The Devil in the Saddle

by Julia London

  Rafe grinned affectionately at Charlotte. “You wouldn’t want my donation anyway, Charlotte. Have you forgotten how mad you got at me at Christmas a few years back?”

  “Oh,” Charlotte said, and wrinkled her nose. “I almost forgot about you and that damn fruitcake. Never mind.”

  “That’s what I thought.” He suddenly turned his head toward the entrance. “Ah. My date is here. Ladies, it’s been a pleasure.” He smiled and bowed, and his gaze slid over Hallie again—quickly, briefly, hardly anything at all.

  She couldn’t even summon a smile, she was so stunned. His date was here? Rafe was on a date?

  “I guess he’s just a regular cowboy now, huh?” Mariah said as she watched him walk away to greet a petite brunette at the door. Of course she was petite and brunette. And probably very wholesome and grounded and lacking all categories of major drama. The perfect girl for him and the exact opposite of Hallie. The woman smiled up at Rafe. She put her arm around his waist and hugged him, then followed him across the room to the two bar seats.

  “Cowboy? I thought he was into martial arts,” Ella said. “Isn’t that why he’s moving to Chicago?”

  “He’s probably moving to Chicago to get out of this two-bit town,” Mariah said.

  Hallie slowly sipped her too-fruity drink, her eyes glued to Rafe and the woman he was with. They were merrily chatting it up, the two of them all smiles and laughter. Hallie was surprisingly envious of the easy rapport they appeared to have. Rafe was generally the quiet one, but as she surreptitiously watched the way he smiled at the cute little pixie, she couldn’t help noticing the tiny creases around his eyes, and the way he tipped his head back to laugh.

  Was he actually dating a woman and hadn’t mentioned it to her?

  More important, did Rafe ever look at her like that? Or was she always such a sad-sack friend that his face was frozen into concern and understanding?

  A tiny little shudder ran down her spine. Was it possible that she was the one in a group who always needed support? Good God, she hoped not—nothing was worse than being that friend. She wanted to be the brunette. She wanted to be the person he desired. But wait—was that what she wanted? The idea had popped into her head so fast and flew over all her natural barriers that she had to stop and think about it.

  Did she really want to be with him? Kiss him, yes. But date him? That was a whole other level.

  “I don’t think I can drink another one,” Ella said, nodding at the four new cocktails staring at them.

  “Me either. Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let me out, Charlotte,” Hallie said, and nudged Charlotte.

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to give two of them to Rafe.”

  Her three friends looked at her.

  She looked back. “Well? Do you want them to go to waste?”

  Mariah’s eyes narrowed. “Who cares? They’re free. It’s not like we’re saving the whales by drinking them.”

  “Okay,” Hallie said, lifting her hand. “Fair enough. I want to know who she is. Don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Mariah said instantly. “Let her out, Charlotte!”

  Hallie stepped out, gathered two of the gold drinks. “I’m on it,” she said, and then strolled across the room to the bar. “Heeeyyy,” she said as she neared Rafe and his date.

  The young woman glanced up, startled.

  Rafe glanced up, too, and shook his head as if he’d expected some shenanigans. “Hi, Hallie.”

  “Hi there,” she said, and turned her bright smile to the brunette. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have more craft cocktails than we can possibly get down. Mateo is experimenting. Can we pass some off on you?”

  “I don’t know,” Rafe said, eying the drinks. “Did you spit in them?”

  Hallie laughed as if that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “No, silly.” She pushed her way in between the two of them to deposit the drinks on the bar. And then she very casually slipped back, but not all the way, leaning against the back of Rafe’s stool so that he had to shift forward to see around her. “Sooo,” she said, smiling. “I’m Hallie Prince.”

  “Hi. I’m Brittney. No A.”

  Maybe she thought Hallie was going to write her name down. Brittney-no-A looked at least ten years younger than Rafe, which—and she intended to mention this later—was a little too young for an old guy like him. “So . . . how do you two know each other?” Hallie asked, and slid a look at Rafe.

