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.
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