Hawk's Way (2 page)

“I'm not saying I don't need the help,” Honey argued. “I just don't have the money right now to—”

“Who said anything about money?” Jesse asked. “I'd work for bed and board.”

Honey frowned. “I really don't—”

“If you're worried about hiring a stranger, I'll vouch for Jesse,” Dallas said. “We went to Texas Tech together.”

“How long ago was that?” Honey asked.

“Fifteen years,” Dallas admitted. “But I'd trust Jesse with my life.”

Only it wouldn't be Dallas's life that would be at stake. It was Honey's, and those of her sons, Jack and Jonathan. “I'll think about it,” she said.

“I'm afraid I need something a little more definite than that,” Jesse said. He tipped his hat back and said, “A drifting man needs a reason
to light and set, or else he just keeps on drifting.”

Honey didn't believe from looking at him that Jesse Whitelaw would ever settle anywhere for very long. But another pair of hands to share the load, even for a little while, would be more than welcome. There was some ranch work too heavy for her to handle, even with her older son's help. Honey brushed aside the notion that she would be alone with a stranger all day while the boys were at school. It was only a matter of weeks before her sons would be home for summer vacation.

She took a deep breath and let it out. “All right. When can you start?”

“I've got some things to do first.”

Honey felt a sense of relief that she wouldn't have to face him again in the near future. It evaporated when he said, “How about bright and early tomorrow morning?”

Honey sought a reason to keep him away a little longer, to give herself some time to reconsider what she was doing, but nothing came to mind. Anyway, she needed the help now. There
was vaccinating to be done, and she needed to make a tally of which cattle were missing so she could make a more complete report to the police.

Also she needed to add some light to improve security around the barn where she kept General, the champion Hereford bull that was the most important asset of the Flying Diamond.

“Tomorrow morning will be fine,” she said.

The words were barely out of her mouth when the kitchen door was thrust open and another silhouette appeared. “I've been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing out here?”

Adam Philips joined what was quickly becoming a crowd on the back porch. He strode to Honey's side and slipped a possessive arm around her waist. “I'm Adam Philips,” he said by way of introduction to the stranger he found there. “I don't think we've met.”

“Jesse Whitelaw,” the stranger said.

Honey watched as the two men shook hands. There was nothing cordial about the greeting. She didn't understand the reason for the animosity between them; it existed nonetheless.

“Are you ready to come back inside?” Adam asked.

He had tightened his hold on her waist until it was uncomfortable. Honey tried to step out of his grasp, but he pulled her back against his hip.

“I think the lady wants you to let her go,” Jesse said.

“I'll be the judge of what the lady wants,” Adam retorted.

The drifter's eyes were hard and cold, and Honey felt sure that at any moment he would enforce his words with action. “Please let go,” she said to Adam.

At first Adam's grip tightened, but when he glanced over at her, she gave him a speaking look that said she meant business. Reluctantly he let her go.

“It's about time we headed home, don't you think?” Adam said to Honey.

Honey was irked by Adam's choice of words, which insinuated that they lived together. However, she didn't think now was the moment to take him to task. The drifter was still poised for
battle, and Honey didn't want to be the cause of any more of a scene than had already occurred.

“It is getting late,” she said, “and I've got a long day tomorrow. It was nice meeting you, Jesse. I'll see you in the morning.”

Honey anticipated Adam's questions and hurried him back inside. It took them a while to get through the kitchen, which now held several women collecting leftover potluck dishes to be carried home.

“Aha! I expect you two were out seeing a little of the moonlight,” one teased.

“We'll be hearing wedding bells soon,” another chorused.

Honey didn't bother denying their assumptions. They might very well prove true. But it was hard to smile and make humorous rejoinders right now, because she was still angry with Adam for his caveman behavior on the back porch.

When they reached the living room, a Randy Travis ballad was playing. “Dance with me?” Adam asked. His lips curved in the charming
smile that had endeared him to her when they first met. Right now it wasn't doing a thing to put her in a romantic mood. However, it would be harder to explain her confused feelings to Adam than it would be to dance with him. “Sure,” she said, relenting with a hesitant smile.

