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
