by Jill Gregory
“This isn’t a date,” she repeated cautiously. “Just a horseback ride and supper.”
“You got it.”
Date shmate. He wanted to spend time with her. And there was no sense rushing into anything more. For one thing, she was nowhere near ready for anything more serious—not after the hell her asshole husband had put her through. And Rafe didn’t do serious. Not with anyone.
Still, he had to be honest with himself. He wanted her. Bad. Raw physical need pulsed through him as he watched her face, lovely and thoughtful and filled with hesitation. In that strapless little peach sundress, her hair tumbling in soft waves around her shoulders, Sophie McPhee looked far more luscious than any of the desserts arrayed on that countertop.
But he had to be careful. She wasn’t anything like the women he dated these days. They expected nothing more of him than a few drinks and a rollicking good time in bed. And that’s exactly what he gave them.
He’d never invited any of them to the ranch, certainly not for supper. The thought had never occurred to him.
But Sophie was different. He couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her. He was crazy attracted to her, even though he knew he had to tread carefully. Her husband had done a real number on her, and the last thing Rafe wanted was to risk her getting hurt again.
He didn’t want to get into anything complicated himself—just the chance to get to know her better. But he needed to go slow. Maybe inviting her to supper wasn’t his smartest, most thought-out move, he reflected. But it was too late to take back the invitation now. It had just sprung out of him with a life of its own.
“So what’s it going to be? That platter looks heavy.” He took it from her as she still seemed to be trying to make up her mind.
“I’ll be there. What time?” She was smiling at him, and he loved the softness of her eyes when she smiled. If he was ten years old and not a grown man, he’d have pumped his fist in the air.
“How does five o’clock sound?”
“Perfect.” She took the platter back and started toward the door. “I’m warning you though. I haven’t ridden in a long time. I might be a little rusty.”
“I’ll find you my oldest, fattest, gentlest mare.”
She shot him a look. “I’ve never been that rusty.”
“Good, because I only have one old, fat, gentle mare, and no one over the age of eight gets to ride her.”
“Great, you pick the horse, I’ll bring dessert.”
“Deal.”
She was gone with a faint swish of that floaty peach skirt.
Rafe was whistling as he went out Mia’s kitchen door, got in his truck, and roared off for Tobe’s Mercantile to buy some steaks.
Perched on a folding chair in the living room filled with women of all ages, shapes, and sizes, Sophie tried to concentrate on Lissie, who was opening her gifts, and Ivy, who was assisting her, but instead, she found herself thinking about her “date” tonight with Rafe.
The word kept circling in her head. Date. Despite what he’d said, she, Sophie McPhee, was going on a date.
With Rafe Tanner.
She still couldn’t believe she’d said yes. But she hadn’t been able to imagine saying no.
As to where it would lead, she decided she’d figure that out later. For months she’d been living life cautiously. Boxed in by her anger and her fears. She was sick of it. Just for tonight, she wanted to have fun, let go, break out of the box Ned—no, she herself—had put herself in.
Rafe had invited her for a horseback ride and supper. How dangerous could that be?
It took a while, but gradually she began to focus on the tiny adorable dresses and sweaters and little matching socks Lissie was holding up for everyone to see. Sophie smiled in delight at the lace-edged denim skirt from the Gap in size three to six months, but a pang began to sear her heart. She kept the smile pasted on her face as Ivy, who seemed to have shed her sober mood, displayed the stack of receiving blankets and stuffed animals and dolls that were piling up in Mia’s living room.
She’d always thought she’d have a baby of her own by now. As she listened to the talk of the other women at the shower, to the stories and laughter and advice offered to Lissie on everything from feeding schedules to diaper brands, she wondered with a stab of longing if she’d ever be part of that special sorority of mothers, the women who loved and nurtured and knew the joys of tucking a son or daughter into bed at night and wishing them happy dreams, teaching them to say please and thank you, and how to print their names, or helping them stir chocolate chips into a bowl of cookie dough.
