Just Jessie Read online

  She turned her hot cheek into the pillow. But Ben wasn’t like other men. He wasn’t petty or demanding. He wasn’t a user—which didn’t solve her problem. After being married all of three days, she wasn’t sure what her problem was, exactly. Why had he made an issue of making their marriage real, only to retreat?

  Later, when she heard him calling out in his sleep, she wrapped her arms around the spare pillow. He was still having the nightmares. The realization hurt her somehow. Had she naively thought she would be the cure—that one night with her would solve his problem? Apparently not. His ragged voice sent a chill through her. What experience tortured his soul? Sometimes she felt as though she were reliving it with him.

  She’d come to recognize the ritual—the sound of fear in his voice, the despair. And the guilt.

  She closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Every instinct cried out to offer comfort to him, even if it was only physical. She had no doubt he needed her. When his moans ended and he grew quiet, she stayed in her room. But somehow, his silence was worse. She felt his loneliness, and shared it.

  At dawn, she ran into him in the hallway. “It’s my turn to check on Daisy,” she said. “I’ll go.”

  “Why don’t we both go?”

  The sun was just edging over the barn. Daisy had reached the panting stage. “This is it,” Ben said, as Jessie checked the cow. For the first time, he took a good look at Daisy’s black-and-white markings. “Isn’t this the cow Beau’s been mooning over all summer? Beau isn’t…He and Daisy didn’t…”

  Jessie smiled. “No, he isn’t,” she assured him.

  Nevertheless, Ben was relieved two hours later when Daisy’s baby came out looking like a cow and not a moose.

  “Isn’t she sweet?” Jessie cooed, rubbing the calf down.

  “She is sort of cute,” Ben had to admit, admiring the white face and rough black coat. Daisy lurched to her feet, checked out her offspring, then licked it clean.

  When Ben placed an arm around Jessie, she relaxed and leaned against his shoulder. Unable to resist her closeness, he turned her into his embrace. He was pleasantly shocked when she didn’t raise an objection. He kissed her. They’d made love less than twenty-four hours ago, but that didn’t seem to matter. Their kiss became heated within seconds.

  He raised his head and looked around the barn—not a bale of hay in sight. “Ever notice there’s never a hayloft around when you need one?”

  She followed his lighthearted cue. “They’re highly overrated, anyway. Full of ticks and fleas…”

  Ben shook his head. “Jessie, Jessie, Jessie. There’s not a romantic bone in your body.” He hoisted her over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

  After a shocked whoosh, she giggled. “Put me down.”

  The laughter in her voice filled him with relief as he carried her back to the house and up the stairs.

  There he set her down outside her bedroom door. “I’d like to come in. May I?” He pushed the door wider.

  She backed into her room. “It’s almost morning.”

  He started to unbutton his shirt. “I noticed.”

  She backed away until she encountered the bed and sat down heavily. “You didn’t come last night, and I thought…”

  “Did you think I’d used up my one-night stand?”

  She frowned at his laconic remark. “No, but…”

  He pulled off his shirt, then reached for hers. His fingers stopped on the silver concha belt, then moved on. He undressed her slowly, tenderly smiling at her blushes, yet savoring each new revelation. He reached for her hair and freed the constricting knot, slowly unbraiding the fine silky strands until it drifted free in soft waves.

  “I’ve dreamed of doing that,” he said huskily. When she stood before him, he just stared. “You’re beautiful, Jessie. Just looking at you makes me ache.”

  Ben’s cooking was improving. Later that morning, he cooked ham and eggs. It was almost edible.

  “It’s delicious,” Jessie assured him. She forked a charred piece of ham into her mouth. She swallowed it.

  His eyes twinkled. “Guess I’m not that domestic.” He passed her the bottle of catsup, which he’d liberally dumped on his eggs. “Maybe we’ll let you do the cooking after all.”

  “Could be you just need more practice.” Had she actually said that?

  He lifted a cool eyebrow. “Could be.”

  Conversation dwindled to nothing. At a knock at the door, Jessie admitted Ramon Morales. He removed his hat.

  “Mrs. Harding.”

