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Caught up in thoughts of the trouble that might lie ahead, Mandy unconsciously glanced up as the elevator dinged its arrival. She froze on that spot of carpet, a good thirty feet from the elevator door as she watched a man step through the opening. He turned immediately to the left without glancing her way...but not before she caught a glimpse of his face; of that strong profile shadowed by a black Stetson; of that quirk of mouth and long purposeful stride that defied anyone who was of a mind to challenge him.
Jesse.
Oh, God! she cried silently, tightening her hands into fists at her sides. What was he doing here? And why now?
His step slowed and his shoulders veered slightly as if he was going to turn. Mandy sucked in a sharp breath and quickly ducked down a hallway on her right. Flattening herself against the wall, she listened, holding her breath, but her heartbeat thrummed in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying that he would go on in the way he’d started and that she could escape unseen.
Hands hot and damp against the cool walls, she waited, listening, silently praying for what seemed like an eternity against the sound of his approach. Five minutes passed, each second like a silent bomb exploding within her head. Knowing she couldn’t hide there forever, weak with fear, she eased down the wall and braved a quick look down the hall.
Empty.
She sagged back against the wall in relief. Then, with an effort, she pushed herself upright and ducked around the corner, running away from the elevator and toward the stairwell at the end of the hall.
Tearing down ten flights of stairs at high speed was nothing compared to her fear of exposure.
“You’re sure it was him?”
Mandy whirled, flattening her hands on her father’s desk, her green eyes wild as she met Merideth’s doubtful look. “Yes, I’m sure! He stood less than thirty feet away.”
Sam stepped behind the desk and looped an arm around Mandy’s shoulders. “It could be only coincidental that he’s returned,” she murmured soothingly. “It may have nothing to do with Jaime at all.”
“I don’t care why he’s back,” Mandy wailed, refusing to be comforted. “I’ve got to protect my son.”
Sam shared a look with Merideth, and Merideth came from the opposite side of the desk to tuck her hand through the bend at Mandy’s elbow. For all her selfishness, Merideth was a McCloud and together she and Sam, as they always had in the past, formed a solid wall of support around their sister. “He can’t hurt Jaime, Mandy,” she insisted, her voice filled with a conviction that Mandy didn’t share. “We won’t let him. Besides, Jesse doesn’t even know he fathered a son.”
Mandy lifted her head and turned tear-filled eyes to Merideth. “But what if he finds out? What if he tries to take Jaime away from me?”
Merideth fought back a shudder, refusing to give in to the fear that Mandy’s questions drew. She’d learned well from her father that a show of fear was a sign of weakness...and Merideth McCloud had used that lesson well, always displaying an impenetrable confidence that had served her well as she fought her way through the ranks of ambitious actors to capture one of the leading roles on a daytime soap opera.
Mandy had learned that lesson, too, but at the moment was too shaken to remember it. Merideth knew it was up to her to give her the slap she needed to remind her. “So what are you going to do?” she asked in disgust. She knew she sounded harsh, but in her mind, the situation called for it. “Just hand Jaime over to him without putting up a fight?”
Mandy whirled, her expression one of shock. “Of course not!”
“Then quit thinking about what might happen and focus on the facts. Jaime is your son. You gave birth to him, you raised him alone without help from Jesse or anyone else. Jesse had no place in his life other than planting a seed.”
“But what if he takes me to court? What if he tries to establish his parental rights?”
Merideth tossed up her hands in frustration. “And what judge in the country would settle those rights on him?” She grabbed Mandy’s hands and squeezed them between her own. “He’s your son, Mandy. Not Jesse’s.”
Mandy clung to the lifeline Merideth offered. “I know that. I do. But if he finds out—?”
Merideth squeezed her hands, silencing her. “Come back to New York with me. You and Jaime can stay with me until the dust settles and we see what Jesse’s intentions are.”
Slowly Mandy squared her shoulders, pulling her hands from Merideth’s. “No. That would be running from trouble. And no McCloud ever runs from trouble.”
Tossing back her head, Merideth laughed, the melodious sound filling what once had been Lucas McCloud’s office. “That’s my girl! I knew you had it in you.”
Mandy frowned, eyeing Merideth suspiciously, realizing too late that Merideth’s taunts were all an act to make her sister see reason. “You’re a brat, you know that, don’t you?” Mandy grumbled. “You always were.”
