Taming Rafe

by Susan May Warren

  And just as he’d done then, he came over to the brunette and tipped his hat. “Ma’am, is there anything I can do to assist you?”

  CHAPTER 5

  “SWEET THING! HE actually called me sweet thing! Rafe Noble is the most bullheaded, insufferable, arrogant guy I’ve ever met. If he thinks he’s getting away with his lies, he’s got another think coming.” Katherine sat at the diner counter, stabbing at a chocolate malt with her straw and wishing she’d been able to string enough words together to tell Rafe what she thought of him to his face. Apparently she could only resurrect Wild Kat over the telephone. Or a chocolate malt.

  It didn’t help that he had blindsided her with his expression of defeat. Maybe he really didn’t have any money. If his sister hadn’t shown up and practically begged Katherine to return, she might have believed him. Stefanie obviously had a reason for wanting her to stay. All Katherine knew was that winning the bull-riding championship came with cash—lots of it. He was just trying to play her.

  “What lies?” Lolly asked.

  Katherine had discovered the diner owner’s name shortly after sliding onto the stool in a puddle of despair. When Lolly asked her name, she’d debated a moment, then decided on Kat, liking the spunk she attributed to the nickname.

  Now, reading Lolly’s response, she realized she’d dissed the local hero. If Rafe Noble thought he could scare her away, he hadn’t seen the daughter of Bobby Russell. Mr. Noble’s surly demeanor wouldn’t spook her. “Nothing . . .”

  “So, how did he look? His sister said the accident roughed him up good,” Lolly said, nursing her own malt.

  “He’s in a neck brace and a cast, stitches over his eye,” Kat said. She didn’t mention the tumble he’d taken on the porch. “He looks like he’s been run over by a buffalo.”

  But it didn’t diminish his overall stun power. If Kat were hunting for the quintessential cowboy, with a lazy smile, heavy-duty arms, and a physique that could wrestle cattle, she had to look no farther than Rafe Noble. Under different circumstances—say a cover shot and some airbrushing away of his snarls—the man could steal her breath. As it was, when she’d met him, her heart had gone galloping off into those green, wildflower-scattered hills, scared silly.

  Until he’d called her sweet thing and offered to sign something. Like what? Her hand? She had a gut feeling that Noble’d had his share of interesting signings over the years.

  “He won’t be getting on a bull anytime soon,” said the man next to Kat.

  Kat glanced at John. He looked about forty and had warm brown eyes and short brown hair. He leaned on the counter, his jaw propped on one of his wide hands, suddenly looking very interested in her adventure at the Silver Buckle Ranch.

  “I don’t know why not. Seems to me that Rafe Noble needs somewhere to put all that nastiness.” Kat took the straw out of her glass and licked the ice cream from it.

  “Sounds like you’ve joined the victims—there’s a club, I think, of women scarred by Noble men.” Lolly sipped her malt. “Especially Rafe. He’s been in the bull-riding circuit since he was about eighteen, collecting fans and trophies, in that order. Rafe was born with a mile-wide streak of trouble running through him. I think they retired his detention chair at the school, and for years he was the sole street cleaner in Phillips. I still remember him on those hot summer days in his yellow vest, picking up trash for community service.” She grinned and glanced at John, who nodded.

  Lolly’s smile faded. “After his mother died and Nick left, Rafe sort of ran wild. Didn’t your dad hire him on for a while, John?”

  “He worked for Maggy’s dad—our trail boss—breaking horses. I remember Maggy saying that he didn’t seem to have a lick of fear in him. Which can be a dangerous thing for a teenager, even worse for a man who rides bulls.”

  As they talked, Kat envisioned Rafe younger, with dark, shoulder-length hair, recklessness in his eyes.

  She remembered reviewing an application for a grant to help fund an after-school program for at-risk kids. One of their case studies reminded her of Rafe. Yet hidden inside all that anger, defiance, and pain had lurked great potential because that kid—with the help of the program, encouragement, and hope—had gone on to graduate from high school and was currently in the military, serving as a medic. Helping people, just like Rafe could.

  There she went again, seeing life’s best possibilities instead of reality. But wasn’t that why she’d trekked out here? Because Rafe had potential?

