RafeHeroes at Heart

by Maryann Jordan

  “I know,” she whispered. “But they were true, nonetheless. He is beautiful and I am…well, not.” Sighing, she admitted, “It was easier, when I just thought he was a gifted gardener. I had no idea he had a completely different life, one that involved a world full of beautiful people.”

  “From what he has said, it was a life of very disingenuous people, and those are not beautiful people.”

  Lifting her shoulders in a slight shrug, she said, “I know. People should not be judged by their outward appearances, but it seems our society does.”

  “Including you? You heard what he said. You’re judging him by his looks. You read an article and made assumptions about him based on his appearance, what he does for a living, what other people said about him. He has his own hurts, and people not seeing who he really is, is one of them. You think he doesn’t know his own mind and would regret being with you? You’re not taking into account who he is, instead of pressing a societal idea of who you think he should be.”

  At Miss Ethel’s firm words, her eyes jumped to the older woman’s, seeing kindness as well. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

  “And now?”

  Her gaze drifted out the window, spying the beautiful roses in full bloom. “I never meant to hurt him, and I wish I hadn’t, but I honestly don’t know. I told him everything, opened up so much, and he left out this huge part of his life. I just need some time. Time to think about what’s next.”

  Reaching over to pat her hand, Miss Ethel smiled warmly. “And my dear, that’s exactly what you shall have. For as long as you need.”

  “She was at Miss Ethel’s? What the hell?” Rafe yelled.

  Zander put his hands up in defense. “I didn’t know. Rosalie just told me this morning. Said that Eleanor needed to get away and she trusted Miss Ethel to give her a safe haven and not tell you.”

  “I can’t believe Miss Ethel didn’t tell me,” he argued, slumping in his chair. The group sat around a table at Grimm’s before it opened.

  “So, what are you going to do?” Jaxon asked.

  “I’m going to keep working on the Bellamy House grounds.” Seeing a few raised eyebrows as well as grins, he said, “She may have fired me but I’m not abandoning her. There’s work to be done and I’m going to do it.”

  “And…” Jayden prompted.

  “And I plan on a lot of groveling, explaining, begging…and just hoping that her feelings for me outweigh her hurt, because mine absolutely do.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Cael said, leaning his large body back in his chair. “You know, if you need help from any of us, you just gotta call.”

  Nodding, he shot a tight smile at his brothers, hoping his optimism was not misplaced.

  “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

  Eleanor disconnected while perched on the kitchen chair, her breath leaving her lungs in a whoosh. Sucking in her lips, she waited for the sense of panic, but only mild nerves landed in the pit of her stomach. I can do this. I have to do this.

  Sally stood by the kitchen counter, her face unreadable. “Are you sure about this?”

  Nodding slowly, she placed her hands on the table in front of her, pushing herself to a stand. Taking her coffee cup to the sink, she said, “Yes. It’s time for a change, Sally. Time for me to move on with my life.”

  Sally stepped forward, lifting her hand to squeeze Eleanor’s shoulder. “Well then, you have my support as well.”

  They embraced for a moment before a loud noise from outside jolted them apart. “What is that?” Eleanor stalked to the window near the front of the house and stared in shock. “Seriously?”

  “What is it?” Sally asked, coming up beside her.

  “Him!”

  “Who?”

  “Rafe. I thought you told him his services were no longer needed.”

  “I did. In fact, yesterday, before you came back from Miss Ethel’s, I went to the cottage to clean it out. It was spic and span, he was definitely moved out.”

  “Well, since you are on your way out, would you mind telling him, again, to leave.”

  Sally did not say anything, causing Eleanor to look over her shoulder at her housekeeper bending to gather her bag. “Please? I know I’m not the only one hurt, but I need more time,” she added.

  “Of course, sweetie.”

  Satisfied, Eleanor dropped the drapery, refusing to stare at Rafe anymore. Kissing Sally’s cheek, she turned to move into her father’s study, ready to make another phone call.

