Redeeming Rafe

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  • • •

  Abby left Rafe standing in the hall, shaken and hollow.

  Everything she’d said was true.

  He should leave, do it right now. He didn’t need to wait around for Emory to fall in love with Bella and Alice. They were family. Even if he left and never returned, the girls would have a stable, happy home with cousins along with Dirk and Gwen’s kids for playmates. No matter what they said, no matter what they tried to demand of him, Emory and Jackson wouldn’t let a child, especially a Beauford child, want for anything. And that included love.

  Abby might be right about what could happen to girls who grew up without a father’s love—the looking for something in all the wrong places. But it wouldn’t happen to Bella and Alice. Jackson wouldn’t let it. And though Gabe might be distracted right now with his new team and impending marriage, he would settle in and step up, too. Those girls wouldn’t miss their father at all.

  As far as Abby and her nanny duties, she’d blackmailed him, but so what? For what he was paying her, she’d be a fool to leave. And if she chose to be a fool, fine. They hadn’t had any trouble finding a substitute nanny for the wedding weekend. He’d hire somebody else. In fact, he wouldn’t have to do it himself. When push came to shove, Jackson would do it or have it done. Nannies were a dime a dozen if you had enough dimes. He’d only been dead set on Abby in the beginning because Emory had been in favor of it and he’d wanted to get it done fast so he could get to Oklahoma.

  And that had worked out so well.

  But what about Abby, the woman, soft in his arms and wanting him? Where did she fit in? Or did she?

  He was still standing facing the nursery door.

  He should take a shower, pack, and leave. He could be gone in less than hour and no one would even know. He’d text Jackson from the road and then turn off his phone. That’s what he’d do. Right now.

  But, still, he took a step toward the nursery. He should look at them one last time. Maybe take a picture.

  Alice was sleeping curled up, pacifier in her mouth, holding on to a stuffed turtle. She was probably exactly as she’d been when Abby put her down. Bella, on the other hand, was on her back, spread eagle, with her covers kicked off. Her pacifier was at the foot of the bed, and there was a stuffed lion on the floor. She seemed to be saying, “Hey! Look at me, world. I don’t need no stinking blanket, pacifier, or lion. I am a lion. I’ve got this. Roar!”

  Where along the way had he figured out the differences in them? Alice, thoughtful and methodical. Bella, fierce and fearless. She, like Gabe, would always be the more aggressive twin. For the first time, he wondered which had been born first and by how long. He should know and was ashamed that he didn’t.

  He reached to draw the blanket over Bella, and she stirred. He patted her stomach to try to settle her, like Abby had shown him, but she opened her eyes.

  “Daddy?” She opened her arms. “Rock me.”

  And she was the heavy sleeper, the one less like a baby, who didn’t need to be rocked. Yet, she was awake, wanting to be rocked, wanting it from him. He hesitated. He was sweaty and dirty, and he shouldn’t give her something that she might miss.

  But she wouldn’t miss it. Jackson and Gabe would give her what she needed.

  “Rock me!” This time she wasn’t asking. He laughed a little. She probably didn’t care that he was sweaty and dirty. After all, she was Bella, Warrior Vampire. Dirt and sweat didn’t get in her way.

  When he lifted her, she looked around. “Simba?”

  He took that to be the lion. He fetched it and tucked it into her arms before settling into the rocking chair.

  After a few minutes of rocking and refusing to think, he thought she had fallen asleep, so it caught him totally off guard when she reached up and patted his cheek.

  That was the moment that his world flew apart, when he knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He didn’t deserve it, and he was the worst thing in the world for them, but he couldn’t go.

  Though he knew it would be a lapful, he got up, lifted Alice with his spare arm, and returned to the rocking chair.

  Still, they were so much like Camille. Camille had loved him so much, and it had killed her. But maybe it could be okay. Maybe, if he could keep Abby, she could protect them from him, help him keep them alive.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “No, Mother. I’m not coming home.” Abby sat on the edge of the bed. “I got another job.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment flowed from the phone line. “Then one of the universities called about a teaching job?”

