Silence again as he contemplated that, obviously none too clearly.
She rubbed a hand across her eyes. “Why don’t you just sleep it off down there?” she suggested. “I’ll call Gus in the morning and he’ll come and get you. All right?”
Silence.
“All right?” she asked again.
“Fine.”
“Rafe?”
A long beat. “What?”
“Are you okay?”
He hesitated, as if he were considering some flip answer. But he surprised her. “I’ve had better days.”
Her heart twisted. “Me too,” she said quietly.
“Yeah,” he said quietly back. “Look, I gotta go.”
“Okay.”
The connection clicked off from his end, followed by the too-loud buzz of the dial tone. Carly stared at the phone for a moment before hanging up and sprawling back down on the bed.
She stared at the ceiling for a long time, her insides vibrating as if she’d just stuck her finger in a light socket.
A brawl? She tried to picture Rafe taking his anger with her out on some unsuspecting soul foolish enough to get in his way. That he was capable of such violence didn’t surprise her—she’d seen it in his eyes last night. But the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his voice just now had caught her off guard.
She rolled her cheek against the smooth, cold sheets, gathered a pillow to her stomach and hugged it tight. Hope was a dangerous thing, but it crept into her heart without regard to safety. Tomorrow, she thought, they’d talk. Then they would see.
Tonight she wouldn’t sleep a wink.
Rafe lay with his hands propped behind his head, staring at a dust mote swirling through the shaft of morning light that spilled through the high, barred window of the wretched-smelling communal cell. Snores and snorts of his sleeping fellow inmates echoed through the sterile gray barracks. He longed to join them, but sleep had come only fitfully, punctuated by disturbing dreams that had him running from some demon chasing him.
The symbolism wasn’t lost on him.
He was sober now. Except for the dull throb behind his eyes, he was clearheaded enough to think rationally about the things Carly had said yesterday. The part about him running from their relationship, about stepping back, only to watch it crumble...
Reluctantly he admitted to himself that she might be partly right. He’d spent hours this morning poring over the end of their relationship—honestly—perhaps for the first time since she’d left.
He’d spent years blaming her for leaving him. But the truth was, he’d always known she would go. What was that saying about self-fulfilling prophecies? Maybe the sabotage had come from his own fears. From that first day they met on the road outside of town, he’d known Carly was destined for better things than life with a cowboy like him. He had never fit in with her intellectual friends from school. Like them, she’d been aimed for the big city, and he’d known in his gut that she’d be good at lawyering.
As much as he wanted her, he’d known that loving Carly was just another word for holding her back. One day, sometime in the future, no matter what she claimed, she’d hate him for standing in her way. She’d get bored and restless, like his own mother had, and she’d go.
So...maybe he had stepped back.
Maybe he’d let her think he’d left her before she could leave him. But in his heart, he hadn’t. Somewhere, some little piece of him hoped that maybe he was wrong. That maybe she loved him enough to see past the door he’d left open for her.
The last night they were together—before he left her for yet another road trip—she’d asked him if he loved her. He’d made love to her with slow, tender passion so that she’d know how he felt, even though he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Because to say it would have been like blackmail.
He remembered she’d cried afterward. At the time, he hadn’t understood why. But after she left, he’d believed it was because she’d made her choice right then.
Had they made Evan that night? he wondered now.
Evan, who looked at him so trustingly with Carly’s eyes, and smiled with that tilting grin that now reminded Rafe of his own.
He wondered why he hadn’t seen it before. He’d looked at Evan that first morning in the hospital with the possibility ripe in his mind. So why hadn’t he seen it? Or even pursued it with Carly? Could it be that he’d been scared to know? To find out? Was it easier to deny the possibility than to face the truth?
Rafe punched his vinyl-covered pillow and cursed.
He wanted to hate her. He’d worked on that emotion all night. He’d nurtured it with whiskey, and fed the betrayal he felt with justifications. In the light of the day, however, none of it seemed to hold water.
