Taming Rafe (10 page)

Lolly had to find that picture. She closed the drapes, darkening her trailer. Somewhere, probably in the last place she’d look but the first place Kat would notice, she’d put a copy of that picture of a
five-year-old girl in little red boots, taken with her daddy. The one Aunt Laura had sent to Kat after her daddy died.

Lolly cupped her hand over her eyes, exhausted. She hadn’t realized how bringing out the old stories would surface her own memories of Bobby’s laughter, his raucous spirit. The way he’d been her hero time and again. She’d hardly slept last night, remembering the day he’d shown up in Sheridan with Felicia and a solution to her darkest nightmare.

She shouldn’t blame Felicia for what she’d done to Kat. She’d defied her father in marrying Bobby, and as a widow with a child, Felicia couldn’t take care of herself. She’d run from her pain and started over.

In some ways, Lolly had done exactly the same thing.

But if she didn’t find that picture—and destroy it—everything she and Felicia had sacrificed might be for naught.

She’d emptied out her bookshelf and found nothing wedged in the pages of the ancient, yellowing romance novels she’d read long, long ago when she still had idealistic dreams. When she thought she and John might have a life together.

Good thing she quit reading.

Then Lolly had searched under the daybed—in the photo albums she kept hidden in Kat’s room. She found nothing but grainy black and whites of her childhood and a few formal shots of Katherine over the years.

Finally, she shoved everything back under the bed—this time way, way back—and searched through her knickknacks, photos of her and John, a newspaper clipping of Lolly’s Diner right after it opened. She stopped, amazed at how young she looked. She had been about twenty-three.

She was looking through a stack of postcards when a knock came at the door.

“Hello? Lolly?”

She shoved the postcards into a big manila envelope and kicked them under the sofa. “Come in.”

Kat came in, looking sun kissed and happy, and flopped on the sofa.

Lolly tried not to cringe. Kat grew up in luxury, with servants and designer clothes, gourmet food. To see her sitting on the fraying green sofa Lolly had purchased for twenty bucks at a garage sale nearly two decades ago . . .

In fact, the entire trailer seemed like a dump, from the paneled walls with fake vines over the windows and the orange Formica in the kitchen to the green shag carpeting and the rusty fixtures in the bathroom. The place even smelled . . . old. Lolly wanted to crawl under her two-tiered plastic planter and hide.

The fact that she’d decorated Kat’s room, well, for
Kat
, all those years ago felt ironic at best. Pitiful at worst. Only Kat’s good breeding must be keeping her from running from the trailer screaming. She clearly had some acting ability because she looked comfortable, even content, as she kicked off her boots and curled up on the sofa, drawing an orange crocheted pillow onto her lap.

Lolly sat opposite her on an old La-Z-Boy. “How was your day?”

“It was a good day. Very good.” She wore a dreamy expression. “Did you know the Silver Buckle is nearly a hundred-years-old? The Nobles’ great-grandfather homesteaded it—it’s been passed down through the family. It’s huge too—eighty thousand acres. It
even has petrified rocks and an ancient Indian burial ground. Rafe is going to take me to see them.”

The way she said Rafe’s name had all of Lolly’s instincts rising. “Rafe was nice?”
Please, no!
Because a nice Rafe meant a scoundrel Rafe. Which would lead to a brokenhearted Kat and a very,
very
angry Lolly.

“The perfect gentleman.” Kat drew her knees to her chest, and her smile dimmed. “But he was just putting on an act. I wasn’t fooled for a second, and most of all, I’m not impressed. Rafe is still trouble—trouble wrapped up in a lot of charm. And I’m going to corral it and use it for good, despite his best efforts to stop me.”

A streak of relief went through Lolly.

Kat ran her fingers through her hair. “I felt bad for him, though. He was in lots of pain but wouldn’t admit it.”

“He’s a cowboy; they never admit they’re in pain.” Lolly had John to prove that. He’d never admitted how she’d broken his heart, but she saw it in his eyes and it grieved her. Sometimes she wished they could just move away, start over. But she’d already done that once. She wasn’t going to do it again.

