Redeeming Rafe (15 page)

“Thank you,” Neyland said. “I can use the help. Or I could call your mother and ask her. I bet she has it all committed to memory.”

“Are you kidding? She came out of the womb knowing the rules and with the will to enforce them on the world at large.” Noel took a drink of tea. “Don’t do it to yourself.”

“We might just fly to Vegas,” Neyland said.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Emory said.

Neyland lifted an eyebrow and shrugged.

“She wouldn’t dare,” Emory repeated as if it were written in the Constitution. “I’m really glad we’re together today,” she said in a low voice. She met Noel’s eyes and then looked at Christian. “Neyland, Gwen, and Abby already know, but I have a secret I haven’t told you two. I haven’t told, because I wanted Noel to have her big day. We’re still keeping it quiet for now, but I’m pregnant.”

Abby knew Christian and Noel wanted to squeal and clap, much as they had all done at Beauford Bend upon learning the news, but in the interest of keeping it quiet, they smiled and leaned across the table and squeezed Emory’s hands.

“Don’t be upset that the others already knew,” Emory said. “It was hard to live with me and not know.”

“It was hard not to know,” Gwen said, “because Jackson couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Christian said. “This is happy news, and when we get to know doesn’t play into it. Does Beau know?”

“Not yet,” Emory said. “We’ll tell him as soon as we hear from him.”

Laura appeared in her pink, frilly apron, set a small teapot at Abby’s place, and began to refill everyone else’s iced tea glasses. “Does anyone besides Abby want hot tea?”

No one did, of course. Abby could never get over that there was a tearoom where almost no one drank hot tea. Welcome to the South.

“We should eat,” Neyland said, helping herself to a sandwich and small quiche. “I’m hungry.”

Emory followed suit. “You’re going to be hearing that a lot from me.”

Once they had all loaded their plates, Noel produced a stack of pictures from her purse.

“The professional pictures aren’t ready yet, but these are the candids my brother-in-law took. He emailed them to the drugstore to be printed, and we picked them up yesterday.”

For the next fifteen minutes they ate, passed around pictures, and told wedding stories.

Suddenly, Christian looked up and caught Abby’s eye. Then she turned a picture face down, covertly slid it across the table to her, and leaned over to whisper, “You might want to pocket this one.”

Abby quietly put the picture in her lap and turned it over. It was easy to see why Christian had given it to her, and she was surprised no one else had taken note. Probably because energy was high and they were all more interested in pictures of the bride and groom and themselves.

But if a picture was worth a thousand words, this one of her and Rafe dancing at the reception was an entire book—and it told the story of two people who were certainly having sex and who might be besotted with each other. There was something about the body language and they way they were looking at each other. It was sensuous, sexy, and a very bad idea.

It was hard to say what was more appealing—Rafe in formalwear or Rafe in chaps.

Rafe in nothing at all.
She had to stop thinking things like that—because she wouldn’t see Rafe like that again.

Right after that dance, they’d had a glass of Champagne—though Rafe didn’t like Champagne and kept grimacing. Or maybe he was grimacing because they were promising each other there would be no more sex.

But then, about 3 a.m., not long after the party was over and Abby had gone to her room, the text had come.

I’ve come for you. I’m standing at the back door, and my truck is around the corner.

Something about those words
—I’ve come for you—
had moved her like no others ever had.

She hadn’t answered his text, because she’d been too busy pulling on a pair of shorts and sneaking through the still house as quickly as she’d dared. It never occurred to her that he would doubt for a second she had read his message and was on her way—any more than it would have occurred to her not to go.

He was wearing shorts and a worn, faded, Jackson Beauford concert T-shirt, so apparently he’d gone back to his hotel before deciding to disregard—again—what they’d agreed on. Not that she was complaining and not that he was the only one who had disregarded. She shivered inside, remembering how the second she’d opened the door, he’d reached inside and pulled her out onto one step above where he stood. His shirt had been so soft against her hands and his legs warm on hers as she leaned down to accept his kiss.

Later, they had sworn again there would be no more. They would just consider it an out-of-town wedding fling and call it over.

