by Arlene James
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Jesse clenched his hands into fists and bit his tongue. She wasn't a piece of meat, for pity's sake, to be chewed over like a morsel tossed to the dogs. But he knew that any comment would damn him for sure. He managed a shrug.
"So what? The world's full of—"
Shoes cut him off. "Yeah, right, and every one of them hovers around you like a fairy godmother waiting to grant your every wish."
Jesse gulped. He'd feared that he was the one hovering. "Teach me football," she'd said, and he'd taken it as a calling. Had everyone noticed? "You, uh, you're reading more into it than is there," he finally said, hunching his shoulders against the cold. Funny, the air no longer seemed brisk and bracing. It had developed a definite bite rather quickly.
Shoes kept staring at him for a long, awkward moment, but then he sighed and said, "Man, you Wagners have heads like cement." He was smiling when he said it, though, and Jesse chose to laugh it off.
"Well, when that's where you keep landing, you either develop a thick skull or you die."
"We Indians prefer thick souls/' Shoes said cryptically, and Jesse shook his head.
"Philosophy, now? What next?"
"War paint and weapons," Shoes quipped.
Jesse threw up both hands. "I give! Just leave die hair."
"No self-respecting warrior would be caught with your hair on bis belt."
"Insults are the last resort of a desperate man."
"Naw, just a sleepy one." Shoes rubbed his eyes with both hands. "I'm gone, my friend. See you at Christmas, huh?"
"You bet Give my best to your uncle."
Nodding, Shoes went down the steps and out into the night A few moments later, Jesse heard his truck start up. He watched the headlights come on and the sweep of the twin beams as the heavy van made a U-turn and headed for the road, turning right toward the reservation.
Jesse stared long after the truck was gone around the bend. He kept hearing Kanaka's deep, resonant voice inside bis head.
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Doesn't look like any kid I ever saw. Six feet tall with all that leg. Hovering over you .like a fairy godmother ready to grant your every wish.
He thought about sitting next to her on the couch, her slender form tucked neatly against him. They hadn't touched, but he'd felt her all along his side. It had seemed silly for her to sit anywhere else, right for her to be next to him, and that chilled him more than the cold night He'd had enough fresh air. He turned toward the door just as it opened and a, familiar rabbit coat stepped outside.
"Jesse."
He backed away instinctively. Finding his voice took a moment, but he was relieved to find it hearty and light. "Caroline. Calling it a night? I was just about to go in myself. Eating's real tiring work. Cooking and eating, now, that must be downright exhausting. Rest well. Good night."
He meant to push past her and on into the house, but she pulled the door closed, effectively blocking his way, and suddenly he was scared. Big, brawny Jesse who could control brute horses with a flick of his wrist, scared of sweet little Caroline. She barely came to his shoulder, and he'd never been so afraid of anyone or anything in his life.
"Jesse, I want to tell you something." She stepped closer. He flinched but managed to stand his ground. What on earth was wrong with him, anyway? What could happen here on the porch in the cold? She swayed closer still. "Today was the best day of my life."
The best day of her life. Hell.
"Everyone was so kind to me today, so complimentary. I just wanted to thank you. None of it would have happened if it wasn't for you."
That was one idea she had to get over. "I...I didn't do anything."
"You hired me."
"Mom—"
"But you're the boss. You sign my paycheck. And you invited me today."
"Now that was—"
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"So thoughtful," she said, moving closer still. She lifted a gloved hand and laid it lightly against his chest "And you taught me all about football, and you helped me clear the table."
"That was for Mom," he said, appalled at the huskiness of his voice.
"You're a good son," she whispered, "a good man."
He knew what she was going to do even before she leaned into him and went up on tiptoe. He cleared his throat but couldn't mink of anything to say, and then she was pressing her pretty mouth to his, gently, sweetly. Step back, his brain told him. He ignored himself completely. It took all his strength to keep his arms at his sides, and even then his hands reached for her, finding only cold air.
Her hand slid up his chest and around to the back of his head, cupping it lightly, her mouth firm on his. She tasted slightly of pumpkin and coffee and a sweetness all her own. He felt as if he might be dying, everything in him sinking, sinking away, but then he felt heat pool in his groin, and knew his body was not reaching for death by mortification but reacting to desire unlike any he'd known before. Suddenly he wasn't just frightened, he was terrified.
He behaved completely without thought, reaching up and seizing her by the upper arms, pushing and holding her away. When he looked down into her face, he wished he hadn't Starlight limned her clearly. Her eyes were still closed, her mouth slightly open, her pale, silken hair streaming down her back. She looked enchanted, enchanting, the very essence of woman, Eve awakening to Adam. He jumped back, coming right to the edge of the step, another fraction of an inch and he'd fall. He fought the urge to windmill his arms, but he was more concerned with Caroline touching him again than with landing on his butt in-the snow.