  “No. Not that. Though I am teaching, in a way.”

  “High school then? Must be a private school, since you don’t have an education degree.”

  Abby wished she could let her mother believe that and take comfort in picturing her in a familiar environment like the school Abby had attended, which was also the alma mater of her mother and grandmother.

  “No. Not that either.” She took a deep breath. “I was lucky enough to find a position where I can keep Phillip with me rather than putting him in daycare. Also, I no longer have to pay rent because, as a perk of the job, Phillip and I are provided with a home.” There was no need to mention the home was provided because she was on call 24/7.

  “I see,” Susan Brooks said, though she clearly didn’t. “Abby, you are being deliberately evasive. What is this job?”

  “I’m a nanny.”

  “A nanny!” Clearly Susan forgot her number one rule in that moment: don’t forget you’re a snob, but never supply any documental evidence to support the fact. “You had a nanny. Phillip had a nanny the short time he was here. Please don’t tell me you’ve gone to work for some sort of redneck royalty, country music singer!”

  “Yes, and no,” Abby said. “I’m not working for Jackson Beauford, but I am working for his brother. And I’m living in their house.” She wasn’t going to take up how the Beauford bloodlines were as good as the Brookses’ or the Whitmans’. She didn’t care, and the Beaufords damn sure wouldn’t.

  “I see.” Abby could practically hear the wheels spinning in her mother’s head. “I wasn’t aware that any of those Beauford men, except Jackson, were married.”

  “I didn’t say he was married.”

  “Abby! What are you thinking? It’s not that football player, is it?”

  “No. Not Gabe. His twin, Rafe.” She paused for a beat or two. “He’s a bull rider.”

  “A bull rider! Abigail! A bull rider! As a profession?” Abby knew that was as close as Susan would come to breaking her rule about not talking about money. Of course, if she’d been willing to talk about money, she might have known how much—or little, as it were—Abby had been earning at Mill Time. The rule served a purpose, because you couldn’t feel guilty about what you didn’t know.

  “A champion bull rider.” Was it fair to brag about something she hated? Oh, who cared? Apparently the mean streak that had surfaced earlier remained. Abby blamed it on the day she’d had and continued on. “Considering how much he’s paying me, it must pay pretty well.”

  “I see. Now, let me see if I’ve got this right. You’re living in a commune—”

  “A plantation house built in the mid-1800s still inhabited by the family who built it.”

  “Fine. You and my grandson are living in a multifamily plantation house where you are domestic help—”

  “Honest work, Mother. Feeding your grandson was getting a little dicey.”

  “And this … this bull rider’s illegitimate child is in your care.”

  “Children, actually. They’re twins. And don’t take that tone about those girls. I mean it, Mother. Be as big a snob as you like, but do it on your own time. Those little girls are innocent and sweet and beautiful. It’s not their fault their parents weren’t married.”

  “But it is the fault of this bull rider.”

  “Not our business,” Abby said.

  “Certainly not. You’re just the help. And I’m just the snobby mother of the
help.”

  Abby chose not to rise to the bait. “What have you got against help? You have plenty of it.”

  “Abigail, you have a Harvard degree.”

  “So does Jackson’s wife, Emory. An MBA. Which is more useful than mine.”

  “But you love Shakespeare.”

  “Better than some. Not as much as most.”

  “You could have chosen any course of study.” That was true. She was a quick study. She could master anything but had a passion for nothing—well, until lately. “Anyway, I’ve let you get me off the subject. I cannot believe you’ve done this.”

  “What would you have me do?” Abby regretted the question as soon as it left her mouth.

  “Come home. You still can.”

  And she might have to if Rafe fired her.

  “We can get Phillip in a good play school a few hours a week. Hire a nanny. You wouldn’t need to work.”