Merideth fluffed her hair with a playful, self-satisfied grin. “That’s what they tell me,” she said proudly and moved to flop down on the leather sofa that faced the desk.
Mandy continued to frown at Merideth, but Merideth merely folded her hands behind her head and preened, proud of her accomplishment. She crossed her bare feet at the ankles, wiggling toes painted a garish red before adding, “And don’t worry. I’ll stick around for a while just in case you need reminding that you’re a McCloud.”
Mandy’s brows shot up. “You can’t do that. You’ve got to get back to New York and your job!”
Merideth lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “It’ll be there when I get back,” she replied, confident of her importance to the soap opera she starred in.
“You don’t need to stay,” Sam interjected, stepping forward to hook a hip on the corner of the desk. “I’ll be here as backup if Mandy needs me.”
Merideth arched a brow, turning her gaze on Sam. Slowly, her lips curved in a proud smile. “I’d forgotten that the newly graduated and highly competent Dr. Samantha McCloud was setting up her veterinary practice on the Double-Cross.” She lifted her hands, diamonds glittering, and let them drop. “Well, then I guess my services aren’t needed.” She turned to Mandy. “You’ll be in good hands with Sam to look out for you and I’m only a telephone call away.” Lazily she stood, stretching her arms above her head with catlike grace before moving to gather her two sisters into a loose embrace. After hugging them both, she stepped back and thrust out a hand, palm up. “One for all and all for one,” she challenged. “The Three Musketeers.”
Laughing, Sam and Mandy each slapped a hand on top of Merideth’s. “Always,” they echoed in unison.
Jesse made the turn off the highway and passed below the wrought-iron archway that marked the entrance to the Circle Bar and headed for the house. The Big House. That was how the Barrister home was referred to by those who lived and worked on the Circle Bar.
Though he’d thought himself immune to the past, Jesse could feel the muscles of his stomach tightening while beads of sweat broke out on his upper lip. With a muttered curse of self-condemnation, he dragged his wrist beneath his nose and glared through the windshield at the road ahead. He took his foot off the accelerator and eased on the brake, bringing the truck to a stop at the crest of the hill that overlooked the valley.
Spotlighted by a brilliant summer sun, the two-story Georgian-style mansion below him looked as out of place as Jesse had always felt while living on the Circle Bar. Instead of the carefully groomed lawns with drooping magnolias and oaks heavy with moss that one would expect surrounding such a structure, the home was bordered by pastures of grazing Hereford cattle and hills covered with rock, cedar and cactus.
Margo Barrister might have lost the war when she’d failed to persuade Wade Barrister to move to Atlanta after their marriage more than forty years before, but she’d won a battle by haranguing him until he’d finally torn down the original Barrister homestead and replaced it with this monstrosity, a testament to Margo Barrister’s roots in the more genteel south.
The thought of Margo pushed a scowl across Jesse’s face. Mrs. Barrister. That’s what she’d insisted that he call her. Not Mother—God forbid that she ever admit that he was Wade’s son—not even Margo. She’d accept nothing less than impersonal formality from him.
Hate curled in his stomach like a doubled-up fist at the memory. He’d never called her “Mrs. Barrister” as she demanded. He’d never referred to her in any way at all. It had been easy enough to avoid, since she’d refused him entrance in her home from the day of his arrival on the Circle Bar.
His frown deepened as he remembered that day. Margo had screamed obscenities, ranted and raved when Wade had brought his fourteen-year-old bastard home with him. She had refused to allow Jesse even to cross the threshold, demanding instead that Wade take him to the bunkhouse to live with the wranglers who worked the Circle Bar. And that’s exactly where Jesse had lived until the night he’d left the Circle Bar, and Texas, almost thirteen years before.
No, avoiding Margo had been easy.
But this confrontation, the one awaiting him in the valley below, he knew he couldn’t avoid. Shaking off the unpleasant memories, he shifted back into gear, eased off the clutch and started downward to the Big House.
Through the gleaming windows of her formal living room, Margo caught a glimpse of a cloud of dust swirling over the hill. Stiffening, she slowly placed on the table the vase of flowers she’d just arranged and moved to peer out of the window. Pulling back the silk draperies, she craned for a better view.
