Chapter 4
When Jessica stepped outside, Pete and Johnnie must have heard the screen door slap behind her since both ceased what they were doing and straightened.
"We found your suitcases," Pete said. "Ready for us to take them up for you, lovely lady?"
She jerked her gaze to Pete, face burning with embarrassment. She'd never once been called that before. Not even by her Dad.
Pete winked at her and bent to retrieve two of the cases. Johnnie lifted the other one and the three of them made their way into the house and toward the stairs. When they crossed the great room, Jessica glanced about the western style furniture and then to the huge fireplace and smiled; the six-point deer head was still mounted there after all these years. Everything here was as she remembered. It gave her a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. As though she'd come home, which in itself seemed odd to her. The last thing she should be feeling is at home in this uncommon place, with a dead deer head on the wall.
When she reached the two waiting men, she turned the knob to the bedroom door and pushed it open. The room instantly delighted her senses. It was large and fully furnished with a feminine flare. On the four-poster bed lay a colorful hand-made quilt with matching throw rugs on the floor. Curtains of white lace wafted in the breeze at the large window. And, there was fresh air. Lots of fresh air. Jessica crossed to the sill, tipped her head back and breathed in deeply. She gazed out at the surroundings: open spaces, wildflower-dotted meadows with Herefords scattered throughout, a clear mountain stream, two sleepy hound dogs, and cowboys milling in and out of the barn. Beauty and silence.
Maybe the serenity had actually begun to seep in.
Jessica took a last big breath and turned. "Thank you, fellas. I guess I should change and go help Mabel."
Pete looked shaken, like he'd stayed on the dance floor long after the music had stopped. "Yes, ma'am." He turned and dashed out of the room.
Johnnie lounged against the doorjamb. His one-sided grin had grown a bit more. This man was sure easy on the eyes. Jessica had to put her brain back in gear. "Well. . . thank you . . . Johnnie is it?"
"Yes, ma'am. Happy to help. Anything else, let Mabel know." He straightened, tugged on the brim of his hat and left.
She sighed. Maybe she'd be okay here.
In short order Jessica changed to cooler shorts and a clean cotton blouse. The outfit's green color made her hazel eyes bright with similar color, boosting her confidence. Ready as she'd ever be, she headed downstairs.
Heat from the day had accumulated in the kitchen, and her jangled nerves had invited friends. Nonetheless, she was ready to work. Anxious, in fact, to get her life here started, and move past the newness.
Mabel took one look at her, rolled her eyes, and didn't hold back her comments. "Well, if you insist on wearing almost nothin', don't blame me if those cowboys don't keep their tongues from waggin' and their eyes from gawkin'."
Jessica's own eyes widened as she stared at Mabel. She gulped, feeling like she'd swallowed something without chewing. When she found her voice, she strained to force out the words. "Is this inappropriate, Mabel? Everyone wears bermuda shorts in the summer where I come from."
"Well o' course they do. You live in California. Everyone knows you Californians are a little short on good sense when it comes to dressin' . . . and other things, I hear."
Jessica flushed at the implication. But she didn't want to stir up trouble right off the bat. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I'll run up and change."
"Oh no you won't, little miss! Too late now. The men'll be wantin' their meal, and we're behind. Come over here and shuck some of this corn. You do know how to shuck corn, don't you?" Mabel held out an apron for her.
Worried and wondering what would happen now at supper, she stepped forward to let Mabel tie the apron at her back. With so much left to do and so little time, Mabel and Jessica worked on the last of the meal preparations in silence, to Jessica's immense relief. Before she knew it, the screen door flew open and cowboys poured in and plunked down at the tables. Jessica forced herself not to turn around. She concentrated on yanking off green husks and silk from the corn and plopping each cob into the boiling water of the huge Dutch ovens atop the stove.
Mabel took a few steps toward the men to get their attention, her arms akimbo. Frowning, she said, "Haven't I told you boys time and again that I'd ring the triangle for you ta come in for supper? What're ya all doin' here?"
"We're all hungrier than a mountain lion on the hunt, Mabel," a man said. "You know we'll sit here like decent folk 'til you're ready. Right boys?"
A quick glance told Jessica the lanky spokesman had his back to the kitchen, oblivious of her.
No one answered.
