A Measure Of Love

* * *

Rafe’s eyes smarted and he blinked. The figures swam before him. It was nearly one in the morning. Time was a robber when he tried to balance the budget: rob Peter to pay Paul, and practice a form of financial wizardry that would get them through the spring. Suddenly Rafe found himself wondering about Jessie. Dammit, he’d done it again. He’d had a hell of a time concentrating on the budget: his mind was always wandering back to her, her soft but firm voice and the glimpse of fire he’d seen flash in the depths of her eyes. God! He dropped the pencil, rubbing his face wearily.

A sound caught his attention. Was Millie up? Impossible. She always went to bed around ten every night. Rafe hauled himself to his feet and walked quietly into the hall toward the direction of the noise. At the entrance to the living room, he halted. Jessie was standing near the open flames of the stone fireplace. His breath jammed in his chest as he saw the way the molten gold of the fire bathed her long thick hair as it fell in careless abandon over her small shoulders. A warm feeling trickled through his heart; she looked like a waif in the huge robe she had on. Then he noticed how drawn her face was, and the tired way she put her hand on the mantel to support her weight. “Are you all right?”

Jessie’s head snapped up, and she whirled in his direction, her mane of hair flying about her shoulders. “My God, you scared me to death! Do you always go sneaking around like that?”

A sour grin tugged at his mouth as he walked toward her. “I heard a sound and came out to investigate.”

Her heart was banging away in her throat, and she pressed her hand against the pulse there. “I thought everyone was asleep.”

“So did I.”

She grimaced, placing her hand back on the mantel. “I thought ranchers went to bed early and got up early,” she muttered, managing a slight smile to match his.

Rafe leaned his elbow on the mantel and studied her more thoroughly by the firelight. The room was dark and quiet, with the exception of a few cattle lowing now and then, out in the paddocks near the barns. “Most ranchers this time of year are up early and go to bed late.”

“Why?”

“It’s calving and foaling season. My men take shifts around the clock checking on the cows and mares to see how they’re doing.”

She watched as shadows and light emphasized certain planes of his exhausted features. “Calving?”

He gave her a long look. “You really are a city girl, aren’t you?”

“Is it a sin?”

“No. It’s just that–”

“What?”

Rafe grimaced. “You look wild and free. Like that picture you carry in your wallet of that mustang.”

She smiled softly, pleased by his compliment because she had never expected anything like it from him. “Thank you.” She touched her hair. “I think it’s my mane of hair that gives me that look.”

His face grew still, and longing briefly showed in his eyes. “You have beautiful hair.”

A shiver flowed through Jessie, and she stood transfixed by the sudden flame she saw in his dark eyes. His voice was like melting butter, and she felt an ache begin deep within her. What was happening? She had to get a hold on herself. “Th-thank you.”

Seeing her sudden shyness, Rafe changed the subject. “Why were you up?”

Jessie breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing his casual drawl again. “I had a bad dream about the accident. Doctor Miller said I might have a few afterward. Something about trauma, or whatever.”

“I see. Did Doc Miller say anything about giving you some apricot brandy?”

“Why–no.”

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Jessie watched him disappear around the corner. One moment he could be so hard and cold, and the next, almost gentle with concern. The man was confusing. She rubbed her arms with her hands, suddenly aware of the night chill in the house.

Rafe came back as silently as he had left; only this time Jessie was prepared for his approach. He held out the shot glass filled with amber contents. “Apricot brandy. My sister Dal would sometimes have a shot before going to bed. She went through a pretty traumatic divorce a couple of years ago and said it always helped her when she had problems going to sleep sometimes.”

Their fingers touched as she took the small glass, and both withdrew quickly, as if the contact had been electric. “I wish a shot of brandy could have helped my marriage,” she finally said in jest, sipping the liquid cautiously.

“I’m afraid it’s not a miracle cure. Down it all in one gulp,” he advised.

She looked at him doubtingly, but followed his instructions. The fire hit her stomach, and she took in a deep breath. “Now I see why it would help her sleep,” she whispered hoarsely, handing him the glass.

Rafe managed a slight smile. “Yeah, that’s over hundred-proof homemade brandy. You’d better get going, or you won’t make it to bed before that hits you. Come on, I’ll walk you down the hall.” Although there was no real reason to reach out and slide his hand beneath her elbow, he did it, anyway. Merely a precaution, he told himself as he guided her down the hall, extremely conscious of her delicacy next to his large frame.