  The words shook her. “Jessie,” she said hastily, absorbing her new title.

  “The men and I want to thank you for arranging for us to come back to work, just as you promised.”

  “I didn’t do anything. Ben did.” She glanced at him.

  Ben met her gaze. “It was a joint effort.”

  “Then, we thank you both.”

  Ben nodded. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about a job, Ramon. I could use someone full time. How about it? If it works out, maybe we can make it permanent.”

  Jessie’s spirits sank. Ben still planned to leave—he was training his replacement. Despite the bitter letdown, Jessie endorsed Ben’s offer. “It sounds like a good solution.”

  Ramon nodded. “Then I agree. I’ll do a good job for you. Drew won’t like it. He cuts a percentage from the workers’ pay.”

  “There are laws to protect farmworkers,” Ben said.

  Ramon smiled bitterly. “But the Pierces have money. The laws are for them, not us.”

  Ben wished he could argue with him. The Pierces did control the town. In any case, he was relieved Ramon had agreed to accept the job. He needed a man he could depend on, in case Drew made more trouble.

  He spent the day showing Ramon his new reponsibilities.

  When he came in from the fields, stillness greeted him, as familiar as the spreading oak tree, the day lilies bordering the walk, Beauregard chomping at the hedge. Stone’s End no longer seemed remote. In fact, it felt pretty close to heaven—as close as he would ever get, he thought, as he walked toward the house. The hot day had cooled. A pink sky hovered. The nearest hills were in shadow, dark and sleepy looking. In vivid shades of green, Maine was jewel-like in midsummer. The pine forest remained green all winter. Ben wondered if he would be here to see it.

  When he stepped onto the porch, Jessie came to the door, as if she’d been waiting for him. Who was he kidding? The scenery wasn’t keeping him here—unless it happened to have wide gray eyes and a winsome smile.

  “Oh, it’s you.” She came out through the screen door.

  “Who were you expecting?”

  “No one, I guess. I was going to visit my father.”

  “If you’ll wait, I’ll go with you.”

  Her mouth started to form a negative response, then she said, “All right.” She’d combed her hair into a coil at the base of her neck. A few wisps of hair had escaped. Now she smoothed back the soft tendrils with a nervous hand.

  “Don’t do that,” he said. She dropped her hand into the patch pocket of her dress. Regretting his abruptness, he said, “Leave it. It looks nice.” Nice? That was an understatement.

  Bathed in the early-evening light, she looked soft—the color of her hair, the strange smoky paleness of her eyes, the natural disorder of those small, loose tendrils curling around her face. Her dress was peach-colored—a thin gauzy fabric with a small floral pattern in a deeper shade. Cut in a simple style, it was light and airy and suited her. She looked like summer in her flowered dress. Her delicate white sling-back sandals made her slender legs look long, sleek and sexy.

  Jessie touched something in him—the part that still yearned for pretty young girls in soft summer dresses and long hot summer nights that beckoned with all sorts of promises.

  Chapter Thirteen

  For a timeless moment, they stared at each other. Ben broke the impasse. He walked toward her, easy and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world to claim her. Jessi
e felt a shiver of anticipation as he crossed the width of the porch. She backed away, her elbows scraping the rough screen.

  Shaking his head, he placed his hands on her waist. “You are such a baby,” he drawled, clearly enjoying her discomfort.

  “Please, don’t patronize me.”

  “Then don’t be so jumpy.” He lifted and casually set her to one side. At her gasp, he ran a cool thumb down her warm cheek. “Have a lemonade. You look hot.” He went inside.

  His laughter continued up the stairs. Moments later, Jessie stood in the kitchen and sipped her drink. Ice cold, the outside of the glass beaded up with moisture. Her hand still shook. How could she adjust? Was he actually flirting with her? What a maddening man. She pressed the cold glass to her flushed cheek.

  The relief was only temporary. Ben came back.

  In fresh jeans and a white shirt, with his hair damp and slicked back after his shower, he looked rugged and a little untamed. Rakish. The term “macho” didn’t apply to him, she realized. His attitude wasn’t put on for effect. He was a survivor; he’d earned his status the hard way.