“I think he’s starting to like me. Which means he’ll agree to help me raise money for my foundation.”

“I’ve never met anyone quite as . . . optimistic as you, Kat.” Lolly meant it in a kind way.

But Kat’s smile dimmed. “My friend Cari says I like to see the best in every situation to the extent that I don’t really see reality. Yes, I want to get Rafe to help me, but a part of me wants to find a way under that steely exterior, get him to see that there’s more to his life than moping around his ranch.”

Did Kat think she could somehow heal the hurts that Rafe Noble had been nursing his entire life? “Kat, I don’t think—”

“He calls me Kitty.” She smiled. “No one has ever called me Kitty before.”

That’s not true
, Lolly started to say but held her tongue. “Be careful. Rafe’s got charm, but under all that sweet talk and glitter is a man who’s broken many hearts.”

Kat looked over at her and laughed. “Oh, I’m not going to fall for him. Rafe is just a means to an end. He’s nothing more than a cowboy with a million-dollar smile to me.” She swung her legs off the sofa, stood up, and stretched. “Trust me, I’m going to get every dollar I can out of that smile.”

Rafe knew what Kitty’s great plan was—to drive him crazy. He had tried his best to wipe that hopeful grin from her face. He’d tried to bore her to tears with the history of the ranch. Distract her with mindless facts about beef cattle. Even see if he could scare her by putting her next to big animals like a horse.

She acted like she’d been adopted and raised by Gulliver’s Houyhnhnms.

Nope, evidently Kitty had every intention of sticking around to drive him insane with mindless questions about the ranch until she deigned to reveal her plan, which probably entailed him writing a check with five zeros.

Rafe knew her type—fund-raisers were all the same. They’d act like they’re your friend and then hit you low when you weren’t looking with some heartrending story about misery in Somalia.

He was on to her. And if by tomorrow—okay, yes, he’d invited
her back to the newly created Silver Buckle Ranch for Tourists—she didn’t start talking, then . . . then . . .

What?

A smart, honest man would admit he’d enjoyed the day. Once they got past the snarling part. Even if she’d made him bleed with that comment about the accident.

Rafe should at least listen to her bright idea—and not just because he’d enjoyed her company. Maybe it was her smile or the way she listened to his stories about the ranch without filling in the gaps. How she didn’t reach out to baby him, even though, much to his chagrin, he’d grunted in pain right in front of her. Tomorrow he’d dig out his old crutches from high school.

In fact, she didn’t gush much at all. No fawning, no, “Oh, Rafe, you’re just so brave. I’m so scared every time you get on a bull.” There was just a quietness about her that had caught him off guard and made him smile.

Kitty didn’t ask him once about the sport. She talked about life on the Silver Buckle. A life he’d forgotten or, rather, pushed from his mind.

As he showed her around the place, reminding himself of the things he’d learned, he’d felt the knot of despair in his gut begin to uncoil. As if, for a little while, he could forget the mess he’d made of his life.

“What was your favorite part about growing up on the ranch?” she’d asked as she fed the horses alfalfa snacks.

Instead of mentioning the days he spent with his nose pushed up against the window watching his dad and Nick ride out together or helping his mother tend the kitchen garden or sorting the cattle while Nick herded them into the corral, Rafe said, “I love winter,
watching the wind swirl up over the drifts. The smell of summer alfalfa, my mother’s canned peaches. I love Sunday afternoons playing Parcheesi.”

“I play Parcheesi,” she’d said quietly, giving him a smile that made the entire day seem way too short.

Yes, he could think of worse ways to earn his keep than to spend all day in the company of a beautiful woman.

And she
was
beautiful, in a simple, not-trying way. Kitty wasn’t bone skinny like so many of the women he knew; she had curves. The silly cowgirl outfit worked for her, especially with her easy smile and the twinkle in her pretty eyes. Her full and expressive lips intrigued him, and he found himself wondering . . . and then reminding himself that she was trying to take him for all he had.