She tried to ignore the ache deep inside her as Lissie exclaimed excitedly over each of the tiny outfits and fluffy stuffed animals. She told herself that having supper with Rafe tonight would be a good distraction. The pain of what she didn’t have—might never have—still burned in her heart, but she wouldn’t have to think about it for the entire rest of the night.
Then she felt her grandmother’s gaze on her from the sofa where she sat knee-to-knee with Martha and Dorothy.
Bippity, Boppity, Boo.
While everyone else was focused on Ivy and Lissie strewing wrapping paper and opening gifts, Gran was waving a sheet of paper in the air, trying to catch Sophie’s attention. She looked beautiful in a gauzy pink sweater and her best gray slacks, her white braid drifting serenely down her back. But it was the sheet of paper that made Sophie sigh.
The List, she thought grimly.
She was certain of it when Gran pointed at her and smiled.
Fortunately, everyone else in the living room was busy oohing and aahing over a tiny ruffled pink and white dress from Dorothy and didn’t notice.
Except her mother.
Sophie saw her mom glancing between her and Gran. There was sympathy in her gaze.
But actually, Sophie thought wryly, her mom was the one who needed a list of new men to date.
Gran, Martha, and Dorothy wasted no time cornering Sophie in the hallway off the living room the moment the last of the gifts was set atop the pile and Ivy began collecting torn wrapping paper and stray bows.
“Dear, we’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Martha began.
“We wanted to give you some space, like you asked for, but you’ve been home several weeks now and—”
“And we need to talk to you before the bakery opens on Monday,” Gran continued. “You’ll be too busy for weeks after that.”
“I want to make it clear that I didn’t give my nephew your phone number,” Dorothy piped up, her deep voice a little too loud for Sophie’s comfort. “I did suggest he stop by and say hello sometime, but—”
“He told Dorothy you were out with Rafe Tanner.” Gran’s eyes were keen, watchful. Martha and Dorothy both stared at Sophie like hungry birds studying a worm. “Roger seemed to think you two were coming back from a date.”
“There was no date,” Sophie said firmly. “I had car trouble driving home from Lissie’s. Rafe happened by and helped me out.”
Which was the truth. Just not the whole truth.
“You should take a look at our list, Sophie,” Gran urged, thrusting the paper at her.
“Hang on to it for me, Gran. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” Gently she pushed the sheet back into her grandmother’s hand.
Martha’s lips pursed in disappointment. Dorothy blinked her round brown eyes and sighed. Both women turned toward Gran, waiting for her to do what was best for her granddaughter, and insist.
But for once Gran hesitated, searching Sophie’s face. “Are you sure, dear? You don’t want to take a peek, see what you think?”
“Mom.” Diana came up, laying a hand on her mother’s arm. “Don’t pester Sophie. She’s a hostess today, remember? She needs to help Mia in the kitchen, and say good-bye to the guests. This can wait for another time, can’t it?”
Way to go, Mom. Sophie threw her mother a grateful glance, kissed her grandmother’s cool cheek, and escaped.
People began coming to her, saying
their good-byes and streaming toward the door. She slipped into the kitchen and glanced at Mia’s cheerful blue and white “coffee cup” clock as she began stacking dishes and platters in the sink.
She felt light, almost happy. And not, she told herself, because there were only three more hours until she’d be going riding with Rafe at Sage Ranch.
She was simply happy because, once again, she’d escaped having to deal with The List. And the shower had gone well. It had been wonderful catching up with old friends, Lissie had been delighted with all of the baby games, decorations, food, and gifts. And her mom had stuck up for her again when it counted.
It has nothing to do with Rafe Tanner, she told herself.
And she almost believed it.
Chapter Fourteen
Pulling on socks, jeans, and a sweatshirt later that afternoon, Sophie heard the sounds of wheels crunching on the drive. She zipped up her jeans and hurried to her open bedroom window in time to see Doug Hartigan climb out of an old Explorer.
