THE RANCHER'S SPITTIN' IMAGE

by Peggy Moreland

  Fired by the admission, Jesse nosed the blouse's fabric aside and caught the budded nipple between his teeth, eliciting a cry from Mandy. Her fingers dug into his scalp. "Jesse. Oh, Jesse!" she cried helplessly.

  He released his hold on her long enough to find one of the silver buttons that lined the front of her blouse. He managed to free one, then in frustration gave a vicious yank and the rest popped free. Buttons clicked against the tiled floor and rolled and spun unheeded while her blouse fell open, fully exposing her breasts to his hungry eyes. Shoving his hands beneath the fabric, he jerked the blouse off her shoulders and down her arms, then twisted the fabric at her wrists, trapping her hands in silk bonds behind her.

  His eyes met hers, and Mandy sucked in a breath at the wildness, at the heat she saw there before he dipped his head and closed his mouth again over her breast, this time drawing her deep inside. Pleasure shot through her, stabbing low in her abdomen and quivering there like a well-aimed arrow. She threw back her head, arching hard against him, straining against the silk bonds. But with her hands entangled behind her, she could do nothing to relieve the aching need to touch him as well.

  "Jesse, please," she whimpered.

  "Please what?" he demanded against her flesh.

  "Please, let me touch you."

  He lifted his head, his brown eyes burning into hers. In answer, he tugged the silk from her wrists and tossed the blouse aside, but before she could lift her hands to him, he caught her up in his arms. "Where's your room?"

  "No," she cried, wagging her head. "Not there. Jaime might—"

  "Where, then?"

  "The barn," she whispered. "We'll be safe there."

  * * *

  Five

  « ^ »

  Mandy buried her face in Jesse's neck, her hot breath searing his skin. "The trainer's room," she whispered as he paused inside the barn. When he continued to hesitate, she lifted a hand, pointing to the closed door beside the lab.

  Using his boot, Jesse kicked open the door, strode inside, then caught the door with his heel and closed it behind them. A thin thread of moonlight streamed through a high window, illuminating a small cot in its narrow beam. Without breaking stride, Jesse crossed to it and laid Mandy on the bed.

  Stepping back, he stared down at her, sweeping his gaze over her flushed face, her swollen lips, her breasts that seemed to swell beneath his gaze. "Who do you see?" he whispered, emotion making his accent heavy. "Who do you want?"

  A sob caught in Mandy's throat. "You, Jesse. Only you."

  Seemingly satisfied with her response, he reached down, caught her heel and tugged off first one boot, then the other, and dropped them to the floor. Shifting his gaze to hers, he caught the elastic waistband of her skirt and dragged it down her legs, taking her panty hose with it. He tossed both carelessly to the floor before picking up her foot again and cradling it between his strong hands. His thumbs moved in mindless, intoxicating circles across the arch of her foot, until her breath came in deep gulps. Dropping to a knee at the foot of the bed, he replaced his thumbs with his mouth and pressed his lips to the sensitive skin there before sweeping his tongue along the length of her arch.

  Heat raced up Mandy's leg and swirled in a churning pool of desire between her legs. Lifting her hands above her head, she grabbed for the bed's metal frame and clung, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain and pleasure that surged through her in crashing waves. When she was sure she couldn't bear any more, his lips smoothed upwards, slowly, over her ankle, pausing to nip at a muscled calf, higher still to wet her thigh with his tongue while his hands kneaded at heated flesh. To Mandy it was torture. The sweetest torture she'd ever known.

  At the juncture of her thighs, he paused again, lifting his head to meet her questioning gaze. Watching her, his own eyes guarded, he cupped her feminine nest and squeezed. Instinctively, she bucked against his hand.

  "Jesse," she whispered desperately. "Please."

  In answer, he stood, toed off his boots, stripped off his socks, then reached for the top button on his shirt.

  Mandy pushed herself to a sitting position, reaching for him. "No, let me."

  When he dropped his arms to his sides, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, lifted her hands and freed each button, her fingers shaking uncontrollably. Every brush of her fingertips against his skin sent Jesse's pulse racing faster and faster, until his chest heaved with each drawn breath. Nearly crazy with his need for her, he grabbed for his belt buckle, flipped it open and shucked off his jeans. Leaning over her, he forced her back to the bed and followed her down.

