Deception always has a price tag.

No matter how small the lie, no matter how worthy the motive. And often one fib led to another. If he had to do it all over…

The sound of horse’s hooves approaching interrupted his thoughts. A sleek chestnut galloped closer, the rider a woman with a blond ponytail, her face flushed as she passed him and stopped near the horse barn.

He recognized her immediately.

Abby.

She expertly dismounted and stroked the mare’s head with a loving gesture. She laughed and the sound carried to where Jesse stood.

He remembered that laugh, musical and lighthearted. She’d laughed often back then; he wondered if she did now. Seeing her, even briefly, brought memories rushing back. Did she remember him with fondness, with pain—or at all?

From this distance, she looked the same, but maybe, up close, she’d changed as much as he had.

Dear Reader,

It’s that time of year again—back to school! And even if you’ve left your classroom days far behind you, if you’re like me, September brings with it the quest for everything new, especially books! We at Silhouette Special Edition are happy to fulfill that jones, beginning with Home on the Ranch by Allison Leigh, another in her bestselling MEN OF THE DOUBLE-C series. Though the Buchanans and the Days had been at odds for years, a single Buchanan rancher— Cage—would do anything to help his daughter learn to walk again, including hiring the only reliable physical therapist around. Even if her last name did happen to be Day….

Next, THE PARKS EMPIRE continues with Judy Duarte’s The Rich Man’s Son, in which a wealthy Parks scion, suffering from amnesia, winds up living the country life with a single mother and her baby boy. And a man passing through town notices more than the passing resemblance between himself and newly adopted infant of the local diner waitress, in The Baby They Both Loved by Nikki Benjamin. In A Father’s Sacrifice by Karen Sandler, a man determined to do the right thing insists that the mother of his child marry him, and finds love in the bargain. And a woman’s search for the truth about her late father leads her into the arms of a handsome cowboy determined to give her the life her dad had always wanted for her, in A Texas Tale by Judith Lyons. Last, a man with a new face revisits the ranch—and the woman—that used to be his. Only, the woman he’d always loved was no longer alone. Now she was accompanied by a five-year-old girl…with very familiar blue eyes….

Enjoy, and come back next month for six complex and satisfying romances, all from Silhouette Special Edition!

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor

Her Kind of Cowboy
Pat Warren

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PAT WARREN,

mother of four, lives in Arizona with her travel agent husband and a lazy white cat. She’s a former newspaper columnist whose lifelong dream was to become a novelist. A strong romantic streak, a sense of humor and a keen interest in developing relationships led her to try romance novels, with which she feels very much at home.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Prologue

Where was he?

Abby Martin paced under the big old cottonwood tree beside the stream on her parents’ cattle ranch. The hot August sun had finally set about two hours ago, around seven o’clock, but the heat lingered. She scarcely noticed as she paced impatiently on the scraggly grass. He should have been with her by now.

Where was Jesse?

Her father had hired the tall, handsome ranch hand two months ago, just before she’d come home for summer vacation from Arizona State. The moment she’d laid eyes on him, she’d fallen hopelessly in love. Though they’d never spoken the words out loud, Abby was certain that Jesse felt the same by the way he’d look at her, hold her, kiss her. Then he’d whisper in her ear to meet him by the stream beneath their tree or sometimes in the hayloft. And he’d make tender love with her.

In the hazy moonlight, Abby squinted in the direction of the outbuildings surrounding the main house, but she saw no sign of anyone on horseback heading her way. She hated sneaking around, but her mother was so against either of her two daughters having anything to do with the ranch hands. Jesse had told her that he wasn’t just a cowboy, that he couldn’t tell her more right now, but he had plans for the future. Big plans. Abby was sure she was a big part of those plans. When the time was right and they could be open and up-front about their feelings for each other, she’d tell her parents. She was certain they’d care for Jesse once they got to know him.

Thrusting nervous hands through her long blond hair, she readjusted her ponytail, then stopped, listening hard. Yes, there it was, the sound of a horse’s hooves coming closer. In moments, Jesse came into view, his black hair ruffling in the evening breeze. As it did each time she saw him, Abby’s heart skipped several beats. She watched him swing off his mount and tie the reins to a tree branch near the spot where her mare stood.

He wasn’t smiling as he usually was, causing an anxious chill to race along her spine. But he rushed over and took her in his arms, holding her close. Yet so attuned was Abby to his moods that she knew instantly that something was wrong.

“What is it?” she asked, a sudden sense of foreboding causing her voice to tremble.

Jesse eased back reluctantly. “I have to leave right away for California. A family emergency. My father’s had a heart attack.” His brow creased with concern. He lifted a hand and caressed her face. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’m so sorry about your father.” He’d rarely mentioned his family. Of course, he had to go. Abby knew that. But oh, she hated the thought of his leaving. “You’ve been working since sunup. You are going to fly rather than drive, right?”

Distracted and anxious to be on his way, he shook his head. “No flights out till late tomorrow morning. I can be there before then if I drive straight through.” Seeing the distress in her eyes, Jesse felt torn. He owed her an explanation, but there wasn’t time. As soon as his father was out of danger, he’d return and explain everything. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

Bending to her, Jesse pulled Abby close and gave her a hard kiss, then leaped up onto the black stallion.

Suddenly unsure of his feelings for her, Abby gazed up at him. “You will come back, won’t you?”

“Yes, as soon as I can.” Adjusting the reins, he turned the horse and rode off.

Abby watched him ride out of sight. “Remember me….” she murmured, as if in prayer.

Chapter One

He was going back. Back to face his past, to make amends, to right a wrong. And to revisit a lost love.

The hot summer wind whipped at his hair through the open windows of his Bronco. An outdoorsman through and through, Jesse Calder rarely engaged the air-conditioning, preferring the scent of the rich earth and of growing things. He’d passed Arizona’s Painted Desert a while back, heading south and deep into cattle country.

He’d passed tall, stately ponderosa pines, juniper and spruce, piñon and fir trees, most growing thick and wild. Now the land stretched as far as he could see, acres of cotton on one side and on the other, grasslands where cattle grazed under the watchful eye of cowboys on horseback. He could see cactus and brush and chaparral, so different from his native California.

Déjà vu. Jesse felt an uneasy familiarity on the last leg of the long drive from his home on the Triple C ranch in northern California to St. Johns, Arizona, near the state’s eastern border with New Mexico. This journey was very different from the first time he’d driven the same route six years ago. Then, he’d been twenty-five, high on life, driving his new red sports car with the top down. In perfect health and doing what he loved, he’d felt that the world was his oyster.

Amazing how quickly your life, your whole attitude could change, Jesse thought as he glanced at the Little Colorado River paralleling the highway. It was early June, just as it had been on his first trip, but that was pretty much where the similarity ended. Desert summer heat shimmered in waves from the pavement.

Not much traffic on Route 180 in late afternoon, so he put on the cruise control and breathed in the pungent smell of leather and livestock. Like his twin brother, Jake, ranching was in Jesse’s blood. It was the life he’d been born into and, more importantly, the life he’d chosen, during good times and bad.

And there had been plenty of bad.

Maybe things went wrong six years ago because of the deception, slight though it was, Jesse thought, a frown wrinkling his brow. His father, Cameron Calder, had decided that the time had come for the Triple C horse ranch to diversify, to add cattle or sheep, if it were to remain competitive and the finest ranch in the western states. That decision had changed Jesse’s life.

Cam had sent Jake to Montana to study sheep and Jesse to Arizona for the summer to learn all about cattle ranching. His father wanted no preferential treatment for his sons, so because the Calder name was already well-known throughout the west, Cam insisted his sons use an alias, a practice not uncommon in ranching circles. For that summer, he’d used the name Jesse Hunter.

Running a hand over his short beard, Jesse remembered that neither he nor Jake had been enthusiastic about a summer away or the deception. Still, they hadn’t wanted to go against their father’s wishes, not after he’d raised them single-handedly after their mother abandoned the family when the twins were only two.