He was wearing a crisp blue shirt and a pair of khaki pants and carrying a bouquet of daisies, asters, and miniature roses.
Give me a break.
But before she could turn away, the front door opened and her mother stepped out. Sophie didn’t want to watch, but somehow she froze, unable to tear her gaze away as her mother walked straight up to Hartigan, cupped his face in both of her hands, and touched her mouth to his.
Eeeeuww.
Sophie’s eyes narrowed. Was her mother really in love with this jerk? How? Why? If he hurt her . . .
She heard Hartigan say something, but the wind was rustling through the ponderosa pines and blew away the words, though she thought she caught one of them.
It sounded like . . . anniversary.
Was today some stupid dating anniversary? Had they been going out three months? Or five months?
Whatever.
She was about to spin away when she caught sight of her mother’s face.
She was cradling Hartigan’s flowers as if they were rare and precious gems. And her face was glowing.
Sophie forced herself to look at Hartigan. She’d never seen him smile before. He looked . . . almost human. It was a jolt. He was beaming at her mother and there was no trace of sourness in his face now. He looked . . . they looked . . . happy.
Moving away from the window, a strange feeling came over her. She dug an old pair of riding boots from the back of her closet and tugged them on, her mouth set as she tried to erase the expression she’d seen on her mother’s face as she gazed at Doug Hartigan.
And the way he’d looked when he gazed at her.
She didn’t want to think about any of that. She wanted to think about Rafe. About their date . . . or non-date.
About how she needed to be careful, guard her heart.
She needed to be smarter, more cautious, and more prepared than her mother, who seemed to actually believe she was in love with the teacher from hell.
Chapter Fifteen
Sunlight shimmered like gold dust above the mountains as Sophie pulled up before the sprawling two-story stone and timber house at the end of the long paved drive.
Sage Ranch.
For years it had been like a home away from home for her. And now the great house dominating the valley loomed before her in the sun-dappled haze of late afternoon, as lovely in its own way as the forests and meadows and streams that flowed in every direction across Tanner property.
A pair of hawks circled overhead in the cloudless sky. A horse whinnied from one of the corrals and was answered by another. In the distance, glowing foothills arced toward giant mountain peaks.
Memories washed over Sophie.
Sweet memories. All the happy times she’d spent here—riding around the big corral with Lissie, or galloping across the meadow beyond, racing down to the creek.
Rowdy family dinners with Lissie, her three brothers, and their parents in the spacious ranch kitchen.
Doing homework at the long cherrywood table as the Tanner boys roared like young bears, in one door, out another, sometimes laughing, sometimes arguing and tussling, always shouting.
For a moment, gazing at the house, even larger than the one her great-grandfather had built, she thought wryly of all the ways and times she and Lissie had bedeviled Rafe.
Never once had she ever dreamed that she’d be coming here on a golden afternoon to go horseback riding with him.
She lingered a moment in the Blazer, absorbing the familiar but still breathtaking surroundings. It wasn’t only the weathered barns and paddocks and corrals, the outbuildings and sheds, that gave Sage Ranch the heft and dignity to match her own family’s property; it was the thousands of acres of land that stretched beyond it as far as the eye could see.
While Sophie’s mother had sold the Good Luck ranch cattle and leased most of the pasture to other ranchers after splitting from Hoot, Sage Ranch was still a highly profitable working horse ranch, and one of the most gorgeous properties in the state. Graced on one side by a craggy wood of stately ponderosa pines and on the other by pastures and gentle hills, the ranch boasted one of the most spectacular vistas in all of Lonesome Way.
Sophie drank in the sight of more than a dozen horses grazing in the white-fenced pasture. The meadow beyond the house was lush with wildflowers. And in the distance, the Crazy Mountains reared toward the sky, their dark silver peaks towering across the horizon.
She forgot all about the sight of those mountains though as Rafe walked out the front door and toward the Blazer.