“How much do you weigh?” he asked.

“A hundred and three pounds.”

He chuckled. “You’re nothing but a feather.”

“Don’t let my size deceive you,” she warned him with amusement in her voice.

Rafe halted and opened the door to her bedroom. Reluctantly he dropped his hand from her elbow as she turned and faced him. “There’s an old Western saying: never underestimate a banty rooster.”

“What does that mean?”

He smiled as she fearlessly looked up at him, the darkness playing across her soft features. Rafe wanted to reach across the inches that separated them and slide his fingers across her hair. For those precious few seconds, he realized that he was actually happy. Happy. An emotion, a feeling, that had died two years before, with Mary Ann. He scowled, unable to cope with the discovery and Jessie’s nearness. “I’ll tell you about it some other time,” he muttered.

“Well, we’ll see how much talking you’ll do to me tomorrow morning after I tell you about the reason why I’m here,” Jessie said in just as somber a tone. She saw the longing in his eyes, and pain. Somehow, she wanted to erase whatever Rafe was carrying around inside him. “Good night, Rafe. And thank you for the brandy. I think it’s doing its job.”

He watched her turn and enter the bedroom. Frowning, he quietly shut the door and headed down the hall to the study.

* * *

Sunlight was streaming through the bedroom windows when Jessie awoke. Swathed in the large robe, she went in search of the housekeeper. When she entered the kitchen, she found Millie hard at work kneading bread on the table.

“Good morning,” Jessie murmured.

“Morning.” Millie turned and smiled, then resumed the kneading, flour staining her hands and wrists. “Rafe said to let you sleep in. Said you were up late last night.”

Jessie rubbed her eyes, still drugged from the good eight hours of rest. “He told you about that?”

Millie tittered. “Said you about jumped out of your skin when he found you in the living room. Let me get this dough in the pans, and then I’ll fix you breakfast.”

“Please, don’t go to the trouble.”

Millie arched an eyebrow. “You ain’t trouble. Rafe had one of his men get your luggage from the car. It’s sitting right inside the bathroom between your two rooms. Why don’t you get a nice hot bath, dress and then join me out in the dining room? Doc Miller said to feed you good.”

Smiling widely, Jessie said, “You’re a dear. I won’t be long.”

“Now, don’t go hurrying. There’s no reason to. Rafe ain’t gonna be back until noon. That’s three hours from now. He said you were lookin’ mighty peaked last night. And Doc told you to rest today.”

Smiling, Jessie trailed out of the kitchen. At the entrance, she stopped and turned to Millie. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a good mother?”

The housekeeper beamed, her apple-red cheeks shining. “Ask Rafe and those two sisters of his, and they’ll tell you they had two mamas–their real one and me. Now scat! I’ll see you in a little while.”

* * *

Jessie stood at the rear porch window, watching the activity in the back of the ranch house. She had finished a huge breakfast of whole-wheat pancakes, maple syrup and fresh fruit earlier. Millie had stuffed her like the proverbial turkey. Now, her curiosity of ranch life held her in its magical embrace. Mesmerized, she watched as the wranglers, mounted on small, delicate Arabians, moved bawling cattle from holding pens. She almost couldn’t contain her excitement. Finally, after twenty-eight years, she was getting to see real cowboys at work on ranch horses!

“You know, you can go outside for a while if you’re getting cooped up in here,” Millie said, coming around with her feather duster. “There’s a jacket in that hall closet that might fit you. Dal keeps one out here for when she and her husband, Jim, visit. Don’t think she’ll mind you using it.” Millie stopped by her side, pointing to the red barn. “If you like good horseflesh, go to that barn. That’s the stud barn where Rafe keeps his three stallions. The green barn next to it is the broodmare barn. If you like the foals, you might want to go there, instead.”

Jessie brightened. “I’d love to see the new babies.”

With a chuckle, Millie nodded. “Figured you would. You look like a mothering type.”

With a smile, Jessie went to the closet and donned the heavy wool coat over her apricot turtleneck sweater and brown wool slacks. “Just to babies,” she amended, “not to men.”

“Amen to that! I think Pinto Pete’s out in the broodmare barn. Rafe always keeps him hoverin’ around when one of the mares is gonna foal. You might see if you can’t scare him up. Pete’ll give you the grand tour.”