“Damn,” she swore under her breath. Though she didn’t recognize the black truck that kicked up the cloud of dust, she knew who rode inside. Jesse. He was back to claim his inheritance.
Her lips quivered in silent rage. He was back to claim the Circle Bar. Wade had left her the house when he’d died, but not the land it stood on. He’d left that to the son of that Mexican whore of his! That Wade would dare to insult her so publicly, to flaunt his bastard child for all the world to see, to strip her of the very land, the dynasty that opened doors for her in Austin society, made her see red.
She placed a hand against her heart, forcing herself to take a deep calming breath. It wouldn’t do for Jesse to read her disgust, her anger...her desperation. She needed him, whether she cared to admit it or not. She didn’t know what his plans were. Not yet, at any rate. He had made no contact with her since Wade’s lawyer had notified him of Wade’s death and of his subsequent inheritance.
Would he sell the Circle Bar? she wondered fleetingly. Or would he move back and work the place himself as Wade had wanted? Her stomach convulsed. The very thought of having to watch that miserable bastard walk her land was too appalling even to consider. She hoped he planned to sell. If he did, she’d buy the land and the Barrister dynasty would go on, just as it had in the past, except with Margo at the helm.
But would he sell to her? she wondered as she monitored his approach. Her fingers curled into a fist at her side, her manicured nails cutting into the tender flesh of her palm as she watched the truck roll to a stop in front of her home.
Immediately, she forced her fingers to relax. She could handle Jesse Barrister. Hadn’t she managed to manipulate Wade for years? She watched as Jesse stepped down from his truck and was struck anew by his resemblance to her dead husband. Wade had done this to her on purpose, she thought spitefully as Jesse stepped up onto the wide veranda and disappeared from her sight. He’d left his land to his bastard son as one last stab at Margo because of her inability to give him an heir.
The doorbell chimed and Margo forced her fingers to release the drapes. Inhaling deeply, she drew herself erect, smoothing her hands down the front of her linen skirt, then lifting them to run her thumbs beneath the open collar of her matching blouse, composing herself for the confrontation ahead. Moving silently across the thick Aubusson carpets, she made her way to the front door and opened it, forcing a smile to her face.
“Why, Jesse!” she exclaimed in her southern drawl, as if unaware of his arrival. “What a nice surprise! Please come in,” she invited graciously, swinging the door wide.
Jesse Barrister was no fool. He recognized a wolf in sheep’s clothing when he saw one. His expression never once wavered as he met Margo’s gaze. “I can handle my business right here,” he said tersely.
“Business?” she repeated as she stepped back into the opening she’d created. “What business?”
“My inheritance, to be exact.” Jesse watched as she struggled to keep the false smile in place.
“You’ve seen Wade’s lawyer, then?”
“I just left his office. He showed me the old man’s will.” Even now Jesse couldn’t voice the man’s name out loud.
“I know this must be difficult for you,” she murmured sympathetically, “coming back after all these years. I know how unhappy you were here. If you like, I can purchase the land from you and free you of whatever responsibilities Wade has burdened you with and whatever obligations you might feel. That way you could get on with your life with the least bother.”
Jesse eyed her suspiciously from beneath the shadow of his Stetson’s brim. He didn’t know what Margo was up to, but it certainly was no good. He knew her far too well. Although selling the land had been his plan when he’d left the lawyer’s office, something made him hesitate.
“I don’t know,” he replied slowly. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the sprawling land, the grazing cattle, the distant hills, the corrals where he’d sweated and worked alongside the other wranglers.
He’d hated every minute of the time he’d spent on this ranch and had been reluctant to return. He’d thought to come here, tell Margo his plans, then get the hell out of town, leaving behind the past and all the bad memories tied to this place.
But now he wasn’t so sure.
Slowly, he turned back to Margo. “I’ll be staying here for a while. Just until I decide what I want to do with the place.”
Margo stepped back, lifting her hand again in invitation. “Well, then you must stay here. I’ll have Maria prepare a room for you.”
Jesse snorted. “I don’t think so. The bunkhouse suits me just fine.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Margo hurried to assure him. “You’ll be much more comfortable in the Big House. Besides, I’m sure that’s what Wade would have wanted.”