  Rafe shucked his shirt, the mid-summer sun beating down on his back. Using his booted foot on the shovel, he widened the hole. Once satisfied, he bent to pick up the small blue spruce, burying its ball of roots before filling in with more soil.

  Standing back, he grinned at the small row of trees, all about five feet tall, ready to form another backdrop for a shade garden. The sound of someone clearing their throat had him whirling around. Seeing Sally, he dipped his head in greeting. “Ms. Sally.”

  She stood, her back straight, hands clasped in front of her. “Mr. Walker. I have been sent to inform you that your services are still no longer needed and Ms. Bellamy requests that you leave the property.”

  He grinned, leaning on the handle of the shovel, one booted foot crossed in front of the other. “Well, Ms. Sally, the way I see it, I’m not employed anymore, but she didn’t say anything about me not doing a little volunteer work on the grounds. And I know for a fact that she needs help with her lawn, so I feel compelled to offer my services.”

  Her lips quirked and it appeared she was trying to hide a smile. “Mr. Walker, I think it can be surmised that your presence, in any capacity, is not wanted here.”

  “I appreciate your orders, but until Ms. Bellamy tells me herself that she doesn’t want me here, I think I’ll just keep volunteering my time taking care of her lawn.”

  At that, Sally’s lips curved into a full-blown smile and she offered a nod toward him. “Then I bid you goodbye.” She turned and walked to her car without going back inside the house.

  “Mr. Thomas, as always it’s been a pleasure,” Eleanor said, satisfied with her phone call to her attorney. “If you’ll have Mr. Hayden call me directly, I’ll talk to him myself.”

  “Are you sure, Ms. Bellamy?” he asked. “I want you to be very sure about this before you make a decision.”

  “I am. It’s time for me to take charge and start dealing with people directly. Not,” she hastened to add, “that I won’t still need you. But, this is something I want to do myself.”

  “I understand,” he agreed, before they finished their call.

  Settling deeper into the cushions of the sofa, she leaned her head back, the idea of a nap taking over. Just then the rumble of the gas-powered hedge trimmers sounded, jarring her eyes open. Stomping to the window, she pulled the draperies back, no longer trying to be discrete. She jumped at the sight of Rafe, shirtless, his muscles on magnificent display, right outside her window. As his arms lifted the heavy trimmers, she was mesmerized by the play of muscles under the tattoos on his arms and abs. With her lips pinched together, she glared at him, only to be met with a white-toothed grin and nod. When it was obvious he was not going to stop to give her time to berate him, she dropped the curtain and stomped out of the room, moving to her father’s study.

  An hour later, she walked into the kitchen, ready to make a sandwich. I wonder if Rafe is hungry—no, stop it. He can get his own food! As she plopped her plate onto the counter, she realized it was now quiet outside. Biting her lip, she made her way back over to the window near the front door, but did not see him at all. Leaning to the side, she tried to see if his truck was still in the drive. Unable to tell, she threw open the front door and could finally see that he had left. A strange sense of loss filled her. Turning to head back inside, her eye caught something pink near the door, lying on a piece of paper.

  A small rose. The stem neatly trimmed, the soft, pale petals beckoning her. Bending, she picked it up, holding it to her
nose, breathing deeply. The delicate scent of the natural blossom swirled around her, filling her senses. Opening the folds of paper, she read,

  “But he who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose.” ― Anne Brontë

  Unable to keep the corners of her lips from curving upward, she stepped back inside the house.

  27

  Rafe, determined to take care of the grounds of Bellamy House despite Eleanor’s objections, was on the riding mower, moving back and forth over the lawn. A truck with Hayden Development Company emblazoned on the side pulled into the driveway. Hayden Development? The man who was trying to strong-arm her into selling?

  Shutting off the mower before jumping down, he stalked toward the house in time to catch a short, stocky man standing at the front door. Before he could get closer, the front door opened and Eleanor smiled her welcome as she invited the man into her home. “Mr. Hayden. Thank you for coming. Please, let’s go into the study.” She eyed Rafe as he walked closer, but simply smiled just before closing the door in his face.

