Sage Creek (19 page)

“In the living room. They’re all piled up near the fireplace.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before the girl darted from the kitchen to join the women gathered around Lissie, laughing and chattering. Sophie wondered what was wrong as she scraped up icing from the floor.

“It’s a good thing I baked two dozen of these.” She stood up, folding the gooey mess inside the paper towel.

“Even if you’d only made a handful, I can’t see anyone going hungry today. Not with this spread.”

It was true, there was enough food for double the number of women attending the shower. Besides the fruit, there was a fancy make-ahead French toast casserole, hash browns with mushrooms and sausage, and green salad with pine nuts, oranges, and strawberries. An egg and ham casserole, lightly browned on top, was ready to be set on the dining room table, as well as scoops of tuna salad in dainty lettuce cups and a wicker basket brimming with raspberry muffins and cinnamon buns.

Which didn’t even count the chocolate fudge cake with cream cheese icing Sophie had baked for dessert.

“Hungry?” The corners of her mouth turned up. “As the brother of the guest of honor, you’re welcome to stay.”

On the words, the front doorbell chimed, and still more women streamed into the living room. Sophie heard her mother’s voice amidst the chatter.

“Thanks, but I know better than to let myself get outnumbered by a whole herd of women. I’ll be back later though to pick up Ivy.” His grin faded. “She’s kind of down today. Moody or something. I’m not sure why. These days, I can’t read her as well as I used to.”

“She’s growing up. Maybe she’s nervous about school starting on Monday. Middle school is a big scary leap socially.”

“Yeah, I know.” Rafe looked thoughtful. “I guess it could be that.”

His gaze settled on her. “Any more tire trouble?”

She shook her head. “I told you—it was just some silly kid.”

“Ah-huh. Maybe.” He looked doubtful. And deliciously ruggedly male in this little house decorated with balloons and streamers.

He was standing close to her in Mia’s snug little kitchen, and Sophie couldn’t help but remember what it had felt like when he’d backed her up against the wall of the Good Luck kitchen and kissed her dizzy. Waves of memory flowed through her. His raw strength as he held her, bending his head toward hers. Hot, deep, craving kisses that made her feel like her heart was going to fly out of her chest. His big hand sliding beneath her sweater . . .

“Penny for your thoughts, Ms. McPhee.”

Heat rushed through her skin at his words, and that slow smile of his deepened. He might have been reading her mind.

“My thoughts’ll cost you a lot more than that.” She kept her voice light. But she felt her heart racing.

It would be so easy to lean into him right now. To wrap her arms around that hard-muscled body, lift her mouth to kiss him . . .

Or heartbreak.

She plunked herself back to reality, lifted the platter of cinnamon buns, and moved toward the dining room.

“Sophie. Wait.”

She turned, gripping the platter.

“I was wondering . . . maybe you’d like to go riding later. And have supper at the ranch.”

She was so surprised she nearly dropped the platter.
Say no,
she told herself.
Right now.
But she wanted to say yes.

“Ivy has a sleepover. The last one before school starts. I could throw a few steaks on the grill, open a bottle of wine. Just as friends,” he added. “I promise.”

Unless you decide different.
She could hear his thought though he didn’t say it. It hung slender as a thread in the air between them.

Rafe found himself holding his breath as he waited for her to answer. He hadn’t planned on extending the invitation. It had been spontaneous, but he didn’t regret the words.

The only problem was that Sophie was looking at him as if he’d asked her to fly in a spaceship made of aluminum foil and mud to the outer reaches of the moon.

“Supper. Tonight,” she repeated, obviously stalling, and he had to fight the urge to kiss her on the spot.

“That’s right. Food. Drinks. Corn on the cob. The works.”

More silence.

He usually didn’t get hesitation when he extended an invitation to a woman. His chest tightened. She was going to say no.

“This isn’t a date,” she repeated cautiously. “Just a horseback ride and supper.”

“You got it.”

Date shmate. He wanted to spend time with her. And there was no sense rushing into anything more. For one thing, she was nowhere near ready for anything more serious—not after the hell her asshole husband had put her through. And Rafe didn’t
do
serious. Not with anyone.

Still, he had to be honest with himself. He wanted her. Bad. Raw physical need pulsed through him as he watched her face, lovely and thoughtful and filled with hesitation. In that strapless little peach sundress, her hair tumbling in soft waves around her shoulders, Sophie McPhee looked far more luscious than any of the desserts arrayed on that countertop.

But he had to be careful. She wasn’t anything like the women he dated these days. They expected nothing more of him than a few drinks and a rollicking good time in bed. And that’s exactly what he gave them.

He’d never invited any of them to the ranch, certainly not for supper. The thought had never occurred to him.

But Sophie was different. He couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her. He was crazy attracted to her, even though he knew he had to tread carefully. Her husband had done a real number on her, and the last thing Rafe wanted was to risk her getting hurt again.

He didn’t want to get into anything complicated himself—just the chance to get to know her better. But he needed to go slow. Maybe inviting her to supper wasn’t his smartest, most thought-out move, he reflected. But it was too late to take back the invitation now. It had just sprung out of him with a life of its own.

