LITMIR.BIZ

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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. Perhaps it was the color of his eyes, their dark blue cast that carried hidden pain in their depths. Or the wry twist of his mouth. Jessie couldn’t be sure. She felt that he was a man who was carrying tremendous burdens; some, if not all of them, sad. Rafe Kincaid was not happy outwardly or inwardly, and that struck Jessie’s heart.

      “I wanted to leave, Mr. Kincaid. I don’t feel I’ve started off on the right foot with you. What I’d like to do is find the nearest motel, spend a couple days recuperating from the accident and then come back to the Triple K.” Her voice became more firm, and she held his stare. “There’s unfinished business between us. I was sent here to straighten it out, not make more of a mess for you.” She slowly sat down on the arm of the flower-print couch, her hands in her lap.

      “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.

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