The Rancher's Spittin' Image

The sound of a dry twig snapping came from the protective arc of trees that surrounded their secluded spot. Jesse stiffened, his fingertips digging into Mandy’s neck as he pressed her face to his shoulder to stifle her cry of alarm. He cocked his head, listening, searching the perimeter for the source of the sound, praying that it was only an animal moving through the thick stand of trees on its nightly hunt for food. But as his gaze struck a bright sheen of polished metal gleaming in a beam of moonlight, he knew it wasn’t an animal he’d heard. It was something much worse, someone much more menacing.

He quickly shifted, placing himself between Mandy and the barrel of the rifle aimed at them. Even as he did, a man stepped from the shadows of the trees and into the moonlight The rifle was braced against his wide shoulder, its barrel aimed at Jesse’s chest.

“Jesse Barrister!”

Jesse heard Mandy’s sharp intake of breath, felt her fingers claw at his back as the roar of her father’s voice filled the night. Defiantly Jesse lifted his chin, meeting the angry gaze of Lucas McCloud.

“What do you want, McCloud?” he demanded.

“What’s mine.” With a snarl, Lucas took a step closer and waved the barrel of the gun. “Mandy! Get out from behind him, or I swear I’ll blow a hole clean through the both of you.”

The cold-blooded threat pushed ice through Jesse’s veins. “You’d kill your own daughter?”

“I’d rather see her dead than teamed with the likes of you. Now get out from behind him, Mandy.”

When Mandy shifted as if to obey the order, Jesse thrust his arms behind him to hold her in place. In doing so, he offered Lucas an even broader target for his aim. “You’re not on McCloud land,” he warned Lucas, “you’re on Barrister land. You don’t give the orders here. I do.”

Lucas barked a laugh, but kept the gun aimed dead on Jesse’s chest. “You bastard,” he spat out. “You don’t give orders here or anywhere. You’re nothing but the whelp of Wade’s Mexican whore.”

Jesse felt his blood heat at the insult. Not for himself. He’d long ago grown accustomed to the word bastard. But no one had the right to sully his mother’s name. “Bastard or not, I’m a Barrister, and no McCloud is welcome on Barrister land.”

Though Lucas’s gaze remained locked on Jesse’s, his words were for his daughter. “Did you hear that, Mandy?” he mocked. “No McCloud is welcome on Barrister land. And you are a McCloud.”

“She’s mine!” Jesse shot back before Mandy could answer. “And as soon as she’s of age, her name will be Barrister, not McCloud.”

The metallic grate of the rifle’s lever being rammed into firing position split the night in two. “Over my dead body,” Lucas roared. “No daughter of mine will ever carry the name Barrister. I’ll kill you first.”

Mandy jerked free of Jesse and threw herself in front of him, placing herself between her father and the man she loved.

“No, Daddy, please.” she sobbed. “I love Jesse.”

Lucas’s eyes narrowed, but he never lowered the rifle. Its barrel now pointed at the hollow at Mandy’s throat. “Get away from him, or I swear I’ll kill him for the thieving bastard that he is—and you right along with him.”

Before Jesse could stop her, Mandy raced across the space that separated them from her father and grabbed for the barrel, shoving it high in the air. The gun went off, the sound of its explosive report bouncing off the trees and echoing in the dark glen.

Knocked off-balance by Mandy’s attack, Lucas fell back a step, but quickly regained his footing, wrapping a thick muscled arm around Mandy’s waist and pulling her hard against his side.

Jesse lunged forward, but Lucas quickly one-armed the rifle back into position, stopping him.

“Jesse, please,” Mandy sobbed. “Go before he kills you.”

Jesse glared at Lucas McCloud, the hate that burned in him mirrored in the older man’s eyes. Slowly he shifted his gaze to Mandy’s. Even more slowly he lifted a hand to her, his palm up in silent entreaty. “Come with me, Mandy. Come with me now. We can leave here, we can go somewhere where your father will never find us.”

“I’ll find you,” Lucas warned, his voice low and threatening. “There’s not a hole deep enough for you to crawl into where I can’t find you. And when I do, I’ll kill you.”

Mandy looked at Jesse through eyes blurred with tears, torn between her love for her father and the man who owned her heart. She knew her father would make good his promise. He hated all the Barristers; the feud between the two neighboring ranches had raged for four generations. But he hated Jesse most of all, not only because he was Wade Barrister’s illegitimate son, but because Lucas could never see beyond the color of Jesse’s skin or the Mexican accent that no amount of Americanization had been able to erase.

She knew she could find a way for them to be together. She just needed time to think, to formulate a plan. Even if it meant waiting the few months that stretched between this night and her eighteenth birthday before she saw him again, she knew her love for Jesse would survive the separation. Especially when the reward at the end was that they could be together forever.

Unable to stand the rawness of his expression, the love and expectancy that gleamed in his eyes, she dropped her gaze, praying that he would understand. “No, Jesse. I can’t.”

For a moment he seemed stunned by her response, then his body slowly stiffened and his hands closed into fists at his sides. With a savage cry, he lunged, his arms raised, his fingers curled as if already closing around the neck of the man who threatened his happiness, the man who stood between him and the woman he loved.

A shot rang out, deafening Mandy. She clapped her hands over her ears, her body throbbing with the rifle’s report. The scene in front of her slipped into slow motion and she watched Jesse’s eyes widen, his face twist in pain. The impact of the blast spun him to the left and she watched in silent horror as he staggered two steps, then crumpled to the ground.

