When they reached the familiar markings of Stone’s End, there were stars, pinpoints of light in a broad sky, the broadest he’d ever seen—from the ground. He looked into the velvet night and knew he would never fly again.
Perspiration beaded his brow as he recalled that last, spiraling free fall and the splintering crash that had followed.
He’d survived—the only one.
At the house, he parked the bike under the spread of the oak trees lining the driveway. Jessie hopped down and turned to him. She shifted the stuffed bear from one hand to the other, holding it against her like a shield.
He looked down at her bent head and realized she was afraid of his next move. What the hell was she afraid of— him? The realization galled him. “After you,” he murmured, motioning her toward the house with a tight smile.
Jessie didn’t move. She couldn’t go inside; not yet. She needed to penetrate the wall around Ben. She knew one thing; he was no ordinary drifter. She’d seen men handle guns—hunting guns used for sport. Ben was an expert.
“You’re not a farmer.” She spoke with quiet conviction, demanding more than half-truths and evasions. “Who are you?”
A bitter edge of self-mockery cracked his voice. “I’m not a criminal, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She swallowed hard. “Have you ever killed anyone?”
“Yes.” His eyes glittered with deliberate provocation. “Satisfied?” he muttered when she failed to hide her shock.
She shook her head. “No, of course not.”
He looked at her in silence for a long moment, as if deciding how much he wanted to reveal. Finally, he said simply, “I learned how to handle firearms in the army. You have nothing to fear from me.”
Somehow she managed to tear herself away from the bleak reproach in his eyes and go inside the house. Alone in her room, she set the stuffed bear on the bed, then moved it to the rocker. Despite the traumatic ending to her day, she smiled at the sight of the plush toy, feeling a little foolish, yet comforted somehow. She’d never had a teddy bear. A waste of money, her father had long ago decreed. How odd that Ben should fulfill a long-forgotten childhood wish. She couldn’t help feeling concern for him.
Something deeply disturbing had happened to him at the parade and later at the carnival. Something had happened and it didn’t involve her. Jessie sighed, feeling weary. Why had he accepted Drew’s challenge? He’d looked haunted after he’d emptied the gun. What awful memories had it revived?
Hours later, when she heard his stifled cry, she wasn’t surprised. She closed her eyes. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard him cry out, as if terror filled his sleeping hours. But tonight was different, somehow. Tonight, she lay awake long after he stopped.
Chapter Seven
“No.” Ben tossed, unable to rouse himself from sleep. In the darkest hour, he was in a jungle. Bullets whined and hit his plane; smoke poured from the fuselage. A downward spiral ended in a crash, bodies hurling, then nothing. He ended it with a savage cry. “Oh, God, no!” He couldn’t move.
Waking or sleeping, he relived it. Feverish, bullet wounds festering, one leg broken, he lay helpless while others slowly died. A week, it had lasted a week. Day after wretched day. His buddies, some children, two women— all had died, one by one. Their cries still haunted him.
Hours later, instead of gunshots and ragged cries, he woke to the blessed sound of silence.
The sun poured through the single window, nearly blinding him for a second. With a groan, he ran his hand over his eyes. Everyday morning sounds of the farmhouse filtered through the painful images burning in his brain— an alarm clock, Jessie padding barefoot around her bedroom, humming some nameless tune, running water in the bathroom for her bath. Jessie. It was all so normal, so real—unlike the jumbled pieces of his life.
His last mission had ended his military career. Part of a drug-enforcement force, he had been assigned to rescue a drug informant’s family from a vicious drug lord. He’d known the risks; he’d even argued with his commander. Nevertheless, he’d led his men into hell. He’d survived— the only one.
Guilt-ridden, he’d landed in Maine. And he’d found a measure of peace. Jessie was part of it, part of what held him bound when every instinct told him to run. He’d begun to think of a future with her, but not now, not after the carnival. Holding a gun in his hand again had shattered that cozy image. He’d given her the turquoise. And for a moment, maybe he’d thought their lives might be linked— if he was worthy. But his future lay buried in the past. How could he bring her into his nightmare? He had nothing to offer Jessie.
