Honey and the Hired Hand

It was hard for Honey not to laugh aloud at the chagrined look on Jesse’s face as Jack recited all the information he’d garnered. The drifter had been, if not grilled, certainly a little singed around the edges.

The shoe was on the other foot as Jack continued, “I told him how you haven’t been coping too well since Dad—well, this past year. Not that you don’t try,” he backtracked when he spied the horrified look on his mother’s face, “but after all, Mom, the work is pretty hard for you.”

Honey was abashed by her son’s forthrightness. “I’ve managed fine,” she said. She didn’t want Jesse Whitelaw thinking she needed him more than she did. After all, a drifter like him wasn’t going to be around long. Soon enough she’d be managing on her own again.

She stiffened her back and lifted her chin. Staring Jesse Whitelaw right in the eye she announced, “And I expect I’ll still be managing fine long after you’ve drifted on.”

“The fact remains, you need me now, Mrs. Farrell,” the drifter said in that rusty gate voice. “So long as I’m here, you’ll be getting a fair day’s work from me.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable for everyone except the younger boy.

In the breach Jonathan piped up, “Jesse thinks I should have a real horse to ride, not just a pony.”

“I’m sure Jesse does,” Honey said in as calm a voice as she could manage. “But I’m your mother, and until I decide differently, you’ll stick with what you have.”

“Aww, Mom.”

This was an old argument, and Honey cut it off at the pass. “The school bus will be here in a few minutes,” she said. “You boys had better get out to the main road.”

Honey gave Jonathan a hug and a quick kiss before he headed out the kitchen door. “Have a nice day, sweetheart.”

Jack was old enough to pick up the tension that arced between his mother and the drifter. His narrowed glance leapt from her to Jesse and back again. “Uh, maybe I ought to stay home today. Kind of show Jesse around.”

Honey forced herself to smile reassuringly. “Nonsense. You have reviews for finals starting this week. You can’t afford to miss them. Jesse and I will manage fine. Won’t we?”

She turned to Jesse, asking him with her eyes to add his reassurance to hers.

Jesse rose and shoved his chair under the table. “Appreciate the offer,” he said to Jack. “But like your mom said, we’ll be just fine.”

“Then I better run, or I’ll miss the bus.” Jack hesitated another instant before he sprinted for the door. Honey would have liked to hug Jack, too, but at thirteen, he resisted her efforts to cosset him.

A moment later they were alone. Jesse was watching her again, and Honey’s body was reacting to the appreciation in his dark eyes. She rearranged the robe and pulled the belt tighter, grateful for the thick terry cloth covering. She felt the roses bloom on her cheeks and hurried over to the stove to pour herself a cup of coffee.

Too late she realized she should have excused herself to go upstairs to dress. If she left now without getting her coffee, he would know she was running scared. There was absolutely no reason for her to feel threatened. Dallas wouldn’t have recommended Jesse Whitelaw if she had anything to fear from him. But she couldn’t help the anxiety she felt.

“Would you like another cup of coffee?” she asked, holding up the pot.

“Don’t mind if I do, Mrs. Farrell,” Jesse said.

“Please, you might as well call me Honey.”

“All right…Honey.”

Her name sounded far more intimate in that rusty gate voice of his than she was comfortable with. She stared, mesmerized for a moment by the warmth in his dark eyes, then realized what she was doing and repeated her offer.

“More coffee?”

He brought his cup over, and she realized she had made another tactical error. She could actually feel the heat from his body as he stepped close enough for her to pour his coffee. She turned her back on him to pour a cup for herself.

“Those are fine boys you have.” Jesse moved a kitchen chair and straddled it, facing her.

She leaned back against the counter rather than join him at the table. “In the future, I’d appreciate it if you don’t come inside before I get downstairs,” she said.

“I wouldn’t have come in except Jack said you were expecting me.”

“I was—that is—I didn’t expect you quite so early.”