  Ben took her glass of lemonade and finished it for her. His simple action of sharing her drink was so intimate, so natural, as if he’d done it a thousand times before. “Ready?” he asked.

  No, she wanted to shout. He was slowly, methodically breaking down every last defense. His gaze slid up and down, then back up. Suddenly conscious of her bare shoulders, she took a deep breath to cool the heat in her cheeks. “I’m ready.”

  He smiled. Did she detect a hint of tenderness? She couldn’t be sure. Superimposed was the memory of his facial expression that morning; the naked hunger.

  Jessie was alone in the house the following day when she answered a frantic knocking at the door.

  “It’s Miguel.” Rita Morales cradled her small son to her breast. “I have no car. Please, I need a doctor.”

  Jessie made a phone call. “Dr. Peterson will see him.”

  Rita’s anxious face softened with relief. “Thank you.”

  The trip to town didn’t take long. Prewarned, Dr. Peterson was waiting. “Well, son, let’s have a look.”

  The boy’s smile was wan, his dark eyes feverish. “I thought he just had the flu,” Rita said. “He is worse today.”

  Dr. Peterson’s murmured, “Hmm,” worried Jessie. “We’ll run some tests. Looks like food poisoning. Are any others sick?”

  Rita nodded. “Yes, there are many.”

  Within a week, Miguel got well. Others came down with severe stomach cramps and dehydration. Dr. Peterson visited the camp and diagnosed more cases—several children and adults. Some required hospitalization. Fortunately, all would get well with proper treatment. Work at Stone’s End ground to a halt.

  Ramon came by; several men were with him. After a polite nod for Jessie, Ramon directed his remarks to Ben. “The doctor traced the infection to contaminated meat from a broken freezer in the camp store.” He flushed angrily. “The camp is a health hazard! Will you speak to the authorities for us?”

  Ben said simply, “I’m an outsider, just as you are.”

  Jessie’s heart contracted at his words. Ben still felt like an outsider. What would it take to make him belong?

  Ramon spoke with passion. “That is why we ask you. No one else will help. The Pierces have too much power.”

  “What about the police?”

  “The law!” Ramon spat. “What law will protect us?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Ben said, relieved when the tension eased. “Until then, stay out of trouble.” He spoke in Spanish for those who couldn’t understand. Except for a few, the men seemed satisfied. As they drove off, Ben discovered he’d lost Jessie’s attention. Shading her eyes from the sun, she stared up the road toward a tall, fairhaired man. Ben didn’t recognize him. It was probably someone looking for work. With the recent shortage, they could use all the help they could get. Dusty and fatigued, the man didn’t appear in any hurry to reach his destination. He was alone.

  Jessie took one step, then started to run. The young man’s face broke into a smile when she cried out, “Jared!”

  He caught her and spun her around. “You weigh a ton.”

  Ben smiled. Jessie had started to fill out in all the right places. Jared released her. “You’re home,” Ben heard her say.

  A shadow seemed to cross Jared’s face. “Yes,” he said soberly. “I’m home.” He didn’t appear overjoyed.

  Recalling Ben’s presence, Jessie approached him with her brother in tow. Before she could make the introductions, Jared took the initiative. “I couldn’t help noticing, the workers look upset. Looks like we’ve got a problem.”

  “A potential one,” Ben admitted, taking Jared’s measure. He liked what he saw. Jessie’s brother was no weakling.

  Jared studied him with equal intensity. “I don’t think we’ve met before.” He held out his hand. “I’m Jared Carlisle.”

  Ben left Jessie to make the announcement. She did so haltingly. “This is Ben…my husband.”

  Jared’s hand dropped, his voice lowered a notch. “You never said anything about a husband in your letters.”

  Jessie glanced nervously at Ben. “It’s sort of recent.” She cleared her throat. “A few weeks.”

  Jared’s face hardened. “Wasn’t that a bit sudden?”

  Ben interrupted, “Look, I know this comes as news. Why don’t you reserve judgment for a while?”