  Bracing his hands on either side of her face, he held her with his gaze. "You're mine, Mandy," he told her even as he lowered his head over hers to seal his claim. Their lips touched once, twice, then, with a groan, Jesse collapsed on top of her and flipped over, taking her with him, until she lay on top of him.

  His hands cupped her bottom, guiding her to him. At the first thrust of his swollen manhood, Mandy arched, bracing her hands against his chest, taking him even deeper.

  "Mine," Jesse repeated through gritted teeth. "Always mine."

  "Yes," Mandy gasped as the first wave took her. "Ye-esss!" she cried as she felt the heat of his passion jet through her, sending her spinning crazily over the edge.

  Mandy awakened slowly, gradually becoming aware of the dull ache that throbbed between her legs and smiled softly at the memory of its cause. Rolling to her back, she scraped her still damp hair from her face. "Jesse?"

  When he didn't answer, she lifted herself on one elbow and looked around the shadowed room. A vise slowly tightened around her chest. He was gone. He'd left without saying so much as a goodbye.

  Fighting back the sting of rejection, she slipped from the narrow cot, gathered her skirt from the floor and stepped into it. Remembering that her blouse still lay on the entry-hall floor, she dropped back down onto the cot, giving in to the tears that burned her eyes. "Oh, Jesse," she sobbed, dropping her face into her hands. "How could you do this to me?"

  But in her heart, she knew she shared part of the blame. He'd only taken what she'd freely offered. But had he taken her in the same spirit with which she'd given herself to him? With love?

  Shaking her head, she rose, scraping the heels of her hands beneath her eyes … and saw his blue shirt draped across the foot of the bed. Fresh tears welled as she realized he'd left it for her. She picked up the shirt and slipped her arms through the sleeves, drawing the collar to her nose. Inhaling deeply, she breathed in his scent. On a shuddery sigh, she stooped, gathered up her boots and quietly stole from the room.

  Once outside the barn, she gathered the plackets of his shirt tighter around her and ran through the fading darkness, anxious to get back to the house before her wranglers rose for the day and caught her sneaking from the barn half-dressed. Inside the dark kitchen, she set her boots down and turned to close the door quietly behind her.

  "Mandy?"

  Mandy jumped and whirled, flattening her back against the door, to find Sam standing in the triangle of light cast from the open refrigerator door. She placed a hand over her heart. "Sam! You scared the life out of me."

  "Sorry." Sam closed the refrigerator and took a sip of the milk she'd just poured, her eyes widening above the glass's rim when she saw how Mandy was dressed. Slowly she lowered the glass. "Am I to assume that John Lee is wearing your blouse, since you are wearing his shirt?"

  Mandy felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment. "It isn't John Lee's," she murmured and stepped around her sister to open the refrigerator again.

  Sam moved to peer over the door at the top of Mandy's head. "Well, whose is it, then?"

  "Jesse's."

  The name came from the depths of the refrigerator, but Sam heard the mumbled confession. "Jesse's!" she repeated, shocked.

  Mandy stepped back, a pitcher of juice in her hand, and closed the door, turning to face her sister, her eyes brimming with tears. "Yes, Jesse's."

  Sam immediately set her glas
s of milk aside and caught Mandy by the shoulders. "Did he hurt you?"

  Mandy wagged her head, giving in to the tears. "No, he—" She stopped, unable to explain what had happened between them. "No, he didn't hurt me," she finally managed to say. She lifted her face to her sister's. "Oh, Sam, I still love him," she sobbed brokenly.

  Sam gathered her close in a hug. "I know," she murmured soothingly. "I know."

  Once the floodgates had opened, Mandy was incapable of stopping the flow of words that poured forth. "When I came home tonight, he was waiting for me and he started yelling at me for staying out so late. Then, the next thing I knew, he had me in his arms and he was kissing me." She paused to draw in a shuddery breath, then plunged on. "I w-wanted to make him stop, b-but I couldn't," she sobbed. "I wanted him to make love to me. I've wanted him to since the day he brought Jaime home."

