Her Kind Of Cowboy. Pat WarrenЧитать онлайн книгу.
and checkered shirt, the line on his forehead showing just where his hat usually sat. Having said his piece in the den, he was quiet. Lindsay wore a low-cut blouse and a short leather skirt, her eyes bright from the wine she seemed overly fond of. Grace looked cute in a T-shirt and shorts that matched her cornflower-blue eyes. She wasn’t much of an eater but she loved to chatter, bombarding him with questions.
But it was Abby who held his attention. She’d brushed out her blond hair and let it hang past her shoulders, making him remember the times he’d thrust his fingers through the silky thickness. Her incredible green eyes rarely met his and when they did, she quickly looked away. Had she figured out his identity yet?
Jesse didn’t smile much, Abby couldn’t help noticing, except when he talked to Grace who’d insisted on sitting next to him. He answered her questions patiently and didn’t talk down to her. He had nice hands, she decided, his fingers lean and strong. She rather liked the beard, but it was his eyes that disturbed her, that deep blue.
So like the other Jesse’s.
“Tell me, Mr. Calder,” Joyce Martin asked, her first comment to him that didn’t involve serving the food, “is your mother involved in ranching with your father?”
“No. My mother’s gone.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Joyce managed to sound sympathetic. “When did she die?”
Jesse set down his fork and looked at her. “I’m not sure she did. She left my father, my twin brother and me when Jake and I were only two. From what I’ve heard, she wasn’t fond of the ranch. Dad got full custody of us.” He turned to Abby across from him. “It’s not easy, raising kids alone.”
Abby saw compassion on his face, but she didn’t want him thinking of her as the pitiful widow. “It’s not like that here. I have a lot of help from my family.”
“You’re lucky. My brother has a two-year-old son who lives with us. The three of us take care of him.”
“And his mother?” Joyce wanted to know.
“It was a messy divorce. Jake has custody.”
Joyce raised a questioning brow. “Three men raising a child alone? I don’t know.”
“No offense, ma’am,” Jesse answered, “but some women don’t make good mothers.”
Apparently, Joyce decided to drop the matter as she glanced around the table and saw that everyone was finished. She rose. “You all sit still and I’ll bring in some pie.”
Jesse saw Abby rise to help her mother as he spoke to his hostess. “Thanks, Mrs. Martin,” he said, “but I couldn’t eat another bite. The dinner was delicious.”
Halfway out of the room, her arms full of plates, Joyce glanced over her shoulder. “Well, all right, if you’re sure.”
As Abby moved to clear his side of the table, Jesse caught her attention. “I’d like to show you what I’m doing with your horse, if you’ve got a minute.”
“You don’t mean tonight?” Lindsay interrupted. “It’s nearly dark. I thought we might go out by the highway, the three of us. There’s this new little club that opened up—”
“Not me, not tonight, but thanks,” Jesse told her. He turned back to Abby expectantly.
She made her decision quickly, before she could change her mind. Perhaps if she talked with this man, she’d get it in her head that he had nothing to do with that other Jesse. “I’d like to see your progress with Remus. I don’t often have time during the day. I’ll meet you as soon as I finish helping Mom.”
“Great. I’ll let Remus out into the pen.”
Grace jumped down. “Can I go, too, Mommy?”
“No, sweetie, not this time.” The little girl followed her mother into the kitchen.
Lindsay flounced out of the room, but Jesse didn’t have time to worry about her. He had to talk to Abby, to convince her he hadn’t meant to leave the way he had.
“Thank you, Mr. Martin.” He reached to shake hands with his host who appeared half-drunk.
“Sure, sure.” Vern didn’t notice the offered hand as he busily poured himself more wine.
Jesse saw himself out.
Abby leaned on the top board of Remus’s specially built pen and watched Jesse with her horse. He’d turned on the outside lights and she could clearly see that he was holding a rope lightly coiled at his side. Jesse walked closer to the stallion, using the rope as a threat, as if he intended to lasso him with it. Remus danced out of range, his twitching tail revealing his discontent at this evening invasion.
Over and over, Jesse crowded him, closer and closer, and each time, the stallion would back away. Abby drew in a nervous breath as Remus reared back, pawing the air, but Jesse moved quickly out of harm’s way. She couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever gotten hurt working with wounded horses.
After a few more encounters, Jesse stopped, speaking softly to the horse, then left the pen and joined her by the fence.
“You have a way with horses,” she told him, knowing there were plenty of men who’d never get in a pen with a horse like Remus.
Jesse hung the coiled rope on a post. “And you have a way with children.” He motioned toward the little schoolhouse. “That’s a lot of kids to keep in line.”
“I’ve always liked children.” She glanced at Remus standing at the far end, watching them warily. “I’m curious. Why a round pen?”
Jesse shrugged. “It’s going to sound obvious and silly, but often when you work a horse and he wants to escape, he heads for one of the corners and you have to tug and coax him away. In a round pen, there’s nowhere to hide. And I don’t have to butt heads with him over it.”
“That makes sense.”
There was precious little moonlight, which was why he’d hit the lights. Turning, Jesse leaned his back against the rail and looked her over. She was wearing a soft-blue shirt over tan slacks and her hair was hanging loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were that incredible cornflower blue that he remembered so well. Like he remembered how they’d darken when he’d touched her, loved her.
He jerked his attention back to the horse. “Casey tells me Remus had been mistreated when you found him. How’d you get him over that?”
“It wasn’t easy. That was why I was so upset when he got burned. He’s already been through so much.” She scooched up and sat on the top railing, her feet on the second rung. “Mostly I was just gentle with him, helping his wounds to heal, letting him get to know me and realize I was no threat to him. His previous owner, a big, burly man, made a contest out of it, demanding dominance to satisfy his own ego, so his neighbors told me. Then he abandoned him and moved on.”
“Some people should never own horses. Common sense isn’t as common as you might think.” He smiled at her. “You may have a career as a horse whisperer.”
“Mmm, I doubt that. I saw you work Remus earlier this afternoon. I’ve never seen such patience.”
“That’s what it takes. You’ve got to stand steady. If you move fast or demonstrate too much energy, the horse will bolt. I’ve learned to stop, breathe slowly and deeply, to visibly relax so he can see that. Horses are attuned to instincts as much as voice and actions. He instinctively knows that if I’m relaxed, I’m no danger to him. Even tonight, although I pressed him with the rope, I didn’t capture him with it.”
Abby was listening on two different levels: the first, all about Remus, the second the struggle inside her about the familiarity of this man. His voice had the same timber as the old Jesse. How could that be?
She cleared her throat. “So now he’s used to your scent and knows you’re no threat. What is the next step?”