"I'll have to bring Barney in," Jesse said. "He'll feel right at home."
Fiona adjusted her glasses. "Barney?"
"My parrot. He loves cartoons. Watches TV all day."
She beamed. "He sounds delightful. Just delightful."
As the front door opened, they both turned to see a sleek brunette walk into the room, black heels clicking on the sterile white floor.
Jesse's heart took a sudden leap. Tricia.
He couldn't think of anything to say. Last night Tricia had accused him of wanting to sleep with her, and this morning there she stood—his living, breathing, walking fantasy. Of course he wanted to sleep with her. What man wouldn't? Especially a guy like himself, he decided, who had already known her touch. Unfortunately, twelve years didn't seem all that long to his libido.
"Oh, my." Fiona's Southern drawl interrupted the silence. "Don't you look lovely, Patricia." The older lady turned toward Jesse. "Doesn't she look lovely?"
His gaze locked with Tricia's. "Yeah. Lovely."
Sexy would have been his word choice—long-legged Tricia decked out in another of her classy business suits. This one, a striking emerald-green, sported simple gold buttons. The jacket hugged her waist, and the skirt rode several inches above her knees. Jesse's blood warmed. Was she wearing those thigh-high nylons underneath?
Tricia broke their riveting stare. "You look lovely yourself," she said, turning to Fiona with a smile. "It's been ages since we've seen each other."
Of course it had, Jesse thought. Fiona Lee Beaumont and Patricia Ann Boyd didn't dine at the same restaurants or shop in the same stores. The eccentric Cat Lady and the richest girl in Arrow Hill came from different worlds.
"I work for Jesse now," Fiona responded, her smile equally friendly. "And I'd offer you a seat, but the paint's not dry."
Tricia glanced at the spotted chairs. "That's all right. I don't intend to stay long. I just stopped by to talk to Jesse for a few minutes." She continued to study the chairs. "I assume he put you in charge of decorating."
"Fiona surprised me," Jesse offered before the elderly woman could respond.
Tricia met his gaze once again, only this time with a spark of amusement in her eye. "You did a wonderful job," she told Fiona. "Very clever, painting the chairs."
"Why, thank you." The older lady patted her starched bouffant. "Always had a flair for the arts."
Jesse stole a glance at the chairs, hoping that shiny black paint wouldn't eventually rub off on people's behinds. Spotted butts weren't exactly the rage.
After the women exchanged a few more pleasantries, Jesse excused himself and Tricia, then escorted her to the break room for some privacy.
Playing the proper host, he poured two cups of coffee, offered her cream and sugar, and watched while she sweetened her drink. She took a sip and placed the cup on the card table that dominated the small room.
He wondered if she'd come by to address their strange relationship—enforce some rules for future "friendship" dinners, like keeping their hands and their mouths off each other. Would he be able to follow those rules? Sexual spontaneity wasn't Jesse's usual style, but with Tricia he found himself acting on impulse and not liking it one damn bit. That's why he hadn't responded to her accusation last night. She'd damaged his heart, yet he still wanted to sleep with her. What did that say about his character?
Tricia seated herself in a fold-out chair and crossed her legs, her voice as feminine as the silky blouse beneath her jacket. "Fiona is a gem, isn't she? I always liked her."
Jesse lifted his cup and sipped the hot brew in an attempt to act casual. He hadn't expected small talk, but he'd play it Tricia's way. She didn't need to know those legs of hers had become his obsession, that visualizing them wrapped around his waist was a fantasy he couldn't seem to shake.
Besides, he had to agree, Fiona was a gem. The nutty old lady was fast becoming his dearest friend. "Yeah, she's a doll, but I nearly had a heart attack this morning when I came in and saw the waiting room."
"I'll bet."
A smile brightened Tricia's face. God, she was pretty, he thought. A classic beauty who wore her sensuality with style and grace. Jesse scrubbed his hand across his jaw. Damn her. Why didn't she just get to the point?
"So is the clinic officially open yet?" she asked.
More small talk? Jesse struggled to keep his cool. Offering her coffee had been a mistake. People tended to linger over coffee. Her legs and his libido weren't good company over a steaming cup of Java. "No. I had to reorder some supplies that never arrived. And besides that, I've been busy on ranch calls. I picked up some new accounts since I came to town. Nothing major, just some recreational riders, but every little bit helps."
