Her Kind Of Cowboy

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