“I might have found it.” Lolly pulled an envelope from her pocket and handed it to him. “Make her believe you want her. It may be what you’re looking for.” She walked away without another word.
His crazy heart leaped as he looked at the New York postmark. He had so many problems that one letter from Kitty wouldn’t change anything.
But he pulled the letter from the envelope anyway and found an invitation to a charity event—his kind of event from the looks of the bull on the red-and-black glossy front. Inside, a listing of the bull riders, the ones with whom he’d competed and partied. His old life. He looked at the dates—Labor Day weekend, the day before the GetRowdy Bull Riding invitational at the Garden. An event that, until last year’s accident, he had fully planned to compete in.
And the purse . . . he knew then what Lolly meant. A cool five hundred thousand dollars. Rafe closed the card, tapped it against his sweaty leg. I can still ride. He stood up. For a moment the world spun as the blood left his brain.
He could still ride. Only this time he’d do it with purpose. Because although he’d turned her down, the plight of the Mercy Doctors hospital—brought home because of Manny’s recent turn for the worse—kept haunting him.
He wanted to help Kitty. Even if she no longer wanted him in her life.
“Have you finished the book yet?” Piper came into the diner and dropped a manila folder on Lolly’s counter.
“Leave me alone.” Lolly served Egger his roll and orange juice.
Piper smiled. “Finish the book, Lolly.”
She handed Piper a menu and shrugged, like the book didn’t sit on her kitchen table, calling to her, taunting her, reminding her of all she’d lost. So John had left. She would too. Leave and start a new life. Thanks to Lincoln, her future had already been put into motion. She spilled ice onto the counter as she poured a glass of water. “When are you leaving for New York?” Lolly asked.
“Tomorrow. Rafe went early with Manny and Lucia to get ready for the event. He wanted Manny to meet the riders his dad worked with.”
“How’s he feeling?”
“Rafe or Manny?”
Lolly set the water before Piper and wiped the counter. “Both.”
“Manny’s doing okay. Getting weaker. As for Rafe, he’s been working out all hours of the day and night, riding that big black mechanical monster in the barn. I didn’t know so much training went into bull riding. I thought they just got on and prayed.”
“He’s a pro. He’s going to do great.”
Piper took a drink. “Nick believes in him.”
“When does Manny head home?”
“Right after the event in New York. Manny needs more treatment, but his father didn’t have life insurance, so they’re out of money. Lucia is going to sell the ranch, but they mortgaged it for Manny’s first round of treatments, so even if she does sell it, there’s not much left.”
Lolly picked up the folder Piper had set on the counter. “What’s this?”
“Something I had my friend Carter dig up.” Piper took it from her. “Listen, it’s just a theory, nothing for sure, but I thought you should know.”
“Know what?” Her suspicions sparked, and she shook them away.
“I thought Bradley Lymon looked familiar, and now I know why. Years back, I did a research piece on people who used psychiatric conditions, like hallucinations and delusions, as criminal defenses. Sort of like research into the temporary insanity plea.”
“Were you thinking of using it?” Lolly smirked.
“Don’t get me started. Anyway, I came across a rather sensational case in Pennsylvania from fifteen years ago. A patient had Cushing’s syndrome, and the symptoms eventually turned into full-blown psychosis.”
“Yikes,” Lolly said.
“It gets worse. The patient killed his wife in a fit of hallucinogenic rage.”
Lolly handed a menu to a rancher who sat down two stools away. “Gives new meaning to the old-fashioned blood test.”
Piper nodded. “The world gets smaller. The defendant had a public defender, a rookie, fresh out of school. You’ll never guess who that might have been.”
Lolly nearly poured coffee on the counter. “I have this sick feeling you’re going to say Bradley Lymon. Why is that?”
“Here’s the creepy part. He was engaged to be married. Three weeks after the wedding, his wife had a heart attack and died.”
Lolly set down the coffee and steadied her hands on the counter. “That’s very sad.”
