Taming Rafe (20 page)

There was something about riding alone that always helped him clear his thoughts. When he returned, he might discover that this morning had simply been one of his many nightmares and he was still sitting under the star-strewn big sky with Kitty in his arms.

CHAPTER 13

K
AT HAD JUST
left Bradley standing on the sidewalk, holding out a ring.

“He should have asked nicely,” Kat said to no one as she drove toward the Silver Buckle. “He sounded like he was
forced
to propose.”

Wait. Grandfather hadn’t . . . wouldn’t . . . She wasn’t such an embarrassment that her grandfather would have to
bribe
someone to marry her, was she? Just because she wasn’t cover-girl beautiful like her mother didn’t mean she couldn’t be beautiful in her own way.

Had Rafe called her beautiful? She couldn’t remember.

In fact, Rafe had said
nothing
about his feelings for her. He believed in her, called her amazing, and wrapped her in his arms and kissed her like she’d never been kissed before. Then again, he’d kissed plenty of women before, so it wasn’t passion or his heart she felt in those kisses but a man with plenty of practice.

No, he’d never said he loved her. Not that she expected him to after only two weeks, but . . .

Yet Bradley had—many times. Just because Bradley didn’t hold her like he’d never let her go didn’t mean he didn’t love her. He used words and gestures, like gifts and phone calls and flying two thousand miles, to show her how he felt.

She wiped a tear as it trailed down her cheek.

“Why are you here?”
Bradley’s words made her wince.

The answer felt far bigger than she imagined. She’d come out here at the end of her rope, hoping to put together her future, perhaps find pieces of herself in the past. Instead she’d discovered she had a lot more rope to work with than she realized.

She wasn’t just the heiress of the Breckenridge fortune. She could ride a horse, rope a steer (okay, a dummy steer), feed calves from a bottle, two-step, ride a bull, and even talk a man out of risking his life.

But she couldn’t seriously consider throwing away the life she knew, the life God had given her in New York, a life of meaning and responsibility, for the unknown—an unknown that could backfire into heartache and pain.

“I know if the bull is going to try to kill me.”
In a moment, she saw Rafe crushed, pale, unmoving in the dirt, a bull breathing over him. Trying to
kill
him.

Kat pulled over, her heart thumping. She couldn’t watch him die.

But didn’t he say he wasn’t going to return to bull riding if she stayed?

Even she, a woman who’d known him for only a couple of weeks or so, could see the lies he told himself. Rafe would quit bull riding right about the time he started ballet dancing.

Lord, I don’t know what to do. I think I’m falling in love with Rafe.
But I have this sick feeling he doesn’t love me. And what if he goes back to bull riding?

She’d end up like her mother, that’s what. Heartbroken. Unable to love even the daughter Bobby had given her. Making that daughter feel as if . . . Kat cupped her hand over her mouth. As if she was a terrible reminder of all she’d lost.

No wonder Felicia never came home, had left Kat’s care to Angelina. She couldn’t bear to be around the daughter who only reminded her of her grief.

Kat got back on the road, wiping her chin.
Katherine, pull yourself together.
The last thing she wanted was for Rafe to see her unraveled. He knew the Kitty who smiled and encouraged and laughed at his jokes. And she desperately wanted him to give her a reason to stay.

At the Silver Buckle, she got out of the Jeep and slammed the door. The horses in the corral lifted their heads. The wind brushed the prairie grass, gathering momentum, lifting the sweat from the back of her neck, then dying down to nothing. “Rafe?”

No answer.

Kat didn’t expect him to be waiting on the porch, but it would have been nice to see his smile, to reassure herself that these past twelve days hadn’t been just a dream. She walked to the house, up the porch stairs, and stood outside the screen door. “Knock, knock?”

Still no answer.

The door squealed on its hinges as she opened it. She stood in the deserted kitchen, hearing nothing from the rest of the house. A fly lifted from the bowl of apples on the counter. “Rafe?”

Kat closed the door behind her, trying to figure out what to do. Bradley, for all she knew, still stood on the street where she’d left him, and it wouldn’t take long for him to get directions to the Silver
Buckle. She had never treated anyone so rudely in her life. Well, maybe once. A bull rider who had owed her so much.

And given her back more than she could imagine.

The breeze ruffled the edges of a letter sitting on top of the kitchen table. Kat noticed the Guadalajara postmark and frowned. Mercy Doctors had a clinic there. She picked up the letter and, knowing full well she was snooping, read the Spanish script.

Dear Rafe,

You promised that if ever I had a need, I could write to you. I know that you are busy on your tour, but because of your love for us and your promises, you should know that Manny’s leukemia is back. This time, the doctors say that he will not survive. Rafe, I am afraid. I need you and so does Manny. So we are coming to you as soon as I can arrange our travel.

You are in our thoughts and prayers daily. Manny sends his love.

Always,

Lucia

Kat read the letter again, a knot forming in her throat, blocking off her air supply. Who was Lucia? And what kind of promises had Rafe made?

He
loved
her?

Her legs turned weak, and she reached out for a chair. Was Lucia a former girlfriend? What if . . . what if Manny was Rafe’s . . .
son
?

Kat sat in the chair, putting the letter back on the table with a shaky hand and smoothing it flat. She and Rafe never talked about the past—she sensed he hadn’t wanted to delve into the glory days
that only reminded him of his losses. But she should have asked about his relationships with other women. With Rafe’s attention this past week, she just
assumed
. . .

Good grief, he was a professional athlete. That should be some sort of siren right there.