At almost the same moment Adam took her into his arms, she spied the drifter entering the living room. He stayed in the shadows, but Honey knew he was there. She could feel him watching her. She stiffened when Adam's palm slid down to the lowest curve in her spine. It wasn't something he hadn't done before. In the past, she had permitted it. But now, with the drifter watching, Adam's possessive touch felt uncomfortable.

Honey stepped back and said, “I'm really tired, Adam. Do you think we could go now?”

Adam searched her face, looking for signs of fatigue she knew he would find. “You do look tired,” he agreed. “All right. Do you need to get anything from the kitchen?”

“I'll pick up my cake plate another time,”
she said. She felt the drifter's eyes on her as Adam ushered her out the front door to his low-slung sports car. He opened the door for her and she slid inside. Protected by the darkness within the car she was able to look back toward the house without being observed. She felt her nape prickle when she caught sight of the drifter standing at the front window.

Honey knew he couldn't see her, yet she felt as though his eyes pinned her to the seat. They were dark and gleamed with some emotion she couldn't identify. She abruptly turned away when Adam opened the opposite door and the dome light came on.

Adam put a country music tape on low, setting a romantic mood which, before Honey had met the drifter, she would have appreciated. Right now the mellow tones only agitated her, reminding her that Adam had proposed and was waiting for her answer. He expected her to give him a decision tonight. To be honest, she had led him to believe her answer would be yes. They hadn't slept together; she hadn't been ready to face that kind of intimacy with another
man. But she had kissed him, and it had been more than pleasant.

“Honey?”

“What?” Her voice was sharp, and she cleared her throat and repeated in a softer tone, “What?”

“Are you sure you want to hire that drifter?”

“I don't see that I have much choice. There's work to be done that I can't do myself.”

“You could marry me.”

The silence after Adam spoke was an answer in itself. Honey knew she shouldn't give him hope. She ought to tell him right now that she couldn't marry him, that it wasn't right to marry a man she didn't love. But the thought of that drifter, with his dark, haunting eyes, made her hold her tongue. She was too attracted to Jesse Whitelaw for her own good. If she were free, she might be tempted to get involved with him. And that would be disastrous.

But was it fair to leave Adam hanging?

Honey sighed. It seemed she had sighed more in the past evening than she had in the past year. “I can't—”

“You don't have to give me your answer
now,” Adam said. “I know you still miss Cale. I can wait a little longer. Now that you have that hired hand, it ought to make things easier on you.”

They had arrived at the two-story wood frame ranch house built by Cale's grandfather. Adam stopped his car outside the glow of the front porch light. He came around and opened the door and pulled her out of the car and into his arms.

Honey was caught off guard. Even so, as Adam's lips sought her mouth she quickly turned aside so he kissed her cheek instead.

Adam lifted his head and looked down at her, searching her features in the shadows. Something had changed between them tonight. He thought of the stranger he had found with Honey on the Mastersons' back porch and felt a knot form in his stomach. He had always known that his relationship with Honey was precarious. He had hoped that once they were married she would come to love him as much as he loved her. He hadn't counted on another man coming into the picture.

Honey kept her face averted for a moment
longer but knew that was the coward's way out. She had to face Adam and tell him what she was feeling.

“Adam, I—”

He put his fingertips on her lips. “Don't say anything. Just kiss me good night, and I'll go.”

Honey looked up into his eyes and saw a tenderness that made her ache. Why didn't she love this man? She allowed his lips to touch hers and it was as pleasant as she remembered. But when he tried to deepen the kiss, she backed away.

“Honey?”

“I'm sorry, Adam. It's been a long day.”

He looked confused and even a little hurt. But she had tried twice to refuse his proposal and he hadn't let her do it. Maybe her response to his kiss had told him what she hadn't said in words. Then he smiled, and she could have cried because his words were thoughtful, his voice tender. “Good night, Honey. Get some rest. I'll call you next week.”

He would, too.
Good old reliable Adam.
She was a fool not to leap at the chance to marry such a man.

Honey stood in the shadows until he was
gone. When she turned toward the house she saw the living room curtain drop. That would be her older son, Jack. He kept an eagle eye on her, which hadn't helped Adam's courtship. She called out to him as she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“Come on down, Jack. I know you're still awake.”

