Redeeming Rafe (4 page)

“I’m not going to get killed. And I’m not going to take those babies to Tulsa.”

“Oh?” Jackson said. “Then what’s your plan?”

Rafe took a deep breath.

“I was hoping—”

“No,” Jackson said. “Absolutely not. This is your home as much as mine. You can be here. You
should
be here. But Emory and I are not taking your children to raise. That’s your job.”

Damn it all to hell and back. He should have known Jackson would use this to finally get his way and make Rafe come home and stop rodeoing. Wasn’t going to happen.

“Now, Jackson,” sweet Emory said. “We could help Rafe.”

“No. We cannot. Not like he wants. We can be the best uncle and aunt possible, but we are not going to take those children to raise.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Rafe lied.

“You’re lying.”

“I have obligations. If you’ll just keep them for a few weeks, I’ll come back.” That would give Emory time to get attached, probably Jackson, too.

“I don’t see why we can’t do that,” Emory said.

Yeah, Emory! Tell him.

“There are reasons and plenty of them,” Jackson said softly and put his hand over Emory’s. “You know you’re not up to it.”

A cold stone dropped into Rafe’s gut. Was Emory sick? Dying? He was fond of his sister-in-law. Even if he wasn’t ready to be part of it, she’d brought a feeling of family back to Beauford Bend.

Rafe swallowed his fear. Fear was not an acceptable choice, ever.

“Are you going to be all right? You’re not dying, are you?” Despite the banished fear, there was alarm in his voice.

Jackson and Emory exchanged a glance and laughed.

“No, I’m not dying. At least I don’t think so.”

“Rafe, Emory’s pregnant,” Jackson said.

Holy hell. Just what they needed around here. More babies to die. Rafe swallowed the thought. “Congratulations. That’s great.”

“We think so,” Jackson said. “But it’s not easy right now. Today is better than most, but she’s having a hard time with morning sickness.”

“Which is really all-day sickness,” Emory said with a little laugh.

“And she has a business to run, which she will not turn over to anyone, even in the short term.” Jackson’s tone showed exactly what he thought about that.

“No, I will not,” Emory agreed.

“Plus, I’m in the middle of making a new album, and I’m slammed right now. So, even if we wanted to take the girls, it would be too much.”

Panic set in, and Rafe gave it the talking to it deserved until he could breathe again and think clearly. What would Jackson do? That was easy. Throw money at the situation. And while Rafe didn’t have the kind of money Jackson did, he had enough to solve this.

“What if I hired someone?” Rafe asked. “A nanny.”

Jackson narrowed his eyes in disbelief.

“I’d come back in a few weeks,” Rafe hastened to add. If he could buy a little time, he could figure this out.

“You would?” Jackson was buying it because he wanted to.

“Absolutely.”
Not.

Emory clapped her hands. “I have an idea who.”

“Did you get the box of things I sent for you and Phillip?” Meg Whitman’s voice on the phone had an accusatory tone. Abby had stopped by her apartment after the Rotary breakfast to change clothes and was about to go get Phillip.

“I did.” Abby shuffled through the box of clothes that had arrived yesterday. She’d barely had time to open it, let alone take a close look. But like the other packages Gregory’s mother sent regularly, Abby knew it would contain hundreds of dollars worth of classic baby clothes—nothing like those awful dresses Rafe Beauford’s kids—if they were his kids—had been wearing. She’d hated that she’d had to leave this morning before satisfying her curiosity, but no doubt there was a good story waiting for her at Beauford Bend.

“Abby? Are you there?” Meg asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry I haven’t had time to call and thank you, Aunt Meg, but everything is beautiful.” She picked up a random garment from the box. “I really love the green corduroy shortalls with the smocked pumpkins. Exactly right for this time of year.” Hmm. This wasn’t monogrammed. Would her conscience allow her take it to the consignment shop in Nashville before Phillip wore it? No doubt the outfit had cost enough to pay half a month’s rent. It wouldn’t bring full price, of course, but items that still had the tags were valued higher. Yes. She would definitely take it and anything else in this box that wasn’t monogrammed. Thanks to her parents’ and in-laws’ guilt over refusing to help her financially with anything essential, Phillip was already the best-dressed toddler in Tennessee. Unlike a roof over his head, he could do without this.