  “And what would I do?” Other than fade back into a wispy nothing?

  “Care for your child. There’s always work to be done for the ballet, the orchestra, Children’s Hospital …”

  “I’m caring for my child now, Mother. And I don’t feel much like I’m working now. I play with children all day.” That was a lie. She loved those kids and enjoyed them, but she worked hard.

  “I cannot think what Meg will say.”

  Sure you can. You’re writing the script.

  “And your father. And Nate. When I learned you’d quit the waitress job, I was so sure you’d come to your senses.”

  “And you told everyone I was headed back to Boston.” Her eyes fell on the Bruins’ schedule on her nightstand. “Maybe I should come back.”

  “Oh, Abby!” Abby was immune to the joy in her mother’s voice. She wasn’t proud of it, but there it was.

  “But I’d want to work. Do you think the Bruins would hire me for something? Do you think I’m too old to be an ice girl? It would be fun to be Blades. You know—the mascot. Do you think there’s more than one person who plays him?”

  “Abby.” This time Susan sounded deflated, and Abby did feel some remorse.

  “I’m sorry, Mother.”

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with you. You’ve never spoken to me this way.”

  “Again, sorry.”

  “That bull rider has made you mean.”

  He’s made me something.

  “I do apologize. However, I’m not coming back to Boston. I like it here. I like this job. I’m surrounded by good friends. The people who work for the Beaufords are not treated like servants.”

  “Are you saying we treat our servants poorly?”

  “No, Mother. But they wouldn’t sit down to dinner with us.”

  “Of course not.”

  “That’s not how it is here. We all had dinner together tonight.” All but Rafe.

  “But, Abby …”

  “Mother. I love you. I love Daddy and Aunt Meg and Uncle Nate. Tell them. But we have worn this conversation out. I know I’ve been flippant with you, and I do apologize. Let’s hang up before we go down this road again. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  And she hung up.

  Maybe she should apologize to Rafe, too. True or not, she had said some pretty harsh things, and he did sign her paycheck. She didn’t want him to think that she thought she could talk to him like that because he’d slept with her.

  Yes. She would apologize. She wouldn’t say she was wrong, but she’d admit she had no right to talk to him in such a way and it was none of her business what kind of father he was. Maybe she’d tell him she was releasing him from their deal and that he should go chase the rodeo. He was going to do it anyway, and he wasn’t going to get any better with the girls, because he didn’t want to. Also, if he were on the back of the bull, that would ensure that any feelings she might be developing for him would be negated—immediately.

  And there were feelings—lots of them. But if she never told anyone, continued to refuse to respond to Christian about it, and never defined even to herself what those feelings meant, they would go away. They had to.

  She should go apologize now. But no. Best to wait until morning. If she went knocking on his door tonight, he’d probably think she was coming to have sex with him.

  That’s when the knock came at her door.

  It was Rafe. No doubt. Probably here to fire her. Maybe she could talk him out of it. Or, could be, he was here to have sex. Maybe she could talk herself out of that. She straightened the wisps of hair that had escaped from her bun as she walked to the door. She’d be contrite and mind her tongue.

  But when she opened the door, the first words out of her mouth were, “I’m not going to have sex with you.”

  She had no business referring to sex in any context, but apparently she had no control tonight. In her defense, sex would have been the first thing that leapt to any woman’s mind if faced with this man on her threshold.

  Fresh from the shower and barefoot with damp hair, he smelled like Irish Spring soap. He wore a pair of black running shorts and a bright blue, tight, Under Armour T-shirt that left nothing to the imagination.

  “I’m not here to have sex with you.”

  So much for that presumption—and her ego. “Are you going to fire me?”

  He looked puzzled. “No. Why would I do that?”

  “The things I said to you.”

  “For what? Telling the truth?”

  Interesting. “Then what are you here for?”