The lanky thirteen-year-old ambled back down the stairs he had just raced up. “He didn't stay long,” Jack said. “You tell him no?”

“I haven't given him an answer.”

“But you're going to say no, right?”

She heard the anxiety in Jack's voice. He wasn't ready to let anyone in their closed circle and most certainly not a man to take his father's place. She didn't dare tell him how she really felt before she told Adam, because her son was likely to blurt it out at an inopportune moment. She simply said, “I haven't made a decision.”

Honey put an arm around her son's shoulder and realized he was nearly as tall as she was.
Oh, Cale. I wish you could see how your sons have grown!
“Come on,” she said. “Let's go make some hot chocolate.”

“I'd rather have coffee,” Jack said.

She arched a brow at him. “Coffee will keep me awake, and I need all the rest I can get.”

Jack eyed her and announced somberly, “School will be out in about three weeks, Mom. I don't think I can do any more around here until then.”

“You don't have to,” she said. “I've hired a man to help out.”

“I thought we couldn't afford hired help.”

“He'll be working for room and board.”

“Oh. What's he like?”

Honey wasn't about to answer that question. She couldn't have explained how she felt about the drifter right now. “He'll be here in the morning and you can ask him all the questions you want.”

From the look her son gave her, she suspected Jack would grill the drifter like a hamburger. She smiled. That, she couldn't wait to see.

Jesse Whitelaw had another big surprise coming if he harbored any notions of pursuing Honey on her home ground. Her teenage son was a better chaperon than a Spanish duenna.

H
oney yawned and stretched, forcing the covers off and exposing bare skin to the predawn chill. She scooted back underneath the blanket and pulled it up over her shoulders. She was more tired than she ought to be first thing in the morning, but she hadn't slept well. For the first time in over a year, however, it wasn't memories of Cale that had kept her awake.

The drifter!

Honey bolted upright in her bed. He was supposed to show up bright and early this morning.
She glanced out the lace curtains in her upstairs bedroom and realized it was later than she'd thought. Her sons would already be up and getting ready for school. She tossed the covers away, shivering again as the cold air hit flesh exposed by her baby doll pajamas. She grabbed Cale's white terry cloth robe and scuffed her feet into tattered slippers before hurriedly heading downstairs.

Halfway down, she heard Jonathan's excited voice. At eight he still sounded a bit squeaky. Jack's adolescent response was lower-pitched, but his voice occasionally broke when he least expected it. She was already in the kitchen by the time she realized they weren't talking to each other.

The drifter was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee before him. Honey clutched the robe to her throat, her mouth agape.

“Catch a lot of flies that way,” the drifter said with a lazy grin.

Her jaws snapped closed.

“Good morning,” he said, touching a finger to the brim of his Stetson.

“Is it?” she retorted.

His skin looked golden in the sunlight. There were fine lines around his eyes and deep brackets around his mouth that had been washed out by the artificial light the previous evening. He was older than she'd thought, maybe middle thirties. But his dark eyes were as piercing as she remembered, and he pinned her with his stare. Honey felt naked.

She gripped the front of the masculine robe tighter, conscious of how she was dressed—or rather, not dressed. She thrust a hand into her shoulder-length hair, which tumbled in riotous natural curls around her face. She wondered how her mascara had survived the night. Usually it ended up clumped on the ends of her eyelashes or smudged underneath them. She reached up to wipe at her eyes, then stuck her hand in the pocket of the robe. It wasn't her fault he'd found her looking like something the cat dragged in.

Honey didn't want to admit that the real reason she resented this unsettling man's presence in her kitchen so early in the morning was that she hadn't wanted him to see her looking so…so mussed.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He raised a brow as though the answer was obvious. And it was.

“I let him in,” Jack said, his hazel eyes anxious. “You said the hired hand was coming this morning. I thought it would be okay.”

Honey took several steps into the room and laid a hand on her older son's shoulder. “You did fine. I'm just a little surprised at how early Mr. Whitelaw got here.”

“He said we can call him Jesse,” Jonathan volunteered.

Honey bristled. The man had certainly made himself at home.

“Jesse helped me make my sandwich,” Jonathan added, holding up a brown paper bag.

