Taming Rafe (13 page)

They rode back to the Silver Buckle in spurts of walk, trot, and gallop. Kat lost her hat twice and probably most of her good sense.

“See you tomorrow, Kitty,” Rafe said quietly, leaning on the porch rail as Kat waved good-bye.

She pushed the gas pedal of her Jeep to the floor, kicking up dirt. Turning on the radio, she cranked the volume, and a country music song swelled from the speakers. She didn’t know the words—something about mud and tires—but she tapped out the rhythm on her steering wheel.

If he saw her, Bradley would probably check her into a clinic for a psychological overhaul.

Odd that she hadn’t gotten ahold of him. She’d left a message the first night at Lolly’s, conveniently leaving out her current location. She guessed that he’d been busy in meetings, and the time difference between Montana and New York kept her from trying again. It also hadn’t helped that she’d forgotten her charger. She’d turned off her phone to save power in case she needed to call home.

Home.
Maybe, just maybe, there was some truth to Lolly’s
warning about Rafe’s charm and his many victims. Because five days after meeting him, Kat was thinking as much about her next excursion with Rafe as her crumbling charitable foundation and even the man she’d left back East.

But that was because Rafe seemed to enjoy her company. He greeted her on the porch each morning as she drove up, watched her leave each afternoon. They were friends. Just friends.

Kat slowed as she came closer to town. The sunset was starting to darken the town, and a piece of pie called to her. That and Lolly, who had become more than a friend to her with her willingness to listen and occasional warnings and stories about Rafe.

However, the stories only made Kat want to know him more, get behind that outlaw smile, speak truth into that parched soul. She attributed that to the Kitty persona, because while she’d been accused of being a Florence Nightingale before, she’d never had an interest in bad boys.

And she didn’t have an interest in Rafe. Not really. Besides, she didn’t even like arrogant, swaggering guys, did she?

Most of all, she wasn’t going to make the same mistakes her mother made. Look how her life had ended up after falling for a bull rider.

Lord, help me be a real friend to Rafe. Yes, I need him, but even more, he needs You. Help me be someone who blesses him, who shows him Your grace, who is a balm of Gilead—the touch of love in his life.

She pulled in to the lot in front of Lolly’s Diner and spied John’s truck. Again. She couldn’t be sure if he came in every night to tell Kat more stories of her father, or if he was there to see Lolly. Even Kat could tell the man was in love with Lolly. Only Lolly didn’t give him even a smidgen of encouragement.

If Kat had a man that smitten, that good-looking, that willing to wait for her, well, she’d at least give him a smile.

But she wouldn’t dare give him her heart.

“How are you feeling this morning, Rafe?” Stefanie came out to the porch, holding a cup of coffee. “Waiting for Kat?”

The sun had lifted over the eastern horizon, filling the rolling prairie with rose gold. He could already feel the scorcher the day would be. Birds sang, however, putting a cheery tone into the morning.

But he didn’t exactly need a meadowlark’s song to feel cheery.

Rafe lifted a shoulder to feign nonchalance.

Stefanie gave him a wry smile. “Admit it—you like spending time with her. And she seems nice.”

Oh, she was more than nice. She was . . . refreshing. And annoying the way she lingered in his thoughts. She even dredged up old, once-upon-a-time dreams about a wife and family and living here on the ranch. Ancient, buried desires that still had the power to draw blood when dug up. It didn’t help to have to watch Nick and Piper tease each other, then amble up to their home on the hill every night. Maybe there were some people who didn’t get to fall in love and grow old with the woman they love. Like Manuel. Like himself.

He could hardly believe he’d taken Kitty to Gilly’s Bluff yesterday. He hadn’t meant to open up his own wounds, but he found himself saying things around her . . . things he hadn’t told anyone else.

“Yep,” Rafe answered his sister. “Kitty’s real nice.”