That was apparent. Honey’s bed-tossed hair and sleepy-eyed look made Jesse want to pick her up and carry her back upstairs. He wasn’t sure what—if anything—she was wearing under the man’s robe. From the way she kept tightening the belt and clutching at the neck of the thing, he was guessing it wasn’t much. His imagination had her stripped bare, and he liked what he saw.

It was too bad about her husband. From what he’d heard, Cale Farrell had died a hero. He supposed a woman left alone to raise two kids wouldn’t be thinking much about that. At least he was here to help her with the ranch work. Not that he would be around forever—or even for very long. But while he was here, he intended to do what he could to make her life easier.

He knew it would be easier for her if he didn’t let her know he was attracted to her. But he wasn’t used to hiding his feelings for a woman. The way he had been raised, part of respecting a woman was being honest with her. Jesse planned to be quite frank about his fascination with Honey Farrell.

He liked the way she’d prickled up last night, not at all intimidated by him. He liked the way she had stood her ground, willing to meet him eye to eye. He bristled when he thought of her with any other man—especially that Philips character. Jesse wasn’t sure how serious their relationship was, but he knew Honey couldn’t be in love with Philips. Otherwise she wouldn’t have reacted so strongly to his touch.

At any rate, Jesse didn’t intend to let the other man’s interest in Honey keep him from pursuing her himself. Which wasn’t going to be easy, considering her opinion of drifters in general, and him—a half-breed Comanche—in particular. His look was challenging as he asked, “What did you have in mind for me to do today?”

Honey had been watching Jesse’s fingers trace the top rail of the wooden chair. There was a scar that ran across all four knuckles. She was wondering how he’d gotten it when his fist suddenly folded around the back of the chair. “I’m sorry—what did you say?”

“I asked what you wanted me to do today.”

“There are some steers that need vaccinating, and the roof on the barn needs to be repaired. Some fence is down along the river and a few head of my stock have wandered onto the mohair goat ranch south of the Flying Diamond. I need to herd those strays back onto my land. Also—”

“That’ll do for starters,” Jesse interrupted. He rose and set his coffee cup on the table. “I’ll start on the barn roof while you get dressed. Then we can vaccinate those steers together. How does that sound?”

Honey started to object to him taking charge of things, but she realized she was just being contrary. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll come to the barn when I’m dressed.”

She waited for him to leave, but he just stood there looking at her. “What is it? Did I forget something?” she asked.

“No. I was admiring the view.” He flashed a smile, then headed out the kitchen door.

Honey ran upstairs, not allowing herself time to contemplate the drifter’s compliment. He probably didn’t spend much time around respectable women. He probably didn’t realize he shouldn’t be blurting out what he was thinking that way. And she shouldn’t be feeling so good about the fact the hired hand liked the way she looked.

She was grateful to discover that her mascara had been clumped, rather than smudged. She took the time to wash her face and reapply a layer of sun-sensitive makeup. It was a habit she’d gotten into and had nothing to do with the fact there was now a man around to see her. Honey dressed in record time in fitted Levi’s, plaid western shirt, socks and boots.

Even so, by the time she reached the barn, Jesse was already on the roof, hammer in hand. He had his shirt off and she couldn’t help looking.

Jesse had broad shoulders and a powerful chest, completely hairless except for a line of black down that ran from his navel into his formfitting jeans. His nipples provided a dark contrast to his skin, which looked warm to the touch. She could see the definition of his ribs above a washboard belly. His arms were ropy with muscle and already glistened with sweat. Here was a man who had done his share of hard work. Which made her wonder why he had never settled down.

It dawned on her that the drifter had chosen the most dangerous job to do first. He was standing on the peaked barn roof without any kind of safety rope as though he were some kind of mountain goat. How could he be so idiotically unconscious of the danger!

She started up the ladder he had laid against the side of the barn and heard him call, “No need for you to come up here.”

She looked up and found him hanging facedown over the edge of the roof. “Be careful! You’ll fall.”

“Not likely,” he said with a grin. “I grew up rambling around in high places.”

“I suppose you had the top bunk in an upstairs bedroom,” she said with asperity.