"Right boys?"
When the man still didn't get an answer, from anyone, Jessica heard him spin around to hunt for what seemed to hold them all captive. She felt his stare on her back.
The quiet lengthened until Jessica couldn't stand it anymore. She slowly turned to face the men. Pushing her palms down her apron, she scrunched a bunch of fabric in each hand, painfully aware of the many sets of eyes inspecting her bare legs from ankle to knee. It was her clothes, of course, since she'd never drawn this kind of attention in her entire uninteresting life.
Heat rose up her neck and burst into her cheeks.
She whipped back to the counter, crossed her legs at the ankles to lessen the view, and ripped into the corn with a vengeance.
Mabel broke the silence, pointing a stubby finger at each of the men as if she were counting strays. "Okay, quit oglin'. Not like you haven't seen a girl before. This is Roy's niece. He'll be here shortly to introduce you, official like. Until then, you can stay only if you promise to sit there like gents."
In the next few minutes, more of the cowhands entered the kitchen and went through the same scenario. At first Jessica was flustered, then flattered, until she remembered that in the past few months these men had seen many pretty girls come and go through Mabel's kitchen.
Deciding her best course of action would be to ignore their inspection, she went about serving drinks. Before long the front door opened to a burly man she instantly recognized—Uncle Roy. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Should she run to him? Wait until he came over to her?
As soon as he spotted her he strolled across the room and captured her in a mammoth hug. "Jessica. You made it!" He plunked her down and stepped back. "Let's have a look at you. You're a woman now, and a mighty handsome one at that. Look like your mom."
Mom's looks? She'd always thought of her mom as beautiful. He was just being kind.
"Hey everyone..." He scanned the room and then nodded as if concluding that most of the cowboys were here. "This is Jessica, my niece. She's here to help Mabel feed your greedy bodies. Make her feel welcome, but I expect ya to treat her with respect."
He grinned then and reached around her to snatch an apple slice off one of the platters on the counter. Mabel slapped his hand. "What're ya tryin to do, create bad habits 'round here? They all do what they see you do."
"Sorry Mabel, I'm starvin'. Serve 'em up. Clint's right behind me."
With a well-rounded hip Mabel crowded Jessica into the corner of the counter, startling her. Though Jessica was taller, that fact apparently didn't faze the little cook.
"Listen up, girl." Mabel's hot breath blasted Jessica's neck. "You're to stay away from Clint. Keep your mind on your work and we'll get along just fine."
Jessica caught her breath, stunned by Mabel's boldness. She looked down into the older woman's snapping brown eyes. Jessica had been pushed around her whole life. One of the draw-backs of a compliant nature. This time something inside triggered. She wanted to fight back, be her own boss and make her own decisions, now that she was out on her own. She blinked at the belligerence inside her. Another unwelcome surprise from overwrought nerves.
Mabel waited. Ultimately, she nodded and Mabel wandered off.
Jessica whipped back to th
e corn, picked up too many cobs at once, and plopped them into the water, grimacing when the hot splash nipped at her hand.
Within minutes the front door opened. Jessica turned to see a man standing outside. He had his head bent as he clomped his feet. Spurs jangled with each stamp against the porch planks, and ranch dust peppered in all directions. When he stepped through the doorway, late afternoon light shone at his back, setting him in shadow. She stared at that silhouette, lost in a recollection she couldn't quite gather. She shook off the allusion.
This had to be Clint. The same man who'd led the group into camp earlier that day. There was no mistaking those broad shoulders and exceptional height. His blue chambray shirt, rolled at the sleeves to show corded forearms, added to an overall appeal. He lifted his Stetson from his head, and winced. He thumped the hat once against his thigh before hanging it on the hook beside the door. Dust particles seemed to hang on the air.
Entranced by the man, she braced her back against the counter to keep from swaying. The rest of the group had gone back to laughing and talking, but her attention remained riveted on the vision before her. Bringing a gloved hand to his mouth, he bit down on two fingertips with straight white teeth, and tugged. He retrieved the glove from his mouth, did the same with the other, then dropped both gloves on the small table by the door. Once his hands were free, he reached one hand up to rake his fingers through hair the color of rich mahogany, kissed by the sun. In spite of the effort, his hair seemed untamable. And, as if making a statement to that effect, one unruly curl flung itself stubbornly onto his tanned forehead.
