Jessica told him softly, “I used to stare up at them when we were camping. I even tried to count them one night, but they shimmer, so that it’s as if they won’t stand still and allow it.”
Rory hooked his arms over the rail and leaned his head back. “I love to look up at them, especially when I have problems. It reminds me of how very insignificant my troubles are. When I see all those stars, I tell myself how lucky I am just to be alive and able to see them every night.”
She stepped up on the bottom rail and hung on to the top. “Maybe you should write a poem about them.”
“Maybe I will,” Rory said. He was staring at her again, she could tell, so she tried hard to concentrate on the sky until he said, “Out of all those billions of stars, just like out of all the people on earth, we’ve found each other, Jess.”
Jessica pushed off the fence rail and stepped down.
“Are you willing to ignore that?” he asked.
The music started up again and the other dancers hurried back into the barn. He stepped away from the fence. Assuming she wanted to avoid answering, he said, “Let’s get back.”
Jessica moved to his side and walked back toward the crowded barn, wishing he would take her hand, afraid to reach out for his and start something she knew she would never be able to stop.
ALONE ONCE MORE, Jessica changed clothes without lighting the lamp. She moved around the darkened interior of her room like a sleepwalker in a dream, still wrapped in the cocoon of pleasurable memories of dancing in Rory’s arms. As she pulled the huge nightgown over her head and then let down her hair, she wondered how she would ever get to sleep tonight.
Myra had stopped moving around in the room next door long ago. Jessica smiled when she thought of her outspoken friend and the cowboys who vied for her hand. Myra had made quite a show of her determination to treat both Scratchy Livermore and Woody Barrows, or Wheelbarrow, fairly—but Jessica suspected that Myra would eventually choose her books and her home in Boston over either of them.
But what of herself? What should she do now that she knew the depth of Rory Burnett’s feelings for her? He had not proposed merely out of pity—that was all too clear now—but out of love for her. Jess wandered over to the bed and picked up her new gown, shook it out, and tucked it carefully into the armoire. Then she moved to the wash basin, poured a little water from a tall pitcher, and splashed some over her face.
While patting her cheeks and neck dry, she wished it was as easy for her to know exactly how she felt about Rory Burnett. Did she love him? Quite possibly, but there was no scientific formula to help her be sure. If she were to deduce the truth the way she might approach the dating of a saurian, she would simply compare her feelings for Rory Burnett with previous circumstances of a similar nature; but in this case there were no similar circumstances for comparison. She had never been attracted to any man before, nor had anyone every made such serious advances.
She sat down in the armless rocker and set it in motion. The slow movement of the chair lulled her some, but not into restfulness. She crossed her arms and thought some more. How could she carry on with her work with such a dilemma dogging her every step of the way? What if this was her only chance at love?
Mulling over the possibilities of ever falling in love with any of the men she had known, scientists all—well, the thought didn’t even bear thinking of. They were her peers, they were knowledgeable—some were even what a woman would call handsome in a refined sort of way—but now that she had met Rory Burnett, Jessica knew she would compare every other man to him.
So then, what is my recourse? she wondered. How could she get past the self-imposed barrier she’d set up around her heart? And once the barrier was behind her, how might she pursue both her work and a life with Rory Burnett?
Enough of this. She stood up, her bare feet soundless on the wide plank flooring. Some warm milk, or at the very least water, would help her sleep. She tiptoed to the door, intent on raiding the crockery jar of milk that she knew Scratchy kept in the little adobe room beneath the water tower outside the kitchen.
Once she reached the hallway, she noticed that the door to Rory’s room was open. Seeing by the moonlight filtering through the window that he was still out, she trod carefully. When she reached the kitchen, she carefully opened the backdoor and then the screen door, making certain it did not squeak. She lifted the hem of the long nightgown above the red clay earth as she hurried to the springhouse where the fruits, vegetables, and other perishables were stored.
The heavy door swung inward and Jess followed it, careful not to stub her toe on the threshold. Only weak light from a sliver of moon illuminated the interior of the room. The dirt floor was damp and cool, quite a change from the dry ground outside. The room was scented with an odd heady combination of citrus and mildew. She put her hands out in front of her to feel her way toward the broad shelf where Scratchy kept the milk.
“Who’s in there?” A man’s deep voice echoed off the walls.
Jess screamed and jumped, dropped the hem of the gown, and then promptly tripped on it. As she went sprawling to the soft, earthen floor, she let out an “Oomph!” as the wind went out of her.
“Jess?” Rory moved toward the white shadow writhing on the floor. “Jess? Are you all right?” He knelt over her and pulled her to a sitting position.
Gasping for air, she grumbled, “Do I sound all right?” He pulled her to her feet and tried to dust her off, but when his hand came in contact with a pliant breast beneath the thin cotton, she batted it away.
“Please,” she said quickly, “I’m fine. Just let go of me.” His hands lingered a moment too long. Jessica lifted her skirt again and turned to head out of the room.
