San Antonio Rose (17 page)

Authors: Fran Baker

BOOK: San Antonio Rose

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Moonlight poured down the staircase through the tall window on the landing, adding silver highlights to Jeannie’s golden hair and deepening the blue of Rafe’s eyes to the color of midnight. In this small, semidark world they were temporarily inhabiting, sounds and textures and smells were magnified in importance. The lilt in her voice and
the smile in his, her smooth silk blouse and his rough cotton shirt, the wildflower scent of her soap and the woody essence of his aftershave … They were more aware of each other, more attuned to each other, than they’d ever been before.

“So,” he said, sliding his arms around her waist and drawing her toward the heat of him, “our son is sleeping out and we’re all alone tonight, right?”

“Right.” She lifted her hands to his face and let her fingers explore a sleek eyebrow, the ridge of a cheekbone, a jaw raspy as the finest grade of sandpaper.

“Then make room for Daddy,” he warned on a low growl, wedging her thighs apart with his knee at the same time that he claimed her mouth in a searing kiss.

But Daddy wasn’t the only one who wanted this, and Mommy made sure he knew it. She parted her lips and answered the plunging demand of his tongue with a demand of her own.

The kiss lengthened, becoming an act of love. His tongue stroked the roof of her mouth, the pearl glaze of her teeth, the moist satin lining of her cheek. She clutched at his hair with her hands, pressed his breasts into his chest, and rubbed her body against his hard one.

When he finally lifted his mouth from hers, he buried his face in the fragrant hollow between her shoulder and neck and said in a
ragged breath, “Do you realize we’ve made a baby but we’ve never made love in a bed?”

She arched her throat, pleasure flowing through her veins like warm oil and passion, adding a quiver to her voice. “There’s a four-poster upstairs we could use to rectify that.”

That was all the invitation he needed. He scooped her into his arms and carried her up the stairs for their first, but not their last, loving in a bed. And the light in her window,
their
window now, burned long into the night.

Seeing as how Rusty had been Laurrinda’s right-hand man, that was where they buried him, to her right. And since he’d grown those yellow roses especially for her, they brought them out of the greenhouse and transplanted them in a corner of the cemetery, making a small, sweetly perfumed garden of memories.

The gathering at the gravesite wasn’t as well attended as the one that had taken place ten days ago. There were a variety of reasons, one being that Rusty hadn’t been as widely known as Big Tom and another being that he’d never been much of a man for fanfare.

But the important people were there: the woman who’d looked upon him as a surrogate father when she was growing up; the man who’d learned the rudiments of riding and roping from him; the boy who had a new teacher now.

And the others, no less important for being
mentioned last: the cowhands who’d ridden for the brand with him more years than they could count; the cook whom he’d called “crotchety” even as he’d gobbled up everything she’d ever set before him; the Mexican-American grandparents who’d been as anxious for a first look at their ten-year-old grandson as they’d been careful not to rush him.

Now the service was over and everyone had gone back to the main house for a bite of lunch and a bit of catching up … everyone except Jeannie and Rafe and Tony.

The three of them had lagged behind, speaking fondly of the man they’d just buried and skirting the monumental truth that foretold a change in their lives.

“Rusty taught me how to whittle,” Tony bragged.

“Me too,” Rafe said, much to the boy’s surprise.

Jeannie smiled. “He made me a jewelry box when I got my ears pierced.”

“Remember the time he took us waterskiing?”

“Do I ever!”

Rafe and Jeannie looked at each other and laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Tony demanded, wanting in on the joke.

“Rusty tied our ski ropes around his saddle horn—”

“And let his horse pull us in place of a boat.”

“I did a face-bust,” Rafe reminisced wryly.

“Well, I lost my swimming-suit top,” Jeannie recalled on a laugh.

Tony’s assessing gaze darted from one grown-up face to the other. “You guys sure have known each other a long time, huh?”

“We sure have,” the adults answered in unison.

He focused in on Rafe now. “Are you and Mom getting married?”

Rafe nodded. “I think it’s about time, don’t you?”

Instead of replying to what essentially was a rhetorical question, Tony pulled the knife Big Tom had left him out of his pants pocket. He looked at it for the longest moment of his parents’ lives. Then he put it away and, after taking a cleansing breath, said to Rafe, “My first name is almost the same as your father’s.”

“And your middle name is exactly the same as Big Tom’s.”

“Someone at Grandpa’s funeral said I looked just like you.”