  Though the subject was an uncomfortable one for Sam, Mandy knew, her sister listened, patting and soothing. "So you did?" Sam asked uneasily.

  "Yes. In the barn." Mandy pushed from Sam's embrace, tears of frustration streaming down her face. "But when I woke up, he was gone," she cried. "He left without saying a word."

  Unsure what was expected of her, Sam asked carefully, "And what did you want him to say?"

  Mandy whirled away, shoving the pitcher of juice onto the counter. She planted her hands against the cool tiles as she stared blindly out at the pinkening sky beyond the kitchen window. "I don't know," she mumbled miserably.

  Sam stepped up behind her, laying a comforting hand on Mandy's shoulder. "Maybe he left because he didn't know what to say," she offered gently. "Maybe this is as confusing for him as it is for you."

  A shudder moved Mandy's shoulders beneath Sam's hands. "No, I think it's more than that," she murmured as if to herself. "It's almost as if he wants to punish me in some way."

  "For keeping Jaime from him?"

  "Partly," Mandy replied slowly, only now beginning to understand the anger behind Jesse's passion. "But more because I didn't leave with him years ago when he asked me to. I don't think he's ever forgiven me for that."

  "Have you forgiven him for leaving without you?" Sam asked pointedly.

  Mandy turned, lifting her gaze to Sam's. "I don't know," she said sadly as she turned away. "I just don't know."

  By the time Mandy crawled into her own bed to catch a few hours of sleep, Jesse was well on the way to being roaring drunk. After leaving her in the barn, he'd driven back to the Circle Bar and dug Pete's fifth of whiskey from the tack box where his old friend had always kept his secret stash hidden.

  Sprawled on the floor, Jesse shifted his shoulders against the rough barn wall, oblivious to the splinters that dug into his bare back as he lifted the bottle to his lips. The whiskey burned a path down his throat and Jesse shuddered, then growled as he dragged his wrist across his mouth.

  He never should have touched her, he told himself for the hundredth time in less than two hours. He should have left the minute she walked in the door. And would have, he assured himself, if she hadn't looked like she'd just crawled out of John Lee's bed. Snarling as the image formed, he lifted the bottle again and took an angry swig.

  Flushed cheeks, mussed hair, wearing a smile that looked a little too satisfied to please him. He snorted, setting the bottle on the plank floor near his raised knee. No, he couldn't leave then. Not without first kissing that sexy mouth. Not without giving her something to remember him by.

  A smug smile curled at his lips. Yeah, he'd given her something to think about, all right. She'd all but begged him to make love to her. By the time they'd made it to the barn, she'd been hot and primed for nobody but him. And when she'd fallen asleep in his arms, it had been his name on her lips—Jesse's. He'd punished her, just as he'd intended to.

  If that's the case, then why are you drinking yourself into a blind stupor?

  He frowned at the far wall, not liking his conscience's question. Because he liked the taste, he told himself, and took another long swig to prove it.

  Yeah, and you're going to like the taste of that headache in the morning, too. Why don't you just face the facts, amigo, you're still in love with the woman.

  Jesse's fingers tightened on the bottle's slim neck. He didn't love her, he told himself. He hated her. She'd lied to him. She'd whispered promises of love and marriage and spending eternity together, then turned her back on him when her old man had made her choose between her Mexican lover and her father. And she'd kept their son from him for twelve years. Reason enough to hate her. And certainly reason enough for him to seek his own form of revenge from her.

  Revenge? Was that what you were seeking? Is that what you were thinking about when you held her in your arms while she slept?

  Jesse bristled at the memory. Yeah, he assured himself, that's exactly what he was seeking.

  So why are you rubbing your hand over your heart?

  Jesse glanced down, only then becoming aware of the unconscious gesture and the ache beneath it. With a resigned sigh, he raised his other knee, lowering his arm to rest on it. He dropped his head down between his elbows. "Because it hurts," he muttered miserably. "After all these years, it still hurts."

  From the kitchen window, Margo watched Jesse stagger from the barn to a water trough beside the corral. He stooped, bracing his hands on either side of the trough, and ducked his head into the water. He rose seconds later, gasping, dragging his hands through his dripping hair, while water ran in rivulets down his bare back.

