Finally, he lifted his head and brushed the hair out of her eyes. “We’re both adults, Carly. We knew what we were doing when we started it.”
“I’m not sorry,” she said fiercely, her fingers curling through his hair. “I’ve never been sorry about loving you.”
“Shhh...” Her words made him ache. He hadn’t known until tonight how much he yearned for this. This feeling—as if he’d been dead and was alive again. She’d done it. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to lie here beside her every night, holding her in his arms.
“I know you thought I left you for Tom or some other man.”
It was the last thing he’d expected her to say. Silent, he held her, unsure how to answer that.
“I didn’t. I didn’t meet Tom until after I left. He was ten years older than me. He was ready to settle down, and he fell in love with me, even though he knew I was pregnant with another man’s child.” She breathed deeply, as if resurrecting these memories of Tom came from some painful place inside her. “He was good and kind, and when he asked me to marry him, I said yes.”
“For Evan’s sake?”
“Partly,” she said truthfully. “I wanted Evan to have a father. But to say that I wasn’t still reeling from our breakup would be untrue. I was. I was also young and scared and alone. Tom was safe. An anchor.”
And he wasn’t Evan’s real father. Rafe clamped down on the stirrings of anger that still swirled around the thought. Only an idiot would feel jealous of a dead man at a time like this, but Tom had shared a part of Carly that Rafe had never gotten to share. He’d been a father to the boy Rafe had sired, and slept with the woman Rafe had only known in his dreams for the past nine years. The anger was irrational. Low.
But there was another side to his anger.
Nine years ago, Rafe thought, he had been another man. He’d lived on the sharp edge of a razor, riding broncs and bulls and spitting at danger for fun. What kind of a father would he have made? It took only a moment to come up with the answer: lousy.
His accident had been a revelation. A reincarnation, in a way. It had stripped him of the need for danger and given him this place. But he wondered, with his future still in turmoil, whether he’d really changed all that much? He still had no idea how to parent a kid. Laurie’s boys were the closest he’d come to kids in years, and while he enjoyed the time he spent with them, he wasn’t responsible for them. That responsibility, he suspected, was a whole different story.
One thing he did know, however. He’d let Carly down nine years ago. He’d let the ball drop, and Tom had simply been there to pick it up.
Her skin felt warm beneath his hand. “Did you love him?”
“Yes. Very much.”
Somehow, it relieved him to hear her say it.
“But it was never—” she began.
“What?”
Her eyes slid shut. “I can’t explain it. We shared a life, Evan, even a future for a while. But...”
Rafe brushed the hair from her eyes, waiting.
“He didn’t—” She stopped, staring at the ceiling in the dark. “He didn’t make me feel—”
His thumb skimmed the air-cooled tip of her nipple. “This?”
A shudder tore through her, and her eyes slid shut. “Yes.”
A fierce possessiveness poured through him as his hand slid down her belly and found the dampness between her legs. “Or this?”
She inhaled sharply. “Yes.”
He felt himself grow hard against her, knowing he would take her again and again until they were spent. And he wouldn’t think about tomorrow. Or about how loving Carly had never been enough to hold her. Dipping a finger into her, he felt her whole body convulse. Then, he kissed her deeply, not wanting any more talk.
As he shifted his weight onto her cooling body, Carly sank into the bed, surrendering to the onslaught of his mouth. Words failed her, as they always seemed to do around Rafe. But as his mouth slid downward, his tongue swirling against her damp, heated skin, she forgot to think, and allowed him to drag her back to heaven with him.
Morning light filtered into the room. Dust motes danced in the shafts, like schools of fish moving in the same direction. The red numbers on the digital clock on the bedside stand read 7:45. Rafe’s head rested on her shoulder. Light played off his lashes and the dark stubble on his jaw. His skin felt warm and smooth, and she adored the weight of him sprawled against her.
Her body craved sleep, but she couldn’t close her eyes. She’d inventoried his every muscular curve and hollow and stored it away in her memory. Last night might have to last her for a lifetime.
