Jesse by C H Admirand Page A

word twice for the same evening.
    Hell, he’d have to work quickly if he was going to squeeze a trip into town to stop at the diner and explain to two ladies why he’d be putting off Lacy’s riding lesson one more day.
    A few hours later, he was finally able to put the first part of his plan into action. Pulling up outside of the diner, he got out of his truck and wiped his suddenly damp palms on his thighs. Hell. The prospect of seeing Danielle had him acting like a teenager.
    Grumbling beneath his breath, he opened the door and walked in. He could hear voices coming from the kitchen, but no one was in the front of the diner, and that’s when he remembered that Sullivan’s closed early these days.
    The voices sounded as if they’d moved further away; he opened the doors to the kitchen and walked in. Looking around he was taken aback—it was empty. “Well, hell.” The back door was propped open with a wooden crate and he could hear the sound of a truck’s engine idling.
    But now what? He strained to listen, but he couldn’t hear much over the engine. Maybe they were all outside; he started toward the door, but then hesitated. He really didn’t want to interrupt if they were receiving a delivery, knowing how hectic that could be.
    He could walk straight through to the back, but he really didn’t want to have an audience when he talked to Danielle. Although it seemed as if they’d buried the hatchet yesterday, there was still a chance that her uncle probably still harbored resentment toward him.
    Jesse glanced around him and saw a clipboard and pen hanging from a cup hook on the back wall. Hastily scribbling a note to Danielle, he told her he was sorry he missed her, but something had come up and he wouldn’t be able to give Lacy a riding lesson tonight. Promising to see her tomorrow, he left the note in the middle of the butcher-block table and pushed through the doors into the dining area. A gust of air swept past him into the kitchen, but he didn’t take the time to notice.
    ***
    â€œI’ve been waiting all of my life to get behind the wheel of a race car out here.” Jesse looked around him and said a silent prayer. Lord, don’t let me blow this chance . So much was riding on him. Slim was counting on keeping his car in contention, having it racing Saturday nights even though Slim wouldn’t be driving.
    Then there was the Circle G; they needed to keep paying their debts down or else they could still lose the ranch. What the hell would they do then? Garahans had been working the land and driving the herd for more than one hundred fifty years. He and his brothers had other talents, but not that they could focus on twenty-four/seven, like they had to do with ranching.
    Tyler had brought in a substantial sum while he worked over at the Lucky Star. Dylan added his portion by filling in for a few nights, but the bulk of what Dylan kicked in came from his side work as a carpenter.
    Jesse wondered if he could win enough racing to make his contribution count. Hell, it was his turn, but things were pretty quiet over at the Lucky Star. The new headliner seemed to be working out just fine, so there was no need for Jolene to call on him for help. Too bad; he really wanted to have his turn up on that stage.
    His cell phone buzzed in his shirt pocket. He took it out, checked the number, and grinned. “How the hell are ya, Tom?”
    His cousin chuckled. “It’d take a couple of pints to tell you.”
    Jesse asked, “So are you and your brothers in?”
    Tom hesitated. “Something’s come up… only Mike and I will be there.”
    Jesse sensed something serious had happened, so he asked, “Did I miss something on the news?”
    His cousin sighed. “It hasn’t hit the news yet, but it’s bad, Jesse. Real bad.”
    â€œWho was hurt?”
    â€œPat,” Tom said. “But it’s more than Pat’s