Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1) (46 page)

Rafe carried her out the door. The night air, crisp and alive, ran over his skin. It caught a dark, red wisp of Bren's hair and brushed his cheek.

He cleared the police tape the deputies had strung around the entrance. The squawk of police radios faded the farther he walked toward his truck. He opened the driver's side door and sat her down on the seat. Crouching in front of her, his arms slid to her waist. "Is that you shaking or me?" His fingers slipped under her sweater and pressed lightly into her warm skin.

"It's you." Her eyes were moist under the interior light, but her tears had stopped. She smoothed her hands along his shoulders and down the length of his arms. "You're trembling."

"Hell, I'm not surprised." His hand came up and tilted her head back, probing her face. "He hurt you?"

She bit down on her lip. "He would have, if you didn't come for me."

"Was there any doubt that I would, darlin'?" He searched her eyes. Familiar and lovely, and staring back at him, they were the only pair he wanted to wake up to—and to think he'd almost lost that chance, again.

He cupped her chin and ran his thumb over her quivering lips. "Is there anything else I should know, Red? Any more adventures you want to take me on? Because my heart is just about wore out."

Her lips quirked.

Color began to creep into her cheeks. "Not up for the challenge, cowboy?"

"Nope. The way I see it, that makes it impossible for me to leave you to your own devices." He wasn't waiting another minute. It wasn't how he'd pictured it—lights and sirens, loss and heartache, and yellow crime scene tape—the two of them smarting with grief.

But that damn black velvet box kept nudging his side. It remained in the pocket of his jacket. She'd probably knock him in the head for being insensitive. He'd had it all planned out—flowers, the works. She was his girl, and he wanted it to be special. But he couldn't take another minute without some assurances she'd be his.

He'd never been so nervous in his life. He was back to shaking with it—nerves.

"I'm not one for convention, Bren. I love you with all I have in me." He dropped to one knee and edged her forward. "I told you when I met you, family wasn't something I was looking for. That couldn't be further from the truth now. That's all I've been thinking about tonight. Not knowing where you were, what he was doing to you."

"Rafe." She glanced around. "Baby, get up off the ground."

"Bren, honey, let me do this proper. We had this thing all planned out."

"We?" She gave him a curious look.

"The old man—"

She arched a well-shaped brow.

"Sorry." He grimaced. "I mean my father and the boys."

"Aiden and Finn?"

"Since your father's not here, it seemed fitting I should ask their permission."

"For?"

"I'm getting to that." He took a breath and steadied himself. "The hell of it is, Bren, I want that family. I want you. I'll help you raise Aiden and Finn. I know I could never replace their daddy. I don't expect you to move to Texas. There's no reason we can't have two homes." He took a breath. Damn, but he was rambling. "Now I'm getting ahead of myself."

Her lips trembled, and her eyes filled with tears.

Shit.

"Hey, don't cry on me, Red." A tear got away, and he brushed it with his thumb.

What the hell was I thinking?

"You've been through hell. This can wait." He made a move to stand up.

She caught his arm. "I want to hear what you have to say."

He took her hands in his and experimented with the weight and size. It was right. He lifted his face to hers. It was the face in his dreams—soft angles, pink, pliable lips that fit perfectly with his, eyes that corralled his heart.

Ah, but he was suffering—trembling, too. He'd never proposed—never found a woman he'd willingly give his heart to. He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out the box.

Her lashes lowered, and her fingers, still wrapped in his one hand, tightened. Her gaze shifted up again. Those brown eyes were aware, and a little guarded.

Rafe popped the box open with his thumb and loosened one hand from her grip. Taking the ring from the box, he held it between work-roughened fingers. The diamond, catching the interior light, sparkled with promises of the future—a future with Bren.

He picked up her hand, his finger running nervously over her knuckles. Intent on her face, he took a deep breath. "I know you're a package deal, Bren. And I wouldn't have it any other way. If you'll have me, I want you to be my wife. Will you marry me, darlin'?"