“The spitting image.”

Jeannie, standing at the apex of this perfect triangle, held both a tremulous silence and a joyful breath.

Tony frowned. “You’re my father, aren’t you?”

Rafe smiled, wanting to shout it to the world. “Yes, I am.”

“Well …” Tony went into his famous fidgeting act, then, scratching his head and his
nose and shuffling from foot to foot, before he finally got up the nerve to ask the question that had been bothering him all this time.
“Where’ve you been?”

Rafe was quiet for a moment, weighing the price of revenge against the priceless promise of family.

This was the opportunity he’d been waiting for, praying for, dreaming of, for eleven long years. With a few carefully chosen words he could crush Big Tom’s memory and drive it out of Tony’s mind. He could destroy that bigoted SOB the way he’d once tried to destroy him. Ruin him in Jeannie’s eyes by repeating the horrible things the rancher had said to him that long-ago day.

But at what cost to the boy and to the woman who owned him heart and soul?

Suddenly he realized the bitterness was less strong than it used to be. Big Tom was dead, and he didn’t have a damned thing left to prove to that bastard. Just as suddenly he realized he already had his revenge. The
best
revenge possible.

“I’ve been looking for you, son.” Rafe put an arm around Tony, felt small arms hug him back as a lost child found his father. Then he reached for Jeannie with his other arm, saw the silvery sheen in her eyes as he drew her into the family circle. “I’ve been looking for you and your mother.”

Epilogue

State Senator Rafe Martinez stepped up to the speaker’s podium to take the oath for his first term in office. Beside him, wearing one of the smartly styled maternity suits that were part of her English teacher’s wardrobe, stood his wife of eighteen months. And beside her squirmed their eleven-year-old son.

Rafe’s voice rang out loud and clear as, with right hand raised, he swore to uphold and defend the constitutions of both the state of Texas and the United States of America, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that he would fight to the death to protect the rights and freedoms guaranteed by those grand old documents.

The audience in the gallery overlooking the senate chambers applauded as one when the
five-minute ceremony drew to an end. It had been a hard-fought campaign, pitting a good-old-boy incumbent who’d consistently broken his campaign promises against an intense dark horse who’d vowed to carry the banner for all his constituents.

Just as Jeannie had once surmised, the electorate had forgiven Rafe his youthful indiscretion. Oh, true, the media vultures had feasted on the story for months. But the voters had spoken in spite of the headlines. And in the long run that was what really counted.

Now, as the darkly handsome senator from San Antonio turned to kiss his golden-haired wife and their son, the applause resumed and rose to a standing ovation.

This man and this woman personified the new Texas—a state where people were judged on their honesty and their ability to do the job, not their heritage or their ancestors’ country of origin. And this family of three, soon to be four, represented the best of two worlds.

The Editor’s Corner

Welcome to Loveswept!

March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb
, and so do our Loveswept romances, enticing stories ready to seduce you all month long. Take a look at this list!

Just One Night
finishes up Lauren Layne’s Sex, Love & Stiletto series featuring Sam Compton, the hero we’ve all been waiting for. New York’s hottest “sexpert,” Riley McKenna, has been living a lie, and it’s up to one man to keep her honest … all night long.
Dream It
introduces a new hot series by Jennifer Chance with the tale of a smoldering rocker and the fangirl who catches his eye. And
Third Degree
, Julie Cross’s new Flirt release, is one you don’t want to miss in the new adult coming-of-age scene. Marshall Collins gives Izzy Jenkins all the normalcy she’s looking for while Izzy teaches Marshall a thing or two of her own.

Classic Loveswept romances are back, too, and this month Sandra Chastain’s
Adam’s Outlaw
and
The Runaway Bride
top the list, followed by Fran Baker’s
San Antonio Rose
. And don’t miss Linda Cajio’s delightful
Night Music
, coming on the heels of Karen Leabo’s suspenseful and spirited
Witchy Woman
. Deborah Harmse’s charming and warmly passionate romance,
A Man to Believe in
, will touch your heart, and
New York Times
bestselling author Iris Johansen’s rerelease of
Satin Ice
continues with the Delaney family saga.

Last but not least, always a favorite of ours,
New York Times
bestselling author Connie Brockway sweeps us back to Victorian England with her enchanting stories
Bridal Favors
and
Bridal Season
.

Let Loveswept warm you on those cold winter nights.

~Happy Romance!