Читать книгу A Measure Of Love - Lindsay McKenna - Страница 7

Chapter Three

I’m afraid I’m a very boring subject, Mr. Kincaid.”

“Call me Rafe. And I don’t think there’s anything boring about you.”

Jessie shifted uncomfortably beneath his stare. “I can assure you,” she began, concentrating on petting the foal because she couldn’t stand how his cobalt-blue eyes melted her, “that I’ve lead a very quiet, limited and uneventful life.”

“Where were you born?”

Jessie groaned silently. He obviously couldn’t be dissuaded from the topic. With a small sigh, she answered, “In Washington, D.C.”

“You lived there all your life?”

“Yes. I’m a survivor of the street system of D.C. That in itself is a feat,” she said, managing a smile.

“That explains why you’re not good on muddy roads,” he drawled.

Recalling the fiasco on the ranch road, she grimaced. “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

He picked up a straw and chewed on it thoughtfully. “Most people don’t take their faults as gracefully as you do.”

“I’ve had a lifetime of learning that I’m far from perfect.”

“Sounds serious.”

“I think it’s a virus I picked up.” Jessie smiled fully into his relaxed face. “Every once in a while, it flares back up, and I make a total fool out of myself.”

One corner of his mouth twitched. “Think there’s an antidote?”

Her laughter pealed through the stall. “How I wish there was! I’d be first in line for it.”

“I like your style, Jessie Scott. Instead of pointing out your strengths, you point out your weaknesses. Why, I wonder?”

“Let’s just say I had five years in a marriage that pointed out my defects and deficits instead of my strengths,” she murmured, resting her head against the foal’s fuzzy neck.

“It takes two to make or break a marriage,” Rafe said, leaning his broad back against the stall and studying her.

“To hear Tom’s version, it was more my fault than his.”

“Tell me about it.”

Jessie gave him a wary look. “Why all this sudden interest, Mr. Kin–”

“Rafe,” he corrected. “I’d like to hear your side of the story if you’re willing to share it with me.”

Jessica weighed the sincerity in his voice. She had never talked about her reasons to anyone. Neither Tom nor his family after the divorce had expressed any kind of sympathy, or extended a friendly hand. Now Rafe, with his soft words, was willing to listen. To care.

She took a deep breath and allowed the foal to wander back to his mother. Clenching her hands into fists she rested them on the long curve of her thighs. “I was married just after I turned nineteen, while I was in college,” she began hesitantly. “I was young, idealistic and naive at the time. Tom was a senior, had lived and partied hard, and was ready to settle down. He was the son of a blue-collar family and believed that men should be the breadwinners and women should be barefoot and pregnant.

“I grew up wanting only one thing in life: a family of my own. I wanted to marry and have babies. Maybe that’s old-fashioned for today’s modern women, but I didn’t care. Looking back on it, I fell in love with the idea more than with Tom. But I had thought that it was real, a binding love that could last us a lifetime. So I married Tom and quit college to become a happily married housewife.”

Jessie leaned over, picked up a straw and moved it nervously through her fingers. “The first year I didn’t conceive. Tom’s family said not to worry, that it was normal for a newly married couple who really wanted children badly not to have them. The second year, no difference. They started saying I was trying too hard, to relax and everything would be all right and I’d get pregnant. The third year, Tom’s family was pressuring us to the point where I went to five different doctors trying to find out why I couldn’t get pregnant. They didn’t have any answers, either. Technically, I was given the seal of approval to be able to have children.” She glanced up at Rafe, noticing his face was grim. “I couldn’t stand Tom’s mother calling me every week, or his sisters dropping over to give their advice. Of course, they each had one or two children themselves. I took a clerk’s job with a small company just to escape the pressures, the phone calls and visits.”

Tossing the straw away, she took another deep breath and looked up at the ceiling of the barn. “By the fifth year, Tom’s family was against me. I couldn’t produce an heir for their family. Tom was the only boy. He listened to his folks, who said I was taking contraceptives, when I wasn’t. He accused me of so many terrible things. His sisters all had little girls. There was no one to carry on the long family tradition.