The following day, Drew stopped by to arrange for the seasonal workers. Jessie greeted him, glad that Ben was there to handle things. On second thought, maybe she wasn’t. The two men were glaring at each other.
“Morning, Jess.” Drew acted as if no hard feelings existed. She doubted his sincerity. “I brought some of my best men. You need any more, just let me know.”
Jessie’s mouth tightened with irritation. Drew treated the migrants like commodities. She supposed that was all they were to him—dollar signs, not men with pride and dignity. Each year, thousands of them followed the harvests north. They put up with poor living conditions to get work. Like Ramon, many traveled with spouses and children.
“Hello, Ramon.” Jessie smiled. “Please, won’t you in troduce your friends?” After a brief glance at Drew, Ramon Morales introduced the men. They came from border towns in Texas or Mexico, and places like Guatemala and Ecuador. “Welcome.” Jessie was aware of the friction, which wasn’t surprising, considering Drew’s lack of respect for the migrants. “Some of you have worked for my father. This year, he’s ill.”
She received blank stares from most of the men. “Ben Harding is managing the farm for us….”
Drew glanced at his watch. “Jess, can we get on with this? Half of them don’t even speak English. Just show them to the fields and they’ll know what to do.”
Ramon’s dark eyes glittered with resentment. “We may not all speak your language, but we are not stupid.”
Until then, Ben had stayed out of the exchange. When he spoke to the men in Spanish, they responded with ready smiles.
Jessie found herself smiling as well, even though she couldn’t understand a word he said. She was simply relieved he’d stepped in to ease the tension.
Catching her smile, Drew shook his head. “You’re just too soft—not that I couldn’t develop a taste for a soft woman,” he murmured. “If you’d just cooperate.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath.”
“I need Ira’s signature on the contract.” Drew threw a parting shot at a silent, watchful Ben. “Hey, Harding, any of these guys give you any trouble, just let me know.”
When Ben didn’t counter the attack, Jessie swallowed her disappointment. She showed Drew inside to the den, then excused herself to make coffee, hoping he would be gone when she came back.
He wasn’t.
Her father was speaking, “That looks fair and square, the usual percentage.” He penned his name to a document.
Drew signed, as well. “I’m concerned about this guy, Harding. What do you actually know about him?”
Ira frowned across his desk. “Enough.”
When Jessie offered coffee, Drew waved aside sugar and cream. “I doubt he can handle the summer crew.”
Jessie frowned. “What makes you say that?”
“You saw what just happened. He handled them all wrong. They need to know who’s boss.”
Ira chuckled. “Ben’s hard as nails.” He leaned back in his chair. “As for handling men, he graduated from West Point, made the rank of major.”
Drew looked skeptical. “So why did he quit?”
“Got himself shot up in some South American jungle— fighting them drug lords, or something.”
Jessie couldn’t hide her shock. “Did he tell you all that?” The information explained so much about Ben’s past—the scars. But shouldn’t he
have recovered from those? There had to be something else eating at him.
“Didn’t need to,” Ira said. “I checked out his record through an old army buddy.”
Drew’s smile became strained. “You saying he’s a hero?”
Ira shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
Jessie felt frustrated, wanting to know more about the root cause of Ben’s nightmares. Of course, even if she did learn more, what would she do about it? She had no idea.
Ira insisted on showing Drew to the door. Jessie was still sitting there when Ben entered the den.
“How about a cup of coffee?” she offered impulsively, hoping to break the uneasy tension between them. “It’s still warm.”
Had she imagined the closeness when they’d danced? Kissed?
Ben raised an eyebrow. “I could use a cup.” As she poured, he sat on the corner of the desk and folded his arms. “You might want to warn the boyfriend to back off.”