She looked down to find him watching her.
His eyes were half-open and a lazy grin tugged at his mouth. “I half thought I’d wake up and find out I dreamed it.”
“No such luck, Buster,” she said lightly.
“You got that backwards, Legs. I’ve got you right where I want you.”
She sighed, edging down until her chin rested on top of his head and his arms curled fully around her. “This wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?”
“Uh...no. But you know what they say about best-laid plans—” He grinned at the pun. “Sorry.”
She grinned back. “Did I tell you how amazing last night was?”
He rolled over on top of her. “Remind me.” He dropped kisses on her ear, her throat, her collarbone, while her fingers traced the smooth muscles of his back.
“We should—” she was distracted by his tongue drawing slow circles toward her breast “—talk about this, don’t you... think?”
His mouth found her nipple. “About this?”
“No,” she answered breathlessly. “About...this. Us.”
He lifted his head. “Us?”
Carly’s lips parted just as the phone rang, making them both jump.
“Damn,” Rafe muttered. “Don’t get it.”
“It could be Laurie. She said she was going to drop Evan off this morning.”
Rafe reached for the phone. “Hello?” His gaze slid up to Carly, and he rolled off her. “Sure, just a minute,” he said, handing her the phone. “It’s for you.”
She sat up with a frown, pulling the sheet with her, and put the phone to her ear. “Hello? Oh, Mr. Maynard.” Carly ran an automatic hand through her tousled hair and held up one finger. “Uh...yes. Oh, gee, I appreciate that. Really. I—Yes, the leg’s better. Uh-huh. My head, too. The dizziness is almost gone.” She glanced up at Rafe and rolled her eyes. “When? Um, I’m not exactly sure yet. No.” She chewed on her lip. “I understand. Of course. I get my walking cast on next week. I’ll call you then? Yes. Well, actually, I...”
Rafe went cold and stopped listening. Her walking cast. That phrase struck him as ironic as hell. She’d be walking right out of his life with the damned thing. He got out of the bed, pulled on his jeans and shifted around on the floor beneath the discarded pile of clothes for his shirt. Behind him, he heard her quietly hang up the phone.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” he replied, not looking at her.
“That was the—”
“Law firm.”
“Yes. Where are you going?”
Back to reality. He looked at his watch as he clapped it around his wrist. “It’s late. I’ve got a million things to do.”
“Rafe?”
He turned back to her after a deep breath. “Yeah?”
She threw her legs over the side of the bed, taking the sheet with her. “Don’t go yet.” There was a plea in her voice.
He leaned over and kissed her cheek, careful not to touch her anywhere else. Gently, he said, “I’m not going anywhere, Carly. I live here, remember?”
Stung, she lowered her eyes.
Rafe cursed under his breath as he shoved the tails of his shirt into his jeans. Of course she was the one leaving. What the hell had he expected? It was understood, right? Hell, yes. Even if he wanted her to stay—which, dammit, he didn’t—what did he have to
offer? Unless he could win that rodeo competition, he was back to square one. But that wasn’t her fault.
He rubbed a fist along his stubbled chin. “That was out of line. Sorry.”
That earned him an undecipherable look. “No, you’re right. I am the one who’s leaving.”
“We’re both adults,” he said rationally. “We can deal with this like adults.”
The certainty was fading from her eyes. “Right. And...how exactly do we do that?”
He sat on the edge of a chair and pulled on one worn boot. “We chalk what happened last night up to bad judgment.”
“Well,” she said on a breath of humorless laughter, “there certainly was that. On the other hand—”
“Throw in a couple months of loneliness,” he added pulling on his other boot, “some healthy lust, and there you go. We just put it behind us. Forget about it.”
“Forget about it?” Carly blinked at him.
“No harm, no foul. We both enjoyed it, right? You’re not gonna walk away from here with a baby this time. We were careful.” Shrugging on a fleece jacket, he stared intently at the zipper as he fumbled the mechanism.