It looked like that last promise was one that would be well kept.

He hadn’t come to her last night, and according to Jackson, he’d left early for Firefly Hall to take delivery on those horses.

“Look at this one!” Neyland held up a picture. “It’s that cute hockey player who was putting the moves on Abby. Abby, what was his name?”

“I don’t remember.”

Bella climbed up on the sofa beside Rafe and draped herself over his legs.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said with a breathless, drama queen sigh.

“Hi, Bella.” She was pretty cute.

“Rafe,” Jackson said from where he sat strumming his guitar in the best easy chair in the room, “you’ve got an escapee.”

What the hell? Alice had decided to leave the family room and head for the stairs.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Rafe shouted as he took after her.

“You’ve spent too much time around horses today,” Jackson said.

“Wrong,” Rafe said. Alice stretched her arms to be picked up, and a knife tore through his gut. Every time he picked one of them up, it was like making promises that he couldn’t keep—that he would stay and that he would keep them safe. Holding them wasn’t always avoidable, but he had to be careful not to do it more than absolutely necessary. He marched Alice back into the room with his hands on her shoulders. “I didn’t spend nearly enough time with the horses. I barely got them settled at Christian’s before you summoned me back here.” He looked around. “Where’s Bella?”

Jackson gestured to underneath the coffee table.

“What have you got in your mouth?” Rafe set Alice on the couch and dove for Bella. She was going to die on his watch, for sure. “Do you want to choke?” He pried her mouth open and fished out a guitar pick. “Could you keep up with your stuff?” He flung the pick at Jackson.

“That’s where it got to.” He caught it in midair, dried it on his pants, and slid it under the leather bracelet on his left wrist.

“I really don’t appreciate you telling Abby to go to lunch, that we’d watch the twins.”

By damn, he was going to tell her not to fly the coop again without checking with him. He had things to do, twins to steer clear of. Of course, Abby might have told him herself if he hadn’t been steering clear of
her.
But what was he supposed to do? Every time they made love, she ended by saying it couldn’t happen again. And she was right; of course, she was. She worked for him, and he would be gone soon. He always agreed with her, but then went after her like a devil hot on the sin trail. He had almost done it again last night, almost gone to her room. It would have been so easy with no one in that wing except the two of them and the sleeping kids. Louisville and the wedding was one thing, but he knew if he started that here in this house, he wouldn’t stop. And that wasn’t good for anyone. He’d vowed to stay busy, stay gone. It was the only way.

“Abby works for me. You can’t just send her off, especially if you’re not going to help.”

Jackson played an elaborate riff on the guitar. “I’m helping. I told you Alice was escaping and Bella was under the table.”

“That’s not helping. That’s giving orders, which you excel at.” Rafe reached for the remote, turned on the television, and flipped around until he found a cartoon. “Here, Bella, here, Alice.” And he whistled.

“They’re not dogs, either,” Jackson said.

But the girls didn’t care that he had whistled for them.

“Thomas!” they cried in unison, clapped, and threw themselves down on the floor in front of the television. Rafe got the feeling they had watched a lot of television before coming here.

“Abby’s not going to like that,” Jackson said.

“Yeah? Well, Abby can bring herself back from her life of leisure and make that decision, like she’s being paid to do.” That wasn’t fair. He knew it, but he didn’t retract it. “She’s welcome to supply some educational play time, but I’m fresh out. Until then, it’s all Thomas, all the time.”

Jackson laid his guitar aside. “So about these horses? Are you planning to leave them at Firefly Hall?”

Rafe relaxed. The girls seemed settled in, and this was a subject he could discuss.

“No. I went out to the old stable. It was actually in pretty good shape. If we’ve got any fences that need mending, I couldn’t find them.”

Jackson nodded. “I’ve made sure the fences have been kept up, though I admit I haven’t paid much attention to the stable.”

“It needs some cleaning up and a few minor repairs. I thought I’d get Jimpson to help me. Then I’ll lay in some hay and bring the horses over.”

“Jimpson will appreciate the work—that is, if he’s hitting on all his cylinders.” Jimmy Simpson, the high school janitor, had left town an eighteen-year-old golden boy and returned from Vietnam broken in ways that would never be fixed. He was known for disrobing in public places from time to time.