Oh yeah, they had the makings of a real friendship.

Still, being with Kitty Breckenridge put him in such a decent, noncombative mood that when he joined Nick, Piper, and Stefanie for supper, he managed to have a real conversation about ranching and the stock market without throwing a jab even once.

As he went to bed, laying an ice pack on his aching shoulder and another on his knee, he felt better than he had in months.

He couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

CHAPTER 7

“H
AVE YOU EVER
ridden a horse?” Rafe couldn’t believe Kitty had talked him into saddling up a mare, but she could be persuasive. She had this way of making him think he’d thought of the idea when all along he knew she had come to this party with an agenda.

Her tenaciousness rivaled his own, something he hadn’t counted on. Or perhaps something he had
begun
to count on over the last couple of days. Frankly, he’d stopped asking. Mostly because he had simply begun to enjoy her company. And the distraction from his current list of problems.

He’d spent yesterday picking wildflowers, watching prairie dogs and meadowlarks, showing her the new calves, demonstrating how to feed the orphans, and generally listening to himself talk about ranch life in a way he hadn’t known he even remembered. Today, however, he’d lost the battle of talking her into exploring Silver Buckle land from the inside of his truck.

Kitty had simply turned a deaf ear to this coaxing and instead hung around the corral, holding out treats to the horses, all the while saying,
“What’s your favorite horse, Rafe?” and “How old were you when you started riding?” and “Did you ever ride a bronc in the rodeo?”

Someone should shoot him, because he found himself answering her.

He finally chose the most docile mare in the corral and let Kitty stroke her velvety nose and run her hands down her neck. She just smiled at him, and good grief if he didn’t find himself going out to the barn, picking up a saddle, and balancing on one leg as he threw the blanket and saddle over the mare and tightened the cinch. The mare barely moved as Rafe explained to Kitty how to mount her.

Then, to his shock, Kitty put her foot in the stirrup and swung up. She looked so natural sitting there that for a second he couldn’t think of anything to say.

She answered his question about her previous riding experience with a cryptic, “Nothing that actually breathed.”

Hmm. He whistled to his old roan, and the horse trotted over, letting Rafe halter him. Pulling the animal close, he mounted the rail, leaned over him, and threw his bad leg over the bareback animal. He grabbed the mane and scooted up, the familiarity of being on a horse oddly healing.

“We’ll start with a walk. Just urge her forward. She’s a smart horse; she’ll respond to you.” He gave his own horse a nudge, and the roan trotted out. Without the leverage of both his legs guiding the animal, Rafe knew he’d be in trouble, so he slowed the animal to a walk.

Kitty followed. “This is kind of fun.”

Of course it was. To her, picking wildflowers and throwing bread crumbs to prairie rats was the president’s ball. She even stuck a handful of pink roses in her hair.

But he had to admit that sitting in the sunshine, watching an
antelope and her fawn graze had made him feel the breath in his lungs for the first time in . . . well, since he was six, waiting for the hole in his heart to heal.

If he didn’t watch out, he may just have the same problem in the future.

They rode down the road to the gate. Kitty reined her horse, got down, and opened it. She waited as Rafe urged his horse through, leading hers, then closed the gate behind him.

“Always leave a gate how you found it.” She remounted. “I read that in a book.”

He found himself smiling. Again. He probably smiled too much lately. They walked the horses through the hay field, and he pointed out the bulls grazing in the field above the house.

“Do you read a lot?” Rafe asked.

“Yes. Mostly . . . Westerns.”

He glanced over at her and saw her face redden slightly. Cute.

“Do you read?”

“Sometimes.” Until recently, he hadn’t read a book in a year or two. “Why do you like Westerns?”

“The heroes are always chivalrous, always fighting for the women they love.”

“I don’t think real life is like that. If a woman doesn’t want me, I’m not going to go charging bullheaded into her life, trying to change her mind.” Then again, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to do more than wink at a woman to get a date. Maybe he’d keep that tidbit to himself.