And now they’d come full circle. Together, but separate. A family, but not.
“Hey, Rafe, you got company,” the deputy said, breaking into Rafe’s thoughts.
He pushed up on his elbows and winced at the sudden pain in his head. His old friend Deputy Dan Tarvy hitched a thumb toward the doorway with a wink and a grin. Finally, Rafe thought. At least Gus would find him something for this headache.
“Thanks, Dan,” he said, throwing his legs over the side of the cot while cradling his head in his hands.
“Someday,” Dan whispered, leaning close to the bars as he unlocked them, “you’ll have to tell me your secret, buddy. One thing you always had was taste.”
Rafe was about to ask what the hell he was talking about when a pair of crutches moved into his line of vision.
“C-Carly,” he stammered.
She bit her lower lip, taking in the cuts and bruises on his face. “Impressive.”
He got to his feet, bracing one hand against the cell wall until the room stopped revolving. He clamped a hand against his splitting skull. “Ohhh—”
“Headache?” She arched a sardonic eyebrow.
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his first finger. A fellow inmate snorted in a close imitation of a hog at a feeding trough.
“What are you doing here?” he muttered.
“Oh, I was in the neighborhood. Just thought I’d drop by. Get a firsthand look at the local jail.” She glanced at the motley assortment of men sharing his cell. None of them looked any better than he did. “Friends of yours?”
He glared at her in reply.
She raised her eyebrows. “Hmmm... Except for the tattoos, they all bear a striking resemblance to you.”
“Very funny,” he said, gathering his battered Stetson from the stripped bunk he’d occupied. Bending over nearly did him in. “I thought Gus was coming.”
She smiled tightly and headed down the hallway. “He picked me up at the ranch this morning and dropped me off. He thought maybe this was more up my alley.”
“Your Honor, my client has proven himself an exemplary member of this community for over ten years. Mr. Kellard has no blemishes on his record. He’s a hardworking cattle rancher upon whom several employees depend for their livelihoods. What happened last night was certainly unprecedented and he’s expressed sincere regret about the whole incident.” Carly saw Rafe glance sideways at her. “Therefore, I ask the court to consider this, along with the Blue Lagoon Saloon’s agreement to drop all charges subsequent to restitution by my client.”
The sixty-something black-robed woman behind the bench shifted her half glasses down her nose and glanced at Rafe. Carly joined her. Despite, or perhaps because of, the numerous cuts on his face and the dark bruise under his left eye, he stood there, eyes hooded and distant, like some dark archangel fresh from battle with a foe. The crisp white shirt Carly had brought for him stood in stark contrast to his freshly shaved sun-bronzed face, and his dark blue jeans hugged his hips low and tight.
A shiver of desire went through her as she took in the sight of him. Irrational, she told herself, for he could obviously not want her less than he did now.
Judge Abigail Weldon seemed neither immune to nor swayed by Rafe’s looks,
but Carly caught her tearing her gaze from him just the same.
Tapping her pencil thoughtfully against her desk blotter, the judge cleared her throat. “I’m inclined to agree,” she said. “This was a first offense. And according to this police report, Mr. Kellard didn’t brawl in that saloon alone.”
“Yes, Your Honor, that’s true. Another man did, in fact, start the fight. But in the interest of expediency, my client has informed me that he’s willing to accept full responsibility for the disturbance.”
“Am I to understand that the plaintiffs have already received restitution in the amount of—” she looked down at the file in front of her “—twelve hundred and sixty-five dollars?”
Beside her, Rafe made a strangled sound.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Carly said evenly. “That’s already been taken care of.”
“It’s what?” Rafe’s clamp-jawed hiss felt hot against her ear.
“Not...now,” she mouthed, nudging him in the ribs and smiling at the judge.