“We’ve all been seeing him naked for years,” Rafe said.

“True,” Jackson said. “Is that why you’re so squeamish about being seen naked?”

“That’s it.” Rafe had never been one to prance around naked after working out, even in front of his brothers, and he was used to being teased about it. Of course, Abby was a different matter …

He shook the thought off. “I’ll do what I can to keep Jimpson clothed while he’s working here.”

“That’s good. Just because we’re used to it doesn’t mean we want our women to see it.”

Rafe’s head snapped up. Did Jackson suspect something? Was Abby his woman? It felt like it sometimes. “What do you mean by ‘our women’?”

Jackson wrinkled his forehead. “What I didn’t mean was that we
own
any women. I only meant the women who live here. Are you turning PC on me?”

So not that. “They’ve seen him naked, too. Probably.” Had Abby? Maybe. She, like the rest of the town, would have been kind about it.

Jackson laughed and nodded. He was about to speak but stopped short with an odd look on his face. “What’s that smell?”

“I don’t smell anything—” But then he did.

Alice had appeared at his knee. “Daddy! Went poopy. Get it off!” And she began to cry.

Oh, damn. Oh, shit. Literally. What now? Unless …

“Don’t look at me!” Jackson said. “I’ve never changed diaper in my life.”

But Rafe had. It had been a long time, and he hadn’t done it often, but he’d done it.

“I’ll call for Sammy.” Jackson picked up his cell phone. “He’s got nieces and nephews.”

“No,” Rafe said quietly. “I’ve got it. Come on, Alice.”

And he picked her up.

• • •

Abby was closing the nursery door when she met Rafe in the hall. She had seen him earlier when she’d returned from lunch, but just long enough for him to turn the girls over to her and bolt.

Now here he was with sweaty hair and dirty clothes, too late to kiss his children goodnight.

“You look like you’ve been busy.” She tried hard to keep the displeasure out of her voice, but it was there. Was her displeasure because he’d missed dinner and bedtime with the girls, or because he was avoiding her? She pushed the question aside, fearful that she wouldn’t like the answer.

He nodded. “I want to get the horses over here, and there’s some work that has to be done on the stable. Jimpson and I got a lot done today, but we’re not finished.”

“You certainly look like a cowboy.” And she would do well to remember that.

“Not really. I look more like a rancher right now because I’ve been doing real work. Contrary to the movies, cowboys don’t have time to be ranchers, and ranchers don’t have time to be cowboys.”

“Mmm.” This was beyond awkward.

He looked over her shoulder, through the Dutch door. “I thought I was getting back in time to say goodnight.”

“Everyone’s asleep.” A mean streak worked its way up her spine. “They asked for you.”

He had the decency to look ashamed. “I’ll be at breakfast.”

She opened her mouth to tell him that was fine and goodnight. She really did. But that’s not what came out.

“Bully for you!” Where had that come from? She’d never said that before in her life and hadn’t meant to say it then. Yet she plowed on. “Am I supposed to give you a gold star on your report card for that? Am I supposed to declare you Father of the Year?”

He looked like he’d been slapped—hard—by the meanest woman on the planet. There was a part of her heart that cried for him, but there was also a part that spewed anger, so she carried on.

“You told me what happened to your family when you were young. I know the girls look like your sister. And I’m sorry for that. I truly am. But bad things have happened to other people, and you made those babies. It’s time for you to step up.”

He looked at the floor. “I thought I was doing better. I’ve been trying.”

Somewhere along the way, she had lost sight of what she’d known all along—that he had no intention of coming back for any length of time after the championship. So badly, she had wanted him to be better than he was turning out to be.

“You’re trying, all right. You’ve been
trying
to do just enough to fool and appease everyone, and it’s working pretty well for you. But it won’t forever, because eventually they’re going to know what I already know. You have no intention of being a real father to those girls.”

There was guilt in his eyes, and guilt only came with the truth.

“Do you have any cookies in your pocket?” she asked. “You could distract me with one and walk away. No? Then, I’ll walk away.”