скачать книгу бесплатно
Jesse Hawk: Brave Father
Sheri WhiteFeather
Regal and proud as his animal namesake, Jesse Hawk had been young Patricia Boyd's grandest passion. Together they had learned of physical love and created a boundless connection. But when the time came to face their future, Jesse had departed with the summer sun, leaving Patricia longing for his kisses and carrying his child.Jesse's surprise return had rumors spreading–surely the warrior had come to settle an age-old score with the rich, ruthless Boyd family. But what destiny would be forged, for Patricia and himself, once Jesse learned the truth–that a child now bore his name and his proud Native American heritage?
Jesse Hawk Should Have Been Hers.
He should have come back, kept his promise. On the night he’d taken her virginity, he’d pledged his love forever. They had snuggled in each other’s arms, tasted each other’s skin, made secret vows. Young, romantic vows. And she’d kept hers, kept them locked in her heart until she’d cried herself to sleep at night.
No, Patricia hadn’t agreed to move in with him when he’d asked, but she’d had her reasons—good reasons. The young man she’d loved needed a fair chance to pursue his career, and the baby in her womb needed some sort of financial stability. So she’d sent Jesse away, believing he’d return for her.
And more than a decade later he had returned. But not for her.
I’ll never forgive you, she wanted to say. But Dillon has the right to meet his father.
Dear Reader,
In keeping with the celebration of Silhouette’s 20
anniversary in 2000, what better way to enjoy the new century’s first Valentine’s Day than to read six passionate, powerful, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire!
Beloved author Dixie Browning returns to Desire’s MAN OF THE MONTH promotion with A Bride for Jackson Powers, also the launch title for the series THE PASSIONATE POWERS. Enjoy this gem about a single dad who becomes stranded with a beautiful widow who’s his exact opposite.
Get ready to be seduced when Alexandra Sellers offers you another sheikh hero from her SONS OF THE DESERT miniseries with Sheikh’s Temptation. Maureen Child’s popular series BACHELOR BATTALION continues with The Daddy Salute—a marine turns helpless when he must take care of his baby, and he asks the heroine for help.
Kate Little brings you a keeper with Husband for Keeps, in which the heroine needs an in-name-only husband in order to hold on to her ranch. A fabulously sexy doctor returns to the woman he could never forget in The Magnificent M.D. by Carol Grace. And exciting newcomer Sheri WhiteFeather offers another irresistible Native American hero in Jesse Hawk: Brave Father.
We hope you will indulge yourself this Valentine’s Day with all six of these passionate romances, only from Silhouette Desire!
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Jesse Hawk: Brave Father
Sheri WhiteFeather
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Thanks to Shirl Thomas for being there whenever I need her,
Lisa Scaglione for adding a new voice to the critique group,
and Diana Rumm for talking me through a computer crisis.
Another thanks to Pet’s Choice in Anaheim Hills
for helping me create Barney. And for Jesse’s and Sky’s
inspiration—a heartfelt hug to the Muscogee Nation,
a proud and beautiful people.
SHERI WHITEFEATHER
lives in Southern California and enjoys ethnic dining, summer powwows and visiting art galleries and vintage clothing stores near the beach. Since her one true passion is writing, she is thrilled to be a part of the Silhouette Desire line. When she isn’t writing, she often reads until the wee hours of the morning.
Sheri also works as a leather artisan with her Muscogee Creek husband. They have one son and a menagerie of pets, including a pampered English bulldog and four equally spoiled Bengal cats. She would love to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 5130, Orange, California 92863-5130.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
One
Patricia Boyd loved him, more than life itself. She sat on the edge of his bed and brushed her fingers across his forehead, sweeping strands of dark brown hair away from his face. Eleven-year-old Dillon Hawk. Her son. Her heart and soul.
The morning sun shimmered through the blinds, illuminating the boy’s room with slats of light. Patricia smiled. Dillon kept his room tidy. Each carefully constructed model car, battleship and airplane had its place, as did a favored pair of in-line skates.
