Baby Love (42 page)

most Oregon rest areas, the park-like lawns were bordered by timber and undergrowth. "I'm going to circle around and come in behind him. It's only a matter of time before he decides to storm that bathroom."

"You're gonna what?" Ryan grabbed Rafe's arm. "You can't do that. Are you nuts? The bastard'll shoot you." He gave a shaky laugh. "No way, bro. You don't even have a gun."

"I'm going. If she's still alive, she won't be for long if he goes in there. If something happens to her—''

Rafe broke off and swallowed. He met his brother's gaze. In the light of the pole lights, Ryan looked pale and drawn, his eyes glittering with a mixture of anger and fear. "I have to do this."

"I'll go with you then."

"No." Rafe jerked his arm from his brother's grasp. "There's Jaimie and Heidi, Ryan. If something happens, I'm counting on you."

Ryan stared at him for a long moment. Then he finally nodded. No further words were necessary. Using the parked vehicles for cover, Rafe left the truck and ran in a crouch toward the south entrance of the rest area. From there, he would be able to enter the woods unseen, circle around from behind, and approach the rest-room block from the rear. With a little bit of luck, Lonnie would be so preoccupied returning the policemen's fire that Rafe could take him by surprise.

With a little luck. The words became a litany in Rafe's mind as he raced through the woods, thankful with every running step that he could see better than most people in the dark. He fell through the deep snow in places and pitched forward on the ice. He scarcely felt the impact.
Maggie.
He kept seeing her sweet face and her expressive eyes, the way her mouth curved when she smiled. He loved her. So very much.

He couldn't let anything happen to her. He simply couldn't. Without her, his own life wouldn't be worth living.

When Rafe reached the rear of the rest room, he

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pressed his back against the cement blocks and listened to the gunfire.
Shit.
When he ran out there, Lonnie's bullets wouldn't be the only risk factor. What if one of the cops accidentally shot him?

For a split second, Rafe stood there, weighing the odds, which weren't good. Then he decided he didn't care. He'd lost one family. He knew how it felt afterward—the pain that cut so deep you wanted to die yourself, the sense of hopelessness with no end in sight. He couldn't live through that again. Better to die trying to save her than to live without her.

Rafe pushed out from the wall, darted around the corner, and ran the length of the building in a crouch. The sound of the gunfire suddenly seemed muted, as if it came from a great distance. The pounding of his heart thrummed in his temples.

When he reached the front corner of the building, instead of slowing, he poured on more speed, angling right toward the stone drinking fountain as he burst into the open.
Running,
running.
He felt as if he were pushing against a headwind, that every second lasted forever. A boiling rage narrowed Rafe's vision. He focused on Boyle's miserable, cowardly figure crouched behind the wide, tapering base of the stone-and-mortar fountain he used as a shield against the bullets.

Just before Rafe reached him, the other man jerked around, his eyes wide with fright. Rafe saw the gun come up. He tensed, expecting the bullet to rip into him as he leaped. The next instant, his body plowed into Boyle's, and the two of them rolled across the cement.

Ordinarily Rafe would have tried to come out on top. Not this time. Boyle could have that honor. As they rolled to a stop, Rafe shoved hard against the other man's shoulders, lifting him away from his body, hoping to give the police a clear target.

Rage contorted Boyle's features. "You bastard!" he cried.

Rafe felt the muzzle of Boyle's gun stab his ribs. He

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tensed, expecting the man to pull the trigger. Before Boyle could, the deafening report of a high-powered rifle rent the air. Boyle jerked, and even in the eerie light, Rafe saw the stunned, disbelieving expression that crossed his face just before he went limp. Rafe shoved at the deadweight and rolled in the opposite direction, struggling to disengage his legs from the dead man's. When he finally managed to pull free, he just lay there on his side for a moment, feeling oddly separated from reality.

Over. It's over,
Rafe thought. He had kept his promise. Lonnie Boyle would never lay a hand on Maggie again. He just prayed to God that he wasn't too late.

The thought jerked Rafe from his almost stupor-like trance. He stirred, pushed up on one elbow, and twisted onto his knees, swinging his gaze to the women's rest-room door. Only vaguely aware of the cops who swarmed across the grass toward him, Rafe staggered to his feet, one thought repeating in his mind.
Don't let her be dead. Please, don't let her be dead.

He couldn't feel his feet as he moved toward the door, couldn't feel the wood when he pressed his palm against it. "Maggie?"