"You always did love horses. I should have known you'd specialize in equine care."
"Yeah." And last night she'd accused him of acting like a stallion in the process of mounting a mare. "What's on your mind, Tricia? Why did you stop by?"
"I was getting to that," she said, rising to stand on those gorgeous limbs. "I was hoping you had time for a picnic this weekend."
"A picnic?"
"Dillon wants to meet you."
Immediately Jesse's heart soared into parental heaven as a smile spilt across his face. "A picnic sounds great." He reached out to touch to her hand. "I promise I'll be a good dad."
She brushed his knuckles. "I'm sure you will, Jesse. But you have to remember how much time has passed. You can't expect a relationship to develop overnight."
He nodded. Jesse knew how much time had passed, and he also knew it was Tricia who had kept him from being a father to his son. Forgiving her, even for Dillon's sake, might not be possible. So wanting to make love to her again, he decided, was sheer insanity. Tackling friendship would be challenge enough. He turned his back and rinsed his coffee cup. More than enough.
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
On Saturday afternoon Jesse sat beneath a shady tree in Arrow Pond Park, Cochise lolling at his side.
"I'm nervous," he told the dog. More nervous than he'd ever been in his life.
Cochise lifted his head, then nudged Jesse's knee as though offering comfort. Jesse stroked the rottweiler's coat. He'd brought the dog along for moral support. Waiting by himself would have been far too lonely.
Cochise was attached to a leash, although the rotty was much too well behaved to run off. The park did seem a bit lax about the animals-on-leashes rule. Jesse noticed a few mutts were loose, trotting playfully after their families. But Cochise didn't look like most mutts. The rottweiler was built like a prizefighter, his head the size of a basketball. Jesse chuckled. Most folks cleared the sidewalk when they saw Cochise coming. Little did they know the big dog would have whined at their feet if given half the chance.
Jesse gazed at Cochise. The rotty perked up his ears in response. Did they look alike? Supposedly dog owners were notorious for choosing breeds that resembled their own appearance.
"Tricia probably thinks I'm a dog," Jesse said. He knew she was as hurt and angry over their past as he. Supposedly she had expected him to return after college to prove his worth to Raymond Boyd, yet she had kept their baby a secret. That made no sense.
He turned his attention to the pond, to the ripple of sunlight shooting across the water. This was not the time to dwell on his dispute with Tricia. This perfect summer day belonged to Dillon.
As though his mind had conjured their images, Jesse turned to see a slim brunette in the distance, a young boy at her side. "Oh, God, they're here."
When Jesse hopped up, so did Cochise. The rotty waited patiently as Jesse took a deep, cleansing breath and tried his damnedest to look dadlike.
He gripped the dog's leash and strode in their direction, his focus on Dillon, on the boy's straight posture and somewhat baggy, casual clothes. He looked healthy, his hair longer and his skin darker than in the photograph Jesse had seen. Summer seemed to suit Dillon Hawk.
"Hi." Tricia spoke firs
t as they came face-to-face. And although she made the introductions in a warm voice, they sounded odd. "Dillon, this is your dad. Jesse, this is Dillon."
Jesse dropped Cochise's leash and stepped forward a little as Dillon placed the basket he carried onto the ground. "It's nice to meet you," the child said, automatically extending his hand.
"I've been looking forward to today," Jesse responded, thinking how proper Dillon suddenly seemed. He shook the boy's hand and searched Dillon's face. The eleven-year-old glanced at him briefly, took his hand back, then lowered his gaze to the rottweiler. "That's Cochise," Jesse offered quickly. "He loves kids."
The rottweiler parked his butt in the grass and wiggled more than a professionally trained dog should. Jesse figured the dog had spotted the Frisbee poking out of the tote bag on Tricia's arm.
"He's pretty cool. Can I pet him?" Dillon asked.
"Sure." Jesse watched his son move toward the rotty. At least the boy liked his dog. So far Dillon still hadn't made direct eye contact with him.
"I saved us a shady spot," he told Tricia, relieving her of the oversize bag. "That's my blanket and ice chest over there."
"We brought a blanket, too."
