Her Kind Of Cowboy. Pat Warren

Jesse said as the cocoa-brown mixed breed barreled up the steps and into his arms, nearly knocking him over. “How’ve you been, boy?” he asked as the dog proceeded to lick his face.

      He’d forgotten about Jughead, the ranch dog that had been a youngster during Jesse’s first visit. Though he’d been friendly to all, Jughead had had a special affinity for Jesse, following him everywhere, even sleeping near his bunk. Missing his own Border collie back home, he’d spent some of his off hours trying to teach Jug some tricks. Like retrieving sticks thrown, or rolling over on command. He’d never learned any. The silly dog couldn’t even swim, always hanging back at the water’s edge, too scared to go in. But he’d been so loyal, so needy of affection since most of the men thought he was too dumb to bother with, that Jesse had sort of adopted him.

      And now here he was, proving that dogs never forget. Looking around, Jesse wondered if anyone still here from back then would remember Jug’s devotion to Jesse and figure out his identity. “I think I met one of your sons,” he told Jughead, remembering the brown puppy named Spike. With a final fond scratch behind the dog’s ears, Jesse rose to go inside. He opened the cabin door and Jug scooted in before he could stop him. It wasn’t until he turned that he noticed Abby standing in her schoolhouse doorway, watching him with a thoughtful look on her face.

      Resigned to the fact that sooner or later, the truth would come out as it usually did, Jesse followed the dog inside.

      Early afternoon and there were half a dozen men lingering behind the horse barn to watch Jesse work with Remus. The word had spread and curiosity had been aroused. Casey had told everyone to use the other door and he’d warned all who came to watch that they had to be quiet. Curly from the store leaned against the barn wall and shaded his face from the hot sun by tipping his hat lower.

      Even Vern was there, Casey noted. He’d taken the rancher to meet Jesse just before lunch and heard Vern ask the trainer to explain his methods. Lord knows the boy had tried. He’d said things like “silent communication with horses is far stronger than the spoken word,” and “the horse is an intelligent animal and should be in unison with man, not against him,” and finally “man should cause a horse to want to perform to his wishes.” Neither Vern nor Casey had understood half of what he’d said or meant.

      A sudden movement caught Casey’s eye and he noticed Abby slip into the shadows of the barn to watch.

      Now Jesse had the simple cotton line around Remus’s neck and had him circling the pen while he stood in the center holding the rope’s end. Round and round Remus went, slowly at first, up to a trot, then slowing down again. Patient as Job, Jesse held the line and steered him, changing directions now and again. After half an hour or so, the men began drifting away, murmuring their disappointment at a show that didn’t pan out. Soon after, shaking his head, Vern strolled off, too. Only Casey remained.

      And Abby, who stood silently watching from the shadows, sure he couldn’t see her.

      She didn’t know who interested her more, the man or the stallion. She decided there was an uncanny resemblance of this Jesse to the other, but they weren’t the same. This man was infinitely patient, with gentle moves, his gaze focused. The Jesse she’d known had been like a live wire, jumping onto his horse and riding bareback, racing with the wind, eager and enthusiastic. Much like she’d been back then. She doubted that that Jesse could have mellowed this much.

      But her heart wasn’t convinced, reacting to seeing this man as if the two were the same. The beard camouflaged the lower half of his face, but it looked as if Jesse Calder also had a square chin hinting at stubbornness. The other Jesse had worn his thick, black hair longer, down to the collar of the denim shirts he’d preferred. This man also wore denim, the sleeves rolled up on muscular arms. And he had on sunglasses, rarely worn by anyone else on the ranch.

      Remus looked better than she’d seen him in months. He marched around the pen and didn’t seem to mind the man holding the rope. But he never took his eyes from Jesse, still distrusting, still skittish. Abby knew it would take time getting through to Remus, if at all. This man seemed their only hope. She hated to give up on the stallion, on anyone.

      She should go, Abby thought, yet she stood rooted to the spot. She’d left Susie, her teenage assistant, in charge at the little schoolhouse reading a story to the older ones while the younger ones napped. But Abby didn’t like to be away too long. She was about to leave when she saw Jesse step closer to Remus. Immediately, the stallion skittered away. Jesse widened the loop and yanked the line from the horse’s neck, then left the pen.

      Abby stayed hidden, but Casey walked over to him. “So, was it a good day?”

      Jesse knew he was trying the man’s patience. “Yes, I’d say so.”

      “Don’t you get tired, standing out there for hours?”

      “Not as tired as Remus is. He’s the one running. I’m just standing there holding the line.”

      “So you figure you taught him something today?”

      “Sure. He’s familiar with my scent, knows I’m not really afraid of him and he knows I’m patient. A good day’s work.”

      “Uh-huh,” Casey answered, sounding unconvinced.

      Jesse smiled. “I know you don’t see it yet, but you will.”

      “I sure hope so.”

      “Listen, I was wondering, is there a horse I could ride once in a while? I usually ride every day at home.” The doctors had also told him he had to stay active, to not let his muscles tighten from nonuse. He’d equipped a gym at the Triple C and did strengthening exercises daily. Already he was thinking that helping Remus was going to take a while so he’d have to improvise.

      “Sure ’nuff,” Casey told him. “Domino’s good. Six-year-old quarter horse, black with white markings in the second stall. You’ll find saddles in the tack room. Help yourself.”

      “Thanks.” Checking his watch, Jesse saw that it was still several hours till the dinner bell. Exercise was what he needed, he decided as he walked to the barn.

      Abby watched him go. She wished she could take the time to follow him, to see how he rode. The way a person rode a horse was distinctive and often revealing to the practiced eye. No two people rode quite the same way.

      Maybe another day, she’d catch up to him, to check him out on horseback and up close. Just to put to rest the vague uneasiness she’d felt since he’d arrived.

      Jesse finished cooling down Domino after his ride and left the barn. He’d run across several of the men cutting and clearing dead tree branches and had stopped to help out. Fatigue poured over him like a sudden spring shower. He ached, like he’d known he would, especially his back, but it was nothing a long, hot shower couldn’t fix.

      Removing his hat, Jesse wiped his damp face on his shirt-sleeve as he headed for his cabin. A cold drink would hit the spot, preferably a frosty beer. He’d have to get over to Curly’s and stock a six-pack in his small fridge.

      Man, it sure was hot! More accustomed to the cooler summers of California, the change was a little hard to get used to. He didn’t think the desert heat had bothered him as much the last time he was here. Another few days and he’d acclimate and…

      Jesse stopped short when he noticed a long-legged woman in shorts and a tight top, her auburn hair short and windblown, sitting on the top step of his cabin. She was attractive without question, but in his opinion, she wasn’t even in Abby’s league. He recognized Lindsay and remembered that he wasn’t supposed to know her.

      She smiled as she watched him come closer. When he stopped and propped one boot on the bottom step, her lazy brown-eyed gaze swept over him, head to toe, very slowly. “Hi,” she finally said. “I’m Lindsay Martin.”

      “Hi, yourself,” Jesse answered cautiously. He vividly remembered the night six years ago when she’d come to his cabin looking for an easy seduction. Her eyes had blazed when he’d politely but firmly turned her down.