“Very well,” the judge said, writing something on the file before looking up and folding her hands in front of her. “Mr. Kellard? I am going to drop the drunk and disorderly charges against you, as well as willful destruction of private property considering all parties have agreed. Whatever your reasons were for taking apart the Blue Lagoon Saloon, I assume there won’t be a repeat performance any time in the near future?”
“No, Your Honor,” Rafe said sincerely.
“Splendid,” Weldon said with a judicial smile. “Miss Jamison? A pleasure.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Carly said, gathering up her papers and her briefcase. “I would return the compliment.”
“Hang on to her, Mr. Kellard,” Weldon told him, in a startling departure from usual judicial procedure. “Reciprocity can be a valuable thing.”
Rafe smiled tightly and took Carly’s briefcase from her as the judge told the bailiff to call up the next victim.
“What the hell does reciprocity mean?” he muttered to her as they moved out of the courtroom.
“Give and take. Quid pro quo,” she said, balancing on her crutches as he opened the double doors for her. “The California state bar and the Colorado bar have a reciprocity agreement which allowed me to argue in front of the judge today. That’s all she meant.”
Rafe looked back at the judge as Carly went through the door. Somehow he suspected she’d meant a hell of a lot more than that.
They were almost home—with more than thirty minutes of nearly silent white-knuckle driving behind them—be—fore he broached the subject of the Blue Lagoon payoff.
“Where’d you get the money, Carly?”
Carly kept her gaze pinned to the road, where the high desert grassland rushed by in a blur of greens and purples and fragrant smells. “Consider it a loan, if you wish.”
“I wish you hadn’t done it in the first place.”
“You’d rather spend another night with the tattooed trio?”
Against his will, a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll pay you back.”
It was as much of a thank-you as she was likely to get. But she hadn’t done it for thanks. She’d done it for him. “There’s no hurry. Besides, I owe it to you, after your coming all the way to Nevada to get me and—”
“I’ve got the twelve hundred in my account, Carly. I said I’ll pay you back. And you can bill me for your fee.”
She winced. “There is no fee, Rafe,” she said carefully. “Not for you. Not ever.”
He pulled into the ranch drive, slowed to a stop and shifted the car into park. With his hands braced on the steering wheel, he stared at the house. “Where’s Evan?”
Carly’s heart raced and plunged like a balky racehorse. “Gus took him to Laurie’s with him this morning. He’s going to spend the night with the boys. Gus is staying another night, too. He thought it might be easier for Evan.”
Disappointment flitted across Rafe’s expression. “Does he know?”
Sunshine beat down on her through the open window. She wanted to open the door, run, hide—anything but talk about the inevitable.
“Does he know about you, you mean?” she asked. “No. I thought it was something we should tell him together. But he’s known for a long time that Tom wasn’t his natural father. Tom knew, too, by the way,” she said deliberately. “Right from the start.”
Rafe’s chest lifted, and he tilted his head back against the seat’s headrest. “Did he know about me?”
“Yes. He knew everything.”
Rafe turned to her with a frown. “What everything? That I didn’t want children? That I was a jer—?”
“He knew that I was still in love with you.”
Rafe’s lips fell open. “What?”
Idiot, she berated herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid... Dizziness assailed her. Why was it so hot? The musky scent that belonged to Rafe triggered its automatic response in her. Palpitations, dampness on her palms and in other places... She opened the truck door and wrestled her crutches outside.
“Wait a minute,” he said, grabbing her by the upper arm.
“Please, Rafe—”
“Dammit, Carly, what do you think I’m made of, stone? You can’t just drop a little bomb like that and walk off—”
“It doesn’t matter anymore” she lied. “It’s ancient history.”
“Is it?” he demanded.
A chill ran through her as his question vibrated between them. “Isn’t it?”
He let go of her arm and simply stared at her, as if she’d asked a question that was outside the realm of his possibilities.