Piper pushed the folder toward her. “Or . . . frightening. I called in a few favors and got her autopsy report. The Pennsylvania ME faxed it to Carter a couple days ago, and he sent it with some more research. They found elevated levels of potassium chloride in her system.”
Lolly opened the folder, but the chart inside meant nothing to her. “And that matters because . . . ?”
“Potassium chloride is used in the treatment of Cushing’s syndrome.”
“Piper, your brain works differently than mine . . .” In fact, Lolly wasn’t sure she liked how Piper’s brain worked at all. Ever since Piper had eyed the picture of Lolly’s opening that formerly hung on the wall, she’d acted odd, asking her seemingly innocent questions about her life before Phillips, commenting on old family recipes she might have used. Deep in her heart, Lolly knew that Piper knew.
“Let me give you a few more dots to connect. Bradley Lymon’s deceased wife was former Senator Frank Hiller’s daughter, of the Pennsylvania Hillers.” Piper leaned forward, lowered her voice. “Lymon inherited two-plus million dollars from her death.”
Oh. Lolly’s eyes widened. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. It seems to me that if I were, you know, related to Kat, like an aunt or something, I might put a Closed sign on my front door and head to New York. Just in case she needs someone to check up on her. I remember her saying that she had never felt better than when she was here.”
“I thought she was talking about the fresh air.” Lolly shot Egger a look as he raised his empty coffee cup for a refill.
“Maybe. But some of the symptoms of potassium chloride poisoning are fatigue, confusion, weakness, anxiety, and one source even mentioned headaches.”
In all of John’s daydreams about this moment, when he stood on the deck of a condo overlooking the beach and the rolling surf of the Pacific Ocean, feeling the salty air film his hair and watching the sun dip into the far reaches of the horizon, Lolly stood at his side. Sometimes she held his hand. Sometimes she wore a ring. Always she looked up at him, eyes shining.
Never had he imagined he’d stand here alone with his real estate agent hovering behind him to seal the deal.
“Gorgeous, huh?” the Realtor said, clapping him on the back. “It doesn’t get much better than this.”
John could argue that point. No, Montana didn’t smell like the ocean or lull a man to peace with the rhythmic sounds of waves combing the shore, but it had its own beauty, the way the sky stretched so far it took him beyond himself and back again, making him realize the magnitude of God. This view didn’t include the smells of pine and aspen, the sound of cicadas, the sight of contented cows sleeping in the sun. It certainly didn’t include the soft smile Lolly gave him at the end of a long day. How he missed a Reuben sandwich.
“The seller is highly motivated. He’s moving east and is ready to negotiate. It’s got a mosaic fireplace, a garage, three bedrooms, and a rooftop Jacuzzi.” The real estate agent continued to list the amenities.
But the condo didn’t have Lolly.
He’d been planning this moment for years, decades even. Even though Lolly hadn’t decided to join him didn’t mean that he’d throw it all away.
Then again, John hadn’t asked her, had he? Not really. He’d been waiting until he knew she wouldn’t break his heart again.
But what was he always telling his characters? Big dreams were worth the risk. He’d been hiding for too long, not only his identity as a romance author—an award-winning, wealth
y romance author, no less—but as the man who knew Lolly’s secrets and loved her in spite of them because she was worth it. Which is exactly what he told Jonas when he redeemed him from prison camp and sent him stateside. What he told Jonas after he’d done time for a barroom brawl fresh off the boat from Europe, delaying his return to Mary for two long years, just in time for her to walk down the aisle. What he’d told Jonas when he’d given him his song.
Just because Mary had made mistakes—mistakes that she said should condemn her for life—didn’t mean Jonas, or John, had to listen. And he didn’t have to listen to Cash’s words about Lolly.
It was time to write the ending to his own Western romance and fight for the woman he loved. A good romance didn’t let the wrong cowboy get the gal.
“John, what do you say? Do you want it?”
He smiled. “Yeah, I want it.” He brushed past the Realtor, went into the main room, turned, and took in the view. The pier stretching out into the ocean, kids playing in the sand. Maybe, someday, even kids of his own? Yeah, he wanted it all—the condo and the dream and the woman he loved. Enough to give it his last and best shot.