  “We’re in a sociology class together,” Brittney-no-A said. “We’ve been studying for our final.”

  “Oh. Study partners.” Hallie smiled and shot Rafe a look.

  He returned a look that was supposed to be withering, and tried to force her back a step with his arm. But Hallie held firm. “So, Hallie here,” he said, reaching for Hallie’s wrist and wrapping his fingers around it, “Is an old, old friend of mine.” He squeezed her wrist.

  “That’s right. We go way back.”

  “Oh, really? Like, how far?” Brittney-no-A asked.

  “Oh, years. Let me think.” Hallie tried to pull her wrist free, but Rafe was gripping it. “I can remember him when I was seven or eight. Funny story, but he was a little shrimp then, even though he is years older than me—”

  “Two years older.”

  “I actually beat him up once, can you believe it?”

  “No you didn’t,” Rafe said with a snort.

  “Why?” Brittney-no-A asked, puzzled.

  “We were playing war, my brother and me against him and my other brother. I captured him.”

  “I let you capture me,” Rafe said.

  “Oh, I captured you,” Hallie argued.

  “Actually, you tackled me from behind, which was against the rules, and then I confiscated your gun.”

  “Well, I agree to disagree,” she said magnanimously.

  “You can’t agree to disagree if I’m not part of the agreement,” Rafe pointed out.

  “Anyway,” Hallie said, ignoring him, “that’s how far back we go. So far back that he can’t remember what actually happened the day I tackled him and he stole my gun.” She smiled at Rafe.

  “You have a very faulty memory.”

  Brittney-no-A looked back and forth between them. “Did you two guys, like, used to date?” she asked.

  “No,” Rafe said instantly and forcefully.

  “God no,” Hallie said just as forcefully. “That would be, like, gross. He’s like a brother to me.”

  Rafe turned his brown eyes to her, narrowed and probing. “I’m like a brother to you?”

  “Aren’t you?” Hallie smiled in a way that dared him to deny it. She was going to say something. She could feel it on the tip of her tongue, ready to spring to freedom. Something totally inappropriate, like You have a great ass for a brother, or Did we really almost kiss? Because if we did, why are you here with her? Or even, Do you feel this electricity between us, or is it really just me, because I might need to get my hormones checked? Or any number of thoughts and questions pinging in her brain—

  Ella suddenly and stealthily appeared at her side. “Hi, Rafe.”

  “Hello, Ella. Meet Brittney. No A.”

  “Hello, Brittney,” Ella said calmly and politely, because she was a very calm and polite woman. “Hey, Hallie, I have to take off. And Mariah is complaining she needs to get home. Plus, your phone keeps chiming.” She handed Hallie’s phone to her. She glanced down and saw three text messages from Chris. She knew what had happened—her phone went off, Mariah tried to see who was texting her, and because Ella was a decent person and her future sister-in-law, she’d grabbed the phone to give to Hallie before her friends could snoop.

  She smiled gratefully at Ella. “Thanks.” But she wanted to stay right here, comfortably wedged between Rafe and his date with a woodland fairy.

  Rafe wasn’t having it. “You bett
er go, Hal,” he said, and gave her a slap on the back hearty enough to make her take a step forward. “I’m sure you have something you want to blow up.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” she said. “But it’s not presently convenient. It was nice to meet you, Brittney. You kids don’t stay out too late.”

  Brittney laughed. “She’s funny,” she said to Rafe.

  “Oh, she’s a riot,” he agreed, and waggled his fingers at Hallie in the universal signal that she needed to go.

  So off Hallie toddled, feeling strangely discombobulated about Rafe’s date.

  By the time they’d gathered their things and left a tip, Rafe and Brittney-no-A had moved to the dining room. Rafe was leaning over, his eyes on her face, talking earnestly about something.

  On their way to Charlotte’s car, they passed Rafe’s muddied truck with a bed full of hay. When they climbed in the car, Charlotte hit the button to start the engine, but she was looking at Rafe’s truck, massive beside her small SUV. “I’m not kidding—he’s way too hot to be hanging around Three Rivers. Such a great guy.”