Vern Martin, the owner of the Arizona cattle ranch where Jesse had wound up, hadn’t been all that taken with Jesse Hunter at first, figuring he was a drifter who spent all his money on fast cars and fun times, a ladies’ man with a questionable future. As the mother of two young daughters, Joyce Martin had been even less welcoming. But Vern needed help and Jesse was strong, plus he’d had ranching experience. Vern hired him.

Jesse was no stranger to hard work, having pulled his own weight on the Triple C since boyhood. The men on the Martin ranch worked from sunrise till sunset under the hot Arizona sun, he recalled as he drove along in his white Bronco. The vehicle was indicative of his change in maturity from his red convertible days. He’d worked without complaint, knowing that was what Cam expected of his son. He’d bunked with the rest of the hands, asked questions, listened and learned. He’d quickly earned the respect of the men as well as Vern Martin. There’d been precious little time left over for fun, even if he’d had the energy for it.

Until Abby Martin came home from college for the summer.

She was quite simply the most beautiful girl Jesse had ever seen, with long blond hair and huge green eyes. At nineteen, Abby rode like a pro and usually dressed casually in jeans and well-worn boots. She knew her way around the ranch and worked her favorite horses under the watchful eye of Casey Henderson, the ranch manager.

Her sister, Lindsay, two years older, rarely left the main house without full makeup and a designer outfit. She seldom spoke to the hired help, but Abby knew most of the men by name and was friendly to all. Secretly, Lindsay liked to flirt, but when one of the men reacted, she’d run off. She’d come on to Jesse almost immediately, but to her annoyance, he hadn’t responded.

Because he’d had eyes only for Abby right from the start. And she for him. Soon they were meeting away from prying eyes despite Joyce Martin’s constant surveillance. They spent many wonderful hours together, but things had come to a head before Jesse could tell Abby the truth about who he really was. He’d gotten a phone call that Cam had had a heart attack and Jesse’s only thought had been to rush to his father’s side. He’d promised Abby he’d be back to explain everything, only then, the unthinkable happened.

Fifty miles from home, the drunken driver of a pickup had slammed into Jesse’s convertible head-on and changed his future. Spotting Curly’s Market just ahead, Jesse slowed, then exited the highway and turned into the asphalt parking lot. The summer he’d lived in this area, he’d often stopped on his evenings off at Curly’s to pick up incidentals and his favorite M&M’S.

Stepping out, Jesse stretched, then rolled his shoulders. Since the accident, sitting in one position too long made his six-two frame stiff, his muscles tight. Walking through the door, he wondered if Curly would recognize him; he’d often lingered to chat with the old ranch hand turned shopkeeper. Physically, Jesse knew he looked different after numerous surgeries. And there was the beard he’d grown to hide some of the facial scars and the slight limp that showed up when he was tired.

More important, he knew he was a different man inside than he’d been six years ago. There’d been a restlessness in him back then, a desire to see and do everything, to live life to the fullest. He was more settled now, more introspective, more at peace with who and what he was. A near-death experience, more than a week in a coma, months of physical therapy rebuilding his battered body and nearly a year recovering could change a person greatly.

Pushing open the screen door, Jesse let his eyes adjust from bright sunlight to the dim interior. Foodstuffs in cans and cartons were stacked on shelves along three walls, and a refrigerated section held milk and soft drinks. In the back were tools and jeans and work shirts piled on tables. In the middle of the sagging wood floor were bins of flour, sugar, rice and small barrels of penny candy. Two overhead fans tried their best to move the hot air around. He inhaled the scent of cinnamon, dust and the hot chili peppers that hung in clusters from the low ceiling. The store was empty except for Curly, who stood behind the short counter by the register, his white hair as curly as ever. No one seemed to remember his real name.

Jesse nodded to the owner, then wandered the aisles. He came to the conclusion that hardly a thing had changed in the market in six years, which somehow cheered him. Nice to know that, in an ever-changing world, some things stayed the same.

He grabbed a frosty root beer and a couple of packages of M&M’S, then strolled back to the register.

“That be all?” Curly asked as he rang up the sale.

“Right.” Jesse laid several bills on the counter. “Kind of quiet today.”

“It’s the rodeo down Springerville way. They have one every year ’bout this time.” He handed Jesse his change. “You new around here or just passing through?”

“I’m on my way to the Martin ranch. They’re having trouble with a stallion and…”

“Yeah, yeah. Remus. Got burned in that fire a while back. I heard you was coming. From California, right?”

“Right.” Jesse remembered how quickly news spread around the tight-knit ranching community. Looking full face at the man, he tried to spot a flicker of recognition in the shopkeeper’s curious brown eyes before holding out his hand. “Jesse Calder.”

Curly wiped his stained fingers on his pants before shaking hands. “I heard about your daddy. Heard he can talk to horses and they listen.” Looking skeptical, Curly leaned back against the wall. “Damned if I can figure how that can be done. Horse whispering, they call it, right? And now you do that, too?”

“Something like that.” Jesse flipped open the tab on his root beer.

Curly watched the young stranger take a long drink. “Mind if I stop by the Martins and watch? I’d sure like to see that.”

“If it’s okay with the Martins, it’s fine with me.” The man didn’t have a clue who he was, Jesse decided as he climbed back behind the wheel.

Settling the can in the cup holder, he started the engine, wondering if the Martins or Casey would figure out his identity. Then he wondered if it wouldn’t be better if they didn’t recognize him. Six years ago, he hadn’t called Vern Martin to explain why he wasn’t coming back, to say nothing of how they’d react if they learned he’d used a phony name.

Back on the highway, Jesse frowned. He was aware that deceptions always have a price tag. No matter how small, no matter how worthy the motive, the deception erases all credibility, all trust. And often one lie leads to another. If he had it to do over…

He’d wanted to explain, at least to Abby, who’d been so loving and sweet. Though it had been cut short, they’d had a special time that summer. As soon as he’d been released from the hospital, he’d called the Martin ranch, hoping Abby would pick up. Only Lindsay had answered and said that Abby wasn’t there. When he’d asked if she’d gone back to college, Lindsay in a smug tone had told him that Abby had gotten married and moved away. That had surprised him. Only weeks before, she’d been meeting him, holding him, making love with him.

Jesse had asked to speak to Vern so he could explain why he hadn’t returned, but Lindsay wouldn’t allow him to get in another word. In no uncertain terms, she told him he was persona non grata at the Martins, ordering him to quit calling and to stay away.

Somewhat shocked, Jesse had hung up. He knew that Abby had had no way to reach him, not knowing his real name. Yet he had trouble imagining that she’d met someone in such a short time and gotten married. That didn’t seem in character for the girl he’d known. Maybe she wasn’t the person he’d thought she was, after all.

Even as a youngster, Cam had often remarked that Jesse was stubborn. As his health had improved, he’d wanted to go to the Martins, to explain to Vern that an accident had kept him from returning, that he wasn’t the sort who’d leave someone high and dry without a damn good reason. And he’d wanted to hear from Abby’s own lips that she was happy with this new guy. But Cam and Jake, very aware he was still weak, still not up to par, had talked him out of the trip.

It hadn’t been easy, trying to forget Abby. During his slow healing, the hours of exercises, memories of their time together haunted him. He’d begun to think he was falling in love with her and she with him before he’d left. They’d had a lot in common—their love of ranching and horses and even children. Abby had told him she wanted to be a teacher. They’d lie in each other’s arms on the grassy hillside and talk for hours, once almost till dawn. Who knows where their feelings would have taken them if fate hadn’t intervened? Yet now, he knew he had to put her out of his mind because she belonged to another man. It seemed to Jesse that their time together hadn’t meant as much to her as it had to him if she could so easily, so quickly marry another.

It had been a fluke, the Martins hearing about Jesse Calder and his work with traumatized horses. Casey, the Martin ranch foreman, had called and all but begged him to take a look at Remus. Despite his family’s cautious warnings, he’d decided to go, to see for himself. Especially because Casey had said that Remus belonged to the youngest Martin daughter.

But now, spotting the arched entrance to the Martin ranch just ahead, Jesse couldn’t help wondering if he’d made the right decision as his stomach muscles tightened.