Kat closed her eyes, orienting herself. She needed to leave. Clearly, she and Rafe lived in two different worlds. Worlds that could never be combined.

“Kat?” Piper’s voice startled her.

She wiped her cheeks and found a smile. “Hey, Piper.”

“I didn’t think I’d see you this soon. You’ll never guess what I found out.”

Maybe that I have a boyfriend who came looking for me and proposed on the street this morning in front of the entire town?
Kat braced herself for the answer.

“I found Laura Russell.”

Lolly stood in the tiny, outdated family room in her trailer, her heart racing. The sounds of the diner lunch rush, with banging dishes and Cody calling out orders, drifted out the back door, needling her thoughts, but all she could hear was Cash’s offer to hire her as his personal chef.

“Come with me,” he’d said. He’d said more, of course, about the life she could lead, the home she’d have, and the stars she’d meet. Finally, after twenty years, she’d finish the dream she started. So it wasn’t stardom, but being Lincoln Cash’s personal cook certainly had a sparkle to it. And she’d break free of the South Dakotan girl from Mobridge who’d followed her dreams to tragedy.

She could start over and build a new life. A new Lolly. Maybe this time she’d become . . . Eliza. Like Eliza Doolittle, who changed her fate by changing her speech and telling herself that she wasn’t a trollop, then summoning the courage to become the person she dreamed of.

But what of Kat? Lolly sat on the sofa, her hands over her face. What if Kat chose to stay? Lolly couldn’t leave, either. She’d spent her life watching over Kat from afar, keeping a promise. She couldn’t abandon her now. Especially if Kat married Rafe Noble.

By the looks of things, Bradley wasn’t the knight in shining armor Lolly had hoped. She recognized the look on his face when Kat deserted him on the street. A look she’d seen the day she’d walked out of Randy’s life so long ago. A chill brushed through her.

She rubbed her eyes, wishing she knew what to do. Wishing she could call John. She’d missed him the last few days, and suddenly his absence crept up on her and took away her breath. She needed to talk to John. He’d tell her what to do. About Kat. About Cash.

John would help her sort it all out. He’d been her dearest friend for twenty years. She could trust him—
should
have trusted him—because John, unlike so many others, had never betrayed her.

She picked up the phone and dialed his number. It rang six times before it flipped over to voice mail. “John, it’s Lolly. . . . Can you . . . can you come by when you get this?”

Hanging up, she sank back into the sofa. She heard the bell chime and Cody’s voice as he announced an order up. Thankfully, her part-time waitress knew how to cover the floor, but responsibility tugged at Lolly. She should return to her life. The life that had given her a home and a purpose.

Instead, she closed her eyes. Then grabbed the pillow on the sofa.

Under the pillow lay B. J. King’s book. Lincoln would make the perfect on-screen Jonas. And she’d told him so. But as she’d devoured the story, only one man filled her mind as the real Jonas character.

John.

Missing him made her open the book.

“Mama, he’s waiting.”

Rosie poked her head into the Sunday school room of the chapel. She looked so beautiful at eighteen that it took Mary’s breath away. How she wished she’d had the courage to make this decision years ago when Rosie could have had a proper father. But Mary had made the mistake of waiting, of believing that someday Jonas might return.

She’d waited too long to let hope drive her decisions.

Mary surveyed herself in the mirror. So different from the young, too-innocent bride who’d married Charlie in front of friends and family in Chicago. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe that she had any chance at a bright future. She’d tried survival—with disastrous consequences. She’d take contentment and be as happy as she could.

“Mama, you’re beautiful,” Rosie said, coming up behind her. She carried a nosegay of orchids and handed Mary her bouquet, then gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m happy for you.”

Mary enveloped her daughter in a hug. “At least I’ll have someone to keep me company while you’re back East.”

Rosie’s acceptance to nursing school in Chicago had made Mary realize just how alone she might be. The next time Erland
Lewis had come to the door with his hat in his hands and suggested marriage, she accepted.

A lifetime was too long to wait for true love, wasn’t it? To believe the words to a silly song, promises made in emotion.

For all you’re worth, I’ll stand here for a lifetime,

For all you’re worth, I’ll sacrifice it all,

You can know that you’re a treasure,

I’ll show you how to measure,

You can look into His eyes for all you’re worth.

“Oh, honey, don’t cry.” Mary wiped her gloved thumb across her daughter’s face.

“I just want you to be happy, Mama. Really happy.”

Mary smiled, but a hollowness inside threatened to engulf her. She swallowed it and pressed a smile on her face. “Erland is waiting.”

Lolly hurtled the book across the room. It hit the kitchen counter, bounced against the microwave, and finally landed on the floor. “You’re not supposed to marry Erland!”

Her voice, thundering through the quiet room, startled her. As did the sweep of emotions that threatened to drown her. Jonas was worth waiting for; didn’t Mary see that? Just because he didn’t return . . . or had he been killed?

See, this was why she didn’t read romances. They made her hurt all over. Mary
did
deserve a happy life. She’d tried to make the right choices for her daughter, protecting her despite the cost to herself.
And when she finally healed enough to let Jonas in her life . . . he didn’t come for her.

“Please, don’t let her marry the wrong man.” The words felt strange on her lips, and Lolly let out a harsh laugh. Not only had she taken these characters into her heart, but she was now, what,
praying
for them? God didn’t care about characters in a book. He barely cared about real people . . . especially people like her who messed up life so badly that they didn’t deserve a second chance.