Though lately, when the fear became terror, Abby had begun to comfort herself with the knowledge that she could move back to Boston—and that scared her almost as much as the thought of not being able to care for her child. She’d move if she had to—even if it meant regressing back to her wispy, transparent self until she faded into nothing.
Abby gave herself a rest from her fears and let herself enjoy the sight of the Beauford Bend Plantation house. The noble, brick structure was especially beautiful in the golden September light.
She would have passed the house and turned down the road to the renovated gristmill where Gwen and Dirk lived, but a bit of bright blue near the rear family wing entrance caught her eye. It looked like Rafe Beauford’s truck, but he shouldn’t be here. He was off riding bulls, and according to Emory, they wouldn’t see him until Thanksgiving. Something must be wrong.
Gabe had left yesterday for Dallas where the Titans were playing the Cowboys on Sunday, but if something had happened to him, Neyland would have called. Jackson and Emory were fine. That left Beau—the special ops soldier and the baby of the family.
Abby backed up and turned toward the house. If something had happened to Beau, everyone would be up, and Gwen and Dirk would likely be with them. If this were Boston, Abby would have turned around and left, not wanting to intrude—but this was Beauford, Tennessee where it was expected for everyone to do all they could in times of trouble.
She parked beside Rafe’s truck and said to Phillip, “Just sit still for a minute, baby. Mama needs to check on something.” She’d stick her head in the kitchen. If there was no activity, she’d proceed on to Gwen’s. If there was trouble, she’d come back and get Phillip.
But when she stepped out of her car, something in Rafe’s truck caught her eye—and it appeared to be Rafe Beauford, himself, slumped over the steering wheel. At first she thought he was sick or—even worse—dead, but he shifted and pushed his hair away from his eyes before settling back into what had to be the most uncomfortable sleeping position ever thought up by man, woman, or acrobat. He was asleep, or maybe drunk—though she’d spent a little time with him at Jackson and Emory’s wedding last spring, and he didn’t seem to be the kind to drink and drive. But he wasn’t driving. Maybe he’d done his drinking after arriving. But if that were the case, why not go inside? Each of the brothers had his own suite of rooms in the family wing of the historic mansion.
When Abby looked around the truck cab for signs of drunken debauchery, what met her eyes instead was evidence of gluttony gone bad. There were open packages of Oreos, Chips Ahoy!, Nutter Butters, Fritos, and chili cheese fries flavored potato chips. And it was all tossed around willy-nilly with half-eaten Happy Meals and open bottles of chocolate milk.
She didn’t know what was going on here, but it was nothing good and time Rafe Beauford woke up.
It was when Abby opened the passenger door and put her head in with the intention of rousing Rafe that she saw what was in the back seat—a set of sleeping twin girls about the same age as Phillip. They were strapped in their car seats, leaning toward each other so that their bright blond heads almost touched. Their faces were covered in what looked like mustard, ketchup, and chocolate milk. From the smell of things, they both badly needed diaper changes.
And—even if their dresses hadn’t been filthy—clothing changes. There was plenty astounding about this situation, but what those babies were wearing might take the cake and the crystal stand it sat on.
Their matching bright turquoise satin dresses were covered with enough spangles and glitter to light up a New York sky, and there couldn’t be a ribbon, flounce, or rosette in the particular shade left in the universe, because it was all here filling the back seat of Rafe’s truck. One of the girls still wore a headband with a huge turquoise organza flower accented with feathers and crystal beads, but the other girl had apparently liberated hers and thrown it onto the seat among the broken cookies, cheese puffs, and melted ice cream cones. The baby seated directly behind Rafe idly kicked the back of his seat in her sleep. Who knew they made crystal-encrusted shoes in that size?
Abby came from a world where little girls were dressed in pastel batiste dresses with smocking and shod in English sandals. Things were different in the South, but Abby couldn’t imagine Gwen dressing Julie in such a thing. Where had Gabe Beauford gotten these dresses?