When Rafe pushed, the door wouldn't open. He shoved a little harder, his voice ragged with fear when he called out again. "Maggie!"

Still bracing her weight against the door, Maggie didn't immediately recognize Rafe's voice.

Lonnie,
she thought. Then it hit her. Not Lonnie. She sobbed and reached for the door handle.

But the two women on either side of her were still shoving with all their might to keep the door closed.

"It's all right," she cried. "It's all right! That's my husband."

The larger woman finally seemed to register what Maggie was saying. She stepped back. The blonde sobbed and stopped pushing as well. Maggie jerked the

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door open, glimpsed blue chambray and denim, and launched herself at the blur, confident that strong arms would catch her.

Rafe whooped with joy as he captured her in a fierce hug. "Maggie. Oh, God, Maggie."

He was shaking. Shaking horribly. Or was that her? Maggie couldn't tell for sure. Didn't care. It was the most wonderful feeling, having him hold her. He felt so big and solid and safe.

"I called his bluff. I didn't let him bully me. I took Jaimie with me to the bathroom." Maggie realized she was babbling and tried to stop talking, but she couldn't seem to stifle the words.

"A lady covered him with her coat and sneaked him out. I did it, Rafe. I stood up to him, and it worked."

He clamped a big hand over the back of her head and pressed her cheek against the hollow of his shoulder. Maggie heard a man say in a furious voice, "What are you, mister, crazy? I damned near shot you! You have a death wish or something?"

Maggie tried to draw away from Rafe, but he tensed his arms to keep her face against his shoulder. "No, honey. Don't look."

As Rafe started to lead her away, Maggie said, "Don't look at what?"

"Lonnie. They shot him. He's dead."

Maggie laughed, the chortle high-pitched and sounding a little hysterical even to her. Dead? Of course he was dead. Otherwise the shooting wouldn't have stopped.

As Rafe drew her across the grass toward the parking area, a uniformed police officer ran up to them. Rafe came to a stop. "Hello, Sergeant Hall. Fancy seeing you here."

"That was a damned fool stunt to pull. You're lucky that sharpshooter didn't kill you!"

Rafe relaxed the arm at Maggie's waist, allowing her

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to draw slightly away from him. "All's well that ends well."

For the first time, Maggie actually looked at Rafe. In the bluish-white lighting, she saw black splotches on his shirt. Her heart caught when she realized he was covered with blood. "Oh, my God. You're hurt!"

Rafe glanced down, touched one of the spots, and then shook his head. "No, honey. Not me.

The blood is Lon-nie's." He flashed one of those crooked grins she had come to love so very much, his gaze meeting the police officer's. "Like I said back at the house, Hall, I owe you.

Thanks."

"I almost got you killed," the policeman said. "It's nothing less than a miracle that you're not dead."

"Yeah, well," Rafe said softly, "this time around, I had a miracle coming."

He guided Maggie around the cop, drawing her close as they walked, his lean thigh bumping her hip. She angled forward slightly to peer up at his dark face. "Rafe, how did you get Lonnie's blood all over your shirt?"

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that you're safe." He graced her with another of those fantastic smiles that always warmed her from the inside out. "So you called his bluff, did you?

Tell me about it."

Maggie searched his gaze. "What did you do?"

"Nothing much." He jostled her with his arm. "I'm so proud of you, Maggie. Getting Jaimie out of there. Keeping your head. You're really something, you know it?"

Maggie had a feeling he was the one who was really something, but typically of him, he wasn't talking. "You saved me," she said accusingly. "I know you did. You did something crazy.

What?"

He chuckled. "I didn't do anything crazy, I swear it." He leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Did the bastard hurt you?"

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Maggie shook her head. "I pulled in here before he had a chance."

Ryan came loping across the grass to them. When he reached them, he said, "Jesus, Rafe.

That was all right!"

Maggie dug in with her heels to stop. "That's it! I want to hear this. What did he do, Ryan?"

Ryan launched into an account of what had occurred while Maggie had been holding the rest-room door closed and was unable to see what was going on. When she learned how her husband had raced out into the line of fire to jump Lonnie from behind, she felt as if she might faint.

"Nothing much, you said. That's what you call nothing much? You might have been killed. How could you do something so stupid?"

