Redeeming Rafe

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “After you.” He motioned to the leather sofa.

  There was something about this new demeanor that put her at ease, though she reminded herself that she needed to be wary. Despite wanting to be near him, she took a seat as close to the sofa arm as she could get.

  He sat down right next to her. “You don’t mind, do you? I need for you to be able to see my PowerPoint presentation.”

  Her removed his laptop from the bag and set it on his knees. “It’s not fancy.” He smiled and his dimple deepened. “I made it myself.”

  The first screen depicted five stick figures, not unlike the decals in the back of SUV windows, illustrating a man, woman, two girls, and a boy. The title read “Our Life.”

  She felt weightless with fear, anticipation, and uncertainty.

  “How do you like it so far?” Rafe asked.

  “I think you are showing promise as a PowerPoint creator.”

  He nodded. “That’s fair. Doesn’t give a man much reassurance, but that’s fair, too.”

  The next screen was a layout of the Beauford Bend property. “It’s not to scale,” Rafe said. “I haven’t progressed that far, but I think I did pretty well with the labeling. I used Garamond font. I thought it looked friendly.”

  Abby had to lean forward to read the labels he was so proud of. The smell of him seeped into her and made her want to slam the computer to the floor and crawl into his lap.

  “Note the yellow buildings. They haven’t been built yet.”

  Far away from everything else on the south part of the property were depictions of barns, pens, stables, and other assorted buildings.

  “So you’re really going to do it?”

  Rafe nodded. “I’m really going to do it.” He pointed to another yellow square, up nearer the main house, situated between the carriage house and the repurposed gristmill where Gwen and Dirk lived. “What do you think of the location of this?”

  Abby looked closer. “It’s not labeled. What is it?”

  “A house. I don’t really know what style yet, but I think a lot of wood, fireplaces, and big rooms—a place where toddlers can grow into children and children can grow into teenagers. It should be big enough for them to bring their friends, college roommates, and, later, their spouses and children. It’s a full circle kind of house.”

  At his words, Abby’s heart called out. Should she talk it down or hand it to him? Because it was certainly clear by now that he had come for it.

  “It sounds like that house would make a wonderful home.” She tried to make her tone neutral.

  Rafe nodded and pointed to the main house. “With lots of family in spitting distance.”

  When he brought up the next screen, Abby’s heart slammed against her ribs. It was a hand-drawn ring design. Abby had seen so many of Neyland’s design renderings that she’d recognize one anywhere.

  “I had to scan this in. It’s a little rough. A man would want a woman’s input about a few details before getting something like this made.”

  “Mmm.” Abby couldn’t speak. If she could have, she wouldn’t have known what to say. The ring would be beautiful—if she allowed it to be made. Though she wouldn’t want to give any input. She would take pleasure in seeing the ring of his choice on her hand because he chose it. If that happened. Big if. But she couldn’t help but wonder—how would it look with a sapphire as the central stone?

  “Last picture.” Rafe changed the screen. “This is my first PowerPoint, so it’s short.”

  The picture was of the rose parlor at Beauford Bend.

  “I like this room,” Rafe said, “even if there was a little dustup in there not long ago where my hygiene and hairstyle was questioned. When I was growing up, we lived in the family wing, just like now. But on really special occasions, we used this room. This is where Santa came, where we had birthday parties, first communion parties, and where we celebrated Camille’s baptism. I have good memories of this room, and I’d like to make some more. I figure by Thanksgiving, it’ll be too cold to use the wedding grove, but this room is a nice place for a wedding. Beau will be home.”

  Rafe turned off the computer and took her hand. “How about it, Abby? You and me, Thanksgiving? Making the best memory of all?”

  Everything in Abby’s being urged her to throw her arms around Rafe and tell him, yes, yes, a million times yes. And she might have if it had only involved the two of them, but there were children to consider, and for their sake, she couldn’t make a mistake.

  “I want to say yes …” Abby’s voice trailed off.

  “But?” His cockiness was gone, but the sweetness was still there.