Her eyes watered, but a faint smile crossed her lips. Sniffing again, she stroked his face. "I thought you said you weren't good with words."

Rafe's cheeks warmed. "Don't make fun. I'm sweatin' like a plow horse here. Is that a yes?" He waited, his stomach tightening like a clenched fist.

"Yes." Her voice was soft, quiet. "You're my best friend." She smiled up at him. "I love you."

He slipped the ring on her finger and pulled her from the truck, giving her a quick, hard kiss. "What am I going to do with you, Red?"

Their eyes connected and held.

"Never leave me."

He slipped his arms around her waist. She was warm and soft, and he held her to him. Her heart pounded. Or maybe it was his heart. He'd found what he'd been looking for—the love of a good woman... a family.

"No way in hell, darlin'." He kissed her hair, forehead, and then her mouth, his lips moving against hers. "But I'm not one for long engagements."

Hell, his timing couldn't have been worse. He didn't need a fancy wedding. He only needed her. As far as he was concerned, the only thing standing in his way was a piece of paper. He'd work on the technicalities. But for now, he'd concentrate on the moment, and he kissed her long and deep.

B
ren stepped from the master bathroom.

Rafe stood in the doorway to their bedroom. Wearing a pair of blue-plaid pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt, he grinned at her. "Sexy." He crossed the hardwood and pulled her to him. "No horses?" He brushed her bare shoulder with his knuckles before slipping an inquisitive finger under the thin strap of her silk nightgown.

"It's our wedding night."

She'd let Rafe have his way—quick, quiet wedding with no fuss, out in the back garden. With God and, she hoped, Tom's blessing, Father Noonan from St. Michael's performed the ceremony, with their fathers—that would be Paddy on Rafe's side—the boys, and Jo.

Jo... She loved her, wept with her, and would always be there for her like she had during Bren's darkest moments.

As far as Jeremy was concerned, she'd remember the heart of the man—not his weakness or wicked actions that had altered her life forever.

"I like it." Rafe's hand reached under the hem to caress her thigh.

Bren connected with her husband and smiled into his rugged, loving face. "I'm glad you approve." Her hands rode over his muscled chest and broad shoulders. She lifted her chin to accommodate his height. "Where were you earlier?"

"Tucking the boys in." He scooped her up in his arms.

"Oh." Her arms slid around his neck for support while his arms flexed with strength, holding her to him with little effort.

"Now I intend to tuck their mother in." His eyes glittered with mischief, and he strolled to their bed that she had turned down, placing her in the center. He kissed her quick and hard and turned away.

"Where are you going?"

He opened the top drawer to the tall dresser and pulled out a file. "I haven't given you your wedding present yet, Mrs. Langston."

She frowned. "But I haven't gotten you anything."

"I think you have. The sign company called today." He laughed. It was deep and genuine, and it warmed her heart.

"You weren't supposed to know about that. I wanted to surprise you."

He snuggled down next to her and drew her close to him. He kissed her nose. "And you did, darlin'. But there's no other gift I'd want, except you and the boys. But I will need to eke out a living. I guess you figured me out."

She smiled at that. He'd given her cause to question his motives that night in the barn. "I never did take you for a dairy farmer."

"And you'd be right." He twined his fingers through her hand. "But I like the sound of it. It's enterprising, don't you think? 'Grace Equine Sanctuary and Cattle Ranch.'" He said it as if deciding how it fit together.

"It's perfect."

He handed the folder to her.

She gave him a curious lift of her brow.

"Open it."

She sat up, his arm coming around her. She sifted through the papers. It was the deed to Grace—all of it. She looked up. "I don't understand."

"It's yours, sweetheart. I paid it off and put it back in yours and your father's name." He settled against the pillows and brought her hand up and kissed her palm. "It was never my intention to take it from you."

She cupped that stubborn chin of his, tantalizingly smooth. He'd surprised her by shaving for the ceremony. Handsome with or without whiskers, she loved him. "Why would you help me in the first place? You didn't even know me."

"I think when I hopped the rail at the sale barn, I knew you were going to steal my heart."

