A Measure Of Love. Lindsay McKenna

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      Chapter Two

      Rafe tried to concentrate on the numbers staring back at him. Red–they were all in the red. His large hand clenched and then slowly unclenched. If, and it was a big if, all the Herefords produced healthy calves, it would be a bumper crop this year. The biggest “if” was the weather. It might be mid-April, but that didn’t mean a thing up in the Rocky Mountains. A spring blizzard could come tearing out of Canada, dumping four or five feet of snow in its path. His eyes clouded. If that happened, many of the newborn calves would freeze to death. Just as they had last year. He had planned on the last year to bring the ranch back into the black after– Quickly he shut his mind to the past.

      Rubbing his furrowed brow, he got up and headed to the liquor cabinet, where he poured a shot of whiskey. It wasn’t like him to take a drink in the early afternoon. Late at night, of course, after a good day’s work had been put in, there was nothing like a bit of whiskey to warm his insides as he watched the sun sink behind the rugged mountains he had grown up with. But now… Rafe turned and moodily stared around the study that doubled as a library. Why the hell was he thinking of her?

      When he looked down at the figures, all he could see was the ripe color of her hair and her huge cinnamon-colored eyes. And her mouth. He threw the potent whiskey into his mouth, grimacing as the heat curled down his throat and into his knotted stomach. With the back of his hand he wiped his mouth, then set the shot glass back down on the cabinet. Jessie Scott was burning through his mind and his daily work schedule like a branding iron.

      Muttering a curse under his breath, Rafe strode back to the desk. The whole day was a complete loss, and he didn’t like the way his routine had been upset. Especially by a blond-haired filly who–

      “Well, looks like you’re up to your hocks in paperwork,” Doctor Miller said by way of a greeting, ambling through the door, black bag in hand. He flashed Rafe a smile.

      Bringing his mind back to focus around him, Rafe hesitated only a moment before greeting the doctor. “Sit down, Doc. Has Millie fed you yet?”

      Dr. Miller patted his flat stomach, then sat down. “Fed, primed and ready for packaging,” he said with a chuckle.

      Rafe leaned back in the huge leather chair. “Good. So, how’s Ms. Scott?”

      “Doing fine. Oh, she’s got a roaring headache from that bump, but all in all, I’d say she’ll survive.” Dr. Miller smiled fondly. “She has the normal collection of bruises here and there.”

      “No concussion, then?”

      “No. Should have, but doesn’t.” He laughed. “She said she had a hard head, and I believe her.”

      “Did she tell you she’s a BLM agent?” Rafe asked suddenly.

      The older man nodded, his hazel eyes dancing with amusement. “Yes, she did. Matter of fact, she told me the whole story of how you two met.”

      “Well, she’s going right back where she came from as soon as she’s ready to leave. When will that be?”

      “Give her a couple of days. She’s not too steady on her feet yet. A little dizzy. If it isn’t putting too much of a strain on Millie or yourself, let her stay in bed for the rest of the day. Tomorrow is the earliest she should be up and walking around.”

      Rafe grunted and rose. “Thanks for coming, Doc.”

      “My pleasure.” He rose and shook Rafe’s hand. “You’re looking tired.”

      He shrugged it off, walking the doctor out of the study and toward the front door. “It’s usual for this time of year.”

      “I s’pose it is, Rafe. Calving and all. Hear you got a bumper crop of Arabians planned this year, too.”

      “Yeah, I do. The best of the lot will be sold at some fancy sales down in Arizona and back East this fall.”

      “Hope it brings in a bumper crop of cash,” Dr. Miller commented with a chuckle, shrugging into his coat.

      Rain was still falling, but at a lesser rate as Rafe opened the door for the doctor. “Makes two of us, Doc. See you later.”

      He watched as the doctor climbed back into his four-wheel drive pickup. After closing the door, Rafe shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and wandered aimlessly through the house. Eventually he found himself at the door that used to be his and Mary Ann’s bedroom. The one that Jessie now occupied. Millie knew it was never to be used–just like the nursery directly across the hall. Of course, with the guest room all torn apart from spring cleaning, where was Millie going to put Jessie? In her room? Or his? There hadn’t been a lot of choices in the matter. Dal’s room, which was next to the unused nursery, had been turned into a sewing room for Millie. Cathy’s room was the one that long ago been turned into a nursery…one that would sit empty forever.

      Grimly Rafe swung open the door in front of him. He scowled. “What the hell are you doing up?” he demanded.

      Jessie gasped and turned toward the thundering voice. She had managed to sit up, slip into a white chenille robe and walk to the couch that was adjacent to the windows. Now Rafe Kincaid stood blocking the doorway, his face set in an angry cast and his large hands on his narrow hips. The throbbing ache in her head intensified accordingly.

      “Don’t shout at me!” She gripped the back of the couch with one hand, and pressed her other against her temple.

      “Doc Miller said you were to stay in bed,” Rafe rumbled. Dammit, why did she have to look like a waif? The robe was too big on her; the sleeves were below her fingers and the bottom of it dragged around her bare feet. His anger began to dissolve as he took in her slender form, graceful carriage and her proud look. Her hair was dry and had obviously been combed. It was shimmering and glossy even in the murky light of the rainy day. He wondered what her hair would look like out in the sun. Would her eyes also sparkle and dance in the light, and not look as they did now, dark in her narrowed gaze?

      “I was looking for my clothes,” Jessie told him, forcing her voice into a more neutral tone.

      “Millie’s taking care of them. They were wet.”

      She allowed her hand to drop and faced him squarely. He had harsh features, broad shoulders and a barrel chest. But Jessie lived more on her instincts than on what she saw initially in any person, and she switched to that internal radar. СКАЧАТЬ