  Making an obvious attempt to end the awkwardness, Jessie asked, “Why didn’t you call? I could have picked you up.”

  “I hitched a ride from town.”

  Fred came around the corner of the barn. He caught his breath as if winded. “Well, if you ain’t a sight for sore eyes.”

  The two men hugged. Fred’s eyes looked watery.

  Jared looked around as if surprised. “I have missed this place.” He spotted Homer and shook his head. “That old renegade bull is still here. Dad was always threatening to sell him.”

  Ben said dryly, “Homer became a sacred cow.”

  There were lots of sacred cows and taboos in the family, he discovered that evening at the hospital.

  “Hello, son.” No smile accompanied Ira’s greeting.

  “Dad,” Jared said quietly. “I guess it’s been a while.”

  Jessie’s brother wasn’t what Ben had expected. He was quiet, introspective, serious—and obviously not too pleased to be home. “Two years,” Ira said with some bitterness.

  Jared shrugged. He was tall but not broad—not as broad as his father. “I’m sorry you’re sick. How are you?”

  Ira refused to bend. “You took your time getting here.”

  “I’m here now,” Jared returned, squaring his jaw.

  Watching them, Ben was curious. Had Ira met his match in his own son? There was a relentless quality in Jared’s eyes—gray eyes a shade stormier than Jessie’s.

  That night, Jessie brought fresh linens to Jared’s room. He frowned at the motorcycle boots tucked under the bed. She scooped up a pair of jeans from a chair.

  Jared stared. “Don’t you share a room with him?”

  “He has a name. It’s Ben.”

  “Don’t you share a room with Ben?” he returned with a touch of sarcasm. Naturally, Jared was suspicious.

  She and Ben were married, even if they didn’t share a bedroom, just a bed. “Yes.” She blushed. “Yes, of course we share a room.” On occasion. Her heart sank. No matter how she tried to disguise it, her marriage was a sham.

  Jared folded his arms. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but Dad didn’t appear any too fond of your husband. From what I’ve seen, you and this guy—Ben—don’t look exactly cozy.”

  Jessie grabbed a box and started to collect Ben’s things from around the room. “I’ll just get these out of your way.”

  “Has Dad been up to some of his old tricks?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She looked about for more of Ben’s belongings. There weren’t any;
the box was less than half full. He owned so few possessions. He traveled light. If he did decide to leave, she couldn’t see him adding a sidecar to his motorcycle. Make that a sidecar and a half. She hadn’t been married long, but the suspicion that she was pregnant grew more probable with each day. The thought thrilled her—when she allowed herself to think about it.

  Jared said in an exasperated tone, “I’d like an answer.”

  “All right.” She dropped the box. “There was some gossip.”

  Jared’s face looked grim. “Was it true?”

  “No,” she said, hurt by the skepticism in his eyes.

  “But Dad wanted a wedding?”

  She couldn’t prevent the hurt. “Is it so difficult to believe Ben wanted to marry me?”

  Jared looked sheepish. “I’m sorry, Jessie.” At that moment, he looked young and unsure. He looked around his old room. His face tightened. “I see Dad got rid of my things.”

  “I stored them in the attic.” She hadn’t obeyed her father’s orders to throw everything of Jared’s away.

  “It doesn’t matter. He was furious when I left home.” Jared hesitated. “Jessie, do you ever think of Mom?”

  “No. No, I don’t.” She denied any recollection, then felt overwhelmed with guilt for denying the woman who’d given her life. Her mother had left and never come back. Jessie had buried the hurt so long ago. Yet, it still ached. Apparently, some wounds never healed.

  “I don’t remember much,” she admitted after a long silence. “Just bits and pieces.” She wrapped her fingers around a bedpost, holding on to something solid. “I remember cinnamon toast. And the color blue.”

  “Blue was her favorite color. She loved us, Jessie.”

  Jessie shook her head. “Then why did she leave?”

  “She loved you,” Jared insisted. “I know she did.”

  “Do we have to discuss this now? It’s late, and—”

  “You can’t run from it forever.”

  Jessie picked up the box with Ben’s possessions. “I know, but not now.” She said good-night and went to her room.