Taming Rafe (24 page)

The biggest surprise came when Dex told John they’d be shooting the ending scenes first. He didn’t care how they shot the movie. He simply wanted it over, so he could return to Phillips, to Lolly. In his wildest dreams, she’d close up her diner and move west with him.

And if she didn’t, the hole in his chest told him that there might be a reason he hadn’t yet found a condo in Malibu or anywhere else.

As Lincoln acted out the scene, John remembered how he’d
written the chapter, how he’d poured his own frustration into Jonas’s thoughts.

Jonas blamed himself for this moment. He stood outside the church, listening to the organ music filter out as it played the prelude to the ceremony. He never should have left, never should have let his fear stand in the way of his heart. And now . . . well, he’d already lost her, hadn’t he?

Then again, had he ever had her, really? A frightened, desperate woman. Of course she’d turn to the one person who had shown her kindness. But had he ever told her how the moment she’d walked into his life, everything changed? How he’d stayed five more long years on the ranch just to see her every morning?

He should have killed Matthias the first time he touched Mary. But back then, he’d been a meeker kind of man. He liked to tell himself that if she’d given him but one hint of encouragement, he would have stolen her away, but he couldn’t be sure of that truth.

Instead, he’d given her what he could, hoping she heard not only his love but God’s love for her through his songs.

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.

Jonas wet his palm, slicking back his hair, knowing he must look different. Prison camp had etched scars into his
body, not to mention his psyche. And if he hadn’t taken the rage home, he might have stood here two years earlier instead of wasting time in Leavenworth.

But he couldn’t be sure of how she would have reacted. She’d never written, not even once.

He probably had no right to return, even now. But he couldn’t let her just . . . go. Not until he knew.

Jonas walked up the steps and eased open the church door. Slid into the back pew. He stayed long enough for the bride to walk down the aisle. And then, quietly, he slipped out the back.

And walked away in silent, gripping pain.

“Cut!” The command yanked John from his thoughts.

Lincoln came over and sat in the chair next to him. “I love this scene. It’s nearly as good as the final one.”

John nodded.

“Dex says you haven’t been back to Phillips since you pulled out a month ago. You’re still looking for a condo?”

“Haven’t found the perfect one yet.” He’d turned down twenty. They just didn’t feel right.

Cash leaned back. “You’ll be glad to know that you’re not the only one moving west. Lolly’s coming out to live with me.”

He said it so casually, so confidently that John had the sudden urge to leap out of his seat and strangle him. Instead he took a deep breath. “Really?”

Cash stood up, readying himself for the next scene. “She had to think about it, but she called yesterday and told me that she’d
be willing to help me out. And, of course, I told her I couldn’t live without her.”

John watched him walk away and hated the man with every cell in his body.

“I don’t want to talk to anyone!” Kat crammed the pillow over her head, hoping to drown out the knocking, pretty sure that the sound was amplified three times over because of her migraine.

Maybe she was depressed, like Bradley said, because she hadn’t had one clear, happy thought since leaving Montana. Her head pounded, and over the past weeks, she only felt worse with each passing day. Or maybe it was that the board of directors had frozen the accounts of the Breckenridge Foundation, pending their decision to dissolve the charity.

Which she’d responded to by . . . hiding. Yes, it felt as if she’d given up. She spent her days locked in her darkened room, seeing only Bradley and occasionally Cari, who brought her food and the daily news. With all the articles about Kat and her dismal finances and state of mental health mercifully clipped out.

Her only consolation was that when she married Bradley, she’d inherit her trust fund. And then she could support Mercy Doctors herself. At least for a while.

“Go away!” Kat said, turning on the television and scanning the channels. She stopped at a commercial of a girl riding a horse.

The door of her bedroom cracked open. Light spilled in. Kat winced.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Angelina came into the room, flicking on the light and opening the curtains. “You’re not a mole. Pity time is
over.” She turned and raised an eyebrow at the magazines piled on Kat’s bed. Her gaze landed on the scrapbook. “Oh, Katherine.”

Kat reached over to close it. There were too many unanswered questions, the kind that kept her awake despite her pounding brain. Like what had happened to the baby Laura carried? And why didn’t she have her mother’s powers to win the man she loved? The questions only made her feel worse.