“I’ll do that,” she promised. Going out the door and stepping onto the screened porch, Jessie smiled to herself. The Colorado morning was crisp with brilliant sunlight. Between the snorts of the horses, the lowing of the cattle and the panoramic splash of colors that surrounded her, her senses were overwhelmed. The odors ranged from pungent to pine as Jessie walked down the stairs. She’d plaited her hair into one long braid, and the wind played with the wispy bangs across her brow. She inhaled deeply, staying on the sidewalk of red brick that led her safely past the lawn and muddy areas to the barns.

The huge doors were open on one end of the broodmare complex, and Jessie stepped into the well lit, immaculate area. Rows of large, roomy boxstalls stood on either side of the aisle, a horse in each one. A few stablehands were cleaning some of the stalls, putting water in others, or simply passing through on their way to other duties. The smell of sweet alfalfa and oat straw was like a perfume. No wonder Westerners loved their ranches so much!

How long she stood at the first stall watching a wobbly-legged bay foal walk stiffly around her mother, Jessie didn’t know. The beauty of the Arabians was breathtaking. She’d seen photos of them, but had never seen one in person. They were beautiful. And it was Rafe who had an eye for such art in a living animal. That made her feel good about him. Beneath that dark, brooding mask he wore, there was a human being who not only saw beauty, but reveled in it.

Jessie wasn’t sure when Rafe walked up behind her, she only knew that in a moment she was aware of his powerful presence. She had been torn between watching the foal cavort awkwardly around in the straw, and turning toward the feeling of warmth radiating from behind her.

“The foals are my favorite part of the day,” he confided, looking down at her.

Jessie nodded, and her voice was hushed, even though her heartbeat had quickened appreciably. “She’s so cute.”

“It’s a he.” Rafe walked up to the stall, leaving only inches separating them.

“Of course,” she said, blushing.

Rafe rested his arms on the edge of the stall. “Kind of hard to tell, though, at this age. He was born last night.”

Jessie was grateful that Rafe allowed her error to pass. As she looked up at him, she saw that his features had softened. “I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here,” she admitted. “I love babies. This is the first time I’ve ever seen a little foal…”

“Oh?”

She wasn’t going to lie to him. There was too much to lose by doing so. “When I joined the BLM five years ago, Mr. Kincaid, I was stuck away in a cubicle. My job was to stay in touch with the ranchers who were capturing and penning up the mustangs. I coordinated finding owners for these mustangs all over the U.S.” She walked to the stall and rested her hands on the cool bars. “I did a lot of study on the mustangs, even though I’ve never been near them. In fact, the closest I’ve ever come to a horse is watching one go down the parade route of Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, D.C.” She twisted her head to see what kind of a reaction her confession would have on him.

He held her steady gaze, noticing how clear her eyes were this morning, and how the strain around her mouth had disappeared. “Why?”

“Because I’m afraid of them. They’re big.”

“If I were a banty rooster, I’d be respectful of them, too,” he said with a slight smile.

“You aren’t upset that I haven’t had a lot of experience with horses?”

Rafe shrugged. “You’re out here this morning, aren’t you? If you were really afraid, you wouldn’t be here. I think you’re ignorant, not scared of them.”

“Is that supposed to be an oblique compliment?”

“Yes, ma’am, it is. Come on.” He slipped his hand beneath her elbow, drawing her to him.

Jessie trusted Rafe, for whatever that was worth. As he slid the bolt back and opened the door to the stall, she figured he was either going to help her overcome her fear, or he was about to embarrass her. She didn’t know which, and she stood uncertainly in the ankle-deep straw, waiting as he shut the door.

“Now, stay at my side and do as I tell you,” he told her in a low voice.

With a nod, she walked forward with him, her throat tight with fear. The mare looked awesome to her. Crooning to the mother, Rafe crouched down in front of the animals. Jessie followed suit. As soon as they knelt, both horses walked over to them.

“There’s a trick in getting a horse to come over to you,” Rafe told her quietly, his eyes never leaving the mare. “The eyes of a horse are constructed so that we appear almost twice our normal height to them. We look like giants. So if we crouch down, we become much smaller and less of a threat. Since they’re real curious animals, eventually they’ll come up to investigate.”