Jessica's senses hummed, as if awakened for the first time. She took a deep breath—had her lungs shrunk?—and tried to settle her thunderous heart.
Casually, the imposing man bent at the waist and reached around the backs of his solid thighs to untie his chaps. Once released, he plopped them onto the battered chair by the door, pinched at the faded blue jeans sticking to his thighs, and swung the door closed.
Jessica couldn't move. In fact, she wondered if her body had forgotten the simple task of taking in air. No wonder Mabel had warned her away from him. She had never in her life been so impacted by just watching a man, especially one she hadn't met. She imagined Mabel's past helpers having the same reaction, and understood their failure for the first time.
Mabel skirted around her, busy with the supper. She glowered at Jessica each time she passed by. Though Jessica peripherally noticed Mabel's exasperation, she couldn't seem to peel her gaze from Clint. Great way to start my first day.
Clint turned toward the kitchen, running both hands through his hair this time, and caught a glimpse of Jessica. When their gazes met, his hands stilled in his hair, biceps bulging against his shirt sleeves from the stilted action. Her heart thumped hard against the wall of her chest.
Dropping his hands to his sides, he strode toward her, spurs clinking with every loose-hipped step. The smell of leather, the great outdoors, and hard-working-man—surprisingly pleasant—teased her nose as he drew near. A thatch of dark hair peeked out the V at his open collar. She couldn't quite look into his eyes, so she fixed her gaze at that V.
He towered over her and came so close she could feel heat rolling off his body. She stood stupidly in place while her heart thundered. If she didn't calm down soon she'd begin to pant, since her lungs couldn't seem to keep up. Finally, she forced her head back to look up at him, instinctively knowing it would give him an advantage of some sort not to.
She felt paralyzed. By something. He reminded her of . . .she didn't know. Or, couldn't seem to remember.
Funny. He seemed bewildered, as well. Neither of them looked away. Jessica studied every detail of his face—appealing and rugged with the day's dark stubble shadowing his skin, and beyond good-looking.
He scrubbed his right palm down his hip and extended it to her. "Hello, ma'am, I'm Clint Wilkins." His voice was deep, rich. "And you are?"
She took his hand, watching as his swallowed up her cold trembling one. She jerked with the electricity that seemed to arc between them. When she peered back up, his perplexed expression had changed to a knowing smile.
Only by sheer force of will, and embarrassment at his ability to read her so well, she straightened. This man would not make her fumble around like a smitten school girl. She was a woman, for goodness sake. She needed to act like one. Problem was, her pulse raced. She couldn't think. Definitely couldn't breathe right. But the real crisis was if she didn't keep her head she would immediately fail, sooner than all the others before her. Walt's words came back . . . they get taken in by our good-lookin' foreman.
At last he released her hand and moved back a step. She gasped as if the space had let in much needed oxygen.
His grin broadened. Arrogance? But as she stared, she wondered, forcing her emotions to take second chair to her mind. There lingered something about him, other than his enormous good looks. Something . . . else. Something . . . greater. As she worked at determining what that was, his grin vanished and his brows began to furrow.
Oh. Goodness. What was it he asked me?
Uncle Roy jumped in. "Clint, this is my niece, Jessica. Jessica, Clint is like a son to me, and as you may recall, my foreman."
"N-nice to meet you." She sounded so . . . young. She lowered her eyes to break the hold he had on her and turned to offer help to Mabel. She tripped over Uncle Roy in her haste and almost groaned out loud.
"Just remember what I said," Mabel whispered in warning.
Twice Jessica tripped on outstretched boots, almost losing the platter of fried chicken in someone's lap. More than once she spilled the cider on the table and on the men. She felt the stares boring into her back and knew she must look like a bumbling idiot. All because of the amazing man she'd just met.
Though she couldn't get her mind off him, he seemed content to sit with his men and chow down, not once looking at her.
A huge desire swelled up in her to interest him. But then, that remained out of the question. No one like him would ever be interested in someone unremarkable. It was a pipe dream, and one she had long since stopped dreaming. That being the case, her only recourse was to ask the Lord to keep her from making a fool of herself, help her to stay detached and levelheaded around him. To act her age.