Rafe's Redemption Read online

  A nd there was still danger out there.

  What would happen when—if—Simon came for Rafe?

  She shuddered. She had to be more vigilant. Then, when Rafe felt up to traveling, they could go to St. Louis, collect her money and Nettie, and all go far away. Maybe to France.

  If she could get him to agree.

  Her mind skittered to a halt. When had she decided to make a life with him? What about her independence?

  It wasn’t marriage. That was true. She was still in control of her actions.

  Her heart beat faster as a plan formed. Maybe they could find a valley just like Rafe wanted, one in France or Italy. A nything was better than the risk of him being killed.

  She pressed a kiss to his lips and got up to dress.

  How was it possible Christmas was only two weeks away? She should work on his present. A little more shading on her face and the self-portrait would be done.

  She sat in the rocker and took out her pencils. It would be nice to have a Christmas tree. There were several tiny evergreens around the back of the barn.

  Ones small enough she could cut by herself.

  Slipping the paper back inside the satchel, she grabbed her coat and headed to the barn for the ax.

  Wouldn’t Rafe be surprised when he woke?

  Chapter Twelve

  Rafe rolled over and reached for Maggie, but found the bed empty. He cracked open a sleep-blurred eye and wondered where she was.

  “What do you think? Will he like it?” She stood in the corner, talking to Wolf.

  When she moved, a small decorated tree caught his gaze. The tiny trunk stuck out of the top of a whiskey jug. Strips of petticoat draped the pitiful branches with pine cones nestled amongst.

  “I hope he will,” she continued. Wolf cocked his head, listening. “I want him to enjoy this Christmas. He’s spent too many years alone, or at war.” She petted the dog. “I want him to be happy. A s soon as Rafe’s healed, we can go get my inheritance. Then we’ll go someplace safe. You, too. A nd Nettie. She’ll like you, and you her.” Maggie stroked the heavy fur and stared at the fire. “I don’t care where we go just so long as I know nobody is trying to kill Rafe.”

  His heart clenched. He had caused her so much pain.

  Would he ever be able to make it up to her?

  Then another thought struck him. Maggie was a wealthy woman now that Michael was dead. Rafe wasn’t sure that fact set too well. He didn’t have much to offer her, and he’d never really approved of men who lived off their wives. A nd from the sound of her plan, she wanted to whisk him away from Simon’s grasp.

  Living their life in hiding wasn’t what Rafe wanted.

  He wanted a home, a life, one he was sure they wouldn’t have to walk away from in the middle of the night to save their lives. Two years of looking over his shoulder was enough.

  “Maggie?” She and Wolf both turned. “Come here.” Rafe held out his hand.

  “Oh.” She smiled. “You’re awake.” She came easily into his arms, allowing him to pull her down onto the bed beside him. “I was thinking I’d have to wake you for supper.”

  Rafe brushed a kiss across her lips. “I see you’ve been busy. The tree looks pretty.”

  “Really?” Her blue eyes shined. “I thought we should have one.”

  He nodded. “Yes.” He braced for her argument. “A nd next year we’ll have a big one for our new house. But it won’t be someplace we’ve run to hide.”

  “But—”

  He covered her mouth with his finger.

  She frowned, but he continued. “I won’t do it. I’ve decided when I’m strong enough, I’ll take you to St.

  Louis. Then I’m going to find Simon.”

  “But you can’t.” Fear filled her eyes.

  “Yes, I can. I’m settling this once and for all.” He hesitated but she had a right to know the risks. “One way or the other.”

  When her lip quivered, Rafe’s resolve nearly crumbled, but he held fast. If he wanted to give her the kind of life she deserved, he had to meet Simon head-on.

  “I’m not trying to upset you.” He stroked her hair.

  “You know that, don’t you?”

  Tears rolled silently down her face, but she didn’t answer.

  “Sweetheart, don’t cry,” he soothed. “I’ll be fine. A nd now since your money is secured, I won’t worry whether you’ll have someplace safe to stay while I look for him.”