“So what’s it going to be? That platter looks heavy.” He took it from her as she still seemed to be trying to make up her mind.

“I’ll be there. What time?” She was smiling at him, and he loved the softness of her eyes when she smiled. If he was ten years old and not a grown man, he’d have pumped his fist in the air.

“How does five o’clock sound?”

“Perfect.” She took the platter back and started toward the door. “I’m warning you though. I haven’t ridden in a long time. I might be a little rusty.”

“I’ll find you my oldest, fattest, gentlest mare.”

She shot him a look. “I’ve never been
that
rusty.”

“Good, because I only have one old, fat, gentle mare, and no one over the age of eight gets to ride her.”

“Great, you pick the horse, I’ll bring dessert.”

“Deal.”

She was gone with a faint swish of that floaty peach skirt.

Rafe was whistling as he went out Mia’s kitchen door, got in his truck, and roared off for Tobe’s Mercantile to buy some steaks.

Perched on a folding chair in the living room filled with women of all ages, shapes, and sizes, Sophie tried to concentrate on Lissie, who was opening her gifts, and Ivy, who was assisting her, but instead, she found herself thinking about her “date” tonight with Rafe.

The word kept circling in her head.
Date
. Despite what he’d said, she, Sophie McPhee, was going on a date.

With Rafe Tanner.

She still couldn’t believe she’d said yes. But she hadn’t been able to imagine saying no.

As to where it would lead, she decided she’d figure that out later. For months she’d been living life cautiously. Boxed in by her anger and her fears. She was sick of it. Just for tonight, she wanted to have fun, let go, break out of the box Ned—no, she herself—had put herself in.

Rafe had invited her for a horseback ride and supper. How dangerous could that be?

It took a while, but gradually she began to focus on the tiny adorable dresses and sweaters and little matching socks Lissie was holding up for everyone to see. Sophie smiled in delight at the lace-edged denim skirt from the Gap in size three to six months, but a pang began to sear her heart. She kept the smile pasted on her face as Ivy, who seemed to have shed her sober mood, displayed the stack of receiving blankets and stuffed animals and dolls that were piling up in Mia’s living room.

She’d always thought she’d have a baby of her own by now. As she listened to the talk of the other women at the shower, to the stories and laughter and advice offered to Lissie on everything from feeding schedules to diaper brands, she wondered with a stab of longing if she’d ever be part of that special sorority of mothers, the women who loved and nurtured and knew the joys of tucking a son or daughter into bed at night and wishing them happy dreams, teaching them to say please and thank you, and how to print their names, or helping them stir chocolate chips into a bowl of cookie dough.

She tried to ignore the ache deep inside her as Lissie exclaimed excitedly over each of the tiny outfits and fluffy stuffed animals. She told herself that having supper with Rafe tonight would be a good distraction. The pain of what she didn’t have—might never have—still burned in her heart, but she wouldn’t have to think about it for the entire rest of the night.

Then she felt her grandmother’s gaze on her from the sofa where she sat knee-to-knee with Martha and Dorothy.

While everyone else was focused on Ivy and Lissie strewing wrapping paper and opening gifts, Gran was waving a sheet of paper in the air, trying to catch Sophie’s attention. She looked beautiful in a gauzy pink sweater and her best gray slacks, her white braid drifting serenely down her back. But it was the sheet of paper that made Sophie sigh.

The List,
she thought grimly.

She was certain of it when Gran pointed at her and smiled.

Fortunately, everyone else in the living room was busy oohing and aahing over a tiny ruffled pink and white dress from Dorothy and didn’t notice.

Except her mother.

Sophie saw her mom glancing between her and Gran. There was sympathy in her gaze.

But actually, Sophie thought wryly, her mom was the one who needed a list of new men to date.

Gran, Martha, and Dorothy wasted no time cornering Sophie in the hallway off the living room the moment the last of the gifts was set atop the pile and Ivy began collecting torn wrapping paper and stray bows.

“Dear, we’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Martha began.

“We wanted to give you some space, like you asked for, but you’ve been home several weeks now and—”

“And we need to talk to you before the bakery opens on Monday,” Gran continued. “You’ll be too busy for weeks after that.”

“I want to make it clear that I didn’t give my nephew your phone number,” Dorothy piped up, her deep voice a little too loud for Sophie’s comfort. “I did suggest he stop by and say hello sometime, but—”

“He told Dorothy you were out with Rafe Tanner.” Gran’s eyes were keen, watchful. Martha and Dorothy both stared at Sophie like hungry birds studying a worm. “Roger seemed to think you two were coming back from a date.”

“There was no date,” Sophie said firmly. “I had car trouble driving home from Lissie’s. Rafe happened by and helped me out.”

Which was the truth. Just not the whole truth.

“You should take a look at our list, Sophie,” Gran urged, thrusting the paper at her.

“Hang on to it for me, Gran. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” Gently she pushed the sheet back into her grandmother’s hand.

Martha’s lips pursed in disappointment. Dorothy blinked her round brown eyes and sighed. Both women turned toward Gran, waiting for her to do what was best for her granddaughter, and insist.

But for once Gran hesitated, searching Sophie’s face. “Are you sure, dear? You don’t want to take a peek, see what you think?”