Taming Rafe (16 page)

“Yes, Kitty Breckenridge, aka Russell, you are. You have it in your bones. And I believe in you.”

“Okay, so a small part of me wanted to learn to ride a bull, but really, Rafe—”

“Hey, if you want, we’ll add it to our list of activities for our high-paying guests.” He wound his arm around her waist and pulled her into the room.

Daylight streamed through the windows, and at this hour, only two weary guys looked up from their beers. She’d never even been in a real-life bar before, especially one that looked like it should have spittoons on the floor. Bradley would be horrified.

That thought made her yield to Rafe’s pressure. Maybe she
didn’t want to do everything expected of her. Maybe she wanted to ride a bull, just like her dad.

“Can you make it not throw me off?”

Rafe raised one dark eyebrow.

“Okay, but if I get hurt—”

“You won’t get hurt. I’ll be with you.”

“What, are you going to ride behind me?”

He led her around the tables, carrying a small bag. “Do you want me to?”

Kat stopped, stared at him. “Would you?” Despite the fact he’d ditched his crutches and his neck brace and looked rather sturdy—not to mention cute in a pair of well-worn jeans, a denim shirt, that ratty hat pushed back on his head, contrasting with his clean-shaven chin—she could probably knock him over with two fingers.

“Of course.”

She didn’t know why, but those words found all the places in her heart she’d been trying to bulwark and ripped them to shreds. “I think I can do this alone.”

He dropped the bag he carried on a table. “Me too.”

Kat blew out a breath. “What’s in the bag?”

“Supplies.” Rafe opened the bag and pulled out a long rope with a sort of handle loop in the middle, a bell attached at one end. “This is the bull rope. The bell is so that it’s weighted at the end and falls off easily when it’s loosened. The mechanical bull has one, but I thought you should know what you’ll use and what to do when you face a real bull.”

Right. Hardy har har.

He handed her a leather glove. “Put it on.”

“Only one?”

“You only need one hand. And you’re right-handed, so . . .”

She put it on. It swam on her.

He took out a roll of white medical tape and tightened it down on her wrist.

“Nice.”

“We’re just getting started.”

Kat picked up the rope. “Is this yours?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he said, taking out a pair of spurs.

She turned over the rope and saw an extra layer of padding. “What’s this on the bottom of the loop?”

“Sheepskin. I sewed it on to help protect my knuckles.”

She fitted her hand into the hold. Somehow, with her hand wrapped around it, she had the image of Rafe gripping this very rope as he hung on for dear life, riding the bull. Doing what he loved. Emptiness welled within her, an echoing chamber as she realized all he’d lost.

He pulled up a chair to sit on, leaned over, and fastened one of the spurs onto her boot.

“Do I need those? I’m pretty sure he’s not getting away.” She nodded to the headless bull in the middle of the padded mat.

Rafe glanced up at her. “You’re not going to get much grab on a mechanical, but they’re generally for holding on.”

He put the other spur on, tightening the strap down over her boot. Then he pulled out from his bag of tricks a shorter length of belt. This he wrapped around the boot, right above her ankle. “We don’t want those boots coming off during the middle of your ride.”

“Oh no, that would be bad.”

One edge of his mouth turned up. “Now touch your glove.”

She reached into the palm, noted its dark, shiny surface, its stickiness. “What is it?”

“Rosin. It’s on the rope, too, and it’ll help you hang on.”

“That’s important, I think.”

Rafe smiled. “Okay, lean over and touch your toes.”

“Excuse me?”

“Listen, it’s almost guaranteed that the bull will rattle every joint in your body and that you’ll pull a muscle if you’re not loose, so you need to be as limber as you can be. Stretch out; jog in place; breathe deeply to get the oxygen to your brain, deep inside.”

“You’re serious.”

He stared at her. “Yeah, what did you think? We just run out there and hop on the first available animal? This is a sport, Kitty, just like football or soccer.”

“I don’t know. I guess I thought it took more guts than . . . than . . .”

“Brains? Is that what you’re getting at?”

“No!”
Maybe.

