The Rancher's Spittin' Image. Peggy Moreland
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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