Until He Met Rachel

by Debra Salonen

  Rufus suddenly had a picture of Rachel, alone, with her daddy when he stopped breathing. “Was she…was she there alone?”

  “What?” Her eyes went wide. “Oh. No. The hospice nurses sent her from the room moments after calling me. They knew it wouldn’t be long. I rushed home from the bank. I did try. But I was too late.”

  He and his father hadn’t been able to make it to his brother’s bedside in time, either. A swift, unexpected memory rocked him. The truck swerving, his father overcorrecting, the sensation of sliding backward in a ditch. They’d been shook up but, fortunately, the truck was still drivable. In the end, though, their race had proven fruitless because Stephen was gone.

  He knew at that moment he had two choices. Tell her his history or keep it to himself—like usual. He looked at her, debating. Maybe if she didn’t seem so darn vulnerable. He led her to a chair. “My brother died when I was in high school,” he started. “If you want to compare failings, I have to warn you, I’ll win.”

  They talked for a good half hour. She was a better listener than he expected. “I know it’s a cliché, Rufus, but bad things do happen to good people. My husband didn’t deserve to have his business and reputation ruined by a greedy opportunist. He didn’t deserve to get cancer. Do I believe the two are connected? Yes. That cloud of guilt and anguish that followed him for the last few years of his life killed him as surely as the physical disease.”

  She looked him in the eyes and said firmly, “You didn’t cause your brother’s fall.”

  The quick change of subject took him off guard. He answered more honestly than he might have if he’d had time to think about it. “I could have quit practice a few minutes early and made him go home with me.”

  “Guilt. When researchers find a cure for that, doctors might be treating a lot less cancer.”

  Rosaline checked her watch. “I have to go.” She started to button her coat, which she hadn’t removed. “I know that nothing I say is going to fix your issues, Rufus. But I will tell you what helped me carry on after my husband died. I reminded myself that he would have wanted me to be happy. He loved me that much. Don’t you think your brother would have wanted that for you, too?”

  He did. But there was so much more than simply Stephen’s death to feel responsible for: his mother’s chronic pain, his father’s undiagnosed, untreated depression, the accident that took their lives. All because he’d been too busy doing his own thing to watch out for his brother, his best friend.

  “Rachel doesn’t know I came here,” Rosaline said, standing up. “We haven’t been talking much lately. I had to stop making suggestions about the wedding because she got so defensive. The holidays are never easy, and this one is going to be particularly tough. So many changes in such a short time.”

  He understood all too well. He felt the same.

  As they walked to the door, she described the logistics of the upcoming week. Christmas then a wedding a few days later. He pictured Rachel skillfully juggling all the responsibilities that went with planning a wedding, welcoming three new members into the family at Christmas and dealing with his business.

  Maybe now isn’t the right time to do this. Maybe I should put it off until after the first of the year.

  Rosaline coughed, letting him know she’d asked him something and he hadn’t answered. “Sorry. What did you say?”

  “I offered to call my friend’s son. He’s a top-tier oncologist in Florida. Specializes in skin cancer. Always busy, but I know he’d make time for you if I asked.”

  Her offer surprised him. “Thank you. I would consider him for a second opinion, if I need one. But I e-mailed my former doctor yesterday. He wants me to come to New York.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Have you told Rachel?”

  “I’m not going to. If the screening turns out bad, I don’t want her to know.”

  Rosaline looked at him shrewdly. “I won’t tell her, but you obviously don’t know my daughter very well. She might have stepped away when she thought you were being an idiot. But you could never keep her from fighting the good fight for someone she loves.”

  He believed her, but he loved her daughter too much to put her through that again. Better she never found out.

  “Who’s taking care of your dogs?”

  He frowned. Calling a local vet to see about dog boarding was on his To-do list once he had a cell phone. “I’m working on that.”

  “Ask Rachel. Write her a note. I’ll deliver it after you’ve left. That way you don’t have to answer any questions.”

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You won’t tell her where I am and why?”