“God,” she whispered, “looking back on it, I was too young and green to be my own woman, or to set Tom’s family in their place. No one wanted a baby more than me. But that didn’t matter. I accepted the fact that it was my fault, and Tom agreed to a divorce. By that time, we’d both realized our puppy love was only that. We didn’t have the kind of love we needed in order to stay together. ‘Irreconcilable differences’ was how the divorce read. Were there ever…”

Rafe studied her clean profile, the way pain pulled in the corners of her mouth and darkened her eyes. As if sensing her sadness, the foal came tottering back to Jessie, nuzzling her hair and then sucking noisily on the end of her braid, which had slipped across her shoulder. Watching, but not really seeing the colt’s actions, Rafe was experiencing his own personal agony. Jessie’s hurt-filled voice had opened bolted doors, within himself. He remembered the nursery that would never hear his baby’s cry or laughter. The strong woman he had made his own, who would never smile for him again.

Clearing his throat, he slowly got to his feet, feeling awkward with not knowing what to say or how to handle Jessie. It was his fault for practically forcing her to tell him about her past. Damn your need to know. He held out his hand to her.

“Come on,” he rumbled, “it’s noon. Millie will be calling out the back door for us any minute now for lunch.”

Jessie stared at his hand. His fingers were long and large knuckled, callused from work. It was the hand of a man who loved the earth. She tried to swallow her pain. Rafe was embarrassed enough, and there was no need for her to say anything more to him. He knew how much she hurt. As she gripped his hand to stand, she felt anything but hunger.

Rafe pulled her to her feet. The foal remained at her side. Jessie’s hand felt small and fragile in his. He searched her face for any remnants of the laughter or pleasure she had felt before he had stolen it away from her. But there were none. As she turned toward him, her face pale, eyes large and expressive, something broke inside Rafe. The walls he hid behind came tumbling down, exposing his vulnerable position. He framed her face with his hands, feeling the delicate strength of her jaw in his palms. His gaze searched her sable eyes, then moved down to her parted lips.

The breath jammed in Jessie’s throat as she saw Rafe lower his head. A wild fluttering of her heart matched her sudden panic. His breath was moist against her cheek. It had been so long since she had been kissed by a man. And Rafe wasn’t just any man: he was a sleek, sensual animal who sent an ache so intense through her that she placed her hand against the wall of his chest to stop him–because she was afraid of her own reactions.

“No…. Please don’t–”

His mouth claimed hers gently, clinging to the contour and shape of hers. Jessie’s eyes closed as shock bolted like lightning through her. Somewhere in her stunned mind, she had expected savagery to match his harsh looks. Instead Rafe molded his mouth tentatively against hers, as gossamer as a butterfly alighting on a flower. His solid male scent entered her flared nostrils, and she tasted the pine on him, the salt of his flesh and the clean outdoors. Shock melted into an awakening awareness as she realized that the kiss was his way of apologizing. He was a man of few words. A soft moan slid from her throat as she swayed against his hard, solid body. With aching tenderness, she shyly returned his kiss.

Slowly Rafe drew away from her. Jessie stared up into the stormy blue of his eyes, still lost and floating in the fiery splendor of his kiss. She saw so much in those precious seconds afterward, saw him without the barriers he had constructed. She saw a man, as naked and vulnerable as she–as shaken to the core by the unexpected tenderness and fierce wanting.

His hands tightened on her arms as she swayed unsteadily before him. “Are you all right?” His voice was thick and unsteady. God, how he hungered for her! Her mouth had been yielding sweetness beneath his. And when she had hesitantly returned his kiss, he had nearly come unstrung.

“Y-yes,” she answered faintly. She took a step out of his grip. “Excuse me.” Edging past Rafe, she shakily slid the bolt back on the door and escaped.

The sun was blindingly bright, and she squinted against it as she hurried toward the ranch house. Why did I let him kiss me? Why? She climbed the steps, fighting to ignore the confusion of emotions assaulting her.

“Millie, I’m not very hungry,” she apologized when she found Millie in the kitchen. “I think that walk made me tired. I’m going to lie down for a while.”

“Well, of course. You’re lookin’ mighty peaked.”

With a wry smile, Jessie touched her flaming red cheeks. “I’ll be okay.”

In the bedroom, she shut the door and walked over to the bay windows. The view was gorgeous: the emerald green carpet of the valley flowed out to the blue mountains, which were covered by pine, spruce and fir. Snow was draped across the tops of the mountains as casually as a cape wrapped around a regal woman. She stood in silence for a moment, drinking in the calm. She started as Rafe’s deep voice faintly penetrated the closed door. Please don’t let him come in here. To make good her excuse to Millie, Jessie nudged off her shoes, laid down on the bed and drew up the rainbow-colored afghan over her shoulders. As time passed, she began to relax, convinced that Rafe wasn’t going to pursue the matter. Her lashes drifted closed, and she fell asleep.