“What are you two up to today?” Stef said, sitting next to him.
“I’m going to be working with a couple of new horses down at Maggy’s; you could bring her over, and we’ll show her how we break them.”

And help her gather another harebrained idea for her so-called Hollywood dude ranch? But maybe, if done right and if Stef and Nick agreed, the idea could work. And, yes, some people would pay good money—really good money—to see him ride. Only, he didn’t ride anymore. But his friends did. . . . He hoped they were still his friends after his recent all-around less-than-friendly behavior.

“Stef, I saw this ad in a magazine—something about the Silver Buckle being a dude ranch for rich people. Do you still think that’s a good idea?”

She gave him a long, very strange look. “Oh, thanks for bringing that up. I don’t think it’s very nice of you and Nick to laugh at my ideas. For a long time I was the only one trying to keep this ranch together, and I was grasping at straws.” She threw out her coffee. “You might want to remember that if it weren’t for my dude ranch then Piper wouldn’t be here, would she?”

“I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“I think you should focus on how you can help Kat get out of the mess you got her in.” Stef stood up and stormed into the house.

“Stef!”

The door banged again, and she came out, jangling her keys. “I think you need to wipe that giddy, teenage, love-struck smile off your face and start facing your responsibilities.” She marched down the steps.

What burr did she have under her saddle? “Stef, what did I say?”

“You know, you’re not the only one with big dreams, Rafe!” Stefanie got into her pickup, slammed the door, and drove off.

What big dreams did Stef have? He knew his—or had known them until Kitty walked into his life. Maybe his big dreams just looked different suddenly.

And did Stef say
love-struck
? A guy couldn’t fall for someone in a week’s time, could he? Besides, Kitty just wanted him for her project. Her friendship, his feelings, weren’t real.

None of it was real. Not the warmth in Kitty’s smile as she drove up and got out of the Jeep, looking like a dream with her long brown hair. Nor the crazy way his heart leaped when she said, “Hey, you going to teach me to rope?” Not her sweet, clean, freshly showered aroma as he coiled the rope and fitted it into her hand, showing her how to hold it.

No, it simply wasn’t real, the way she looked at him with those incredible eyes and softly said, “Can you show me?” Nor the sudden desire that rushed into his chest, filled his throat, cut off his breathing as she said, “I think this should definitely be included in the dude ranch list of activities.”

As long as none of this was real, then neither were the ramifications of his stepping close behind her, wrapping his arm around her, holding her hand, and showing her how to flick her wrist so the loop twirled around her head. She giggled, and he swallowed hard at how well she fit into his arms. She came to about his nose in height. If she were to turn . . . just a little . . .

Kitty threw the lasso, and the loop landed around one horn. “I caught him, Rafe!”

“Good throw,” he said, stepping back and shaking some sense into himself before he got them both into trouble. What was he thinking? They should go watch Stef and Maggy work the horses . . . and he’d stay on the other side of the corral.

“A man’s gotta think before he acts, Rafe. Life isn’t handed to you on a platter. You have to work for it.”

Bishop’s voice found him from across time, and Rafe was again sitting in the detention hall as his father picked him up at school. Disheveled, with a trickle of dried blood on his split lip, he knew that the other kid looked a lot worse. Just once, he wished his father might look beyond the troubled kid he saw to the one inside who’d been trying to keep the fourth-grade bully from scaring the second graders.

But Bishop never looked that far. He shook his head and told his ten-year-old to get in the truck.

Rafe had learned one thing from those days: pretty girls like Kitty didn’t pick the runt of the litter. No matter how he masked it—with his charm or his bravado—someday she’d figure out he was more trouble than he was worth.

“I did it again!” Kitty yanked back on the rope, now having encircled both horns with her lasso. She fairly glowed. “Did you ever try roping in a rodeo?”

He shook his head. “I left that to Nick. He won the National High School Rodeo Championship in team roping.”

“So you decided to ride bulls instead? Isn’t that harder? more dangerous?”

