Jessie's Child

“That would be great, thanks, Tina.” Jessie was legal counsel for McCloud Enterprises and the work often involved property acquisitions. The latest negotiation for a thousand acres of ranchland was proving tricky due to a potential clouded title issue. Her father was impatient to finalize the deal and she wanted the situation resolved as quickly as possible.

Tina picked up the phone and dialed as Jessie crossed the reception area and walked into her office, closing the door behind her. She dropped the message slips on her desk and sat in the comfortable leather chair, pulling open a bottom desk drawer to slip her purse inside.

Alone, behind the closed door, at last she allowed herself to think about her encounter with Zach.

He seemed the same, yet somehow different. The moment she’d turned and looked into his eyes, she’d been blindsided by the emotions that roared through her.

Why am I not over him? She closed her eyes, but the vivid image of Zach standing in the sunlit café was seared on the inside of her lids.

He’d worn a straw cowboy hat tugged low over his brow, his black hair long enough in back to curl against the collar of a blue chambray work shirt. Clean faded Levi’s hugged the length of his long legs, a worn black leather belt threaded through the belt loops and black cowboy boots covered his feet.

His eyes were dark gold, carbon copies of Rowdy’s. But while Rowdy’s were filled with innocence and mischief, Zach’s were unreadable beneath the arch of dark brows. He was deeply tanned, his skin a darker brown than her father’s and brothers’, who spent long hours outdoors and Jessie wondered if he’d been called home from some far-off desert country.

She’d almost forgotten how big he was, or maybe she’d blocked the memory from her mind. She’d felt tiny looking up at him, even in the high-heeled shoes she wore. He was over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and chest, powerful arms and a narrow waist.

And he still had that seductive scent that could only be described as male. Whatever the elusive scent was, she’d felt its impact in the café, even though she’d stood four feet away from him.

Dear God. She raised trembling fingers to her lips. I can’t have feelings for him. I can’t.

The intercom buzzed and she drew a deep breath, willing her voice not to quaver. “Yes, Tina?”

“I’ve just received the trust fund data for the Michaelson Estate. Would you like me to bring you the file?”

“Yes, please.” Jessie quickly smoothed her fingertips over her lashes and down her cheeks to erase any evidence of tears, and picked up a pen.

By three that afternoon she closed the file atop her desk in frustration, unable to concentrate. Pleading a headache, she asked Tina to cancel her four-thirty appointment, left the office and went home to change out of her suit and heels and into cool green shorts. She pulled a white tank top over her head, slipped her feet into leather sandals, and collected Rowdy from next-door neighbor Mabel Harris’s loving care before escaping town to drive to her parents’ ranch.

The one place on earth she could be assured she wouldn’t see Zach Kerrigan was on McCloud land. A less self-assured person might call the visit to her parents blatant hiding. Jessie preferred to call it strategic maneuvering.

Chapter Three

Wolf Creek was a small town. Fifteen minutes after backing out of her garage, Jessie was driving north through open ranchland, the paved two-lane road she traveled lined on each side with barbed wire fences. On the far side of the fences lay mile after mile of open pasture and flat-topped buttes. The land was dotted with grey-green sagebrush while swathes of verdant brush and trees followed the winding path of an occasional creek. Cattle and horses grazed or plodded along narrow tracks, marking the landscape with their brown, white and black coats.

The afternoon sun poured through the SUV’s windows and Jessie switched off the air-conditioning, opting to roll down the windows of her four-wheel-drive Chevy Tahoe and let the sage-scented wind tangle her hair.

“Whee.”

She glanced in the rearview mirror. Rowdy laughed, his face crinkled with delight, eyes narrowed against the sweep of wind, his hair blowing straight back from his forehead. A rush of amusement and love rolled over her. Despite the changes he’d caused in her life, she’d never regretted for an instant that he’d been born. From the moment she’d learned she was pregnant, her son had become the focus of her world. He enriched each day with a depth of quiet joy she’d never known before.

She popped a classic rock CD, one of Rowdy’s favorites, into the stereo and turned up the volume. Within seconds “Ruby Tuesday” by the Rolling Stones filled the SUV and Rowdy sang along, his voice warbling the higher notes as the big vehicle ate up the miles.

Fifteen miles from town, Jessie braked, slowing to turn onto a graveled lane and past a large mailbox set solidly atop a black metal post before she drove beneath the wrought-iron arch where scroll-work spelled out “McCloud Ranch.” Then she accelerated, dust billowing up behind her tires as she drove down the half-mile driveway toward the sprawl of buildings that made up the headquarters for her father and brothers’ ranching enterprises. The roadway curved between white-painted wood rail fences and horses lifted their heads to watch with curiosity as the SUV passed, their glossy hides gleaming under the hot sun.