Before he’d made the decision to go, he’d looked into just what kind of operation the Martins had. After all, his last visit had been six years ago and he’d been concentrating on cattle, not horses. He’d learned that the ranch had been in the Martin family since 1880 and currently consisted of more than one-thousand acres with fifteen-hundred Brahman cross cows, nine-hundred head mother cows, six-hundred head yearlings and eighteen bulls. They raised their own native grass and hay, about two-thousand tons yearly. They had forty saddle and workhorses and a staff of about thirty including Casey, the manager, and Carmalita, the cook.

At first glance, Jesse could see a few changes since he’d last set foot on Martin soil. Sporting a fresh coat of white paint and new green shutters, the big house, as everyone called the owners’ three-story home, stood off to the right from the entrance and down a ways. On the grass in front was the same old cottonwood tree and around the perimeter of the wide porch were flowers that he remembered Joyce Martin planted and pruned herself.

A short distance from the big house was a new small building decorated in a rainbow of colors. Jesse couldn’t imagine what that was used for.

He parked the Bronco and stepped out. His back hurt like the devil after the hours sitting behind the wheel, a legacy from his accident. He’d been given pain pills, which he didn’t take because they made him fuzzy-headed. A generous shot of Scotch when the pain got really bad helped more than the pills and tasted better.

Jesse removed his sunglasses, hooked them on his shirt pocket and glanced to the left. Two rustic cabins with wide porches running along the front of each sat side by side, just as before. The first one looked empty, but he remembered the second was where Casey lived. Strolling past the cabins, he saw what he’d been looking for adjacent to what looked like a brand new horse barn: a freshly built round pen he’d told Casey he’d need to work with their stallion.

He walked over, propped a booted foot on the lowest rung and leaned onto the white fencing. His practiced eye noticed every detail; the swing gate at one end that opened to the barn’s far door and the patted-down dirt floor, free of grass and stones.

“So, what do you think?” a raspy voice asked from behind him. “That round enough for you?”

Jesse turned. Casey Henderson still looked like a fireplug with his short, stocky body, his ruddy face and the red suspenders he was never without. A black patch covered his left eye, a souvenir from his rodeo days. His right eye searched the younger man’s face intently.

“Yes, sir, the pen’s just fine.” He held out his hand. “Jesse Calder.” For a fleeting instant, he thought he saw a flash of recognition or perhaps just suspicion on the manager’s tanned face.

But Casey’s grip was strong and brief as he introduced himself, then whipped a red kerchief out of the back pocket of his worn jeans. “Still can’t figure why you had to have a round pen.” Removing his black hat, he ran the kerchief over his sweaty, nearly bald pate.

“You’ll see when I start to work with Remus,” Jesse told him.

Casey motioned with his chin toward the large aluminum horse barn gleaming in the hot sun. “Let’s go see him then. You think you can help Remus?” he asked as they walked.

“We’ll find out,” Jesse answered noncommittally as he fell in step with Casey. Working with damaged horses, both with his father and alone, he’d learned that most responded well to their methods, given enough time. But there were a few too badly traumatized to ever be helped. “What happened to him?” On the phone, the ranch manager had been fairly vague.

“Well, it’s a sad story, really.” Casey waved to a group of men strolling to the mess hall across the wide drive from the barn. Beyond that was the bunkhouse for the single men and a couple of small cabins for the married ones.

“Martins’ youngest daughter, Abby, ran across Remus three or four years ago. She teaches a little preschool class and she was picking up one of the kids over on Pickerel Lane. Seems the family across the street from where she stopped had moved away and abandoned Remus. He was wandering around a messy corral, half-starved. Abby’s got a real soft heart so she looked into it. Seems he’d been abused for quite a while.”

At the mention of Abby, Jesse’s interest accelerated. He well remembered how much she’d loved horses. He also wasn’t surprised she was working with children since she’d talked about doing just that all those years ago. She and her husband must live close by.

They reached the barn door where Casey paused, squinting up at the sun. “Naturally, she talked Vern into bringing the stallion here and she nursed him back to health. She tamed him, too. He became real gentle.”

Three or four years ago, Jesse noted. Had Abby and her husband lived here with the Martins back then? He wondered if he dare ask Casey without giving himself away. If they learned who he was, so be it, but he’d hoped to buy a little time first, perhaps get a chance to talk with Abby and explain.

“Then along came that damn fire.” Casey adjusted his big hat that all but engulfed his head, his eyes downcast. “It was my fault. One really cold night last February, I put a space heater in next to Remus’s stall on account of his end of the barn was the original from before the building was redone and there was no heat. Don’t know what happened, but somehow the heater fell over and started a fire. By the time me and the boys saw the blaze, poor Remus was wild, screaming, burns along his left side. We got him sedated, got the vet. He’s pretty much healed now, but he don’t trust no one, not even Abby. Won’t let anyone touch him, much less ride him. Vern wanted to put him down, but Abby wouldn’t let him. Then we read about your work.”

Casey stuffed the kerchief back into his pocket. “I’d be right grateful if you could fix him. And Abby would be, too.”

Jesse had seen the same kind of guilt before and knew it was a heavy load to carry. “I’ll try, but I want you to know I don’t do it for the owner. I do it for the horse. If he won’t let anyone near him, like you say, he’s unhappy and afraid. That’s what needs fixing.”

“Any way you call it, just fix him.” Casey shoved open the heavy sliding door.

Jesse decided to take a chance. “So then Abby lives here and still has an interest in Remus?” When Casey turned and settled his one piercing eye on his face, trying to read him, Jesse shrugged. “I’d heard she married and moved away.”

The older man studied him for a long moment before answering. “She did, but that was a while ago. Her husband died so she came back.” Again Casey aimed his chin in the direction just beyond the big house. “That there’s her schoolhouse for the little ones around here, before they go to regular school. Started out small but she’s got about a dozen of ’em now, coming and going. But she’s still mighty interested in Remus.”

A widow. That was one he hadn’t thought of. Jesse followed Casey into the barn and along the concrete walk with horse stalls on both sides. He noticed that the dividers were in good repair, the hay fresh and the lighting dim. He remembered that the Martins had run a clean operation. Half a dozen workhorses were in their stalls.

“Most of the horses are still out, but they’ll be coming in soon, ’cept for the overnighters,” Casey explained. He greeted two cowboys by name as they walked by.

A partition separated the main building from a much smaller area at the far end. Jesse slowed as he moved within sight of a single stall where a black horse stood perfectly still watching their approach.

“That’s our Remus,” Casey said, standing aside.

The stallion’s right side, Jesse noted, looked perfectly normal. But as he silently stepped closer, he saw the damaged hide that started on his face and ran along his left flank, leaving a large section mottled and scarred. The wound appeared healed. The real trauma was inside Remus’s brain.

Gauging his mood, Jesse took one step closer and talked to him, his voice low and soothing. The horse’s ears, revealing his emotions, were suddenly split, one forward and one back, displaying concern at this newcomer, trying to figure him out. Again Jesse said a few words, but when he stepped closer, Remus’s ears pinned back in an angry, aggressive response just before he reared up on his back legs, blowing out through his nose, his eyes going wild. Jesse retreated to join Casey who was looking very skeptical.

“See what I mean? Ornery cuss. Doesn’t seem to like you, either.”

“It’s about the reaction I expected, given all he’s been through. I’ll start with him in the morning.”

“You’re not afraid to get in that round pen with all that dangerous horseflesh?” Casey asked as they walked away.

“I have to gain his trust first in order to work with him.”

“Maybe we need to get the vet to give him a shot, calm him down before you start.”

“No, I don’t want him sedated. I’ll just need a light cotton line once you open the door and let him into the pen.”

Casey shook his head as they left the barn. “All right, it’s your funeral.” He turned to close the double doors, then remembered something. “Hold on a minute.” He disappeared inside.