Careful with everything but our hearts, Carly thought.
“I think it’s best,” he said, not looking at her, “if it doesn’t happen again. Agreed?”
Her heartbeat echoed in her ears. Damn him. She’d gotten used to her aloneness. Complacent about her nunlike existence. She’d assumed she could go on indefinitely that way. Then he’d walked back into her life and sabotaged all that. He’d given her a taste of hope, then snatched it away.
Well, it was best. Absolutely. Her life was full—meaningful, even. She had a job and a future waiting for her in Cincinnati. And after all, she reasoned, what had really changed? It was the same old song. Rafe Kellard, the king of noncommitment, was giving her the brush-off once again.
She hugged the sheet around her. She was past being hurt by him. She wouldn’t let him into her heart. She had to keep her priorities straight—what was important was Evan.
. “Agreed,” she told him. “We’ll scratch sex right off our ‘to-do’ list.” She reached for the T-shirt he’d discarded on the floor by the bed and pulled it on. “Let’s see, that only leaves...telling Evan you’re his father and, hmmm...working out those pesky details.”
“Carly—”
“Other than that—breakfast. Are you hungry? I’m suddenly starving.” A blatant lie. “I think I’ll go change, then make some coffee and eggs, if you still like them. Sunny-side up, right?”
Rafe narrowed a look at her. “Carly, don’t do this.”
“Do what? Accept the obvious? That I’m sitting here in this bed all by myself because you’re too scared to think we might have something here?” She stood, reaching for her crutches and waving off the dizziness that had nothing to do with head injuries and everything to do with injuries of the heart.
Rafe grabbed the crutches and held them from her. “You know as well as I this would never work.”
“And why is that, Rafe? Because you might lose this place? Because I’m an attorney? Because the moon is full?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw as he stared at her.
She went on. “You know, what happened between us last night wasn’t about any of those things. But the sad thing is, you think it was. Well, that’s never what I’ve been about, Rafe. And it never will be. But you can go on choosing to believe that,” she said, grabbing her crutches out of his hand, “if it makes it easier for you.”
She breezed past him on her damned crutches, wishing like hell she was graceful and erect, and cursing the sadist who’d invented plaster casts.
Chapter 10
A bluesy Rickie Lee Jones ballad about ghosts echoed through the kitchen when Rafe returned from feeding the stock. He’d spent the past twenty minutes trying to think of what to say. Naturally, he’d failed. He couldn’t think of a thing that could set things right between them. Carly was angry and he was a heel. And despite her denials, their lives were too complicated to be as simple as she claimed.
So they sat across the wooden table from one another, pretending to be hungry. Neither was, but they both stabbed at the overcooked eggs and half-burned sausages on their plates and moved them around to make it look as if they’d eaten. Rafe nursed his coffee, hiding behind the rim of the mug to watch Carly avoiding his glance. The damned awkwardness was louder than the music.
The smell of something burning suddenly stung his nose. Leaping up, he snatched two blackened pieces of toast from the toaster and waved off the smoke.
Carly slapped a palm against her forehead. “Ugh! The charcoal! I knew I forgot something.”
Rafe tossed them in the garbage. “I can make more.” “Please don’t. Enough carcinogens for one meal,” she said, fork-wrestling a blackened sausage.
He cleared his throat. “We need to talk about Evan.”
“Ah, yes. Item number two.”
Ignoring the barb, Rafe slid into his chair and took a swig from his coffee mug. “We need to tell him the truth.”
Her fork settled back against her plate. “I know.”
“So?” he asked. “What have you told him already? About me, I mean.”
“Only that his real father and I were together once and that we’d made him out of love.”
Rafe didn’t take his eyes off her. “Does he think I didn’t want him?”
“No,” she answered. “I never told him that. Tom was his father for most of his life, and that was what he knew. I told him the truth last year, and he seemed to accept it. He’s never asked me that question. He’s only eight, Rafe.”
