by Devon McKay
A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine, and she abandoned all thoughts. He reached for his hat, his body leaning into her and pulling her out of the lust enhanced stupor.
She opened her eyes, drawn to a bouquet of small, purple flowers in the spot where the worn Stetson had been. A forgotten memory jolted her senses as she stared at the wildflowers, unsettled by the romantic gesture.
“Not this time,” he said huskily, seducing her with his words once more before making his way out of the bar.
This was the Nate Walker she remembered. The man who disappeared into the night. She’d witnessed the exact departure years ago.
Shouldn’t she be angry? Or even, Lord forbid, a tearful mess?
Jessie continued to stare dumbfounded at the door. Awareness flushed through her as if she had been reawakened, her judgment no longer cloudy.
Crystal clear.
The daunting realization penetrated Nate’s spell. She cursed again, this time out loud. “Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!”
It was official. She clearly wasn’t over Nate Walker.
Chapter 2
A person could run from his past, but those demons always caught up to you, Nate realized, standing in his father’s kitchen. He had known coming home was going to be anything but easy. But how could a person live this way?
The kitchen was destroyed. A complete wreck. The room looked as if it was the aftermath of a tornado, and he was standing in the middle of it. A man-made disaster. To top it all off, everyone was gathering here to show their respects after the funeral. In three days.
He scanned the room, jotting down a quick inventory of the destruction. The sink, filled with dirty dishes stacked up well past the edge. It appeared his father didn’t believe in buying dish soap. Or a trash can.
His mood blackened, accelerating from a deadened sense of disbelief to one of complete disgust. Garbage covered the linoleum, replacing the tired and torn flooring with a colorful accumulation of empty pizza cartons and various other fast food wrappings. And the smell...
Gagging at the stench, he made his way to the kitchen windows. After opening them and the door, he started on the garbage. He bent down to grab a discarded carton of eggs, but the cardboard, stuck to the linoleum, resisted. Several attempts later, he pried the container free and tossed a stringy mess of eggs and broken shells into the garbage bag.
What had he expected? This had been a normal sight growing up, Nate’s mother long gone by the time he hit his teenage years. He could leave, too. Jump onto his black cherry Harley and allow the relaxing rumble to take him far away from this hellhole. A nice concept, one of his better choices, but he couldn’t leave yet. Not without facing those demons. And not without the one person he came back for.
Jessie.
Damn, if she hadn’t been a sight for sore eyes. He’d forgotten her temper. Picturing her furious face and the irate green glare she’d directed at him, he chuckled out loud. It didn’t matter if she was angry at him or not, she was still the sexiest woman he had ever seen.
Nate recalled the moment her flesh melted into him and tucked away the pleasant memory for later. A grim smile wrenched the corners of his mouth and returned to the endless task at hand. As much as he’d rather think about Jessie right now, he had a mess to deal with first.
The pollution was not just in the kitchen, stepping into the living room. The entire house, a cesspool, needed to be condemned. He kicked a pizza box out of his way, questioning once again how the old man could have lived in this filth.
Then again, he recalled the fair share of damage his dad and Johnny Walker Red could leave behind. Nate kicked an empty bottle of the culprit out of his way. The glass skidded across the wood planks of the living room floor until it reached the kitchen, sliding smoothly across the aged linoleum floor.
Family. Johnny Walker is family, his drunken father would say, the words slurred.
Family.
Nate sneered, fully aware of how capable Johnny Walker, his father’s preferred poison, destroyed families. He glanced down at his clenched fists, ashamed by the memory of the first and only time he had used them against the man, closing the door on their estranged relationship.
He returned to the kitchen and finished picking up the garbage, shaking off the bad memories clinging to him like a dark cloak. He tied up the second garbage bag, reached for a third and began filling it with dirty dishes, not even toying with the idea of washing them. Nate had never planned on returning to Ennis, never wanted to set foot on his father’s land again.
Now, it was his land. He could sell—the spread had several hundred acres. He could get a pretty penny out of the land. Although, he didn’t need the money. Not according to Dylan Walsh, the private detective who had hunted him down and given him notice of his father’s death.
According to Walsh, he’d been fairly easy to find, too. A thought Nate found unsettling. If he was so damn easy to find, why had his father not tried to contact him before the cancer ate him up? Why had his father not returned his calls, especially when he found out his condition was untreatable?
They could have...
Could have what? Reconciled? Washed away the past while sharing a bottle of whiskey?
Nate tied the third garbage bag up and reached for another.
There was also the money, over three hundred thousand dollars just sitting in the First National Bank.
“Three hundred thousand,” he said out loud, still finding it hard to believe.
When the detective had told him, he was sure he misheard the man. Walsh simply shrugged his heavy set shoulders, the lines on his aged poker face guarded and impassive, then mentioned something about a well-placed bet and handed Nate an envelope the size of a postcard.
He should probably have read the letter his dad left behind, but still wasn’t quite ready to deal with the emotional drama. Of course, he may never be ready, and the curiosity of what his father wrote just wasn’t strong enough to overpower his stubborn reserves.
