Taming Rafe (18 page)

Kat looked at Lincoln. Did Rafe think that Lincoln might be interested in . . . her? Now she was really making leaps.

Which was why his ego had kicked in. “Excuse me,” she said, stepping down the bleachers.

“Kat . . . ,” Stefanie said.

Kat ignored her, a strange feeling moving her legs, gathering
momentum. That stiff-necked cowboy. He had nothing to prove. Not to her at least.

She lengthened her stride as she wove between horses and trailers toward a group of riders attaching numbers to their vests. Beyond them, at the contestants’ table, she spotted Rafe arguing with a judge.

“I’ll pay the fee tomorrow; you know it. Just let me draw a bull tonight.” Rafe leaned against the table. Kat knew him well enough to hear the pain in his drawl.

She didn’t pause to think, just let her emotions drive her right into the conversation. “He’s hurt, and he shouldn’t ride,” she announced to the judge.

“Kitty, get out of here.” When Rafe’s dark eyes narrowed at her, she recognized the bull rider she’d met the first day on the ranch. The one in pain, with rawhide around his heart, who was still gritting his teeth against the truth that his bull-riding days were over. The one bent on impressing the girls.

Impressing her?

“Excuse us,” Kat said to the man and looped her arm around Rafe. “I need to talk to super cowboy here.”

He glared at her, but she smiled at him and tugged him away from the judge.

“What are you doing here?” Rafe hissed, balancing himself on the rail of a metal corral.

“What do you think? Trying to keep you from permanently injuring yourself. The fact that you have to brace yourself on this gate should tell you something.”

“It’s eight seconds.” His voice had lost pitch, and he clenched his jaw, as if trying to stem a flow of words.

Kat noticed a few onlookers and motioned toward the privacy behind a horse trailer.

To her shock, Rafe followed her, refusing to acknowledge the pain on his face. In the shadows of the trailer, his expression softened, and with it, his tone. “I can handle eight seconds.”

Kat lowered her voice. “Eight seconds . . . to prove what?”

“I’m not trying to prove anything. I just want to ride.” Some of the fight had gone out of him, but he obviously wasn’t ready to let go yet.

“You’re not ready. Anyone can see that.” She gestured to his leg. “Just because you can haul yourself onto a horse doesn’t mean you can hang on to a bull. Thanks to you, I know you need more than brute strength for that.”

His eyes flashed. “What are you saying?”

Kat looked at the healing scar over his eye from where he’d hit the windshield, at his broad shoulders, at the way a muscle pulled in his jaw and decided that she hadn’t come out West just to rescue her foundation.

She put a hand on his chest, touching his shirt. “Listen to me. I believe in you. I know you could ride any bull out here tonight, could stay on and probably even win. I believe you are exactly that stubborn and tough. But I want to two-step with you tonight, and that’s going to be tough if you’re taken out on a stretcher. And I’m not real interested in dancing with John.”

Something flickered in Rafe’s eyes, something so needy it swiped her breath from her chest.

“What about Lincoln? Do you want to dance with him?” He said it so softly that she might not have heard it, but she’d known—no,
hoped
—all along that this wasn’t about bull riding. Or maybe it was
about losing his life and not knowing how to get it back except by riding a bull.

“I don’t want to dance with Lincoln Cash,” she said, smiling. “He’s just playing a part. You’re the real cowboy here.”

Rafe looked away.

“You don’t have to be a bull rider to impress me.” Kat took a step closer, suddenly feeling like she’d been waiting for this man—this
moment—
her entire life. Feeling both brave and terrified at the same time. Feeling like she’d finally found the person she wanted to be. Kitty Russell, daughter of the champ.

She smoothed Rafe’s gold shirt. “I’m already impressed,” she whispered.

Rafe snaked out his arm, wrapped it around her waist, and pulled her close, so close that she could see the different shades of brown in his eyes, his long lashes. Even the hope hidden by his dangerous smile. “So, if you don’t want me to ride, how are you going to stop me, Kitty?”

She swallowed, searched his face, her heart in her throat. “I don’t . . . I . . . uh—”

He kissed her. Really kissed her, pulling her close, tight to him, as if she might be his very breath.

She kissed him back exactly the same way. As if a veil had been pulled from her eyes, she knew the truth. She was falling hard for Rafe Noble. Not poster boy Rafe but the Rafe who had helped her connect with her father, the Rafe who sat with her and named wildflowers, the Rafe who petted kittens and still missed his mother, and the Rafe who was still trying to close up the hole in his heart. With everything inside, she wanted to stay and help that wound heal.

She put both arms around his neck and deepened her kiss. Rafe.
He smelled of leather and hard work, and his arm around her felt strong enough to hold her there in his embrace forever.

“Kitty,” he said as he pulled away. In his eyes she saw everything she’d been denying for a week. He gave her the softest of smiles. “Yeah, that will stop me.”