She almost laughed at the absurdity of her pondering. So distracted she had been by all the trappings and food debris, she had not wondered at all where Rafe had gotten these children.
But she wondered now.
She retrieved her cell phone from her pocket.
“Emory? I’m sorry to wake you so early, but I’m parked outside the family wing entrance. I think you’d better come down here.”
Chapter Two
It had been a long time since Rafe had woken without knowing where he was, though he thought he might be outside because of the cool draft on his face. His shoulder hurt, and there was a crick in his neck, but he’d seen worse. He might be about to see worse, which was why he was afraid to open his eyes.
Then he remembered. Unless he was hallucinating, he was at Beauford Bend with a truckload of toddlers. Hallucinating would be too good to be true, but just in case, he opened one eye and looked over his shoulder.
Nope. Still there.
“Raphael.” Ah, he knew that voice. The whole world knew that voice—had paid a fortune to hear it.
Rafe turned his head to look out the open passenger door into the eyes of his brother Jackson.
And Jackson wasn’t alone. Oh, no. Emory stood next to him, along with Gwen, Dirk, and Jackson’s right-hand man, Sammy Anderson. They all looked equally shocked.
Standing a little apart from them was Abby Whitman. He took a second to enjoy the view. After what he’d been through, he deserved it. He had danced with Abby a few times at Jackson’s wedding last spring, and he’d liked how she’d moved in his arms. She was slim and almost tall, but not quite, depending on your definition of tall. Her head fit right against his shoulder when they danced, so he figured that would make her about 5’8”. She’d sit a horse well, but it would have to be English style, what with her cool blond coloring and that classy way she had about her.
But right now, the most amazing thing about her was she had a kid sitting on her hip and he was clean and not screaming. How did someone make that happen?
“Rafe! What—” Jackson began.
Rafe got out of the truck lightning fast.
“Shut up, Jackson!” he said in a breathy whisper and looked around at everyone else. “Nobody talk. You’ll wake them up, and there’s not a bull on the circuit that’s a bigger slice of hell than them awake.”
Around him, eyes narrowed, heads shook, and Jackson opened his mouth again.
Rafe put up his hand and projected with every muscle in his face if you speak another word and wake those kids up, I’ll beat the living shit out of you.
Just then a figure emerged from the carriage house and hotfooted it toward the rest of the group. Oh, great. Exactly what he needed—his twin’s fiancée, Neyland.
“What’s going on here?” she asked. “Rafe, where did you come from?”
“That’s what we’d all like to know,” Jackson said.
“Quiet,” Gwen said. “Rafe is about to go on a killing spree if we wake those kids up.”
“What kids … oh.” Neyland now looked as shocked as the rest of them.
“Let’s step over here and get some answers.” Dirk, head of Jackson’s security detail, had recovered and herded them the short distance to the porch that ran the length of the family wing.
“I need to go to work.” Abby wrinkled her brow and looked from Gwen to her child and back.
“Right,” Gwen said. “Give Phillip to Sammy. Sammy, will you take him down to the house and stay until I get back?” She unclipped what looked like a walkie-talkie from her belt and gave it to Sammy. “Take the baby monitor. I have a feeling this is a conve
rsation I don’t want Julie and Carter to hear should they wake up.”
Once Abby and Sammy had made their exit, Jackson stepped forward and spread his hands. “All right. Where did you get those kids?”
“Denton, Texas. They screamed all the way here, and let me tell you, that was no fun. Then, as I got past the guardhouse, they fell asleep. I was afraid of waking them, so I just went to sleep, too.”
“Don’t you think you ought to take them back to Texas?” Jackson asked.
“I would if I could. I tried to leave them there in the first place.”
“So you didn’t kidnap them?”
“Kidnap them? Do you think I’ve lost my mind?”
“Candidly? Yes. Yes, I do think that. And I am thinking it more every second.”
“Enough.” Emory walked back toward the truck. “They’re going to wake up eventually, and I intend to get a look at them.”
Rafe was hot on her heels. “Don’t do it, Emory. You’ll be sorry!”