Nate carried two of the bags of garbage outside and threw them into the back of the old Chevy parked in the driveway. Smiling, he gave the truck a good once over and kicked the tires. Seeing the vehicle stirred up good memories, recalling the many hours he’d spent learning how to drive on the ancient relic. Placing his hands on the rusty tailgate, he glanced over the property. His land.
Perhaps the spread could still prosper. He could raise horses. The idea drew his attention to the large, red barn on the verge of collapsing. A three-railed fence with broken and missing boards encircled the barn, ideal for breaking in a green horse.
Nate considered the possibility. It had always been a dream of his, and he surveyed the land with more intensity. There was a lot of work to do on the property. Too much work. For now, the fence would just have to stay broken.
Returning to the wrecked house, he decided to rent out the bar for a night so people could pay their respects. The old man would have preferred the bar anyway.
Besides, he hadn’t made a dent in the cleaning. He would have to hire a cleaning crew after all. Or light a match. He grinned, considering the appealing idea as he sat down on his father’s favorite recliner.
The chair had seen better days—the strong odor of sour whiskey and the lingering smell of stale cigarettes clung to the plaid fabric of the recliner like a heavily sprayed perfume. And his dad.
Closing his eyes, he embraced the repressed flood of memories. Swamped with emotion, a wave of self-awareness washed over him. He had come full circle. And he couldn’t stand it.
The itch under his skin returned with a fury, and he clenched his fists. He had to get out of there, away from the memories, from the stench of his father’s presence...even in death.
****
Jessie, making her usual early morning rounds, hesitated as she neared the shadowed mound interrupting the straight planes of the landscape. Her heart skipped a beat. Another one of her cattle.
She spurred forward, pushing her horse closer
to the kill. The animal resisted, snorting and pawing at the ground in response, smelling death in the air. The needless destruction of a life was undeniable. The steer was dead. Had been for some time, killed during the night.
Killed? Crucified is a better description. Jumping off Lilly’s back, she recognized the wild look of fear in her horse’s eyes and calmed her mount before releasing the reins. She was scared, too. This was the third steer found like this, belly split wide open, guts seeping into the hard ground.
She circled the animal’s remains. A slow, cruel way to die, bleeding out. Like the other two kills, the steer was not cut into ribbons as if victim of an animal attack. If the Long Horn had been prey, his flesh would have been torn from his body, at least some of his meat missing.
The steer, however, was in one piece, other than the large, ugly laceration down its middle. Only a man could have done this.
Jessie stepped closer as the disheartening realization overcame her, chilling her to the bone. But why?
She whirled around, surveying her land, then back to the unmoving carcass. The steer would have sold high at the fair. An unsettling ball of guilt burned her stomach, and she berated herself, ashamed her thoughts had drifted toward monetary gain. Or if this continued, possible financial ruin.
It wasn’t just about the money. A life had been taken. Sighing, she said a quiet prayer. Living on the farm had made her somewhat callous to seeing an animal slain. Although, slaughtering animals for food on the table was different. This was just so...unnecessary. A blatant disrespect for a living creature.
The hair stood on her neck as she sensed she was no longer alone. The feeling pulled at her as she squinted against the light of the early morning sun, scanning the field. Nothing. She shook her head, only endless pasture, and a dead steer. Jessie glanced back down at the corpse, giving herself a break. Was it any wonder she was a little freaked out?
Unable to shake the sensation of being watched, Jessie made her way to Lilly. A little vulnerable, she stroked the cold steel of her rifle, her gaze exploring the open field.
She refused to be scared off her own land. The thought echoed in her head as she mounted her horse, intent on searching every inch of the Calhoun land before returning home to tell her foreman, William, about the newest casualty.
Ten minutes into their quest, Lilly became agitated again, ears pricked and the steady swishing of her long tail alerting Jessie something wasn’t right. The eerie, cold chill returned, sweeping through her as she tried to soothe the animal. The horse snorted in response, warning her of an intruder in the distance.
Jessie pulled on the reins to stop their slow canter and saw the dark outline of a man along her property line. She unfastened her rifle, placing the weapon in silent warning across her lap. Her finger lingered on the biting steel of the trigger as her mind raced, and she went over her options. She still had time to return home for help, but by then, another steer could be slaughtered.
She couldn’t afford to lose even one more, not now, not when she was so close. The future of the Calhoun ranch depended on her success at the fair this year, and every one of her cows counted.
The murderer will have to kill me first, she thought as pride got the best of her. She’d be damned if she lost another of her precious stock.
Urging Lilly into a full gallop, Jessie slowed down when she neared the fence. Raising the rifle, she took careful aim, determined to blow a hole through the man if necessary.
“This is private property,” she said sternly, but still the man refused to look up, his focus remaining on the barbed wire fence.
“I suggest you think twice before trying to get on it.” The steady warning came out sharp and uncivilized, not quite as shaky as she felt inside. “Again,” she added, cocking the gun to exclaim her point.
The noise was loud enough to get his attention, and the man lifted his head, showcasing a pair of angry blue eyes. Nate. His expression irritated and hard. This was the man she remembered.
“Last I heard, this side of the fence line is private property, too.”
