Taming Rafe

by Susan May Warren

  “No, you’re probably right. Maybe my mother did want me. But she’d had enough pain in her life, so—”

  “Listen to me. Felicia loved you the best way she knew how. She didn’t want you growing up poor or getting sick in one of the countries she worked in. Bradley was right—she didn’t have a choice. But not because of why you think.”

  “I . . . don’t understand.” Kat stood up, rubbed her forehead.

  Lolly took her hand. It was so warm, so firm that Kat found herself sitting back down, caught in the pain in Lolly’s eyes. “You need to know that Felicia and Bobby were deliriously happy. They adored each other, and Felicia never regretted a minute of loving Bobby. No, he wasn’t exactly the man Walter Breckenridge would have chosen for Felicia, but she saw something in Bobby that not many got close enough to see—a goodness, a desire to be a better man. They started supporting charities while Bobby was riding, because of all the needy kids they saw during their travels. They loved children, Kat. And they adored you. Bobby always said that your smile was his reward for coming home. I remember the day I snapped that picture of the two of you; he’d just purchased those red boots and that cowgirl outfit. Although you probably don’t remember, you adored him back.”

  Kat’s eyes began to fill at Lolly’s words. “I thought I did. I have those remnant feelings every time I see that picture.”

  Lolly’s voice grew soft. “Your world ended when he died—as did Felicia’s. It was horrible. He got bucked off—not a big deal, but the animal went after him, kicking him in the head. He never wore a helmet, and his hat offered little protection. He went into a coma and never woke up. Felicia kept him on life support as long as the insurance covered it, but that topped out and they were going to move him to a convalescent home, give up on him. Finally, Walter flew in, and he made her a terrible deal. He told her that he would fund Bobby’s medical care . . . if . . .” Lolly licked her lips and blew out a breath. “. . . if she’d let him raise you.”

  Kat wasn’t quite sure she was breathing, because everything had turned deadly quiet around her.

  “He wanted to raise his granddaughter the way he thought she should be raised—as a Breckenridge, not a Russell. Felicia was distraught and broke and at the end of her rope, so she agreed.”

  Kat took a shaky breath.

  Lolly seemed to match it. But her gaze never let Kat’s go. “Bobby hung on another five months, and then his heart gave out and he died. Felicia shattered. That’s when she found salvation and became a Christian. She took her inheritance and the life insurance money and donated it to the Breckenridge Foundation. I think she did it because she couldn’t forgive herself for the choice she’d made—choosing Bobby over you.”

  In that moment, Kat wasn’t sure she could forgive her either.

  Lolly reached out and this time touched Kat’s knee. “Felicia spent her life making that organization work. The fact is, she loved what she did. She told me that in a way it was like Bobby was there with her. She said that every day she spent with Bobby was a day of grace from God. And she figured she could extend that grace to just one more child, just one more day. But I don’t think she ever recovered from losing Bobby . . . or you.”

  “Bradley said they had to hospitalize her.”

  Lolly nodded. “Not for long, but yes, right after Bobby died. She was under suicide watch. That’s when Walter filed for your name change.”

  “I always thought that I had done something wrong—that she blamed me for my father’s death.”

  Lolly touched her face. “No, Kat. She never blamed you. She may have blamed herself over and over, but she loved you.”

  “Then why didn’t she fight for me? If I had a daughter, I’d never give her up.”

  A fragile pain crossed Lolly’s face. “Kat, the reason your mother didn’t fight your grandfather is because if she did, he would have uncovered the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “Felicia wasn’t your biological mother.” Lolly took Kat’s hand. “And Bobby wasn’t your biological father.”

  Kat slid her hand out of Lolly’s, her chest tight. She leaned back in her chair, both hands on the arms. “Oh . . . oh . . .”

  “You were adopted, only not legally. We had a fake birth certificate drawn up by a lawyer in Phillips who Bobby paid off.”

  “Oh . . . I . . .” Kat put a hand to her throat, hoping it didn’t close off. “That baby . . .”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your baby.”

  Lolly nodded.

  “It didn’t die, did it?”