Mandy’s scream ruptured the night. “Jesse! No-o-ooo!”

One

The three women stood, shoulders almost touching, staring up at the portrait of their father that had hung over the fireplace in the den of their family home for over twenty years. Pictured astride his horse, the aptly named Satan, Lucas McCloud seemed a man born to a saddle. The artist had captured him leaning forward slightly with his forearm braced casually atop the saddle horn and the bridle’s leather reins gathered loosely in his opposite hand.

Set against a panorama of blue Texas sky and the rocky hills and green meadows that made up the Double-Cross Heart Ranch, both rider and horse appeared indomitable. One could almost feel the stallion’s wildness captured by the artist’s brush. Standing on a slab of limestone that jutted from a high ridge, with his ears cocked forward, his head held high, the horse met the viewer’s gaze with an arrogance, a ripple of muscled strength, a compelling dominance that equaled that of the man on his back.

And no one was more aware of these traits than the three women who stood staring up at the portrait. They’d stood just so every year on this same date for eleven years, to mourn as well as honor the man pictured above them.

Yet anyone who saw them together would never dream the three were sisters, that they shared the same parents, the same pool of genes. The daughters of Lucas McCloud were as different in personality as they were in looks.

Mandy, the oldest, stood to the left of the portrait, her hands molded around a mug of steaming coffee. An almost fragile look disguised a deep inner strength and a will that matched that of the man who’d spawned her. Thick auburn hair brushed her slim shoulders, a testament to her femininity, while a denim work shirt and faded jeans, her standard wear, hid her soft curves. Her chin was tipped high, almost in defiance, with only the slight tremble in her lips giving her emotions away as she stared up at the painting of her father.

Samantha, or Sam as her family called her—a much more fitting name for the tomboy of the family—stood in the middle, the tips of her fingers tucked rigidly into the front pockets of her faded jeans. Raven-black hair, scraped back in a ponytail, hung almost to the middle of her back. Though tears burned behind her eyes, her lips remained pressed together, showing no emotion as she stared at the man who’d dominated her life until his death.

Merideth held the position at the right, her long graceful fingers wound negligently around a crystal wineglass. Taller than the others by two inches, Merideth was often mistaken as the oldest...but one look at the pouty lips, the bored expression, quickly gave away her position of honor as the baby of the family. Her sisters, the McCloud housekeeper and everyone else who came in contact with Merideth had succeeded in spoiling her rotten after her mother’s untimely death in a car accident by giving in to her fits of temper, her unending demands. Lucas was the only one who’d had the grit to stand firm against her, refusing to give her what she truly wanted most...a one-way ticket away from the confines of the Double-Cross Heart Ranch.

With a sigh, Merideth turned away from the portrait, tucking a stray lock of blond hair behind her ear. “Well, I for one am glad he’s gone.”

Horrified, Mandy wheeled to stare at her. “Merideth!”

Merideth shrugged as she sank fluidly onto the leather sofa, drawing one slender foot beneath her. She pushed out her lower lip and jutted her chin in the famous pout that had earned her the nickname “the woman America most loves to hate” from Soap Opera Digest. “Well, it’s the truth,” she said disagreeably. “He was mean and domineering and controlled our lives until the day he died.” She lifted her gaze, meeting Mandy’s shocked one with one of defiance. “You, of all people, can attest to that.”

Though her cheeks reddened with heat, Mandy tightened her grip on her mug and managed to keep her tone even. “He was our father,” she returned. “He loved us—in his way. Besides,” she added emphatically, “it was his wealth that enabled all of us to achieve our dreams. You should at least be grateful for that.”

Merideth dipped her chin, peering at Mandy from beneath one neatly arched brow. “Our dreams?” she repeated, drilling Mandy with a look that had sent stage directors and makeup artists alike running for cover.

“Back off, Merideth,” Sam warned as she, too, turned away from the portrait.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she exclaimed in annoyance, shifting her gaze to Sam. “It’s true and you know it. You were able to go to veterinary school, which Daddy would never have allowed if he’d lived, and I bought a ticket to New York and the means to live as high as I want while I do what I’ve always wanted to do, act. But what did Mandy get? Hmmm?” she quizzed pointedly as she turned to Mandy for an answer.

“I got the ranch,” Mandy murmured, turning away.

“We all got the ranch,” Merideth reminded her. “But you were the only one who wanted to continue to live here and run the place. What I want to know is what Daddy’s wealth bought you. Was it able to buy you your dreams?”

Mandy felt the tension build in her back as Merideth’s words stabbed into old wounds still unhealed. “I have the money. I’ve just never chosen to spend it... until now.”

Merideth immediately sat up, dropping her foot to the floor and scooting to the edge of the sofa. “Now?” she repeated, then quickly shook her head, shoving out a hand to stop Mandy before she could reply. “Oh, puh-l-e-e-ease tell me you’re not going to buy some new exotic breed of cattle to run, or build some new monstrosity of a barn on the Double-Cross?”

Mandy turned back, glancing first at Sam, then Merideth. “No. I’m going to buy the Circle Bar.”

Merideth bolted to her feet while Sam’s eyes widened in shock. Both women were more than familiar with the Circle Bar, the ranch that bordered their own, and with the feud that had raged between the two for four generations.