  “Please. Don’t do this,” she choked.

  “I have to.”

  She pulled from his embrace and sat on the edge of the bed. Her back was to him, but huge sobs shook her shoulders. God, he could take her anger, but knowing he had hurt her tore through his heart.

  He slid beside her and wrapped his arms around her trembling body.

  “Please try to understand.” He squeezed her close. “I can’t have a life with you until this mess is over.” A nother sob shook her. He sighed, feeling like a snake. “Please?” Kneeling in front of her, he rubbed her arms, her shoulders. He tried to lift her face to his, but she turned away.

  “I surely didn’t intend to do this naked,” he mumbled, “but Maggie Monroe, I want to marry you.” Her head snapped up. “Well, you can’t very well do that if you’re dead,” she cried. “Please? Let’s get my money and go to France.”

  He started shaking his head before she finished talking. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve told you why.” He leaned between her legs and hugged her, laid his head against her breasts. “I love you, but I’ve made up my mind.”

  He half expected her to push him away. Instead her arms wrapped around him, holding him close to her soft body.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered between sniffles.

  “You do, huh?” He lifted his head. “Then how come you haven’t agreed to marry me?” he teased.

  To his surprise, she started crying again. Didn’t she want to be his wife?

  Rafe stood and grasped her hand, then pulled her to the rocker, settling her on his lap before he spoke. They were going to get this figured out. If she didn’t want him, he was going to damn well know why.

  She buried her face in his neck, clinging to him, and all his anger melted.

  “Maggie?” He rubbed circles on her back. “It’s all right if you don’t want to marry me.” It wasn’t—it would break his heart, but he didn’t want her pity. “Please don’t cry. You can say no.”

  She lifted her tear-streaked face. “I don’t know what to say,” she wailed. “I never wanted to get married and now…I love you but…” She shuddered out a sob. “What if things change? Once we married, I mean. What if you change?” She sat up straight and gave him a fierce look.

  “You wouldn’t be able to order me around, you know. I will always have my own mind.”

  “I never thought otherwise.” He sighed in frustration.

  Damn, this wasn’t going very well.

  “A nd if I agreed to this, how can you expect me to sit in St. Louis and plan our wedding when you might very well be murdered?” She shuddered as she spoke.

  Oh. He hadn’t thought of it that way. A dead groom would put a damper on things.

  “If you wouldn’t mind a small wedding, I’ll make you my wife this spring at the fort.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and tried to reassure her. “I love you. Trust me on this. Please.”

  Huge blue eyes with tears spiked lashes stared at him. “I don’t care about big weddings. I only care about you.” She chewed her lip. “I love you. But I have to think about this.”

  “But—” He sucked a long, calming breath. “I’ve never tried to take your freedom. Why can’t you trust me?” He kissed her greedily. Damn it, she was his.

  He snaked his hand under her shirt to cup her breasts. There was one sure way to show her they belonged together.

  Panting he pulled back. “Why can’t you trust me?” he asked again.

  “I’m afraid,” she whispered.

&nbs
p; A dull pain started in his chest. “You think I would physically hurt you?” Didn’t she understand she was his world?

  “No! Not that.”

  “Then what?”

  “If we marry, I would belong to you. Like property.

  A ny decisions to be made would automatically fall to you. I would be nothing more than a mindless keeper of the house—your house.” Her brows knitted when he started to object, and she clamped her hand over his mouth. “Don’t say that’s not what happens. I’ve seen it!

  By God, I’ve lived it.”

  Her words bristled up his spine. “You think I’m no better than your father or Michael.” The insult hurt worse than a wound.

  “No. I know you’re not like them, but…”

  “But what?”

  “I want to travel, to sketch. No man is going to accept that kind of life.”

  “I could.”

  “No, you couldn’t!” She shook her head, dark hair flying over her shoulders. “You want to buy a ranch and raise cattle. Livestock has to be taken care of. You can’t do that if you’re not home.”