But she’d lit his fire. “Guess what? We study these animals. We know how the bull we draw stands in the chute, whether he leans or squats, if he throws his head around or tries to hook you. I know how he leaves the chute, if he blows out hard or stumbles out and explodes seconds later. I know if he likes to break legs against the side of the gate, if he spins to the right or the left, and if he throws inside or outside of the spin. I know if he walks on his front feet, which means he kicks up and takes an extra step before his back feet land. And I know if he stays in one place or if he travels down the arena. Most of all I know if the bull is going to try to kill me when I get off.”

Kill him? Panic wound around her throat and tightened. She never wanted Rafe on another bull again. Ever.

Then again, if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be much use as a fund-raiser, would he?

Kat had to work to unclench her jaw, and she blinked away the burn in her eyes. Then she lifted her arms above her head and began to stretch.

Rafe turned away to talk to the bar owner.

She put her leg in front of her, leaned over it, stretching her hamstrings, her thighs. Perhaps she didn’t need him to ride bulls. Just to flash that charming smile.

Or better yet, she didn’t need any of it. Maybe she should . . . stay. Start a new life. She hadn’t exactly turned her mother’s organization into a stellar success.

No. She couldn’t give up on Eva. Or kids like Carlos.

“Kitty, you about ready?” Rafe held a pair of fringed turquoise chaps. He buckled them around her waist and behind her thighs.

As she stood there, something strong and brave swelled inside her.

“Introducing the amazing Kitty Russell,” Rafe said.

Silly, stupid tears. “Point me to the bull.”

He shook his head, but she saw a gleam in his eyes. “We’re ready,” he said to the slim guy manning the controls.

The operator nodded, as if New Yorkers risked their necks in his establishment every day of the week.

She walked across the padded surface and climbed onto the rim under the mechanical beast. The thing seemed twice as big as the horse she’d ridden yesterday. Rafe held out his hand and gave her a leg up. And then she was on the bull.

“Put your hand into the loop there.”

She reached for the rawhide rope.

“Palm up, Kitty. It’s not a shopping bag.”

She glared at him but changed her hand position.

“Now, scoot up real tight on your rope. This is where you position your legs.”

Kat leaned back and braced her legs around the bull.

“Lean forward, up over your rope.”

She hunkered down, feeling like an idiot.

“Now, remember, be smarter than the bull. The bull—or Big Red, as we call this guy—will move back and forth, not unlike a teeter-totter. The only thing is, you’re riding both sides, and it’s spinning too.”

A teeter-totter?
“Rafe—”

“In order not to get your arm jerked out of socket, you need to think ahead. When the bull’s backside is up, your arm is a brace. Push your shoulder forward and jam your fist into the bull’s back. Keep your chest out, your neck tight, and your eyes on the head of the bull. Don’t look away, and go where his head goes.”

Kat tried to mimic that movement.

Rafe rubbed his eyes, his jaw tight.

“See—”

“Shh. When the bull’s backside comes down, you’ll need to hunch forward a little to keep balance. Stay up on or at and over your rope. Pay attention to your left foot position. Most riders buck off into or toward their riding hand, so you want to clamp down on your left side to keep balance. Also, remember your free arm is there to help you keep your balance. Don’t let it dangle like a fish.”

“No dead fish.”

“Please listen. I’m trying to help.”

So was she, because the adrenaline inside her was already launching her off the bull, and everything about this felt surreal. “Rafe—”

“You can do this.” He looked so earnest that for a crazy moment she believed him.

Her smile faded because right then, she felt it, everything that she’d been feeling about him and her frustration at his inability to see exactly what God had put inside him.

Perhaps he saw the same thing in her. Which made a lump larger than Big Red form in her throat. Maybe Kitty Russell wasn’t a fantasy.

Maybe she was real.

“When you’re thrown, try to land with most of your weight on your feet and hands. If we were in the arena, I’d tell you to then run as if your tail is on fire, but I’m thinking Big Red won’t go after you. Much.”

Kat tried to smile.