  Lolly shook her head slowly. Then her face crumpled and broke, and she held her hand again to her mouth, her breath catching. “Oh, Kat, I’m so sorry. I was young and scared of what Randy might do to me—or to you—if he got out of jail. So I pretended the child died and gave her—you—to Bobby. I promised that I’d keep that secret. That I’d never interfere in your life.”

  Kat could barely see, what with her eyes burning and the terrible clenching in her chest.

  Lolly hiccuped a breath. “That’s why I moved to Phillips. It was after Bobby died, and I needed to be near you, near where Bobby is buried. I pledged that even though I promised not to interfere, I’d still watch over you from afar. Your uncle Richard Breckenridge would occasionally drop morsels about you now and again, never realizing I lapped them up like a starving dog.”

  Kat closed her eyes. And that’s when she felt Lolly’s hand on hers, warm against ice-cold.

  “I’m so, so sorry. I should have told you years ago but definitely when you came to Phillips. I just didn’t want . . . I didn’t want you to hate me.”

  Kat opened her eyes. Hate her? A tear dripped off her chin as she saw for the first time Lolly’s hazel eyes, the full lips, the face shaped so much like her own. Except for the blonde hair, she felt as if she might be looking into a mirror. A reflection that made her feel whole and perfect and . . . found.

  “You . . . you’re my . . . my mother.”

  Lolly put a hand over her heart. “I’m your mother, Kat.”

  That woman could destroy everything he’d worked for. Bradley stood beside the French doors, listening to Katherine and Lolly’s conversation, feeling his world shake.

  Did Walter Breckenridge know that Katherine wasn’t a blood heir but the daughter of a convict and a line cook? What would the old man do if he found out?

  He rubbed his eyes, thinking fast as he crept out of the penthouse. He’d have to accelerate his plans even more. Their marriage. Katherine’s devastating suicide.

  Smoothing his shirt, Bradley surveyed his appearance in the elevator mirror, confident he’d obliterated all traces of the fight with Noble. And a profitable fight it had been, just as he’d hoped. He nodded to the bellboy who greeted him as he exited, remembering the look on Noble’s face when Katherine turned on him. Perfect.

  Now he needed to finish what he’d started.

  But first he had to shut up that waitress.

  John stepped out of his Cessna, where he’d landed it at his deserted ranch. The new owners hadn’t taken possession yet, but it looked as if it had been abandoned for centuries. Tumbleweeds filled the yard; a fence hung open; a windmill squeaked in the wind. His ranch hand Crockett had left a month ago after loading the last of the cattle to market, and Cole St. John had purchased his stock horses.

  John walked to the house, opened the door. It swung wide and bumped against the wall where the coatrack used to be. The sound echoed in the empty kitchen, through the family room with the overstuffed cattleman print sofa he’d left behind, down the worn carpeted hallway to the vacant bedrooms, and back to his soul.

  The movers had forgotten to grab the aerial shot of the Big K off the family room wall. A legacy abandoned.

  Only, not abandoned. Purged. If John listened hard enough, he could hear the old voices. But why do that? This land, this life was a part of him. However, he no longer felt bound by it. No longer bound by the fear or his father’s prophecies. This l
and no longer belonged to the man who had to confine his heart to the written page.

  “I am leaving. I am gone.” His voice sounded bold, filling the room, and he smiled. “I am free.” It sounded silly for him to say it like that, but he felt this unshackling of himself from the past and from the memories that had told him who he’d been.

  And this unshackled Big John Kincaid would go after the woman he loved. He would simply tell her, “Lolly, I love you and I want to marry you. Still.” Just like that. After all, nothing else had worked. Not years of waiting patiently, his listening ear, the friendship, the way he supported her dreams. Nothing.

  Please, God, give me the right words.

  He closed the door behind him when he left and didn’t look back as he uncovered his truck and backed it out of the barn. Even his hired man hadn’t wanted the beater, so John planned to drop it off at Egger’s junkyard. He drove past his empty fields, smelling the arid prairie grasses, the scent of animal on the breeze. Feeling the dust and wind on his face. Funny, he’d already forgotten the scent of the ocean.

