The Rancher's Spittin' Image

“You don’t need to stay,” Sam interjected, stepping forward to hook a hip on the corner of the desk. “I’ll be here as backup if Mandy needs me.”

Merideth arched a brow, turning her gaze on Sam. Slowly, her lips curved in a proud smile. “I’d forgotten that the newly graduated and highly competent Dr. Samantha McCloud was setting up her veterinary practice on the Double-Cross.” She lifted her hands, diamonds glittering, and let them drop. “Well, then I guess my services aren’t needed.” She turned to Mandy. “You’ll be in good hands with Sam to look out for you and I’m only a telephone call away.” Lazily she stood, stretching her arms above her head with catlike grace before moving to gather her two sisters into a loose embrace. After hugging them both, she stepped back and thrust out a hand, palm up. “One for all and all for one,” she challenged. “The Three Musketeers.”

Laughing, Sam and Mandy each slapped a hand on top of Merideth’s. “Always,” they echoed in unison.

Jesse made the turn off the highway and passed below the wrought-iron archway that marked the entrance to the Circle Bar and headed for the house. The Big House. That was how the Barrister home was referred to by those who lived and worked on the Circle Bar.

Though he’d thought himself immune to the past, Jesse could feel the muscles of his stomach tightening while beads of sweat broke out on his upper lip. With a muttered curse of self-condemnation, he dragged his wrist beneath his nose and glared through the windshield at the road ahead. He took his foot off the accelerator and eased on the brake, bringing the truck to a stop at the crest of the hill that overlooked the valley.

Spotlighted by a brilliant summer sun, the two-story Georgian-style mansion below him looked as out of place as Jesse had always felt while living on the Circle Bar. Instead of the carefully groomed lawns with drooping magnolias and oaks heavy with moss that one would expect surrounding such a structure, the home was bordered by pastures of grazing Hereford cattle and hills covered with rock, cedar and cactus.

Margo Barrister might have lost the war when she’d failed to persuade Wade Barrister to move to Atlanta after their marriage more than forty years before, but she’d won a battle by haranguing him until he’d finally torn down the original Barrister homestead and replaced it with this monstrosity, a testament to Margo Barrister’s roots in the more genteel south.

The thought of Margo pushed a scowl across Jesse’s face. Mrs. Barrister. That’s what she’d insisted that he call her. Not Mother—God forbid that she ever admit that he was Wade’s son—not even Margo. She’d accept nothing less than impersonal formality from him.

Hate curled in his stomach like a doubled-up fist at the memory. He’d never called her “Mrs. Barrister” as she demanded. He’d never referred to her in any way at all. It had been easy enough to avoid, since she’d refused him entrance in her home from the day of his arrival on the Circle Bar.

His frown deepened as he remembered that day. Margo had screamed obscenities, ranted and raved when Wade had brought his fourteen-year-old bastard home with him. She had refused to allow Jesse even to cross the threshold, demanding instead that Wade take him to the bunkhouse to live with the wranglers who worked the Circle Bar. And that’s exactly where Jesse had lived until the night he’d left the Circle Bar, and Texas, almost thirteen years before.

No, avoiding Margo had been easy.

But this confrontation, the one awaiting him in the valley below, he knew he couldn’t avoid. Shaking off the unpleasant memories, he shifted back into gear, eased off the clutch and started downward to the Big House.

Through the gleaming windows of her formal living room, Margo caught a glimpse of a cloud of dust swirling over the hill. Stiffening, she slowly placed on the table the vase of flowers she’d just arranged and moved to peer out of the window. Pulling back the silk draperies, she craned for a better view.

“Damn,” she swore under her breath. Though she didn’t recognize the black truck that kicked up the cloud of dust, she knew who rode inside. Jesse. He was back to claim his inheritance.

Her lips quivered in silent rage. He was back to claim the Circle Bar. Wade had left her the house when he’d died, but not the land it stood on. He’d left that to the son of that Mexican whore of his! That Wade would dare to insult her so publicly, to flaunt his bastard child for all the world to see, to strip her of the very land, the dynasty that opened doors for her in Austin society, made her see red.

She placed a hand against her heart, forcing herself to take a deep calming breath. It wouldn’t do for Jesse to read her disgust, her anger...her desperation. She needed him, whether she cared to admit it or not. She didn’t know what his plans were. Not yet, at any rate. He had made no contact with her since Wade’s lawyer had notified him of Wade’s death and of his subsequent inheritance.

Would he sell the Circle Bar? she wondered fleetingly. Or would he move back and work the place himself as Wade had wanted? Her stomach convulsed. The very thought of having to watch that miserable bastard walk her land was too appalling even to consider. She hoped he planned to sell. If he did, she’d buy the land and the Barrister dynasty would go on, just as it had in the past, except with Margo at the helm.

But would he sell to her? she wondered as she monitored his approach. Her fingers curled into a fist at her side, her manicured nails cutting into the tender flesh of her palm as she watched the truck roll to a stop in front of her home.

Immediately, she forced her fingers to relax. She could handle Jesse Barrister. Hadn’t she managed to manipulate Wade for years? She watched as Jesse stepped down from his truck and was struck anew by his resemblance to her dead husband. Wade had done this to her on purpose, she thought spitefully as Jesse stepped up onto the wide veranda and disappeared from her sight. He’d left his land to his bastard son as one last stab at Margo because of her inability to give him an heir.

