Her Kind Of Cowboy
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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 listen.” Looking skeptical, Curly leaned back against the wall. “Damned if I can figure how that can be done. Horse whispering, they call it, right? And now you do that, too?”
“Something like that.” Jesse flipped open the tab on his root beer.
Curly watched the young stranger take a long drink. “Mind if I stop by the Martins and watch? I’d sure like to see that.”
“If it’s okay with the Martins, it’s fine with me.” The man didn’t have a clue who he was, Jesse decided as he climbed back behind the wheel.
Settling the can in the cup holder, he started the engine, wondering if the Martins or Casey would figure out his identity. Then he wondered if it wouldn’t be better if they didn’t recognize him. Six years ago, he hadn’t called Vern Martin to explain why he wasn’t coming back, to say nothing of how they’d react if they learned he’d used a phony name.
Back on the highway, Jesse frowned. He was aware that deceptions always have a price tag. No matter how small, no matter how worthy the motive, the deception erases all credibility, all trust. And often one lie leads to another. If he had it to do over…
He’d wanted to explain, at least to Abby, who’d been so loving and sweet. Though it had been cut short, they’d had a special time that summer. As soon as he’d been released from the hospital, he’d called the Martin ranch, hoping Abby would pick up. Only Lindsay had answered and said that Abby wasn’t there. When he’d asked if she’d gone back to college, Lindsay in a smug tone had told him that Abby had gotten married and moved away. That had surprised him. Only weeks before, she’d been meeting him, holding him, making love with him.
Jesse had asked to speak to Vern so he could explain why he hadn’t returned, but Lindsay wouldn’t allow him to get in another word. In no uncertain terms, she told him he was persona non grata at the Martins, ordering him to quit calling and to stay away.
Somewhat shocked, Jesse had hung up. He knew that Abby had had no way to reach him, not knowing his real name. Yet he had trouble imagining that she’d met someone in such a short time and gotten married. That didn’t seem in character for the girl he’d known. Maybe she wasn’t the person he’d thought she was, after all.
Even as a youngster, Cam had often remarked that Jesse was stubborn. As his health had improved, he’d wanted to go to the Martins, to explain to Vern that an accident had kept him from returning, that he wasn’t the sort who’d leave someone high and dry without a damn good reason. And he’d wanted to hear from Abby’s own lips that she was happy with this new guy. But Cam and Jake, very aware he was still weak, still not up to par, had talked him out of the trip.
It hadn’t been easy, trying to forget Abby. During his slow healing, the hours of exercises, memories of their time together haunted him. He’d begun to think he was falling in love with her and she with him before he’d left. They’d had a lot in common—their love of ranching and horses and even children. Abby had told him she wanted to be a teacher. They’d lie in each other’s arms on the grassy hillside and talk for hours, once almost till dawn. Who knows where their feelings would have taken them if fate hadn’t intervened? Yet now, he knew he had to put her out of his mind because she belonged to another man. It seemed to Jesse that their time together hadn’t meant as much to her as it had to him if she could so easily, so quickly marry another.
It had been a fluke, the Martins hearing about Jesse Calder and his work with traumatized horses. Casey, the Martin ranch foreman, had called and all but begged him to take a look at Remus. Despite his family’s cautious warnings, he’d decided to go, to see for himself. Especially because Casey had said that Remus belonged to the youngest Martin daughter.
But now, spotting the arched entrance to the Martin ranch just ahead, Jesse couldn’t help wondering if he’d made the right decision as his stomach muscles tightened.
Before he’d made the decision to go, he’d looked into just what kind of operation the Martins had. After all, his last visit had been six years ago and he’d been concentrating on cattle, not horses. He’d learned that the ranch had been in the Martin family since 1880 and currently consisted of more than one-thousand acres with fifteen-hundred Brahman cross cows, nine-hundred head mother cows, six-hundred head yearlings and eighteen bulls. They raised their own native grass and hay, about two-thousand tons yearly. They had forty saddle and workhorses and a staff of about thirty including Casey, the manager, and Carmalita, the cook.
At first glance, Jesse could see a few changes since he’d last set foot on Martin soil. Sporting a fresh coat of white paint and new green shutters, the big house, as everyone called the owners’ three-story home, stood off to the right from the entrance and down a ways. On the grass in front was the same old cottonwood tree and around the perimeter of the wide porch were flowers that he remembered Joyce Martin planted and pruned herself.
A short distance from the big house was a new small building decorated in a rainbow of colors. Jesse couldn’t imagine what that was used for.