She grinned. “Good. Now, come up and sit with me in the stands. And then take me to the street dance.”

The smallest spark of sweet danger lit his expression, and it sent a ripple of delight through her. “I dunno. . . . I think I suddenly want to ride again. . . .”

“Rafe!”

He gave her a very naughty grin. “Stop me?”

“Oh, you are trouble, aren’t you?”

“You know it, sweet thing.” He threaded his fingers together behind her back, trapping her.

Kat ran her fingers against his five o’clock shadow and knew the last thing she could stop was the way her heart went tumbling out as she kissed him again.

Lolly froze at the registration table, watching elegant, successful, wealthy Katherine Breckenridge make the same mistakes as her mother.

Lolly managed a shaky breath and turned away from the scene, feeling weak. She couldn’t let Kat do this. Rafe was exactly the wrong type of man for her. He could never make her happy, not long-term. Sure, he had a smile that could tangle her mind and make her believe he hung the moon, but that didn’t mean they’d get married and ride off into the sunset.

Rafe would chase his dream. Kat would follow him, be disowned by her grandfather, and discover that love doesn’t pay the bills. Rafe might even start drinking—hadn’t Lolly heard wild tales about him?—and take out his losses on Kat.

At best, Kat would wind up in a one-horse town, seeing her dreams sift between her fingers, dropping into bed at night in a tiny trailer with an air conditioner on the fritz.

Fighting the scream building inside her, Lolly strode back to the stands, where Stefanie talked with Lincoln Cash.

Kat needed to leave Phillips. Yesterday, it appeared.

Why couldn’t men be like Lincoln Cash? Handsome, polite. And three nights in a row he’d arrived at the diner asking for a piece of pie. He’d even joked of offering her a job as his personal pie maker.

But Lolly wasn’t a fool. And she wasn’t about to let a silly dream make her change her name, her address. Still, his attention resurrected old dreams—the ones she’d entertained as a starry-eyed seventeen-year-old en route from South Dakota to Tinseltown.

She stood at the bottom steps of the stands, and a thought—one John would approve of—struck her. What if God had brought Kat out here to Lolly’s territory so Lolly could keep her from making the same mistakes her mother had? To keep her from that heartache?

Lolly was just climbing the stairs when she saw John enter the stands. She started to raise a hand to him but stopped when she saw him in conversation with Dex—she remembered Cash introducing her to the director of
Unshackled
in the tent. Why would John be talking to him?

She lowered her hand, confused, as she watched them find a
seat together. John looked miserable, however. Much like that time she’d told him she wouldn’t marry him.

“Lolly, I love you. Please marry me.”
She remembered too well that night. And the way she’d started to cry, glimpsing happiness, knowing it would never be hers.

She scooted into her place beside Cash. Stefanie sat on the other side of him, lost in one of his stories. For a second, Lolly couldn’t help but notice what a striking couple they made—Lincoln with his blond hair, blue eyes and Stefanie with her dark eyes, black hair. And something about Stefanie’s smile . . . Lolly’d had a smile like that once.

Her gaze went back to John, and a pang went through her. Had she even told him good-bye last night? Or had that been the night before? She’d been in such a hurry to read the next chapter of
Unshackled
, delighted that she now had a face to put with the Jonas character.

Although she’d thought Lincoln would fit the part, it wasn’t his blue eyes and blond hair she saw when she read about Jonas.

“Did you find them?” Stefanie asked, leaning past Lincoln to snare Lolly’s attention.

“Uh . . . yes.” Lolly made a face, not sure how to tell—

“Here they are.”

Lolly followed Stefanie’s gaze, speechless at the way Kat held Rafe’s hand. The way she glowed. The way she looked as if her life was perfect.

Oh, boy, did she have heartache in front of her.

CHAPTER 11

K
AT WASN’T SURE
which part of the night had been her favorite. Rafe’s voice in her ear as he taught her about bull riding, about the scoring and technique as she sat next to him in the stands, holding his hand. Or two-stepping with him, if a bit awkwardly, at the street dance. Or sitting now on a blanket, her back against his chest as they watched the Fourth of July fireworks on the Phillips football field.

Maybe all of it. Every single moment of the fairy-tale night.

He had such strong, tough hands. Full of calluses yet tender as he rubbed his thumb over her hand. She’d seen that tenderness in his eyes when he two-stepped with her and felt it in his arms as he wrapped them around her.

“I can’t decide what I like more, the fireworks or the stars,” Kat said.

“Mmm, I know what I like,” Rafe said, his lips brushing her neck.

She wrapped her arms around his biceps. “So, are you glad I stuck around and annoyed you into helping me?”

“Did I really say annoyed?” He laughed. “Thank you for not giving up. I think . . . I needed your help to see the truth.” He ran his hand down her arm. “I don’t know how I can live without bull riding in my life . . . but maybe I could if you stuck around.”