Just like Jonas.
CHAPTER 18
FOR ONCE, KAT knew exactly what footwear matched her outfit.
“Trust you to create an event where you can wear your red boots,” Cari said as she met Kat in the lobby of the still-being-reconstructed Breckenridge Hotel. “They go well with the black pants. And I love that vest.” She reached out to touch Kat’s fringed, red leather vest.
“Stiletto cowboy boots? Where’d you get them—Italy?” Kat said, taking in her friend’s leather skirt and silk shirt.
“These are 100 percent longhorn calfskin from Dallas.” Cari turned her leg, highlighting the cactus and sun emblem up the side. “I think I can see the fascination.”
“I told you they’re comfortable.” Kat gave her a sly smile as they maneuvered around the construction zone and up the stairs to the ballrooms.
Waiting to escort them, Bradley stood at the head of the stairs, dressed in a pair of boots, an orange shirt, and jeans. He’d even conceded to a black, flat-topped Stetson, although for some reason it didn’t have the charm of Rafe’s beat-up straw hat.
It would have done Kat well to stop comparing Bradley and Rafe. Bradley would never be a cowboy, but Kat didn’t expect to see Rafe showing up to support her Daredevils and Dreams event. For all she knew, he didn’t even know about it.
Thanks to GetRowdy’s enthusiastic cooperation and their need to create buzz for a Western event in a non-Western town, she and Cari and a small army of volunteers as well as the GetRowdy publicity department had pulled together the fund-raiser in little over a month. Cari had moved heaven and earth, and they’d both called in every favor they had outstanding to create the invitations, publicity, entertainment, food, and celebrity hot list.
Rafe had told her that she couldn’t bring New York to Montana, so she brought Montana to New York instead.
She hoped Lolly had gotten the invitation she’d sent. She missed her listening ear, the way she felt at ease with their friendship, even though she’d known her only a couple of weeks.
By the looks of the attendees and the music spilling out into the foyer, the party had already started. With the buzz they’d created about the GetRowdy riders coming to town, New York had rodeo fever, and Kat had sold tickets faster than she imagined. Apparently even a five-star dinner didn’t hold a candle to hobnobbing with men who wrestled animals that could turn them to dust. However, Kat still had to raise over five hundred thousand dollars in donations to pull herself out of the red.
Thanks to GetRowdy’s involvement, she’d also managed a lineup of country singers, anxious for their pictures and names to appear in the next GetRowdy ad campaign. Currently, a bluegrass band filled the hall with banjo and Dobro music, and Kat pushed away memories of the Fourth of July street dance in Phillips.
She’d decorated the outside of the ballroom with life-size photos of GetRowdy’s championship riders in all their bull-riding glory. She knew exactly where Rafe’s picture hung, could see the grit of his teeth, the look of determination on his face, the muscles bunching in his arm. She’d stared at it a good long time as she directed the caterers to set up for their barbecue ribs and sweet corn.
Next to those photos were her own blown-up shots of the children suffering in the Guadalajara clinic—the same children who would benefit by Mercy Doctors’ help.
“Why are all the GetRowdy riders lined up against the wall looking as if they’re in a war zone?” Cari asked quietly as she waved to a congressman trying to clog with one of their hired dancers.
“They’re probably shy.” Kat kept her hand on Bradley’s arm but scanned the crowd for a glimpse of Rafe. She didn’t know why she was hoping he would attend. She hadn’t heard from him, and she refused to ask GetRowdy. The last thing she needed was to stir up speculation and rip the scabs off her wounds.
“Shy cowboys? I can fix that,” Cari said, heading for her prey before Kat could warn her to stay far, far away.
Bradley’s hand encased hers as he led her to the dance floor. “Good job, Katherine. I’ll bet this event brings in everything you need to put the foundation back in the black.”