The doorbell chimed and Margo forced her fingers to release the drapes. Inhaling deeply, she drew herself erect, smoothing her hands down the front of her linen skirt, then lifting them to run her thumbs beneath the open collar of her matching blouse, composing herself for the confrontation ahead. Moving silently across the thick Aubusson carpets, she made her way to the front door and opened it, forcing a smile to her face.

“Why, Jesse!” she exclaimed in her southern drawl, as if unaware of his arrival. “What a nice surprise! Please come in,” she invited graciously, swinging the door wide.

Jesse Barrister was no fool. He recognized a wolf in sheep’s clothing when he saw one. His expression never once wavered as he met Margo’s gaze. “I can handle my business right here,” he said tersely.

“Business?” she repeated as she stepped back into the opening she’d created. “What business?”

“My inheritance, to be exact.” Jesse watched as she struggled to keep the false smile in place.

“You’ve seen Wade’s lawyer, then?”

“I just left his office. He showed me the old man’s will.” Even now Jesse couldn’t voice the man’s name out loud.

“I know this must be difficult for you,” she murmured sympathetically, “coming back after all these years. I know how unhappy you were here. If you like, I can purchase the land from you and free you of whatever responsibilities Wade has burdened you with and whatever obligations you might feel. That way you could get on with your life with the least bother.”

Jesse eyed her suspiciously from beneath the shadow of his Stetson’s brim. He didn’t know what Margo was up to, but it certainly was no good. He knew her far too well. Although selling the land had been his plan when he’d left the lawyer’s office, something made him hesitate.

“I don’t know,” he replied slowly. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the sprawling land, the grazing cattle, the distant hills, the corrals where he’d sweated and worked alongside the other wranglers.

He’d hated every minute of the time he’d spent on this ranch and had been reluctant to return. He’d thought to come here, tell Margo his plans, then get the hell out of town, leaving behind the past and all the bad memories tied to this place.

But now he wasn’t so sure.

Slowly, he turned back to Margo. “I’ll be staying here for a while. Just until I decide what I want to do with the place.”

Margo stepped back, lifting her hand again in invitation. “Well, then you must stay here. I’ll have Maria prepare a room for you.”

Jesse snorted. “I don’t think so. The bunkhouse suits me just fine.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Margo hurried to assure him. “You’ll be much more comfortable in the Big House. Besides, I’m sure that’s what Wade would have wanted.”

“Would he?” Jesse’s lips curled in a scowl. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Margo struggled to think of something to say. “W-well, if you’re sure...” She lifted a hand to point the way. “The bunkhouse is—”

Jesse turned his back on her, cutting her off. “I know the way.”

Margo moved to the window and stood, her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed tightly together, and watched Jesse walk back to his truck. Tall, broad shouldered, that cocky swagger. She shuddered in revulsion at the sight. With the exception of the darker color of his skin, the slight Spanish accent, he could have easily been mistaken for Wade Barrister at the same age. And that alone was enough to draw Margo’s ire.

She’d married Wade Barrister forty years before, blinded by his handsome face and awed by his wealth, thinking herself in love with him. It hadn’t taken long for the veneer of imagined love to wear thin. Wade Barrister was a mean-spirited man, obsessed with his own importance and the idea of producing an heir to carry on the Barrister name. When ten years had passed and it became obvious that Margo was barren, he had never slept with her again.

She was sure that Wade would have demanded a divorce years ago and taken his chances for an heir with another wife, but there was a second facet to Wade’s personality that was as strong as his desire to produce an heir. He was greedy. By Texas law, he would have been forced to divide all his property equally with Margo as part of the divorce settlement, and Wade would never willingly give up anything that he considered his. Especially the Circle Bar.

So instead, he’d chosen to take his pleasure with other women, all of whom Margo secretly referred to as his “whores.”

And it was a particular Mexican whore who had finally produced the desired heir.

At the thought of Jesse, Margo’s lips thinned again.

Their first meeting hadn’t gone at all as she’d planned. She’d hoped that Jesse would be as anxious to unload the Circle Bar as she was to buy it. His hesitancy sent the first shiver of fear skating down her spine.

She dropped the curtain, blocking him from view, and whirled away from the window. Well, she assured herself, she might have lost the first battle, but she had in no way lost the war.

Jesse stood in the center of the small glen, his hands braced against his hips, his chest tight with unwanted memories. Darkness surrounded him, taunting him with shadowed ghosts he thought he had put to rest years before. He inhaled deeply, determined to keep the images at bay, and filled his senses with the bouquet of odors floating on the night air. The clean, sweet scent of freshly cut hay, the heady scent of honeysuckle that grew wild on a distant fence, the musty smell of damp leaves.

With a sigh, he lifted his face to the heavens and closed his eyes. Though he tried to keep the images from forming, they pushed at him from every side. A blanket spread on the ground, and Mandy beneath him, her body hot and damp against his. With eyes still glazed with passion, she looked up at him while a soft smile of pleasure curved the corners of her full and sensuous mouth. He could almost feel her hands on his back as she soothed his fevered flesh with soft caresses of love.

Sucking in an angry breath, he fisted his hands against his eyes. But instead of blocking the image, he only added another memory. As the vision formed, the smell of gunpowder rose, choking him, and his body recoiled with the impact of the blast that had slammed into him that night so many years ago. Instinctively, he raised a hand to his shoulder, feeling again the bullet ripping through his flesh and the fiery pain that had dragged him to the ground.

But that pain was nothing compared to the pain that tore at his heart as the memory of her voice echoed through his mind.