She pulled a deep breath through her nostrils and slowly opened her eyes. Her shoulders relaxed. Her hand dropped to her side. Her eyes seemed to take a moment to focus, but when they did they found him unerringly. She smiled, eyes reflecting starlight, and just stood there, looking like everything soft and delicious in the whole wide world. He decided that if she so much
as blinked he would throw up his arms to fend her off and leap down into the snow.
She blinked, and he didn't move a muscle, damn him. "
"Thank you, Jesse," she whispered.
He opened his mouth and found he couldn't say a word. He nodded curtly, face flaming hot Sweet heaven, he was thirty-eight years old, and she had him blushing like he was the kid!
She walked toward him, slowly, as if he were a skittish horse and she was taming him to hand. He would never feel quite so smug working a horse again. Poor things, scared breathless. He was poised for flight, but she walked right by and down the steps, saying softly, "Good night, Jesse."
"Mmmmmm." It was all he could get out, more even than he'd expected.
She went down the walk lightly, her hair shining like a fall of moonlight in the night. He stepped back into the shadows beneath the porch roof and watched her move away from him. She went out the gate, and he heard the snick, creak and clump of her car door opening and closing. It was a very old car, not very safe, probably. If she was his, he'd get rid of that car and buy her a shiny new truck, something that wouldn't crumple like a piece of paper upon impact
If she was his. Good grief, what was he thinking? She was not his. She would never be his. He didn't even want her. He didn't want anyone. He wasn't made for it He knew that, had accepted it long ago. Even if she hadn't been too young and too innocent and too sweet, she wasn't for him. More to the point, he wasn't for her—or any woman.
Suddenly a great sadness seized him. He'd once believed that marriage and fatherhood would be the culmination of himself as a person, but he'd gradually realized over the course of his marriage mat he'd taken a great deal for granted. It didn't just happen because you wanted it to. It required something that he- couldn't quite grasp, something he obviously didn't have. And Kay had been the one to suffer for it He wouldn't put another woman through that, certainly not a sweet young thing like Caroline Moncton.
He'd thought about this more and more lately since Rye had
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No, he was not the man for Carolyn Moncton or any woman interested in more than physical satisfaction. It was sad, but it was true, and he had to live with it.
He shook his head. It was a day of Thanksgiving, and here he was feeling sorry for himself. With all that he had, the ranch, family, good friends, he had no right for feeling maudlin. Nothing would be gained by it. He pushed his mind to other things. Was his mother feeling well? Was she in pain? He'd better go in and see. Level and sure again at last, he turned to the door, opened it, and went inside.
Chapter Five
A he moment she heard his footsteps on the staircase at the end of the hall, she went into action. The plate came out of the warming oven, the coffee cup was turned up and filled, even the folded paper napkin beside his plate got tweaked into a truer alignment with the edge of the place mat. When he came into the room, she was sitting in her chair sideways so she could cross her legs and idly swing one foot while sipping her own coffee and lazily perusing the local newspaper. She wanted to look totally relaxed; her pose was somewhat constrained, however, by her clothing, if nothing else.
She was wearing comfortable blue jeans and a plaid shirt that was so small she dared not slump in it. For one thing, the sleeves were too short. In an effort to counteract that, she had opened the cuffs and rolled them back. Once. They were too tight to roll mem a second time. The only tiling she could do about the snug-ness across her chest was to keep her shoulders level and her back as straight as a board. That way the front didn't gap between the buttonholes. But let her relax—just a little bit—and the space between the third and fourth buttons gaped prodigiously.
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At the time she'd chosen it, the shirt had seemed so Jesse, but she'd been having second thoughts almost since she'd left the apartment, and now it seemed downright absurd. It was too late to do anything about it, though, so she beamed a smile and said, just as she'd rehearsed, "I was restless this morning, so I figured I might as well come in early, but when I got here there wasn't anything to do so I fixed your breakfast." Perhaps ifwas a little too well rehearsed. It certainly came out too fast.
Jesse stared at her a moment, then looked at his plate. Caroline was relieved to see that the biscuits were still high and fluffy, the gravy thick and white and lightly flecked with pepper, the eggs scrambled to perfection, the bacon crisp and brown. She realized suddenly that she'd forgotten the orange juice and bolted out of her chair, sloshing coffee and scattering newspaper. With a small exclamation, she plunked the coffee cup onto the table and plucked at the wafting leaves of newspaper, all the while scurrying sideways toward the refrigerator. In short order she got the paper sloppily crammed beneath one arm and the refrigerator door opened. Snatching the small glass of juice, she pivoted, swinging it toward the table. Somehow she managed to keep it all within the rim of the glass and deposit it safely beside Jesse's plate.
