Taming Rafe (21 page)

Lolly definitely needed to get back to work, to reality and her world. Maybe she wasn’t living happily ever after, but at least she had contentment.

Kat’s world changed with Piper’s words. She stared at her, her open mouth drying. “You . . . found her?”

Piper’s blonde hair was pulled back from her face into a long ponytail, and with her sleeveless blouse and cutoffs, she looked every inch a rancher. Except for the gleam of resourcefulness in her eyes. “Yep. Went down to the local newspaper and did some hunting.” She slapped a folder down on the table. “You’ll never believe this story.”

Kat opened the folder and took out a copy of a newspaper article dated the year before she was born.

By Cicely Sturgis, staff reporter

SHERIDAN—W
YOMING COURTS MADE HISTORY TODAY WHEN THEY SENTENCED
R
ANDY
M
ORRISON, LOCAL
RANCH HAND AT THE
B
AR
T,
TO TEN YEARS IN PRISON FOR THE ASSAULT OF HIS WIFE,
L
AURA
R
USSELL, SISTER OF
PBR
CHAMPION
B
OBBY
R
USSELL.

M
ORRISON,
26,
PLEADED GUILTY LAST MONTH TO CHARGES OF ASSAULT IN THE
O
CTOBER
12
BEATING OF HIS ESTRANGED WIFE.
I
N EXCHANGE FOR HIS PLEA,
M
ORRISON AVOIDED A MUCH LONGER SENTENCE, SAID
D
EPUTY
D
ISTRICT
A
TTORNEY
F
RANK
W
INCHELL.

M
ORRISON AND HIS
18-
YEAR-OLD WIFE HAD BEEN SEPARATED FOR TWO MONTHS WHEN THE ATTACK OCCURRED AT HER RESIDENCE, THE PROSECUTOR SAID.
R
USSELL IS CURRENTLY FIVE MONTHS PREGNANT.

P
ROSECUTORS SAY THIS IS THE FIRST SUCH CONVICTION IN
W
YOMING.

Kat put the article down, took a deep breath, and looked at Piper.

She wore a grim look. “I called the
Sheridan News
, and as a professional courtesy, they gave me the reporter’s number. She’s retired, but she still remembers the case. She faxed me a copy of her research file, which included the police report. It’s pretty ugly. He broke her jaw and was trying to kill the baby, which he claimed wasn’t his.”

Kat ran her finger down the article. “What happened to Laura? And the baby?”

Piper pulled out a chair. “According to Cicely, she left town right after Morrison went to prison. Her brother was on tour, so Cicely thinks maybe she went to live with him. But I did a search and came up with nothing. No report of her or even a birth record of the baby.”

“Did the baby die?”

Piper lifted a shoulder, then reached over to take her hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do better.”

Kat stared at the folder. “A year after my dad died, Laura sent me a letter from Phillips. Bobby worked for John during his rodeoing years before he met my mother. I thought with John Kincaid and him being friends, maybe they were from here.”

Piper shook her head. “As far as I can tell, Laura Russell never lived in Phillips.”

“Well, I guess that answers that.” Kat rose from the table. “Thank you, Piper, for all you did to find out about Laura. I . . . uh . . . Could you please tell Rafe that I stopped by? Or on second thought . . .” She put her hands to her head, feeling the slightest inkling of a headache. Or maybe it was just the tears welling inside, wanting to break through. “Don’t tell him. Just . . . oh, I gotta go.”

Piper stood up. “Are you okay?”

She forced a smile. “Yeah. I’m . . . great. Thanks for everything.” For some reason, she reached out and pulled Piper into a hug.

Piper hugged her back, and when she released her, she looked concerned. But Kat offered nothing and Piper only followed her as far as the porch, watching as she got into her Jeep. She lifted a hand as Kat pulled away.

Kat waved in return, then turned away from the Silver Buckle and drove back to Bradley.

CHAPTER 14

R
AFE TRIED NOT
to let the fact that Kitty hadn’t shown up eat at him, but he found himself sitting at the old burial site, searching for another arrowhead, as if trying to recapture that moment when she’d gotten inside the darkest places of his heart. Sure, he’d tried to peg her as someone who just saw what she wanted, like his fans. But Kitty wasn’t a fan. Or rather, she was much more than a fan. She believed in him, not for his status or his gold buckles but for . . .

What? Why exactly did she believe in him? What did he have to offer a lady like Kitty? She was sunshine and grace in his life, and he was . . . trouble. He threw a handful of grass into the hot wind and felt it splatter back onto his legs. In the distance, he spotted Nick and CJ riding the fence line in Kelly’s field. It figured that Nick would round up his son—the one he hadn’t known he had until just a year ago.

Rafe wondered what it might be like to have a son to ride with in the hot sun, to dazzle him with stories of triumph in the rodeo arena. Triumph . . . and tragedy.

He swallowed past the burn in his throat and climbed to his feet. His horse stood in the shade, munching the grass. Rafe walked over and wrestled himself to a mount.