  “I promise. This is between you and my daughter.” She made a zipper sign across her mouth. “But I do think she deserves to hear the verdict—one way or the other. Don’t you?”

  Yes. He owed her that. Had the dragon stayed slain? They’d know soon enough.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “SO HOW DOES THIS WORK

  , doggies?” Rachel asked, softly kicking the side of the copper tub with the toe of her boot. “He slides the empty thing in front of the fire then fills it? Bucket-by-bucket?” The time-consuming process made her hesitate…until she looked inside the pristine vessel and spotted a neatly coiled hose with an adaptor that obviously fit on the kitchen faucet. “Oh,” she exclaimed, smiling. “Much better.”

  The idea of relaxing in a hot bath had been in her head all day. Today was Christmas Eve. She’d tidied up her office and Rufus’s work space around noon then spent the rest of the day visiting friends, dropping off gifts and doing a few last-minute fixes in the teepee in preparation for the wedding. Like every day since her mother delivered Rufus’s cryptic note, Rachel also spent a good deal of time worrying about him and questioning what she was doing sleeping in his bed when they obviously had no chance of coming together on common ground.

  Especially after she gave in to her curiosity and checked his e-mail account where she found his airline itinerary to New York City. He’d gone back to his old life without telling her, without talking things over or even giving her any kind of warning. She didn’t know what that meant, but her imagination had had a field day. Luckily, his dogs were good listeners, and at some point she’d stopped being mad.

  Now, she was worried.

  “I hope he’s okay,” she said, reaching out to ruffle Chumley’s thick coat. The older dog groaned in appreciation. Chum and Rachel had bonded over a bowl of popcorn one night after the other dogs were asleep.

  Rachel had never experienced quiet such as the kind that came with an isolated cabin in the middle of winter. No television. She hadn’t been able to figure out his complicated stereo. No laptop—the Internet connection only worked at the shop. The fire, the animals and hints of Rufus…and his alter ego, R. J. Milne. She even had a few glimpses of the boy he’d been once upon a time. A handsome basketball player named Robin. Whose little brother, Stephen, was the team’s mascot.

  She stared into the swirling water and thought about what she’d learned so far. He’d been an average student but popular. She’d spotted his black-and-white image half a dozen times in a yearbook she found on his book-shelf. At first, she’d had a difficult time connecting Robin, or “Rob” as his friends wrote on inside jackets, to the haughty, disdainful face of a model named R. J. Milne.

  She couldn’t help but stare at his image—fully dressed or mostly naked. He was gorgeous. Physical perfection. Or close enough at first glance to make you think he was perfect. It wasn’t until she grouped together all the shots that she saw how unhappy he was. Tortured, really. His eyes carried the empty, soulless stare of a prisoner of war.

  “Woof.”

  Lost in thought, she startled at the sound, causing the water to spray everywhere. All three dogs scrambled to safety. She turned off the hose. “Thanks for the heads-up, Chum. I need to pay better attention. I don’t want to flood the place when I get in.”

  She grabbed a towel from the adjoining bathroom. She’d already figur
ed out that by attaching the same hose to the spigot at the bottom of the tub, she could discharge the water into some kind of receptacle under the house. Gray water, she vaguely remembered hearing Rufus say.

  She put another log on the fire then stripped and quickly got into the tub. “Hot, hot, hot,” she cried, slowly lowering herself into the water.

  She kept an eye on the water level, making sure her body displacement didn’t create a flood. “An inch to spare. Check that out, Chum,” she said.

  With a sigh of contentment, she sank back. She’d never been alone in such a large tub. A noisy, bubbling hot tub, of course, with Trevor and friends. But this was completely different.

  Trevor’s name reminded her. He’d called that morning and left a message on her voice mail. “Merry Christmas. I hope the New Year will be good to us both, Rae. I’m really sorry about how things turned out. I’m a world-class jerk and you deserve better.”

