Rugged

by Tatiana March

  Slowly, carefully, he reached out and brushed the moisture from her face.

  Her skin was satiny soft.

  Her head tilted to one side, seeking his touch.

  “Go and eat your dinner,” she told him in a low murmur. “And get some sleep.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

  “Yes. Let me stay here. And bring me a cup of coffee.”

  He nodded and rose to his feet. His throat seemed to close with the new emotions that soared inside him. He looked down at her, so delicate and feminine, and yet so full of spirit.

  City girl, fighting to save one of his orphan calves.

  “One cup of coffee coming up,” he said gruffly and left her to read on.

  Too late.

  The warning flashed through Jed’s mind as he unsaddled Montana, wiped down the gelding and carried drink and feed into his stall.

  It was too late to keep away from her.

  * * * *

  Jed fumbled in the darkness to silence the alarm clock. He snapped on the bedside light and squinted. Four in the morning. With a tired sigh, he got up. Rather than take the time to undress, he’d slept in his clothes. He went downstairs, made a pot of coffee and poured the strong brew into a steel flask.

  Pausing to pull on his boots and sheepskin coat, he set off across the yard.

  For three days now, the stubborn woman had camped out in his barn. Reading aloud to a calf and a goat, for God’s sake. Refusing to leave, only coming into the house to use the bathroom, or to select a new book when she got to the end of the current one.

  He’d been appointed to act as the catering troops.

  Jed accepted that he might not know much about women, but he was certainly learning to take orders from one—warming milk, heating slices of soggy pizza in the oven, bringing out extra blankets when the sky cleared and the temperature plummeted again.

  He turned off the flashlight, tucked it beneath his arm and shouldered the door open.

  No droning sound of a voice reading aloud broke the silence.

  Jed propped the flashlight on a bale of hay and hurried to the last stall. Rachel sat on the bed of straw, looking pale in the yellow glow of the ceiling lamp. Dry-eyed, she looked up at him, cradling the inert calf in her lap.

  “Oh sweetheart.” The endearment slipped from his lips.

  He knelt beside her, put down the flask and reached to lift the lifeless body away from her. For an instant, fear surged inside him that like a distraught mother who’d lost her child, Rachel would cling to the dead calf. Relief eased his rigid muscles when her hands moved out of the way.

  “He was so small.” She spoke in a fragile voice, like a thread about to snap. “I couldn’t keep him alive. I tried, but he died anyway.”

  “Hush,” he told her. “We’ll bury him. The ground’s not frozen solid yet.”

  “No.” She closed her eyes, sighed and blinked them open again. “We have to be practical. Do what you normally do. Burn the carcass, whatever you do, but don’t tell me.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Her attention fell on the flask. “Is that coffee?”

  He lowered the calf out of the way and picked up the flask, unscrewed the cap and poured. He passed the cup to Rachel. She tasted the temperature with a cautious sip and then drank deeply, taking greedy gulps.

  Jed watched her.

  No tears.

  No wailing protest at the unfairness of the world.

  He’d observed Rachel nursing the calf, had seen her patiently trickle milk into his mouth and stroke the fragile body with a comforting touch. He knew she’d come to care about the animals. She’d lavished so much love on the calf and the goat that envy burned in his gut like an undigested meal.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, feeling awkward and inadequate.

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have stopped you. I expected he would die.”

  “But I didn’t.” She gave a helpless shrug. “I had to try.”

  Rachel attempted to rise but stumbled. Jed took the empty cup from her, put it away, and helped her up.

  “My legs are numb.” She stomped one foot, then another.

  Georgia, who’d been asleep, woke and made a protesting sound. The little goat got up from her bed of sackcloth and pushed around them to get to the calf. She poked the lifeless body with her long nose.

  “It’s all right,” Rachel crooned, leaning down to hug the goat.

  “I’ll put her in with Nebraska.” Jed reached over to grip the goat by the collar.

