The Rancher's Spittin' Image. Peggy Moreland

“Just checking to make sure she hadn’t softened up over the years,” he called over his shoulder.

      “Margo Barrister?” Pete snorted, but guided his own horse in behind Jesse’s. “They’ll be crankin’ homemade ice cream in hell the day that old woman’s heart softens.”

      

      Pete and Jesse were headed back to the Circle Bar’s headquarters when Pete suddenly pulled up and held up a hand, indicating for Jesse to stop too. “Look over yonder,” Pete murmured in a low voice, nodding toward the lake that lay about a quarter of a mile to the west.

      Jesse looked but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. “What?”

      “Down by the water’s edge under that weepin’ willow.”

      At that moment Jesse saw a flash of red streak from the bank and land with a silent plop, sending ripples on the water’s surface radiating toward the distant shore. “Think we caught us a trespasser?” Jesse asked.

      “Atta’d be my guess,” Pete replied dryly.

      “Well, I guess we better remind him that he’s poaching on private property.”

      “Damn-fool kids,” Pete muttered irritably, leading the way. “If I’ve told ‘em once, I’ve told ’em a hunnerd times to keep off this land. And danged if I didn’t just bait that hole myself last week.”

      Chuckling, Jesse fell in behind him, already sympathizing with whoever was fishing Pete’s favorite spot. By the time Pete got through with him, the poacher’s skin would be raw from the tongue-lashing he would give him.

      “Hey! You there!” Pete yelled, reining his horse to a stop just shy of the willow tree.

      A young boy, about twelve or so in Jesse’s estimation, whirled, his eyes round with surprise. Immediately, he started scrambling, trying to gather up his fishing gear in order to make a run for it.

      Jesse was out of the saddle and on the ground, his hand closed on the back of the boy’s collar before the kid made three steps.

      “Now hold on a minute,” Jesse warned as the boy started twisting and fighting, trying to shake loose. When his warning wasn’t heeded, Jesse grabbed the boy around the middle and hauled him hard against his side. “Now dammit, I said hold on!” Jesse yelled.

      The boy immediately stilled, though Jesse could feel the tension in him beneath his arm. Not wanting to frighten the boy any more than he already was, Jesse said quietly, “Now, I’m not gonna hurt you, I just want to talk to you, all right?” When the boy slowly nodded, Jesse loosened his hold and turned him around to face him, shifting his hands to the boy’s arms.

      The boy jerked his head up to meet Jesse’s gaze, his chin jutting in defiance. Jesse couldn’t help but admire the kid’s spunk. He reminded him a little of himself at that same age. But he knew he had to put the fear of God in the kid. He couldn’t have him or any other trespassers thinking that the Circle Bar was open for poaching.

      “Do you know that you’re on private property?” Jesse asked, forcing a level of sternness into his voice.

      “I didn’t do nothin’ wrong,” the boy replied defensively. “I was just fishin’, and I even threw back everything I caught.”

      “The point is, you’re trespassing. This land belongs to the Barristers and they don’t welcome uninvited guests.”

      The boy raised his chin a little higher, making the cleft there a little more obvious. “The Barristers don’t scare me none,” he scoffed.

      It was all Jesse could do not to laugh. “They don’t, huh?”

      “Nah. Besides, there ain’t no Barristers left, ‘cept the old lady and she’s nothin’ but an old bit—” He caught himself just shy of finishing the word, and Jesse had to wonder if he’d done so to avoid having his mouth washed out with soap in the event his mother caught wind of him cussing. “Nothin’ but an old bat,” the boy said instead.

      Jesse had to fight hard to keep from grinning. “She is, huh?”

      “Yes, sir, and that’s a fact.”

      “Well, now, what if I was to tell you I was a Barrister?”

      The boy’s eyes widened before he could stop them, then narrowed to suspicious slits. “There ain’t no more Barristers. Wade was the last, and he died more than a month ago.”

      “That’s true enough...at least the part about old Wade dying.” Jesse assessed the boy a moment. “If I let you go, will you promise not to run?”

      The boy nodded warily, obviously still wondering about whether Jesse was in fact a Barrister.

      Jesse loosened his grip on the boy’s arms, then slowly dropped his hands. When the kid didn’t bolt, Jesse eased a sigh of relief. “I’m Jesse Barrister, now who are you?”

      “Jaime. Jaime McCloud,” the boy added, squaring his shoulders proudly.

      Jesse sucked in a sharp breath. A McCloud? Could he be Sam’s or Merideth’s son? Could he be... He took another hard look at the boy, taking in the cleft in the chin, the umber stain of his skin, the cowlick that kicked his hair up at the center of his forehead. No, he told himself. He couldn’t be. The eyes were wrong...no—they were just right, he realized, his heart slamming hard against his chest.

      They were the same unique shade of green as Mandy’s.

      Jesse jerked his head up to look at Pete, who remained astride his horse. But Pete’s jaw was set, his eyes narrowed, and he refused to acknowledge Jesse’s unasked question.

      “What’re you gonna do to me?” the boy asked, drawing Jesse’s attention back to his face. To Jesse it was like looking in a mirror—or rather at a picture of himself at that same age.

      “I—” Jesse had to clear his throat before he could answer. “I’m going to take you home to your parents.”

      The boy’s shoulders visibly slumped.

      “Do you have a problem with that?” Jesse asked.

      “No, sir. It’s just that I know I’m gonna get a whuppin’ for sure this time,” he mumbled miserably.

      “And who’s going to whip you?” Jesse asked, frowning, thinking that if Lucas McCloud dared to lay a hand on the kid, he’d personally make him pay.

      “My mama. She’s liable to skin me for sure.”

      “Does your mama make a habit of whipping you?”

      “No, sir. But then I’ve never been caught on Barrister land before.”

      Jesse’s frown deepened. It seemed that some things hadn’t changed over the years. The feud between the Barristers and the McClouds still raged on.

      

      Mandy tossed the last square of hay in the manger and closed the stall door behind her. Tucking the wire cutters into the hip pocket of her jeans, she strode angrily for the barn door. As soon as she found him, she was going to have a serious talk with her son. This was the third time this week he’d missed doing his chores.

      When she stepped through the barn door, she put a hand at her brow to shade her eyes from the glaring sunlight overhead. Glancing around, she looked for a sign of Jaime. Unfortunately, the only person she saw was Gabe, her foreman, who was closing the gate on the corral behind him.

      “Hey, Gabe!” she called, heading his way. “Have you seen Jaime?”

      “No, ma’am. At least not lately,” he added vaguely.

      As she reached him, Mandy pursed her lips and folded her arms beneath her breasts. She was accustomed to her foreman and the other wranglers who worked the Double-Cross covering up her son’s escapades. “Okay, so when did you see him last?”

      Gabe