by Francis Ray
She fought the impulse to wipe the grin off his face with a right hook. “Take your hand off me,” she hissed.
The smile slid away at the coldness of her voice. His bony fingers uncurled. “There’s no need for that kind of attitude.”
She faced him squarely. “If you want to see attitude, touch me again without my permission.”
His lips curled in anger. “Why, you—”
“Is there a problem, Henri?”
Angelique would know that deep, resonant voice anywhere. So much for catching Damien unaware.
She glanced up and groaned. He was all lethal male, ready to rip the head off of anyone who dared get in his way. Despite the handmade suit and wingtips, he was no joke. Unfortunately, she didn’t know whose head he was after.
“No. No problem, Damien,” Henri quickly said. “I was about to join a group and give my opinion of Disbelief.”
Damien bought his gaze back to her and Angelique well understood why Henri had hurried away. She liked her head just where it was. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t do it for you.”
She’d deal with that hurt later. “I’m aware of that. Your love for your father is admirable.”
He stepped closer. “Stay away from him.”
“I go where I please,” she said, acting instinctively to his threat and not counting the cost.
His narrowed gaze bore into her. “Push this and you’ll regret it.”
She already did. Her pulse beat out an erratic staccato.
Fortunately, he straightened. “Don’t make me tell you again.”
When he walked off, Angelique made her escape. She had the answer she’d come for. She’d stay away from Jacques because if she didn’t and Damien came near her again, she might do something very, very stupid.
* * *
Kristen was ready when Rafe picked her up. She was polite and friendly. She fully planned to keep it that way until Rafe stepped in front of her to open the passenger door of his truck.
Her gaze unerringly went to his butt encased in faded, form-fitting denims before she could stop herself. Tight. Just as she’d thought.
“Kristen?”
Flushing, she scrambled into the cab. What had gotten into her? She never did things like that!
“You all right?” Rafe asked, a frown on his face as he continued to hold her door.
Ducking her head, she opened her handbag and began rummaging inside. “Of course. I can never find my lipstick.”
After a long moment, he shut the door, then went around the back of the truck and climbed in. “If you’d rather not go to the shop, I understand.”
The flat inflection in his voice caused her head to snap upward. The voice might have been flat, but the eyes weren’t. They held a certain wariness. “Surely I can’t be the only person who’s ever seen your shop.”
His long fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “Prospective clients have been out there.”
“Friends?”
He faced forward, his body rigid. “I work all the time.”
Her heart turned over. That could have been the truth, but she didn’t think that was all there was to it. For some reason, Rafe chose to be by himself. Again, she wondered about his childhood before Lilly had become his stepmother when he was sixteen.
Her sister-in-law had said little about her five-year marriage to Rafe’s father. When they had met Lilly for the first time, she hadn’t mentioned it, and by the time Kristen had learned about the marriage, Lilly’s divorce was final. So much was happening in Kristen’s own life at that time that she hadn’t asked. Adam was recovering from his eye surgery, their mother, Eleanor, and Jonathan were planning a wedding, and Kristen was trying to get over a painful breakup and move to New Orleans.
“Did you and your father build things together when you were growing up?” she probed.
His head came around. His eyes, dark and tortured, were hot with rage. The change was so unexpected, Kristen gasped, cowering against the seat.
“The tour is off.” Rafe bit out each word. “Please get out.”
“But—”
“No,” he interrupted. “It’s off. I mean it.”
“But—”
“Now!” he snapped.
Kristen’s hand fumbled for the doorknob, her eyes searching Rafe’s tightly controlled features. Finally the door opened and she almost fell out. As soon as she was standing, he reached across and jerked the door closed, then spun off.
Kristen was still trembling when she let herself inside her apartment. Rafe’s rage, controlled though it was, was upsetting and confusing. What had happened? She’d never been that afraid before. Not even with Maurice. And Rafe had helped her. But who would help him?
The question popped into her thoughts so clearly she jerked around, half-expecting to see someone in the room with her. Closing her eyes, she massaged her temple. “That’s what a restless night will do for you,” she mumbled, but the question refused to go away. Who would help Rafe?
Pushing away from the door, she crossed the room and picked up the phone. There was only one person who might be able to give her the answers she needed.
“Hello.” Lilly answered on the third ring, the east Texas twang gone from her voice after living in California for the past seven years.
“Hi, Lilly.” Kristen perched a hip on the corner of the sofa. “How are you and the men in your life?”
Laughter drifted through the line. “We’re all fine. They’ve gone sailing with a neighbor and his son.”
“So you get a moment of quiet,” Kristen remarked, trying to decide if it would be rude to come out and ask point-blank about Rafe’s childhood.
“Exactly. My pie business has really started booming since a couple of the airlines have begun ordering. I’ve even had a few companies trying to buy the recipe, but I told them it’s not for sale.”
Kristen’s fingers flexed on the phone. This was the opening she needed. “Rafe’s grandmother gave you the recipe for the pineapple-pecan praline pie, didn’t she?”
The brief silence on the phone told her she hadn’t asked the question as subtly as she might have. Lilly always referred to her ex-husband’s mother as Mother Crawford. “You’ve been talking to Rafe?”
