His Brother's Wife by Lily Graison

wasn’t a speck of
dust on anything. The fireplace was swept clean, the rock lining it
gleaming as if they had just been placed there. The floors shone,
the coverlets draped over the sofa and chairs bright and he
wondered how she’d managed to do so much in one day. He remembered
her flushed cheeks, her sweat soaked hair, and knew. She’d worked
herself ragged and cooked a meal fit for a king.
    Shaking his head, he
headed to the small desk in the corner of the room. His papers were
stacked, the ledger laid on top of them, and the surface of the
desk had been cleaned as well. Grace hadn’t left a thing
untouched.
    He fingered the hardwood,
remembering the times he’d seen his father sitting there going over
his ledgers. He wished again he’d been here when his parent's had
died. He couldn’t even imagine what Jesse had gone through having
to deal with all that by himself. He was a boy, regardless of the
fact he claimed to be a man, and having to bury his father and run
this farm alone had to have been terrifying for someone his
age.
    The memories of his father
brought a profound sadness Rafe would never get over and the guilt
nearly drove him to his knees. He should have been here. It was his
place to bear the burdens of his family, not a fourteen year old
boy. Maybe that was why the kid hated him so much. Because he
hadn’t been here when they needed him.
    The guilt ate away at him
daily and there wasn’t anything he could do to make the pain go
away. Nothing but get up every morning before the sun came up and
right the wrongs he’d done. To try and get the ranch back into
shape. To see it thrive as it once did.
    It seemed almost hopeless
now. Much like his life. Maybe Jesse was right. Maybe he never was
around when the ones he loved needed him. Katie accused him of it
enough. It’s why she packed her things and ran off in the middle of
the night.
    Rafe shook off his
melancholy thoughts and opened the drawer on the desk, rifling
through the papers until he found his father’s Will. He’d read it a
dozen times and Harland Samuels’ last thoughts were of his sons.
He’d left the farm to Jesse and himself, split evenly. There was no
mention of Ben or any sort of arrangement between the
two.
    He read each line again,
looking for anything that would substantiate Ben Crowley’s claims
and saw nothing. Regardless of what that man said, his father
didn’t give him first rights to the grazing lands or the
cattle.
    A noise behind him caught
his attention and he looked over his shoulder. Grace was there,
standing in the doorway staring at him. He ignored her, turning
back to the desk before pulling out the chair and sitting
down.
    Her feet barely made a
sound as she walked across the room but her skirts swished as she
moved, the noise loud in the stillness surrounding him. He knew
when she was near without even looking. The scent of roses was
still strong on her skin. It was mixed with soap, soot from the
fireplace and plain ole’ dirt but he inhaled deeply regardless,
taking it all in.
    She cleared her throat
before saying, “Is everything all right?”
    He wanted to tell her no.
To tell her every problem weighing on his mind but doing so would
only cause more misery down the road. She wasn’t his, he reminded
himself, regardless of how much he'd like her to be. He stared at
the papers in his hand and said, “Why wouldn’t it be?”
    “I don’t know. You seem…
distracted. You didn’t say anything at supper and you left without
a glance at Jesse or myself. I just thought maybe something was
bothering you.”
    He was distracted all
right. With constant thoughts of her, a problem he needed to
correct if he wanted any kind of peace in his house.
    If Jesse knew the sight of
Grace caused his pulse to leap and made him think things no
gentleman should, the kid would pitch a fit loud enough to be heard
all the way in Missoula. Jesse didn’t need another reason to hate
him and taking the bride he sent away for would