Angelina sat on the bed and touched her hand as she closed the scrapbook. “I know you’re looking for something to make you feel better, but you’re not going to figure out what you’re missing, because there isn’t anything missing.”

Sighing, Kat muted the television. Why did Angelina have the power to look right into her soul? Kat tried hard to stare at the TV screen.

“You know what made your mother beautiful? what made her a person who drew people to her?”

“Her blonde hair? size-two figure? blue eyes?”

“No.” Angelina grabbed the remote from Kat’s hand and turned off the television. “It was what was on the inside. It was the fact that she loved God, and it showed on the outside. That’s what people saw.”

“I love God.”

“Of course you do. And you need to trust that. You need to trust that He is at work in your life.” Angelina got up and pulled the sheet back, exposing Kat’s three-day-old pajamas. Kat lunged for the covers, but Angelina ripped them clear off the bed. “Enough of this nonsense. You have children who are depending on you.”

“They put their trust in the wrong person. I can’t do this. I’m a fund-raising flop.”

“But God isn’t, and He’s the one Mercy Doctors needs.”

“Thanks for that vote of support.”

Angelina smiled. She sat down next to Kat, took her hand. “The one thing that you share with your father is your grit, as your mama put it. You won’t give up. And that is a good thing. But I will say the same thing I said to your mother. When God says be still and know that He is God, He’s telling you that He has everything in His hands.”

“You told my mother that?”

Angelina cupped her hand over her cheek. “More than once. Especially after your father died. Grace and peace go with you—it means that God knows what you need and will give it to you today and tomorrow. It also means that God is pleased with you, Katherine Russell Breckenridge. You are His, and that is what makes you amazing.”

Kat placed her hand over Angelina’s. “I’m so tired.”

“I know, child. Stop trying so hard to change the world, and let God change the world through you. Be still, trust in His grace, and you will experience His peace.” She leaned over to press a kiss to Kat’s forehead. “Now, you have a friend who wants to see you. But I told her that you need a shower first.”

Kat wrinkled her nose. “That bad?”

“I’ll be airing out the room while you clean up.”

By the time Kat emerged from the shower, Angelina had changed the sheets, freshened the air, and even left a bouquet of fresh flowers on the bureau.

Cari was sitting on the bed, feet folded under her. “Hey, nice to see you up and fit for society.”

“I’m not sure I’m fit, but at least I can live with myself.” Kat sat next to her. “What are you doing here?”

“You need to see this.” Cari took out a current issue of the
New York Times
from her bag
.

Kat shook her head. “If it’s another article about—”

“Just read it.” Cari turned to the sports section and handed it to her. “Maybe
he’ll
be there.”

AP Newswire

NEW YORK—F
OR THE FIRST TIME IN ALMOST FIFTY YEARS, PROFESSIONAL BULL RIDING RETURNS TO
M
ADISON
S
QUARE
G
ARDEN.
G
ET
R
OWDY
P
ROFESSIONAL
B
ULL
R
IDING
A
SSOCIATION ANNOUNCED THE INCLUSION OF A
B
IG
A
PPLE STOPOVER DURING THE
R
IDE FOR THE
G
OLD TOUR.

“I
THINK IT’S PERFECT TO HOST ONE OF
A
MERICA’S FASTEST GROWING SPORTS IN ONE OF
A
MERICA’S PREMIER CITIES.
W
E’LL HAVE THE BEST BULLS, THE BEST BULL RIDERS, AND THE BEST FANS,” ORGANIZER
P
ETER
F
RANKLIN SAID. “
A
DD TO THAT THE PYROTECHNICS AND THE ROCK AND ROLL, AND IT’LL BE AN EVENT NOT SOON FORGOTTEN IN
N
EW
Y
ORK.”

T
HE TWO-DAY EVENT WILL FEATURE THE TOP FORTY RIDERS AND BULLS IN THE INDUSTRY.

Kat set the paper on her lap and smoothed it over her legs. “Why did you show this to me?”

Cari swiped the paper from her lap. “Says here the event is over
Labor Day weekend.” She looked over the top. “Should I get tickets, or are you planning on competing?”

“Funny. No, thanks. People die in these events.” People like Rafe. Thankfully, he wouldn’t be riding.