Jesse shoved his hands in his back pockets and glanced toward the huge cattle barn next door, recalling that it was divided into sections for milk cows, the calving stalls, the insemination area. Now in the summer, most of the cattle were out to pasture, the cowboys who watched them drifting in staggered groups to chow down. Through the wide mess hall windows, he saw about half a dozen men seated at long tables. The Martin ranch seemed shorthanded, which was not usual during the busy summer season.

The sound of a horse’s hooves approaching from the range interrupted his thoughts. A sleek chestnut galloped closer, the rider a woman with a blond ponytail, her face flushed as she passed him and smoothly slowed to a stop at the far door to the horse barn. He recognized Abby immediately as she expertly dismounted and moved to the chestnut’s head to stroke the mare with a loving gesture. A tall man with bandy legs came out of the barn and took the mare’s reins from her, probably to cool her down. He said something to Abby and she laughed, the sound carrying to where Jesse stood.

He remembered that laugh, musical and lighthearted. She’d laughed often back then; he wondered if she did now. Seeing her even briefly brought memories of their time together rushing back. Did she remember them with fondness or pain, or at all? How long ago had her husband died and how? From this distance, she looked the same, but maybe, up close, she’d changed as much as he had.

Casey came out, closed the doors and followed Jesse’s gaze. “That’s Abby, the youngest daughter. I’ll let you settle in first, then take you to meet her and Vern tomorrow.” He nodded toward the mess hall. “Hope you’re hungry. Our Carmalita’s the most popular gal on the ranch ’cause she cooks like an angel.” He led the way to the long one-story building.

Tugging his gaze from Abby, Jesse followed.

“Vern had the cabin next to mine near the big house fixed up for you. Figured you might like some privacy, you know.”

“Very thoughtful of him.” Only how would Vern Martin feel if and when he learned of Jesse’s past deception?

Inside, Casey introduced Jesse to the men still eating, explaining why he was there. Several had heard about the Calder methods and expressed curiosity and skepticism, but Jesse didn’t say much, just that they should wait to make up their minds after he had a chance to work with Remus.

But it was when Casey took him over to Carmalita that Jesse had his first nervous moment. Six years ago, he’d spent some time talking with the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman who’d worked as cook for the Martins for twenty years, ever since her husband had been killed in an accident on the ranch. Vern had told her she had a lifetime job and a retirement when she chose to quit, but at fifty, she showed no signs of slowing down.

A dish towel draped over her shoulder, one small hand buried in a pot holder, she stirred something deliciously fragrant in a big pot on the large stove in the back room, her dark eyes looking Jesse over as closely as she might a chicken she was choosing for dinner. He noticed that she still favored peasant blouses with her long black skirt and the large gold hoop earrings he remembered. He met her gaze silently as Casey explained who he was.

Finally, she put down the spoon. “You look familiar. You got a brother?”

“Yes. His name’s Jake and we’re twins.”

“Mm-hmm. It’s the eyes, those blue eyes. He ever been here?”

“I don’t think so,” Jesse answered honestly.

“I knew another Jesse once,” she continued. At last, she shook her head. “Anyhow, welcome. Go help yourself.”

Relieved, Jesse thanked her and walked with Casey to the heavy buffet table laden with food. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he’d smelled the barbecued chicken. He took a plate, filled it and sat down at the nearest table where Casey joined him. Most of the men were finished and gone, only a few lingering over coffee.

Jesse ate silently, wondering just when Carmalita’s memory would put two and two together. He noticed that Casey had been quiet since they’d left the kitchen. Although Jesse hadn’t had very much to do with Casey back when he’d worked the ranch, he’d known the manager to be honest and intelligent. Probably only a matter of time before someone would challenge Jesse. He’d known from the start that might happen and also known that he’d admit everything and hope they’d understand. Especially Abby.

He searched his mind for a subject to distract Casey. “Is Vern Martin a hands-on rancher or does he leave most of the decisions up to you?”

Casey finished a piece of chicken before answering. “Fairly hands-on, I’d say. I’ve been working here going on thirty years, when old man Martin was still alive. That man worked like a horse, day in and day out. Vern, he don’t work that hard, but he knows what’s going on in every corner of this ranch. He talks over stuff with me, but he’s the final say-so.” He slathered butter on an ear of corn.

“And his wife?” Years ago, Jesse had found Mrs. Martin to be prickly, condescending and critical, but maybe she’d mellowed.

“Joyce, she keeps the books. She don’t go out much. Got a bad back.”

Jesse could relate. “There’s another daughter, right?” He’d been wondering where stuck-up Lindsay had wound up.

Casey wiped his hands on a napkin. “That one, she’s not a bit like her sister. Got herself engaged ’bout six months ago. Fellow from San Francisco, real nice. He stayed with us awhile, seemed to like it here. But something happened and they broke it off.”

But Jesse really wanted to hear about Abby. “So the younger sister moved back home after her husband died and she teaches kids in the little schoolhouse,” he said, thinking aloud. At least Abby had realized part of her dream. “Was her husband from around here?”

Leaning back, Casey looked at Jesse, as if debating how much to tell. “She met him at college, down in Tucson. Weren’t married but a month when he up and drowned in a boating accident. Abby came home on account of she was going to have a baby.” He shook his head. “Those girls are twenty-six and twenty-eight and still living under their daddy’s roof. Joyce is happy about that, but Vern, he’d like a couple of son-in-laws to take over the ranch one day.” He stood and adjusted his suspenders. “Trouble is, we don’t always get what we want, right? I’m going to get more iced tea. Want a refill?”

“No, thanks.” Jesse tossed his napkin onto his empty plate, then sat back thinking over what he’d just learned. Abby had never so much as mentioned anyone at college. Must have been a whirlwind romance. Or did she marry him on the rebound when Jesse didn’t return? No, they’d never discussed marriage or even love. Still, she hadn’t struck him as the type who’d quickly move into another relationship. Well, he’d likely find out soon enough.

Rising, he cleared his plate and walked outside while Casey stopped to talk to Carmalita. The sun was just sinking beyond the far horizon, bathing the hillside in oranges and yellows. At home in California, the sun usually set beyond the mountains surrounding the Triple C, nothing at all the way it did here. Jesse had never seen more beautiful sunsets than in Arizona.

Turning toward the house he was to occupy for a while, he noticed two little girls playing with a brown puppy in front of his porch. They had to be four or five, one very blond, the other with a dark braid down her back. Smiling, he walked toward them. As soon as the puppy spotted Jesse, he ran forward, all big feet and pink tongue, then rolled over onto his back, inviting a belly rub. Jesse squatted down and obliged the little guy as the two girls came rushing over.

“What’s his name?”

“Spike,” they both answered.

“Whose puppy is he?” Jesse asked as the little dog squirmed in ecstasy.

“Hers,” said the blond child, indicating her friend. “I’m Grace and she’s Katie. What’s your name?”

Pleasantly surprised that she wasn’t the least bit shy, he smiled at her as she plunked herself down in the grass. Katie sat down close to her friend, obviously a little bashful. “Jesse. Where do you girls live?” he asked, thinking the two must be holdovers from the little schoolhouse.

Grace pointed toward the big house. “I live over there and Katie lives in town but she’s staying over ’cause her mom’s sick. Where do you live?”

He couldn’t help but be taken by the precocious little girl with the big blue eyes. “I guess I’ll be living over there for a while.” He pointed to the cabin Casey had said was his.

Before he could get in another question, he saw from the corner of his eye that someone was running toward them. Standing up, Jesse recognized Joyce Martin as she stopped in the middle of the drive and called both girls by name, urging them to go to her immediately. Thinking to introduce himself, Jesse took a step closer, but Joyce sent him a warning glance before hustling the girls inside.

Casey came alongside. “I see you’ve met Mrs. Martin.”

His tone told Jesse that the woman wasn’t one of Casey’s favorites either. “Not exactly. Is she always that friendly?”

“Pretty much,” he answered, chuckling. “She’s over-protective of her family. Guess she’s got her reasons.” He pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. “Why don’t you go get your bag and I’ll show you through your cabin?”