"Oh."
Small talk, Jesse thought. He'd never been good at it. Naturally, Tricia was. She filled the awkward silence easily, taking charge in a non-intrusive manner.
"Why don't you take Cochise's leash," she suggested to their son, "and I'll carry the basket."
"Okay," Dillon answered, the rotty sniffing him happily.
The boy looked up at Tricia and sent her a smile Jesse wished had been for him. You can't expect a relationship to develop overnight. Although Tricia had warned him with those words, Jesse had hoped to bond instantly with his son.
They used both blankets to make their picnic area bigger. Tricia suggested lunch, but Dillon said he wasn't hungry yet, so they drank lemonade and talked about the weather, the ducks in the pond, the possible age of the trees. The forced conversation made Jesse uneasy since his son seemed to be avoiding him. The park buzzed with family activity, but Jesse doubted any was quite as uncomfortable as theirs. Then again, Tricia and Dillon were family. He was a stranger looking in. Would he always be the wayward father, an outsider struggling to find a place in his son's heart?
Cochise whined at the tote bag, then wagged his bobbed tail. "He wants to play Frisbee," Jesse said. "He already spotted it in the bag."
"I'll play with him," Dillon offered.
"Sure. Okay." Apparently dog and child wanted to escape. At this point, Jesse wasn't about to mention the park rule about dogs being leashed. He unhooked the leather strap from the rottweiler's collar.
Dillon turned to his mom. "It's okay with you, right?"
She smiled. "Of course."
"Cool." Dillon searched for the Frisbee that had fallen deeper into the bag. Cochise whined again, only louder this time.
"Go on," Jesse told the dog as Dillon stood, yellow disc in hand.
They tore off together, within sight but far enough away to have room to play.
Tricia drew her knees up and watched the activity. "Cochise sure is excited."
"Yeah. He's a Frisbee fanatic." Jesse watched, too, marveling at his son, at the sudden laughter spilling from the child as Cochise dived for the neon disc. "Dillon won't even look at me, Tricia."
She turned to face him. "Oh, Jesse. He's nervous. Scared to death, in fact. Here you are, this big, brawny man he's supposed to impress. And you do seem a little uptight. I'm sure he senses that."
"I'm not uptight. I'm—" he blew a frustrated breath "—just trying to act like a dad." Which was crazy since he'd never had a dad and didn't know how one should act. The death of his parents had left him alone from an early age. Being withdrawn was second nature, feeling like a stranger in other people's homes, with other people's families. He didn't know anything else. "I'm nervous, too. I want Dillon to like me."
She scooted closer. "He will if you relax. Just be yourself, Jesse."
Yeah, right. Easy for her to say. She'd always known who she was and where she'd come from. Roots, he thought. Tricia had established roots. Jesse's had yet to take hold.
"You look cute today," he told her. She rarely wore such casual clothes. The denim shorts and flowery cotton top gave her a girl-next-door appeal. Well, sort of. Those long, bare legs didn't quite fit that wholesome image.
For an instant she leaned against his shoulder. Half-tempted to keep her close, Jesse almost put his arm around her. But realizing he wasn't her husband, lover or boyfriend, he stopped himself. Their time together had ended years ago.
"Look at those two," Tricia said, gesturing toward Dillon and Cochise.
Jesse smiled. Dillon had invented a new game. Rather than throw the Frisbee toward Cochise, he would fling it in the opposite direction, then race the dog for it. The rotty never looked happier. The boy looked happy, too, his brown hair shining in the Oklahoma sunshine.
"He's a handsome kid," Jesse said.
"Of course he is." Tricia bumped his shoulder again. "He looks just like you."
A short while later, Dillon and Cochise returned. The child fell onto the blanket, the dog panting beside him. "A drink, Mom," Dillon said dramatically. "Hurry before I die."
Automatically Jesse filled a plastic cup with lemonade and handed it to Tricia. She passed it to Dillon. He leaned forward and guzzled the cold liquid while Tricia cautioned him to slow down. Jesse grinned. At that moment Tricia sounded like a typical mom. Dillon ignored her warning and drained the cup in record time.
Following suit, Cochise went to the water bowl Jesse had placed on the grass and lapped greedily. Afterward the exhausted rotty curled up at his master's feet.