“Maybe that’s the point.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he let that statement, that very vulnerable, why-did-he-say-that-again statement hang there without comment. He was turning into a regular gusher of information around her.

Kitty turned back and wound up the rope, getting ready to give it another go. “Now hold still, little fake steer.”

Rafe shook his head, but she glanced at him, her eyes twinkling.
She nailed the dummy steer again, and he felt the strangest leap of joy.

“I think I’m ready for something tougher. Maybe some steer wrestling. Or bull riding.”

“Uh, I don’t think so, cowgirl.” He reached out to take the lasso from her.

“Why not? If you can ride bulls, why can’t I?”

He gave her a pointed look. “Well, are you tough?”

“I’m tough.”

“Can you take a little pain?”

Kitty thought about it for a second, then nodded.

“Are you afraid of a challenge?”

She grinned. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

His mind went back to their first meeting. Yes, she had some spine.

“Did I ever tell you that my dad was a bull rider?” Kitty looked away from him. “His name was Bobby Russell.”

Katherine Breckenridge was Bobby Russell’s . . . daughter? Rafe tried to register this information. This beautiful woman was the daughter of his hero? “You’re Bobby’s
daughter
? Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t know it would matter. Besides, I didn’t want to mention that he was in your profession.”

“I know he died. I was a huge fan.”

“Really? So you saw him in action?”

“Yeah, a couple times. He even signed . . . my poster.”

She giggled, apparently pleased by this. “I met John Kincaid; evidently, they were good friends. My dad even worked on his ranch back in the early days.”

“I didn’t know that. Hey, you wanna see Bobby’s poster? I had it signed when I was six. . . .” Oh, brother, he sounded like he was
still
six-years-old. The eagerness in his voice made him want to pull his hat down over his face.

“Oh, I’d love to!” Kitty’s enthusiasm made him feel as if it might be okay to still be a child and infatuated with a hero.

She followed him into the house and moved behind him patiently as he dragged himself up the stairs. Rafe had never let a woman see his room before, and he hesitated at the door, glad he’d given it a once-over this morning. Still, it felt odd to let Kitty see the trophies, the ribbons, and—
oh no
—the tumble of Westerns by the side of his bed that betrayed his lack of a social life.

Kitty stood quietly in the doorway, staring at the poster of Bobby above his bed.

He definitely felt like a kid again, but he was profoundly glad he’d never taken the poster down. Then again, last time he’d been home for any length of time, he’d been sixteen and lived and breathed bull riding.

“Bobby Russell was an incredible rider,” Rafe said, standing slightly behind her and resting his hand on the doorframe. “I have a videotape—”

“Of him riding?” Kitty turned slightly to look up at him. “Can I watch it?”

She consumed his thoughts, and the fact that she was Bobby Russell’s daughter . . . well, she had bull riding in her blood too, didn’t she? Besides, she smelled so good and stood close enough to . . .

Rafe couldn’t stop himself. He leaned down and kissed her. Gently, just enough to satisfy his curiosity and the desire he’d been avoiding all week.

Kitty didn’t move or kiss him back, but she didn’t pull away either.

Rafe closed his eyes, losing himself in this moment, feeling that painful longing he’d lived with for so many years ease. She tasted of coffee, her lips soft and sweet and opening slightly. . . .

Kitty. Sweet Kitty.
He braced his hand over the door, using the other one to cup the back of her neck as he deepened his kiss. Yes, this was a thousand times better than any meaningless kiss from a fan. This was real, and something—

She put a hand on his chest and pushed just a little.

Rafe pulled away, his breath tight, a smile tipping his lips until he saw her eyes wide, her face nearly white.

He’d kissed plenty of women, but none of them had ever acted as if he’d done something to be strung up for. “I’m sorry, Kitty. I just . . . I lost myself there. I didn’t think . . . I’m . . .” He looked away, running his hand through his hair, kicking himself. He should have asked, shouldn’t have assumed that those smiles meant anything beyond . . .