  When Georgia fought back, he scooped her in his arms and carried her. He spent a few moments settling her in with the big quarter horse, taking the opportunity to examine his own thoughts.

  Now he understood the tension that had churned inside him for three days.

  He’d expected that when the calf died, Rachel would fall apart.

  He’d imagined holding her against his chest, consoling her. Brushing gentle kisses on her hair. On her brow, on her cheeks. He’d had visions of her looking up at him with those clear gray eyes, her head tilted back as she invited him to cover her mouth with his.

  Long slow kisses, leading to more.

  “I’m going inside.”

  He looked up and saw her standing in the corridor, rumpled and dirty. The tired lines on her face spoke of grief, but she held the emotion inside. Her brittle demeanor made him think of a crystal vase hurtling toward the ground, beautiful and delicate, and about to shatter. He wanted to tear down the walls that locked in her anguish, help her to let the pain flood out, but he had no idea how to do it.

  “Shall I draw you a bath?” he asked.

  “Later,” she said. “I need to sleep first. Can I use your spare bedroom?”

  “Of course.” He stepped out of the stall, but she’d already set off.

  He turned out the light and followed her, watching her narrow shoulders rise straight inside the oilskin jacket while she walked up the path in the light of the pale three-quarter moon.

  He hadn’t understood her strength before.

  She might be a city girl, but she could adjust to living on a remote ranch.

  * * * *

  Rachel woke up at midday, after almost seven hours of sleep. She dressed in the white shirt and thick terrycloth bathrobe Jed had lent her, tucked a pair of woolen socks on her feet, and went downstairs.

  A note stood propped next to the coffeepot on the kitchen counter.

  ‘Gone out. Back by five. I’ll cook dinner.’

  She ate breakfast, listened to a play on the radio, then went back upstairs and drew a bath. Leaning back in the big tub, she relished the feel of the hot water that soothed her aching muscles. She tried to forget the calf, but the sense of loss refused to lift.

  Not since the death of her mother had grief overwhelmed her like that, barely allowing her to move or speak. Last night, she’d managed to hold back the tears until she’d reached the privacy of the sparsely furnished bedroom. Then her anguish had gushed out in racking sobs that tore from her chest as she muffled the sounds against the pillow.

  She’d fought to keep the pain inside in front of Jed. Falling to pieces would have made him regret letting her stay with the calf. She had no right to add to his worries, make him feel guilty for not being able to protect her from grief.

  Jed.

  She closed her eyes, letting his image form in her mind.

  Broad shoulders, rangy body, stern features. Dark eyes that rarely revealed how he felt. She guessed that if he hadn’t been so tired when he came into the barn to check on her at night while she nursed the calf, he wouldn’t have let all his hopes and fears and longings reflect so clearly on his face.

  An idea stirred in her mind.

  She and Jed might only have a couple of more weeks before Hank sent someone to tell her the investigation was over and she could return. If she wanted to find out what could happen between them, if the kernel of feelin
g she felt inside could grow into something true and lasting, she had hurry things along a little.

  Otherwise, she would just go home and resume her old life.

  The front door slammed. Booted footsteps rang up the timber staircase.

  Rachel’s heart pounded as she listened to the sounds of Jed returning.

  A muted knock sounded on her bedroom door.

  “Rachel?” Jed called out.

  “I’m in here,” she called back. “I’m having a bath.”

  Silence.

  Then the floorboards creaked. A shadow crossed the bathroom door that stood ajar.

  “Can I come in?” Jed asked.

  Her stomach knotted. It appeared that Jed had also done some thinking, had come up with his own ideas for how to hurry things along between them. Ever since that first day, when he’d grabbed hold of her at the woodpile, the current of attraction between them had been impossible to deny. She had tried to push it out of her mind, ignoring the fluttery sensations and the tingling at the base of her spine every time he looked at her.

  Their worlds had seemed too far apart to offer common ground.

  She was a modern girl. He was an old fashioned man.

