Bren frowned. "You're drunk." She pushed him away and opened the door, a cold rush hitting every exposed part of her body, and she shivered. Damn him.
"Where are you going?" He grabbed for her.
She jumped from his grasp. "Home."
He laughed. "In those pretty little boots." He mocked her, staring at her feet.
Yeah. In my pretty little boots with my head held high, asshole.
She couldn't do anything about the shoes, but she'd be damned if she'd freeze her ass off. Bren grabbed for the back door of the truck. She snagged her purse, slipped into her coat, and slammed the door. When she turned, Rafe stood behind her, blocking her exit. "Get out of my way, Rafe."
He put his arms out on either side of her and rested his hands on the edge of the pickup's bed, pinning her against him. His thighs pressed her to the truck, his chest a wall of muscle refusing to give an inch. He dipped his head. "We breaking up, doll face?" he drawled.
Tempted to knee him for his smartass comment, she refrained and went for the kill—his heart. "You only said that to hurt me. You're real good at that lately."
His face twisted angrily. "That's right, darlin'. That's all I've wanted to do since I came here." He touched her hair, his hands shaking slightly. "Hurt you," he said, his voice softening. Then the tenderness was gone, and he laughed. "I needed your farmhouse like I needed a dairy farm." He pushed off the truck and waved her through. "Run away, Red. And keep running."
Bren stood frozen. What was he saying? Come to think of it. He'd never bought one single cow.
"Did you hear me?" He bent down, again, his unshaven face dark and scowling inches from hers. He grabbed her arm hard, yanked her past the truck, and pulled her to him. He looked dangerous and capable of hurting her if he wanted.
Bren shuddered. He didn't resemble the man she thought she'd come to know. The gentle, kind man was gone, replaced by an angry, unfeeling bastard.
"Tom's dead, Bren." His voice sliced the air with finality. "He's never coming back, darlin'." For a moment regret flashed in his eyes before it dissolved into an ugly emptiness. "So get used to it."
Bren fisted her hand and brought it up, connecting with his nose. "Go to hell."
His head tipped back, and he cursed. He let go of her arm and grabbed his nose, blood running through his fingers. He eyed her and grinned. "You got a mean right hook, Red."
God, he was exasperating. It was all fun and games now, but wait till the alcohol wore off. Bren gave him her back and started walking. She hated him—hated him for making her fall in love with him. She was in love with him. She threw her head back in abject resignation and disgust. She was in love with him, and she couldn't stand to be within a fist's throw of him because he was acting like a spiteful child.
But more than that, he was hiding something from her. Even in his drunken state, he hadn't eased off and confided in her—he was that good at keeping his head about him, and keeping a truth he couldn't confess that ended any future they might have had together.
What did he mean about the house and dairy farm? He acted like it was all a big favor for her. She didn't even know he was still in town until the auction. She didn't even know him. And now she was sorry she did.
And that damn heart of hers would cooperate, or she'd disown it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Bren refused to think about last night. Or let the dark clouds and constant mist keep her from her morning chores. She showered, checked on the boys, who slept contentedly, unaware that today would bring another change to their lives. She sighed and took the steps. It wasn't just about her anymore. They had come to love Rafe, too.
The aroma of bacon filled the main floor of the farmhouse. It was Sunday. Which meant her father was busy in the kitchen preparing his sumptuous bounty of eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes before church.
"It smells good in here."
Her father turned from the stove with a spatula in hand. "Good morning, sweetheart." He hooked his chin toward the ceiling. "The boys still asleep, I imagine?"
She nodded and came up beside him and stole a piece of bacon before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Are you hungry, then?"
Her stomached grumbled. "I am, actually." Golden-brown potatoes and onions bubbled in oil, an open carton of eggs off to the side with a gallon of milk next to it. "How much longer before it's ready?"
"The potatoes still have twenty minutes. I thought I'd call the boys down in half an hour."