  Please, Lord, let him have potential.

  “I met his sister—she seems real nice,” Kat said quietly. “Why did Rafe turn out so . . . ?”

  “Rafe isn’t as bad as he seems.” John ran his fingers along the brim of his hat lying on the counter. “He used to volunteer as a teacher for the junior rodeos when he was in high school—got a real way with kids. And he did some charity work at a youth center with his winnings. I think he’s just licking his wounds. He nearly got killed last fall at the bull-riding world championships.”

  She knew it—Rafe did have a soft side. John’s words settled into Kat’s thoughts. She’d always had her world handed to her on a platter. Even now, she lived a perfect life—well, mostly. But what must it feel like to have your dreams slip out like sand between your fingers? No wonder he looked so broken.

  “My unsolicited advice to you,” Lolly said, “is stay away from Rafe Noble. If you haven’t figured it out by now, cowboys are a passel of trouble.”

  “Hey, now,” John said. “Be nice.”

  “Okay, some cowboys are real gentlemen.” Lolly glanced at John, and something friendly, even sweet, passed between them. “But Rafe is a special kind of trouble. Anyone who looks a bull in the eye and dares him to buck him off is going to ride right over you without a look backward.”

  Yeah, Kat had met that Rafe. As she left the Silver Buckle, everything inside her had wanted to keep driving and forget the idea that she could talk Rafe into anything. Especially after her brief stop at her uncle’s ranch—the Breckenridge Double B. That hadn’t exactly perked her spirits. She’d nearly beelined out of town. As she drove by Lolly’s Diner though, she’d felt the strangest urge—maybe even a divine urge—to stop. Go in.

  It seemed as natural as breathing to sit here on the barstool, pouring her heart out to the owner. “If you two can keep a secret . . . I’m here because I need Rafe’s help. He destroyed something I was working hard on, and I need him to own up to it. Or at least help me figure out what to do next.” She dug into her purse and set the ad for the Silver Buckle dude ranch on the table. “I have this idea . . . but I have to talk Rafe into it. I have to get him to trust me, to see that I really want to help both of us. And then convince him my idea will work.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  Kat smoothed out the wrinkled advertisement. “Not exactly sure. I guess . . . I’m going to wait for the right moment, let him see I’m sincere.” She shook her head. What would her mother have done? Probably flashed him a smile, and he would have asked how many zeros to add. Kat didn’t have a clue how to emulate that. “Thankfully, Stefanie is on my side, although I don’t know why. Rafe wanted to call the cops, but Stefanie invited me back to the ranch tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Kat, I don’t think it’s a good idea to hang out with Rafe. He’s not in a good way right now,” Lolly said.

  “Listen,” Kat said, speaking to herself as much as to Lolly, “I need to do this. You don’t understand, but it’s my last shot.”

  Lolly looked down at her malt, stirring it. Kat had noticed that despite her age—she put her in her early forties—she had a youthfulness about her. A tease around her eyes and a sparkle in her smile. She liked Lolly, and her easy friendship seemed exactly what Kat needed, especially after her conversation at the Breckenridge ranch.

  “But I have a bigger problem than Rafe Noble at the moment. I went to Uncle Richard’s ranch today—”

  “And he’s in London.” Lolly made a face. “I forgot earlier. So
rry, honey. He goes to London every June.”

  Kat nodded. “So, do you have any hotels in town?”

  Lolly looked at John, who gave a small shrug.

  “Nope,” she said.

  Kat winced. “I guess I can sleep in my Jeep.”

  “You’re not sleeping in your Jeep—,” John started.

  “Maybe it’s not meant to be,” Kat said.

  Lolly looked down, stirring her malt again. “Don’t you have someone waiting at home for you? A . . . boyfriend, maybe?”

  Kat’s entire body tensed. She fished around for something that didn’t sound like a lie. “Let’s just say I’m here on business. And I can’t go home until it’s finished. Maybe I can go back to the Breckenridge ranch and—”

  “You’re staying with me.” Lolly put a hand on Kat’s arm.

  Kat couldn’t hide the relief that poured through her. “I’ll pay you—”

  “No, you won’t. It’ll be my pleasure.” Something glistened in Lolly’s eyes, something sweet and kind. It made the knot inside Kat’s chest ease.