“I think impending doom is part of the attraction.” Cari folded the paper.

“We’re back to the days of the gladiators. Man against beast. Let’s see . . . gladiators and lions, cowboys and bulls?”

“And blood.”

“I don’t think it’s about blood, Cari. People want to see bravado. Courage.” Rafe’s words came back to Kat.
“You wanted to see what it might be like to win the heart of a bull rider.”

So maybe she
had
fallen for the idea of taming a bull rider and getting inside that tough outer core to find the softy within.

She’d found it. Even if Rafe never wanted to admit it. Yes, she’d fallen for Rafe because she couldn’t get past the fact that with him she felt alive. Since leaving him, she’d felt as if she might be slowly withering away. It had nothing to do with migraines, fatigue, or her increasing sense of despair over her foundation.

And everything to do with something sweet dying inside her.

“So you’re saying the attraction to bull riding has nothing to do with the lineup of good-looking cowboys.” Cari winked.

Kat threw a pillow at her, and Cari ducked. Yeah, Rafe had power in that rugged smile.

Her face must have betrayed her emotions, because Cari touched her hand. “Are you sure you don’t want to call him?”

Kat got up, sat on her chair, and pulled on her red boots. “He told me that he thought he could live without bull riding if I stayed
in his life.” Then he’d kissed her while fireworks exploded above her. But she didn’t say that.

Cari’s voice fell to just above a whisper. “Then why don’t you go back to him?”

In the silence, Kat heard the answer creep in, the one that had always been right behind all their conversations, all their emotions. An answer she’d known but refused to admit.

“Rafe is wounded. He’s got a hole in his heart the size of Montana, one that he’s had all his life.” She studied her friend’s perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect attire, and with a rush she knew exactly what it felt like to have a gaping emptiness inside. “But I can’t close it for him, regardless of how much I long to or try. Although I might ease the pain, eventually I won’t be enough. He’s got to go beyond himself and his good looks and the adrenaline of flirting with death, go beyond his fame and fans and even me if he wants to find healing. He needs to see that God has a good plan for Rafe Noble, one that He intends to use. Only then will Rafe understand how much God loves him.”

“Sounds like you’ve done some pondering on this.” Cari met her gaze.

“Until Rafe figures out who God made him to be, he’ll always be looking for something bigger than the emptiness.”

“Looking, perhaps, for the real Rafe Noble?”

Kat grabbed the newspaper. “You know, I’ve been trying to do things my mother’s way for too long. It’s time for the Kitty Russell in me to have a go at planning the soiree of the year.”

CHAPTER 17

R
AFE EXHALED TO
the count of ten as he raised his injured leg against the weight, strengthening his knee. His entire body shook, and the pain had morphed into needles encasing his body.

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about,” Nick said, leaning against the cement wall of the smelly high school weight room. He went over to sit on a deadweight machine. “I spent way too many hours in here.”

Rafe lowered his leg. “Feel free to work up a sweat.”

“I have to pick up some supplies at the hardware store.” Nick grinned at Rafe. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Don’t hurry.” Rafe leaned back on the padded surface of the weight machine. He needed to get his own wheels and soon, because with his dad’s truck half apart in the shed waiting on a part, he’d had to rely on Nick or Stef to drive him into town every day. However, those small gestures went a long way toward healing the broken places inside.

Rafe caught his breath, sat up, and repeated the exercise.

Once upon a time, he’d had a trainer to help him bounce back
from injury. But he couldn’t afford a trainer or Nautilus machines. So he’d begged Nick’s old football coach for the keys to the high school weight room.

He’d never played football, leaving that to Nick. But as a thirteen-year-old, he’d stood outside this room watching as Nick pumped up his muscles to become even more of a superhero to his scrawny brother.

“Maybe I’m a fan.”

Rafe repeated another rep. Breathing hard, he didn’t hear the footsteps. He looked up, surprised to see Lolly Stuart standing by the door.

“Hey, Rafe.”

“Lolly.” He grabbed his towel, stood, and caught his breath as fatigue rushed over him. He should slow down a little. He wasn’t sure why he spent every day at the gym or riding the mechanical bull except that the old habits made him forget—at least for a while—everything he’d lost.

Lolly continued to stand there, arms folded over her brown T-shirt.