“He’s never wondered why I’m not in the picture?”
“Maybe,” she allowed, “but if he has, he hasn’t voiced it.”
They sat facing one another, still as stone. Rickie Lee’s voice filled the silence stretching between them. The morning sun poured over Carly like honey, gilding her fair skin and shining on her hair. Rafe cursed himself for noticing, but was helpless to stern the pang of longing evoked by seeing her at his kitchen table.
He stood, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Rafe,” she said gently. “I know you’re worried—”
“Worried? Hell, that’s the understatement of the century. I mean, what do I know about kids? I’ve never had any. I don’t know the first thing about fathering one. What if I screw up like my old man?”
“You’re not your father, Rafe. You won’t ever be. Evan’s crazy about you.”
“How do you know?” he shot back. “I brushed him off the other day when I was chasing you back into the house. He wanted to show me something, and I—”
“Children are very forgiving. If you’re expecting perfection of yourself—”
“Dammit, Carly, don’t give me psychobabble.”
“There’s no need to yell.”
“I’m not yelling!” he heard himself shout. He pulled back, dragging a hand down his face. “But, dammit, Carly, you’re his mother. You’ve always been his mother. Of course he’ll forgive you. Right now I’m just an interesting diversion with an impressive buckle on his belt. How the hell do you know how he’s gonna react when he learns I’m his father?”
A noise from the doorway drew both their glances. Rafe’s heart fell when he saw Evan standing in the doorway, a stricken expression on his face.
“Evan!” they both gasped at once.
The painted wooden box in his hands crashed to the floor and splintered as he turned and ran out of the house like his tail was on fire.
“Oh, no,” Carly breathed, her fingers against her mouth. “Evan, wait!”
Rafe muttered something crass. “How much of that did he hear?”
Carly reached for her crutches. “I’ve got to go to him.”
Rafe put his hand out to stop her. “Wait. Let me talk to him. It’s between us right now, anyway.”
“No, I have to—” Tears brimmed in her eyes as she struggled to her feet. “Oh,
God, Rafe...”
He laid a hand on her arm. “You want me to be a father to that boy? Let me go. I’ll talk to him. We’ll try to sort this out. Okay?”
She nodded silently, and Rafe took off after Evan.
Laurie, Gus and the boys were halfway up the steps when Rafe burst through the front door. Her smile froze at the expression on Rafe’s face. “Hi, Rafe. What’s going on?”
“Did you see Evan?” he demanded, his gaze scanning the empty yard. Sweat had popped out on his forehead, and he was breathing as if he’d run a long way.
With her arms full of a sleeping bag and overnight things, she laughed. “Of course I saw Evan. He just hopped out of my car and ran in ahead of us. He wanted to show you the box he made for...” She glanced at the front door where Carly had just appeared behind the screen and the gears began clicking. “Uh, Gus?”
Gus was already way ahead of her. “Boys, why don’t we go see that bull Rafe’s got penned up over in the corral? I think Pedro would even let you feed him, if you ask real nice.”
Jordan tugged at Rafe’s sleeve and whispered, “I saw Evan and Macky run to the barn.”
“Jor-dan! Why didn’t you say something?” Laurie stared at her youngest son.
Jordan shrugged. “Nobody asked me.”
Rafe took off down the steps at a lope toward the barn as Gus herded the boys in the direction of the bull pen. Laurie turned to Carly, who stood watching Rafe go.
“Are you all right?” Laurie asked.
Carly shook her head, holding her fingers against her mouth.
“If you want me to go, I’ll—”
“No.” Carly pushed open the screen door. “Please come in. I think I could use some company right now.”
Rafe found Evan in the farthest corner of the loft, behind a stack of hay bales. In the dim light, he made out the small figure with arms crossed over his bent knees, head down atop them.
He sat down in the soft, fragrant hay beside him. Evan abruptly turned ninety degrees away.
To Love A Cowboy Page 15