Nate’s stare sliced through her, daring her to object. He went back to his work, driving the head of the hammer down on a resistant nail. The severe impact, steel against iron, emphasized his words as he pounded the nail into submission. He slammed the tool down once more before glaring at her again.
“My property. And put that damn rifle down, unless you intend to use it.”
His words taunted her. Like a defiant child, Jessie held onto the rifle just to spite him. After several minutes, she fastened the gun back into place along Lilly’s saddle bag, and then spared a heated glance in his direction. He certainly has a lot of nerve.
It was then she noticed he was repairing, not destroying, the fence.
A slick sheen of perspiration covered his bronze, shirtless torso, and she caught herself admiring the flexing of his muscles as he hammered in another nail. The fact he hadn’t changed a bit in the years he’d been gone only annoyed her more.
He was still drop-dead gorgeous with his trademark locks of dark, wavy hair and tall, lanky build. Two irritating and appealing qualities she added to her long list of reasons she should hate him.
It wasn’t enough he haunted her dreams all of last night, leaving her frustrated by the memory of his kiss, of his skin against hers. But now, he flaunted himself, his bare torso rekindling the vivid fantasies.
It was too much. She forced herself to glance away in order to slow the erratic beating of her heart. Irked, she slid off her horse and released the reins, allowing Lilly the freedom to graze. “What are you doing?”
He ignored her to thread the barb wire until it was pulled tight against the post before hammering the barrier into place. When he finished, Nate tilted his head up.
Even though his chiseled good looks were hidden beneath the brim of his hat, she could feel the intensity of his gaze, his piercing blue eyes. The burn of his stare seared the length of her as he reacquainted himself with every inch of her body.
Her temperature rose in rapid response as if she had gotten too close to a flame. She told herself it was a natural reaction because he was so near again, or maybe it was just anger starting to boil inside her.
Jessie’s thoughts spiraled, coming up with several other reasons why her skin sizzled as if she were on fire, all in an attempt to deny any possibility the attraction was still there. The sight of him was a decadent temptation, and she ignored the spike of desire the thought caused, gathering control of herself before the rage of sexual frustration had a chance to set in.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he snarled, driving another nail into the wooden post. “I’m repairing the fence so fifty cattle don’t end up in my front yard.”
The shortness of his response reflected the same annoyance she felt. Perhaps, she had gotten under his skin as much as he had gotten under hers?
“A hundred,” Jessie replied smugly, crossing her arms over her chest. The image of the third dead steer appeared, accompanied by a surge of helpless frustration. Seven days ago it had been a hundred.
“At last count, I had a hundred head of cattle.” Animosity replaced the frustration, and her thoughts escaped into words dripping with venom.
Nate glanced up, tipping his hat back and cocking one eyebrow. “A hundred, huh?” he repeated, appearing impressed by the number. “Not bad, Jess,” he admitted, working the wire.
The slight bit of admiration was both flattering and insulting at the same time. The old anger and hurt resurfaced. She deserved his respect, had earned at least that much from him, but she did not need his approval.
She’d worked her butt off since taking over the ranch from her dad, and now had a large herd of steers to show for all of the hard work. Her plan was to auction most off to the highest bidder at the local fair in August, and keep the youngest of her stock through the winter.
It had been a tough go of it for several years, but last year had shown a slight profit. She’d bee
n very successful selling almost half her stock. Even if the profit barely covered her mortgage on the farm and the cost to keep her family and animals fed, it was still a victory.
Despite the little amount of proceeds, and the fact she had to change her part time position at Ed’s bar into full time, she still triumphed over the small achievement. Her hard work had paid off.
Jessie hoped this year would prove different considering she had doubled her stock to sell. Although, it would be difficult with her piling bills and the inflating cost of raising cattle. The uncertainty began to crowd her thoughts, making her doubt herself, and the last thing she needed from Nate Walker was approval—seven years too late.
“No, it’s not bad,” she snapped, watching as he reached for a pair of pliers and stretched the last string of barbed wire tautly to hammer it in. “In fact, its damn good.”
Nate raised his head. Their gazes locked in a stubborn battle of wills. The blue steel challenged her, but she refused to back down.
“I’ll bet this is just killing you, isn’t it, Nate? You didn’t think I could succeed without you, did you? Did you think I would just crawl in a hole and die? Well, I didn’t.”
Anger flushed through her veins with a rapid vengeance. She couldn’t control the urge to hurt him as he had her. “And killing my steers? A low blow. Really low, even for you,” she spat in fury, not sure why she accused him of such a horrible act.
Jessie turned toward her horse. The man she used to know would never have killed a defenseless animal, much less hurt one, although at the moment, their history didn’t matter. That was the old Nate Walker, the man who hurt her, and broke her heart. She didn’t know this stranger. He could be capable of anything.
She pulled at Lilly’s reins, then jumped on her horse’s back, vexing one last glance in his direction. “Stay off my land. Stay away from my cattle. And stay away from me,” she shouted over her shoulder.
Drawing Lilly into a full gallop, she gave into the anger as it fueled her ride back to the ranch.