“Hey, Mom.” He grinned sleepily. “Are you leaving for work?”
“No. Today’s Sunday.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said, pulling himself up against the oak headboard. “Breakfast at Grandpa’s.”
Sunday breakfast was a family tradition in the Boyd household. Omelets, hash browns and fresh-squeezed orange juice. “I have something else to do this morning, but Grandpa will fix your eggs.”
“Cool. He always makes those spicy Spanish kind.” Dillon pushed the covers away. “Where are you going today, Mom?”
To see your father, she thought nervously. Jesse was back, twelve years later. He’d bought the old Garrett farm, a piece of property between Arrow Hill and Hatcher. Of course, Jesse wasn’t expecting her. He hadn’t made an attempt to contact the woman he’d shunned.
“I’m going to visit an old friend,” Patricia told her son. My first love. The man who gave me you. “I’ll drop you off, then stop by Grandpa’s later.”
“Okay, but we might be at the hobby store by then.”
Another family tradition, Patricia thought. Raymond Boyd purchased his grandson a new model every Sunday. He spoiled the boy, but then Dillon was easy to shower with affection and expensive gifts. Her son appreciated every heartfelt hug as much as every toy he’d ever received.
She kissed his forehead. “Wash up and get dressed.”
“I’ll hurry.”
Twelve years had passed. Thirty more minutes wouldn’t make a difference. If anything, it would give her a chance to check her appearance again, maybe sip a cup of herb tea. Anything to calm her nerves. “That’s all right. There’s no need to rush.”
Patricia left his room and entered her own, a bedroom that was neither frilly nor bland. Antique wood furnishings, accented with winter-white and splashes of royal-blue, complemented the stained-glass windows. Every morning the sun reflected prisms of light across the bed.
She walked to the mirror and lingered over her reflection. She had chosen a straight white skirt, a pale-peach blouse and low heels—casual designer wear on a not-so-casual day.
Would Jesse recognize her right away? Or would he look twice to be sure? Her body was still slim, but her hips flared a bit more—a testimony to maturity and motherhood. Her hair hadn’t changed much, she decided, aside from a slightly shorter cut and subtle caramel highlights framing her face.
Her face. She touched her skin, remembering how Jesse marveled at what he called its “flawless texture.” Would he find flaws now? The skin of a thirty-year-old?
What in God’s name was she going to say to him? I was pregnant when you left. I waited year after lonely year for you to come back. You were supposed to prove to my disbelieving father that you really loved me.
“Mom?”
She turned to the sound of her son’s voice, her heart leaping to her throat. “You’re finished already?”
“Yep.” He stood grinning at her, his damp hair slicked back with gel, his baggy khakis sporting a trendy label. “Ten minutes flat.”
How could she forget Jesse’s face when she saw a youthful replica of it every day? Dillon’s straight white smile enhanced ethnic cheekbones, a stubborn jaw and sun-burnished skin. But it was his eyes, Patricia thought, that were the true gift from his father’s mixed-blood heritage. Light-gray or a pale shade of blue, depending on the child’s mood.
“I’m ready, too,” she said, wondering if she’d ever be ready to face Jesse Hawk again.
The old Garrett farm came into view nearly thirty-five minutes later. It held an address in Hatcher, although the acreage spanned into Arrow Hill. How fitting, Patricia thought, that Jesse would choose a home located on the dividing line between dusty country living and opulent wealth.
Opulent wealth? Good Lord, her father was the most successful man in the county. He owned real estate—houses, apartment buildings, neighborhood shopping centers.
As Patricia steered her Mercedes down the graveled drive, she took note of the house and its condition. Habit, she decided, and a means to keep her mind on something other than her fluttering stomach. Although the wood structure had been neglected for some time, the splendor of the primitive architecture shone through. The house resembled a homesteader’s cabin, small and rustic, and currently, it appeared, under renovation. She parked where the driveway forked, the other path leading to a newly constructed building behind the house, not nearly as rustic, but still charming.
