped it back on the table. “You never met her, Aunt Desta, but Jess grew up half wild and more than a little willful. She’s shuffled from school to school in merry ol’ England because she doesn’t take orders. Five academies for fine ladies, and I got an expulsion notice from the last one two days ago—crossed in the mail with my letter sending the next semester’s tuition.”

“Well, there you are!” She positively beamed at her nephew while Tucker looked at him aghast. “If the school’s turning her out, it’s the perfect time to bring her back home to Texas.”

“No.” Ed shook his head. “I already wrote the headmistress to send Jess to her grandparents. For all we know, it would be worse to move her from the country where she’s lived for so long. She doesn’t need any more shocks. When I bring her home, she’ll turn the Bar None on its head—first trying to get involved in everything and then when fellows start coming to court her. From the day she arrives to the day she marries, everything around here will change.”

While Ed talked, Tucker felt the pie he’d just eaten settle heavier and heavier in his stomach. The two of them had decided to leave Jessalyn in England until autumn because the ranch took every bit of their attention. Other ranchers tried to range their cattle around the plentiful water holes of Bar None land, and rustlers, hearing that the Big Boss died, grew bolder in stealing unbranded calves. Until they made it through the roundup and drive and established to the entire county that the Bar None remained strong, they didn’t have time to fetch a schoolgirl and help her settle in.

They both knew all of this, so they hadn’t needed to discuss it in detail. Now, hearing Ed reminisce about his sister made Tucker anxious. His friend painted an awful grim picture. Even as Desta gave up pestering them, he couldn’t stop the churning in his gut over the troubles Jess would bring home. Come fall, he and Ed would talk again. Maybe, just maybe, there’d be good reason to keep Jessalyn Culpepper away from the Bar None for a little bit longer.

Not much longer
. Jess arched her back, trying to ease the aches from hours in the saddle. Her muscles protested the shift and then tensed when the motion tilted her hat brim, dousing the back of her neck with a fresh run of rainwater. It didn’t make her much wetter or colder, but it didn’t help either. She stretched and settled back in the saddle, trying in vain to get comfortable.

It didn’t work. If she were being honest, she hadn’t been comfortable since the hour she’d left Miss Pennyworth’s Penitentiary two weeks ago. The strictures of the place chafed, but for the most part they provided soft, clean beds and chairs. After seventeen days of travel, Jess was in a mood to deeply appreciate a soft, clean bed. Or a hot bath. She let out a moan at the very thought.

From the small quarters she’d shared with the steamship captain’s very pregnant—and very seasick—daughter, to the sooty train cars and the few disreputable hotels Jess stopped in, each leg of the journey proved cramped, uncomfortable, and downright stinky. Though, to be fair, at this point Jess doubted she smelled much better than any of the other travelers she’d met on the way.

The company crammed eight passengers into the stagecoach she’d chartered for the final leg of her journey. For her own sake, as well as whatever small measure of extra space her fellow customers might enjoy, Jess had taken to riding Morning Glory rather than wedge into the jarring coach. Her afternoon escapes from the academy might not have prepared her for such long hours in the saddle, but living in England had bolstered her ability to tough out a little rain squall.

Not that she liked riding all day in a downpour, but it made a marginally better option than bouncing along on a narrow wooden bench, jammed between two men who hadn’t bathed in months. Especially when they insisted on shutting the window coverings against the rain, making the scant air even more stagnant. Stares from the other women—every bit as icy as the water now trickling down her back—encouraged her to stay outside until they went their separate ways.

Every day, every mile brought her closer to home. From gloomy England, across the wave-tossed Atlantic, through bustling cities along the railroad, she’d refused to slacken her pace. The only concession she’d made had been a morning’s worth of shopping once she hit American soil. About the only useful things she’d brought with her were her trusty horse and her pistol.

The pistol proved the single concession Papa granted her after she moved to England. He’d taught her to shoot when she turned ten, and she guilted him into letting her keep it. Headmistresses didn’t approve, but Papa kept his promise and wrangled permission at each and every school. He never came out and said so, but Jess got the impression he found it comforting that she could protect herself. She knew it helped her feel safe in unfamiliar surroundings—or on the long journey home.

So she landed in America armed with her pistol and her pony, but no way to ride. While students were encouraged to keep their own mounts, they’d been forced to use tack provided by the stables. This time Jess gladly bypassed sidesaddles, sniffing out a Denverstyle rig with a three-quarter cinch, something sturdy enough for roping. She transferred the meager contents of her valise into a set of saddlebags and turned her attention toward finding hard-wearing, comfortable clothing.

Replacing the set of split skirts Miss Pennyworth had burned back at the academy presented the greatest challenge, but Jess found a seamstress willing to make alterations overnight. After that, she’d rustled up the rest of her gear without too much trouble. The bandannas, Stetson, and boots she’d worn ever since. By looking at her now, no one would guess they were practically new.

Her backside protested the many miles spent in her saddle, and Jess didn’t care to count the blisters breaking in her boots, but it was worth it. She’d finally arrived in Texas and, after a dismal dinner stop at a knock-together café, parted ways with the stage. The Bar None sat a mere sixteen miles down the road. After so many years, she couldn’t believe she’d be home for supper.