Honey's left hand curled into a fist in the pocket of the robe. “That was nice.” Her voice belied the words.

“Jesse thinks I'm old enough to make my own lunch,” Jonathan continued, his chest pumped out with pride.

Honey had known for some time that Jonathan could make his own sandwich, but she had kept doing it for him because the routine morn
ing chore kept her from missing Cale so much. She was annoyed by the drifter's interference but couldn't say so without taking away from Jonathan's accomplishment.

“Jesse rides bulls and rodeo broncs,” Jack said. “He worked last at a ranch in northwest Texas called Hawk's Way. He's gonna teach me some steer roping tricks. He's never been married but he's had a lot of girlfriends. Oh, and he graduated from Texas Tech with a degree in animal husbandry and ranch management.”

It was hard for Honey not to laugh aloud at the chagrined look on Jesse's face as Jack recited all the information he'd garnered. The drifter had been, if not grilled, certainly a little singed around the edges.

The shoe was on the other foot as Jack continued, “I told him how you haven't been coping too well since Dad—well, this past year. Not that you don't try,” he backtracked when he spied the horrified look on his mother's face, “but after all, Mom, the work is pretty hard for you.”

Honey was abashed by her son's forthrightness. “I've managed fine,” she said. She didn't
want Jesse Whitelaw thinking she needed him more than she did. After all, a drifter like him wasn't going to be around long. Soon enough she'd be managing on her own again.

She stiffened her back and lifted her chin. Staring Jesse Whitelaw right in the eye she announced, “And I expect I'll still be managing fine long after you've drifted on.”

“The fact remains, you need me now, Mrs. Farrell,” the drifter said in that rusty gate voice. “So long as I'm here, you'll be getting a fair day's work from me.”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable for everyone except the younger boy.

In the breach Jonathan piped up, “Jesse thinks I should have a real horse to ride, not just a pony.”

“I'm sure Jesse does,” Honey said in as calm a voice as she could manage. “But I'm your mother, and until I decide differently, you'll stick with what you have.”

“Aww, Mom.”

This was an old argument, and Honey cut it off at the pass. “The school bus will be here in
a few minutes,” she said. “You boys had better get out to the main road.”

Honey gave Jonathan a hug and a quick kiss before he headed out the kitchen door. “Have a nice day, sweetheart.”

Jack was old enough to pick up the tension that arced between his mother and the drifter. His narrowed glance leapt from her to Jesse and back again. “Uh, maybe I ought to stay home today. Kind of show Jesse around.”

Honey forced herself to smile reassuringly. “Nonsense. You have reviews for finals starting this week. You can't afford to miss them. Jesse and I will manage fine. Won't we?”

She turned to Jesse, asking him with her eyes to add his reassurance to hers.

Jesse rose and shoved his chair under the table. “Appreciate the offer,” he said to Jack. “But like your mom said, we'll be just fine.”

“Then I better run, or I'll miss the bus.” Jack hesitated another instant before he sprinted for the door. Honey would have liked to hug Jack, too, but at thirteen, he resisted her efforts to cosset him.

A moment later they were alone. Jesse was
watching her again, and Honey's body was reacting to the appreciation in his dark eyes. She rearranged the robe and pulled the belt tighter, grateful for the thick terry cloth covering. She felt the roses bloom on her cheeks and hurried over to the stove to pour herself a cup of coffee.

Too late she realized she should have excused herself to go upstairs to dress. If she left now without getting her coffee, he would know she was running scared. There was absolutely no reason for her to feel threatened. Dallas wouldn't have recommended Jesse Whitelaw if she had anything to fear from him. But she couldn't help the anxiety she felt.

“Would you like another cup of coffee?” she asked, holding up the pot.

“Don't mind if I do, Mrs. Farrell,” Jesse said.

“Please, you might as well call me Honey.”

“All right…Honey.”

Her name sounded far more intimate in that rusty gate voice of his than she was comfortable with. She stared, mesmerized for a moment by the warmth in his dark eyes, then realized what she was doing and repeated her offer.

“More coffee?”

He brought his cup over, and she realized she had made another tactical error. She could actually feel the heat from his body as he stepped close enough for her to pour his coffee. She turned her back on him to pour a cup for herself.