  “But,” Abby said. “So many buts.” She gestured to him. “Not that you aren’t very handsome, but what is it with this new look? Rafe, you can’t try to be someone you’re not.”

  “No. And I’m not trying to do that, but I am going to be the best me that I already am—for myself, my girls, and—if you’ll let me—for your boy, and you. If showing up here like this will make your family even one little bit more comfortable and that makes things better for you, I’m glad to do it.”

  What was left of her heart melted. What he’d done was so unnecessary, so utterly beside the point, but so completely sweet.

  “Look, I know a haircut and some church clothes can’t fix anything. I told you I loved you and left you all in the same day. I almost went back on my word and went back on the circuit. But I didn’t do it, and I’m not going to. I hope that counts for something.”

  “I hope so, too.”

  “But you’re afraid the next time something goes wrong, it’ll happen all over again.”

  “I can’t deny it,” she admitted. “And things will go wrong. They always do with everyone, all the time.”

  “Do you know why I didn’t come here sooner?”

  “You were busy making a PowerPoint?”

  He laughed a little under his breath. “That, among other things.” He squeezed her hand that he still held. “I found out I didn’t cause Camille’s death, or the fire. It’s a long story, but there was an autopsy that we never knew about but Coach McKenzie, Neyland’s father, did. He told Gabe a while back. Camille died of smoke inhalation before my mother ever threw her off the balcony. And the campfire didn’t cause the beach house to burn.”

  “Oh, Rafe.” She had no idea what to say beyond that. No wonder he seemed lighter.

  “Yeah. I won’t kid you, Abby. I’m still scared to death that something will happen to my girls and scared of being a parent. Before, I agreed to quit bull riding because you wanted it. But now, I want off the circuit. I want to be with my kids—and with you. I’m never going to leave them. I’m going stay there and do the best I can.”

  “Every parent is afraid, Rafe. And that’s all you can do.”

  “I spent a lot of time with Jackson and Gabe this week. For separate reasons, they both blamed themselves for our family tragedy, though neither turned out to be valid.”

  Abby gasped. So much pain, so much horror. Yet Jackson and Gabe had turned out strong and had healthy, happy relationships. Maybe, just maybe …

  “Turns out, for all that Jackson would move into a beehive and try to boss the queen around, he’s pretty smart about some things. And one of the things he told me was that I was dead wrong to try to tell you how to feel about Gregory’s death. And he’s right. I still think it would be better for you and Phillip if you could deal with that, but the way I’m going to help you is to respect your privacy in the matter. I’m certainly not going to tell you we can’t have a life together until you get over your anger. Having a life with you is what I want most.”

  “Funny that,” Abby said. “I have actually made some headway. I think it took coming back here where we grew up to help me remember all the good between us. And there was a lot of good. In the end, he wanted an adventure. He made an error in judgment, and it’s time I put it in perspective.”

  “I’m guessing we’ll both take two steps forward and one back until
the day comes when we’re just going forward. But I want for us to take that walk together.” Rafe leaned toward her, and she let herself rest and revel in his eyes before his lips met hers. Then, for a little bit, she forgot about his eyes and everything else.

  Finally, he lifted his mouth from hers but stayed close, so close. “I broke a promise to you, but I came here today to keep another.” She was beginning to like that cocky, teasing tone.

  “Oh?” She was too breathless to say anything else.

  “Back in the beginning, when you blackmailed me—”

  “Such an ugly word!”

  “Well, when we struck a bargain. I told you back then that I’d be back at Beauford Bend in time to trick-or-treat. I happen to know the best trick-or-treating is at the Beauford Harvest Festival. I’ve got Jackson’s plane waiting at the airport. I figure, even taking into account the time I need to show my company manners to your family like a man ought to do, we can be home in plenty of time to show a cowboy and two mini vampires a good time.”

  Home. That might be one of the best words ever invented.

  “I have a couple of conditions.” Abby stroked his hair.

  “I can’t think of anything I’d say no to, but you’d better tell me.”

  “Will you let your hair grow again? And as for the chaps—I’m going to have to see you in those on a regular basis. That’s nonnegotiable.”