Rafe touched her leg. “It’s all about attitude. You were born to do this. It’s inside you—a rhythm, a beat. You’ll get it.”

“How long do you plan to keep me up here?”

And there it was, a capital
T
for trouble in his eyes.

She swallowed and nodded at the operator. “Ride ’em, cowboy.”

CHAPTER 10

“W
HY ARE WE
making potato salad for three hundred?” Kat sat at the table in the kitchen of the Silver Buckle, cutting her tenth onion.

“Because I’m suddenly in charge of the Fourth of July picnic, which has to be the best one in the history of time.” Piper ran her wrist over her forehead. “Apparently, people in this town think I can cook.”

“You can’t? Because Rafe says you’re a great cook.”

“Rafe is delusional. His taste buds have been knocked out of place one too many times.” Piper dropped her cut potatoes into the pot. “Feel better? I know I’m always game for a good cry.”

“Oh, very funny.” Kat had given up trying to hold back the tears long ago and let them run freely, nearly blinding her. It did feel cathartic. A release of all the pent-up tension—and guilt—of being around Rafe.

Although she’d drawn the line between them and Rafe hadn’t crossed it, that kiss—
his
kiss—remained in her thoughts like a brand.

That and the feeling of her heart taking flight outside her body as she rode Big Red over and over. So the machine had been on one of the lowest settings—she’d stayed on for eight seconds. When Rafe caught her as she swung down, she knew she’d broken through a sort of invisible wall and suddenly learned to breathe.

Yep, Kat needed therapy because she was painfully addicted to the Silver Buckle and Montana . . . and especially Rafe, who’d made her believe in herself. She’d kept returning every day, wearing the red boots, learning how to rope and herd cattle. She was just doing research for their big event, of course.

Tomorrow she was going to get another lesson from Stefanie on her horse-whisperer techniques. Kat had watched for only an hour, but even she could see that Stef had a way of gentling horses that seemed almost magical. As if she were trying to understand the animal, to get inside its head and coax it into letting her ride it.

But the head Kat wanted to get inside at the moment belonged to Lincoln Cash, Hollywood heartthrob and the biggest thing to hit Phillips since the dawn of time. What was Cash doing in Phillips, Montana, anyway?

She supposed Bradley might ask the same thing about her. Could she help it if her cell phone was on its last blip of power? She’d turned it off, hoping to save the battery for an emergency. Okay, she could have borrowed Lolly’s phone to call. If she wanted to.

Kat was in serious denial, because the idea of talking to Bradley weighed like a rock in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t even want to imagine how angry he’d be at her weeklong vanishing act. What was worse, she hadn’t yet located her aunt. No one had even hinted about the flyer, and every time she mentioned Aunt Laura, John and Lolly looked like they might be asphyxiating.

Which was how she felt when she thought about leaving. Now that Rafe had agreed to help her, it would probably happen soon.

It was strange how in little over one short week, she felt like a different person. Kitty Russell. Connected to Bobby Russell, her father. Rafe gave that connection to her. She imagined that Bobby had possessed the same maverick smile, twinkle in his eye, and confidence that drew people like a flame.

No wonder Kat’s mother had defied her own father to marry Bobby. In a way, knowing Rafe made Kat understand her mother better. All those questions about how Felicia had ended up with Bobby vanished when Rafe pulled her close for that kiss, which it would behoove her to wipe from her memory.

What if she stayed another week, like she’d originally planned? She wasn’t ready to return to the pace of New York. Besides, her boots were just getting broken in.

“Do you think he’s nice?” Piper pushed the last pile of potatoes into the boiling water and topped the pot with the lid.

“Who?”

“Lincoln Cash. I heard he’s been hanging out at the Kincaid place.” She raised an eyebrow. “I think I’m going to have to do some investigating.”

Rafe had told Kat that Piper was an award-winning reporter. Until she met Nick Noble. Apparently the Noble men had that sort of effect on a woman—made her reconsider everything about her life and turned her upside down and inside out so she’d never be the same again.

“He’s probably nice,” Kat said evenly. “I mean, everything I’ve read about him seems nice. Until recently, he was into supporting charitable causes.”