She took the last bite of her bacon. "Works for me." She walked over to the fridge and grabbed a baggie with an apple she'd cut up for Smiley. "I'm going to head out to the barn and check on the horses."
Her father smiled back at her. "He's your favorite, he is."
Bren grinned. "Only because you gave him to me."
He lifted his spatula. "You mean fought for him, then."
"Aye, I stand corrected." Her father never did confess to how he had outsmarted Wes, and at twelve she hadn't cared, so long as Smiley was hers.
"Did you have a good time last night? I didn't hear Jo's truck pull up."
She let the memories fade and reconnected with her father. "We had fun." She sighed. "They really have something special, those two."
His penetrating blue eyes met hers. "When you're open to it, mind. It's never too late to love again, sweetheart."
Not wanting to hear the bastard's name, she headed for the back door of the kitchen, stuffed her feet in her boots, and grabbed her coat off the hook. "I'll be back," she called over her shoulder and slipped out the door.
The cold mist floated, dampening her face and hands. Her hair hung in limp, moist waves against her cheeks, and she pulled it into a ponytail. The creak of the barn door, announcing her arrival, sent nickers throughout the barn.
Smiley had a stall in there at night, unlike the other horses they'd rescued. Those roamed the pastures and took shelter in the open barns if they didn't need special care. Smiley was healthy. But at almost thirty-two, the cold was hard on his joints. She loved all her horses, but there was a special connection between her and Smiley. She could see it in his eyes, the way he tracked her in the barn. Or nudged her with his nose if he felt she was ignoring him with her barn work.
Bren reached into her pocket for the baggie. Prepared to open his stall, she stopped, her chest constricting. His stall was empty. Her hand seized the stall door, and she slid it open. Her legs trembled. "Smiley." His name floated from her lips.
Her cold hands pressed against her cheeks, now warm with growing fear. She'd put him in before they went to dinner at Paddy's. Right? Yes, right.
Maybe the boys...
Hope dawned, and she ran to the house. Jumping the steps two at a time, she barreled through the front door. "Aiden! Finn!" she yelled upstairs. "You let Smiley out?"
Her father flew through the doorway of the kitchen. "Lord, child." His face dropped, and she could only imagine her frightful image.
"Dad," she cried. "Smiley. Did you take him out after I left?"
"Smiley? No. It was dark, Bren. We never left the house." He moved toward her, his arm coming around her. "What is it? What's wrong?"
Bren slumped, her head dipping, and she wrapped her arms around her waist. She shook her head in disbelief. "H-he's not there."
"What?"
Bare feet slapped against the wooden steps. Both Aiden and Finn stood frozen, looking down, their faces rosy from sleep, hair ruffled.
"Mom?" Aiden asked warily. "What are you doing?"
Finn only stood wide-eyed, staring.
"I can't find Smiley." She needed to breathe. He was here, probably in the paddock. "Maybe one of the volunteers let him out." A lot of people came and went during the day. She moved to the front door and grabbed the knob. "I'm going to check the pastures."
"Not alone you won't." Her father moved to the bottom of the stairs. "Aiden and Finn, get dressed. Your mother and I will saddle the horses." He frowned at Bren. "He's here, sweetheart. D
on't worry."
Bren saddled the bay named Hercules, and, her body quivering, hopped into the saddle. She glanced down at her father. "I'm going ahead." Searching two hundred acres would take time. She needed more riders. The only one close enough was Rafe. Going to ask for his help would take intestinal fortitude. But with no other options, she motioned to her father. "Tether Jocko to Hercules."
He hesitated.
"For Rafe. We'll search his half, and you and the boys can search ours."
He nodded. "Smart girl." He tied the horse on, and Bren cleared the barn.
She kicked Hercules into a gallop and ignored the sharp pricks of cold rain hitting her face. Rafe's truck remained where she'd left it. She hopped off and tied Hercules and Jocko to the rail of the steps.
The hell with knocking.
She grabbed the knob, hoping he was too drunk last night to think about security. It twisted in her hand. Grunting her satisfaction, she flung the door open. "Rafe!"