  “I think I can accommodate the lady, as long as she understands I’m going to want to see her in some pearls on a regular basis—and not much else.”

  “I can agree to that.”

  “And how about the ring, Thanksgiving in the rose parlor, and the house with the fireplaces and big rooms? Can you agree to that?” And he widened those eyes—always those eyes—at her.

  “Yes.” Abby threw her arms around his neck. “Yes—forever and ever, yes.”

  And they laughed together.

  About the Author

  Alicia Hunter Pace is the pseudonym for the writing team, Jean Hovey and Stephanie Jones. They live in North Alabama and share a love of old houses, football, and writing stories with a happily ever after.

  Find Alicia Hunter Pace at:

  Their website www.aliciahunterpace.com

  On Facebook at www.facebook.com/pages/Alicia-Hunter-Pace/176839952372867

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  More from This Author

  (From Reforming Gabe by Alicia Hunter Pace)

  Praise for Reforming Gabe:

  “Pace's writing is so real that you experience it. There was one argument in the novel when I could actually hear the characters yelling at one another.”—4 stars, Pure Jonel

  “A story that will both lighten your heart and pull on it at the same time, this one is well worth your time.”—Eat, Sleep, Read Reviews

  Being past prom age never stopped a Southern woman from putting glitter on her face—“sparkle when you can,” being the predominant philosophy. Generally, Neyland Reese MacKenzie embraced that idea, but lately the only Sparkle on her mind was her handcrafted jewelry shop—now defunct because she couldn’t pay the rent. Which was why she was working out of her friend Noel’s quilt shop, Piece by Piece.

  “Neyland!” Hannah, one of Noel’s salesgirls, hurried into the workroom. “There’s a guy out front and he wants to buy Annabelle!”

  Neyland’s hands stilled on the silver wire bracelet she was making.

  “Are you sure? He’s not just looking or trying to haggle?” Excitement rippled through Neyland, but she was afraid to hope too much. She hadn’t sold an important piece in almost a year. Inspired by an Edwardian watch fob, Annabelle was a heavy gold link necklace set with lapis lazuli and opals—and the most expensive piece in Neyland’s collection.

  “I’m sure! He has his credit card out and everything!”

  If only this had happened last week, Neyland would’ve been able to pay the rent on Sparkle. But it hadn’t, and she’d had to ask for her old space back in Noel’s shop—and though her friend had welcomed her back, it had been humiliating. Neyland rose, almost dizzy with delight. It had been a long time since she’d been able to afford gold, platinum, semi-precious gems, or any materials except the sterling silver that she used to make the simple pieces that were impulse purchases for the tourists who came through Beauford.

  Beauford, a small artisan boutique town located outside Nashville, boasted some of the finest craftsmen in the country. Despite her lack of financial success, Neyland stubbornly counted herself among them. But this could change things. The other artisans in town insisted that she just needed to sell that one piece that would get her noticed.

  “I’m so excited.” Hannah clapped her hands together. Neyland had to smile. She had promised the high school girls who worked part time for Noel a hundred dollars commission on any important piece they sold, which was less percentage wise than the ten per cent they earned on the little whimsical silver pieces, but, under the circumstances, it was the best Neyland could do. She still had to buy silver and pay the rent on her little apartment above Sparkle. “He wanted to know if we could ship it. I told him we could. Was that okay?”

  “Absolutely. I think we can afford a little shipping for what Annabelle will bring us.” Neyland slipped out of her Yellow Box flip-flops and put on the black Christian Louboutin pumps she never should have bought. She’d gone a little crazy last year after selling Catherine, the bracelet inspired by a diamond wheat tiara that had belonged to the Russian imperial family. She’d thought Catherine was the piece that would bring her success, so after buying precious metals, semiprecious stones, jade, onyx, and amber for new creations, Neyland had celebrated by buying the shoes, a Louis Vuitton bag, and a few really good, classic designer garments. Then she’d moved out of Piece by Piece, opened Sparkle, and worked night and day until she had five new pieces that that she was sure would sell quickly.