The mare’s velvet muzzle found Jessie’s cheek. Prickles of pleasure went through her as the mare sniffed her, fanning her moist breath across her cheek. “This is wonderful!” she whispered. “Her nose is so soft. Like a baby’s bottom.”

Rafe smiled at Jessie, enjoying her first experience with a horse almost as much as she. He rested one hand on the mare’s front leg to make sure she wouldn’t accidentally bowl Jessie over as she continued her investigation.

Laughter gurgled up through Jessie. “She’s so friendly! I can’t believe this. I never knew…”

Her bubbling enthusiasm was contagious. Rafe glanced at her again. She was beautiful. Her eyes danced with a golden flame, her cheeks were flushed scarlet, and her lips were curved into a delightful smile. He wanted to reach out, draw her into his arms and kiss her and to drink in the absolute happiness that radiated from her. It was only in that moment that he began to understand how depressed he had been. Jessie’s laughter had lifted him out of the abyss of grief, and for a split second he felt like living again.

The bay foal came bounding around the rear of his mother and with a little grunt, crashed headlong into Jessie. With a gasp of surprise, she fell back into the straw, the foal sprawled across her.

Luckily the broodmare was a relatively calm mother who didn’t consider humans harmful to her baby, and she just stood there, watching. Jessie’s arms closed around the winded foal. His fur was soft and fuzzy, and she reveled in it. She saw Rafe get slowly to his feet and with a broad smile, she allowed him to pick the foal off her. His hand was firm on her arm as he guided her to her knees.

“He’s so silky,” she whispered, petting the foal lying across her thighs. “Look, Rafe, he loves this! He loves me petting him.”

Kneeling beside her, Rafe felt an ache sweep through him. His name had rolled off her lips like a husky prayer. “The colt’s got sense,” he murmured, picking bits of straw out of her hair. “I’d lie in your lap, too, if I got the chance.”

Jessie lifted her face and stared up into his dark blue eyes, lost in their sudden intensity. Longing rippled through her as he continued to pull out straw that had collected on her braid when she had tipped over backward. When his callused fingers grazed the nape of her neck, her lips parted. A bolt of fiery pleasure nearly unstrung her. He was so close, so male and so virile. Her breath caught in her chest as she felt herself responding to an unspoken, primitive message.

The colt whinnied plaintively, breaking the tenuous silence that stretched between Jessie and Rafe. She helped the colt back to his feet, then watched the baby forge headlong to the rear legs of his patient mother, in search of his noonday meal.

Giving Rafe a shy glance, Jessie started to get up. His hand settled on her shoulder.

“Stay put. He’ll come back to you,” he said.

“But–”

“This is the way we gentle the babies, Jessie. A wrangler will sit in the stall, talk to the foal, handle him, and generally make friends with him. The sooner it’s done, the more accepting the foal is of people.” He slanted a glance down at her and reluctantly removed his hand. “You did want to get to know horses, didn’t you?”

“Well–I didn’t want to get in the way.”

“You aren’t in the way, believe me.”

In silence they remained where they were. Without touching him, Jessie was vividly aware of his strength and the power that emanated from him. The scent that was vividly his wafted over to her, mixed with the damp odor of his sheepskin jacket. Something raw and elemental inside her moved, stirred to life by the unique amalgam that was Rafe. No man had ever made her feel like a caldron of simmering, explosive emotions. And she was out of her league. Completely.

The foal quenched his thirst then leapt back on his hind legs, nearly bowling himself over. His huge dark eyes focused on Jessie, and he toddled toward her. With a nicker, he thrust his tiny muzzle into her chest, nudging at the wool coat she wore. With a laugh, she curled her arms around the colt, petting him gently.

“I’ve got to tell you,” she confided, “this is the greatest experience. I love babies. All babies. I never knew a foal could be so loving.”

“Normally foals aren’t this friendly at first,” Rafe said with a nod toward the colt. “It’s you. The foal senses something good about you. He feels safe, or he wouldn’t have come back.” Hell, he’d feel safe, too, if he were wrapped in her arms.

Frowning at the sudden thought, he gave himself a mental shake. He had to stop thinking about her like that. He got down on both knees and pushed his black felt hat back on his head. He was genuinely curious about her and her unusual combination of strength and warmth, and he also wanted to steer his mind to a safe topic. “Tell me about yourself,” he ordered.

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