“Can I help you?”

“I made a mistake.” She pursed her lips. “I should have . . . I should have left it alone.”

Rafe frowned.

Her tone turned angry. “I’m the one who called Bradley Lymon. I’m the one who sent him out here.”

Well, Lolly didn’t cultivate a reputation for meddling without reason. Rafe shrugged, then went over to the bench press. “I would have found out about him sooner or later. Besides, Kitty and I would have never—”

“Stop, Rafe. I know what I saw. Kat had feelings for you.”

Yeah, feelings of pity.
He lay down on the press, then planted his feet on the floor. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter. She’s gone. I’m over her.”

“Sure, you are.” Lolly walked over to him. “I’ll spot for you.”

Rafe took the weight off the mount and lowered it.

“She’s in trouble, you know.”

Rafe blew out a breath, raised the weights. “I know,” he huffed. He lowered the weight, breathing hard. “Not my problem.”

“She made you
her
problem.”

Rafe lifted the weight again, blowing out, and lowered it. “No, she saw me as a way out of her problems.”

“She wanted to help you, encourage you.”

“She wanted to use me for her own purposes.”

“Her purposes might have been good for you. She saw beyond the flashy Rafe to the man inside, and she knew you needed a friend.”

Oh, she’d been a friend all right.
“I was just a summer fling before she married Slick.”

“Have you ever thought that she doesn’t really want to marry Bradley, but she doesn’t feel like she has a choice? Maybe she doesn’t believe you want her. Maybe she needs a better offer.”

That was the problem. He wasn’t the better offer, regardless of how much he wanted her. “What do you want, Lolly?” Rafe ground the words through his clenched teeth as he pushed the weight up and held it, his arms shaking.

Lolly gripped it and helped him place it back on the mounts.

He let his trembling arms drop.

“Piper told me that you were working out, that you wanted to show Manny you could still ride.”

Rafe sat up and looked at her. “I can still ride. I’m just . . . waiting for the right event.”

“I might have found it.” Lolly pulled an envelope from her pocket and handed it to him. “Make her believe you want her. It may be what you’re looking for.” She walked away without another word.

His crazy heart leaped as he looked at the New York postmark. He had so many problems that one letter from Kitty wouldn’t change anything.

But he pulled the letter from the envelope anyway and found an invitation to a charity event—his kind of event from the looks of the bull on the red-and-black glossy front. Inside, a listing of the bull riders, the ones with whom he’d competed and partied. His old life. He looked at the dates—Labor Day weekend, the day before the GetRowdy Bull Riding invitational at the Garden. An event that, until last year’s accident, he had fully planned to compete in.

And the purse . . . he knew then what Lolly meant. A cool five hundred thousand dollars. Rafe closed the card, tapped it against his sweaty leg.
I can still ride
. He stood up. For a moment the world spun as the blood left his brain.

He
could
still ride. Only this time he’d do it with purpose. Because although he’d turned her down, the plight of the Mercy Doctors hospital—brought home because of Manny’s recent turn for the worse—kept haunting him.

He wanted to help Kitty. Even if she no longer wanted him in her life.

“Have you finished the book yet?” Piper came into the diner and dropped a manila folder on Lolly’s counter.

“Leave me alone.” Lolly served Egger his roll and orange juice.

Piper smiled. “Finish the book, Lolly.”

She handed Piper a menu and shrugged, like the book didn’t sit on her kitchen table, calling to her, taunting her, reminding her of all she’d lost. So John had left. She would too. Leave and start a new life. Thanks to Lincoln, her future had already been put into motion. She spilled ice onto the counter as she poured a glass of water. “When are you leaving for New York?” Lolly asked.

“Tomorrow. Rafe went early with Manny and Lucia to get ready for the event. He wanted Manny to meet the riders his dad worked with.”

“How’s he feeling?”

“Rafe or Manny?”

Lolly set the water before Piper and wiped the counter. “Both.”

“Manny’s doing okay. Getting weaker. As for Rafe, he’s been working out all hours of the day and night, riding that big black mechanical monster in the barn. I didn’t know so much training went into bull riding. I thought they just got on and prayed.”

“He’s a pro. He’s going to do great.”

Piper took a drink. “Nick believes in him.”

“When does Manny head home?”