  “I promise I won’t be any trouble.”

  “Of course not. My place isn’t very big, but I do have an extra room. I just need to change the sheets, fluff a pillow or two.”

  Kat noticed John staring at Lolly, his expression unreadable.

  “Thank you, Lolly.” She finished her malt, then picked up the ad. She opened her purse to tuck it inside and saw the picture of her and her father. A five-year-old’s innocent happiness.

  She took the picture out of her purse and ran her thumb over it. “Um . . . this may sound like a strange question, but you don’t happen to know Laura Russell, do you? I see Bobby Russell autographed his photo to her.” She nodded to the picture behind Lolly’s counter. “If my aunt is still around, I want to find her.”

  Lolly picked up Katherine’s empty glass and wiped the condensation from the counter.

  “I know just about everyone in the county,” John said slowly. “I’m not sure Laura Russell lives around here anymore.” He put his hand on Lolly’s arm. “Do you know, Lol?”

  Lolly glanced at him. “No. No, she’s not around here anymore.”

  Kat’s hopes dipped. “My mother never talked much about my father,” she said, deciding that she’d already told them about her present—why not her past? “But I always had a curiosity about how they ended up together and how he really died, beyond the reports in his obituary. I was really hoping my aunt Laura could fill me in.”

  Silence passed between them. Lolly finished her malt.

  John fiddled with his hat. Then he said quietly, “I knew your father. He was my best friend.”

  The last time Rafe had eaten dinner in the Noble dining room, pine wreaths festooned the stained log walls and ivy wound through the wrought-iron chandelier. His mother, still alive but in her last season, had managed to pull together a roast with all the trimmings, homemade rolls, and red velvet Christmas cake.

  The Noble family—whether purposely or unconsciously, he wasn’t sure—avoided this room after Elizabeth Noble’s death. His father certainly couldn’t cook, and after Nick left home, they hadn’t had much reason to celebrate. Stefanie took over running the ranch with Bishop, and Rafe ran away to join the rodeo circuit.

  “Rafe, you’re at this end, Nick at the other,” Piper said as she carried in the roast and put it in the center of the table. Behind her, Maggy St. John and her eleven-year-old son, CJ, came in with fresh green beans and rolls. Rafe had known Maggy from the days when she’d been Nick’s girlfriend. Sometimes it felt strange to see her married to Nick’s best friend and co-owner of the Silver Buckle Ranch.

  The smells had the power to make Rafe’s stomach turn to knots. Or perhaps the twist inside came from the residual adrenaline from his fight with Katherine Breckenridge. He couldn’t believe she’d actually followed him to his hometown of Phillips. How had she even known where to find him?

  “It’s Katherine Breckenridge from the hotel,” he’d said to Stefanie. His voice was probably still echoing off the far hills. “She’s here to ask for my money. Which I don’t have because . . . I’m broke.” Despite his tone, he had felt a little guilty when Katherine flinched.

  “I just want to talk to him,” Katherine had said.

  Even though Rafe had stood there, barely balancing on his broken knee, in his neck brace, smarting from his recent fall—right at Katherine’s feet—Stefanie merely nodded and invited the woman back for another go-round the next morning. If he could have, he would have thrown something. Anything to wipe that smug little smile off Katherine’s face.

  “I’ll be back in the morning,” she’d said.

  Yeah, he’d show her around the ranch. Maybe lose her in one of the back fields.

  “Are you going to ride bulls again, Uncle Rafe?” CJ asked, climbing into the chair next to him, yanking his thoughts away from the fact he’d been betrayed by people serving pot roast.

  “Don’t ask him that,” Maggy chided him. “Sorry, Rafe.”

  Rafe ignored her and reached over, tousling CJ’s hair. “You bet, kid. I’ll be back on a bull before you know it.” As fast as he could, in fact. Plenty of riders rode injured. And apparently, he needed the cash.

  Nick looked up from where he was slicing meat at the end of the table. His mouth tightened.