Nothing.
Damn him!
She bounded up the steps and pushed open the master bedroom door, her hands balling up into fists with indecision. The only sound came from the bed and a heap of blankets, and the man snoring who most decidedly was dead to the world.
Hangover or not, he was getting up.
Bren moved to the window and snapped the shade, letting it roll like a tight spring until it rattled the window and stopped.
"What the hell?" A tousled black head popped up, and he squinted against the morning gloom. "I must be dreaming," he moaned and let his head drop to the pillow.
"Consider me a nightmare." She came around the bed and pulled the covers back.
Her eyes widened.
Naked, except for a pair of white cotton briefs, he shivered. Those long, rough fingers of his shot back, searching.
She yanked the covers back further. "Get up." She clenched the soft comforter. The only naked male body Bren had ever been acquainted with was Tom's.
His face, rough with dark stubble, scowled up at her as he threw a muscled forearm over his face and rolled to his back. "Damn it, woman! Shut the shade."
Bren pulled her eyes away from the wide expanse of his chest, covered in a light sprinkle of dark hair. She found his undershirt and tossed it at him. "Get dressed, Langston. I need you, and I'm not happy about it."
He sat up, a pair of tight thighs, rough with dark hair, swung to the edge of the bed, his feet hitting the floor. His head fell into his palms. "That makes two of us."
She ignored him and grabbed his jeans.
His head shot up, his eyes tired and bloodshot, the tightness in his jaw proof he was less than pleased to be wakened so abruptly.
She hesitated, the denim of his jeans cold between her fingers. "I need another rider, and you're all I've got." Her voice cracked. "Get dressed." She tossed him his jeans.
He caught them. His expression softened.
"Please," she whispered and turned to leave.
He grabbed her hand and frowned up at her. "What's up, Red?"
"I'll make you some coffee. Meet me in the kitchen." She pulled her hand away. "I really need your help, Rafe." The tears spilled onto her cheeks, and she turned away and headed down the steps.
God. Why did she have to blubber so, especially in front of him? She didn't need his pity. She only needed another body to help search. Opening the kitchen cabinets, she came up with a small Folgers red can. Good. He needed all the caffeine he could get. She started the coffee and found a travel mug. When the coffee was ready, she filled the mug and snapped on the lid.
The familiar click of his boots in the foyer were a welcome sound, and she met him in the hallway. His hair was wet and combed, and he finished buttoning his denim shirt when she handed him the mug. "We gotta go." She turned toward the door, and he pulled her toward him.
"What is it?"
Her face crumpled a little. "Smiley's missing."
"Your horse?"
She nodded. "Dad and the boys are searching the other half of Grace. We need to search yours."
She pulled away, but he held her in place. "You think Wes is trying to pay you back?"
She nodded, her lips quavering.
He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. "You bring me a horse?"
"He's out front."
Rafe let her go and grabbed his Stetson and gray raincoat off the hall tree. He frowned at her and grabbed a baseball cap next to it. "Here. It'll keep the rain out of your eyes."
They mounted their horses. Within an hour they had searched almost every inch of Rafe's land. She two-wayed her father, and they, too, had come up empty.
"Bren!" Rafe yelled. He had ridden the back forty that separated Fallon and Connelly land and stopped along the fence. "Think I got something."
There in the mud were faint horseshoe tracks leading under the barbed-wire fence, and directly above were cuts in the fence that had been recently mended. They were not the mends Aiden and Paddy had made during the herd rescue a little over a week ago. That group had come in fifty yards to the left next to the weeping willow tree.
A moan escaped her lips. "He's got Smiley." She slumped in the saddle. "If Wes hurt him, I'm going to kill him." The complete validity of her statement frightened her. She meant it. She'd kill Wes Connelly. Bren brought her horse around and eyed the fence. She had enough running space. If only she could get enough height.
"Bren?" Rafe asked warily. "What are you thinking?"