  Drunk, Margo thought in disgust. How like him. And where had he been all night, anyway? She knew for a fact that he hadn't returned home before two because she'd watched for him until then.

  "That McCloud slut," Margo muttered under her breath. "I'll bet that's who he's been spending all his time with."

  Later that morning, Margo parked her Lincoln Town Car by the gasoline pump at the crossing of the two state highways that intersected the ranching community, then pressed a manicured nail to a button and lowered the tinted window. In the bay opposite her, a truck bearing the logo of the Double-Cross Heart Ranch was parked. A cowboy stood beside it, pumping gas, his back braced against the truck's cab, watching her from beneath the brim of a sweat-stained hat.

  "Do you have any news for me?" she said, keeping her voice low so as to keep their conversation private.

  The cowboy flicked the nozzle's metal lever into place, setting it on automatic, then stepped over the concrete island that separated them. "Maybe," he said, leaning to brace his forearms along the open window. He grinned, revealing a row of tobacco-stained teeth as crooked as the smile he offered her.

  Repulsed by the sight and the accompanying odor that wafted through the window, Margo drew away.

  Frowning, she dipped a hand into her purse and drew out a folded bill. She pressed it into the cowboy's hand.

  He studied it a moment. "Seems like the information I have should be worth more than a measly fifty bucks." He shifted his gaze to hers, his eyes turning dark and menacing. "A rich woman like you could surely come up with a little more than this."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake," Margo muttered disagreeably, but dipped her hand into her bag again and slapped a matching bill into his greedy palm. "But that's all. Not a cent more."

  Grinning, the cowboy stuffed the bills into his shirt pocket. "He's there all right," he told her. "Comes almost every day. Says he's there to break a stallion, but if you ask me, he's spending more time with the boss's son than he does with that crazy horse."

  Margo managed to keep her expression free of the anger the news drew. "What about the McCloud woman? Is he spending any time with her?"

  The cowboy shook his head. "If you're askin' me if he's beddin' her, I cain't rightly say."

  "Can't or won't?" Margo snapped impatiently.

  "Cain't," he repeated. "Course, I do require some sleep. They might be slippin' off while I'm catchin' me some shut-eye and I'd never be the wiser."

  Margo thinned her lips. "I'm not paying you
to sleep. I'm paying you to provide information."

  "Yessum, that you are," he agreed with a nod.

  With a huff of breath, Margo shifted the car into drive. "When you have something worthwhile to report, you know how to reach me."

  The cowboy stepped back as the car peeled from the bay. "Yessum, I surely do," he murmured, grinning.

  The drum Jesse had awakened to kept up its relentless pounding throughout the morning while he worked Judas around the arena. He'd managed to get a halter on the stallion and had clamped a longe line to its ring, keeping the opposite end of the line gripped tightly in his gloved hand. He urged the horse forward with the snap of a long whip, which he dragged across the ground as he slowly turned, keeping himself even with the horse's movements.

  Sweat soaked his back and stung his eyes, but he refused to stop, knowing that only time would silence the drum in his head and cure him of his hangover.

  "Hey, Jesse!"

  Jesse winced at Jaime's loud shout, but didn't take his eyes off the stallion. "Over here," he called back.

  Behind him, he heard Jaime's boots clatter up the rails of the corral. "Where've you been hiding all morning?" he asked the boy.

  "Doin' my chores."

  Jesse heard the loathing behind his son's muttered response and grinned, shooting a quick look at Jaime over his shoulder. "All done?"

  "Yep. Even remembered to take out the kitchen trash." Jaime slapped his hands to his knees and leaned forward, nearly losing his balance on the top rail. "Hey! You got a halter on him!" he exclaimed.

  "Yep," Jesse replied, mimicking his son's response. "He's still like a stick of dynamite, ready to go off at any second, but at least he's following my commands."

  "Are you gonna ride him today?"

  "No, it's too soon yet." Keeping a watchful eye on the stallion, Jesse gave the rope a sharp tug, calling "Whoa!" Judas danced a few steps, straining against the line, but Jesse dug in his heels, bracing himself, and the stallion stopped, muscles quivering.