The coffee spilled over. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“He wants to be.” Ben tried to sound disinterested, which was damn near impossible with the memory of Jessie returning his kisses last night. When she simply gazed at him in silence, he swallowed his exasperation. “All right, you tell me. Exactly what is there between you and Pierce?”
Jessie mopped the spill. “Not what you’re thinking.”
Smiling, Ben cocked an eyebrow. “How do you know what I’m thinking?” He was thinking he’d like to kiss the anger from her mouth, the wariness from her eyes.
“It’s fairly obvious,” she said stiffly.
“Then, tell me.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Drew is just a neighbor.”
“He wants you, and he thinks I’m competition.” Ben watched her expression change. He’d shocked her. As far as he could tell, Drew wasn’t accustomed to being denied, and he’d decided he wanted Jessie. Whether Drew had feelings for her was anyone’s guess. “You can’t deny your father handpicked him for you.”
“Yes, well…” Her voice trailed off.
He stared at her mouth. She was just like Ira; proud, independent, prickly and stubborn. Unfortunately, she was also young and vulnerable. “All right, I’m sorry. I have no right to interfere. It’s your life.”
“Yes, it is my life.” She stiffened her spine and turned to stare out the window.
Apparently, he wasn’t going to get that coffee—unless he poured it himself. While he was at it, he poured one for Jessie. Ben added thick fresh cream to her coffee, just the way he knew she liked it…then stared at it. When had he noticed how she drank her coffee? He held it out to her.
“Jessie?” he murmured.
She looked at him in surprise. Then, lowering her gaze, she took the cup and saucer from him. “Thank you.”
Ben took a sip. After sitting too long, it tasted bitter. He drank it anyway. Somehow, he didn’t think her troublesome neighbor was going to go away. Despite his doubts about Jessie’s ability to handle Drew, Ben buried his concern. She had a lot to learn about men. Unfortunately, he wasn’t going to be around long enough to teach her. He felt angry at himself for caring, and angry at her for making him care.
A few days later, events temporarily interrupted Jessie’s preoccupation with Ben. Cal Pierce needed her assistance to walk out of the health clinic. He limped, the result of twenty stitches. Homer had gone on a rampage and gored Cal’s thigh. The injury was serious and messy, but not critical.
“Are you sure you want to go home?” One-handed, she managed to open the passenger door.
Cal climbed gingerly into the truck. “I’m not staying in that hospital. The food’s rotten and the service is worse. My mother will look after me just fine.”
Jessie hid a smile. Just then, Cal sounded exactly like the teenage boy he was. He was going off to college next year. She was going to miss him. “Well, if you’re sure?”
He winced. “I’m sure.”
Jessie hadn’t witnessed the accident, but she’d heard the shouts. By the time she’d reached Cal, crumpled and bleeding on the ground, Ben had dragged the boy to safety and applied a makeshift tourniquet to the gaping wound.
Ben’s outward composure hadn’t fooled her. He’d shuddered at the sight of blood, his eyes haunted, his face pale. Shaken, she’d grabbed a pitchfork and prodded Homer into the barn. Ben had lost his temper and yelled at her.
“Can you tell me what happened?” she asked Cal now. “How did Homer get out of the pasture?”
“I don’t know. It was all so fast. I turned my back, and he was on me. I hit the fence and blacked out.”
“Thank God Ben was nearby.”
“Yeah,” Cal whispered, his voice sober. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “I owe him one.”
Jessie drove slowly, trying not to jar Cal’s injured leg.
The Pierce farm wasn’t at all like Stone’s End. It was profitable, for one thing. They were a large family. Several came running when Jessie pulled into the yard. Cal’s mother turned white at the sight of her son.
“He’s a little worse for wear,” Jessie assured her, smiling at Cal. “Just a little less impertinent.”
Cal grinned weakly. “I’ll be fighting fit in no time.”
His mother scolded, “I spoke with Dr. Peterson on the phone. You’re to stay in bed. Cook has some broth simmering. The doctor said you lost some blood. My poor baby!”