  She agreed. And hearing him admit that had been a sort of balm. It might have been what spurred her to call her mother and invite her to lunch. “I know you’re busy, Mom, but we should talk.”

  “I agree, but I’m making Daneen’s potato soup. She claims it’s the world’s best and I can’t risk letting it burn. Do you want to come here and be my taster?”

  Here was Jenna’s house—half a mile, at most, from Libby’s place where Rachel would have been if she weren’t dog-sitting for Rufus. But, still, the invitation was made, the white flag extended, how could she say no? “Sure. I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

  And to Rachel’s surprise, none of her worst-case scenarios came to pass. “You seem different, Mom. What’s going on?” she finally asked over a second helping of the best potato soup she’d ever tasted.

  “I’m retired, Rachel. And not simply from the bank. A wise man pointed out to me that my work raising you and your brother was done. I did a good job, too, but now it’s time to let you and Jack handle things. Amazing how liberating that kind of acknowledgment can be.”

  “No more second-guessing our decisions?”

  “Have I called you even once this week about wedding plans?”

  Rachel had to admit Mom hadn’t. The only time they’d talked was when Mom delivered Rufus’s note. Even then, she’d kept her comments to a minimum, saying, “I know nothing about his plans, only that he needs your help with his animals. I assured him that wouldn’t be a problem.”

  Period. That had been it. No suggestions on how to handle the logistics of moving temporarily into Rufus’s house. No offers to help ease Rachel’s load by handling some of the wedding plans.

  “I think everything is done,” Rachel had said. “At least, until the actual day of the wedding. We should be able to relax and enjoy Christmas.”

  “Because you are an excellent planner, Rachel. I have no doubt that you are going to be successful in anything you choose to do.”

  Rachel had been touched. She’d hugged her mother then hurried off to finish her other errands, promising to return early enough to play games with Jordie and Tag.

  Jack, Kat and the boys had shown up minutes after Rachel returned. They’d feasted on soup, toasted with wine and each opened one present. The boys opened Rosaline’s gift to them—a new Wii. In the morning, they’d get the two games Rachel bought.

  While Jack helped Tag link the control box to Jenna’s TV, Mom had handed Rachel a gift to open.

  A gorgeous, sexy peignoir. The robe was plum-colored satin, the gown simple but elegant with cleverly positioned panels of lace. The over-the-top high-heel slippers were straight out of the 1950s with feathery pom-poms.

  The dogs had sniffed the shoes suspiciously when Rachel returned home around midnight.

  She shifted one leg languidly, trying to picture Rufus’s reaction to her modeling her new gift for him. A shiver of desire passed through her body. She missed him. Sleeping in his bed every night smelling his scent on the sheets had only made her want him more. If he didn’t come back soon…she didn’t know how to finish the thought. She had so many unanswered questions.

  Heaving a long, bone-deep sigh, she fished around the bottom of the tub for the slim bar of soap she’d tossed in earlier. She made an effort to keep her splashing to a minimum as she lathered and rinsed. Then she stood and copied what she’d seen Rufus do that morning when she played the voyeur.

  One leg, one foot. Hop over the side of the tub to repeat the opposite limb. Then she dried the rest of her body and tossed the damp towel on the floor in front of the fire. Shivering despite the room’s pleasant warmth, she slipped on her new gown. The material was decadently rich and seductive. The lace slanted diagonally across her nipples. This was not a nightgown meant to be worn alone.

  “Well, Santa’s gonna get an eyeful,” she told the dogs. “Because I’m wearing this to bed.”

  She wormed her feet into the silly slippers then did a clumsy pirouette. Rat-Girl barked, attacking Rachel’s feet when she started toward the kitchen. “Rat, please. You’re going to trip me. Settle down and you can all share my cocoa.” She frowned. “I’ll pour three bowls of warm milk before I add the chocolate. Okay?”

  She didn’t know if the promise of a treat was all it took to diffuse the little dog’s hatred of the puffy shoes, but Rat did quit barking. Fred followed, too. Chumley remained by the door.