“I’m going to find out why he’s here.” Piper wiped her hands on a towel.

With Piper’s words, an idea formed, and Kat blurted it out. “Have you ever heard of a Laura Russell?”

Piper adjusted the flame on the stove. “No. But I haven’t lived around here long.”

“She’s my aunt, the sister of my father, Bobby Russell. A long time ago, she sent me a letter postmarked from Phillips. I was hoping that she might still be in the area.”

Piper stirred the potatoes. “I’ll ask around. See what I can dig up.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Kat added the onions to the bowl, then wiped her eyes.

When she looked up, Piper laughed. “I think you need to look in the mirror. You have mascara running down your face.”

“Great,” Kat said. She went upstairs to the bathroom and noticed that across the hall Rafe’s door was closed. He’d gone up to shower earlier, and now the scent of his soap lingered in the room. She peered into the mirror and attempted to resurrect her appearance with a wad of wet tissue.

“You’re beautiful even with raccoon eyes.”

Kat turned to find Rafe standing in the doorway, buttoning his shirt. Wow, did he look good in gold, nearly as good as in red. It picked up the flecks in his eyes. . . .

He had reached the middle button when she saw it—a scar down the center of his chest, thick and faded. His hands stopped moving as he noticed her stare.

“What happened to you?” she asked, moving closer, reaching out.

He caught her wrist before she could touch him and stepped back. “It’s—”

“Is it from a bull?”

“No.” He cleared his throat and finished buttoning his shirt. “Stefanie and I are twins, and she was born with a good ticker. I had a hole in my heart.”

He met her eyes, and in his gaze Kat saw an embarrassment she didn’t expect. “I had surgery when I was six to fix it.”

“Are you okay? Is it safe for you to ride?”

He ran his thumb under her eye, where moisture still remained. “Depends on who you talk to, but, yeah, my heart’s fine. Don’t worry.”

But a
hole
? “How serious was it?”

He frowned. “I almost died. Twice. But that was before surgery.”

“I’ll bet that was scary for your parents. And even Nick. He’s what, three years older than you?”

“Five.” At the mention of Nick, Rafe’s eyes hardened. “I’m sure Nick didn’t care one way or another.”

“Of course he would care, Rafe.”

Rafe was already turning, heading down the stairs.

And just like that, it made sense. Rafe, born with a hole in his heart. Nick, his older brother, who obviously still cared about him and his health, judging by his words the other day on the range. Rafe, who didn’t stop at roping but became a bull rider as if trying to prove something. To his father? To Nick? To himself?

Like a cattle prod to the brain, she got it. Rafe rode bulls not for the glory or the women or even the money.

“I guess I wanted to live up to the name I had,”
he’d said. If anyone
could live up to the name Noble, Rafe seemed the perfect candidate. Aside from his mishap in New York, he’d been a gentleman, kind and patient. Add in all that bravado and grit, and he seemed noble down to his toes.

Kat, better than anyone, knew what it meant to want to be worthy of a name. She’d longed to be a Russell most of her life but had not known it until the first time she’d ridden Big Red.

Lord, please show me how to help him.
Up until now, the idea of her somehow cracking open Rafe’s hard exterior and getting him to help fund her cause had been her sole mission. But what if God had sent her here, using her own desires to intersect her path with Rafe’s?

For however long she might have.

Lord, make my time with him count. For whatever Your plan is.

She followed Rafe down the stairs and to the kitchen. He moved in a rolling gait now that his sore knee was healing. He hadn’t combed his black hair, and it lay curly and tousled on his head. Too easily she remembered his head bent forward as he wrapped his muscled arms around her and taught her how to rope.

“I can’t believe what this town is doing for this actor. What’s his name?” Rafe stole a hard-boiled egg.

“Lincoln Cash. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen any of his movies.” Piper poured the potatoes into a colander and steam rose, filling the room. “He’s been nominated for an Academy Award.”

Rafe opened the fridge, pulled out the pitcher of iced tea. “Oh yeah, I think I met him once. At a charity event. Big blond guy?”