Only as she straightened from a tense crouch did she realize what a spectacle she had made of herself. Indeed, Jesse's eyebrows had climbed almost to his hairline. She couldn't help noticing that a damp, wavy, rusty brown lock had fallen over one gray-blue eye. She cleared her throat and said softly, as if it wasn't patently obvious, "O-orange juice."
Jesse's head tilted sideways, but then his gaze switched back to the table. After a moment he pulled out the chair and sat down. Carefully he tugged his napkin from beneath his flatware and spread it over one thigh. He picked up bis fork and his knife, each movement slow and deliberate as if she was a wild creature he feared startling. He cut into a biscuit, dipped the small portion into the gravy, and carried it to his mouth. He held it in his mourn a moment, chewed, then nodded approvingly. Caroline allowed herself to sink down upon her chair in relief.
Jesse seemed to be fighting a smile as he forked up the second bite. He chewed, swallowed and grinned. "Restless, huh?"
Suddenly her explanation lay exposed for the lame excuse it was. She fought a wave of heat mat climbed from her chest to her face. Even her bream felt scalding hot as she exhaled. She watched him eat, painfully aware that he was waiting to see if she was going to be honest with him. Finally she realized there was only one thing to do. Pulling in a deep, cooling breath, she came out with it,
"I wanted to see you. Alone."
He seemed to weigh that and said not a word in reply to it, but merely continued eating.
She didn't know what to say next. A dozen flimsy excuses for why she wanted to see him ran through her mind, but she knew instinctively that he'd see straight through them, just as he had the first. Hie only option seemed to be hard honesty. She gulped. "I...I wanted you to notice me."
He swallowed, stuck his fork in a chunk of scrambled egg and said casually, "I notice you."
This did not produce tingling excitement or soaring relief in Caroline. Instead, it seemed to put her in the same category as clean socks and the television in the den, things he noticed and then promptly forgot about the rest of the time. Caroline frowned.
"What I mean is, I wanted to do something nice for you, and I especially wanted you to notice it."
He nodded and picked up a piece of bacon with his fingers. "Like when you brought the coffee down to the barn the other day."
She didn't know where this, was going, but she didn't seem able to send it in the direction she wanted, anyway, so she figured she'd play along. "That's right"
He bit off the end of the bacon. "See, I noticed."
Frustration seized her. Was he purposefully being obtuse? Did she have to rub his nose in it? She took a thoughtful breath. "But do you know why?"
"Why you want to do nice things for me?"
"Yes."
He shrugged. "Because you like me, I suppose."
"Yes."
"Not just because I'm the boss."
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"No:
He nodded and dug into the remainder of his breakfast, polishing it off in record time. Laying down his knife and fork, he leaned back in his chair to gulp coffee, pat his flat middle and say, "That sure beat my rubbery eggs and burned toast"
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."
Nodding, he got to his feet and drained his cup. He set his cup down by his plate, picked up his orange juice and drained it with a satisfied, "Aah." Smiling, he lifted his big hand over her head, saying, "Yes, ma'am, you sure are a good cook—for a kid." His hand descended and ruffled her hair.
Caroline's mouth fell open. For a kid? A kid! By the time she was able to speak again, he was walking down the hall.
"O-o-o-oh!"
' She sprang to her feet. If he'd been standing there in front of her, she'd have smacked him one. As it was, she very nearly went after him. Only the rattle of the windows as the outside door was opened and closed prevented her from following him and giving him a large, vocal piece of her mind. He had been deliberately obtuse! Well, he wasn't going to get away with it. He would notice her, really notice her, and admit that he was looking at a fully grown woman,, if managing it was the last thing she ever did. She brought her hands to her hips determinedly, pressing her elbows back and lifting her chin. A button shot clear across the room. Her shirt gaped open, revealing the lace-edged camisole beneath. Dismayed, she looked down at herself.
The full roundness of her breasts literall
y overflowed the material into which she'd stuffed them. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. For a kid, he'd said. Well, he was going to eat those words. She'd serve them up herself, right along with breakfast, lunch and dinner. Every time he said them, she'd feed them right back to him, until he had to go searching for evidence to back them up— and that's when she'd have bun. Smirking, she tugged the fabric together and went to get a safety pin. Oh, yes, Jesse Wagner was going to open his eyes wide, and she was just the woman to see toil.
He'd skipped supper, sending word up to the house that he had to stay with a horse that might be coming down with something