She stepped onto the porch, fighting the urge to flee. Sooner or later she and Jesse would cross paths. It wouldn’t be long before people realized her son and the new resident in town shared the same last name. And then there were those who knew the truth. Wasn’t that how she’d learned he was back? A discreet female colleague had quietly mentioned that a man named Hawk was restoring the old Garrett place.
When she knocked on the door, the sound of barking dogs followed. She waited, waited some more, then headed toward her car. If Jesse was home, surely he would have responded to the yapping hounds.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was here,” a deep voice said behind her. “I was working on the kennel out back. I’ve got a house full of strays.” He chuckled. “But then I always do.”
Patricia exhaled a shaky breath. She turned to see a tall, dark-skinned man squinting in the sun, his hand shielding his eyes, a dog—a sturdy rottweiler—at his side. When he moved closer and lowered his arm, her knees nearly gave way.
Jesse, in faded jeans and black construction-style boots, his bare chest a hard mass of sinew and muscle. The lean eighteen-year-old was gone. In his place stood a stranger.
“Oh, God,” he said, and stopped dead in his tracks. “Tricia.”
The nickname flowed through her like wine—a long-forgotten vintage. Sweet yet bitter. No one had ever called her Tricia but him. She lifted her chin, strode toward him, and extended her hand in a businesslike gesture. “It’s nice to see you, Jesse.”
Clearly caught off guard, he placed his hand in hers. “I hadn’t expected you to come around here.”
The handshake made them both uneasy, so she ended it quickly, choosing to adjust her purse strap instead. “Why not?”
“Just didn’t.”
“You could invite me in.” After all, damn you, I am the mother of your child. The innocent who waited for you all those years, believing like a fool, that you’d come back for me. Waited until hope turned to despair.
He slid his gaze over her in one slow sweep, reminding her of the day they had met. Only this time, there was no glimmer in his eye, no young, flirtatious smile. “The other dogs will just jump all over you.”
“I like animals.” She glanced at the loyal rottweiler beside him. It made no move toward her. It was an attractive dog, fit and muscular, its black coat gleaming in the sun. Jesse, too, had a gleaming mass of ebony hair. He still wore it long and flowing across his shoulders, but neatly trimmed sideburns added an air of maturity.
“What are you doing here, Tricia?”
“I thought it would be awkward if we ran into each other in town.” She shifted her feet, stirring the gravel below. “I was hoping we could talk. Catch up a little.” She needed to know what sort of man Dillon’s father had become. Eventually she’d have to introduce them. Marlow County was too small for secrets.
Although Jesse frowned, he accommodated her. “We could sit on the porch a spell, I suppose.” As he turned in the direction of the house, so did the dog. “Do you want a cold soda? I’ve got a cooler out back.”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” She followed him up the stairs and sat beside him in a twig-style chair.
The rottweiler curled up at Jesse’s feet, clearly content to be near its master. “What’s his name?” she asked, assuming the massively built canine was a male.
“Cochise.”
“That fits him. A warrior’s name.”
“In a sense, he is a warrior,” Jesse said. “He’s trained to know the difference between friend and foe. And he’s been socialized since he was a pup.”
Naturally, Jesse was a responsible pet owner. He wouldn’t own a dog as powerful as a rottweiler without having it professionally trained. As for the strays he claimed to have, they made sense, too. Tricia remembered how he used to bring abandoned kittens into his apartment and feed them, even though he could barely afford food for himself.
“Are all the dogs inside the house strays?”
“Yeah.” He tapped the windowpane and grinned. A curious mutt had its nose pressed against the glass. “I picked them up at the Humane Society just this week. I was in the process of building another kennel when you arrived.”
He turned toward Patricia. She gripped the chair and steadied her breath. Dillon had flashed the same handsome smile earlier that morning. As their gazes met and held, Jesse’s grin faded.
His eyes were guarded, she noticed, but still breathtaking. Most people would call them gray, yet Patricia knew they turned silver when he made love, glittered sensuously when he lowered his head to kiss a woman—touched his tongue to hers—filtered his fingers through her hair.