She plunged ahead. “Yes. He made me a writing box.”
“Oh, Kristen. I’m so happy. He needs a friend so badly. You won’t let him be alone. I prayed so hard for this. Thank you!”
Kristen was caught off guard by the exuberance in Lilly’s voice. When Kristen had first moved to New Orleans, her sister-in-law had often mentioned Rafe, but after a while she’d left it alone. Now Kristen felt ashamed. She hadn’t given Rafe more than a passing thought until she was in trouble.
She squirmed on the arm of the sofa. “Don’t read too much into it, Lilly. Rafe’s not easy to get to know.”
“Neither was your brother when I first met him, but then neither was I,” Lilly admitted quietly.
Adam had been angry and defiant during his blindness. He wanted nothing to do with his family. “He was hurting. He didn’t mean it.”
“I realized that the moment I stopped being so concerned about myself. He needed me just as much as I needed him.”
Again Kristen felt the sting of Lilly’s words. Lilly had arrived at Adam’s estate with all her possessions in a broken-down car, but she’d stayed and helped Adam believe in himself. It hadn’t been easy. Adam had slammed more than one object against the wall when he was upset.
“Did his anger ever frighten you?” Kristen asked, unaware that her voice had dropped to a whisper.
Once again there was a telling pause. “Daily in the beginning, but I soon realized he wasn’t angry with me, but at his own helplessness.”
“You were aware of Adam’s situation from the beginning. I haven’t a clue with Rafe. I asked a simple question about his father a little while ago and he got so angry—”
“Oh, Kristen.”
“What?” She came unsteadily to he
r feet at the anxiety in Lilly’s voice. “What is it?”
“Rafe’s father is a hard, cruel man who took every opportunity to denigrate him. Mentioning his father brought back all that pain.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” she said, realizing the great depth of the anguish she had caused Rafe.
“We both try to forget it,” Lilly said quietly.
Rage swept though Kristen. Lilly had been a target of Rafe’s father as well. “You were running from him when your car broke down near Adam’s estate in Shreveport, weren’t you?”
“Yes, but I found Adam. Your brother is wonderful.”
Now. But when Lilly had first met him he had been difficult to be around. “So are you.”
“Thank you.” Again a slight pause. “Kristen?”
“Yes.”
“Please give Rafe another chance. He has a quick temper, but he’d never hurt you. He needs someone…” A long sigh drifted through the phone. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your responsibility. I’ll fly down there tomorrow and surprise him. Adam Jr. would love seeing his big brother.”
“You have your business to run. I’m not walking away, Lilly. I just need to regroup,” Kristen said, hoping that she was right.
“Be sure, Kristen. I don’t mean to be unkind, but if you can’t see this through, then it’s best that you stay away.”
Her grip on the phone tightened. “Meaning I’m not as strong as you or Adam or Jonathan?”
“You’ve never had to fight for what you wanted in life. The rest of us have. It gives us an edge,” Lilly said. “But you’re a Wakefield. You have the tenacity and the intelligence to reach any goal. You just have to decide how badly you want it.”
Rafe had told her the same thing and made the same comparison. He’d believed in her when she was struggling to believe in herself. Despite his obvious reservations, he had gone to the party last night because, again, he wanted to help her. But could she help him?
“What’s the address of his shop?”
ten
Rafe’s warehouse was just inside the city limits. The prefabricated, gray building had an office in the front and two other structures of different heights attached at the back. Rosebushes loaded with lush, red blooms climbed white trellises on either side of the front door. A sign in bold letters read REPRODUCTION & DESIGN BY RBC. Two twelve-foot, galvanized sliding doors were to the right.
Kristen stared at the sign and recalled the same initials on the bottom of her writing box. Initially, she hadn’t thought anything about it—now she understood. Seeing “Crawford” on his sign would have been a constant reminder of the man he wanted most to forget.
And she had made him remember.
Despite the temperature being in the upper eighties, Kristen shivered. Nerves. Plain and simple. And she had yet to face him. Removing the keys from the ignition, she dropped them into her handbag and got out of the car. Not giving herself a chance to change her mind, she went directly to a door marked OFFICE.
When ringing the doorbell and knocking didn’t elicit any response, she twisted the brass knob and opened the door.
Immediately she was assaulted by a loud noise that sounded like a buzz saw. Rafe. She hadn’t seen his truck, but there was a paved road that went around to the back of the building where it could be parked or it could be behind one of those huge doors she’d seen earlier. Closing the door behind her, she took a cursory glance around the large office.
Framed drawings of furniture he’d sketched with a smaller insert of the actual finished piece covered the spotless white walls. The maple desk had nicks and scrapes, but was polished to a high gloss. A gray file cabinet squatted in the corner.
A gurgling sound spun her around. The water cooler. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her white linen slacks. She wasn’t sure she could do this.
Bravery for her was trying a new dish at a restaurant. She did her best to avoid confrontation. Then Lilly’s words came back to her. If you can’t see this through, it’s best you stay away.