Piper put the pot back on the stove with a clunk. “You’ve met him?”

Kat felt another tug of hope. Rafe knew celebrities. People they could invite to their Western soiree.

Rafe poured himself a glass of iced tea, then glanced at Kat. “I have to take off. But you’ll be there tonight, right?”

Let’s see . . . the town was having a picnic, a rodeo, a street dance, and fireworks. Hmm, sounded boring. “Of course I’m going to be there.”

Rafe gave her a wide smile, adding a wink. “Good. See you tonight.” He limped out the door, a
ker-thump
to his wobbly step that echoed the one in her heart.

“Where’s he going?” Kat asked as she watched him climb into an old cherry red pickup and back out of the yard.

Piper lifted a shoulder. “Wouldn’t say, but he went into town yesterday too after you took off.”

The question dogged Kat as she helped Piper make the potato salad and later load it into the truck with the barbecue ribs. Piper looked very Western in her jean jacket, boots, and skirt, and Kat made a mental note to stop by Lolly’s trailer and change. No particular reason why.

Nick came out of the house, putting on his hat. “Sorry I’m late, honey.” He wore a pair of black jeans and a white dress shirt that barely hid his hard-work physique and complemented his dark hair and eyes. They made a cute pair, Piper and Nick. Watching Nick pull Piper into his arms, Kat wished she might find a man who loved her with such a public display of affection.

Perhaps she hoped for a man who loved her all the time, not just when he scheduled romance into his planner.

Kat got into the Jeep and followed Piper and Nick into town, chiding herself for her criticism of Bradley. So he didn’t have Rafe’s strength, his dazzling smile, or the tease in his eyes. So Bradley didn’t make her feel like her world spun on its axis. He was a good
man who loved her. She would call him as soon as she got back to the trailer.

Kat looked up and noticed a tumble of thunderclouds. It had been threatening to rain for two days, and she wished the sky would open up and drench the parched hills.
After
tonight, however. After she and Rafe sat under the fireworks in a clear sky . . .

Yeah, she should call Bradley right away.

Piper and Nick turned off at Main Street, and Kat pulled up to Lolly’s trailer. No sign of Lolly as she went inside, but she figured her hostess was at the diner, feeding a crowd. Or even napping. Twice in the last two days Kat had returned to find Lolly sprawled on the sofa, asleep. The poor woman worked too hard. Kat had every intention of surprising Lolly with a large, anonymous gift when she left.

Checking the clock, she turned on the shower, then rustled through her suitcase for a clean, semidressy outfit. She chose a white tank top to show off her new tan, a wispy ribbed black cardigan, and a blue silk georgette skirt that fell right below her knees. She’d add her black sandals, let her hair loose, and forget she was nearing the end of her life as Kitty Russell.

She emerged from Lolly’s trailer to the smell of hot dogs grilling from the tent in the community park. Walking to the stoplight in front of Lolly’s, Kat stood there, soaking in the aura of the festivities that ran the length of the five-block street. Police had barricaded Main from Lolly’s down past the feed store, and on one end, a band complete with fiddles warmed up. She recognized a tune about fishing she’d heard on the radio during her ride from Rapid City. In the feed store lot, someone was judging the bike parade. The
kids with their decorated spokes and seats made her recall a bike parade held in Central Park and how she’d pressed her nose against the window of her grandfather’s limousine, wishing.

She crossed the street, heading toward the giant white tent behind the feed store. Passing a wooden sign naming the community park after a local hero, she entered the tent, surprised at the crowd. Children ran between legs of adults—nearly all of whom wore cowboy hats, boots, and jeans. Of course, she’d overdressed.

She spotted Piper, who was standing next to Nick. He was listening to a portly man in a white Stetson.

Piper waved Kat over. “Get yourself a plate of food. Lolly donated her best rhubarb pies.”

“Where is she?” Kat asked.

“Cooking, maybe?” Piper gestured toward her husband with her fork. “Nick’s talking to the candidate for senator. He’s running in the primary against the incumbent.”