Her Kind Of Cowboy. Pat Warren
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at his hair through the open windows of his Bronco. An outdoorsman through and through, Jesse Calder rarely engaged the air-conditioning, preferring the scent of the rich earth and of growing things. He’d passed Arizona’s Painted Desert a while back, heading south and deep into cattle country.
He’d passed tall, stately ponderosa pines, juniper and spruce, piñon and fir trees, most growing thick and wild. Now the land stretched as far as he could see, acres of cotton on one side and on the other, grasslands where cattle grazed under the watchful eye of cowboys on horseback. He could see cactus and brush and chaparral, so different from his native California.
Déjà vu. Jesse felt an uneasy familiarity on the last leg of the long drive from his home on the Triple C ranch in northern California to St. Johns, Arizona, near the state’s eastern border with New Mexico. This journey was very different from the first time he’d driven the same route six years ago. Then, he’d been twenty-five, high on life, driving his new red sports car with the top down. In perfect health and doing what he loved, he’d felt that the world was his oyster.
Amazing how quickly your life, your whole attitude could change, Jesse thought as he glanced at the Little Colorado River paralleling the highway. It was early June, just as it had been on his first trip, but that was pretty much where the similarity ended. Desert summer heat shimmered in waves from the pavement.
Not much traffic on Route 180 in late afternoon, so he put on the cruise control and breathed in the pungent smell of leather and livestock. Like his twin brother, Jake, ranching was in Jesse’s blood. It was the life he’d been born into and, more importantly, the life he’d chosen, during good times and bad.
And there had been plenty of bad.
Maybe things went wrong six years ago because of the deception, slight though it was, Jesse thought, a frown wrinkling his brow. His father, Cameron Calder, had decided that the time had come for the Triple C horse ranch to diversify, to add cattle or sheep, if it were to remain competitive and the finest ranch in the western states. That decision had changed Jesse’s life.
Cam had sent Jake to Montana to study sheep and Jesse to Arizona for the summer to learn all about cattle ranching. His father wanted no preferential treatment for his sons, so because the Calder name was already well-known throughout the west, Cam insisted his sons use an alias, a practice not uncommon in ranching circles. For that summer, he’d used the name Jesse Hunter.
Running a hand over his short beard, Jesse remembered that neither he nor Jake had been enthusiastic about a summer away or the deception. Still, they hadn’t wanted to go against their father’s wishes, not after he’d raised them single-handedly after their mother abandoned the family when the twins were only two.
Vern Martin, the owner of the Arizona cattle ranch where Jesse had wound up, hadn’t been all that taken with Jesse Hunter at first, figuring he was a drifter who spent all his money on fast cars and fun times, a ladies’ man with a questionable future. As the mother of two young daughters, Joyce Martin had been even less welcoming. But Vern needed help and Jesse was strong, plus he’d had ranching experience. Vern hired him.
Jesse was no stranger to hard work, having pulled his own weight on the Triple C since boyhood. The men on the Martin ranch worked from sunrise till sunset under the hot Arizona sun, he recalled as he drove along in his white Bronco. The vehicle was indicative of his change in maturity from his red convertible days. He’d worked without complaint, knowing that was what Cam expected of his son. He’d bunked with the rest of the hands, asked questions, listened and learned. He’d quickly earned the respect of the men as well as Vern Martin. There’d been precious little time left over for fun, even if he’d had the energy for it.
Until Abby Martin came home from college for the summer.
She was quite simply the most beautiful girl Jesse had ever seen, with long blond hair and huge green eyes. At nineteen, Abby rode like a pro and usually dressed casually in jeans and well-worn boots. She knew her way around the ranch and worked her favorite horses under the watchful eye of Casey Henderson, the ranch manager.
Her sister, Lindsay, two years older, rarely left the main house without full makeup and a designer outfit. She seldom spoke to the hired help, but Abby knew most of the men by name and was friendly to all. Secretly, Lindsay liked to flirt, but when one of the men reacted, she’d run off. She’d come on to Jesse almost immediately, but to her annoyance, he hadn’t responded.
Because he’d had eyes only for Abby right from the start. And she for him. Soon they were meeting away from prying eyes despite Joyce Martin’s constant surveillance. They spent many wonderful hours together, but things had come to a head before Jesse could tell Abby the truth about who he really was. He’d gotten a phone call that Cam had had a heart attack and Jesse’s only thought had been to rush to his father’s side. He’d promised Abby he’d be back to explain everything, only then, the unthinkable happened.
Fifty miles from home, the drunken driver of a pickup had slammed into Jesse’s convertible head-on and changed his future. Spotting Curly’s Market just ahead, Jesse slowed, then exited the highway and turned into the asphalt parking lot. The summer he’d lived in this area, he’d often stopped on his evenings off at Curly’s to pick up incidentals and his favorite M&M’S.
Stepping out, Jesse stretched, then rolled his shoulders. Since the accident, sitting in one position too long made his six-two frame stiff, his muscles tight. Walking through the door, he wondered if Curly would recognize him; he’d often lingered to chat with the old ranch hand turned shopkeeper. Physically, Jesse knew he looked different after numerous surgeries. And there was the beard he’d grown to hide some of the facial scars and the slight limp that showed up when he was tired.
More important, he knew he was a different man inside than he’d been six years ago. There’d been a restlessness in him back then, a desire to see and do everything, to live life to the fullest. He was more settled now, more introspective, more at peace with who and what he was. A near-death experience, more than a week in a coma, months of physical therapy rebuilding his battered body and nearly a year recovering could change a person greatly.
Pushing open the screen door, Jesse let his eyes adjust from bright sunlight to the dim interior. Foodstuffs in cans and cartons were stacked on shelves along three walls, and a refrigerated section held milk and soft drinks. In the back were tools and jeans and work shirts piled on tables. In the middle of the sagging wood floor were bins of flour, sugar, rice and small barrels of penny candy. Two overhead fans tried their best to move the hot air around. He inhaled the scent of cinnamon, dust and the hot chili peppers that hung in clusters from the low ceiling. The store was empty except for Curly, who stood behind the short counter by the register, his white hair as curly as ever. No one seemed to remember his real name.
Jesse nodded to the owner, then wandered the aisles. He came to the conclusion that hardly a thing had changed in the market in six years, which somehow cheered him. Nice to know that, in an ever-changing world, some things stayed the same.
He grabbed a frosty root beer and a couple of packages of M&M’S, then strolled back to the register.
“That be all?” Curly asked as he rang up the sale.
“Right.” Jesse laid several bills on the counter. “Kind of quiet today.”
“It’s the rodeo down Springerville way. They have one every year ’bout this time.” He handed Jesse his change. “You new around here or just passing through?”
“I’m on my way to the Martin ranch. They’re having trouble with a stallion and…”
“Yeah, yeah. Remus. Got burned in that fire a while back. I heard you was coming. From California, right?”
“Right.” Jesse remembered how quickly news spread around the tight-knit ranching community. Looking full face at the man, he tried to spot a flicker of recognition in the shopkeeper’s curious brown eyes before holding out his hand. “Jesse Calder.”
Curly wiped his stained fingers on his pants before shaking hands. “I heard about your daddy. Heard he can talk to horses and they