“Will you put it on him and send me a picture?” Meg asked anxiously.

“Yes. Of course.” She would leave the tags on. Let Meg wonder about it.

“Will you do it today?”

“I’ll try, Aunt Meg. I worked a special early breakfast. I’ve got to go pick up Phillip from my friends and take him to daycare. Then I have to work the lunch shift. If he isn’t too cranky after I get off, I will.”

“It kills me to hear how hard you’re working.”

Aunt Meg’s tone was sincere and wistful, and Abby softened. They really did love her, and being apart from Phillip was hard for them.

“Hard work is good for the soul,” Abby said.

“But is it good for the rest of you? And Phillip?”

“I don’t have an alternative.”

“Don’t you?”

“Aunt Meg. Please. Let’s not go over this again.” Though Abby was pretty sure that the time was coming sooner rather than later when they would all have to go over it again because Abby was going to have to do what they wanted.

“I’m sorry, darling. We just miss you so much. And if you were here, we could help you with Phillip.”

“Aunt Meg—”

“Please, Abby. Hear me out. I know Nate and I made a mistake when we took Phillip to Martha’s Vineyard without asking you. I would never have done such a thing if I had known it would drive you away from your home. And I truly didn’t think you would mind.”

Abby’s head felt like it might explode. “We’ve already talked this out—more than once. I’m over it, and it did not ‘drive me from my home.’ I’m where I want to be.”

“I understand you wanting to be where you were last with Gregory.”

Abby cast around for an answer. Truth was, that wasn’t why she wanted to live in Beauford, but what would it help to tell his mother that?

“Aunt Meg, you know you’re welcome to visit any time you like.”

“But visiting isn’t the same as being in your lives every day.”

Abby said nothing. There was nothing to say.

“Well,” Meg said brightly. “What did you think of the frock I sent for you?”

Abby had not dug that deep in the box. This—like everything else that arrived for her from Boston—would definitely go straight to the consignment shop. But for now, she had to say something appropriate. She tossed aside the scrumptious little overalls, jon-jons, and sweaters until she came to the midnight blue silk.

“Aunt Meg, it’s lovely.” And it was. Gregory’s mother had always had more fashion flair than Abby or her mother, and this dress reflected it. Part demure shirtwaist and part party dress, it was strapless with a scalloped top and a full, short skirt. The focal point was the white, crystal- accented bow at the waist. Oh! And instead of zipping, it laced up the back.

“I thought it would look pretty with your eyes and that you could use a party dress for your friend’s wedding. Isn’t she marrying a hockey player?”

“Yes.” It had been so long since she’d had anything pretty—at least anything she’d kept—and Aunt Meg had a point about the wedding. Maybe she would wear it before taking it to the consignment shop. “I really do love it, Aunt Meg. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, darling. I wish—”

Before Abby had time for the dread to settle over her at having to hear the same old wish, she was spared by a knock on the door.

“Thank you, Aunt Meg. But I have to go. Someone’s at the door. Love you! Thank you again.” And she hung up.

Though she was grateful for whoever had caused the interruption, she really hoped it would be Neyland or Christian, coming to report on the Rafe Beauford arrival.

But nothing could have prepared her for finding the man himself at her threshold.

Her mouth went dry.

So, so different from Gregory, who’d been thin, dark, and only slightly taller than she.

Rafe was nearly six and a half feet tall, lean hipped, and brawny shouldered. Her mother would have said that not only did he need haircut, he’d needed one six months ago. But Abby didn’t agree. There was something just right about the way his slightly wavy, sun-kissed hair flirted with his jawline. She couldn’t understand why most people couldn’t tell Rafe apart from his twin. True, they had the same features right down to the dimples in their left cheeks and the clefts in their chins, but Rafe had a sweetness about his face and in his cobalt blue eyes that Gabe did not.

And that sweetness, with a little shy mixed in, carried over to his smile—the very smile he was flashing at her now that caused his dimple to deepen and made her wonder how it would feel to kiss that dimple and let her tongue drift down to that very appealing indention in his chin.

Stop it! Abby admonished herself. She wasn’t allowed to think that way about other men. It hadn’t been long enough—though in many ways it had been too long.