But she kept walking until she got to the truck and threw open the back door.
Everyone gathered around and peered inside. Miraculously, they kept on sleeping.
Jackson leaned in for a better look and his face went completely white. Finally, he spoke.
“Well, this much is clear: they’re yours.”
Rafe nodded. “Afraid so.”
Jackson met his eyes, and they shared a moment of agony. “They look exactly like her.”
And they did—exactly like Camille, their baby sister who had died in the fire.
“How old are they?” Jackson asked.
“Two. Or nearly that. I’ve got their papers.” The same age as Camille when Rafe caused her death.
“And you’re just now telling us? I would have expected this from Gabe …”
“Hey!” Neyland said.
“Pre-you, Neyland. And don’t get on your high horse. You know it’s the truth.” Jackson turned back to Rafe. “Anyway, you’re just now telling us this? May I ask why?”
“I didn’t know.”
“You need to start talking,” Jackson said.
Just then Bella/Alice began to whimper.
Good job, kid. You’ve saved me—for now.
Emory unbuckled her car seat and lifted her over her shoulder. “Ahh, poor baby.” Then something Rafe wouldn’t have anticipated happened. Emory turned on him. “Have you not changed their diapers? Or given them anything to eat except cookies?”
“There were Happy Meals …” Wasn’t that what kids ate?
“And why are they wearing pageant dresses?” Emory spat out the word pageant like it was the worst word in the universe.
“I … I don’t know … Is that what those are? The aunt said she wanted them to look nice when I took them.”
Bella/Alice started to cry in earnest, which woke the other Bella/Alice, who also started to cry. Gwen retrieved her and started to coo.
“Rafe, what’s her name?” Gwen asked.
“I, uh, don’t know—at least not exactly. It’s Bella. Or Alice. Look on the bottom of their shoes. It’s written there. If their shoes didn’t get mixed up.”
Just when he thought two women could not look more stunned, Gwen and Emory went the extra mile.
“Really?” Emory demanded. “Their names are Bella and Alice? You’re not making that up?”
“No. What’s the matter with their names?”
Gwen shook her head. “Characters from Twilight.”
“Twilight?” That rang a bell. Then it snapped into place. “That movie? You mean these kids are named after vampires?” So much for Tawny giving them normal names.
“So it would seem.” Emory bounced the baby, which didn’t do much to quiet her down. “It was a book, too. And Bella wasn’t a vampire—at least not at first.”
“But, still. Vampires.”
“I’d say that’s the least of your worries right now,” Neyland said. “So tell me, where is this bearer of your children and bestower of vampire names?”
“What?” Rafe’s head was so fuzzy, he couldn’t work through that.
“Their mother, Rafe,” Jackson said. “Where is the mother?”
“Oh. Dead.”
Chapter Three
“Dead?” Emory asked as if she didn’t know the meaning of the word.
“Yeah, that,” Rafe said.
They all looked at him like they were expecting more, but what else was there to say?
“Does Gabe know about this?” Neyland asked.
“Not unless you’ve already called and told him,” Rafe said.
“What could I have told him?” Neyland snapped. “You haven’t told us anything.”
Again, they were all stunned to silence.
“Look.” Gwen passed the Bella/Alice she was holding to Dirk and stepped in front of Emory and held her arms out to the other one. “Clearly Rafe, Jackson, and Emory need to have a private conversation, and these babies need to be bathed and fed. Dirk and I will take them down to our house and take care of that.”
“I’ll help you,” Neyland said.
“Wait.” Relief settled over Rafe as he moved to the rear of his truck and opened the cap. Someone who knew how to run a baby was going to take over. And with any luck, after they had their “private conversation,” Emory would take on the job full time and he could get back to bull riding. “Here’s their equipment.” He pulled out a box and a couple of bags, though he was unsure what was in them.
Gwen and Emory looked at each other.
“Equipment?” Gwen asked.
“You know. Clothes. Shoes. But don’t get them mixed up. Maybe write their names on the bottoms of their feet when you take their shoes off.”
