“Good God, Jessica, you’ve a half-naked intruder in your private...private...and you stand here and smile at me?” Halsey ran a shaking hand over his protuberant brow. “My dearest, surely some sort of explanation is in order here.”
Jessica blinked and raised her brows. Her eyes darted to Rance, all over him, actually, and this shot a heaping dose of pleasure through him. Yes, more of that and he would be a well man in no time. Hell, his shoulder felt better already.
She held a hand toward him. “Why, Avram, of course I’ve an explanation.”
“You’ve a black beast of an animal eating what remains of your front yard, Jessica. You’re aware of this?”
Again, Jessica blinked. “Why, no.”
“My horse,” Rance said.
“Your shirt, if you would.” Halsey sniffed at Rance with decided repugnance. “Jessica, perhaps you shouldn’t look, my dear. It’s highly offensive that a man should bare himself before a woman who is not his wife in the Lord’s eyes. Particularly when a man is fashioned in the form of the very devil himself.”
Jessica’s smile quivered on her lips. “Why, yes, he’s... Well, he cannot help that, Avram. Besides, he’s wounded.”
“Wounded?”
“Yes, well, a minor catastrophe. All my fault. But later, Avram. Not to worry, though. Mr....I mean, Lo—Mr. Stark, that is, has very good reason for being here.”
“He killed a snake with his knife,” Christian offered.
Halsey ignored that. “He’s in the room where you sleep, Jessica.”
“Is he? Why, yes, yes, he is, isn’t he? And well he should be, Avram. The ceiling, yes, the ceiling needs paint and the floor requires stripping and a new coat of beeswax and—”
“Indeed it does, my dear, and that’s the very least of your worries. I say all the more reason why you should come to your senses before our wedding and agree to rid yourself of this nasty, flea-bitten farm.”
“It is not!” Christian yelled.
“Christian, don’t argue with Reverend Halsey.”
“But, Mama—”
“Avram—”
“Now, Jessica, my dear, this man here. Direct your scattered thoughts to him, if you will. Who is he?”
Her eyes met with Rance’s. His narrowed. And then she turned to Halsey and thrust out her cleft chin. “His name is Logan Stark. He’s my new farmhand, Avram. Say hullo, would you, and do be polite. Mr. Stark shall be with us for some time.”
Chapter Three
Silence hung like a palpable thing, broken only by the ticking of a clock somewhere in the small house. Avram Halsey let loose with a disbelieving snort and squinted toward the bedroom window, perhaps seeking logic in the billowing of the white curtains. Or was it Frank Wynne’s picture on the dressing table that he stared at? Rance grew certain as he watched Halsey’s face flush scarlet clear to his receding hairline that the man had never stepped one foot near Jessica Wynne’s “private private,” a room she had shared with the man framed upon that dressing table. Perhaps that was the source of Halsey’s sudden unease, and the distasteful curl of his lip. Perhaps that was why he swung his gaze from the window to fix with renewed vehemence upon Rance. Yes, something more than unease lurked there, a supreme agitation, as if the man itched to take himself from the room. Little wonder he wanted Jessica to sell the farm, with all its lingering memories...of another man, another lifetime. Halsey had ample reason to deny Jessica any farmhand’s help.
She turned toward Rance. A wavering smile parted her lips. Naked desperation flickered deep in her eyes and was gone in the next instant, swiftly veiled behind that mantle of strength she seemed to force onto her narrow shoulders. Yet he still sensed it. That desperation. She needed him. A virtual stranger. A man who didn’t deserve her trust.
“Jessica, dearest, be reasonable. We know nothing of this...this...” Halsey waved a hand toward Rance, then stared hard at Jessica. “A man you met and shot this very afternoon, and yet you would take him under your roof, and for what? I can hear the place rotting as we speak. It has been since before your husband died. Indeed, I believe even he was beginning to see the wisdom in selling it, given the price those Easterners were offering. Oh—” Halsey patted her arm consolingly and lowered his voice as Rance imagined a goodly reverend might upon entering his church. “Forgive me for speaking of the departed, but you’ve left me with little alternative. Jessica, a wounded man will be of scant use to you. Pray, with what do you intend to pay him? Strawberries?”
Halsey’s scoffing drew Jessica’s spine up tight. Rance felt his fingertips curl into his palms when her chin jutted forward. Her son stood below and beside her, the same chin poking at Halsey.
“Avram, you forget yourself,” Jessica said with deceptive softness. “My father hauled the stone to build this house and died out in that field, securing his rights to this land. I cannot easily forsake that.”
“Your father, my dear, were he still alive, would undoubtedly see the futility in your quest, regardless of all your noble intent. I doubt very much he would see the wisdom in taking a complete unknown into your fold. He wished you a fate far above his own, Jessica, and that fate certainly did not include dying in some barren field behind a runaway double-shovel plow. He arranged for you to marry Frank Wynne, did he not?”
“My father knew he was dying, Avram. He wanted me to be well taken care of. Unfortunately, he believed Frank capable of that, on this farm, with his cattle business. At the time, so did I.”
“Ah, but your father also dedicated himself to his church and parishioners,” Halsey replied stiffly. “I believe you forget that. Would you have me sacrifice the tiny congregation he established here in Twilight, one I have lovingly nurtured and can now proudly call my own, solely for the sake of a moldering old farm that is beyond redemption?”
“I would never ask you to sacrifice anything for me, Avram,” she said slowly.
“Oh, but you are. What of my reputation? And what of yours? Once word spreads that you’ve a...” Again, Halsey scowled at Rance.
Rance couldn’t help but scowl back.
“He’s an outlaw,” Christian offered.
“No, he’s not, Christian,” Jessica murmured. Her eyes flickered over Rance. “He’s—”
“I worked for a cattle rancher,” Rance offered, the words springing forth unchecked. Something swelled in his chest when Jessica’s pink lips parted into a soft, satisfied curve. Hell, he could imagine men selling their souls for a smile like that.
She gave Halsey a smug look.
Halsey blinked at her. “Don’t tell me you believe him worthy of sainthood, Jessica, simply because he claims he can manage a few stray head of cattle?”
“He has an honest face, Avram.”
Halsey’s jaw sagged then snapped shut. “An honest—? My dear, he looks every inch the sort who robs stagecoaches and trains and leaves innocent people for dead.”
Christian’s big blue eyes swung up to Rance. “Yep. And he has a knife. He’s gonna teach me to throw it.”
“Christian, shush.”
“Jessica, you did shoot the man. For very good reason, I presume, you deemed it prudent to disregard my orders to keep your hands from that firearm. Were you possessed of some sort of aim, I’d warrant you’d have killed him. Am I mistaken?”
Again her chin inched upward. “I would kill anyone who would think to harm my son.”
Halsey