  “I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

  She gave him a half nod and stepped aside. Giving the bed a wide berth, Abby walked to the rocking chair in the sitting area. “Have a seat.” She gestured to the club chair.

  But instead, he knelt in front of her and took her hands, as he had that day in her apartment when he’d talked her into quitting Mill Time with no notice. She willed her hands not to shake in his. He was probably about to try to talk her into something else, and she was likely going to let him.

  “You were right about everything you said.” His big eyes had never looked bluer or sadder. “I’ve been playing everyone, or trying to. Turns out I’m not very good at it.”

  “I see.” Abby wanted to bite her tongue. She sounded like her mother.

  “I had every intention of serving out the sentence you imposed on me, go ride in the championship, and come back, like I said. Except, I was only going to stay a few days. Then, I was going back on the circuit full tilt. I figured by then, you’d be settled in here, and Emory would be in love with Bella and Alice. And I was never coming back.”

  Meaning she’d never see him again. For the best and for the worst all at the same time.

  “You’re speaking in the past tense.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I seem to be.”

  Relief washed over her. No more bull riding. “Ironic. I was all set to tell you that you were released, that you should just go now. It was never any of my business what kind of parent you are.”

  “I thought about leaving tonight without telling anyone.” He looked at the floor. “And I ought to do it. It would be best for Bella and Alice.”

  Something in his tone broke her heart and melted it. She pulled one of her hands from his and lifted his chin until their eyes met. “Why would you say that?”

  “They’re safer away from me.”

  That made no sense. “Do you mean safe in the physical sense?”

  “What other kind is there?”

  Pieces started clicking into place. “You’re talking about what happened all those years ago, aren’t you? With your parents and sister?”

  He nodded.

  “I don’t understand. I realize Bella and Alice remind you of Camille and that’s painful for you. Despite my outburst earlier, I’m sympathetic. But I’m not connecting these dots. Why do you think the girls are in physical danger? And from you, of all people?”

  He rose, pulled the club chair ottoman closer to Abby, and sat down heavily.

  “See, I was afraid
that night.” He briefly covered his eyes with his hand, as if he were ashamed, before looking at her again. “I was scared to death. That’s why I didn’t put the campfire fire out.”

  Abby nodded. “You told me that. You don’t even know if that campfire caused the house to burn.”

  He let out a little mirthless laugh. “I do so know. Just like I know it was my fear that killed Camille and my parents. And ever since then, I have lived my life to prove I’m fearless. And I’ve done pretty good until now. I’m afraid all the time—of the girls, of you, of what might happen, of what might not happen. And fear kills. As long as I’m afraid, death is just lying in wait around here.”

  If he had not looked so miserable, Abby might have accused him of being melodramatic. But instead, she leaned forward in her chair to close the distance between their faces.

  “That’s not rational, Rafe, even if we took out of the equation that you were a child. If fear literally killed, there’d be no one left alive. Everyone is afraid sometimes.”

  He shook his head, and a bittersweet smile bloomed on his face. “Not Bella. She’s not afraid of anything, never will be. She’d laugh in the devil’s face if he were after her with a pitchfork. Now Alice is a different story. She might seem to be afraid, but she isn’t, either. She’s just considering, working the angles. She wouldn’t laugh in the devil’s face. She wouldn’t have to, because she’d be so far ahead of him.”

  Abby was stunned. He had that new parent glow about him.

  “You’ve fallen in love with your daughters.”

  He let a hand pass over his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I have. And that’s why I can’t leave. Maybe if I loved them more, I could. And maybe I’ll get to that point. That would be best.”

  It was Abby’s turn to kneel in front of him and take his hands. “No, it wouldn’t. They’ve already lost their mother. How can you think it would be better if they lost you, too?”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Those little vampires have put a spell on me. I can’t leave them.”

  Abby laughed. “Then I guess they’ll have to use their vampire magic to protect themselves from their petrified daddy until he realizes that all parents are afraid.”