He spotted Piper sitting on the porch as he rode up to the house. He waved to her, put the animal into the corral, then joined her.

“Kat was here.” Piper didn’t look at him.

Rafe let those words just sit. He stared out past Buckle land to the drying, chafed hills. “How long ago?”

“About an hour.” She gave him a long, troubled look. In the short time he’d known Piper, he found her to be complicated, even secretive. But when it came to family, she also seemed fiercely loyal. “I got the sense that she wasn’t coming back.”

Rafe tried not to let her words jar him. “That right?”

Piper nodded.

“Maybe I should—”

“My keys are on the table.” She winked, the slightest smile on her lips.

Rafe went into the kitchen, glancing at a manila folder as he retrieved the keys. He came back out on the porch. “What’s in that folder?”

“Something Kat asked me to find. A lady named Laura Russell.”

“Bobby’s sister.”

“Yeah. Evidently she got a letter from her postmarked from Phillips. She wanted to track her down.” Piper shook her head. “Laura married the wrong guy, and it derailed her life. She sort of dropped off the planet.”

Rafe thumped down the porch and into Piper’s truck, pulled out, and headed toward town. Her words sat in his brain like the oppressive heat.
“She married the wrong guy, and it derailed her life.”

He pushed the words from his mind. What did Piper mean—that Kitty wasn’t coming back? Why would she leave? He vividly recalled last night’s rather ardent kiss outside Lolly’s trailer, his hand braced over Kitty’s shoulder, her arms around his waist. He hadn’t wanted to let her go, but deep inside he knew that if he had a prayer of starting over, he had to be the kind of man she deserved.

Not that he hadn’t been sorely tempted to charm her back to his truck and take her out to Gilly’s Bluff, where the stars seemed close enough to touch. Especially with the way Kitty smelled and her curves fitting so well in his arms.

But Kitty made him want to be a different man. A better man.

He stopped in front of Lolly’s trailer.
Please, Kitty, be here.

As he got out of the truck, he heard voices inside.

“We’ll talk about it when we get back to New York.”

Rafe recognized Kitty’s voice but not the strained tone. He stepped onto the porch.

“We’ll talk about it now. I want to know, Katherine.”

This voice Rafe didn’t recognize, but through the screen door, he saw a tall blond in a mussed and slightly stained gray silk suit. He stood, arms folded across his chest, his hands in fists. “Will you marry me or not?”

Somehow, out of all the things Rafe expected to hear, it wasn’t another man asking to marry his Kitty.

He wasn’t sure whether to storm in and grab the man by the throat and toss him out on his tailored backside or snatch Kitty and run for the hills. He did neither, as his muscles wouldn’t move.

Kitty sighed and said, “Yes, Bradley, I’ll marry you.”

Thankfully, she didn’t throw herself into Bradley’s arms and kiss him passionately. . . .

Wait a second. She’d been standing in this very place, kissing
him
passionately only twelve hours before.

“What do you mean you’ll
marry
him?” Rafe threw open the screen door and found himself inside Lolly’s trailer before he could rein in his heart.

Kitty looked up from the bag she was lugging from the back bedroom. For a split second, Rafe thought he saw relief or hope on her face, but it vanished in a mask of anger. “What are you doing here, Rafe?”

“Trying to find you!”

“This is that cowboy? The one you . . . you
kissed
?”

Kitty flinched. “Yes. Bradley Lymon, meet Rafe Noble.”

“Her fiancé.” Bradley didn’t hold out his hand. “You can leave now.”

“Over your dead body, Slick. Kitty, what’s going on? Did you just say you’d marry this . . . used car salesman?”

“I’m an attorney.”

“Worse. Kitty, c’mon.” Rafe couldn’t believe the sound of pleading in his voice. But by the look on Kitty’s face, it made a dent, because she dropped her bag and stood there, her eyes filling. “Take it back. You don’t belong with him.”
Please, Kitty, you know where you belong!

“She certainly does, and stop calling her Kitty. Her name is Katherine, and we’re getting married. And by the way, I’ve been planning to propose for weeks. We’re only making it formal now.”

Rafe stared at Kitty, and the wretched look on her face confirmed the truth. A fist of pain tightened in his chest. “You were engaged? What about—” he swallowed, hating how his voice hitched—“believing in me? That was a pep talk, wasn’t it? To get me to agree to help you.”

“It’s for the kids,” she mumbled.

She could have screamed it for the way it broadsided him.
For the kids?
“Was it all a lie?”

She didn’t answer.

Rafe rounded on Bradley. “And you’re the bloodsucking lawyer trying to bankrupt me!”

“You’re the cowboy who drove into the hotel.” Bradley matched him decibel for decibel, about one inch from his face.

Rafe didn’t flinch, and everything inside him got very, very quiet. Kind of like it did right before he got on a bull. “I don’t want to hurt you. . . . Well, I do, but I won’t if you back away. Slowly.”

“Go ahead. Take your best shot. I’ll add that to your list of charges.”