Rafe released her as they drew up beside the truck. As he unbuttoned his shirt, peeled it off, and tossed it in the back, Maggie ran her gaze over him, thinking she'd never seen anyone so beautiful. It scared her half to death, thinking of how close she'd come to losing him. It also made her heart feel as it were breaking, for what he had just done gave testimony to how very much he loved her.

So much that he would lay down his life for her.

As he turned back toward her, his bronze upper body shimmered like lacquered teak in the dim light, the play of muscle in his shoulders and chest tempting her to touch him. Her gaze climbed slowly to his dark face. His hair lay in tousled, unruly waves of glistening ebony over his high forehead. The silvery glimmer of his eyes seemed to burn into hers, reminding her of the night when she'd first met him. His gunmetal-blue gaze had held her in its grip then, too, only now its searing intensity enveloped her with warmth.

She remembered how she'd once wished he were a toad who'd be magically transformed into a handsome prince who would rescue her and Jaimie. Many times since, she'd wondered if he

were
an avenging angel, sent

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down to her from God in answer to her prayers.

He was neither of those things, although she would always believe God had guided him to her.

Not a prince, not an avenging angel. Rafe Kendrick was just a flesh-and-blood man—a boxcar cowboy in Wrangler jeans and riding boots.

As she stepped into his waiting embrace, Maggie kissed his shoulder, tasted the salt on his skin, and gloried in the hard, rugged length of him pressed against her. He felt as real, and solid, and enduring as the sun-warmed earth. Even better, he was all hers.

How could there be anything more magical than that?

Sunlight glanced off the water, making the calm lake look like a dark velvet blanket studded with diamonds. Tipping her head back, Maggie breathed in the fresh mountain air, her gaze fixed on the snowcapped peaks that ringed the small basin. She had grown to love this place, just as Rafe had once promised she would. Now it was home to her, a perfect world that was filled with all the people she loved most... her husband and child ... her mom and sister... and all of Rafe's family as well. How could anyone be so lucky? Maggie didn't know, but she had finally come to believe this was going to be her reality from now on. Some magic didn't vanish in a puff of smoke ... It was solid and enduring ... and
hers.

A distant shout drew her attention. She glanced up to see Heidi and Rafe emerging from the trees on horseback. Her little sister was laughing gaily, her smaller mount a gentle and well-trained sorrel, handpicked by Rafe to ensure the child's safety as she learned to ride. Heidi was clearly in her element, her erect but graceful posture in the saddle a promise of the expert horsewoman she was destined to become.

Maggie smiled and focused on her husband. He lifted a hand and waved. Even at a distance, she could see the love shining in his eyes and it enfolded her in warmth. Oh, how she adored him...

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Tears of joy stung her eyes as she watched him ride toward her. He was mounted on Flash Dancer, the gorgeous stallion he'd once hated with such virulence that he'd threatened to shoot him, and seated in front of him on the saddle was Jaimie, who'd just turned nine months old.

In that moment, Maggie was reminded of the snapshot of Rafe and Keefer that she'd seen in the airplane hangar that long ago day when she'd first arrived at the ranch. Time and a wealth of love had restored her husband to his former self, she realized. Gone was the gaunt, tortured man she'd first met on a boxcar. He'd put on weight, every ounce of it well-toned muscle. Even as she gazed at him, the wind ruffled his black hair, and his laughter drifted to her on the breeze. He looked young again, and so very happy. It filled her with wonder to know her presence in his life had brought about the transformation.

As he rode closer, Maggie noted the careful way he held Jaimie, one big hand splayed over the baby's plump tummy to keep him from falling. She smiled again, recalling how she'd once worried about Jaimie being around horses.
No worries.
Rafe would lay down his life before he allowed anything to happen to his son.

"It's your turn, angel face," he called to her.

Maggie rolled her eyes. "No way! I'm not joining all of you in your insanity. I'm perfectly content here on the ground, thank you very much."

"Aw, come on, Maggie!" Heidi pleaded. "You can ride in front of Rafe. He won't let you fall. I'll stay here and help watch the baby!"

"Help who watch him? I'm the only one here. No thanks, sweetkins. I'll just stay put and let the three of you have all the fun."

"I'll watch him for a while!" a voice called from somewhere behind her.

Maggie glanced over her shoulder to see Becca ambling down the slope. She carried a wicker basket, and

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Maggie was pleased to note that she bore its weight with her left arm, yet another sign that she was almost completely recovered from the gunshot wound to her shoulder.