The sound coming from beyond the door in front of her stopped, then after a few moments started again. He was working. If she left now he’d never know she’d come.
But she would. She’d always remember that he had come without a moment’s hesitation to help her, but she’d been afraid to open a door to help him. Her hand closed around the knob, twisted.
Although the man working had on protective glasses and his head was bent as he stared down at a piece of wood in his hand, she recognized Rafe immediately. She closed the door and took another step, then another, and didn’t stop until she was less than fifteen feet away.
He flipped a switch and the noise stopped. Picking up the foot-long length of wood, he turned it over in his large hands, then went still. Slowly his head lifted. Gloved fingers clamped around the unfinished pine. Never taking his eyes from her, he removed his earplugs.
“Hello, Rafe. I came to visit.” She nodded toward the wood he gripped in his hand. “I can tell that’s a leg, but what is it to?”
“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was tightly controlled.
“You promised to show me around. Remember?” Casually, she walked closer. “I saw your drawings in the outer office. Impressive. Did you make one of my writing box?”
“Kristen, go home.”
She stepped around the big piece of machinery. “A promise is a promise.”
He lifted the goggles. His eyes were like chips of black ice. “I don’t want you here.”
Her step nearly faltered. She couldn’t keep her gaze from going to the wood in his hand, then she looked directly at him.
Air hissed through his teeth at his sudden intake of breath. Her eyes widened as he lifted the wood, then sent it clattering and skidding across the gray concrete floor. “Leave!” Rage emanated from him in waves. His chest heaved.
“I thought we were friends.”
“I don’t have time for friends.”
But you want friends. She turned and walked back around the table toward the door. Reaching the discarded piece of wood, she picked it up, then started to brush her hand across the surface.
“No!” Rafe quickly strode around the bench and took it from her.
She couldn’t keep the hurt from her face. “You hate me so much that I can’t even touch it?”
“You don’t belong here,” he said.
“Then where do I belong?” she asked. “I’ve been trying to find the answer to that since I was in college. No matter how hard I try, I can’t find what matters in my life. I thought it was art, but at the first bump, I was thinking of giving up, would have given up if not for you and Angelique. I haven’t found anything to center me. I guess I can’t blame you for not wanting me around.”
He caught her when she went to turn away. “Kristen, don’t.” His gut clenched. He wanted her gone, but he’d cut his hand off before he hurt her. “Please don’t cry.”
She sniffed and he couldn’t hold out. “I took the wood away because I didn’t want you to get splinters in your hand. I’ve got gloves on. See?” He stuck the unfinished wood under her nose. “It’s a leg. It goes on a highboy.”
Kristen brushed the moisture away from her eyes. “Sorry. I don’t like winning by being underhanded.”
“What do you think you’ve won?” he asked, trying to sound stern but failing. She looked so pleased with herself.
“The chance to be your friend.” She smiled tentatively up at him.
Misery knotted his stomach. Friendship was impossible.
“Do you have time to show me around the shop or do you need to finish that? If you don’t mind, I’d love to watch.”
He worked in solitude. Always had. Always thought he would. “Only if we settle something first.”
Grinning, she held up both hands, palms out. “I won’t touch anything.”
He shook his head, his expression serious. “The work you’re doing with the paintings is important. A legacy is important.” He looked a
round the room. “A man likes to think he’s leaving something important behind. You’re going to see that that happens. I don’t ever want to hear you sell yourself short again.”
“Got it, and thank you,” she said quietly.
He shifted awkwardly. She could cause him a lot of trouble if he wasn’t careful. “It’s the truth. Come on. I’ll show you around.”
* * *
Rafe tried to keep it simple. Kristen probably wouldn’t remember a band saw from a radial saw, a router from a portable sander. Recalling that her cocktail table had cabriole legs, he tried to make up for his rude behavior by showing her how the leg was constructed and the tools he used to shape the leg by hand as it turned in the lathe.
“Between the World Wars, cabriole legs were quantity-produced on profile lathes and the individuality of a hard-carved piece was lost. They used glue and screws instead of stagger dowel.”
“I’m checking mine out as soon as I get home,” she said, her face scrunched up in concentration.
He didn’t doubt her for a minute. “From what I saw, it’s high quality. Come on, I’ll show you out back where I dry lumber.”
“I thought you got your lumber from houses and damaged furniture,” she said, following him out back and toward a crop of trees.
“When I can, but that’s not always possible. Beautiful lumber is very expensive. FAS cherry, first and second quality, costs seven dollars a board foot. Walnut is even more expensive. If I can buy green lumber and dry it myself, I can cut the cost in half or less.”
A hundred feet from the main building were three six-foot piles of lumber on three stacks of concrete blocks in two parallels of three. On top of each pile was a tarp weighted down with scraps of wood and bricks.
“Not very pretty, but it will be,” he said.
Kristen heard the pride in his voice, the assurance that she hadn’t heard before. “Your work is beautiful.”
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Not wanting to embarrass him, she nodded toward the line of trees. “Is that a creek back there?”
“Yeah. One day I came out here and there was a gator sunning himself by the drying pile.”
Kristen grabbed his arms and pulled him back. “An alligator!”