She glanced at him. Even in his hat, he looked like an attorney from the East Coast. What had Rafe called him? Slick? Kat quirked a smile. “Thanks. But I’m going to need a lot more than that to keep Mercy Doctors in business.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? You’ve been so tired lately. Maybe you should—”
“Give up and let my mother’s hard work go down the tubes?” They’d reached the floor, but Kat backed away, refusing to dance with him. “This meant the world to her.”
“No, it didn’t. Don’t lie to yourself. The foundation is in trouble, and you’ve been pouring everything you have—your time, your money—into this charity only to see it crumble. And now you want to indebt yourself on a gamble that you can get it back up and running. Please wake up, Katherine. Your mother wouldn’t want this for you. The only reason she ran Mercy Doctors is so that she didn’t have to come home.”
Kat stared at him, a horrible ball of anger igniting inside her. Without thinking, she slapped him—hard enough to attract the attention of everyone around her. A few couples stopped dancing.
Horrified, Kat stared at the red mark on his cheek, the look of fury on his face. The Katherine Breckenridge she knew would never have hit anyone, but she’d struck a man twice in the past two months.
She looked at her trembling hand, then back at Bradley. “I’m sorry.”
He tightened his lips and forced a smile that looked anything but friendly. “No problem.”
By the way he took her hand and walked her toward the door though, she knew it was a problem. “You’re hurting me.”
“Kitty, are you okay?”
Bradley stopped.
Kat stood there as Rafe simply materialized before her eyes. He cleaned up well. From head to toe, he looked exactly like the man she remembered in his shiny black boots, jeans, and a patterned black silk shirt that matched his equally dark eyes. Instead of his straw hat, he wore a black Stetson, and when he bent his head and tugged on the brim in greeting, she saw a tiny arrowhead tucked into the band.
And that, more than anything, left her without words. This isn’t the real Rafe, Kat thought, scrambling to gather her defenses. This is the arrogant bull rider with a chip on his shoulder.
“Hello, Kitty,” Rafe said softly.
She nodded and met his eyes, and for a second, she saw something . . . different. A fresh spark of life. A little bit of tease.
“What are you doing here?” Bradley growled.
Rafe glanced at him. “I was talking to the lady.”
“I was talking to you.”
“Listen, Slick, I’m not here for a fight. I’m here for the cause.” Rafe pointed to his picture on the wall. “See, there I am.”
Bradley didn
’t look. “Well, Katherine is fine, and we’re having a chat.”
“Seems to me that you’re taking her away from all the fun.” He turned that thousand-watt gaze on her again, and it was all she could do not to melt into a puddle. But she was here with Bradley. Her future husband. Who still had a tight grip on her arm. “You been okay, Kitty?”
“I’m . . . okay.”
“Let’s go, Katherine.” Bradley yanked her through the double doors of the ballroom and down the hall.
“What?” Kat said.
“You slapped me in front of all our guests.”
“I’m sorry, Bradley. But what you said . . . it wasn’t true.”
Bradley blew out a breath. “All right, I’ve been willing to put up with this phase for the past two months, but apparently I’m the only one with all my brain cells working here.” He bent close, his voice tight. “Your mother started the Breckenridge Foundation out of spite. She didn’t want your grandfather getting his hands on the money she owed him, so she plugged it all into a charitable organization. She could never admit that she wasted her life on a no-good cowboy.”
Kat stared at him, unable to keep up.
“Your mother didn’t even have custody of you; did you know that?”
The breath sucked out of Kat’s body. She couldn’t understand it, but she felt the truth in his words. No wonder her mother had looked at her with such sadness.
“I can’t believe I’m the one telling you this.” Bradley shook his head. “After your dad was killed—by a bull—your mother lost it. She was hospitalized for a while, and during that time your grandfather got custody of you. He’d already disowned Felicia for marrying the scum she did, yet he was willing to take care of you. When your father died, he left Felicia his prize money and his life insurance, which amounted to nearly a million dollars.”
“Grandfather wanted it.”
“Of course he did—he was taking care of you. But Felicia gave it all away to the foundation. She didn’t have a cent of her own; everything belonged to the foundation. Your grandfather gave you the penthouse and let her stay there, but it belonged to you, even from the beginning.”
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