Redeeming Rafe (8 page)

“I love the jewelry,” Neyland said.

Abby fingered the rhinestone headband and ropes of faux pearls. “Can’t be ‘some kind of flapper girl’ without the trappings,” she said lightly. Gregory hadn’t liked this outfit, hadn’t liked the excessive jewelry, even if it wasn’t real. He’d thought she’d looked like she was dressed for a costume party. Was that the real reason she hadn’t worn the dress again?

“You’re beautiful,” Emory said. “I couldn’t wear that. It was meant for you.”

You couldn’t wear it, because you actually have breasts.
Abby would have said it out loud if Gabe hadn’t been present. Instead she smiled—until the smile froze on her face.

She felt him before she saw him. Rafe Beauford could fill a space and suck the air out of the universe the way Gabe never could—Jackson either, superstar that he was. Why didn’t the rest of the world see that?

He stepped into their little circle and looked her up and down.

“Speak of the devil,” Gabe said. “And you’re wearing my clothes.”

“I’m not the devil. That’s you. I’m only a minor demon. And, yes, I am wearing your clothes.” Still, he didn’t take his eyes off Abby, though he did pull at his tie as if it were choking him.

“We were beginning to wonder if you were coming,” Emory said.

“Yeah?” His eyes shifted to Emory for a brief second and then landed, again, Abby could have sworn, on her nonexistent breasts. Then he raised his huge, beautiful eyes to hers. Surely Gabe’s eyes weren’t that blue or his lashes so long and thick. They couldn’t be. There wasn’t that much eye beauty in the world to go around. Her stomach took a nosedive. “I stopped by the nursery,” he said proudly.

That brought Abby back to earth.

“Really? Did you actually go inside? Or did you just hang over the door and give them cookies?”

“I … uh …” His face went scarlet.

Abby needed to walk away from Rafe and his eyes while she still could. “If you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to check on the food.”

• • •

Damn it all to hell. Where had Abby gotten those pearls? They looped around her neck about ten times and landed in as many places from her collarbones to her hips.
They were long enough to tie her to a bed.

Not that he was into that kind of thing.

Rafe watched her walk away from him. Another man would have been watching her hips sway or the hem of that little nothing dress brush against her long legs. And that was worth watching to be sure, but it was the sight of those pearls that made him want to follow her and run his tongue up the back of her neck. The pearls were almost hidden by wisps of white blond hair, but not quite.

Not quite
would do a man in every time.

What was wrong with him, anyway? For crying out loud.
Pearls?
Had he developed some kind of sick fetish? To test the theory, he quickly turned to look at Neyland, but she wasn’t wearing pearls—just some kind of a blue necklace with big stones. He cut his eyes at Emory.

Yes. She was wearing pearls—a triple strand. He remembered now. Jackson had bought them to go with her wedding dress. But they hadn’t done anything for him then, and they didn’t do anything for him now. So it must not be a fetish. Or maybe it was because Emory was family. He let his eyes dart around. The light was dim out here, but there was a good-looking girl across the way wearing pearls. He didn’t know who she was—probably the girlfriend of one those hockey players. Definitely not family, and yet neither she nor her pearls did anything to inspire any kind of sexual fantasy.

“What are you looking for?” Gabe asked.

“Food,” Rafe said. Wasn’t that where Abby said she was going? To check on the food?

“From what I understand,” Neyland said, “there’re cookies in your pocket.”

“Cookies? In your pocket?” Emory wrinkled her forehead.

“What kind?” Gabe asked.

Shut up, Gabe.

“Okay!” Gabe said, but Rafe was already walking away. One set of doors led to the dining room and the other to the rose parlor. The buffet was set up in the dining room, but no Abby. Not in the green parlor across the hall, either, or the library. Ah, there she was in the corner of the rose parlor.

And she wasn’t alone—not alone and not frowning. Smiling in fact. Something he seldom got. And exactly who was that asshole whom she seemed to approve of so heartily?

Wouldn’t you know he’d have to be dark headed and buff? And why was it that women were so taken with dark-headed men? Why were they so special? He was signaling to one of the waiters and taking glasses of wine from his tray.

Hey, Mr. Dark Hair, what makes you think she wants to hang around long enough to drink wine with you?