* * *

“Rafe?” Millie poked her head into his study.

“Yes?”

“I’m worried about Jessie. You know she came in right at lunch, sayin’ she was feelin’ a little tired. She’s been sleepin’ for six hours straight.”

Rafe put down his pen. After lunch, he had driven to the southeast pasture, where most of the cows were calving. As he’d moved through the herd, checking the new babies for any sign of health problems, he’d automatically thought of Jessie and her love of newborns. Their conversation was indelibly imprinted in his mind, and no matter what he did the rest of the day, he hadn’t forgotten it, or the anguish in her voice.

“Have you checked in on her?” he asked.

“A number of times.” Millie wiped her hands on the towel she was carrying and wrinkled her brow. “Seems to be sleepin’ awful hard. You don’t think she’s gone into a coma, do you? Doc Miller said to watch for signs of her sleepin’ too much.”

Rafe rose to his full six-feet-four-inch height. “I think I’d better see if I can wake her up.”

“If she’s awake, see if she’s up to eating. I saved enough of that pot roast and dumplin’s for her.”

The hollow sound of his boots on the cedar floor echoed through the hall. He opened the door to her room and stood for a moment, allowing his vision to adjust. At 6:00 p.m., there was only a bare hint of dusk. The afghan had slipped off her shoulders. She lay on her side, the thick, golden braid frayed and coming loose at the end. The dim light was kind to her soft, unlined features and parted lips. Rafe stared hard at her mouth, remembering the yielding softness of it, her natural sweetness.

He walked quietly to Jessie’s side and sat down on the edge of the bed, his hip resting near her thigh. Against his better judgment, he reached out and smoothed several tendrils from her cheek. Her flesh felt like velvet beneath his fingers. She stirred. He sat there, watching her awaken.

“Jessie?”

Rafe saw the effect his low voice had on her as she stretched like a cat that had been sleeping on a sunny windowsill. Her arm moved over her head, her slender fingers curled inward. He smiled to himself, watching as her lashes slowly opened, and her sable eyes clouded as they came to rest on him.

“Millie got a little worried about you,” he explained quietly. “She said you’ve been sleeping for over six hours.”

Groggily Jessie stared at Rafe. “I have?” she murmured, her voice husky with sleep.

He nodded, relishing the quiet, tender moment with her. Is this how she would wake up every morning? Would her voice be that throaty sound that sent a raw yearning through him? “She thought you might be suffering the effects from that blow to your head.” He leaned over, gently pushed strands of hair from her brow and studied the lump. “Looks better. How do you feel?”

The feel of his hand on her forehead woke her slumbering body and brought her mind to quick attention. Struggling into a sitting position, she rested her back against the brass headboard. “I’m okay,” she mumbled, rubbing her face. “I overslept, that’s all.”

Rafe sat back, watching her, his eyes drawn to the braid that hung between her breasts. The urge to release her hair and stroke it was strong. Her clothes were rumpled, her hair was mussed, and she was sleepy, but that didn’t take away from her natural beauty, he thought. Jessie would look good dressed up, down, or wearing nothing at all….

“First time I’ve kissed a lady and put her to sleep.”

Jessie heard the wry amusement in Rafe’s voice and looked up. He appeared almost shy about admitting it. There was so much sensitivity beneath that granite exterior of his, she thought. In an effort to make him feel less awkward, she murmured, “The last thing on my mind was sleep, believe me.” And then she realized her faux pas. “I mean–”

“I know what you meant,” Rafe said as he stood, a smile lingering in his eyes. “Do you always dig yourself into a deeper hole?”

She grimaced and swung her legs over the bed and sat up. “The first half hour after waking I’m not held accountable for what I say or do. Take my word for it.”

“Maybe some coffee is in order?”

“Please?” She looked up at him as he towered above her and felt her entire body respond to the pure male strength he emanated. She imperceptibly swayed toward him as he reached out for a brief second and touched the crown of her head.

“Millie’s got supper warming in the oven for you. The coffee will be waiting.” Then he was gone.

She sat there and watched him leave, a lonely, retreating figure swallowed up by the shadowed hall outside her bedroom door. Jessie was aware of some incalculable pain that was known only to him that was evident in his sad gaze. Automatically she touched her hair. She must look a sight! When she got to the bathroom and looked, that much was confirmed. “You look like Raggedy Ann,” she muttered at the image in the mirror.