Rory felt her retreat and reached out. His hand connected with the crook of her elbow and he held her fast. “Slow down a minute.” He could see her profile in the weak light as she stared toward the open doorway. “Please, Jess. Don’t go yet.”
She stopped struggling, but wouldn’t look back at him. “I wanted some milk. I’m sorry. I have to go back.”
“Why? Are you still afraid to be alone with me?”
“We shouldn’t—”
“We’re not doing anything.”
“No, but—”
“Unless you’re thinking impure thoughts.” He felt her stiffen and her hair swirled around her shoulders and hips as she swung around to argue.
“I’m thinking no such thing.”
“Then what’s the rush? Let me find that milk for you.” He let her go.
Jessica tried not to breathe a too-audible sigh of relief. Squinting in the darkness, she could see enough to know that he hadn’t moved. “Well, are you getting the milk or not?”
“How about an orange? We got a whole crate of them at the store.”
She wanted to tell him no, to rush back to the safety of her room, but felt her mouth water as she imagined a cool, fresh orange. Jess sighed again. “All right.”
He rustled around in the darkness for a moment, then came back to her side. “Got ’em.”
“And the milk?”
“I take it you couldn’t sleep.”
“That’s right.”
“I found something to cure what ails you.”
Handing her two oranges, Rory took her by the elbow again and led her to the open doorway. They stepped outside and paused just beyond the doorway. She could see him clearly now, his new boots and shirt, his hat. He towered over her as he stood there holding a long, slender bottle in one hand.
“Midnight snack,” he whispered, raising what was obviously a wine bottle.
“What were you doing out here?” she whispered back suspiciously.
“I was making certain everything was cleaned up and all the lanterns were safely out in the barn. I was just about to turn in when I heard someone in the spring
house. By the way, don’t ever think about becoming a thief. You’re awful noisy.”
“As if I would.”
“Come on.” He tugged on her arm again and reluctantly she followed him across the barnyard.
“Where are we going?”
“Not far. I left the barn open.”
She took him at his word and kept walking. He couldn’t believe his stubborn Miss Stanbridge was complying with his wishes. Rory slowed down as they passed the bunk-house, and Jess thought she heard snoring as they snuck past a one-room version of the wood-and-adobe ranch house.
When they reached the barn, he went in first. Against the far wall, a lantern burned low over a long workbench.
“You can come on in,” he told her.
She tried to see past the shadows and shook her head. “Oh, no. I don’t think so.”
“Are you afraid of the dark?”
“It’s not the dark I’m afraid of.”
He whispered, “I didn’t think so, but after the respectable way I behaved myself at the dance tonight, I think you could trust me.”
“Somehow I feel like Little Red Riding Hood facing the wolf.”
“Come on in before someone hears us and comes snooping around.”
“Maybe I want to be rescued,” she said, glancing at the bunkhouse.
“Then why are you still whispering?”
“Why don’t we go sit on the veranda—”
“Don’t go fancying things up. It’s a porch.”
“The porch, then.”
“This is where I come when I want to think. Always has been.”
“That must account for your lack of thought lately.”
“I have to turn down the light,” he told her.
As he walked into the barn she followed close behind, careful to keep the long nightgown from tripping her. Rory moved to the back wall and reached for the lantern. Just as he started to turn it down he glanced back and was surprised to find her next to him.
Rory smiled down at her. “Why don’t we have our snack right here?”
She swallowed. “Here?”
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “Why not?” Her heart was beating triple time as she followed him to an empty stall that was piled high with fresh alfalfa.
“It’s not fancy,” he said softly.
“We won’t be here that long,” she said, wondering why she had agreed to stay at all. You’re in dangerous waters, Jessica Stanbridge, and you know it.
Ignoring her nagging conscience, Jessica smoothed the skirt of the nightgown and sat down in the pungent hay. “Is this supposed to be comfortable?”
“You’ll get used to it. Settle back and relax.” Rory turned the lamp down to a soft glow. He sat it on the ground, well away from the hay.
She stayed right where she was, trying to sit up in the soft mound of hay, keeping her eyes on the door, wondering how quickly she could get out if her bravado faltered.
Rory tossed her two oranges. “Start peeling.” Then he slipped a pocketknife from his back pocket and began to work on the wine cork.
“And the peels?”
“Toss them on the floor.”
“Toss them on the floor,” she repeated, as if trying to absorb the meaning behind the words. Realizing there was no alternative, and with a newfound sense of freedom, she did just that and the heady scent of citrus colored the air.
He grumbled all the while he was digging out the cork. Jess held the two peeled oranges in her hands, trying to keep them out of the hay. The juice dripped between her fingers onto her gown.
“Are you about done? I’m a mess.”
He glanced over at her. Jess was barely visible in the semidarkness. Rory leaned toward her as if to assess the truth of her statement. “You certainly are, Miss Stanbridge.”
“Could you hurry, please? I’d like to get back to bed.”
And I’d love to go with you. Rory held his tongue, not wanting to scare her back into the house now that they had come so far.