Neyland closed her eyes and shook her head.
“Maybe we could call in a tattoo artist,” Dirk said.
“Isn’t there some kind of law about that?” Rafe asked. “Otherwise—”
Gwen put a hand up. “Rafe, you need to stop talking. Every time you open your mouth, it’s getting a little harder for me to remember that you’re the sweet, lovable twin.”
That again. “Yeah? Well, see, here’s the thing, Gwen. I’ve never claimed to be sweet or lovable, and I am definitely not feeling it right now. I’ve had a bad night.”
And a bad few days.
Emory took his arm. “Let’s go in the house. I’ll cook you something.”
Not that on top of everything else. Emory’s cooking never did anyone any favors. But he let her lead him through the back door to Beauford Bend’s commercial kitchen, with Jackson bringing up the rear.
“Sit. Both of you.” Emory pointed to the round, oak table that had been in the kitchen since even before Jackson had made enough money to have the house renovated. “We’re not talking about this until Rafe’s had coffee and something to eat.”
“I’ll make the coffee,” Jackson said.
“So, how has everything been at Beauford Bend?” Rafe asked as he let himself down in the chair.
Jackson and Emory looked at each other and then began to laugh in spite of themselves.
“Frankly, right now I don’t remember,” Jackson said. “I’ve been blindsided.”
“You?” Jackson didn’t know blindsided.
“I told you we weren’t talking about this yet.” Emory cracked eggs into a bowl.
“Why didn’t you call?” Jackson didn’t often ignore Emory’s wishes.
“I don’t know.” And he really didn’t.
Jackson brought two mugs of coffee to the table, handed one to Rafe, and sipped from the other as he sat down.
“What about your wife?” Rafe asked.
“What about her?” Jackson glanced at Emory.
“Doesn’t she get coffee?”
“No. She doesn’t want any.”
“No, she doesn’t.” Before taking a seat beside Jackson, Emory set plates of scrambled eggs and toast in front of both men. The eggs were only a little burned, and the toast looked fine.
“Ar
en’t you having any?” Rafe asked.
“No,” Emory said. “Maybe later.”
Rafe took a bite of the eggs. Not too bad, and that was a good thing because he had to eat it regardless.
“So,” Jackson said.
“Here we go.” Rafe took a gulp of coffee.
“So the girls’ mother died?”
“Motorcycle accident,” Rafe said. “Last week.”
Emory and Jackson exchanged looks and grimaced.
“Are you all right?” Emory asked. “That is … did you love her?”
Questions only a romantic would ask.
No, I’m not all right, and no I didn’t love her.
“I’m fine,” Rafe said. “See, here’s the thing. I didn’t know her.”
“Didn’t know her?” Emory looked at him wide-eyed.
“Well, I did. Sure. Briefly. Really, just that one night after a rodeo in Denton. I hadn’t seen or heard from her since. Until a few days ago. And even then, I didn’t so much hear from her as from her sister.”
Emory put her head in her hands. “Rafe. I don’t even know what to say.”
Me either.
“I know what to say,” Jackson said.
“You always do, big brother.”
“Start at the beginning.”
Rafe swallowed the last of his toast and pushed his plate aside. “Sometimes in spite of a condom, Mr. Sperm will find Ms. Egg and—”
Jackson slammed his hand on the table. “What in the hell is wrong with you? If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were Gabe with this smart talk. It’s unlike you.”
“That’s it. I’m Gabe. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve impersonated Rafe. See, Neyland and I were already engaged before I found out about the babies, so I’m trying to figure this out.”
“I could almost believe that,” Jackson said. “I’m tempted to make you show me your appendectomy scar, or lack thereof.”
“Yeah, well. Can’t fake that. But back to the original question. What’s wrong with me? I’ve been in a truck for a lot of hours with two mini vampires who were not one bit happy.”
Emory put a hand over his. “Tell us, Rafe. Start at the beginning. Or rather, when you found out about the girls. We’ve already established that they’re the result of a one-night stand.”
Redeeming Rafe Page 2