  He pulled up to Lolly’s. Her trailer door was locked tight, the geraniums on the porch needing water. Going around the front, he entered the diner.

  Quint and Egger sat at the counter. Libby stood behind it, a coffeepot in hand.

  The smells of french fries and burgers greeted him like an embrace. He tipped his hat to Libby and slid onto a stool beside Quint.

  Quint nodded to him.

  John smiled.

  Libby plunked down a cup in front of him. “Loved the book.” She waggled her eyebrows at him. “Especially the ending.”

  Heat rushed into his face.

  “Order up!” Cody’s voice from the kitchen accompanied a bell.

  Libby turned away and retrieved a plate of meat loaf and potatoes.

  “So, when we have lady problems, I guess we should give you a jingle?” Egger stuffed a bite of pie into his mouth. He glanced at John with a small smile. “Reckon we should call you the King of Love.”

  “Hey—”

  “Just messing with ya.” Egger forked another piece of pie. “Hey, Libby, this ain’t Lolly’s, but it’s close.”

  Libby refilled the coffee cups. “Thanks. She gave my sister her recipes before she left. Missy’s planning on overhauling the entire menu, with the exception of the pies.”

  “Where’s Lolly?” John barely kept the panic from his voice. When Cash said she’d be joining him soon, he didn’t expect—

  “She went to New York. Some fancy event Kat was hosting.”

  John sipped his coffee, trying to wrap his brain around the news. Did Kat know about Lolly? Why would Lolly give up her secret now? Unless she too was breaking free of the shackles in her life. Finally. “When did she leave?”

  “Yesterday. Took a flight outta Sheridan,” Libby said.

  “When’s she coming back?” John asked, pointing to the meat loaf special on the board.

  Libby wrote down the order. “She’s not. She’s selling Missy her place and her trailer. I’m not sure where she’s going.”

  John stared at his coffee, then looked at Libby. “Hold that order. I’m not staying.”

  The house echoed with silence when Mary closed the door. Shadows darkened the room as the last flickering of sunlight disappeared beyond the hills. Loss swept through her.

  Closing the door with her heel, she walked into the kitchen, filled a vase with water, and put the bouquet in it, hoping it wouldn’t die before Rosie returned.

  “Thank you, Mama,” Rosie had said today as she hugged her good-bye outside the church, climbing into a Hudson Hornet with her new husband.

  Mary had searched Franklin’s eyes, watched him over the weeks he worked on their ranch, and finally given her blessing. Having seen love, she could now recognize it on the face of others.

  Perhaps that was why she’d stared at Erland years ago on that awful day and said no. No, she couldn’t marry him. She wouldn’t give away her heart for second best, because she had known what it was to love someone, and Erland deserved better.

  She set her hat on the table and climbed the stairs to her room.

  Now, better than anyone, Mary knew the different sides of love.

  Charlie had been the love of her youth, passionate, hopeful. A love that had taken her by the hand and set her dreams afire.

  Rosie had been unconditional love. Love that depended without shame. Love that hoped without reserve. Love that shared her pain without condemnation.

  Even Erland’s love—the kind of love that made her look at herself with new eyes. Eyes of compassion.

  But perhaps the love that had changed her the most had been the love unspoken. The love she’d had for Jonas. The love that had set her free one day at a time. Loving Jonas, even unrequited, had allowed her to dream. To survive. To build. It was only the power of hope that kept her love alive, the places in her heart still left untended, yearning for more. But that power made her believe that even after all these years, despite the fact that she’d never written, Jonas would keep his word and appear on her doorstep at the right time.

  She picked up her Bible from the bedside table and flipped it open to the letter inside. The one that began “Dear Jonas, . . .” Slipping the letter inside her dress pocket, she put the Bible back on the table.

  The moon had begun to rise as she hiked out onto the prairie, across her land, into Charlie’s land. Oddly, it bathed the mound she’d tended with care, as if illuminating her destination.

  She knelt before the grave. Put her hand on the mound. The grass wove through her fingers, light and cool, and she dug her fingers into the dirt.