“Okay.” Jesse had parked his Bronco in the wide apron by the big house and decided to move it nearer the cabin. As he got behind the wheel, he glanced up to the second-story window that he remembered used to be Abby’s room.

She was standing there, holding back the sheer curtains on both sides, watching him. Too far away to read her expression, he stared back for several long seconds, then pulled his gaze away and parked the Bronco by the cabin. Stepping out, he saw that she hadn’t moved, her head still turned toward him.

Right then, he’d have given a lot to know what she was thinking.

Chapter Two

Abby Martin stood looking out her bedroom window watching the new hire follow Casey into the cabin. She waited until the lights went on and the door closed. Oddly uneasy and not quite sure why, she pulled the sheers over the window and picked up her hairbrush.

Dad had told her all about Jesse Calder, the man from California who’d had great success in working with traumatized horses. Apparently his father had learned from the teachings of Monty Roberts, the original horse whisperer who’d taught himself to communicate with horses starting years ago when he was a child.

At first, she’d been skeptical, worried a stranger might set Remus back even further. But Casey had researched the Calders and learned that they were not only legitimate, but owners of one of the largest horse ranches in the west. The ranchers they’d contacted who’d used Jesse’s services had nothing but praise for him and his methods. Casey had convinced her and Dad, and they’d invited the man to visit to see what he could do.

Abby pulled her long blond hair free of the band and began brushing. She was aware that one thing that had bothered her was the name. Jesse. The mere sound brought memories, sad ones, from a time she’d worked so hard to forget. Then, just when she’d convinced herself that there really was nothing to a name, a man named Jesse had shown up today.

Undoubtedly, her mind was playing tricks on her. But when she’d seen him walk over and get into the Bronco just now, then sit and gaze up at her, she’d felt something eerily familiar. Of course, she was being paranoid. He was tall and lean, like that other Jesse, but more muscular. And he had a beard, but then, any man could grow one. Then there was the limp. Not pronounced, but he walked slowly and carefully, as if denying he had a problem. She couldn’t see the color of his eyes from this distance, but, even if they were the same, all manner of people had blue eyes.

Bending over, she brushed her hair vigorously, as if she could brush away the errant thoughts. Foolish mind, conjuring up images of a man who’d pretended to care, then left her with a mere moment’s notice. That had been Jesse Hunter, not Jesse Calder. She would have to keep that in mind. She would make an effort not to prejudge and to give him a chance to help Remus.

As she heard four little feet scampering up the steps amidst giggles, she straightened and smiled. Bath time, she thought as she left her room to meet the girls.

Casey stood near the round pen, but back a ways so as not to distract Remus. It was seven in the morning and Jesse Calder had released the stallion from the barn half an hour ago. He’d moved inside, closed the gate and stood there quietly, not moving, a light cotton line coiled and hanging from one shoulder.

Casey waited, gazing from Remus to Calder and back, wondering when the man was going to do something. But he just stood there while the horse snuffled and snorted, first pawing the ground, then trotting around the pen nervously. Finally, Remus stopped near the center of the circle and made eye contact with the man standing so silently, each taking the other’s measure, it seemed.

Behind him, Casey heard quiet footsteps and glanced back to see Vern Martin arrive and stop alongside him. The two men studied both stallion and trainer for long minutes until Vern spoke.

“What’s he doing?” he whispered, not wanting to spook the horse.

“Damned if I know,” Casey answered softly. “He’s been standing there thirty minutes or more, staring him down. At this rate, he’ll be here till Christmas.”

“You’re the one said this Calder fellow could work miracles,” Vern reminded him.

“That’s what I heard, from more than one rancher. But like they said, you got to be patient and let him do it his way.”

A tall man with silver-blond hair thinning on top and a nervous twitch beneath his sharp blue eyes, Vern was not a patient man. He watched for another few minutes, then shook his head. “Well, I can’t stand here all day. I’ve got work to do.”

“Yeah, me, too.” But Casey was obviously reluctant to leave.

“I’ll meet Calder later,” the rancher said. He clapped his manager on the shoulder. “Let me know if anything happens.” Settling his white Stetson on his head, he walked away.

Casey’s curiosity kept him rooted to the spot. Another ten minutes and he saw Jesse walk slowly forward until he was in the center, the stallion backing farther away with each step. Then Jesse did an odd thing. He turned his back on the horse and just stood there as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Casey watched him take in several deep breaths as if to relax himself.

“Braver man than me,” Casey whispered to himself, having seen Remus thrash about in his stall when anyone came too close, those strong legs like lethal weapons.

Clearly, Remus didn’t know what to make of this newcomer who seemed unafraid. He resumed circling the pen, round and round, over and over. Still, Jesse didn’t move.

Suddenly, the stallion stopped about ten feet behind the man, his ears sharply forward, showing his interest. Slowly, he moved toward Jesse as Casey held his breath. Closer, closer. Near enough that Jesse had to feel the stallion’s warm breath on his neck. Then the horse stopped. After a few moments, his head leaned closer and he appeared to be sniffing Jesse’s scent. The trainer let him, not moving a muscle.

Just then, the double steel doors to the barn slid open with a loud thud and two ranch hands walked out leading their mounts, talking loudly. Remus jerked back, startled, the spell broken. He rushed away from Jesse, stopping on the far side of the pen.

Frowning, Jesse walked to the gate and let himself out.

Casey went up to him, wanting an explanation. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but exactly what was it you were doing in there?”

Jesse recoiled the cotton line into a tighter circle. “Mostly just letting him get familiar with my scent, in a non-threatening way.” He glanced toward the men who’d left the barn. “Do you suppose you could ask the guys to use the doors on the other side for a while?”

“Yeah, sure.” Casey shuffled his scuffed boots, still not satisfied. “Okay, so now he knows your scent. What’s next? You going back in there?”

Turning to study the stallion, Jesse shook his head. “Not right now. Later this afternoon.”

“Why was it you turned your back on him? He could’ve hurt you bad.”

Jesse allowed himself a small smile. “I doubt that. Horses are flight animals, not fight animals. They won’t attack unless they’re attacked first. I was just standing there, no threat to him. He was making all the moves.”

“Yeah, but when you going to do something? I mean how long is this going to take, you think?”

Jesse shrugged. “That depends on Remus. He’s in charge of the timetable. I’ve got to get him to trust me before I can help him. No one can predict how long that will take.” With his peripheral vision, he’d seen Vern Martin watching for a short time. “Mr. Martin in a hurry for results? Because if he is, you’ve got the wrong trainer.”

“No, no. I was just wondering.” Casey hoisted up his jeans a notch. “You just take your time, son.” He started walking away, then stopped. “If you need anything, just ask.”

“I will. Thanks.” With one final glance at Remus, Jesse strolled thoughtfully toward his cabin.

No matter how many times he’d worked with damaged horses, especially on their owner’s turf, he always had to justify his methods. Everyone expected a quick fix, as if he had a magic wand. This sort of thing took time. Humans didn’t get over a trauma overnight, so why would they think horses would? It wouldn’t be until they began to see results that they’d finally come around. However, he was used to the reaction so he didn’t take it personally.

At his porch, he heard voices across the wide driveway and turned to see over a dozen children in front of the rainbow-hued schoolhouse playing ring-around-a-rosie in groups of four, led by Abby who was clapping in time to the music from a boom box set under the tree. Jesse sat down on the top step to watch.

It was obvious that the kids were different ages, from toddlers of around two to six and seven-year-olds. He spotted Grace and Katie, both with braided hair today. With the regular schools on summer vacation, there were probably more kids than usual. Yet they all seemed orderly and well behaved despite a few of the younger ones falling down as they twirled around, giggling. Abby had them well in hand.

She had on white shorts today and a loose-fitting pink shirt, her golden hair pulled back in its usual ponytail. The years seemed to vanish as Jesse watched her, thinking she hardly looked a day over the nineteen she’d been when he’d first seen her six years ago down by the big cottonwood tree alongside the stream. She’d been dancing at twilight with an imaginary partner, arms stretched as if holding him, humming a slow tune. Her naturalness, her fresh beauty, had blown him away.