  For thirty minutes he paced outside, fuming at the thought of Eleanor inside with the slick-talking developer. Fighting the urge to knock the door down and force his way inside, he continued pacing.

  Suddenly, the front door opened again and Mr. Hayden walked out, turning back to shake Eleanor’s hand. “Nice to do business with you, Ms. Bellamy.” He smiled at Rafe as he walked back to his truck.

  Eleanor nodded toward Rafe as she turned and started to close the front door, finding it blocked with his large boot.

  “What the hell are you doing, Eleanor? Hayden Development? Are you crazy?”

  Looking up into his irate face, she felt the heat of anger rising. “Excuse me? It is not your place to question what I do as the owner of Bellamy House.”

  “You’re going to sell your family home? Why would you do that? What are you running from?”

  She reared back, his words a slap in the face. “Running from? I’m not running from anything.”

  “Then why are you selling?”

  Poking her finger at her chest, she said, “I’m doing what I need to do to survive. You have no say in what I do.”

  “Even after all we became to each other?”

  “What did we become, Rafe? As I remember it, I bared my soul to you and you never even told me what you did for a living.” Before he had a chance to retort, she slammed the door in his face, throwing the lock.

  On quivering legs, she walked into the formal living room, slumping down onto the sofa. Her gaze wandered to the family portrait over the mantle, the vision of her parents and brother. Captured in time, they peered down at her and her chest squeezed as it always did when she took the time to think of what she had lost. A tear slid down her cheek as she sucked in a shuddering breath. Thinking of Rafe, she angrily wiped it away, determined to chart her own course.

  After a simple dinner alone, she walked out onto the terrace, hoping the sight of the sunset would bring her peace. Stepping onto the stone patio, she viewed the ever-changing sky as the sun fell behind the trees. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and let the cares of the day drift away. Sighing, she dropped her chin and moved toward the chaise lounge to watch the fireflies dancing across the lawn.

  As she approached the chair, she noticed a single, peach rose on the seat, with another piece of folded paper. The stem was neatly trimmed and the blossom perfect in every way. Bending, she picked it up and allowing the fragrance to waft by, she opened the paper, reading,

  “Then he kissed her. At his lips’ touch she blossomed like a flower and the incarnation was complete.” The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

  Unable to keep the smile off her face, she settled into the chair, the note on her lap and the rose resting over her heart.

  For the next week, Rafe appeared every day in Eleanor’s gardens. One day, mowing the expansive lawn. Another day, planting flowers in the many flower beds. Another day, continuing his work on the terrace trellis, now weaving jasmine plants amongst the wooden support pillars.

  And at the end of each day, after he left, Eleanor stepped out onto the terrace to find another rose, neatly trimmed, lying there waiting for her. Red. Yellow. White.

  Each day, she gathered the bloom close to her heart, the delicate scent so familiar. At the end of the week, she peered out of the family room door to see Rafe on a ladder, tying vines to the trellis. He was creating a beautiful haven for her, even better than it had been before the storm.

  She headed to the kitchen to fix a sandwich, hesitating for only a moment before fixing a second, much larger, one. Plating it first, she carried it and a bottle of water to the family room, wavering in her decision before taking the plunge and opening the door. Avoiding his gaze, she moved to a small table and set the plate down.

  Turning to head back inside, his voice halted her feet.

  “Eleanor.”

  The one word caused an ache in her chest. Casting a glance at him over her shoulder, she forced out a thin-lipped smile. “Thought you might like lunch.”

  “Thank you,” Rafe said, hurrying down from the ladder, his heart pounding at the sight of her. His hands clenched at his side, the desire to reach to her overwhelming. “Uh…will you join me? Sit with me?”

  He watched her eyes dart from him to the table and back to him again, uncertainty moving through them.