Then, the tension in his features dissolved and an absurd laugh worked its way up from his chest. “I don’t know. Hell, I don’t know anything anymore. Three weeks ago, I seemed to have a handle on my life. I knew who I was and what I was. Where I was going. Now, I’m about to be out of a job, and probably a home. And suddenly I’m—I’m somebody’s father. Me. And you want answers? Better get in line.”
“I don’t want anything, Rafe, except for your son to know you. That’s all.”
With his two hands gripping the steering wheel, the smile slipped off his face and he stared out at his ranch. “I want that, too.”
Relief, quick and sharp, stabbed through her. She’d waited so long to hear those words. Last night she’d been so afraid. She’d underestimated him again. Had she done that all along? All those years ago?
“Look, I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on,” he said, unable to look her in the eye. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“Sure.” She started out of the truck and braced the metal crutches under her arms, cursing her need for them. But she hadn’t taken a step before his voice stopped her.
“Hey, Carty—”
She turned back to him with a questioning look.
He swallowed thickly, staring straight ahead. “What you told Tom—about us...was it a lie?”
It was a moment before she could reply. She shook her head. “No.”
Chapter 9
“You sure he’s okay there? I hate to impose on you like this, Laurie,” Carly said, fidgeting with the phone cord until its coils had wrapped around her whole hand.
“Impose?” Laurie laughed. “You have no idea the favor you’ve done me. For the past two hours, the three of them have been in the tree house, deeply entrenched in some sort of secret club constitution.
“I sent some snacks and drinks up on their dumbwaiter about an hour ago, which promptly vanished,” she added. “So I guess they’re okay. Meanwhile, I’ve managed to bake ten dozen crepes and seven dozen popovers for the party I’m catering tomorrow night. If anyone should be doing the thanking around here, it’s me.”
Carly smiled, too, relieved that at least Evan seemed to have found a place for himself here. “Evan took leaving L.A. and his friends there pretty hard. I’m so happy he’s become friends with Jake and Jordan.”
“The feeling’s mutual.” She paused. “Uh, speaking of friends,
how’s Rafe?”
Carly looked out the kitchen window. Fifty feet away, she could see Rafe wrestling a portable generator for some small part that didn’t want to budge. He’d doffed his shirt, and the sun beat down on his muscled torso, emphasizing everything that was right with the male physique. Carly chewed on her lip. “He’s fine. Cranky, but all in one piece.” Yes, definitely all in one piece.
She could almost hear Laurie shake her head. “Funny, it’s not like Rafe to go off the deep end like that.”
“I know. It was my fault, Laurie,” she admitted. “We had a...disagreement. Actually, it wasn’t even anything as simple as a disagreement.” If only it was.
“Carly, I wasn’t prying. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
The quiet understanding in her voice was almost too much for Carly. She couldn’t handle sympathy when she felt so guilty. She wondered how Laurie would react once she knew the truth. She wanted to tell her. She craved the counsel of another woman, a friend, but not before she’d straightened things out with Rafe. And Evan. “Thanks,” she told her. “Just promise me one thing, okay?”
“Sure. Anything.” Laurie sounded puzzled.
“If Rafe comes to you, and he probably will, because he needs someone, even though he doesn’t want to admit it...if he comes to you, take care of him for me?”
A long silence stretched between them. “You know I will. But, Carly, we’re just—”
“Friends, I know,” she said quickly. “Just take care of him. Promise?”
“You still love him, don’t you?”
Laurie had an uncanny ability to unvamish the truth and ask questions that went straight to the heart of things. “Yes,” she answered, surprising even herself.
“Whatever it is that’s going on with you two,” Laurie said, breaking into her thoughts, “don’t give up on him yet. He’s just a man, like any other man. He needs. He hurts. He retreats. But eventually he tries again. He’s a tough nut, Carly, but underneath it all there’s this soft center that craves what you have to offer. And despite the way he’s acting, I think he’s crazy about you.”
To Love A Cowboy Page 13