  For God’s sake, he’d chased her off his property almost at gunpoint that first day.

  I don’t have time for women, and if I did, I wouldn’t waste it on sluts from the city.

  Would he be prepared to make compromises, meet her halfway? Or would passion flare up between them and then burn out, leaving nothing but memories and an even more acute sense of loneliness?

  Either way, she had to find out.

  “Yes,” Rachel heard herself reply. “You can come in.”

  Jed stepped into the room. His leather boots glinted damp, so she knew he’d stopped at the barn to wash off the caked mud. The sheepskin coat hung open. The brim of the Stetson left his face in shadows. Pleasure curled around Rachel’s heart at the thought that he’d rushed upstairs to see her without pausing to take off his outdoor clothes.

  He halted on the threshold, his eyes riveted on her.

  “Jesus,” he said hoarsely. His throat moved in a hard swallow. “I thought you’d be covered in bubbles…I didn’t think…”

  Rachel leaned back in the clear water, letting him look. All those fluttery sensations she’d tried to ignore burst alive, travelling up and down her spine.

  “I shouldn’t…” Jed made a helpless gesture with one hand.

  “It’s all right,” she told him softly. “I invited you inside.”

  His eyes roamed her naked body, hungry and hot and a little desperate.

  Without thinking, Rachel sat up in the bath and reached out, opening her arms to him. Jed strode up to her and fell to his knees by the tub. A hoarse sound caught in his throat. His arms wrapped around her. Water sloshed over the edge as he pulled her against his chest.

  “Rachel, Rachel,” he murmured into her hair.

  The outdoor cold that clung to his clothes chilled her wet skin, but it did nothing to cool the fire that raged inside her. She pressed her face to his coarse sweater. Rivulets of water cascaded from her hair, drenching the wool. She leaned away, tipping her head back to look up at him.

  His hold on her eased for an instant. With a careless sweep of one hand, Jed knocked his hat out of the way and lowered his face to hers, seeking her lips. His mouth closed over hers, urgent and hard and unyielding.

  A moan of pleasure slipped from her throat.

  Instantly, Jed pulled away. “Did I hurt you?” he asked.

  “No.” She tangled her fingers into his hair and pulled him down to her. “Kiss me again. Kiss me like your life depends on it.”

  “It does,” he said, and his lips came down to hers.

  He tasted one corner of her mouth, travelled across to the other, gentler now, the first rush of hunger gone. Little by little, he increased the pressure. When she responded, his tongue swept inside, clumsy and tentative at first. She melted into him. The kiss grew bolder. His arms banded around her, anchoring her wet body against his.

  She clung to his shoulders, cursing the thick sheepskin coat that separated them, kept her from running her hands along the ridged muscles beneath. The bristle on his jaw rubbed her tender skin but she ignored the discomfort, wanting to get closer, wanting more of him, wanting the kiss to go on forever.

  When he finally released her, she fell against him, breathless and shaking.

  He buried his face in her hair, as if he were too scared to look at her.

  “I’ve made you all wet,” Rachel said.

  “You’ve made me a lot of things,” Jed replied with a shaky laugh. He eased away to glance down at his groin. “Sorry.”

  “Why?” she asked. “It would be terrible if you didn’t want me.”

  “I do…want you.” He rose to his feet. “I want you so much it’s driving me crazy.” He took a step back, and then another, leaving her shivering in her nakedness. His gaze darted around the room, refusing to meet hers. “I’d better let you finish your bath,” he said. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

  He turned and strode away with decisive steps.

  Rachel was left staring after him.

  Chapter Five

  The old pair of jeans and thick cable knit sweater Jed had laid out on the bed were only a little too large when Rachel tried them on. She assumed he’d worn them as a boy. She could have gone into the living room wearing nothing but the terrycloth robe, but his abrupt retreat from the bathroom had caused her to regret her bold attempt to force the attraction between them out in the open.