Her throat went dry, and tears pinched her eyes.

His head dipped. "Bren, honey, you're not crying?"

"I'm not." She sniffed. "You're a good man, Rafe Langston."

"And,
you,
Mrs. Langston need to stop talking."

He kissed her, his lips slow and deliberate, and she moaned with pleasure. Her hands let go of the folder, and she slipped them around his neck, her fingers inching toward the crisp, dark locks curling at the nape of his neck.

Tom would always hold his place in her heart. He was her first love, the father of her children. But she was Rafe's now. Perhaps she had always been.

Bren Langston.

She liked the sound of it, although, she'd been tempted to ask Rafe to change
his
name. He was a Ryan, after all. But Langston suited him. It was a Texas name, and he was a Texan. The child born to a farmer in a small town back east, but raised out west by a rancher, had become and remained every bit the cowboy.

She loved him completely, and it was almost more than she could bear. But she promised herself one thing.

I will grow old with this one.

T
hree years later...

Kate Reynolds kept her foot on the accelerator. A cold, uneasy feeling settled in. The heated seats of her BMW offered little in the way of warmth to alleviate the chill riding along her spine. Glancing down into the darkened interior of her car, she frowned at the green glow of the clock. Too early to call her sister Bren. She'd only worry, and fumbling for her cell phone would only slow her down. If she cleared this side of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, he'd be less likely to catch up to her. She'd fill Bren in once she made it to the family farm.

The island of Tilghman a memory, she concentrated on the double-yellow center line and putting miles behind her. The side street came up fast. She swiveled her head to check for oncoming traffic and caught her reflection in the rearview mirror. She groaned and grudgingly transferred her eyes back to the road. Unable to ignore the sensation, she ran her tongue along her swollen bottom lip; the bitter taste of blood filled her mouth.

Damn him.

The light changed from yellow to red when she approached the intersection of Routes 33 and 322. The brief stop allowed her another look at her face. She raised a finger toward the haze of purple, and then pressed the pad of her finger against her lid. The skin, plump like a marshmallow, made her grit her teeth. She grabbed for the steering wheel and held it tight. Eyes forward, she let off the brake, easing back up to forty.

Her muscles bunched. The unexpected bright lights filled her rearview mirror, and she sucked air through her teeth. Kate reached to adjust her mirror and flew forward with the sudden impact. Her seat belt pressed against her chest and hips like a vise.

Shit! He found me!

She punched the accelerator and kept up the pressure. But the lights in her rearview mirror never wavered. The force of the second collision sent her vehicle into a spin. The car slid off the road and struck the guardrail.

Everything stopped.

Kate's forehead rested against the cushion of the airbag. The powder that had exploded upon impact filled the air, making everything seem muzzy, her head a boulder too heavy to move. A stab of pain radiated down her back when she tried to turn her neck. She reached for the door handle, but before she could grasp it, a rush of cold air hit her body. Strong fingers dug into her shoulders. She moaned, and her eyes fluttered open. The interior light, a halo of brightness, illuminated steel-blue eyes, glassed over and bloodshot, spearing into her.

"Where the fuck were you going, Kate?"

A blast of bourbon singed her face, and she recoiled into the opening of her sweatshirt—not good. Making her mind up tonight had weighed heavily. She and Jack had a love-hate relationship. But tonight, she hated him, and the decision was easy.

Jack dragged her from the driver's seat, slammed the door, and sprawled her across the side of the car. Her breath caught, and her heart dove straight for her stomach.

"Look at me." He grabbed her face. "You're the most ungrateful bitch. I've given you everything."

The pressure of his fingers bit into her flesh, and she shook. The darkness frightened her, but his expression frightened her more. Kate pulled wildly at his hands. She brought her knee up in between his legs. He groaned. The pain along her jaw line disappeared. The quick release had her staggering, desperate to find her equilibrium. Her eyes shifted. Her trembling fingers reached for the car, only to find he'd locked it. Cursing under her breath, she ran up the embankment into the woods.