“All fall down!” the children yelled out, then dropped to the ground, laughing. Jesse watched Abby pick up the smallest child—a boy who’d probably barely turned two wearing blue overalls at least a size too big for him—swing him around, then kiss his dark curls before setting him down with the others. She seemed totally at ease with the children, in her element, enjoying them. Jesse felt an unexpected jolt of envy and wondered at its source.

A young girl who looked to be of high-school age came out of the big house carrying a pitcher of red liquid and paper cups. Probably a local teenager helping Abby for the summer, Jesse thought as they both herded the children into the little house. Squinting, he made out the sign above the door. Miss Abby’s Preschool. It would seem Abby’s dreams had come true.

He was about to go in when he heard a low, throaty bark, a shuffle of feet followed by a distinctive whine from the direction of the mess hall. Glancing down the walkway, he saw a big old hound dog headed his way, running in that comical way he remembered.

“Jughead,” Jesse said as the cocoa-brown mixed breed barreled up the steps and into his arms, nearly knocking him over. “How’ve you been, boy?” he asked as the dog proceeded to lick his face.

He’d forgotten about Jughead, the ranch dog that had been a youngster during Jesse’s first visit. Though he’d been friendly to all, Jughead had had a special affinity for Jesse, following him everywhere, even sleeping near his bunk. Missing his own Border collie back home, he’d spent some of his off hours trying to teach Jug some tricks. Like retrieving sticks thrown, or rolling over on command. He’d never learned any. The silly dog couldn’t even swim, always hanging back at the water’s edge, too scared to go in. But he’d been so loyal, so needy of affection since most of the men thought he was too dumb to bother with, that Jesse had sort of adopted him.

And now here he was, proving that dogs never forget. Looking around, Jesse wondered if anyone still here from back then would remember Jug’s devotion to Jesse and figure out his identity. “I think I met one of your sons,” he told Jughead, remembering the brown puppy named Spike. With a final fond scratch behind the dog’s ears, Jesse rose to go inside. He opened the cabin door and Jug scooted in before he could stop him. It wasn’t until he turned that he noticed Abby standing in her schoolhouse doorway, watching him with a thoughtful look on her face.

Resigned to the fact that sooner or later, the truth would come out as it usually did, Jesse followed the dog inside.

Early afternoon and there were half a dozen men lingering behind the horse barn to watch Jesse work with Remus. The word had spread and curiosity had been aroused. Casey had told everyone to use the other door and he’d warned all who came to watch that they had to be quiet. Curly from the store leaned against the barn wall and shaded his face from the hot sun by tipping his hat lower.

Even Vern was there, Casey noted. He’d taken the rancher to meet Jesse just before lunch and heard Vern ask the trainer to explain his methods. Lord knows the boy had tried. He’d said things like “silent communication with horses is far stronger than the spoken word,” and “the horse is an intelligent animal and should be in unison with man, not against him,” and finally “man should cause a horse to want to perform to his wishes.” Neither Vern nor Casey had understood half of what he’d said or meant.

A sudden movement caught Casey’s eye and he noticed Abby slip into the shadows of the barn to watch.

Now Jesse had the simple cotton line around Remus’s neck and had him circling the pen while he stood in the center holding the rope’s end. Round and round Remus went, slowly at first, up to a trot, then slowing down again. Patient as Job, Jesse held the line and steered him, changing directions now and again. After half an hour or so, the men began drifting away, murmuring their disappointment at a show that didn’t pan out. Soon after, shaking his head, Vern strolled off, too. Only Casey remained.

And Abby, who stood silently watching from the shadows, sure he couldn’t see her.

She didn’t know who interested her more, the man or the stallion. She decided there was an uncanny resemblance of this Jesse to the other, but they weren’t the same. This man was infinitely patient, with gentle moves, his gaze focused. The Jesse she’d known had been like a live wire, jumping onto his horse and riding bareback, racing with the wind, eager and enthusiastic. Much like she’d been back then. She doubted that that Jesse could have mellowed this much.

But her heart wasn’t convinced, reacting to seeing this man as if the two were the same. The beard camouflaged the lower half of his face, but it looked as if Jesse Calder also had a square chin hinting at stubbornness. The other Jesse had worn his thick, black hair longer, down to the collar of the denim shirts he’d preferred. This man also wore denim, the sleeves rolled up on muscular arms. And he had on sunglasses, rarely worn by anyone else on the ranch.

Remus looked better than she’d seen him in months. He marched around the pen and didn’t seem to mind the man holding the rope. But he never took his eyes from Jesse, still distrusting, still skittish. Abby knew it would take time getting through to Remus, if at all. This man seemed their only hope. She hated to give up on the stallion, on anyone.

She should go, Abby thought, yet she stood rooted to the spot. She’d left Susie, her teenage assistant, in charge at the little schoolhouse reading a story to the older ones while the younger ones napped. But Abby didn’t like to be away too long. She was about to leave when she saw Jesse step closer to Remus. Immediately, the stallion skittered away. Jesse widened the loop and yanked the line from the horse’s neck, then left the pen.

Abby stayed hidden, but Casey walked over to him. “So, was it a good day?”

Jesse knew he was trying the man’s patience. “Yes, I’d say so.”

“Don’t you get tired, standing out there for hours?”

“Not as tired as Remus is. He’s the one running. I’m just standing there holding the line.”

“So you figure you taught him something today?”

“Sure. He’s familiar with my scent, knows I’m not really afraid of him and he knows I’m patient. A good day’s work.”

“Uh-huh,” Casey answered, sounding unconvinced.

Jesse smiled. “I know you don’t see it yet, but you will.”

“I sure hope so.”

“Listen, I was wondering, is there a horse I could ride once in a while? I usually ride every day at home.” The doctors had also told him he had to stay active, to not let his muscles tighten from nonuse. He’d equipped a gym at the Triple C and did strengthening exercises daily. Already he was thinking that helping Remus was going to take a while so he’d have to improvise.

“Sure ’nuff,” Casey told him. “Domino’s good. Six-year-old quarter horse, black with white markings in the second stall. You’ll find saddles in the tack room. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” Checking his watch, Jesse saw that it was still several hours till the dinner bell. Exercise was what he needed, he decided as he walked to the barn.

Abby watched him go. She wished she could take the time to follow him, to see how he rode. The way a person rode a horse was distinctive and often revealing to the practiced eye. No two people rode quite the same way.

Maybe another day, she’d catch up to him, to check him out on horseback and up close. Just to put to rest the vague uneasiness she’d felt since he’d arrived.

Jesse finished cooling down Domino after his ride and left the barn. He’d run across several of the men cutting and clearing dead tree branches and had stopped to help out. Fatigue poured over him like a sudden spring shower. He ached, like he’d known he would, especially his back, but it was nothing a long, hot shower couldn’t fix.

Removing his hat, Jesse wiped his damp face on his shirt-sleeve as he headed for his cabin. A cold drink would hit the spot, preferably a frosty beer. He’d have to get over to Curly’s and stock a six-pack in his small fridge.

Man, it sure was hot! More accustomed to the cooler summers of California, the change was a little hard to get used to. He didn’t think the desert heat had bothered him as much the last time he was here. Another few days and he’d acclimate and…

Jesse stopped short when he noticed a long-legged woman in shorts and a tight top, her auburn hair short and windblown, sitting on the top step of his cabin. She was attractive without question, but in his opinion, she wasn’t even in Abby’s league. He recognized Lindsay and remembered that he wasn’t supposed to know her.

She smiled as she watched him come closer. When he stopped and propped one boot on the bottom step, her lazy brown-eyed gaze swept over him, head to toe, very slowly. “Hi,” she finally said. “I’m Lindsay Martin.”

“Hi, yourself,” Jesse answered cautiously. He vividly remembered the night six years ago when she’d come to his cabin looking for an easy seduction. Her eyes had blazed when he’d politely but firmly turned her down.

“If you’re the new horse trainer, I have an invitation for you.”

“Is that right?” He couldn’t help wondering if she’d recognize his voice or maybe his eyes. Lindsay was smart, but he’d long suspected she also had a mean streak.