  “Poor Chum,” Rachel called. “Still think Santa’s going to deliver your master in his magic sleigh, huh?”

  The dog didn’t answer. Probably because that was Rachel’s fantasy, not Chumley’s. And when Chumley did bark a few minutes later, Rachel assumed it was in response to the wind banging the storm door, like usual. It had taken her a couple of nights to get used to the sounds this house made, but slowly the place began to feel like home.

  She didn’t know if that was a good thing or the worst that could possibly happen. She wouldn’t know the answer until Rufus returned.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  RUFUS SPOTTED THE TUB

  the moment he stepped on the porch. He gave her credit for taking on the task. Lugging the clumsy thing from the storage closet and connecting the hose took some effort. He craned his neck but didn’t see any sign of her in the tub. He didn’t see his dogs, either. Until he tried the door handle.

  “Woof.”

  Chumley.

  Rufus juggled his key ring to find the house key he very rarely used. He wasn’t surprised Rachel had chosen to take precautions.

  Only one dog was there to greet him. Chumley’s broad tail flashed back and forth with obvious happiness. “Hello, friend,” he said softly, going down on one knee to give the dog a hug. “Yes, I brought you a treat, but you have to wait for the others. Where are they?”

  He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over the hook beside the door. He was relieved to see Rachel’s puffy jacket. He knew he should have called to give her a heads-up about his return, but he was afraid she might leave. And he had so much he wanted to tell her.

  He set down his carry-on bag and carefully unzipped it. Good thing he was a light traveler, because he’d done the unthinkable at Chicago’s O’Hare airport. On Christmas Eve day, in the midst of holiday travel mayhem, he’d gone shopping. Small things, obviously, but gifts that made him feel more alive than any edict from his doctor.

  One of the paper sacks was adorned with paw prints.

  Chumley’s nose twitched. “Not yet, pal. It isn’t quite midnight.”

  He stood and headed toward the sounds coming from the kitchen. He found Rachel—in a gorgeous peignoir—standing before his stove, leaning over to waft the steam from whatever was cooking toward her nose. In a manner very much like Chumley, she sniffed the air. “Oooh, yum.”

  As she rocked back on her ridiculously sexy stilettos, she happened to glance sideways. Half a second later, she let out a small, high-pitched shriek and pitched the wooden spoon she was holding straight at his head.

  Rufus ducked in time. Fred and Rat-Girl, following the action and probably sensing Rachel’s
fear, started barking with equal parts joy and apprehension. He leaned down to calm them. “Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I should have coughed or something.”

  Rachel had staggered backward before catching her balance by grabbing the counter. Chest heaving from panic, she couldn’t have looked sexier if she’d been staged by the best film noir art director in New York.

  His mouth went dry and everything he’d planned to say—and rehearsed on the drive from the airport—flew out of his mind. He dropped the bags on the island as he cleared the distance between them. He crushed her to him, kissing her fast and hard before she could speak.

  Her arms closed around his neck after the tiniest hesitation. She kissed him back, matching his need and hunger. Hope blossomed inside him. Maybe, just maybe, she’d forgive him.

  When he finally eased back to catch his breath and give them both a moment, he rested his forehead against hers and said, “I mean it, Rachel. I’m sorry. For everything.”

  Her fingers continued to touch and stroke the hair at the back of his neck. He’d visited his favorite stylist when he was in New York. A man whose skill with scissors had made him a legend. “I’m keeping the length but giving you a face again, you hairy beast,” Troy had said with his usual over-the-top delivery. “And if I ever see you with a beard, I’ll sedate you and shave your head. This face—imperfect ear and all—is too real, too relevant for facial hair.”

  Rufus didn’t know exactly what Troy meant, but he took the man at his word. No more beard. He was done hiding. His elaborate coping mechanism hadn’t worked. The world—Rachel, at least—had found him and there was no going back.

  Nor did he want to. Even if she couldn’t forgive him or was too put off by his health issues to risk getting involved with him, long-term.