head like a beehive. And she had to be pushing seventy these days.
“Jesse Hawk, as I live and breathe.” She lowered the fan. “You grew into one hunk of a man. You look just like your daddy.”
He hugged her frail frame, touched by the reference to his father. Fiona lived in the same trailer park where Jesse had spent the first two years of his life. She remembered his parents. Not well, but she knew their names and what they had looked like. Jesse didn’t even have a photograph of his parents. “And you, dear lady, are still the love of my life. I’ve missed you.”
She patted his cheek. “So you’re an animal doctor, with your own practice and everything.”
He shrugged. “Yeah. It’s a step up from working at the pet store.” How many pounds of kitty chow had he packed into Fiona’s ancient Oldsmobile? She was what the town of Hatcher called “The Cat Lady,” an eccentric old woman who shared her worn-out trailer with at least two dozen pampered felines, some that slept there, others that just came to visit.
“I have a brood of my own now, Fiona.”
“Yes, I noticed. You’ve got six dogs in the yard, and that gelding back there’s a real looker. Big, handsome paint.”
“I’ve got a bird, an iguana and three ferrets, too.” He sent her a playful wink. “Hell, I might even have a cat or two around here somewhere.”
She smiled. “Your old boss told me you moved back. Also said he’d be sending business your way.”
He leaned against the front counter. “Larry’s a good man.” Larry Milbrook of Larry’s Pets and Feed had given Jesse a job twelve years before, when Jesse had drifted into town wearing holey jeans, time-worn boots and a tattered backpack with more of the same.
She peered past his shoulder. “So have you hired someone to run the reception office?”
“No, not yet. I’ll probably only have the clinic open three, maybe four days a week. The rest of the time I’ll be out on ranch calls. Horses like me.” And he liked them. Horses, it seemed, ran in the blood. Jesse’s brother, Sky, made his living as a stunt rider, and their father had worked as a ranch hand and trainer most of his life.
Fiona walked around the counter, allowing herself access to the computer. She tapped the keys with bony fingers flaunting rings as bold as Texas. “So are you going to hire some pretty young thing?”
“No,” he responded quickly, thinking about Tricia. Young and pretty still felt like heartache. Because he tried to avoid the Daddy’s-girl type, he’d picked up the habit of dating women slightly older than himself, ladies who looked nothing like the long-legged, fine-boned Patricia Boyd. And even then, dating was rare. He’d become a bit of a recluse; he and his animals. There were times he’d considered building an ark, loading his pets and sailing to the ends of the earth to numb the pain associated with his lost love.
“So you’re going to hire someone more mature, then?” Fiona pressed on, pulling Jesse back into conversation.
He eyed the old woman. Apparently she needed a job. Feeding dozens of cats and living on a fixed income couldn’t be easy. He imagined the rent had increased in that trailer park she called home. Some thief owned the place, some slimeball slumlord from Tulsa.
“I could use a mature lady around here. Someone who has a way with animals. Say, you wouldn’t be interested, would you?”
“Me?” Her eyes widened beneath the pointy-framed glasses. “Hmm.” She played the drama out, patting the side of her bouffant and gazing up at the ceiling as though the offer needed consideration.
“Oh, why not?” she said finally. “I did take some computer classes at the Senior Citizens’ Center, and quite frankly this place could use a little jazzing up.”
Jesse looked around. The room was simple and sterile, mostly white with touches of gray. Well, he thought, if anyone could add color, it would be Fiona Lee Beaumont in her fake baubles, dyed hair and god-awful pantsuits. Lord help him.
“How about a cold drink to celebrate,” he suggested. There was no turning back now. Fiona was already arranging the reception desk to her liking, her bracelets clanking in the process.
He brought her a canned iced tea and chose a soda for himself. She whipped out her fan again and drank the tea from a paper cup, fanning and sipping like an aging Southern Belle.
“So,” she said, “have you been keeping in touch with the Boyd girl? She was so lovely. Always wanted legs like that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You know damn well her daddy hated me.”
“Doesn’t mean the two of you haven’t been carrying on a secret rendezvous.”
Jesse finished his drink. “Tricia came by last week, but nothing happened.” Nothing but a kiss that had made him hungry for a thousand more. “That romance is history.”
“Well, in any case, you must be proud that she gave the boy your name. It was gossip for a long while. This county flourishes on gossip, especially tidbits concerning the rich.”
Jesse’s heart nearly stopped. “What are you talking about? What boy?”
“Oh, my.” Fiona chewed her fading lipstick line. “Oh my, oh my.” She reached for his quaking hand. “You mean after all these years, she never told you about your son?”
“Miss Boyd,” the receptionist said over the intercom, “there’s a Mr. Hawk here to see you. He—” the young woman paused and lowered her voice “—seems quite upset. He threatened to find your office himself if I don’t accommodate him. Should I call Security?”
Patricia straightened her spine, preparing for a battle Jesse would surely force her to wage. He knows, she told herself, taking a deep breath. He found out about Dillon.
“I’ll see Mr. Hawk, Susan. There’s no need for Security.”
Within seconds Patricia’s door opened, and Jesse shouldered by the receptionist. Petite and pale, Susan looked like a quivering mouse next to him, eager to escape something even more dangerous than a surly tomcat. A grizzly, Patricia decided. A grizzly with long black hair and gunmetal eyes. When in God’s name had Jesse gotten so big?
Avoiding his glare, Patricia rose and nodded to the receptionist. “Thank you, Susan. Please hold my calls.” She glanced at her watch, determined to keep her manner professional. “I’ll let you know when this meeting ends.”
The woman cast a wary glance at Jesse, who kept his stare focused on Patricia. “Yes, Miss Boyd.” She darted out the door and closed it soundly.
“Well…” Patricia smoothed her jacket. Did she look as nervous as she felt, or did her red suit boast confidence? She lifted her chin. If her designer apparel didn’t, then certainly the plush office should.
“Can I get you some coffee?” she asked, sweeping her hand toward a wet bar. “Or would you prefer something cold?” Like the frost glazing your eyes.
“Cut the crap, Tricia.”
He strode toward her, his faded denims and casual T-shirt mocking the decor. Suddenly the hours of labor spent perfecting the