“Mm-hmm,” she purred. “Are you Jesse Calder?”

“One and the same.” He saw her smile widen as she uncrossed her spectacular legs and rose to her full height of about five-eight. Jesse had to admit she had a build that could make strong men weak, and she damn well knew it. And used it to her advantage, he’d wager. Unless she’d changed, which it didn’t appear she had.

“We’d like you to come to dinner at the big house,” she said as she slowly descended the stairs. “In about an hour?”

It was not something Jesse wanted to do, to face all the Martins around a dinner table, wondering who would figure out his identity first. He’d wanted to talk with Abby, but alone, not surrounded by her family. This charade had gone on long enough. He needed to clear the air, first with Abby, then the Martins. Yet right now, he saw no easy way out. Rejecting his host’s offer probably wouldn’t sit well with Vern.

Lindsay was alongside him now, waiting for his answer, her heavy cologne swirling around him. He was stuck and he knew it.

“Thanks. I’ll be there.”

Slowly she trailed a long red fingernail along his arm from shoulder to wrist. “See you then, sugar.”

Jesse watched Lindsay walk across the road in that undulating way he remembered. He couldn’t help wondering what her fiancé had been like and what had happened that they’d called off the wedding. Maybe the guy had gotten tired of Lindsay’s obvious flirtatious ways.

Sighing, he ran up the steps and went inside to take his shower.

Vern himself opened the door and greeted Jesse as an equal, no doubt due to his father’s reputation. The big house was old and home to third generation Martins, but looked as if it had been renovated not long ago. Jesse hadn’t been inside on his last visit, so he had no comparison. He thought the place was typical of many working ranch homes—spacious, red tile floors, western decor, big, comfortable furniture.

He smelled apple pie and heard sounds coming from the kitchen in back, but he saw no one except Vern who hustled him into his den and poured him two fingers of whiskey, neat, in an old-fashioned glass. Jesse preferred Scotch but beggars couldn’t be choosers and his back, even after a long shower, was still hurting.

Vern freshened his own drink. “Real nice to have another man in the house,” he said, motioning Jesse to twin leather chairs facing a stone fireplace large enough to roast a couple of pigs in. Sitting back, Vern took a generous swig of his drink, then sighed audibly. “Best part of the day, don’t you agree?”

Jesse didn’t necessarily agree, but he tossed back the whiskey and hoped it would dull the pain in his back. “I like your house,” he said honestly, glancing around Vern’s masculine retreat. “Built much better than they do these days.”

“You got that right.” Vern narrowed his blue eyes and studied the younger man. “Did you know I met your dad some years ago?”

“No, sir, I didn’t.”

“Sure did. At a rodeo in Colorado. We were both a lot younger back then.” He chuckled. “I regret not keeping in touch with Cam through the years. You look like him, you know.”

“So I’ve been told.” Had Vern Martin asked him over for a reason or was he just longing for some male companionship? Jesse wondered.

“How’s he doing these days?”

“Good. He had a heart attack a while back, but he’s doing real well.”

“You have a brother, don’t you? I always envied Cam with two sons.” He took a sip of his drink, then coughed into his fist. “I love my girls, but sometimes it’s hard living in a house full of women.” Vern paused, looking thoughtful. “How’s the Triple C doing?”

Was that inquiry Vern’s hidden agenda in asking Jesse over? he wondered. “Doing very well. Arabian market fell through, as you know, but quarter horses are going strong.”

“You breed and train, right?”

“Yes, and board horses, give riding lessons. A few years back, we added cattle. Diversification, my father believes, is the key to survival. Of course, we don’t have nearly the herd you have. We allocate about eighteen acres to cattle, have about three-hundred head cross cows. And we grow our own grass and hay.”

Vern nodded in agreement. “Ranching’s a tough business, some years worse than others. Good help is hard to find.”

Studying the man, Jesse could see worry lines by his eyes and his color wasn’t good.

Vern cleared his throat. “I found out I’ve got a bit of a heart problem, too.” He glanced toward the open door. “Don’t want the family to know. I’m thinking I’d be better off selling. You wouldn’t know of anyone looking, would you?”

“Not offhand, but I can check with Dad.”

“Yeah, that’d be good. And let’s keep this between you and me. No use worrying the others.” He downed the rest of his drink.

They heard footsteps just before Grace came scurrying into the den. “I’m supposed to tell you dinner’s ready.” She looked at Jesse. “Oh, hi. You’re the man who fixes horses, right?”

“You could say that,” Jesse answered, smiling.

“Okay, we’re coming, honey.” Vern stood as the child ran back out. “That’s my granddaughter, Grace. Pretty as a picture, isn’t she? Looks just like her mother.”

So this was the baby Abby had come home to have. “She’s cute.”

“Sure is.”

So Abby was raising a fatherless child. He knew all about how difficult it was to raise children alone, like his own father had had to do.

“Casey tells me that Abby’s husband died,” Jesse threw out, hoping Vern would elaborate.

“Yeah. Devil’s own luck.” He set down his empty glass. “We never even got to know him, you know. They met at college and eloped over a weekend. They were supposed to come here at semester’s end. Joyce was planning a reception, but two weeks later, he fell off a boat and drowned.” He shook his head. “Our girls haven’t had much luck with men. Lindsay almost got married a while back, but something happened between them and the wedding never took place. I have two beautiful, bright marriageable girls and not a suitable man in sight. What I need is a good, strong ranch man who could take over for me.” Vern sighed heavily. “And they’re scarcer than hen’s teeth.”

Jesse wondered for the hundredth time how different things might have been had that truck not hit his convertible. He’d have seen to his father’s health, come back and probably married Abby.

“You married?” Vern asked suddenly.

“No, sir.” He hated to hand this poor guy yet another disappointment by revealing his past. He’d have to do it soon, but not right now. First, he had to talk with Abby. Alone.

Abby was having trouble eating. Seated across the dining room table from Jesse Calder, she kept looking at him from under her lowered lashes. Up close, he was even more like Jesse Hunter with those piercing blue eyes that seemed to look right through her. She noticed a small scar above his left eyebrow and wondered what had happened.

He was fairly quiet, answering Dad’s questions, evading Lindsay’s overtures, trying not to notice that Mom wasn’t very friendly. Her mother hadn’t wanted to invite him to dinner, but Dad had insisted, for no apparent reason. However, Joyce had put on a great dinner, her famous roast pork with vegetables, but Abby might as well have been chewing sawdust.

Studying him, she didn’t think he had much of an appetite, either. He’d turned down Dad’s offer of wine as she had. The only one drinking was Lindsay, now on her second glass.

Keeping up with the conversation, Jesse managed to study the Martin clan, one by one. Joyce had her auburn hair up in some sort of twist that added to her stern look. She wore a navy-blue dress with a little white collar and matching shoes. All that for a weekday meal with someone she didn’t know yet. Or did she dress so formally every night?

Vern had on his usual jeans and checkered shirt, the line on his forehead showing just where his hat usually sat. Having said his piece in the den, he was quiet. Lindsay wore a low-cut blouse and a short leather skirt, her eyes bright from the wine she seemed overly fond of. Grace looked cute in a T-shirt and shorts that matched her cornflower-blue eyes. She wasn’t much of an eater but she loved to chatter, bombarding him with questions.

But it was Abby who held his attention. She’d brushed out her blond hair and let it hang past her shoulders, making him remember the times he’d thrust his fingers through the silky thickness. Her incredible green eyes rarely met his and when they did, she quickly looked away. Had she figured out his identity yet?

Jesse didn’t smile much, Abby couldn’t help noticing, except when he talked to Grace who’d insisted on sitting next to him. He answered her questions patiently and didn’t talk down to her. He had nice hands, she decided, his fingers lean and strong. She rather liked the beard, but it was his eyes that disturbed her, that deep blue.

So like the other Jesse’s.

“Tell me, Mr. Calder,” Joyce Martin asked, her first comment to him that didn’t involve serving the food, “is your mother involved in ranching with your father?”