“Would he?” Jesse’s lips curled in a scowl. “Somehow I doubt that.”
Margo struggled to think of something to say. “W-well, if you’re sure...” She lifted a hand to point the way. “The bunkhouse is—”
Jesse turned his back on her, cutting her off. “I know the way.”
Margo moved to the window and stood, her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed tightly together, and watched Jesse walk back to his truck. Tall, broad shouldered, that cocky swagger. She shuddered in revulsion at the sight. With the exception of the darker color of his skin, the slight Spanish accent, he could have easily been mistaken for Wade Barrister at the same age. And that alone was enough to draw Margo’s ire.
She’d married Wade Barrister forty years before, blinded by his handsome face and awed by his wealth, thinking herself in love with him. It hadn’t taken long for the veneer of imagined love to wear thin. Wade Barrister was a mean-spirited man, obsessed with his own importance and the idea of producing an heir to carry on the Barrister name. When ten years had passed and it became obvious that Margo was barren, he had never slept with her again.
She was sure that Wade would have demanded a divorce years ago and taken his chances for an heir with another wife, but there was a second facet to Wade’s personality that was as strong as his desire to produce an heir. He was greedy. By Texas law, he would have been forced to divide all his property equally with Margo as part of the divorce settlement, and Wade would never willingly give up anything that he considered his. Especially the Circle Bar.
So instead, he’d chosen to take his pleasure with other women, all of whom Margo secretly referred to as his “whores.”
And it was a particular Mexican whore who had finally produced the desired heir.
At the thought of Jesse, Margo’s lips thinned again.
Their first meeting hadn’t gone at all as she’d planned. She’d hoped that Jesse would be as anxious to unload the Circle Bar as she was to buy it. His hesitancy sent the first shiver of fear skating down her spine.
She dropped the curtain, blocking him from view, and whirled away from the window. Well, she assured herself, she might have lost the first battle, but she had in no way lost the war.
Jesse stood in the center of the small glen, his hands braced against his hips, his chest tight with unwanted memories. Darkness surrounded him, taunting him with shadowed ghosts he thought he had put to rest years before. He inhaled deeply, determined to keep the images at bay, and filled his senses with the bouquet of odors floating on the night air. The clean, sweet scent of freshly cut hay, the heady scent of honeysuckle that grew wild on a distant fence, the musty smell of damp leaves.
With a sigh, he lifted his face to the heavens and closed his eyes. Though he tried to keep the images from forming, they pushed at him from every side. A blanket spread on the ground, and Mandy beneath him, her body hot and damp against his. With eyes still glazed with passion, she looked up at him while a soft smile of pleasure curved the corners of her full and sensuous mouth. He could almost feel her hands on his back as she soothed his fevered flesh with soft caresses of love.
Sucking in an angry breath, he fisted his hands against his eyes. But instead of blocking the image, he only added another memory. As the vision formed, the smell of gunpowder rose, choking him, and his body recoiled with the impact of the blast that had slammed into him that night so many years ago. Instinctively, he raised a hand to his shoulder, feeling again the bullet ripping through his flesh and the fiery pain that had dragged him to the ground.
But that pain was nothing compared to the pain that tore at his heart as the memory of her voice echoed through his mind.
No, Jesse, I can’t.
He lifted his fists at the dark heavens and shook them. “Damn you, Mandy!” he roared. “Damn you for choosing your father over me!”
Two
Jesse stopped his horse alongside Pete’s and dug a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He shook one out, then offered the pack to Pete, the foreman of the Circle Bar.
Pete eyed him skeptically. “I prefer to roll my own,” he grumbled disagreeably, but took one with a muttered, “obliged.” In keeping with his own style of smoking, though, Pete pinched the filter off and tossed it to the ground.
Hiding a smile, Jesse clamped his own cigarette between his lips and dug a hand in his jeans pocket, working a lighter from its depths. He’d always had a fondness for Pete Dugan. In some ways, Pete had been more a father to him than Wade Barrister had ever been. It was Pete who’d picked Jesse up off the ground after his first bronc had thrown him, and it was Pete who had stuck Jesse’s head in a horse trough when as a teenager he’d come home drunk the first time. It was also Pete who’d found Jesse the night he’d ridden his horse back into the barn after Lucas McCloud had put a bullet in his left shoulder.