  But none of them had sold—until now. Maybe this would be the sale that would change everything, maybe even lead to a commissioned work that would allow her to finally work with emeralds and diamonds.

  Neyland hadn’t realized how wide her smile was until she stepped out of the workroom and that smile froze and melted.

  Gabe Beauford—back in Beauford for his brother’s wedding next week, the same wedding in which Neyland would serve as a bridesmaid for her friend Emory.

  How had Hannah not known who he was? Not only was Gabe the brother of country music superstar Jackson Beauford, he was a two-time, Super Bowl-winning San Antonio Wrangler. And it was no coincidence that his last name was the same as the town’s.

  Only a man with extraordinary self-confidence or one spoiling for a fight on the playground would have the nerve to wear those orange seersucker, go-to-hell shorts covered in football helmets—even if he did pair them with a luxurious, gently wrinkled, white linen shirt.

  Too much. That was Gabe Beauford all over—too tall, too ripped, too good-looking, too much blond hair. And too, too beloved by Neyland’s father, Conrad MacKenzie, revered football coach of the Beauford High Blue Devils.

  And here Gabe stood like a Viking warrior who’d recently finished looting a village, nonchalantly swinging Neyland’s precious Annabelle from his index finger like a pendulum high on speed and good times.

  The lapis stones perfectly matched his eyes.

  She’d have to speak to Hannah about leaving scoundrels alone with valuable, unguarded merchandise. Neyland reached out, caught the necklace, and pulled it from his finger. She knew what he intended to do with Annabelle, and she was having no part of it.

  And, though it wasn’t entirely rational, Neyland wanted no part of Gabe Beauford either. Being the daughter of a successful and revered high school football coach had never been easy, but it had been down right intolerable when, at fifteen, Gabe Beauford had burst onto the scene, catching uncatchable
passes, setting records, and—worst of all—taking up Conrad MacKenzie’s time—time that should have been Neyland’s. She had been ten at the time.

  Gabe’s deceased parents had been best friends with Neyland’s, so she had always known the Beaufords, but Football Player Gabe was a different story from the Gabe who was simply one of those older and not-very-interesting Beauford brothers. She had long been accustomed to the energy her father gave his team, but never before had she been confronted with a player who was allowed to come to the house whenever he wanted and stay as long as he liked. He was always there—at the dinner table, on family movie night, and locked up with her father in the den watching game film.

  Even Neyland’s mother, who was usually sympathetic to Neyland’s jealousy of Conrad’s time, had no tolerance for Neyland’s attitude. Once, when Neyland had burst out that the only reason Gabe got so much attention was because he was such a good wide receiver, Vanessa MacKenzie had told Neyland she should be ashamed of herself, that Gabe needed a father figure since his was dead. At the time, Neyland had thought her father might as well be dead, too, for all the attention he paid her. While that might not have been true, it was how she had felt—and evidently how she still felt.

  The day Gabe Beauford graduated from high school and left for the University of Tennessee was the happiest of Neyland’s life, but, still, hardly a day went by that her father did not bring up Gabe’s name. He didn’t even seem to have any opinion on Gabe’s legendary womanizing.

  Too bad she hadn’t been a football player.

  “Hey, Neyland.” Gabe’s slow, lazy tone matched his slow, lazy smile. “Bad storm last night. We lost some trees out at Beauford Bend.”

  “Nothing that will impact the wedding, I hope.” Emory deserved the perfect outdoor wedding she’d always wanted.

  “Nah. They were up nearer the road. I went down to your shop, but the sign said you’d temporarily moved back in here.”

  “Yes.” And she rattled off the story she and Noel had agreed on. “Noel and I used to share this shop before I opened Sparkle. Nickolai’s getting out of the hospital today, and Noel needs my help minding the shop so she can take care of him.” Noel’s boyfriend played hockey for the Nashville Sound and had gotten a nasty neck laceration in a game last week. “Also, once the Stanley Cup Playoffs start and Nickolai’s able to play again, Noel wants to be free to go to at least some of the road games.” Noel had insisted that part was true and refused to accept money for the space Neyland was using. Of course, Noel had more commissions than she could handle.