As she unbraided her hair and brushed it until it shone with gold highlights she thought about Rafe’s kiss. When had anything like that seared her like wildfire? Tom’s ardor had been lukewarm in comparison. And thinking about the sparse dates she had with men after her divorce, she couldn’t remember one man who had equaled Rafe’s appeal, who had stormed the doors of her defenses and forced her to confront her fiery desires. Jessie pondered the effect he had on her as she applied some lipstick and a bit of blusher to hide her paleness.

The emotions, the feelings he had released in her were surprising and scary. It was if he had reached deep inside her and pulled from the very depth of her being hungers and needs that she had thought dead. He’d brought out within her desires to match the ones she glimpsed in him. And Jessie didn’t know how to resist. Rafe was like the wind: when he caressed her she responded like a slender shaft of wheat before him. As she walked out into the hall toward the kitchen, she realized just how vulnerable she was.

* * *

Millie fussed over her like a mother, and Jessie welcomed the attention. The fact that she was going to have to face Rafe about the mustangs after dinner squashed her appetite. The kiss they had shared played on her mind, and she knew it was going to hinder rather than help the situation. After thanking Millie, she got up and wandered through the living room toward the study.

Postponing the inevitable for a few minutes, Jessie took her time crossing the living room. The warm cedar floors, dark leather furniture and fieldstone fireplace, where a fire crackled pleasantly, all appealed to her, and gave her the sense of coming home. Pausing to look more carefully around herself, she noticed the handwoven Navajo rugs on the walls, and the way the plate-glass window allowed the sun to splash color into the room. The browns, tans, and brief touches of orange gave the room a distinctly masculine tone, as if the whole room were a reflection of the man of the house. Rafe.

Girding herself, she walked through the room and knocked on the partially open door.

“Come in.”

Jessie took a deep breath and opened it. Rafe sat at a desk, ledgers surrounding him. There was a blue glint to his black hair, and a few strands dipped over his furrowed brow. His light blue cowboy shirt emphasized the richness of his eyes as he lifted his head and held her captive in his stare.

“Am I interrupting?”

“No. As a matter of fact,” Rafe said, leaning back in the creaking leather chair, “I can use a break. Come on in.”

Disregarding a leather couch near the wall, she chose a wing chair near the desk. Sitting down, she stated, “I need to discuss the BLM problem with you.”

Rafe placed his hands behind his head. He was having a tough time not staring like a gawking teenager. Her hair lay like a golden cape around her shoulders, thick and shining, begging to be tamed. “Okay. Looks like problems are the order of the night.”

Jessie glanced at his desk. “Bill-paying time?” she guessed.

“Twice a month. Twice too often.”

“I’m just beginning to realize what it takes to run a ranch,” she admitted. “Millie started telling me about some of the problems you have, and how you have to juggle your loans and bills.”

He nodded. “That’s just the tip of the iceberg. Anyway, let’s talk about this mustang thing. When Allen came here, he accused me of shooting them. It was the first I had heard of it.”

“Our office received an anonymous phone call, Rafe. The caller said you were shooting mustangs that had drifted down off the federal land that’s connected to your property.”

“Who was the caller?” Rafe demanded, his eyes glittering dangerously. His body had tensed with barely checked anger, and he leaned forward on his elbows.

“We don’t know. He wouldn’t give his name.”

“What proof did he offer to you that I was supposedly doing the shooting?”

“None.”

His nostrils flared. “Pretty flimsy evidence, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, I would.” Jessie shrugged. “Allen should have made a study, gone up into the area in question and investigated. Mustangs usually stay on the lower plains during winter and migrate to the mountain areas only during the summer, for grass. The snowfall was lighter this year, so it made the mountain valleys available to them earlier than normal. The horses may have come off the Red Desert area of Wyoming because food was sparse.”

“So do you think the call was a hoax?”

“I don’t know. Let me ask you this–is there a local rancher who has an ax to grind with you?”

The smile on his lips didn’t quite reach his eyes. “One. Bryce Darley. He’s been wanting to buy a thousand acres of my land that sits next to his. He’s expanding his beef operation and wants my grazing area for his herd. I won’t sell it to him because that’s where I run our cattle every summer. Darley’s an Easterner come West with big corporations backing his efforts. I guess he thinks that with financial acumen, running a beef herd can turn into a gold mine of sorts.” Rafe snorted softly and shook his head. “I was born and raised on this ranch and I’ve seen a lot of ups and downs in the beef business in thirty-five years. With the price of grain skyrocketing, you’re never going to make big money. Hell, you’re lucky just to get into the black every few years.”