Cal ducked his head. “Aw, Mom.”
Jessie left them arguing and went home, to Stone’s End.
The sound of masculine voices drew her to her father’s den.
“I told you,” Ben was saying in stiff tones, “Homer is dangerous and out of control. He has to go.” The words stopped her in the open doorway where she stood unobserved. It wasn’t as if she was eavesdropping; the two men were shouting.
Her father banged his fist on the desktop. “And I say no! Cal just got careless.”
“Like hell!” Ben fired back, his body rigid. “He’s not the only one at risk. Jessie was foolish to tackle him on her own. She almost got herself killed.”
“Jessie knows her way around Homer.”
“He was out of control, and she was in the middle of it,” Ben raged. Jessie caught her breath at the passion in his voice.
“Everything turned out all right,” Ira insisted.
Ben exploded. “You are as bullheaded as that rogue bull!”
That brought Ira to his feet. “You’re fired!”
Ben didn’t flinch. “I quit.” He turned toward the door and stopped. His eyes narrowed on Jessie’s shocked face. Somehow, she knew he wasn’t just turning his back on her father and Stone’s End—he was running from her. He’d been different since the parade, more restless. She’d tried to stay out of his way.
His mouth tightened with determination. “I’m through, Jessie. Your father can get himself a new man.” The words drilled her like bullets. A new man.
What about her? What if she didn’t want a new man? What if she wanted Ben Harding—temper, scars and all? A man whose strength made her stand taller, a man whose gentleness made her weak? She pressed back against the wood frame as he brushed past her and slammed out the back door.
Turning to her father, she composed her features. “What was that about?” Her heart ached. Was that panic—the breath locked in her chest, the blackness filling her vision?
“You heard. I fired him.”
She clenched her hands. “I just heard him quit.”
“After I fired him,” Ira blustered. “Homer’s unruly at times, but he’s staying.” His mouth tightened with unspent emotion. It was all bottled up inside. Jessie knew the expression well. “Jared raised Homer from a calf.”
Jessie placed her hand on her father’s shoulder. “I know, Dad. I know.” She took a deep breath, searching for something to salvage the situation. “Ben seems like a reasonable man. Maybe if you explained, apologized.”
“Not hardly.” Her father stood. “I’m not apologizing to a hi
red hand. I’m giving the orders—and paying Ben Harding a pretty penny or two to obey. It’s about time he remembered who’s boss around here!”
“We need him, Dad.”
“No, we don’t. Things were fine till he showed up.”
“No, they weren’t,” she insisted quietly.
“We’ll manage.”
“With Cal out with an injury? For who knows how long?”
Ira ran a shaky hand down his face. “We’ll run an ad.”
Worrying her lip, Jessie felt her spirits sink. How were they going to replace Ben? He’d fitted into their lives. He’d made a place for himself at Stone’s End. A place in her heart. Now he was leaving. How could she bear it? Like he had everyone she cared for, her father had driven Ben away.
“We can manage,” she said, trying to convince herself. “Jared will come home if he’s needed.”
Her father sat down hard. “Jared isn’t coming home. He called—he’s got a job at a ranch in California.”
“When did he call?”
“A couple hours ago.”
Jessie wrapped her arms around her waist. “What else did Jared say?”
Ira looked away. “Not much.”
“You argued again.”
Ira shrugged. “It’s between Jared and me.”
Between him and Jared. Ben clearly didn’t want her. Where did she fit?
Ben was packing his gear when Fred approached.
“Heard you’re leaving.” Fred made no attempt to hide his disapproval. “Seems I was wrong about you after all.”
Ben scowled. “I’m heading out first thing in the morning.
Fred scowled back. “Well, good for you. Can’t change a mule when he’s bound on the wrong track. Wouldn’t even try. Just thought you might want to see something.”
“I don’t have time.”
“You got time for this,” Fred insisted. “It’s only going to take a minute of your fool time.”
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