Helen, Maggie's mother, trailed behind the housekeeper, her dark hair trailing like strands of silk in the wind, her blue dress molded to her slender body. "I can help take care of him, too!"

she called. "Go ahead and go for a ride, Maggie. Rafe won't let anything happen to you." She cast her son-in-law an adoring glance. "Will you, Rafe?"

Rafe winked. "Never. I love her too much to let her get hurt." He glanced back at Maggie. "It's a question of trust. Everyone else has faith in me. Don't you?"

"What is this, a plot against me?" Maggie said with a laugh.

Becca grinned. "You bet. A body can't be living on this ranch in peace until she can ride a horse. Where's your courage?"

"I left it up at the house."

Becca set down the basket and stepped over to take the baby from Rafe. Flash Dancer snorted as she approached, but despite his apparent wariness of the housekeeper's flapping white apron, the stallion stood fast. Maggie suspected that the animal sensed he was carrying an easily unseated rider, for usually the horse lived up to his name, prancing proudly and throwing his head, for all the world as if he knew how beautiful he was and wanted to show off.

Sure enough, the instant Becca had Jaimie safely in her arms, the stallion sidestepped, his tail uplifted, his magnificent body rippling like varnished cherry in the sunlight.

"No excuses," Rafe said, swaying easily with the movements of his mount as he extended a broad palm toward her. "Come for a ride with me, Maggie girl."

The heated gleam in his eyes told Maggie that he had more than a short ride in mind. Her heartbeat skittered.

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Surely he didn't intend to make love to her in the woods in broad daylight?
He did.
His firm mouth tipped into a challenging grin, and his gaze moved slowly over her with a burning intensity.

Like a marionette controlled by invisible strings, Maggie felt herself pushing up from the blanket and walking toward him. As much as she feared horses, a trip to heaven was worth dying for...

She took her husband's hand, and then, following his instructions, put her left foot in the vacated stirrup. He did the rest, lifting her with the brutal strength that had become her protection and constant sense of security. After some shifting and heart-stopping jostles, Maggie managed to get seated in the saddle in front of her husband.

"Oh, God!" The ground looked miles away, and Flash Dancer was tossing his head, his brown eyes rimmed with white when he looked back at her. "He hates me!"

Rafe laughed, the sound a low rumble that vibrated through her body as he hooked a muscular arm around her waist and drew her against him. "He's scared, Maggie. He smells your fear, and he's wondering where the threat is, that's all."

"I want off," Maggie cried, making tight fists in the stallion's mane. "I
knew
this wasn't for me.

Oh, God. I'm going to die. He'll fall and land on top of us."

Rafe hauled sharply on the reins, turning the horse back toward the woods. "You're perfectly safe. Trust me.

"I trust you. It's the horse I have a problem—oh, my God! Don't go
fast!"

If Rafe heard her shrill objections, he gave no indication of it. Leaning slightly forward, his hard chest pressing against her back like an immovable brick wall, he clicked his tongue, nudged at Flash Dancer's flanks, and urged the horse to a greater speed.

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"Oh, God!" Maggie closed her eyes. "My butt. It hurts."

Rafe tightened his hold on her. "Put your feet on my boots and lever yourself up a bit so you don't bounce."

Maggie did as he told her, and the next instant, she felt as if she were floating. Rafe rode along the lakeshore for quite some distance, slowing the horse from a run to a trot only as they veered toward the forest.

"Where are we going?" Maggie asked.

"Someplace private."

She laughed, no longer feeling afraid. Flash Dancer moved with fluid power and surefooted grace. "You're out of luck. My fanny will never be the same. It'll be a week before you can touch me!"

"The hell it will. I'll kiss all the soreness away."

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

Rafe's only response was a mischievous chuckle. He slowed the horse to a walk and started nibbling on her ear. As always when he set his mind to seducing her, Maggie's blood began to heat. When she felt his hand moving from her waist to her breast, her breath caught and she leaned more heavily against him.

This added an entirely new aspect to horseback riding.

"We can't do this," she protested weakly. "It's the middle of the day."

"Magic, honey. Come with me, and I promise you, it'll be pure magic."

Surrendering herself to the sensation of being set afire by his touch, Maggie could only moan.

He stopped the horse in a shady grove, far away from seeing eyes. When he dismounted and swept Maggie from the saddle into his strong arms, she went willingly, her reservations obliterated by the intoxication of his kisses.

He had promised her magic, after all.

And Rafe Kendrick was a man of his word ...