  “Go easy with the roast, Nick,” Cole said, bringing in a pitcher of water. “What did it ever do to you?” Now that Maggy’s husband, Cole, and Nick were on speaking terms again, they’d combined lands and worked them together, hoping to keep both their operations in the black. Their reconciliation after years of hatred still surprised Rafe, and he could admit it rankled him that they’d left him cleanly out of the operations of the Silver Buckle.

  “Rafe’s got some mending to do first, CJ,” Stefanie said, pulling her chair out beside Rafe. “He’s in no shape to be riding bulls.”

  “Yeah, but I’ll bet he’ll be back for the championships in Vegas, won’t ya, Uncle Rafe?”

  “For sure. I’ll be back long before—”

  “That’s enough!” Nick stood and dropped his knife with a clatter onto the plate.

  Stefanie and Maggy jumped.

  Piper put a hand on Nick’s shoulder. He shrugged it off. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “Sit down, Nick,” Stefanie said quietly. “Let’s just give Rafe a chance to—”

  “No. He’s got to admit it—he’s done. It’s over. He’s back on the ranch, where he belongs.”

  Rafe stared at his brother, at his wide stance in the place where Bishop used to sit, and the emotions he’d been trying for years to deny—to expunge—came roaring at him.

  Sometimes Rafe hated Nick, and he knew the feeling was mutual. Hadn’t Nick said that very thing on more than one occasion when they were growing up?

  “Thanks, Nick. I appreciate the show of support.”

  Nick braced his hands on the table, breathing hard.

  Silence filled the room, and Rafe could hear in it the pity, the word failure. Nick was wrong—he’d never belonged on the Silver Buckle.

  “I’m not hungry.” Rafe started to wheel himself away, but the chair hooked on the table, bringing with it the tablecloth. His mother’s plates crashed on the floor at his feet, a hundred shards that in no small way resembled her shattered hopes for him. His hopes for himself.

  Biting back his frustration, he wrestled himself out of the cursed chair to his feet. Maggy made a move toward him, but he pushed her away with a glare. Then he hobbled out of the room.

  “What’s wrong with Uncle Rafe?” CJ asked in his wake.

  “Nothing that time won’t fix,” Stefanie said softly.

  As Rafe rounded the corner and dragged himself upstairs, he knew that no amount of time would fix the broken places inside him. Because a man couldn’t fix something that had never been whole to begin with.

  Bracing himself on the hall walls, he worked his way down to his old bedroom, the one he
once shared with Nick, while white-hot pain shot up his leg, nearly blinding in its assault. He pushed the door open and half lunged, half fell onto his twin bed.

  He rolled onto his back and ripped the sling from his arm. He wanted to do the same to the neck brace, but the doctor’s warning rang in his ears.

  Rubbing his shoulder, he stared at the posters of legendary bull riders Lane Frost and Bobby Russell on the walls, the ribbons over his dresser, the dusty trophies. He’d seen Russell in action during a charity event in Billings once when he’d been about six. Bobby Russell had been the greatest bull rider to ever live, with three PBR championships and not an ounce of quit in him. One season he’d even ridden a bull with a broken leg. If Bobby could do it, Rafe could do it.

  Of course, Bishop had called the man a fool. Rafe had a sneaking suspicion he did it in some warped attempt to curb Rafe’s idol worship. But whom else did Rafe have to pin his gaze on?

  And, no, Rafe didn’t listen to the voices inside that taunted him with what had happened to both Frost and Russell. What could so very easily happen to him.

  Rafe gazed at the ceiling, the dust layering the lantern light fixture, and the old memories flooded back as clearly as if he were again six-years-old and bedridden.

  “He can’t go, Lizzie. He’s too fragile.” Bishop’s voice had drifted up from the kitchen, waking Rafe from his slumber. He stayed still, listening. “I don’t want him getting hurt.”

  “The doctor says he’s fine. He spends every hour in bed, dreaming of being out there with you and Nick, working the cattle. You even take Stefanie. Rafe needs to learn to ranch.”

  “He’ll learn soon enough. When he’s strong. Better.”

  Rafe had traced the neat, bright red scar on his chest. Six months old, it was just starting to fade, but it felt funny when he touched it. Like it was numb or something. He was better. Although his mom was right about him feeling fine, she had it wrong about him lying in bed all day.