Home
. Her stomach fluttered with nervous hope. No matter how often she told herself things would be different after so many years and that Papa wasn’t going to be waiting in the doorway to sweep her into a hug, treasured memories kept welling to the fore. She expected to find the Bar None changed after so many years, but this was home. Nothing could change that.

The jitters got worse as she drew within two miles and saw the vague outline of the main fence. No one knew she was coming. Ed refused to come get her and he’d sure as shooting be surprised when she showed up, but would he be glad to see his sister after so long? The part of her heart that had withered without her family desperately needed someone to welcome her back, and her brother was the only relation she had left. Jess pushed down a growing fear that he’d be angry, see her as an inconvenience, and want to send her away again. Heaven help them both if he tried.

I’m back, I’m a grown woman, and this time no one can force me to leave
.

The wind kicked up as she reached the gate, driving the rain at an angle. Jess raised her bandanna over her nose, trying to guard against the stinging chill. The last thing she needed was to ride up coughing like a weakling and give everyone the idea she couldn’t handle harsh conditions. It didn’t hurt that the fabric would help conceal her identity until she could get to Ed. He might not recognize her at the start, but a woman on a ranch always attracted a fair share of attention.

At the thought, Jess reached up and stuffed her braid into her hat. Stetson designed his hats with Western weather in mind, creating a high crown to allow an extra insulating layer of air between the hat and head. He probably never planned on that space being used to hide a woman’s hair, but it worked surprisingly well. With her gloves, the bandanna, and Jess’s long duster coat, the split skirts might escape notice. She’d ordered them black in honor of her father, so at a glance the extra girth might be mistaken for chaps—particularly in the midst of a passing storm.

Hiding her identity helped Jess squash her worries. She wouldn’t go undetected for long, nor did she want to, but at least now she held a decent chance of making it to the house first. Ed would probably be more receptive to her sudden appearance if she could wrangle a private reunion. She dropped from the saddle to open the gate, fingers tracing the dripping Bar None brand, feeling the truth of her homecoming. Driving rain stung her eyes, making her blink as she led Morning Glory through. The wind blew the fence shut behind them, but she made sure the latch caught.

Then Jess stood for a minute, stretching her legs and her heartstrings. Stiff, aching, and cold, neither one had been used properly for far too many miles. But the pain felt good. Like a loosening of muscles and memories clenched too tight for too long. She squinted ahead, making out the house and the stables with the accompanying bunkhouse and cook shack. The buildings looked both bigger and smaller than she remembered. Smaller because she’d grown bigger and the rain blurred everything down, but bigger because they’d added on to everything over the years.

She blinked a few more times before grabbing the pommel and willing her nerves to steady. Jess swung back up into the saddle and rode the last few hundred feet home. As she drew near the stables, a figure rode out to meet her.

Even on horseback, the man gave the impression of height and power. He rode smoothly, making the ride look easy even when the horse shied from a particularly stinging lash of wind. Jess reined in and waited for him to reach her, wondering if she was about to meet her brother face-to-face. She remembered Ed as stockier than this man.

“Hey!” When he reached her, Jess battled conflicting surges of relief and disappointment. He wasn’t her brother. But he looked over Morning Glory with a discerning eye, noting that her sides steamed in the cold, and got right down to business. “Been riding all day?”

“Yep.” Jess deepened her voice and kept her chin tilted downward, avoiding his gaze.

“Take her to the stables—they’ll see to her. Grab some coffee and stow your bags in the bunkhouse then grab a rag bag and a fresh mount.” He shouted too loud for the wind to snatch his words. “Ride the northern line. Flag any weak wire, but don’t work it or you’ll slice yourself to ribbons in this weather. Won’t be too long until you hear the supper bell anyway.”

Jess nodded her agreement, not trusting the wind to disguise her voice and not willing to challenge a man who wore authority so easily. Bossy and brusque, he spoke knowledgeably and issued orders like a foreman. But beneath the orders ran a kind streak Jess found comforting and curious—he’d noticed Morning Glory’s state and directed her to the stables. That alone would’ve endeared the man to her, but he’d also told a cold grub-line rider to take the time for a hot cup of coffee before riding the fences and specified a job that wouldn’t be made dangerous by the rain.

Intrigued, she tilted her head and tried to make out his features beneath the brim of his dripping hat. Thick brows slammed together over a strong nose whose bump tattled of a break. He squinted, so she couldn’t make out the color or shape of his eyes. Jess just got the impression of a fierce intelligence that would’ve seen through her garb in an instant if it weren’t for the storm.

“Name?” he barked, a stubborn jut to his jaw as he peered at her through the elements.

“J.” Deepening her voice for the single syllable, Jess figured she rode a fine line between truth and lies. Before he sent her away, Papa used to call her his “little J Bird” because she peppered him with questions from sunup to sundown. Her throat tightened at the remembrance, but Jess figured it would help her croak like a man if the cowboy in front of her asked anything else.

He didn’t. Just gave a short nod and a pull on the reins before riding south, toward the windmills. As a good foreman should, he probably went to check that the raging wind didn’t damage the water pumps. Nevertheless, Jess caught herself watching him ride away and hoping he planned a cursory look rather than an in-depth inspection. She didn’t know his name, but she liked his style of leadership. The Bar None needed workers she and Ed could trust, and it’d be a shame to lose this one because he went scrambling up the side of a windmill in this weather.