Her pulse quickened. The man was pure cowboy. All tall, lean, and handsome, the brim of his hat partially shading his eyes. He looked perfectly matched to the rugged, dangerous beauty of his surroundings.
“I’ve been watching for you,” he said easily.
The black mutt loping at his heels was more than twice as big as Tidbit, and quivering with excitement at the prospect of meeting a new friend.
“Any trouble finding the place?” Rafe grinned as he opened the Blazer’s door for her.
“I think I could find it no problem blindfolded and upside down.”
“Considering how much time you used to spend here, I’d be shocked if you couldn’t.” As he helped her step down, the touch of his hand set her heart bolting like a runaway train.
It was in that moment that she felt a twinge of panic.
She’d been telling herself all afternoon that she could handle being alone with Rafe, that they were just friends.
But all he had to do was touch her hand, and little sparks seemed to burst through her. Unsettled, she glanced at him, then knelt to pet Rafe’s wriggling dog—Starbucks, he told her—before she reached across to the passenger seat to remove a covered pan.
“What’ve you got in there?” Rafe asked, one eyebrow lifted.
“Dessert. Peanut butter cookies.”
“Hey, my favorite.” Then those cobalt eyes turned piercing as they studied her, and she knew he wondered if she’d remembered that from the Tanner family dinners. Sophie had—but she wasn’t about to tell him.
Inside the house, Sophie set the pan of cookies on the kitchen countertop as Starbucks trotted over to a rag rug before the sink and curled up.
It warmed her to see that not much had changed in the downstairs rooms. Sage Ranch still felt cozy and homey, despite its size. It looked much as it had when Rafe’s parents were alive—the handsome dining table and buffet was still there, as were the family portraits, the built-in mahogany bookcases, and the big overstuffed sofas in shades of cream, gray, and rose that warmed the open spaces of the high-ceilinged living room.
But some things were different, like the gaudy floral carpet in the little side parlor where Rafe’s mother used to sew.
Sophie didn’t like it nearly as much as the lovely faded needlepoint rug that had been there before.
Rafe followed her glance.
“My ex-wife added a few touches of her own.” His mouth twisted. “I never changed things back,
just haven’t done much with the place since she left, except new windows and the granite countertops and backsplash.”
“How long has it been . . . since she left?” Sophie asked quietly as they walked from the house toward the corral.
“Four years. Ivy was seven.”
So young, Sophie thought with a pang of sympathy. Too young for such a blow. “I see. I’m sorry.”
But she didn’t see. She didn’t see how a woman could leave a fragile young daughter, a husband, run off, and never come back.
She wished she’d asked Lissie more questions about Lynelle when they’d had lunch at Roy’s.
Rafe had already saddled the horses and he gave Sophie a leg up onto the dappled Appaloosa named Belle he’d chosen for her.
As she slid into the saddle and adjusted the stirrups, she was surprised by how much at home she felt. She’d started riding when she was six, but she hadn’t been in the saddle for years now, since she married Ned.
“Where are we headed?” she asked as Rafe swung up on his gelding, Deputy, with lithe grace. The powerful gray stallion pranced sideways, restless to be off.
“How about the creek? Too far?”
“You must be mixing me up with a tenderfoot,” Sophie retorted. She touched her heels to Belle’s flanks and the horse took off across the pasture at a trot. “Try to keep up—if you can.”
She urged Belle to a gallop and laughed as they surged ahead toward the larkspur-studded meadow and the lush grass leading to Sage Creek.
Hidden in the shadow of the woods thirty feet from the main barn, Buck Crenshaw watched Rafe and Sophie ride out across the open pasture.
So that’s how it is, he thought, and spat into the dirt.
He’d heard the low murmur of their voices and had seen Tanner, damn his hide, help the McPhee woman up into the saddle. But Buck hadn’t been able to hear anything they said.
Didn’t matter though.
He knew what was up. And what he was gonna do.
After the two of them set off, he waited until they were specks on the horizon before he stepped out of the cover of the trees.