A Measure Of Love

“What do you know, an honorable agent.” Rafe crossed his arms.

Jessie’s lips compressed, and her eyes turned a dark cinnamon color. “Sarcasm is not going to help the situation, Mr. Kincaid.”

“You should have told that to the first agent, Ms. Scott.”

“Joe Allen is new. And young. He was just a little too eager, that’s all.”

With a snort, Rafe circled the room, never allowing his gaze to leave her. The backlight from the window outlined her in radiance; almost as if she were ethereal. “So why’d they send you, Ms. Scott? To dodge my questions by putting a pretty face in front of me?”

Jessie gasped and then winced as her head began to pound. Gently she rubbed her temple, holding on to her anger. “What are you implying?”

Rafe smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s obvious to me. It should be to you, too,” he drawled.

Color heightened in her pale cheeks, and this time Jessie wasn’t embarrassed–she was mad. “Mr. Kincaid, I could lower myself to your level of needling me with innuendos, but I’m not going to. One of us has to conduct themselves in a professional manner. I know you had words with Mr. Allen. And judging from what he told us, he wasn’t honest and up-front about why he came to you in the first place.”

Rafe came closer until he stood directly in front of her. Ruthlessly he stared down at her, yet she didn’t pull back. A grudging admiration shot through him. “And you’re honest?” he prodded.

She held his stare. “Yes, I am.”

Rafe turned abruptly and walked back toward the door. If she had been snippy or pushy, he’d have wanted to throttle her. Instead, the inner calm he felt around her had appeased him. He halted and turned. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

“What?”

He nodded. “You’re staying here. The closest motel is sixty miles away. The doctor said you were to stay in bed until tomorrow.”

Jessie’s lips parted. “But–my car. I can drive to the motel.”

“Really?” he goaded softly. “I haven’t seen many cars with a broken axle travel very far.”

“Oh, no. Are you serious? A broken axle?” She closed her eyes. Nick and Mr. Humphries were going to have her head on a platter.

“I’m having some of my men drag it out of the pines. The rental agency has already been contacted, and they’ll be bringing out a tow truck to have it taken back to Denver.”

Jessie opened her eyes. At least he wasn’t a total bastard. No, he wasn’t one at all. Millie had told her earlier how he had rescued and carried her back to the ranch. She owed him for that. “I see…. Thank you for calling them.”

“Look,” Rafe said gently, his conscience needled by the bleakness in her eyes and voice, “why don’t you get back to bed and rest? Millie will bring you dinner around six.” Then he disappeared as quietly as he had come.

A quiver moved through Jessie. Rafe’s voice had dropped into that dark, low tone again, and she had felt as if he had reached out and physically stroked her. Touching her breast, Jessie breathed deeply, trying to still her fluttering heart. Rafe was more of a man than she had ever met. Of course, how many men had she met other than her ex-husband? Not many. With a determined look on her face, she slowly stood, allowed the dizziness to pass and then walked back to the brass bed. She would have to call Nick and tell him what had happened. But not now. First, she somehow had to persuade Rafe Kincaid to allow her to investigate the mustang killings. She lay down and almost immediately fell asleep.

* * *

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.