  “She’s married, Charlie. Our little girl got married today. I wish you could have seen her—she was so beautiful.” Mary drew up her knees under her dress. “I saw Erland there with his new wife, Esther. They look happy.”

  She sat there in silence, listening to her memories. “I miss you,” she said finally. “I know you always wanted me to be happy, Charlie. And . . . I am.”

  She got up and moved away from the grave, taking out the letter.

  Dear Jonas,

  I know I should have written years ago, probably a week after you left, begging you to return to me. But I simply couldn’t, and I think you know why. I said I was afraid for you and what would happen, but in the end, I was afraid for me. Afraid to lose myself yet again in hopes of finding a life. Afraid that for all you would be to me, there would always be the fear inside, that wounded place that someday I’d end up exactly where I was when Charlie died. Alone and without hope.

  Somehow, just holding on to your promise, I began to live again. To break free of my mistakes. To live each day just a little more free than the day before. Your love gave me the courage to learn to live, to dream, because I believed that you’d return. And now I am hoping you will. I am ready.

  Yours,

  Mary

  Folding the letter, Mary ripped it slowly. Then she cupped the pieces in her hands and let the wind take them.

  A knock at her hotel room door yanked Lolly from the book. Lincoln. He’d left a voice mail for her, asking her to meet him in her room, but he had yet to show up, and it was getting late. She much rather wanted to be with Piper and Stefanie, convincing Kat not to marry Bradley. But she supposed this was how her new life would look.

  She yanked open the door to find a room service cart topped with a dozen red roses in a crystal vase. A card tucked inside had her name scrawled on the front. Strange. “Lincoln?” Or maybe it should be “Mr. Cash?”

  Lolly took out the card to read it. To my best gal. She looked out into the hall again, puzzled. To her recollection, she was nobody’s best gal. Or at least, not of the man she hoped to be. She brought the roses inside and set them on the table, then touched one of the velvet petals, Mary’s actions still heavy in her mind.

  Lolly understood, probably better than anyone, why Mary had torn up the letter. How the friendship and gentle presence of a constan
t love might set someone free even from afar. She pulled out one of the roses and smelled it.

  Oh, she might as well admit it—she harbored the crazy hope that John had sent these. That he missed her as desperately as she missed him.

  If only she, like Mary, hadn’t been too afraid, too broken to accept John’s proposal. But like Mary, she’d needed to find her footing and learn to live again.

  Yet John had never left. In fact, if she were to take a good look at their friendship, he’d been all the faces of love to her—the one that believed in her dreams, the unconditional love that hoped despite her coldness to him. He made her see herself through his eyes. Capable. Even beautiful. Deep inside, she wanted to believe he’d always be there, waiting.

  The flower slipped from her hand. Unshackled wasn’t Mary’s story. It was hers.

  Set in a different time, with different players, John had written her story from her point of view. A story of a woman with dreams, of tragedy and mistakes. A story of a woman shackled in shame and a man whose love gave her the strength to break free and create a new life. And to allow herself to believe she could be happy.

  John knew. All this time, he knew about her past and loved her anyway. When he couldn’t tell her he loved her . . . he wrote it. But he’d left town just like Jonas.

  “Please, Jonas, don’t give up on her!” Lolly snatched up her book. She flopped down on the bed, tears hot in her eyes.

  She didn’t even sense the presence behind her until it was on top of her, pressing her down into the bed, pushing the air from her body.

  CHAPTER 20

  “YOU’VE LOST YOUR mind, Piper!” Flanked by the two women who probably had the least to lose by the truth, Kat still couldn’t comprehend their words. “Bradley is not trying to kill me. That’s absurd.”

  Then again, now that the event had wound down, the musicians packed up and all evidence of Rafe’s fight cleared away, she had to agree, this night had been full of crazy moments. Like Rafe showing up, looking as if he’d walked off the pages of her favorite Western and then turning Bradley’s nose to hamburger. Her long-lost mother appearing on her doorstep. Or Bradley phoning to tell her that he’d pick her up tomorrow afternoon for their getaway. For their elopement.