  Jed would have to take the next step.

  She wanted no possibility that he would give in to temptation against his better judgment, and then blame her. Slut from the city. She didn’t want to sleep with a man and later hear him hurl those words at her.

  So, Rachel went downstairs fully dressed, her hair falling in damp curls about her shoulders. In the vaulted living room, flames roared in the stone chimney. Jed stood by the cathedral windows, looking out into the darkness. The exterior light was on, illuminating the slow dance of fluffy snowflakes. On the low table between the sofas, a bottle of wine stood beside two glasses and a pair of burning candles. The indoor lights had been switched off. The timber soldiers made dark shapes in the flickering candlelight.

  “We need to talk,” Rachel said.

  “Yes.” Jed glanced at her, then resumed staring out of the window.

  Rachel paused by a timber soldier and ran her hands over the statue, seeking confidence in the feel of the smooth surface against her palms. “Clearly, you have strict moral standards,” she said quietly. “And, although I’m not promiscuous, I’ve lived the kind of life modern single women do.”

  Jed made a harsh sound and whirled to face her. The light outside was stronger than the glow from the candles, turning him into a dark silhouette, hiding his expression. “I—”

  “Let me finish,” Rachel cut in. “I don’t like the idea that you might turn against me later, if you end up regretting what you’ve done. I don’t want to be judged, or made feel cheap, just because your expectations of how women should conduct themselves might be different from mine.”

  Silence fell as Jed appeared to be mulling over her words.

  “Have you had many lovers?” he asked.

  “I don’t see how that would be any business of yours.”

  He rammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Were you in love with those men? Did you want to marry any of them?”

  Rachel moved to the table and inspected the bottle of Pinot Noir that had already been uncorked. Without asking if Jed wanted any, she filled both glasses. She took a long sip and let the fruity flavor linger on her tongue before swallowing down the mouthful.

  “I loved one of them,” she told him. “And I planned to marry another.”

  “Not the same man?”

  Rachel shook her head. “The man I was in love with was an actor, trying to make it in Hollywood. I thoug
ht he loved me, and perhaps he did, but he loved lots of other women too. I ended the relationship after I discovered he slept around.”

  “And the man you planned to marry?”

  Rachel sighed. “He was an eminently respectable chiropractor. I was twenty-six. I was thinking of children, how my biological clock would soon start ticking. So I said yes. But I just couldn’t go through with it.” She slanted a sideways glance at Jed. “There were no…fireworks…in the bedroom. I couldn’t imagine living the rest of my life in a relationship totally devoid of physical passion. So, I broke off the engagement. There hasn’t been anyone else in the two years since then.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  A guilty chuckle rolled from deep in her belly. “Do you mean, did I tell him that I didn’t want to marry him because he was a lousy lover? No, I didn’t. I told him I didn’t love him enough. And that was probably the truth anyway.”

  Jed moved closer and picked up the glass of red wine from the table. “But rather than make do, you chose to reject a man who didn’t know how to give you pleasure?”

  “Stanley—” She bit her lip and started again, making it sound less personal. “My ex-fiancé paid no attention when I tried to tell him how I liked to be touched. He just went through the same motions every time. If he truly cared about me, surely he would not have ignored everything I said?”

  “You think a man can learn how to be a good lover?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t see why not, if he pays attention. It can’t be that hard. The activity is repetitive, after all, and the equipment is pretty standard.” Heat flared on her face at the candid talk.

  Jed lowered his glass without drinking. “The food is almost ready.”

  Rachel watched him lean down to blow out the candles. As he pursed his lips, his cheeks drew into gaunt hollows. The three scars made a vivid pattern in the flickering light. The memory of the kiss they had shared knotted in her gut. For an instant, she regretted that things hadn’t progressed on from there.

  Jed straightened and stirred the air with one hand to dissipate the curl of smoke from the guttering candles. His movements lacked their usual grace, as though he battled to hold some inner tension at bay.