Lynnette Kent - Jesse - Merry Christmas, Cowboy

“Sorry,” he said. “I guess we don’t always appreciate what we’ve got till it’s gone. How’s your mom doing?”

She couldn’t tell him the worst parts, not when they were supposed to spend a week in the same hotel. “Okay, I guess. She doesn’t remember much. And she sleeps a lot.” Maybe that would calm some of his fears about the upcoming trip.

Janie only hoped she was telling the truth.

“I, um, thought we’d leave about two, tomorrow afternoon.” Jesse avoided her eyes as he spoke. “Will that work for you?”

She stared at him as he swirled the ice cubes around in his glass. Shadows rimmed his eyes, like bruises from a fist. Now that she considered, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. But she couldn’t ask why not. “Shall we meet you at your airstrip?”

Jesse kept his plane on the ranch, taking off and landing on the Codys’ private runway. That kind of luxury made it possible for him to compete in the biggest rodeos around the country in order to earn the points and money required to reach the National Finals while being home during the week to work at the ranch. Mark, on the other hand, drove almost everywhere and competed constantly, which meant he was away from home most of the time.

Just one more example of the huge lifestyle gap between the rich Codys and the poor Hansens.

“Why don’t I pick you up about one-thirty,” Jesse suggested. “You’ll need some help with luggage and…and stuff.”

She wasn’t sure if that would be better or worse than having her mother see him for the first time at the plane. “That sounds good. Thanks.”

Silence fell, then stretched between them because, really, what did they have to say? Janie couldn’t tell him what she felt, and as far as Jesse was concerned, she was his little sister’s buddy. Or else the sister of his archrival. He could take his pick.

“I’m sorry,” she said abruptly. “I know this must be hell for you.”

His sigh seemed to come up from the soles of his boots. “It’s not easy for anybody.”

“Mark is a good man.” For some reason she needed to say that. “He won’t hurt your parents if he can help it.”

“So Nicki tells me.” Jesse gave a faint grin then glanced at her plate. “You’re not eating.”

“I’m not hungry.” She pushed the plate toward him. “Have some.”

He didn’t wait for a second invitation, but picked up the salad fork she hadn’t used and dug in. From the way he ate, she might have concluded he hadn’t had a decent meal in months. Judging by the loose fit of his jeans, she might be right.

The waitress stopped by to see if they needed anything, and Jesse ordered another double.

“Don’t worry,” he said when Janie frowned. “I won’t have anything to drink after midnight. Eight hours is the FAA rule for private pilots, same as the airlines.”

“What about the drive home?” A glance through the window showed the sleet had turned to snow which already coated the roads.

“I can drive from Cody to Markton in my sleep.” He drained the dregs of one glass just as the server set down the new one. “And probably have, about a hundred times. If not more.”

“I believe you. That doesn’t make it safe to drive drunk.”

“It’s okay.” His words slurred a little. “I’m just another one of those intre…interchangeable younger Cody brothers. Mark’s got the hard job now. To Mark.” He raised his glass. “The old man’s pride ’n’ joy. His new pride ’n’ joy, that is.” Half the whiskey vanished with his first gulp. Jesse swallowed and then emptied the drink.

“That’s a stupid thing to say.” Janie gripped the edge of the table with her fingertips. “Walker and Dusty and Dex have never been jealous of you. You don’t deserve a pity party any more than they do.”

“You know so much.” He slid out of the booth, swaying a little as he straightened up. “S’hard to miss what you never had.”

“Mark isn’t taking anything away from you. He just wants—”

“To know his dad, right?” Stepping carefully, he retrieved his jacket and hat from the other table, then came back to stand beside her again. “He’ll find out soon enough that being J. W. Cody’s oldest son comes with a price. I hope your brother’s man enough to pay it.”

The implied insult stung. “Why wouldn’t he be? He’s as much a Cody as you are.”

In the process of thumbing through his wallet for cash, Jesse stilled. After a moment, he lifted his gaze to her face.

“That’s the truth, isn’t it? I’ve got no more claim on J.W. than your brother does, except for a marriage license that didn’t seem to mean too much at the time.” He tossed a couple of bills on the table, an amount that would cover his drinks plus the dinner she hadn’t eaten twice over. “So maybe it’s my turn to get out from under the Cody yoke. Your brother—”

“Your brother,” Janie interrupted.

“Mark,” he growled, “can have all the honors. Hell, maybe he’ll just go on and take the championship while he’s at it.” He jammed his white hat on his head and shrugged into his heavy sheepskin coat. “I don’t really give a damn about anything or anybody. Not anymore.”

And with that declaration, Jesse Cody turned on his heel and stalked out into the snowy night.

The frigid wind hit Jesse like a brick in the face. He staggered, eyes narrowed against the prick of icy snow pellets.

“Hell of a night for a drive,” he muttered, heading for his truck.

Once inside the cab, he wiped snowflakes off his face, fired up the engine and flipped the heater fan to high speed, then took off his hat and let his head rest back against the seat. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he’d fall asleep. This wouldn’t be the first parking lot where he’d stopped to grab a few winks before a long drive.

Might be one of the last, though. He was getting too old for bull riding, too old for the whole damn rodeo lifestyle. Even with a plane to get him to shows across the country, the endless competitions wore him out. The fact that Mark Hansen had hit enough shows and earned enough money to reach the Finals by driving from one venue to the next made him a damn good cowboy. He probably deserved to win the championship based on endurance alone.

Nobody could deny the man’s talent, either. Hansen made sitting astride a two-thousand pound package of bovine dynamite look like a pony ride at the county fair.

Yawning, eyelids drooping, Jesse dragged his brain away from the possibility that anyone but a Cody—all right, this Cody—would win the championship. He visualized the scene on the final night at the Thomas & Mack Center, pictured himself on stage accepting the winner’s saddle, the belt buckle…his dad would have to be proud of him then…

In his dream, the indoor arena stage in Vegas became a simple outdoor platform under the hot Texas sun. “Ladies and gentlemen,” blasted a voice out of the loudspeaker. “This afternoon’s winner in the junior bull-riding division is…Mr. Mark Hansen!”

Jesse watched, gut churning, as a whip-thin teenaged Mark stepped up to claim the belt buckle and a check.

Standing at Jesse’s shoulder, his dad muttered, “Hansen’s got the talent, no doubt about it. You should have that kind of split-second timing. God knows you’re as much a Cody—” The words stopped abruptly.

Jesse didn’t look around when, after a couple of seconds, his dad finished the thought. “As your brothers, and they all got it. You need to work harder, is all. Practice more.”

Applause and cheers chased Jesse as he broke away and fought through the crowd, looking for an exit…

The sharp rap of knuckles on the window right beside his head woke him up. Jesse snorted and jumped, then swore as he fumbled for the window button. The glass slid down and a thick layer of snow fell onto his lap.