“Right after the event in New York. Manny needs more treatment, but his father didn’t have life insurance, so they’re out of money. Lucia is going to sell the ranch, but they mortgaged it for Manny’s first round of treatments, so even if she does sell it, there’s not much left.”

Lolly picked up the folder Piper had set on the counter. “What’s this?”

“Something I had my friend Carter dig up.” Piper took it from
her. “Listen, it’s just a theory, nothing for sure, but I thought you should know.”

“Know what?” Her suspicions sparked, and she shook them away.

“I thought Bradley Lymon looked familiar, and now I know why. Years back, I did a research piece on people who used psychiatric conditions, like hallucinations and delusions, as criminal defenses. Sort of like research into the temporary insanity plea.”

“Were you thinking of using it?” Lolly smirked.

“Don’t get me started. Anyway, I came across a rather sensational case in Pennsylvania from fifteen years ago. A patient had Cushing’s syndrome, and the symptoms eventually turned into full-blown psychosis.”

“Yikes,” Lolly said.

“It gets worse. The patient killed his wife in a fit of hallucinogenic rage.”

Lolly handed a menu to a rancher who sat down two stools away. “Gives new meaning to the old-fashioned blood test.”

Piper nodded. “The world gets smaller. The defendant had a public defender, a rookie, fresh out of school. You’ll never guess who that might have been.”

Lolly nearly poured coffee on the counter. “I have this sick feeling you’re going to say Bradley Lymon. Why is that?”

“Here’s the creepy part. He was engaged to be married. Three weeks after the wedding, his wife had a heart attack and died.”

Lolly set down the coffee and steadied her hands on the counter. “That’s very sad.”

Piper pushed the folder toward her. “Or . . . frightening. I called in a few favors and got her autopsy report. The Pennsylvania ME
faxed it to Carter a couple days ago, and he sent it with some more research. They found elevated levels of potassium chloride in her system.”

Lolly opened the folder, but the chart inside meant nothing to her. “And that matters because . . . ?”

“Potassium chloride is used in the treatment of Cushing’s syndrome.”

“Piper, your brain works differently than mine . . .” In fact, Lolly wasn’t sure she liked how Piper’s brain worked at all. Ever since Piper had eyed the picture of Lolly’s opening that formerly hung on the wall, she’d acted odd, asking her seemingly innocent questions about her life before Phillips, commenting on old family recipes she might have used. Deep in her heart, Lolly knew that Piper
knew
.

“Let me give you a few more dots to connect. Bradley Lymon’s deceased wife was former Senator Frank Hiller’s daughter, of the Pennsylvania Hillers.” Piper leaned forward, lowered her voice. “Lymon inherited two-plus million dollars from her death.”

Oh.
Lolly’s eyes widened. “
Oh
.”

“Yeah,
oh
. It seems to me that if I were, you know, related to Kat, like an aunt or something, I might put a Closed sign on my front door and head to New York. Just in case she needs someone to check up on her. I remember her saying that she had never felt better than when she was here.”

“I thought she was talking about the fresh air.” Lolly shot Egger a look as he raised his empty coffee cup for a refill.

“Maybe. But some of the symptoms of potassium chloride poisoning are fatigue, confusion, weakness, anxiety, and one source even mentioned headaches.”

In all of John’s daydreams about this moment, when he stood on the deck of a condo overlooking the beach and the rolling surf of the Pacific Ocean, feeling the salty air film his hair and watching the sun dip into the far reaches of the horizon, Lolly stood at his side. Sometimes she held his hand. Sometimes she wore a ring. Always she looked up at him, eyes shining.

Never had he imagined he’d stand here alone with his real estate agent hovering behind him to seal the deal.

“Gorgeous, huh?” the Realtor said, clapping him on the back. “It doesn’t get much better than this.”

John could argue that point. No, Montana didn’t smell like the ocean or lull a man to peace with the rhythmic sounds of waves combing the shore, but it had its own beauty, the way the sky stretched so far it took him beyond himself and back again, making him realize the magnitude of God. This view didn’t include the smells of pine and aspen, the sound of cicadas, the sight of contented cows sleeping in the sun. It certainly didn’t include the soft smile Lolly gave him at the end of a long day. How he missed a Reuben sandwich.