  True, but… “ We can find a way, sweetheart.” They had to. Yes, he wanted that ranch, but he wanted Maggie, too. He wanted Maggie more.

  Doubt warred with love in her eyes. “How?”

  “Well, we can have the ranch…and when we travel, we’ll hire a foreman.”

  “You say that now, but—”

  “When have I ever lied to you? Never, that’s when!” He ran his fingers through his hair. There had to be a way to convince her. “I will sign a paper swearing I have no control over you, swearing to consult you on every decision concerning our life together. The paper will say you retain all monies brought to the marriage. A nd if you ever wanted to divorce me,” his voice caught on the sharp pain of that thought, “I’ll let you go.” She frowned.

  Good, he’d made her think. “But know this. I would die on the day you walked out of my life.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I—don’t know what to say. I have to think.” Her voice was ragged.

  “A ll right. I won’t press you for an answer until you’re ready. But remember, we belong to each other whether or not we marry. I just don’t want to put you through the snide remarks and criticisms of living together outside marriage. You’re better than that.” He wiped her tears with the tip of his finger. “A nd I love you, independent streak and all.”

  “Oh, Rafe.” More tears. But he was sure these were the happy kind. “I do love you.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him as if she hadn’t seen him in a month. Hot, wet kisses raining over his face, down his throat…

  “A re you aware you’re naked?” she asked breathlessly, squirming against his erection.

  “Well, that explains the splinter in my ass.” He grinned as she burst into giggles, amazed how her laughter cheered him.

  “Hmm.” She wiggled again. “I don’t think a splinter is what’s prodding my behind.”

  He rolled her nipple between his fingers, making him even harder. “No?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe we better move over to the bed and see what it is.”

  This time, she took his hand and led the way.

  ****

  Christmas morning, Rafe awoke more excited than a child. He had her gift, a heart carved with Love, Rafe, wrapped in a handkerchief. It sat under the tree next to a bigger package Maggie had placed there last night.

  He stoked up the fire, started the coffee, then sat on the bed beside her. She lay on her side, her long lashes fanned over pale cheeks. He took a long stand of ebony hair and wound it around his finger.

  To think he hadn’t wanted her here.

  She mumbled in her sleep, and he couldn’t stop from rubbing her sensual mouth. It must have tickled because her pink tongue flicked out, wetting his finger in the process. His body hardened as erotic images filled his mind, images of what she could do with that talented mouth.

  “Rafe.” Her voice was sleepy.

  “Right here.”

  She smiled and snuggled deeply under the covers.

  He glanced at the tree and pictured their Christmas next year. He hoped she wasn’t too set on moving to the city. He still wanted to live here in the wild.

  He kissed the top of her head and stood to pull on his clothes. Every day he felt stronger. It would be a long while before he had complete use of his shoulder, but it didn’t pain him as much as before.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead.” He perched on the edge of the mattress with her coffee. “Don’t you want to see what Santa brought you?”

  She stretched, making one full breast pop out from beneath the blankets. Sniffing, she opened eye.

  “Smells like he brought coffee.”

  Rafe chuckled. “For starters.”

  She sat and pushed the hair from her eyes before accepting the cup he offered. “Thank you.” She took a sip and sighed. “Merry Christmas.”

  He leaned forward to steal a kiss. “Merry Christmas to you. Ready to open your present?”

  “I should get dressed.”

  “Open your gift first.” He couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice. Using a ribbon from her discarded petticoats, he’d made the heart into a necklace to replace the one she’d had to sell.

  “A ll right.” She nodded. “But bring yours, too.”

  “Oh, is that for me?” he teased.

  He retrieved the packages, stretched out beside her, anxious to see her reaction. She grinned and untied the knot in the handkerchief.

  “I can’t wait to see what it is.” Her eyes twinkled as she looked down.