“All done.” He held out the bottle. “No silver cups, no glasses, but would you care for a swig? Oh, and don’t mind any bits of cork you might run across.”
“I don’t believe I’ll have any, thank you. Besides, my hands are full.” She offered him an orange.
He set the bottle down, took the orange, and then took hold of her wrist. He pulled her empty hand to his lips and began to lick the orange juice from her palm.
At the touch of his tongue a shiver raced down her spine to her thighs. She tried to recover her hand, but he held it fast.
She whispered, “I knew I shouldn’t have come.”
“And yet you did. Why, Jess?” He let go of her, and although he was waiting for an answer, he pretended to concentrate on separating the segments of his orange.
She wiped her palm on the gown, hoping to still the tingling sensations. “I’m conducting an experiment.”
“Then I can assume I’ve at least achieved the status of one of your ancient relics.”
She already knew what he was capable of. It was her own emotions she needed to define. “Not exactly.”
“Can I be of any help?”
“I’m afraid there won’t be any experiment without your cooperation,” she told him honestly as she bit into a luscious section of orange.
Rory finished his and leaned back into the hay. He hadn’t even had a swallow of wine and yet he felt incredibly warm inside. It didn’t matter what happened, or didn’t happen, now. It was enough that she was here, that Jessica Stanbridge had let down her hair, enough to join him in some banter and a quiet interlude. It was enough that she trusted herself and him enough to be alone together in the dark.
He heard her smack her lips as she licked the juice from her own fingers this time. He ignored the aching need that made itself known the moment he found her alone in the springhouse and concentrated on putting her at ease.
“About this experiment,” he said, truly curious, “when does it start? Or has it?” He reached out for the wine and leaned back again, tipping the bottle up for a drink.
“It began when I agreed to leave the springhouse with you.”
When he passed her the bottle, she took a long drink. “My whole life,” she began, staring into the darkness that separated them, “I’ve been taught to ask questions, to be certain everything is carefully labeled and classified. Life is divided into very distinct categories. Sometimes I feel like the part of me that’s a scientist is always watching and analyzing my emotional life as it unfolds. I think that’s why I find it so hard to ‘let go,’ as you say.”
“So what is it you’re curious about?” He felt triumphant knowing what it cost her to open up to him.
She was glad his expression was almost hidden by the shadows. “Today I was in your office looking for something to read.”
He went still, half suspecting what she was about to tell him.
“I read your poems.”
Rory took another long swallow of wine and passed the bottle back. “So?”
Jessica held the wine on her lap. He was waiting for her to say something. She took a deep breath. “They were very moving, very clear and direct. You wrote love words about me.”
“I love you.”
He made it all sound so very simple. After a sip of wine she asked, “How do you know?”
“Is this the scientist asking?”
“No, the woman.”
“I think I probably loved you the minute I laid eyes on you.”
“Then this is purely physical?” Disappointment crept into her tone.
“How about if you let me finish, Jess?” He sighed. “Of course, I didn’t know I loved you then. In fact, I thought you were one of the most exasperating women I’d ev
er met, but I guess that’s part of what attracted me to you. You’re determined, headstrong. You’ll never let anyone push you around or do anything you don’t want to do. You know what you want and you’re not about to let anything get in your way.”
“And you consider those endearing qualities?”
“Well, remember, you’re talking to a man who likes to ride bulls, too.” He laughed at his own wit, then added, “I wouldn’t have thought that’s what I’d look for in a woman before I met you, but you worked your way into my mind, Jess, just the way you’ve slipped into my heart and my life. I can’t help it if I like having you here.”
Lifting the bottle to her lips, she took another sip and then passed it back to him. Their hands brushed in passing. “I saw you ride Arthur in the rodeo today. It scared me to death. I realized then that my feelings for you ran far deeper than I suspected. Then later, when I found the poems, I wasn’t sure about anything anymore.”
Rory shook his head, pleased to learn she had been there to watch him succeed where he had once failed. “You were quite a busy gal today, weren’t you?”
“Are you mad?”
“Not a bit.” He set the bottle aside and leaned toward her. “I’m glad we’re getting all this out in the open.”
Jessica watched his shadow loom nearer. She waited, breathless, for him to draw near enough to touch.
“May I kiss you, Jess?”
She tipped her face up to his. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. I’d like that.”
Before he did, he reached over and turned out the light, then caught her face between his hands. Her lips were tangy and scented with orange. His lips tempted, tasted, and then delved, yet he purposely held himself back, so hungry for her that he was afraid he might devour her.
Jess moaned and reached out to steady herself. She grabbed his sleeves and held on tight as he deepened the kiss and pressed her back into the prickly hay, but all discomfort was forgotten as she lost herself in the heady sensations his kiss evoked.
When the kiss ended, he gathered up handfuls of her unbound hair, buried his face in it, and then whispered in her ear, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long. Your hair reminds me of sunbeams. You should never pin it up the way you do. It should be free.” Rory ran his fingers through the silken mass again and again until he was hungry for the taste of her lips once more.
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