Two big pickup trucks with the McCloud logo on the doors sat in front of the main horse barn and Jessie wondered if both her father and Chase were inside. She parked just outside the elaborate gate set into the wrought-iron fence surrounding her mother’s prized garden. Within the enclosure, the grass glowed a brilliant emerald green while dozens of rosebushes spilled crimson, pink, yellow and white blooms over the black metal of the fence in an extravagant display. A giant old maple tree stood in one corner of the yard, its thick branches shading one edge of the sprawling house and its deep porch, brushing against the windows of the second-story bedrooms.

A rottweiler rose and stretched lazily, barking twice in welcome as Jessie slid out from behind the wheel.

“Hey, Muttly.”

The big dog woofed again and sat, tongue lolling, his attention trained expectantly on her car.

As Jessie unhooked Rowdy from his car seat, her mother came out of the house and onto the porch, drying her hands on a dish towel.

“Jessie.” Pleasure filled her voice and was echoed in her wide smile. “What a nice surprise.”

“Hi, Mom.” Jessie swung Rowdy out of the SUV and leaned back in to collect her bag. By the time she closed the door, Rowdy had already unlatched the gate and was racing up the walk toward Margaret, arms outstretched, chortling with glee.

Jessie followed him, pulling the gate closed behind her, and laughed when Rowdy dashed up the shallow steps to fling himself at his grandmother. Margaret caught him, swung him off his feet and hugged him tight before setting him down to be greeted by Muttly. The big dog and the little boy were equally overjoyed to see each other and Rowdy threw his arms around the dog’s neck. With Muttly sitting and Rowdy standing, they were nose-to-nose and Muttly licked the little boy’s face in response to his exuberant hug.

“Muttly, stop that,” Jessie protested.

Margaret grinned and bent to wipe Rowdy’s face with the damp towel she held. Rowdy twisted away from her, intent on petting the dog.

“Come inside and we’ll wash your face, Rowdy.” Margaret pulled open the screen door and Jessie followed Rowdy and Muttly into the cool interior. The four of them trooped across the tiled foyer and turned left, bypassing the spacious wood-paneled living room with its leather sofas, thick wool rugs and Remington artwork, and followed the hallway to the airy kitchen.

On the far side of the room, sunshine poured through the windows of the dining alcove that looked out on the back garden. Jessie crossed to the sink, dampened a towel and squirted liquid soap onto it. “Come here, Rowdy. Let’s clean you up so Grammy can give you a cookie and a glass of milk.”

“I want soda,” he said hopefully, his words muffled beneath the cloth Jessie was scrubbing over his face.

“Milk,” Jessie said firmly. “Have your uncles been giving you soda?”

“Not today.” Rowdy smiled angelically and clattered across the kitchen to pull out a chair at the table and clamber onto it. Muttly immediately lay down beside him.

“Men,” Jessie grumbled under her breath.

“I’ll second that,” Margaret said wryly. She opened the refrigerator, took out a carton of milk and poured some into a plastic glass that had a red-and-blue image of Spider-Man on one side.

“What’s Dad done this time?” Jessie asked as she took a plate from the cupboard and collected three oatmeal chocolate-chip cookies from the vintage Dumbo cookie jar on the counter.

“He bought another airplane.”

“Another one?” Jessie set the cookies and milk on the table in front of Rowdy and returned to lean against the counter. “Why does he need another plane?”

“He didn’t say he needed it, exactly. He told me he thought it was wise to have a backup since the Cessna is fifteen years old.” Margaret rolled her eyes before returning the milk to the refrigerator and taking out a frosty pitcher of tea.

“That doesn’t sound totally unreasonable,” Jessie said, turning to take two tall glasses from the cupboard behind her. She knew next to nothing about airplanes but her father’s favorite hobby was flying and lately he’d been interested in a smaller plane a neighbor was using to dust crops. A sudden thought occurred to her and she looked at her mother. “Uh-oh. Did he buy this plane from Jack?”

Margaret nodded.

“But Jack’s plane only has room for two or three people. What’s Dad going to do with it?” Jessie carried the glasses to the table and returned for a plate of cookies.

“He says he’s going to use it to dust the oats and rye fields down in the basin.”

“Grandpa’s dusting fields?” Rowdy’s eyes were round with awe. “Like you dust, Mom? How does he do that?”

“No, hon.” Jessie walked behind him, ruffling his hair, and took a seat at the oblong table. “It isn’t like dusting furniture. When a pilot dusts fields, he flies his plane low over the ground and releases pesticide dust to kill the bad bugs that might harm the crops growing there.”

“What’s a pesty-side?”