She was taking the wine. Hmm. They were standing in the corner. If he doubled back and went down the back service hallway that led to the kitchen and Emory’s office, he could stand outside the door and hear what they were saying.

Just as Rafe was headed out, Nickolai appeared in front of him. Great.

“Hello, Gabe.”

“It’s Rafe.”

“Ahh.” The big Russian shook his head. “I cannot even tell my best man from his brother. You two should wear name tags.”

“We should. We’ll take that up right away.” He almost hurried away, but something occurred to him. Nickolai could be of some use. “Hey, Nickolai? Who is that guy talking to Abby?”

Nickolai looked through the crowd, his eyes searching.

“That is Emile Giroux, my teammate. He is a goaltender on my team.”

Wouldn’t you know it? “Goalie, huh? And he plays? Doesn’t just sit the bench?”

Nickolai looked puzzled. “No. Emile is the Sound’s best goaltender, but strange. All goalies are strange.”

“Strange in what way?” All the more reason to get Abby away from him. “Like does he have a fetish or tie people up?” This was taking time, but information was power.

Nickolai frowned and shook his head. “What are you talking about, Rafe Beauford? And how would I know that? No. He won’t talk between periods. You can’t touch his helmet. And he tapes his stick between every period, but he always leaves a bit of the last tape on—if it was a good period. About an inch. If we are behind, he spits on it and flushes it down the toilet.”

“Then he’s no stranger than you.” They all knew about Nickolai’s before-game rituals, including having Noel text him exactly one hour and seven minutes before puck drop to wish him luck.

“Is not true,” Nickolai said. “Goaltender strange is strange on a whole different level—as I am beginning to think is true of bull riders as well.”

“Could be.” He took a step away.

“Wait. My Noel says you have not yet decided if you are going to our wedding. I think it is respectful to my Noel to come and see her married. Don’t you agree?”

Rafe looked back at Abby and this Emile person. “Is he coming?”

Nickolai looked surprised, then nodded with understanding. “You must know, Rafe, that Emile Giroux is strange, but he is not a homosexual. However, I do have a friend I could introduce you to. I think you would like him.”

What in the ever-loving hell?

“I am
not
gay. Now, is this Giroux going to the wedding or not?”

“
Da
.” Nickolai nodded. “My whole team will be there. I am now team captain. They understand the importance of showing respect to my Noel. But Emile will be a groomsman.”

“I’ll definitely be there.”

As he walked away, Rafe heard Nickolai say something about bull riders and goalies, then launch into Russian.

Finally, Rafe reached his hideout place. The wait staff was coming and going. A few of them gave him odd looks, but apart from capturing a beer from a passing tray, he ignored them.

“
Voulez-vous un peu de nourriture
?” the strange goalie asked.

“
Non, merci. Je n’ai pas faim. Mais vous devriez avoir quelque chose
,”
Abby said.

Damn it. They were speaking in French! He should have taken French in high school instead of German. Of course, he couldn’t speak German either.

“
Il suffit de se régaler de vous
.”

And they were laughing in French, too. What next? Dutch?

“So, Abby, you have been to see the Sound play? You saw me play?” Apparently this Emile had decided English was good enough after all.

“I have. I was at the playoff game between the Sound and the Bruins last spring. Unfortunately, it didn’t go my way.”

“What? But we won that game. And, later, the Stanley Cup, I might add.”

Abby laughed. “As I said, it didn’t go my way. But I have great hope for my Bruins this year.”

“Bruins! You cannot mean that.”

Rafe wished he could see them. Was he touching her? Looking at her pearls? Thinking impure thoughts?

“I’m a Bruins fan, cradle to grave.”

“I thought you Southern women cared more for American football and knew nothing of hockey.”

“But I’m not a Southern woman. I’m from Boston—and I know hockey. I’ll be impressed with football when they do it on skates and play eighty-two games a year.”

Hey, Abby! I’m a little offended here. My brother plays football.

“Here, here!” said goalie man. “You are a wise woman—and one after my own heart. And I might be willing to give it to you, Abby from Boston.”

“I don’t know about
that,
Emile from Quebec.”

“Then how about my hand for now?”