“Bradley, stop.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes, stepped back, and turned to Kitty—no,
Katherine
. “So what were you doing, Katherine? You figured if you couldn’t get me to agree with you on principle, you’d attack my emotions, make me think that you . . . forget it.”

“No! I-I just knew that you weren’t the jerk I talked to on the phone, and I wanted to give you another chance to do the right thing. I didn’t realize that . . . that I would . . . that we would . . .” She covered her face with her hands.

“Are you even related to Bobby Russell? How do I know that isn’t some sort of story?”

Kat looked at him, something terrible on her face. Then she picked up a ceramic lamp and threw it.

He dodged a second before it crashed against the wall, shattering into a dozen tiny pieces.

“Katherine!”

“What’s wrong with you?” Rafe snapped.

Kitty’s face paled. “Sorry, I . . . It’s just . . . you make me so angry, Rafe. You’re so, so . . .”

“Much trouble?” Rafe glared at her. “I know why you came here, Kitty. Or at least why you stayed.” His voice lowered, and he took a step toward her. “You wanted to see what it might be like to win the heart of a bull rider. To break free of the high society ball and chain and live a real life.” He took another step. “To be in the arms of a man who doesn’t live in a three-piece suit, who makes you feel alive.” He curled his hand around her neck, and although everything inside him called him a jerk—she’d at least been right about that—he yanked her toward him and kissed her hard.

Even in that moment, he wanted to take her into his arms and soften his kiss. Show her exactly how he really felt, despite her betrayal. But he wouldn’t let hope take over again, so he just kissed her with the desperation that he couldn’t seem to tame.

She pushed on his chest, and as he let her go, she slapped him. A real doozy that rang his chops. He didn’t even blink.

“Get out!” she cried, choking back a sob.

“Thanks, sweet thing. It’s been fun,” he said as Bradley pushed him out the door. He righted himself on the porch rail before he went over it. “By the way, you can take your dude ranch back with you to New York City, where it belongs.” Then he thumped down the stairs.

Bradley stood on the porch, eyes dark. Inside, Rafe heard Kitty crying.

And he knew then just what he had to offer her. A broken heart.

He slammed the door to the pickup and nearly took out a stray dog as he peeled out and headed back to the Buckle.

Nick was riding in when he pulled up. Rafe didn’t look at him as he got out, but he felt Nick’s eyes burning with disgust. Out of his peripheral vision, Rafe thought he even saw a small, pitying shake of his brother’s head.

Rafe slammed his way upstairs, banged open his bedroom door. The entire house shook. Crossing the room, he ripped his Bobby Russell and Lane Frost posters off the wall and grabbed the box of videotapes he’d dug out for Kitty. He took his trophies, his ribbons, his two championship buckles, and the scrapbook he’d kept for himself over the years and shoved them into his PBR duffel bag. Then he threw them all over his shoulder and stormed back downstairs.

Piper, Stefanie, and Nick stood in the kitchen, holding a powwow of concern.

He ignored them, marched back out to Piper’s truck, threw the bag in the back, and roared out.

He took the back roads to the burial mound, driving as fast as he could without dropping one of the axles. He stopped at the bottom of the hill, lugged out the bag, then muscled himself up the hill.

He threw sticks and twigs together, and taking a lighter he’d found in Piper’s glove compartment, he knelt and lit a blaze.

The flame crackled as it devoured the sticks, then the kindling, and finally the larger pieces of wood he added for fuel. The flame showed no distinction between the fragile and the hearty, biting into the wood with tongues of orange, red, and yellow.

Rafe opened the duffel. Instead of dumping the entire thing on the flames, he pulled the items out one by one. His posters. They burned in a second, curling into tight balls. The ribbons, which sent out an acrid odor. The scrapbook. The fire started on the edges,
burning away the accomplishments, the defeats. Then the tapes. The smell of plastic burning made his eyes water and sent black smoke into the now bruised sky. The trophies would take hours to fully burn, but their plastic mounts deformed and caved in on themselves immediately. Finally, the buckles. He dropped both of them into the flames, feeling his throat thicken.

He closed his eyes, smelling a bull’s hide, dirty and sweaty, feeling the adrenaline spike through his body, the jarring as every muscle, every bone screamed in pain. He felt the rush of relief as he let go and rolled off the back hip of the bull, found his feet, and ran to safety. He heard the crowd roar.

The flames crackled, spitting and popping as they devoured his life. The bull rider. The man Kitty claimed she believed in.

Rafe drew up his good knee, crossed his arms atop it, buried his head in them, and for the first time since his mother died—even during Manuel’s funeral, even in the dark months that followed—Rafe let himself cry.

Lolly wiped the last of the tables, filled the salt and pepper shakers and the ketchup bottles, and even prepared the coffeepot for the first brew in the morning. Still, she refused to turn off the neon Open sign just . . . because.

John hadn’t shown up yet. And she’d called him twice. John never—well, until the last few days—missed closing up the diner with her. She’d even made his Reuben, leaving it to warm under the lights.