  “Maybe he’s taking the girl with him to Chicago,” Mariah said as she applied lipstick in the passenger mirror. “She’s pretty.”

  “She wasn’t that pretty,” Hallie said.

  “I thought she was really pretty,” Mariah said.

  “Whoever she is, she won’t be long for his world. He’s going to have all the women he wants in Chicago,” said Charlotte. “Am I right?”

  “So right,” Mariah agreed. “Right, Hallie?”

  “Umm . . .” Hallie thought about the way Rafe had smiled and laughed with the brunette. “He’s been one of my best friends for, like, a thousand years. It’s hard for me to look at him like that.” Except that it wasn’t hard at all. She was doing it right now in her head. She was doing more than just look. She was imagining things, very salacious things, like what he was hiding in those jeans, and what he was going to do with the woman after dinner.

  What the hell is the matter with you?

  “Can men and women really be just friends?” Charlotte waxed reflectively as she put her car in gear.

  “Why not?” Hallie asked.

  “Because, you know, the laws of attraction and all that.”

  “No way,” Mariah said confidently.

  “Of course you can. Look at Ella and Mateo. They’re just friends,” Hallie said.

  “But that’s different. He used to be her boyfriend. They decided to be friends afterward,” Charlotte said. “And she’s told me that there is still a weird tension between them because they did sleep together. It’s not the same as just a friend.”

  “I have a guy friend, but he’s gay,” Mariah said. “He works for a clothing line.”

  “Come on,” Hallie said. “Are we really going to go with the theory that women can only have male friends if they’re gay? That’s so nineteen seventies! You do have other guy friends, Charlotte. You’re friends with Nick.”

  Charlotte laughed roundly at that. “I am not friends with Nick. I tolerate him, that’s all. He’s actually pretty lucky I stick around.”

  “He is very lucky,” Hallie agreed. “Don’t ever leave.”

  “He’d probably burn the place to the ground if I did, that grump.”

  “Seriously, Hallie, I don’t know how you can be just friends with Rafe,” Mariah said as they pulled out of the parking lot. “He is so good-looking.”

  “He really is,” Charlotte agreed. “He’s much better looking than—” She suddenly stopped talking. “I mean . . .”

  “You can say it,” Hallie said with a sigh of weariness. “He is so much better looking than Chris. He is. But we’ve been friends for a really long time.” Why did she keep saying that? Well, she had the entire back seat to herself to obsess about why she did. What would it be like to be with Rafe? As a lover? As a couple?

  “You know what’s interesting? When Rico is around, no one really notices Rafe,” Charlotte opined as they drove through town. “But then again, Rico is the life of the party. Rafe is a lot quieter.”

  Rico was a lot of fun. But Rafe? He exuded strength. And he was always, always there for her. Even if she butted in on his dates.

  She glanced at the back of Charlotte’s blond head as they pulled onto the highway. “Were you seriously asking for Rafe’s sperm?”

  “Why not?” Charlotte asked, shooting her a look in the rearview mirror. “Jealous?” She grinned. Mariah laughed. Hallie clucked her tongue at her friend.

  She wasn’t jealous. She was something, but it wasn’t jealous. But the thing with Rafe just kept getting stranger and stranger, turning down roads she’d never been on before. They were starting to make her a little carsick. She felt crazy with confusion. Crazy with desire. Crazy, crazy, crazy.

  Chapter Twelve

  Thanksgiving was a disaster.

  It was especially upsetting because Thanksgiving had always been Cordelia’s favorite holiday. She and Charlie enjoyed hosting, inviting scores of guests to the ranch throughout their marriage. The weather was generally beautiful this time of year, so they’d set up tables for dining on the expansive patio and have the buffet catered.

  Some years, they’d hire musicians. Other years, depending on how their favorite football teams were performing, they’d set up giant screens to watch the games. It was always a feast, always a house party, always a very memorable event.

