Lindsay McKenna - A Measure Of Love

“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 you about jumped out of your skin when he found you in the living room. Let me get this dough in the pans, and then I’ll fix you breakfast.”

“Please, don’t go to the trouble.”

Millie arched an eyebrow. “You ain’t trouble. Rafe had one of his men get your luggage from the car. It’s sitting right inside the bathroom between your two rooms. Why don’t you get a nice hot bath, dress and then join me out in the dining room? Doc Miller said to feed you good.”

Smiling widely, Jessie said, “You’re a dear. I won’t be long.”

“Now, don’t go hurrying. There’s no reason to. Rafe ain’t gonna be back until noon. That’s three hours from now. He said you were lookin’ mighty peaked last night. And Doc told you to rest today.”

Smiling, Jessie trailed out of the kitchen. At the entrance, she stopped and turned to Millie. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a good mother?”

The housekeeper beamed, her apple-red cheeks shining. “Ask Rafe and those two sisters of his, and they’ll tell you they had two mamas–their real one and me. Now scat! I’ll see you in a little while.”

* * *

Jessie stood at the rear porch window, watching the activity in the back of the ranch house. She had finished a huge breakfast of whole-wheat pancakes, maple syrup and fresh fruit earlier. Millie had stuffed her like the proverbial turkey. Now, her curiosity of ranch life held her in its magical embrace. Mesmerized, she watched as the wranglers, mounted on small, delicate Arabians, moved bawling cattle from holding pens. She almost couldn’t contain her excitement. Finally, after twenty-eight years, she was getting to see real cowboys at work on ranch horses!

“You know, you can go outside for a while if you’re getting cooped up in here,” Millie said, coming around with her feather duster. “There’s a jacket in that hall closet that might fit you. Dal keeps one out here for when she and her husband, Jim, visit. Don’t think she’ll mind you using it.” Millie stopped by her side, pointing to the red barn. “If you like good horseflesh, go to that barn. That’s the stud barn where Rafe keeps his three stallions. The green barn next to it is the broodmare barn. If you like the foals, you might want to go there, instead.”

Jessie brightened. “I’d love to see the new babies.”

With a chuckle, Millie nodded. “Figured you would. You look like a mothering type.”

With a smile, Jessie went to the closet and donned the heavy wool coat over her apricot turtleneck sweater and brown wool slacks. “Just to babies,” she amended, “not to men.”

“Amen to that! I think Pinto Pete’s out in the broodmare barn. Rafe always keeps him hoverin’ around when one of the mares is gonna foal. You might see if you can’t scare him up. Pete’ll give you the grand tour.”

“I’ll do that,” she promised. Going out the door and stepping onto the screened porch, Jessie smiled to herself. The Colorado morning was crisp with brilliant sunlight. Between the snorts of the horses, the lowing of the cattle and the panoramic splash of colors that surrounded her, her senses were overwhelmed. The odors ranged from pungent to pine as Jessie walked down the stairs. She’d plaited her hair into one long braid, and the wind played with the wispy bangs across her brow. She inhaled deeply, staying on the sidewalk of red brick that led her safely past the lawn and muddy areas to the barns.

The huge doors were open on one end of the broodmare complex, and Jessie stepped into the well lit, immaculate area. Rows of large, roomy boxstalls stood on either side of the aisle, a horse in each one. A few stablehands were cleaning some of the stalls, putting water in others, or simply passing through on their way to other duties. The smell of sweet alfalfa and oat straw was like a perfume. No wonder Westerners loved their ranches so much!

How long she stood at the first stall watching a wobbly-legged bay foal walk stiffly around her mother, Jessie didn’t know. The beauty of the Arabians was breathtaking. She’d seen photos of them, but had never seen one in person. They were beautiful. And it was Rafe who had an eye for such art in a living animal. That made her feel good about him. Beneath that dark, brooding mask he wore, there was a human being who not only saw beauty, but reveled in it.

Jessie wasn’t sure when Rafe walked up behind her, she only knew that in a moment she was aware of his powerful presence. She had been torn between watching the foal cavort awkwardly around in the straw, and turning toward the feeling of warmth radiating from behind her.

“The foals are my favorite part of the day,” he confided, looking down at her.

Jessie nodded, and her voice was hushed, even though her heartbeat had quickened appreciably. “She’s so cute.”

“It’s a he.” Rafe walked up to the stall, leaving only inches separating them.

“Of course,” she said, blushing.

Rafe rested his arms on the edge of the stall. “Kind of hard to tell, though, at this age. He was born last night.”

Jessie was grateful that Rafe allowed her error to pass. As she looked up at him, she saw that his features had softened. “I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here,” she admitted. “I love babies. This is the first time I’ve ever seen a little foal…”

“Oh?”

She wasn’t going to lie to him. There was too much to lose by doing so. “When I joined the BLM five years ago, Mr. Kincaid, I was stuck away in a cubicle. My job was to stay in touch with the ranchers who were capturing and penning up the mustangs. I coordinated finding owners for these mustangs all over the U.S.” She walked to the stall and rested her hands on the cool bars. “I did a lot of study on the mustangs, even though I’ve never been near them. In fact, the closest I’ve ever come to a horse is watching one go down the parade route of Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, D.C.” She twisted her head to see what kind of a reaction her confession would have on him.

He held her steady gaze, noticing how clear her eyes were this morning, and how the strain around her mouth had disappeared. “Why?”

“Because I’m afraid of them. They’re big.”

“If I were a banty rooster, I’d be respectful of them, too,” he said with a slight smile.

“You aren’t upset that I haven’t had a lot of experience with horses?”

Rafe shrugged. “You’re out here this morning, aren’t you? If you were really afraid, you wouldn’t be here. I think you’re ignorant, not scared of them.”

“Is that supposed to be an oblique compliment?”

“Yes, ma’am, it is. Come on.” He slipped his hand beneath her elbow, drawing her to him.

Jessie trusted Rafe, for whatever that was worth. As he slid the bolt back and opened the door to the stall, she figured he was either going to help her overcome her fear, or he was about to embarrass her. She didn’t know which, and she stood uncertainly in the ankle-deep straw, waiting as he shut the door.

“Now, stay at my side and do as I tell you,” he told her in a low voice.

With a nod, she walked forward with him, her throat tight with fear. The mare looked awesome to her. Crooning to the mother, Rafe crouched down in front of the animals. Jessie followed suit. As soon as they knelt, both horses walked over to them.

“There’s a trick in getting a horse to come over to you,” Rafe told her quietly, his eyes never leaving the mare. “The eyes of a horse are constructed so that we appear almost twice our normal height to them. We look like giants. So if we crouch down, we become much smaller and less of a threat. Since they’re real curious animals, eventually they’ll come up to investigate.”