by Mari Manning
His eyes widened, but his mouth stayed hard and thin. “Let’s go inside.” He strode up a path to an apartment, and she followed, half-trotting in her spiky sandals to keep up. Her heart sunk. He wasn’t going to make this easy.
As soon as the door closed behind them, Rafe spun around. The hardness in his face dissolved into anger. “What do you want from me?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
“I’m tired of this, Dinah. You tell me you hate cops, then you invite me into your bed. You tell me you’ll cheat on me, then I find you with your old boyfriend. You tell me you want to be friends, then just as I’m getting back on my feet, you show up at my door and tell me you love me. What the hell do you want from me?”
Breathe. She gulped in air and tried to remember what she was going to say, but all she could remember was what Miss Peppie said. “I’m too old to be playing games. It’s time I took life seriously and, uh, settled down.” She managed to clamp her jaws shut before she added “with a nice boy like you.” Had she just quoted Miss Peppie to Rafe? Lord help her.
Rafe blinked. “Come again?”
She looked away. “I’m so bad at this.”
“I’ll say.”
A past tenant had left a nail hole in the wall, and she stared at it, letting her thoughts and feelings drain away except the ones about Rafe. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Hell, I’m happier right this second with pissed-off you than I’ve been since-since the cemetery. I belong to you even if you don’t want me. Maybe I always will.”
She gulped some air. Silence floated between them. Phrases from her mostly forgotten speech drifted through her. “You’re the puzzle piece that makes me whole.” It had sounded better in her head.
From deep in his throat, her name rumbled. “Di.”
His face was a blur when she turned, and she realized she was crying. “Sorry.” She rubbed her eyes impatiently.
He was smiling at her, his dimples deep wells beneath his cheekbones. He stretched his arm out, and she took his hand, letting his warmth and strength refresh her as he pulled her against him. His mouth found her ear.
“Remember when I asked you to be my beard, carino?”
Tears still filled her throat. If she spoke, she’d start sobbing, so she kissed his shoulder.
“I think I’d already fallen in love with you. I just didn’t know it.”
Despite her tears and joy, a clear thought broke through. He’d dreamed about them together, imagined this moment and what he would say if she came to him. But so had she.
“I love you, too.
Epilogue
Rafe stood beside Jamey in El Royo’s Church of Santa Anna. Miss Peppie had insisted her two oldest children would be married in the family’s church and had prevailed. Reverend Brenner, standing beside Father Castillo on the gilded altar, shifted uncomfortably. But at least he was smiling.
Speaking of uncomfortable, Rafe tugged at the collar of his tuxedo shirt. He’d wanted to go to a justice of the peace in Houston, but Di, the girl who’d run from home and family most of her adult life, had suddenly turned into a traditionalist and took Miss Peppie’s side.
He was so happy, he didn’t even care. That she’d opened herself to him was all he ever needed. She’d stayed the night, and the next day moved in with him. Although pleased he’d finally found love, Miss Peppie and his papa couldn’t get past the “sinful” aspects of their living arrangements, and since he and Dinah agreed they would always be together, proposing marriage seemed the obvious next step.
When he asked, on one knee, Dinah reacted as if he’d just given her the Nobel Peace Prize, which pleased him. She was his soul mate. No doubt.
The sonorous pipe organ, which had been playing softly, paused, then began pounding out the wedding march. The carved wooden doors at the back of the church swung open, and the wedding procession began. Brooke came first, swathed in pink ruffles and scattering rose petals. Behind her Erika, then Ernesta marched solemnly up the aisle, barely recognizable as his baby sisters in their long gowns and make-up.
Esme came next, leaning on Papa’s arm, an angel in white lace and a long veil that swept the floor. The wide skirt of her gown reminded him of a bell. It rustled as she came forward to be joined with Jamey.
As he watched his father give Esme to Jamey, Rafe experienced his first tug of nervousness. Why had he let Dinah talk him into all this hoopla? Then the cadence of music changed, and the organist swung into Rascal Flatts’s “Bless the Broken Road,” and there was his Dinah, standing alone in the back of the church, looking straight at him. Had she winked? He wasn’t sure.
She’d gone all Texas on him—he didn’t dare check Miss Peppie’s reaction—in a short, tight, strapless white dress and white cowboy boots with blue stitching. Texas bluebonnets dripped from her blond curls and her bright bouquet. His nervousness melted away, replaced by gratitude. He’d gone from being the saddest cowpoke in the state to marrying one of the best women Texas ever made. Tough like Miss Peppie, with intriguing green eyes that read his damn mind sometimes. As Di said, they fit like two pieces of a puzzle. Lucky. He was luckiest man in the world.
She was moving past the immense door, head high, confident. He was supposed to wait at the altar, but he couldn’t. A collective gasp floated over the crowd as he pushed forward, striding down the aisle as if she would fade away unless he hurried. He reached her at the halfway mark. Slipping her arm through his, she whispered, “I’m the luckiest girl in the world,” as if she knew exactly what he’d been thinking.
…
Dinah rubbed her swollen belly as she gazed around the nursery. She loved this room. They’d fixed it up together—her and Rafe—choosing a teal color for the walls and curtains with teddy bears and oak furniture for the son who would be coming soon.
Esme had given birth to twins last year, nine months and two weeks after the wedding, but Dinah and Rafe had waited until Dinah finished her masters. She was working with children whose parents were imprisoned, and as she knew from experience, it was an important job.
A key turned in the front door. Rafe was home. “Di? Where are you?”
“In the nursery.”
A few moments later, Rafe poked his head around the corner. “As if I needed to ask.” But he grinned before joining her by the crib. He planted a soft kiss on her cheek. “What are you thinking about?”
She shrugged. “Trying to figure out how I ended up so lucky.”
He nudged her with his hip. “Maybe you should get the cards out. See what they say.”
She laughed. “Stop teasing.”
Tarot cards had lost their power over her. She could see her future just fine from where she stood. It was a good future, clear of shadows and full of promise, and she didn’t need a deck of cards to tell her that.
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Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I must thank my family: my husband, my daughters, my sons-in-law, and my grandchildren because otherwise they will think I’ve forgotten them, or worse, am not grateful for having them in my life. They make my days worth living. I hope I return the favor.
I would also like to acknowledge my mother who is an author in her own right and was the first to tell me that you must always delete the first chapter of any book you write. She never said why, but she wasn’t wrong. She has always encouraged my dreams (while reminding me of my duties) and planted in me and my brothers and sisters a love of art, music and books.
Last, but absolutely not least, I would like to thank my fellow writers at the Chicago North Chapter of the RWA for all their encouragement and guidance, not to mention patience. They taught me that raw talent is not enoug
h. There are rules that must be followed. I am a better writer for it, and I only hope that I have been able to return the favor. Thanks, ladies.
About the Author
Mari Manning is the author of several contemporary romances and three romantic suspense novels set in the Texas Hill Country. Stranger at My Door is the first in her Texas Hill Country series. The second, Stranger in My House, will be published by Entangled later this year. The third book in the series is Stranger in My Bed. Currently, Mari is working on a series of cozy mysteries. She and her husband live in the Chicago area.
To learn more about Mari’s upcoming books, read her blogs or sign up for her newsletter, visit her website: www.marimanning.com. Reader comments are welcome. Send them to [email protected].
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