  Finally, she shook her head slowly, her gaze moving to his. “No…I don’t think…no.” With that, she hurried back inside, shutting the patio doors with a soft click.

  Disappointed, he looked at the plate and water bottle, a smile beginning to curve his lips. It’s a start.

  Much to his delight, a new habit formed. She brought him lunch each day and he continued to leave a rose for her. Each day when she walked out with a plate, he asked her the same question. “Will you sit with me?”

  After a week of turning him down, Eleanor stood in the kitchen, his sandwich ready. She stared at the plate and thought of her conversation with Sally that morning.

  Sally had watched Rafe working in the yard and turned to Eleanor saying, “Are you ever going to give him another chance?” At her silence, Sally continued. “That man out there? You judged him guilty—and I did too, I know, but Eleanor, I realized my mistake and I apologized. But you never gave him a chance to explain. Or apologize. Or even tell you what was going on in his life.”

  Planting her hand on her hip, she had countered, “I was hurt…duped into thinking he was something he wasn’t—”

  “And what would you have done if he told you the first day, ‘Hey, I’m a famous model who’s trying to get back to my roots this summer’? What would you have done?”

  “I…I would have stayed away.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…because…I don’t know. Because someone like him would have never wanted to be around someone with my scars.”

  “And you would have judged him without getting to know him. Just what you hate people doing to you.”

  She had opened and closed her mouth several times, thoughts swirling through her mind. “You’re right,” she breathed out. “He gave me time to tell my story, but I never gave him the same chance.”

  Now, alone in her kitchen, she thought of what she should do to make this right. Miss Ethel had said something so similar to Sally. “You’re not taking into account who he is, instead of pressing a societal idea of who you think he should be.” If he had told her right away, she would have judged him and made assumptions without giving him a chance. Something he said others did to him all the time. Something I did too after seeing that article.

  Steeling her resolve, she placed her sandwich, along with his, on a tray with two bottles of water and moved to the terrace. Stepping out, she was disappointed not to see him. With slumped shoulders, she set the tray down.

  “Hey!” he called from above.

  Jumping back, she jerked her head up, eyes wide as she peered at him in the trellis
above her head.

  “Sorry, I saw you had lunch and didn’t want to scare you until you had a chance to set it down.” Rafe deftly jumped down and wiped his hands on a rag from his pocket, his eyes alive at the sight of two plates on the tray. “Will you join me?” he asked, his heart in his throat.

  Nodding, Eleanor offered a slight smile. “Yes…I will.” His wide smile hit her in the chest, and she sucked in a quick breath at the response. Moving to one of the chairs, she sat hastily, taking the plate with the smaller sandwich in her hands.

  He moved to the chair closest to her and did the same. After several minutes of eating in silence, she ventured, “The terrace looks lovely. You know you don’t have—”

  “Thank you,” he interrupted. “I want it to be a haven for you.” Rafe hoped she would decide not to sell her home if he could convince her it was still a safe place, inwardly cursing at the hidden photographer once more.

  Nodding, not knowing what to say, she kept chewing.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “I…I need to let you know how sorry I am…about everything.”

  Silence.

  Continuing, he said, “I never meant to deceive you.”

  “I know that now,” she said, her voice belying her nerves.

  Scrubbing his hand over his face, Rafe set his empty plate on the table and leaned forward. Placing his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped together tightly, he studied his muddy boots for a moment. With a heavy sigh, he looked up, saying, “I never meant to hurt you. This summer…was supposed to be about me getting away from a life that I was no longer happy with. A chance to do something purposeful. Maybe a chance to walk in my father’s shoes.” He held her gaze as he added, “But falling for you was never part of the plan.”

  Swallowing deeply, she remained motionless, her face giving away nothing.

  “For weeks, we had no contact. I thought I was working for an elderly, shut-in friend of Miss Ethel’s. But that night…when I heard you sing, it drew me out. It made me feel…feel things I hadn’t felt in a long time. The work had already given me a purpose but when I met you, you gave me freedom.”