"Do you think Cochise looks like me?" Jesse asked out loud. Tricia had called him big and brawny. The black-and-tan dog was big and brawny, too.
Tricia laughed. "Actually, Jesse, there is a resemblance." She turned to their son, moving so the boy would have an unobstructed view of his father. "Don't you think so?"
Dillon gazed at Jesse and their eyes met and held. Gray eyes, the same yet different. Dillon's were edged with blue. Oh, God, Jesse thought. He's looking at me, not through me, but at me.
Remembering what Tricia had said about Dillon being nervous, Jesse flashed his warmest smile. "You know, if Cochise resembles me, then he favors you, too. Your mom seems to think that you and I look alike."
"Oh." Rather than return the smile, Dillon glanced down at his hands, openly uncomfortable.
Jesse swallowed. Damn. Apparently Dillon didn't want to compare his features with a man he'd just met. A stranger.
A stream of silence ensued, but this time Tricia didn't intervene. She sat quietly as well. Unsure of where to look, Jesse glanced up at the tree and caught sight of a squirrel scurrying up the bark. "Look! That little eró was spying on us."
Dillon and Tricia followed his gaze. Bright smiles lit their faces. Thank God for animals, Jesse thought. They'd always been his salvation.
"Why did you call it that funny name?" Dillon asked, watching the furry critter peer through the branches.
"Eró?" Jesse said, pronouncing the r with an hi sound. "That means squirrel in Muskokee. The eró teaches us about preparing ourselves for the future. They gather and store nuts the way we store information."
Appearing genuinely interested in the lesson, Dillon turned his attention to Cochise. "How do you say dog in Muskokee?"
"Éfv." Jesse glanced at Cochise and grinned. The rotty was snoring. "And aside from teaching us how to sleep at a picnic, dogs carry the gift of loyalty. There's no creature more loyal than a dog."
"You're a veterinarian, huh?"
The question pleased Jesse. That Dillon cared enough to ask mattered. "Yeah. I just opened a clinic behind my house." Should he extend an invitation for his son to visit him at home, or was it too soon? Should he let Tricia talk to Dillon about it first?
As Jesse contemplated the answers, Dillon inched closer,
then reached into his pocket and removed a familiar object.
Oh, God. Jesse's heart raced to keep up with his pulse. The medicine bag.
The eleven-year-old held out the bag. "I haven't opened it yet. I um … wasn't sure…"
"We can open it now," Jesse suggested, reaching for the pouch, his hand a little shaky. "Together."
* * *
Together. Patricia swallowed the lump in her throat. Jesse and Dillon were together at last. How many times had she dreamed of this moment, hoped for it? But reality, it seemed, never lived up to one's dreams. In Patricia's dreams, this meeting would have happened years ago. She knew Jesse had been angry when he'd left town, but regardless, he had promised to come back. Or that was how it had seemed to her.
You'll come back, won't you, Jesse?
Damn right, I will.
How pathetically naive she'd been. She had waited for Jesse, far longer than necessary, always making excuses: he was dyslexic so college would take him longer than most; he wouldn't return unless he was successful; he was waiting for the right moment.
As all the hurt and anger came rushing back, Patricia lifted her drink and sipped, telling herself now wasn't the time to rehash the past. Jesse was back, and more than willing to be a father. So what if he had never really loved her, that didn't mean he wouldn't love their son.
Patricia sat quietly while Jesse explained the meaning behind the objects in his medicine bag. Jesse had placed a bear claw in the bag because he believed his father's people were from the Bear Clan. His brother, Sky, however, preferred to think they had descended from the Wind Clan.
"But Sky is biased," Jesse told Dillon. "His wife's name is Windy. So he seems to think that's some sort of sign."
"Where did you get this?" Dillon asked, studying the claw.
"I found it in the woods, embedded in a tree. So that was like my sign. But I don't know if we'll ever find out what clan we're really from. No one around here seemed to know my parents very well. I guess they pretty much kept to themselves."
Sadness seeped into Jesse's tone, but Patricia noticed he brushed it away quickly. Clearly this moment with Dillon was too important for him to mar it with heartache.
JESSE HAWK: BRAVE FATHER Page 6