Kitty wore an inscrutable expression. “Why not?”

“If she doesn’t show me she wants me, then apparently I’m not worth her time.”

“Maybe she just . . . wants you to put some effort into it.”

Rafe harrumphed.

“Don’t you think that a man should fight for the woman he loves?”

“A woman should give a guy the benefit of the doubt. Even if he doesn’t say it, he still cares about her.”

A soft smile creased her lips.

Rafe spurred his horse out ahead. She made him say the stupidest things.

“You sure you never rode a horse before?” he asked as they crossed into another field. Cows lounged on the table, content, well fed. The smell of silver sage spiced the languid breeze.

She laughed. “I used to go down to the carousel in Central Park and I’d ride the horses, pretending they were my own herd.”

“I’ll bet you had a horse named Shadow or Beauty or Princess.”

“Hornet. Fastest stallion in the West.”

“Of course.”

Kitty nodded. “Actually, my dad was a cowboy. But he died when I was young, and my mother traveled a lot, so I grew up in the care of my grandfather. Or rather, my grandfather’s money. Mostly I stayed in various boarding schools. The closest thing I got to ranch living were postcards from my aunt Laura, pictures from
National Geographic
, and the carousel.”

“Sorry about your dad. That must have been tough.”

She gave him a kind smile. “Thanks. Probably the mystique of his life only fueled my desire to learn to ride and rope. It made me wonder how much cowboy I had in me.”

He let his gaze run over her. She occasionally took her hat off
and fanned away the gnats gathering about her face. He noticed a few bites on her arms and the tan line on her fair skin where her sleeve cut across her arm. A smattering of freckles over her nose had appeared over the past few days, and she smelled good, a fresh scent that tangled his thoughts and left him thinking of her long after she’d gone for the day.

“I think you have plenty of cowboy in you, Kitty.”

Her smile vanished, and she swallowed, averting her eyes.

He felt it too—something that pulsed between them. “So, tell me about this organization—the one I owe half a mil to.”

She looked over at him, and for once he didn’t see accusation in her eyes. “It’s called Mercy Doctors—well, actually, that’s the organization we support. You owe money to the Breckenridge Foundation, an organization founded by my mother. We’re the sole funding agency for a Mercy Doctors hospital in Guadalajara, Mexico.”

“Are you a doctor?”

Kitty wrinkled her nose at him, gathering up all those freckles. “No. I just help doctors. I have a very helpful degree in English, which completely qualifies me to run a million-dollar organization.” She shook her head. “Lately, I haven’t been very good at my job.”

“I doubt that. From where I sit, you’re pretty good at talking people into doing things.” Rafe expected a smile but didn’t get it.

“I wish. I love helping people, but for all my hard work, it seems like I’m not making a difference. It’s not enough.” Kitty twirled the reins between her fingers. “I just wish I could do one amazing thing that would . . . I don’t know, make me feel like . . .” She shrugged.

He could finish her sentence for her. Like her life mattered? That there might be a reason she—or he—was here on earth?

“Do you ever feel that way? Wanting to do something amazing? be someone special?”

Only all his life. “I used to. But it’s too late for me.”

“It’s never too late to do the right thing.”

Apparently she didn’t live in his eight-second world of life-ending bull wrecks. He slowed his horse to walk beside hers. “Wanna tell me your brilliant plan yet?”

Kitty smiled at him. “Do you come out here a lot? It seems like the perfect place to leave your hectic life behind.”

“I haven’t really been back since I left home to rodeo. Mostly it’s been pit stops since then.”

She reached out and patted her horse’s neck. “How am I doing?”

His mind blanked out, and he just stared at her.

Kitty raised an eyebrow. “Riding lessons?”

“Oh. I think you have walking down. Maybe we should try a trot if you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.” She grinned. “You’re a good teacher. Just like I hoped.”

Everything inside Rafe went very, very still. Was she . . . flirting with him? He’d had women flirt with him before, but this was different, sweet even. He’d forgotten what it felt like to have a normal conversation with a woman who didn’t have bull-riding stars in her eyes. Until three days ago.

