A Measure Of Love. Lindsay McKenna

married couple who really wanted children badly not to have them. The second year, no difference. They started saying I was trying too hard, to relax and everything would be all right and I’d get pregnant. The third year, Tom’s family was pressuring us to the point where I went to five different doctors trying to find out why I couldn’t get pregnant. They didn’t have any answers, either. Technically, I was given the seal of approval to be able to have children.” She glanced up at Rafe, noticing his face was grim. “I couldn’t stand Tom’s mother calling me every week, or his sisters dropping over to give their advice. Of course, they each had one or two children themselves. I took a clerk’s job with a small company just to escape the pressures, the phone calls and visits.”

      Tossing the straw away, she took another deep breath and looked up at the ceiling of the barn. “By the fifth year, Tom’s family was against me. I couldn’t produce an heir for their family. Tom was the only boy. He listened to his folks, who said I was taking contraceptives, when I wasn’t. He accused me of so many terrible things. His sisters all had little girls. There was no one to carry on the long family tradition.

      “God,” she whispered, “looking back on it, I was too young and green to be my own woman, or to set Tom’s family in their place. No one wanted a baby more than me. But that didn’t matter. I accepted the fact that it was my fault, and Tom agreed to a divorce. By that time, we’d both realized our puppy love was only that. We didn’t have the kind of love we needed in order to stay together. ‘Irreconcilable differences’ was how the divorce read. Were there ever…”

      Rafe studied her clean profile, the way pain pulled in the corners of her mouth and darkened her eyes. As if sensing her sadness, the foal came tottering back to Jessie, nuzzling her hair and then sucking noisily on the end of her braid, which had slipped across her shoulder. Watching, but not really seeing the colt’s actions, Rafe was experiencing his own personal agony. Jessie’s hurt-filled voice had opened bolted doors, within himself. He remembered the nursery that would never hear his baby’s cry or laughter. The strong woman he had made his own, who would never smile for him again.

      Clearing his throat, he slowly got to his feet, feeling awkward with not knowing what to say or how to handle Jessie. It was his fault for practically forcing her to tell him about her past. Damn your need to know. He held out his hand to her.

      “Come on,” he rumbled, “it’s noon. Millie will be calling out the back door for us any minute now for lunch.”

      Jessie stared at his hand. His fingers were long and large knuckled, callused from work. It was the hand of a man who loved the earth. She tried to swallow her pain. Rafe was embarrassed enough, and there was no need for her to say anything more to him. He knew how much she hurt. As she gripped his hand to stand, she felt anything but hunger.

      Rafe pulled her to her feet. The foal remained at her side. Jessie’s hand felt small and fragile in his. He searched her face for any remnants of the laughter or pleasure she had felt before he had stolen it away from her. But there were none. As she turned toward him, her face pale, eyes large and expressive, something broke inside Rafe. The walls he hid behind came tumbling down, exposing his vulnerable position. He framed her face with his hands, feeling the delicate strength of her jaw in his palms. His gaze searched her sable eyes, then moved down to her parted lips.

      The breath jammed in Jessie’s throat as she saw Rafe lower his head. A wild fluttering of her heart matched her sudden panic. His breath was moist against her cheek. It had been so long since she had been kissed by a man. And Rafe wasn’t just any man: he was a sleek, sensual animal who sent an ache so intense through her that she placed her hand against the wall of his chest to stop him–because she was afraid of her own reactions.

      “No…. Please don’t–”

      His mouth claimed hers gently, clinging to the contour and shape of hers. Jessie’s eyes closed as shock bolted like lightning through her. Somewhere in her stunned mind, she had expected savagery to match his harsh looks. Instead Rafe molded his mouth tentatively against hers, as gossamer as a butterfly alighting on a flower. His solid male scent entered her flared nostrils, and she tasted the pine on him, the salt of his flesh and the clean outdoors. Shock melted into an awakening awareness as she realized that the kiss was his way of apologizing. He was a man of few words. A soft moan slid from her throat as she swayed against his hard, solid body. With aching tenderness, she shyly returned his kiss.

      Slowly Rafe drew away from her. Jessie stared up into the stormy blue of his eyes, still lost and floating in the fiery splendor of his kiss. She saw so much in those precious seconds afterward, saw him without the barriers he had constructed. She saw a man, as naked and vulnerable as she–as shaken to the core by the unexpected tenderness and fierce wanting.

      His hands tightened on her arms as she swayed unsteadily before him. “Are you all right?” His voice was thick and unsteady. God, how he hungered for her! Her mouth had been yielding sweetness beneath his. And when she had hesitantly returned his kiss, he had nearly come unstrung.

      “Y-yes,” she answered faintly. She took a step out of his grip. “Excuse me.” Edging past Rafe, she shakily slid the bolt back on the door and escaped.

      The sun was blindingly bright, and she squinted against it as she hurried toward the ranch house. Why did I let him kiss me? Why? She climbed the steps, fighting to ignore the confusion of emotions assaulting her.

      “Millie, I’m not very hungry,” she apologized when she found Millie in the kitchen. “I think that walk made me tired. I’m going to lie down for a while.”

      “Well, of course. You’re lookin’ mighty peaked.”

      With a wry smile, Jessie touched her flaming red cheeks. “I’ll be okay.”

      In the bedroom, she shut the door and walked over to the bay windows. The view was gorgeous: the emerald green carpet of the valley flowed out to the blue mountains, which were covered by pine, spruce and fir. Snow was draped across the tops of the mountains as casually as a cape wrapped around a regal woman. She stood in silence for a moment, drinking in the calm. She started as Rafe’s deep voice faintly penetrated the closed door. Please don’t let him come in here. To make good her excuse to Millie, Jessie nudged off her shoes, laid down on the bed and drew up the rainbow-colored afghan over her shoulders. As time passed, she began to relax, convinced that Rafe wasn’t going to pursue the matter. Her lashes drifted closed, and she fell asleep.

      * * *

      “Rafe?” Millie poked her head into his study.

      “Yes?”

      “I’m worried about Jessie. You know she came in right at lunch, sayin’ she was feelin’ a little tired. She’s been sleepin’ for six hours straight.”

      Rafe put down his pen. After lunch, he had driven to the southeast pasture, where most of the cows were calving. As he’d moved through the herd, checking the new babies for any sign of health problems, he’d automatically thought of Jessie and her love of newborns. Their conversation was indelibly imprinted in his mind, and no matter what he did the rest of the day, he hadn’t forgotten it, or the anguish in her voice.

      “Have you checked in on her?” he asked.

      “A number of times.” Millie wiped her hands on the towel she was carrying and wrinkled her brow. “Seems to be sleepin’ awful hard. You don’t think she’s gone into a coma, do you? Doc Miller said to watch for signs of her sleepin’ too much.”

      Rafe rose to his full six-feet-four-inch height. “I think I’d better see if I can wake her up.”

      “If she’s awake, see if she’s up to eating. I saved enough of that pot roast and dumplin’s for her.”

      The hollow sound of his boots on the cedar floor echoed through the hall. He opened the door to her room and stood for a moment, allowing his vision to adjust. At 6:00 p.m., there was only a bare hint of dusk. The afghan had slipped off her shoulders. She lay on her side, the thick, golden braid frayed and coming loose at the end. The dim light was kind to her soft, unlined features and parted lips. Rafe stared