A Measure Of Love. Lindsay McKenna
stared at him, feeling the blood draining from her face. “Me?”
“Why not you?”
“Well, uh, because, Mr. Humphries, I’ve never stepped out of this office. I don’t know the first thing about being a field rep–”
“Nonsense. You have five hundred ranchers that you take care of in connection with the mustangs. You’ve had contact with these men and their families for five years, plus you assign our agents all over the country. No one’s more familiar with the intricacy of investigating than yourself.”
Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the chair. “Well, yes, sir, that’s true in one sense. But I’ve only done this over the phone and through the mail; I’ve never actually set foot on a ranch.”
He gave a negligent wave of his hand. “Doesn’t matter.”
Jessie rose, her eyes wide. “I’ve never been west of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. I know nothing about the West.”
“You’ve got more knowledge about the mustangs, the land they live on and wander across, and the ranchers than anyone else in this office.”
Panic was setting in, and Jessie began to pace, using her hands to punctuate her words. “But, sir, I’m an office manager! A paper pusher! I’ve never seen a horse except in a parade along Pennsylvania Avenue. My knowledge is through the books and reports I read. I only know the ranchers through minimal phone contact or letters.” She compressed her full lips, wondering if they were trying to fire her.
Humphries rose, scowling. “You have your orders, Ms. Scott. We feel your diplomacy and ability to humor Kincaid will do the trick.”
Humor? Sure, people had always commented on her ability to see humor in every situation. And some of her friends even called her Sunny. That was all fine and dandy, but she still didn’t see how she could persuade someone like Rafe Kincaid to cooperate with the BLM.
Jessie stood there as Humphries opened the door and disappeared. Her hands were damp and cold, and she rubbed them on the sides of her tailored wool skirt. This couldn’t be happening! Were they trying to get rid of her? She couldn’t stand still a moment longer and headed down the hall with swift strides.
“Nick!” she stage-whispered, sticking her head inside her immediate superior’s office door.
Nick Van der Meer looked up and smiled, then motioned for her to come in. “I see you’ve talked with Mr. Humphries, Jessie.”
Jessie closed the door and pressed her back up against it. “Get me off the hook, Nick. I’m not cut out for this assignment. I’m strictly office material.”
Nick smiled from beneath his full gray mustache, and set down his pen on a stack of papers in front of him. “No, you’re not. I’ve been saying for years that you’d be good out in the field.”
“This is crazy, Nick.” Her voice quavered, and Jessie waited for a moment, gathering her fortitude before she went on. “I’m no more a field rep than that mouse that lives in my office!”
“You still feeding him every day?”
“Of course I am. Nick, I’m being serious.”
“So am I. Come on, sit down. You look like you’re ready to explode, and really, there’s no reason for your panic.”
Jessie sat, with her hands gripped in her lap and her jaw set in a stubborn line. “You did this, didn’t you? You put Mr. Humphries up to this.”
“Yes, I did,” he admitted slowly, leaning back in his expensive leather chair. “I felt it was about time you started seeing something of the world, Jessie, instead of spending your life back in that dark little office you fondly call your second home.” He held up his hand. “I know you love your job. That’s obvious from the long hours and care you put into it. But there is life outside these walls.”
Her nostrils flared, and she avoided his gaze. Nick had been her boss for the five years she had been with the BLM; he was like the father she had never had and always dreamed of having. But right now she wasn’t feeling particularly like a daughter toward him or his attitude that he knew what was best for her. “I happen to like my office, my mouse, my job, my little apartment and Washington, D.C.”
“No question about it.” Nick sighed, becoming serious. “Look, we’re both in a spot. Joe Allen is fairly new at being a rep, and sometimes he gets a little too eager. Even you have to admit that. I know you’ve dealt with Sam Kincaid and you’re familiar with the Triple K, its resources and the mustang reserve that borders it. Rafe Kincaid, the son, is now the owner. I find it hard to believe that he would cold-bloodedly kill mustangs when he was raised by a father who respected the land and wild animals.”
Jessie frowned. “From the way Joe talked, he didn’t exactly level with the rancher, and it’s obvious he should have. Why not just send him back and have him explain the whole thing?”
“Because, Jessie, he’s done too much damage already. And somehow I don’t doubt Rafe Kincaid’s coming out with a rifle. We need you to repair the damage he’s done. The Kincaids have been long-time friends of the BLM, and we want to smooth over the waters with them. Joe should have leveled with him. My personal feeling is that Rafe Kincaid isn’t shooting mustangs.” He gave Jessie the fatherly smile that always got to her. “There isn’t a rancher under your jurisdiction that doesn’t have something good to say about you, Jessie. Right now, I need your gift of human relations to heal this rift with the Kincaids. This’ll give you a chance to broaden your experience with the ranchers, see some mustangs and travel, all at the same time.”
Worriedly Jessie stared down at her interlaced fingers, which were bunched in her lap. Her fingers were as cold as the drizzle of freezing rain that fell outside the window behind her boss. “I thought maybe you were trying to get rid of me, Nick.”
His laughter was rich and he sat up, resting his elbows on the heavy walnut desk. “Not a chance, Jessie. Take your time on this assignment. You know from handling the reports that this kind of thing can take from a week to a month to solve. If you need help, I’m always here. Just call.” He smiled warmly. “Knowing you, however, I think you’ll do just fine, you always have. Stay in touch. And enjoy the experience. It won’t be all that bad.”
* * *
All that bad, Jessie thought. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep on the plane. The entire day had been a blur. She had managed to catch her next-door neighbor, a college professor, at home. Susan Prigozen had agreed to water her many plants while she was away. Other than racing through the motions of packing items she thought she might need, there had been little else to do. Jessie felt alone. And scared. Right now, all she wanted to do was ask the captain to turn around and head back to D.C.
She opened her eyes and stared pensively out the window into the blackness. She could see lights of small towns far below them. They looked like jeweled pendants twinkling on the velvet setting of the earth. It was a beautiful sight.
There had been so many firsts that day: first airplane ride, first time to leave her hometown, first assignment. Why had Nick chosen her? He knew she lived a cloistered existence that ranged from her apartment to her job with the BLM. But so what? She was happy.
You’re a mouse, Jessie. Just like the one that lives in your office and you feed. Mice are frightened little creatures. They scamper away at the first sign of danger. Her mouth went dry, and she took a long drink of the white wine she had ordered from the flight attendant. And where you’re going, there’s a great big lion who eats up little mice like you. She scrunched down in the seat. Her life had just been uprooted. A tornado couldn’t have done a better job. She was a walking disaster, and Nick and Mr. Humphries expected her to be successful with Rafe Kincaid.
Jessie shut her eyes tightly. In another hour they would land in Denver. She would get a hotel room for the night and in the morning rent a car and drive out to the Triple K. As she pried open one eye, she noticed the luminescent full moon in the sky. Wonderful. Dracula