  That was because Cordelia took great care to make it memorable. It was during occasions like this that she shone—she was, after all, the premiere hostess in this part of Texas. Everyone would say so. She was not being smug, she was making an objective observation. Invitations to her events were coveted, from Austin to the border.

  This was her job, it was what she did. Her mother had trained her to be the best, and Cordelia had honed her hostessing skill for years as the wife of a powerful man. “Nothing reflects on a woman quite like her figure, her children, and her ability to host a dinner,” her mother would say.

  But this year, Thanksgiving turned out to be another in a long line of raging disappointments. For one thing, Charlie was not here. He’d gone off to the great putting green in the sky and left her to fend for herself. Like she didn’t need him, like his children didn’t need him.

  Since then, they’d had to cope with so much—his death, the shaky family cash flow, staff layoffs, and now, embarking on the holiday season without his boisterous presence. Even though she and Charlie had been separated at the time of his death, he would have been here for Thanksgiving. She and Charlie saw eye to eye on that—family holidays were important and sacrosanct. They required a show of unity even when there was no unity between them. Looks were important. Optics mattered.

  For another thing, invitations sent to family had been declined. Cordelia hadn’t figured out quite what to make of that. Her cousin Walter was in Dallas and said he had a house full and couldn’t get away. Charlie’s sister, Cindy, was off with her husband in France, but Cordelia thought she might have put off her trip a week or so and come to the ranch instead. Wasn’t it obvious the family needed to be together? Wasn’t it obvious that Cordelia and her kids were hurting?

  So her only guests were her brother, Chet; his wife, Sandy; and two of their four sons—Rex, who was graduating from Harvard in the spring, and Jonah, who owned an Applewhite car dealership in Austin.

  Oh, and George Lowe, a constant in her life for as long as she’d been married. He’d been trying to help her navigate the mind-numbing bureaucratic tasks that follow the death of a spouse. Mounds of paperwork had to be filed. Death certificates had to be obtained. Deeds and leases and old contracts had to be rounded up. George was a widower, and his only daughter lived in Seattle. She had not come home for Thanksgiving, so Cordelia had invited him. He was like family anyway.

  Nick was here, too, slinking about and brooding as if the weigh
t of the world rested on his shoulders. He ran the family business now, and Cordelia knew he hated it. She hated it for him, but unfortunately, someone had to take charge, and he was the heir apparent.

  Luca and Ella were home, too, but Luca had announced yesterday to one and all that they would be leaving early.

  “Why?” Cordelia had demanded.

  “We’re going over to the Hurst place,” Luca said. “Brandon invited us.”

  Hallie, who was arranging champagne flutes in a line like so many dominoes for that ridiculous Instagram page, gasped. “Brandon? You mean he’s speaking to you?”

  Cordelia was curious to know the answer, too. Brandon Hurst had been Luca’s lifelong best friend. They’d had a falling out, but apparently, the two of them had patched things up.

  “Yep,” Luca said cheerfully.

  Cordelia supposed she ought to be grateful that Luca and Brandon were mending fences, but she wished they could do it on some day other than Thanksgiving. This was her holiday.

  “That’s fantastic, Luca!” Hallie had said. “I kind of miss the lug.”

  Hallie sounded enthused and happy, and Cordelia had to admit, her daughter had picked herself up out of the doldrums and was making her best effort to return to normal. With the exception of this strange notion that it was somehow fun to ruin things intended to be used in her wedding and then take pictures of them. It made no sense to Cordelia.

  Hallie was returning to some type of normal, but she wasn’t exactly the same woman she’d been before the fiasco with Christopher. She was obviously rudderless. She’d gained a little weight. She was wearing a very cute blue and white paisley dress with flounced sleeves. Cordelia remembered that dress—Hallie had bought it in New York on a weekend shopping trip, and it had fit her perfectly. But today, it looked really tight. Funny how she used to worry about Hallie being rail thin when she danced ballet. Now she worried Hallie was going to get fat.

  It was that paisley dress that ruined Thanksgiving, if anyone was interested in Cordelia’s opinion.