“Hey, Abby.” He reached up as if to remove his hat, but then it seemed as though he remembered he wasn’t wearing one and pretended like it had been his intent all along to push his hair back. Come to think of it, she’d never seen him in a cowboy hat, or any cowboy attire, at all.

“Why don’t you dress like a cowboy?” she blurted out.

Confusion moved into his deep blue eyes. “I do when I’m being a cowboy. I’m not in the cowboy business right now.”

“I guess you’re in the surprise business, because this is a surprise,” Abby said.

“Yeah? You know, a few days ago I would have agreed with you. But I have changed my perspective on surprises.” He leaned on the doorframe and closed his eyes.

That probably meant the children were his, though in Rafe’s circumstances, acquiring children by any means was likely to be a surprise.

“Come in.” She stepped aside. “You look exhausted.”

“I am that.” He looked her up and down, and his eyes landed on the huge purple stain on her khaki uniform pants.

“Dawson Kitchens spilled blackberry syrup on me,” she explained.

Rafe scratched behind his ear. “Yeah? Dawson senior, junior, or the third?”

“Senior.”

“I was going to offer to get revenge for you, but I don’t know that it would be very gentlemanly to pick up a ninety-year-old man out of his wheelchair and beat him up.”

“You have a point.” But she had to smile.

“I could beat up Trey instead. I never liked him.”

Surely Rafe Beauford had not come here to make small talk about who he liked and who he wanted to beat up—though she doubted if he had ever beat up anybody.

“I appreciate that, but why don’t we let it go this time? I came here to change clothes. Then I’m headed to Beauford Bend to pick up Phillip. Gwen’s expecting me so …”

Rafe shook his head. “Gwen’s not expecting you. She knows I came to find you.”

What in the world? “Have a seat, then. Would you like coffee?” Abby’s good manners overruled her curiosity, though she hoped he would turn down the coffee and get on with what had brought him to her door.

No such luck.

“Really?” He acted so surprised and pleased. “I would like that.”

“How do you take it?”

He looked a little sheepish. “Three sugars and a lot of cream. Gabe says I drink my coffee like a girl.”

“Does he? Gabe talks so much that something stupid has to come out every now and again. But don’t tell Neyland I said so.”

“Never.” He flashed a sweet, tired smile.

He was still standing when she left the room.

• • •

Rafe’s Aunt Amelia had taught him to never sit while a lady was on her feet, so he waited until after Abby left the room to let himself down in the wingback chair that had seen better days. In fact, the whole apartment had seen better days. It was clean and tidy, but the rug was worn, and there was a water spot on the ceiling. Probably the furniture had come with the place. But there were lots of expensive looking books and some nice vases, pictures, and such that looked more Abby’s speed.

When he’d driven to the address that Emory had given him, he’d been surprised. Abby’s duplex wasn’t exactly in a bad section of town, but before buying property on this street, you’d have to consider whether the investment was a good one. According to Emory, though Abby was proud and never said so, she struggled financially. Apparently, despite being a former investment banker, her husband had died with no life insurance and no savings. So this could be a good thing for everyone. He could offer Abby security, and she could make it possible for him to get to Tulsa.

He rose when she came into the room carrying two china cups and saucers. “These are teacups,” she said. “I know you aren’t supposed to drink coffee from them, and my mother would have a fit. But I like them, and I do what I want.”

He waited for her to settle on the sofa before sitting again. “My Aunt Amelia would have liked you.”

Abby smiled. “Really? I would think the founder of the Beauford Bend charm school—what was it called? I can never remember.”

“A Fortnight of Refinement and Training for Young Ladies.”

“Anyway.” Abby sipped her coffee. “I would think she would have had very definite ideas about teacups.”

“Oh, she did. She had definite ideas about everything. But she always admired people who did what they wanted—if they knew the rules. What she couldn’t abide were people who couldn’t be bothered to learn.”

“Yes.” Abby looked at him and raised an eyebrow. That was a cue to get on with it.

“I suppose you want to know what I’m doing here.”

She nodded. “It had occurred to me to wonder. Not that you’re not most welcome.”

Seemed like she’d had a session or two at charm school herself.