She ignored him and turned Hercules away from the fence in a sprint. She pulled on the reins, turning him around. She kicked him hard in the sides and hoped he lived up to his name. His feet left the ground, and he flew over the fence, horseflesh and muscle straining to clear the sharp points of the barbed wire. He hit the dirt on the other side. Her tailbone taking the shock, she clenched her teeth and grunted through the pain.
"Damn it, you're a menace!"
Bren couldn't help but smile. "You in or out, cowboy?"
Rafe pulled his mount around and kicked the horse's flanks. He, too, flew over the fence, cursing as he landed several feet from her. The rough planes of his face stiffened. "We do this together, Red. Don't outrun me." He motioned to her pocket. "Call Kevin and have him meet us at Connelly's."
His tone left no room for argument, and she complied. Giving Kevin no leeway, she only told him where he would find her. Against his lingering protest, she slapped the phone shut.
The burnished-red stable with its adorning cupolas rose stark and foreboding against the gray mist. Smiley would be there, and she'd simply retrieve him. For Smiley's sake, she'd avoid confrontation. She only wanted her horse safely back on Grace land. Then she'd slap Wes with theft to go along with the rest of his charges, and her friend the sheriff could do the honors.
Bren slowed, and Rafe did the same as they approached.
He pulled Jocko in front of her, and she yanked back on Hercules's rein. "What the—?"
"We're on private property."
"He's got my property." She nudged her horse forward. "We're wasting time."
"I'm not planning to get shot for a damn horse."
"Then go back. I can do this myself."
He shook his head. "You're such a pain in the ass, Ryan."
"Name-calling isn't going to help."
He pushed his Stetson back, his brows twitching together, and pondered their next move. Even-keeled and thoughtful, he surveyed their options.
"Maybe we can do this without raising a fuss." He motioned to a clump of trees several yards from the stable. "I think we're close enough. Let's tie off, search the barn. We find the horse, we grab him and go."
"Smiley."
"What?" He gave her an annoyed lift of his brow.
"His name is Smiley."
He mumbled something under his breath and headed toward the clump of trees. She followed, and they both tied their mounts. He grabbed her hand. "Remember what I said, Red." She couldn't avoid his scrutiny when he pulled her nose to nos
e with him. "We do this together."
She eyed his hand wrapped around hers. The strength with which he held it and the utter possessiveness made her catch her breath. The anger from last night seemed more a ridiculous temper tantrum. If she was completely honest, there was one more thing she hadn't confessed to him or anyone. The guilt she carried for Tom's death wasn't an unfounded emotion. Standing there in front of Sweet Creek Stables brought that night back in renewed clarity. She had sealed her husband's fate just as surely as if she'd thrown him from the barn doors of the loft. She was a hypocrite in every sense of the word.
"You coming?" He tugged on her hand.
She reconnected with him and let the past fade away. The present dictated her complete attention.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The knob turned easily in Rafe's hand. He motioned Bren through a side door of the stable, the sweet smell of hay immediate. Fluorescent lights hummed above. Stalls on either side greeted them. Tack neatly stacked on a huge metal shelf on the opposite end. Crisp leather saddles hung on metal racks in front of each stall, the exact opposite of Grace's horse tack, both in condition and use. Wes hardly rode—he was a showboater to his huntsmen friends. That worked in their favor. If Smiley was here, he'd be easy to find.
Rafe motioned to the right. "Take that side. I'll take the left."
She nodded and moved to the first stall, her legs shaking with anxiety for what she hoped to find. But the stall was empty. She moved to the next one, only to find the horse was not hers. She continued checking stalls and glancing back toward Rafe. The same question on her lips, but he shook his head no.
Several male voices came from outside the stable. Bren stiffened and turned to Rafe. He crossed the barn floor and grabbed her. He pointed toward an empty stall and pulled her inside. The two huddled in the corner. On his haunches, he pulled her in between his thighs and held her against his solid frame. She opened her mouth, and he put a long finger against her lips and whispered, "No talking."
Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1) Page 20