Oh, hell no! Rafe could practically
hear
him taking her hand.

She laughed, but it wasn’t an easy, happy laugh, was it? No. For sure she sounded uncomfortable. He should save her.

And he was about to do that very thing when the two of them stepped around the corner and caught him. But really, could you actually be caught in your own house?

“Hello, Rafe,” Abby said. “What are you doing here in the back hall?”

He leaned on the wall and crossed his arms over this chest. “Just hanging out. You know. Taking a break from the party.” He noted with some satisfaction that they were not holding hands.

“Taking a break? You haven’t been here long enough to need a break.”

“You’d be surprised.” He let his eyes drift to the strange goalie and extended his hand. “Rafe Beauford. This is my home.”

“And a lovely home it is, too.” Much to Rafe’s disdain, Giroux had an acceptable handshake. Maybe he could run him off.

“I see you’ve met my nanny,” Rafe said.

Giroux laughed. “You still need a nanny? I would have taken you for older.”

Abby laughed, too. It wasn’t that damned funny. “I look after Rafe’s twin girls.”

“Ah!” Giroux said. “Beautiful home. Beautiful employee.” Rafe did not care for the look on his face when he looked at Abby.

“Abby is
not
my employee!”

“No?” Abby frowned that frown he was so familiar with. “What am I then? You hired me. You sign my checks. You pay my insurance.”

She had him there. Best to change the subject.

“So what are you two doing in the service hallway?”

Abby gave him a haughty look. “As it happens, Jackson is going to sing in about in a little while and we want a good spot. We were taking the shortcut out the back to the terrace to keep from having to fight our way through the crowd. Do you have a problem with that?” She wound those pearls through her fingers, and Rafe’s mouth went dry.

“Oh, no. No.
Mi casa, su casa
.” That would show them. He could speak a foreign language, too. Sort of.

“
Quoi
?” Giroux asked.

“¿
Estás borracho o loco
?” Abby asked. Unfortunately, Rafe had not picked up enough Spanish to know what she said. Something about being drunk.

He watched them walk away.

What he needed was something between his legs. Couldn’t be a bull and for damned sure couldn’t be Abby.

Yeah. He had an idea.

He set out to look for Christian.

• • •

“I’m sorry, Rafe.” Christian Hambrick actually looked sorry. She would. She was one of the nicest people Rafe had ever known, and he’d known her for a long time. She was two years his junior, the same age as Beau. Like the Beaufords, she still owned her family plantation house, Firefly Hall, which she had turned into a successful bed and breakfast. “You know I would be glad for you to come over and ride, but Sampson has gotten too old, and Sassy has an abscess on her foot. She ought to be well in a couple of weeks, though.”

So there went that idea. Was there nothing in the state of Tennessee to distract him?

“Thanks anyway, Christian.”

She looked sad. “I don’t remember much about the particulars, but I remember that Beau cried when Miss Amelia sold the horses.”

Beau hadn’t been the only one. “She did what she had to. We kept them for about a year after the fire, but horses are expensive and time consuming.”

“Don’t I know it? But, you know what? You ought to buy a horse. Maybe two and a pony for your girls. You always were the one who loved them best.”

Him and his mother. She had taught them all to ride. At one time Rafe had thought he might like to breed horses, but he hadn’t thought about that in a long time.

“Oh, I don’t know, Christian. I’m not sure the stable is even in any shape to be used.” Besides, he wouldn’t be here that long.

“I could keep them until you got that squared away. I have extra stalls and plenty of room.”

“It’s an idea.” Not one he would act on, but an idea.

Christian looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Seems like Abby’s got herself a hockey player.”

“Hasn’t everybody?” He took a drink of his beer. “First Noel. Now Abby. You’d better get moving while there are still some available.”

Christian laughed, but she looked about as happy as he felt. “I’ll get right on that.”

“Have you heard from Beau?” Rafe asked her.

“No.” She looked at the floor.

“Us either. He must be on some mission saving the world.”

“That’s the way of it.”

Before Rafe could reply, Dirk appeared. There was nothing to say anyway.

“Excuse me.” Christian pulled her phone out of her little, sparkly purse. “I’m getting a call.”

Dirk met Rafe’s eyes and nodded once. “It’s time.”