“Those are fine boys you have.” Jesse moved a kitchen chair and straddled it, facing her.

She leaned back against the counter rather than join him at the table. “In the future, I'd appreciate it if you don't come inside before I get downstairs,” she said.

“I wouldn't have come in except Jack said you were expecting me.”

“I was—that is—I didn't expect you quite so early.”

That was apparent. Honey's bed-tossed hair and sleepy-eyed look made Jesse want to pick her up and carry her back upstairs. He wasn't sure what—if anything—she was wearing under the man's robe. From the way she kept tightening the belt and clutching at the neck of the thing, he was guessing it wasn't much. His imagination had her stripped bare, and he liked what he saw.

It was too bad about her husband. From what
he'd heard, Cale Farrell had died a hero. He supposed a woman left alone to raise two kids wouldn't be thinking much about that. At least he was here to help her with the ranch work. Not that he would be around forever—or even for very long. But while he was here, he intended to do what he could to make her life easier.

He knew it would be easier for her if he didn't let her know he was attracted to her. But he wasn't used to hiding his feelings for a woman. The way he had been raised, part of respecting a woman was being honest with her. Jesse planned to be quite frank about his fascination with Honey Farrell.

He liked the way she'd prickled up last night, not at all intimidated by him. He liked the way she had stood her ground, willing to meet him eye to eye. He bristled when he thought of her with any other man—especially that Philips character. Jesse wasn't sure how serious their relationship was, but he knew Honey couldn't be in love with Philips. Otherwise she wouldn't have reacted so strongly to
his
touch.

At any rate, Jesse didn't intend to let the other man's interest in Honey keep him from pursuing
her himself. Which wasn't going to be easy, considering her opinion of drifters in general, and him—a half-breed Comanche—in particular. His look was challenging as he asked, “What did you have in mind for me to do today?”

Honey had been watching Jesse's fingers trace the top rail of the wooden chair. There was a scar that ran across all four knuckles. She was wondering how he'd gotten it when his fist suddenly folded around the back of the chair. “I'm sorry—what did you say?”

“I asked what you wanted me to do today.”

“There are some steers that need vaccinating, and the roof on the barn needs to be repaired. Some fence is down along the river and a few head of my stock have wandered onto the mohair goat ranch south of the Flying Diamond. I need to herd those strays back onto my land. Also—”

“That'll do for starters,” Jesse interrupted. He rose and set his coffee cup on the table. “I'll start on the barn roof while you get dressed. Then we can vaccinate those steers together. How does that sound?”

Honey started to object to him taking charge of things, but she realized she was just being
contrary. “Fine,” she said. “I'll come to the barn when I'm dressed.”

She waited for him to leave, but he just stood there looking at her. “What is it? Did I forget something?” she asked.

“No. I was admiring the view.” He flashed a smile, then headed out the kitchen door.

Honey ran upstairs, not allowing herself time to contemplate the drifter's compliment. He probably didn't spend much time around respectable women. He probably didn't realize he shouldn't be blurting out what he was thinking that way. And she shouldn't be feeling so good about the fact the hired hand liked the way she looked.

She was grateful to discover that her mascara had been clumped, rather than smudged. She took the time to wash her face and reapply a layer of sun-sensitive makeup. It was a habit she'd gotten into and had nothing to do with the fact there was now a man around to see her. Honey dressed in record time in fitted Levi's, plaid western shirt, socks and boots.

Even so, by the time she reached the barn,
Jesse was already on the roof, hammer in hand. He had his shirt off and she couldn't help looking.

Jesse had broad shoulders and a powerful chest, completely hairless except for a line of black down that ran from his navel into his formfitting jeans. His nipples provided a dark contrast to his skin, which looked warm to the touch. She could see the definition of his ribs above a washboard belly. His arms were ropy with muscle and already glistened with sweat. Here was a man who had done his share of hard work. Which made her wonder why he had never settled down.

It dawned on her that the drifter had chosen the most dangerous job to do first. He was standing on the peaked barn roof without any kind of safety rope as though he were some kind of mountain goat. How could he be so idiotically unconscious of the danger!

She started up the ladder he had laid against the side of the barn and heard him call, “No need for you to come up here.”