Yes, Kitty most definitely had flirted, because her face reddened in a way that had nothing to do with the sun.

Rafe looked away. He hadn’t felt this flustered with a woman since he’d been eighteen and signing his first autographs. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

She took a deep breath. “It smells incredible out here. I always dreamed about the smell, but I never imagined it would be so fresh. I can’t get enough of it. Thanks for showing me around, giving me a chance to get to know you.”

Sure, he could ride a foaming-at-the-mouth bull, but put him next to a nice woman and he wanted to run for the hills.

Rafe urged his roan past her, unsure what to do. When he looked back, she smiled at him, and a cold sweat prickled on his neck.

He’d known her only four days. No one could change a person’s world in that short a time, regardless of how beautiful and positive and easygoing. What’s more, he wasn’t the kind of man who fell in love. Infatuation, yes. But not the kind of love that makes a man do stupid things. Like ride bareback through a field of wildflowers with a busted-up knee.

Oh, brother.

His world had been shaken; that’s all. Kitty and her mystery plan served as a very healing distraction from his miserable life. Which was exactly why his heart suddenly double-timed in his chest. He swallowed away the tinny taste and angled their path toward another gate, not exactly sure where to lead her next.

Kitty opened and closed the gate again without asking. When she remounted, she said, “You mentioned something about ancient burial grounds.”

The ancient burial grounds. Yes, yes!
He forced his voice to idle. “Yeah, right. They’re over this knoll.”

“I read that this area isn’t too far from where Custer had his last stand.”

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, right over the
Bighorns, pushing through the pine trees, between shadows. He pointed west. “Custer National Forest is off in that direction. And beyond that is where the Battle of Little Bighorn took place.”

“I’ve never been there.” The wind knocked her hat back on her head.

“I have. I can hear the ghosts sometimes. It’s a somber, very . . . dark place.”

She turned to him. “Do you have any ghostly places here? any battles that took place on Noble land?”

Rafe gave a wry chuckle. “You don’t know the half of it.” He instantly regretted his words. Some territories weren’t open to exploration, and he meant to keep it that way. He clicked to his roan, rode down the ridge.

Kitty said nothing as she followed. The shadows deepened as they rode into the gully, and nothing passed between them but the sounds of a meadowlark and the horses’ hooves on rocks.

He led her up a hill to a small grove of pine trees. “When we were kids, we’d find arrowheads and other Blackfoot artifacts here.”

She dismounted and handed Rafe the reins, then began walking slowly, hunched over.

“What are you doing?”

Kitty looked at him, and the sun caught the twinkle in her eyes. “Finding an arrowhead, of course.”

Of course.
Because ancient relics concealed by time and weather could be easily dug up. “This spot has been picked clean of any old memories.”

He heard whistles and saw below them a small herd of cattle moving slowly in the direction of Cole’s land. Nick and Cole came into view, followed by CJ, on drag. Poor kid. After Bishop had
finally let Rafe ride with him, Rafe had spent plenty of time behind the herd, eating cattle dust.

Rafe lifted a hand. Cole waved back.

Nick, however, broke away from them and trotted up the knoll.

“Hey,” Kitty said to Nick as he came close.

He tugged on the brim of his hat. “Ma’am.” Then he turned to Rafe. “What are you doing out here?” He looked pointedly at his braced leg. “I thought you were supposed to stay off that.”

Rafe felt about six-years-old, lying in the dirt while his brother laughed at him. “Unless you’re blind, I’m off it.”

Nick lowered his voice. “I can appreciate what you’re doing here. But don’t wear yourself out.”

“Yes, sir,” Rafe snapped.

They stared at each other for a long time until Nick turned his horse and trotted back down the hill.

Kitty stood there, petting her horse’s nose. “He seems worried about you.”

“He’s not worried. Just bossy. He doesn’t like the fact that I might have a life off this ranch.” In the settling silence Rafe heard his anger. Old battles indeed.