  Her fingers hooked the ribbon, and the wrapping fell to her lap.

  “Oh.” She traced the delicate carving. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Look on the back,” he whispered.

  She turned it over, and her eyes filled with tears.

  “I wanted to replace the one you sold in Cougar Creek,” he explained. “But more than that, I wanted you to know you’ll always have my heart.”

  She hugged him close. “I love it. A nd I love you.” The words brushed his ear.

  “Try it on now.”

  She dropped it around her neck, then lifted free her hair. He reached out his finger, tracing the dark wood where it lay between her white breasts.

  “I’ve been wanting to see it on you.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Like this.”

  Her grin lit up the room. “I’ll wear it always,” she promised. “Now open yours.”

  He opened the large flour sack, knowing it had to be a drawing, hoping she’d done one of herself.

  The paper rattled free and settled onto his lap. The air caught in his throat. Dear, God. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

  “Oh, sweetheart. It’s the nicest gift I’ve ever received.” He leaned in and gave her a soft kiss. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Now for your next surprise. I’m going to cook you breakfast.”

  She looked doubtful. “Why don’t you let me?” He pretended to be shocked. “You don’t think I can do it?”

  “Well…what were you going to make?”

  “I can fry eggs. A nd there’s still bread from yesterday.”

  She laughed at his indignant expression.

  “So stay in bed, beautiful lady, and let me spoil you.” He covered her with the blanket.

  “A ll right, but then I have to start baking. I’m making you an apple pie to go with Christmas dinner.” He nodded as he cracked the eggs. “That will give me a chance to get some fresh meat for the meal.” Her expression darkened. “No. I’ll just use salt pork.” Her voice almost trembled.

  He slowly wiped his hands on a towel and walked to the bed. “Sweetheart, I can’t hide in the house forever.

  I’ll be fine.” He brushed aside her hair. “I promise to stay close though. A ll right?”

  She nodded, yet the worry didn’t leave her eyes. He went back to cook
ing, but he couldn’t get past the thought that Maggie would never forgive him if he got himself killed.

  ****

  That night they sat in front of the fireplace and shared coffee laced with whiskey. Rafe tried not to laugh as Maggie took another drink. She had coughed and sputtered after the first one, and only then admitted she never before tasted alcohol.

  Sex and now drinking. Should he feel guilty about corrupting her? Naw. She grinned as her eyes watered, and the end of her nose turned red. A ll right. Maybe a little guilty.

  “Drink it slow, sweetheart.”

  She took a tiny sip, then leaned back against his chest and sighed. The stone hearth was warm against his back, and he held her close and watched the flames throw shadows across the Christmas tree.

  He trailed a fingertip over the delicate skin of her wrist, then smoothed his palm down her arm when she shivered. He felt like an animal. Right now, he wanted to carry her to the bed and lick every inch of her naked body. He wanted to feel the rasp of her velvet tongue on his cock, feel her sucking him deep. His balls tightened, eager for the sting of slapping against her ass cheeks as he pounded her pussy. Like a damned horny animal, all he could think about was fucking.

  Instead he took a healthy drink, then set the cup on the hearth. “Tell me about Christmas when you were little.”

  She shrugged. “Father wasn’t much for celebrating.

  He allowed Nettie to put up a tree, but I think it was more for appearances—in case any of his business partners came to the house.” A fter another cautious drink, she smiled. “This really is tasty after you get used to it.”

  “But did you have fun with Nettie?” God, please let her have some pleasant holiday memories.

  “Oh, yes. She always let me help make cookies—

  even when I was little. A nd she made me a doll—every year.” Maggie smiled. “I liked those better than the porcelain ones Father brought home. His were expensive and came with a warning not to break them.” She turned to look at him. “A fter Christmas dinner, Father would go into his office. Then Nettie would bring a small tree like that one,” she nodded toward the corner, “into the kitchen and we would celebrate. It was always so warm and cheery, filled with love.” Her eyes met his. “Like here.”