his chin. “I think I owe him the recognition.”
“What else do you owe him, do you think? A job here at the ranch? In the cattle operation, maybe?”
“We haven’t talked about it.”
Temper rumbled through Jesse’s gut. “I’ve been running things for eight years. Maybe you think it’s time for a change.”
“Jesse,” his mother said, a warning note in her voice.
“That’s bull.” J.W. stepped out from behind his desk. “And you know it.”
“And maybe you think he needs a spread of his own, to make up for all the years you ignored him. Would a hundred thousand acres do it? Not leased land, of course—just some prime Cottonwood property. Then you could build him and Nicki a house of their own.”
“You’re acting like a spoiled brat.” J.W. moved in close until his nose almost touched Jesse’s. “You’ve had everything you wanted or needed for your whole life. Don’t begrudge my son a little attention, maybe some help getting started in life.”
Jesse shrugged. “Of course not. You’re free to give him whatever makes you feel better, Dad. Even though Hansen hasn’t worked a single day on this land, never squeezed out a single drop of sweat.”
“None of you kids has—”
“Now who’s talking bull?” Hands propped on his hips, Jesse moved forward a step. His father retreated. “I’ve been working on this ranch since I was old enough to sit a horse. You’ve been ordering me around, telling me what I had to do, had to know, where I should be and how I should think for as long as I remember. There hasn’t been a day I didn’t feel responsible for every damn problem and solution going on at the Cottonwood Ranch. So don’t tell me I haven’t worked for what I got.”
He did a quick turn on his heel and headed for the door.
“You don’t walk out of here without my per mission.”
Jesse heard his mother’s gasp as he stopped in his tracks. He stared at the closed door panel for a few seconds, debating what to say.
Then, without another word, he reached for the knob, pushed through the door and strode across the foyer, past the life-size sculpture of a cowboy on his horse, to the front entrance. Another minute and he was in his truck, headed down the road at a reckless speed. He braked briefly underneath the wrought-iron sign announcing The Cottonwood Ranch, glanced in both directions and jerked the steering wheel left. Once on the paved county road, he pushed hard on the gas pedal, letting the big diesel engine whine.
He wanted a good stiff drink…or four or five, however many shots it took to shut down his brain. And he wanted to drink alone, though not in private. Drinking behind closed doors only led to trouble.
But he couldn’t think of anywhere in the whole state of Wyoming where he would be anonymous. Not in the closest little town, Markton, or even in Cody, a few miles farther on. Not in Laramie or Cheyenne or Gillette, where he had friends and knew competitors. He was an NFR finalist in bull riding, after all. Worse, he was a Cody—J. W. Cody’s second son. Not much happened to the Codys that didn’t become public knowledge.
And that was as good a reason for hard drinking as Jesse had ever come up with.
AFTER WORKING A FULL DAY at the Markton Feed and Grain Store, Janie still had errands to run if she planned to leave for Las Vegas tomorrow. In Jesse Cody’s plane.
That thought alone made her stumble as she walked across the pharmacy parking lot with her four bags of supplies. Or maybe hunger tripped her up—she hadn’t eaten since breakfast and her stomach had been growling for hours. If she planned to keep shopping, she should probably get some food.
Back in her truck, grateful to be out of the bitter wind blowing off the mountains, she headed for her favorite restaurant in Cody. Managed by a couple of her friends from Markton, Los Potrillos served well-cooked, authentic Mexican food. A quick bite would give her the energy she needed to spend the rest of the night packing her mother’s bag as well as her own for the trip to Las Vegas.
Janie still didn’t see how this trip could possibly succeed. Who in their right mind would take an Alzheimer’s patient traveling? These days, her mother left their house only for doctors’ appointments, and then spent the entire trip agitated and fearful. What would she think about an airplane flight? How would she react in a small private jet?
And what in the world would Janie find to talk about with Jesse Cody for two solid hours? Especially when the most obvious topic—the fact that her brother Mark was also his brother—was too fraught with tension to discuss?
With her hands clenched on the steering wheel, she pulled into a parking spot at the restaurant, then kept her head down against the wind-driven sleet as she ran inside.
“Lousy weather,” her friend Lila remarked, leading her to a booth for two.
“Nasty,” Janie agreed, brushing ice crystals off her shoulders. “Some good hot food will help, though.”
Lila smiled. “You know we’ve got that covered.”
The waitress appeared to take Janie’s order for coffee, water and chicken mole. Not many people had ventured out on a Monday night in bad weather, and the dining room tables were mostly empty. Janie wished she were home, too, eating canned tomato soup in front of the TV instead of planning to hit the superstore in Cody to find clothes for her mom to wear in Vegas.
Her mom…the woman who had tempted J. W. Cody into an adulterous affair.
Janie couldn’t stifle a sigh. If she’d ever had the ghost of a chance with Jesse, she felt sure that chance had now vaporized. Whenever he looked at her, he would be reminded of her brother…okay, her half brother, but still…Mark’s new status as a Cody threatened everything Jesse had worked for in his life—the respect of folks in town and across the country as J. W. Cody’s oldest son, his place in the business at the Cottonwood Ranch and maybe even the title of World Champion Bull Rider at the National Finals Rodeo.
“Here you go.” The waitress set a huge platter of chicken with chocolate sauce, salad and tortillas on the table in front of her.
“Thanks.” Janie flashed a smile, even though her appetite had all but vanished. Thinking too much about Jesse Cody always made her want to curl up into a ball and cry her eyes out.
As the server headed toward the kitchen in the back of the building, somewhere behind Janie a man called out, loudly enough to be heard over the music. “Excuse me?”
With a fork full of mole halfway to her mouth, Janie groaned. Could she be this unlucky? As if her thoughts had conjured him, Jesse Cody sat at a table in the back.
“Excuse me,” he said again when the waitress didn’t turn.
Sauce dripped onto Janie’s plate. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing him not to notice her.
Boot heels thudded on the tile floor, coming up beside her table. He passed, and Janie opened her eyes.
Broad-shouldered and slim-hipped, his short, silvery-blond hair gleaming even in the dim lighting, Jesse walked away from her, carrying an empty highball glass toward the bar. As she watched, he thumped the tumbler