He’d really give up bull riding for her? But what would it mean for her to live here in Montana? What would happen to the Breckenridge Foundation and Mercy Doctors?

The fireworks popped, sprays of red and blue, turning the sky into a carnival.

“I went to Mexico—that’s where Mercy Doctors have their clinic. I met a boy named Carlos.” Kat faced Rafe and ran her hand over his forearm, over the muscle defined there. “He was dying of cancer, and although it was excruciating, he barely made a sound. Only his eyes . . . they followed me around the room, and sometimes, when he thought I wasn’t looking, a tear would leak out. On the night he died, he asked for me; he wanted to thank me. But I hadn’t done anything. Nothing to save this boy’s life. I’d cleaned him up, prayed for him, but in the end, he died all the same.”

“Kitty, you can’t expect to change the world.”

“Actually, I’d be happy changing just one person’s life. Just one. Which is why your help means so much. Maybe I’m not a failure at this fund-raising stuff after all.”

Rafe twirled a lock of her hair between his fingers. “You’re not a failure. You’re the amazing Kitty Russell.” He picked up her hand and wove his fingers into hers. “I need to tell you something. About six months ago a friend of mine was killed by the bull I was riding. I sort of blamed myself.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and she wanted very much to lay her head on his chest. “I hit my lowest point when I crashed into the hotel. It was a bad day, and
something inside me just snapped. I didn’t mean to do it, and for a while, I wished I’d never woken up in that hospital bed.”

Fireworks spattered the inky sky.

“Rafe—”

“Let me finish. I’m not a good man, but . . . I want to be. Around you, Kitty, I want to be. I’ve been thinking about what you said . . . about purpose. And grace and peace. Well, I feel that when I’m with you.” He winced slightly as he said it, and she knew what his admission had cost him.

Kat hadn’t expected that. Worse, she hadn’t expected how good it would feel, just to sit here with him, to hear the hope, the healing in his voice. She knew that there had been a real hero under all that barbed wire. “Rafe, you are a good man.” She touched his chest. “When I look at you, I see a man who fits his name. You know what I think?”

He covered her hand with his, looking at it.

“You’ve been your own worst enemy. I don’t know what you’re fighting, but I believe you’re more than you think you are.”

A cry of delight from the crowd caught her attention, and she watched a red cluster bleed down the sky.

“Are you saying you heard my inner cry for help across the space-time continuum and came running?” Rafe gave her a wicked grin, but around his eyes, she sensed the slightest edging of chagrin.

She wet her lips. “No. A cry—” she swallowed, knowing how stupid she was about to sound—“a cry to be loved for the man you are. Not the man you pretend to be.”

Rafe’s smile vanished. A strange emotion played across his face, and for a second she stilled, praying she hadn’t gone too far.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe . . . I’m just looking for someone who won’t flinch when they see the truth.”

Kat touched her hand to the side of his face, then leaned close and gently, ever so gently, pressed her lips to his. “I’m not flinching, Rafe Noble,” she whispered. “In fact, I believe in you.”

He smiled at her. “I believe in you too, Kitty.”

She sank into his arms, letting everything become fuzzy and sweet as he kissed her, hiding herself in Rafe’s intoxicating embrace, refusing to accept that tomorrow just might show up.

She wasn’t going home; that much was sure. She knew it as Rafe drove her back to Lolly’s trailer and kissed her good night at the door. She hadn’t felt this right in months, years even. So immensely far from the person she’d left behind in New York nearly two weeks ago.

Was it already two weeks? She watched Rafe drive away, something inside her wanting to sing. She hadn’t talked to anyone at home in nearly two weeks, particularly Bradley. The fact she hardly felt guilt should have been a red flag, shouldn’t it? Bradley didn’t love her—not like Rafe did. At least she
thought
Rafe loved her. He hadn’t told her as much, but she could see it in his eyes.

Bradley never looked at her that way, which meant he’d find someone else someday.

Going to her room, Kat noticed that light snuck out of the crack under Lolly’s door. She didn’t want to bother her but felt restless as she tucked herself into bed. She picked up her copy of
Unshackled
, lying facedown on the nightstand, and began to read.

Mary stood at the window, watching the twilight puddle in the washes of her land, turning the sage silver, the prairie
grass a dark green. Cattle lounged on a table that would make them fat by fall and hopefully turn another profit for her growing ranch. The years without Matthias had been healing years. For the land. For herself. Charlie and Jonas would be proud of the ranch she’d built.

The smell of the fresh-cut hay hung in the heavy August air, and she inhaled, wondering how yet another season had gone by without being in Jonas’s arms.

Seven years since he left. The breadth of it felt engulfing as she realized how far she’d come from that day when Jonas told her that he would come back. That she should hang on to his words.

Her grip had begun to weaken. Yet she could only blame herself.