“No. My mother’s gone.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Joyce managed to sound sympathetic. “When did she die?”

Jesse set down his fork and looked at her. “I’m not sure she did. She left my father, my twin brother and me when Jake and I were only two. From what I’ve heard, she wasn’t fond of the ranch. Dad got full custody of us.” He turned to Abby across from him. “It’s not easy, raising kids alone.”

Abby saw compassion on his face, but she didn’t want him thinking of her as the pitiful widow. “It’s not like that here. I have a lot of help from my family.”

“You’re lucky. My brother has a two-year-old son who lives with us. The three of us take care of him.”

“And his mother?” Joyce wanted to know.

“It was a messy divorce. Jake has custody.”

Joyce raised a questioning brow. “Three men raising a child alone? I don’t know.”

“No offense, ma’am,” Jesse answered, “but some women don’t make good mothers.”

Apparently, Joyce decided to drop the matter as she glanced around the table and saw that everyone was finished. She rose. “You all sit still and I’ll bring in some pie.”

Jesse saw Abby rise to help her mother as he spoke to his hostess. “Thanks, Mrs. Martin,” he said, “but I couldn’t eat another bite. The dinner was delicious.”

Halfway out of the room, her arms full of plates, Joyce glanced over her shoulder. “Well, all right, if you’re sure.”

As Abby moved to clear his side of the table, Jesse caught her attention. “I’d like to show you what I’m doing with your horse, if you’ve got a minute.”

“You don’t mean tonight?” Lindsay interrupted. “It’s nearly dark. I thought we might go out by the highway, the three of us. There’s this new little club that opened up—”

“Not me, not tonight, but thanks,” Jesse told her. He turned back to Abby expectantly.

She made her decision quickly, before she could change her mind. Perhaps if she talked with this man, she’d get it in her head that he had nothing to do with that other Jesse. “I’d like to see your progress with Remus. I don’t often have time during the day. I’ll meet you as soon as I finish helping Mom.”

“Great. I’ll let Remus out into the pen.”

Grace jumped down. “Can I go, too, Mommy?”

“No, sweetie, not this time.” The little girl followed her mother into the kitchen.

Lindsay flounced out of the room, but Jesse didn’t have time to worry about her. He had to talk to Abby, to convince her he hadn’t meant to leave the way he had.

“Thank you, Mr. Martin.” He reached to shake hands with his host who appeared half-drunk.

“Sure, sure.” Vern didn’t notice the offered hand as he busily poured himself more wine.

Jesse saw himself out.

Abby leaned on the top board of Remus’s specially built pen and watched Jesse with her horse. He’d turned on the outside lights and she could clearly see that he was holding a rope lightly coiled at his side. Jesse walked closer to the stallion, using the rope as a threat, as if he intended to lasso him with it. Remus danced out of range, his twitching tail revealing his discontent at this evening invasion.

Over and over, Jesse crowded him, closer and closer, and each time, the stallion would back away. Abby drew in a nervous breath as Remus reared back, pawing the air, but Jesse moved quickly out of harm’s way. She couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever gotten hurt working with wounded horses.

After a few more encounters, Jesse stopped, speaking softly to the horse, then left the pen and joined her by the fence.

“You have a way with horses,” she told him, knowing there were plenty of men who’d never get in a pen with a horse like Remus.

Jesse hung the coiled rope on a post. “And you have a way with children.” He motioned toward the little schoolhouse. “That’s a lot of kids to keep in line.”

“I’ve always liked children.” She glanced at Remus standing at the far end, watching them warily. “I’m curious. Why a round pen?”

Jesse shrugged. “It’s going to sound obvious and silly, but often when you work a horse and he wants to escape, he heads for one of the corners and you have to tug and coax him away. In a round pen, there’s nowhere to hide. And I don’t have to butt heads with him over it.”

“That makes sense.”

There was precious little moonlight, which was why he’d hit the lights. Turning, Jesse leaned his back against the rail and looked her over. She was wearing a soft-blue shirt over tan slacks and her hair was hanging loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were that incredible cornflower blue that he remembered so well. Like he remembered how they’d darken when he’d touched her, loved her.

He jerked his attention back to the horse. “Casey tells me Remus had been mistreated when you found him. How’d you get him over that?”

“It wasn’t easy. That was why I was so upset when he got burned. He’s already been through so much.” She scooched up and sat on the top railing, her feet on the second rung. “Mostly I was just gentle with him, helping his wounds to heal, letting him get to know me and realize I was no threat to him. His previous owner, a big, burly man, made a contest out of it, demanding dominance to satisfy his own ego, so his neighbors told me. Then he abandoned him and moved on.”

“Some people should never own horses. Common sense isn’t as common as you might think.” He smiled at her. “You may have a career as a horse whisperer.”

“Mmm, I doubt that. I saw you work Remus earlier this afternoon. I’ve never seen such patience.”

“That’s what it takes. You’ve got to stand steady. If you move fast or demonstrate too much energy, the horse will bolt. I’ve learned to stop, breathe slowly and deeply, to visibly relax so he can see that. Horses are attuned to instincts as much as voice and actions. He instinctively knows that if I’m relaxed, I’m no danger to him. Even tonight, although I pressed him with the rope, I didn’t capture him with it.”

Abby was listening on two different levels: the first, all about Remus, the second the struggle inside her about the familiarity of this man. His voice had the same timber as the old Jesse. How could that be?

She cleared her throat. “So now he’s used to your scent and knows you’re no threat. What is the next step?”

“To get him to allow my touch, to learn some simple commands and follow them.”

“He’s pretty high-spirited.”

“That’s fine and you want some of that. But he also has to learn to interact with people and other horses.”

A light breeze shifted a lock of Abby’s hair and settled it on her cheek. Jesse’s hand half raised to brush it back when he stopped himself. He hadn’t the right to touch her, not yet. Maybe not ever.

Now that he had her here, he searched his mind about how best to tell her the truth. Before he could speak, Abby interrupted his nervous thoughts.

“How do you go about breaking a horse? For years I’ve watched how they do it here and I’m not real happy with their methods.”

Jesse took a step closer to where she sat, inhaling her soft floral scent. “The original horse whisperer, the man who taught my father, and then later Dad taught me, didn’t believe in breaking horses. He called it starting them or joining up, as the horse joins with man. That sort of communication results in the horse voluntarily cooperating.”

She wondered if his short beard would feel soft or prickly, then chided herself for her roving thoughts. “We have this mare that absolutely won’t take the bit, won’t cooperate at all. Dad got her from a friend in a trade. No one can seem to get through to her. I don’t suppose you’d want to give it a try?” Then she quickly thought better of the request. “Oh, but, I shouldn’t ask since that’s not why you’re here.”

“I’d like to try. I can’t work with Remus all day. You work a little, then let him rest and remember what he’s learned. Then go back and try again.” He smiled up at her. “Keep in mind, though, that I’m not a magician.”

“Absolutely. I just wondered if there was a better way. I hate the idea of dominating any animal, making him give up his will to suit ours. It seems wrong.”

“I think it is. Along the way, the owner gets frustrated, which can cause him to hurt the horse he’s trying to grind down into submission. The male ego is the cause of most horse cruelty.”

She smiled down at him. “And as a man, you don’t have a problem admitting that?”

“No, because I’m not one of those men.”

“I’m glad you explained things to me.” She had no reason to linger and should probably go in.

Jesse held out his hand to help her down.

Feet on the ground, her eyes went to his big hand that all but swallowed hers. Suddenly, her heart picked up a beat as something familiar caught her eye.

There on his thumb was an X, a scar she remembered. Jesse Hunter had told her he’d gotten cut on a barbed wire fence when he was only ten, leaving a clear scar in the shape of an X. How could two men with the same first name have so similar a scar?

Still gripping his hand, Abby’s eyes rose to his, questions swimming in them. “This scar…it can’t be! But it is. You and Jesse Hunter, you’re one and the same!”

Disbelief and shock had her trembling as the truth slammed into her. “Oh, God!”

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