Though Pete had cussed a blue streak, trying to convince Jesse he needed a doctor, he’d cleaned the wound and patched Jesse up as best as he could, then stood on the porch of the bunkhouse and watched Jesse drive away into the night.
Frowning at the unwanted memory, Jesse raked a thumb along the lighter’s wheel, then cupped his hands around the flame as he drew it to the cigarette’s end. Inhaling deeply, he passed the lighter to Pete, then blew out a thin stream of smoke and the memories along with it.
“Looks like you’ve got a good crop of calves this year,” Jesse offered, gesturing to the cattle that grazed in the pasture below.
“Cain’t complain.”
Jesse nodded, hearing the pride behind the simple reply. “Who’s giving the orders around here now that the old man’s gone?”
Pete snorted. “Who do ya think?”
“And you’re taking them?” Jesse asked in surprise.
“I listen, say yes’m real polite like, then do as I damn well please.”
Jesse laughed, then leaned over to thump Pete on the back. “I always did like your style.”
“Never did cotton to takin’ orders from no woman. ’Specially one that cain’t tell a bull from a steer.” Pete twisted his head around just far enough to squint a look at Jesse through the smoke that curled from between his gnarled fingers. “You gonna be takin’ over the reins now that you’re back?”
Jesse shrugged, then squeezed the burned-out butt of his cigarette between two fingers before tossing it to the ground. “I suppose. At least until I decide what to do with the place.”
“You mean you might sell?”
“I don’t know,” Jesse replied uncertainly. “I’ve got my own place up in Oklahoma now. Kind of hard to manage two places that far apart.”
Pete shook his head, turning his gaze back on the cattle. “Cain’t imagine the Circle Bar belongin’ to anybody but a Barrister. They’ve owned this land long as I can remember.”
They sat in silence, pondering the reality of that a moment, before Jesse said, “The old lady offered to buy me out.” Though Pete’s gaze never once wavered from the cattle, Jesse saw the tension mount in his shoulders on hearing of Margo’s offer. “She said she’d do it to free me from any responsibilities or obligations that Wade might have burdened me with. Pretty generous of her, don’t you think?”
Pete didn’t answer, but continued to stare at the cattle below, his mouth set in a thin, grim line.
“Well, don’t you think it’s generous?” Jesse prodded.
Slowly, Pete turned his gaze on Jesse. “Margo Barrister never done nothin’ in her life to benefit anybody but herself and you damn well know it, so what’s your point in askin’ me a damn-fool question like that?”
Jesse chuckled, then smooched to his horse, guiding him onto the narrow path that led toward the pasture below. “Just checking to make sure she hadn’t softened up over the years,” he called over his shoulder.
“Margo Barrister?” Pete snorted, but guided his own horse in behind Jesse’s. “They’ll be crankin’ homemade ice cream in hell the day that old woman’s heart softens.”
Pete and Jesse were headed back to the Circle Bar’s headquarters when Pete suddenly pulled up and held up a hand, indicating for Jesse to stop too. “Look over yonder,” Pete murmured in a low voice, nodding toward the lake that lay about a quarter of a mile to the west.
Jesse looked but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. “What?”
“Down by the water’s edge under that weepin’ willow.”
At that moment Jesse saw a flash of red streak from the bank and land with a silent plop, sending ripples on the water’s surface radiating toward the distant shore. “Think we caught us a trespasser?” Jesse asked.
“Atta’d be my guess,” Pete replied dryly.
“Well, I guess we better remind him that he’s poaching on private property.”
“Damn-fool kids,” Pete muttered irritably, leading the way. “If I’ve told ‘em once, I’ve told ’em a hunnerd times to keep off this land. And danged if I didn’t just bait that hole myself last week.”
Chuckling, Jesse fell in behind him, already sympathizing with whoever was fishing Pete’s favorite spot. By the time Pete got through with him, the poacher’s skin would be raw from the tongue-lashing he would give him.
“Hey! You there!” Pete yelled, reining his horse to a stop just shy of the willow tree.
A young boy, about twelve or so in Jesse’s estimation, whirled, his eyes round with surprise. Immediately, he started scrambling, trying to gather up his fishing gear in order to make a run for it.