She heard movement downstairs and knew that Rosie had returned from her after-dinner walk. That her daughter found joy in the land the same way as her father—her real father—had brought Mary peace.

“Mama?” Rosie called from the bottom of the stairs. “Mr. Lewis is here to call on you.”

Mary sighed, turned away from the window, and went to the door. “Thank you. I’ll meet him downstairs.”

Tall, churchgoing, proper Erland Lewis owned land just south of hers. A man from wealthy stock in Boston, he wanted to try his hand at ranching. His enthusiasm made her smile. He might be a tenderfoot, but he was devoted and he liked her. With the right response from Mary, he might even love her.

Her smile faded. She closed the door. Then, turning to the writing desk, she sat down and pulled open the chocolate box.
She remembered when it had appeared in her mailbox, along with a sweep of emotion so strong that it lingered long after the taste of the chocolate. If she closed her eyes she could still imagine Jonas, with his brown hair, kind eyes, strong hands, writing the letters now stored in the box. Hundreds of them, filled with his life, his words.

She slid one of the earliest letters out to read it again.

My dearest Mary,

I hope this letter and the few dollars it contains for your sustenance might convey my longing to be with you. I have found work at a meat-packing plant outside Sioux Falls and am preparing for the day when we might be together. I long for you more each passing day. I wait patiently for your word to return. Through my parents, I heard the sheriff affirmed that Matthias’s death was an accident and that it had rained on our land. I hold out hope that it will again turn green and become a place in which you might prosper.

Around here, the army is recruiting for fliers who might serve with the Brits. I’ve given this some consideration in light of our circumstances. Trust that should I enter the service of our country, I do this with full intention of returning to you. Soon, I hope.

My love to Rosie. Know that you are in my prayers, sweet Mary.

Yours,

Jonas

Mary folded the letter. He promised he’d return as soon as she beckoned. But she hadn’t, fearing the sheriff’s suspicion.

So she waited for the right moment when she could at last feel peace and believe that she deserved to be happy.

Soon, I hope,
he’d written.

Soon
.
That word hung in her mind, a word of hope and heartache. A word she longed to hate, that she turned to in the dark of night when she felt frail and alone.

Putting the letter back into the envelope, she placed it on the desk and removed the white telefax from the air force.

If they had been married, it might have been sent to her. But the news came through Jonas’s mother, evidence that Jonas had betrayed his intentions about Mary to his parents.

Missing. How could Jonas be missing when he took up so much room in her heart? She could feel his hand in hers as he helped her out of the hennery, smell his earthy, male aroma, taste the sweetness of desire when he looked at her. She heard his laughter, his tenor singing the songs now playing in her heart, and saw the look of fury on his face as he’d protected her from Matthias.

He couldn’t be missing.

“Jonas, come home,” she whispered. “It’s time.”

She heard a tap at the door, and a second later, Rosie opened it and stuck her head in. “Are you coming down, Mama?”

Mary found a smile, nodded.

Come home, Jonas. Soon.

Kat closed the book. She knew exactly how Mary felt. Rafe
took up so much room in her heart that she could trace his face in her sleep. And as she set the book on the nightstand, she knew that she wasn’t going to let him go or leave him, like Jonas left Mary. No, she’d found where she belonged.

Lolly stood in the darkness, listening. Kat had arrived home less than an hour ago, laughing and buoyant. Lolly stood in the shadows not breathing as she watched Rafe kiss her good night.
Please, please, go home, Rafe
. While she knew that Kat had been raised with a list of dos and don’ts, so had she, and even good girls can fall to the temptation of midnight kisses and murmurs of love.

She’d slipped into her room, breathing relief when Kat came inside alone. Now, Kat’s deep breathing suggested she’d finally fallen asleep. Lolly felt like a thief. Or a traitor. But this was for Kat’s own good. If Kat had the good sense she was born with, she’d figure that out . . . in time.

Lolly eased open the door. Kat’s purse, a cute pink bag that looked completely out of place here in the forgotten spaces of Montana yet perfect for her life back home, lay on the floor, her cell phone bag attached to the handle.

Lolly snagged the purse and tiptoed from the room. The cell phone still had juice, and Lolly stood in the dark hallway, opening the contacts menu. Then she scrolled down until she located
Bradley Lymon
.

Kat had no idea what her little vanishing act off the planet had stirred. Lolly could hardly believe it today when she’d turned on the midday news and seen a shot of Kat, then the impassioned plea
by her boyfriend, Bradley Lymon, at a press conference begging for her safe return. Pleading for her safety.

Something Lolly wanted more than Katherine could imagine. She knew what it felt like to fall for a charming cowboy. But Bradley Lymon represented security. A future.

Lolly wrote down the number and slipped the phone back into the bag. Tucking it into Kat’s room, Lolly snuck into her deserted diner.