Redeeming Rafe (2 page)

“Calm down, Abigail! Whatever is the matter with you?” her mother had demanded in a quiet whisper as she looked over her shoulder to see if any of the servants were coming out of the woodwork.

“Where is my baby?” Abby wasn’t so quiet with her question.

“Is that all? He’s fine. Meg and Nate took him to Martha’s Vineyard for the weekend.”

Suddenly, a calm that Abby hadn’t known in a very long time settled over her—the kind of calm one has to summon to take control.

“They did
what?”
Though she didn’t really need it repeated. “They took my two-month-old child three hours away for the weekend without consulting me?”

Susan Brooks looked a little chagrined, but Abby doubted if she felt it. “Now, Abigail. It was spur-of-the-moment, and it seemed a shame to wake you. Meg and I thought you could use the rest.”

Meg Whitman had never done anything spur-of-the-moment in her life, and neither had Susan. They just hadn’t seen fit to tell Abby. But Abby didn’t point all that out to her mother. Instead, she calmly dressed and went after her child. That night, she was on a plane back to Beauford.

Though she’d had droves of acquaintances growing up, from birth her life had consisted of her family and Gregory’s. Neither she nor Gregory had ever made real friends, because they’d always had each other. She had never entertained the thought of so much as having a cup of coffee with anyone else, and she doubted if he had either. Their marriage had been a foregone conclusion.

She wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that their parents had signed a blood document in the Brookses’ palatial library on the day she was born—which was exactly three months after Gregory’s own world debut.

Life on her own in Beauford was hard, but it was rich, too. Before moving here, she’d been wispy and transparent—though she hadn’t realized it, because she’d never known anything else. It had been an ordered tea party of a life with no chance of escape into a rabbit hole. But Gregory had found a rabbit hole and had brought her along for the adventure. Living in Beauford among people who fought, loved, and worked hard had shown Abby there was something else in life—even if she didn’t have it for herself. She mourned Gregory—how could she not? She’d loved him her whole life. But she knew in her heart their relationship had not been the grand passion that her friends, Gwen, Emory, Noel, and Neyland had—though she suspected that had more to do with her basic nature than anything lacking in her relationship with Gregory. Some people were just not cut out for grand passion.

But grand passion or no, Abby was tired of their parents treating her like an eight-year-old who’d been sent to the wrong summer camp. Even now, they were trying to control her with their wealth. After facing that she was not going to move in with either set of parents, they’d offered to buy a brownstone and hire a staff for her if she’d just come back—all the while making clear that they would not enable her in this continued, crazy insistence of living a thousand miles from anyone who cared anything about her.

Except there were people here who cared for her—lots of them. Of course, having friends was costly, too. There were lunches, birthdays, and she’d been a bridesmaid in Emory’s wedding last spring. Emory had insisted on buying the attendants’ dresses, but there had still been parties and incidentals. And now, Noel’s wedding was coming up in a couple of weeks, and Neyland was engaged. But in spite of the problems, Abby liked the slow pace, the weather, and the sense of community in Beauford. She wanted that for herself and for Phillip.

However she also wanted a big boy bed for him when the time came, and things were getting tougher and tougher. Though they had come from very old and very abundant money, and though Gregory had briefly been an investment banker, they’d had no money of their own. And that Harvard PhD in Shakespearean studies wasn’t doing her much good in Beauford.

Sometimes she wondered why she had pursued the degree. She was competent and intelligent, but she had no passion for the subject matter, at least not the same way her classmates and professors had. They thought Shakespeare all the time, lived it, quoted it. As for the advanced degree—Gregory had wanted to finish his graduate work before they got married, and she’d been filling her time.

But despite her lack of passion, she had been a competent student who achieved, and she knew she could be a competent teacher who achieved. Last year, she had applied for teaching jobs at Belmont and Vanderbilt Universities in Nashville. They’d been impressed with her, and she could have easily made the half-hour drive every day, but there had been no open positions.

So she just kept hanging on, waiting tables, and hoping for a teaching job or a miracle—which amounted to about the same thing. But wasn’t it a shame to equate a miracle with obtaining something she didn’t even want very much except as a means to an end?

Though it was it was scarcely five-thirty when Abby approached the Beauford Bend guardhouse, there were a few reporters and die-hard Jackson Beauford fans hanging around the gate. As the guard waved her through, someone snapped her picture. It wasn’t the first time. They’d all gotten a big laugh when she and Phillip had appeared on the cover of a grocery store tabloid as “Jackson Beauford’s mistress and secret love child.”

The Beacon Hill set hadn’t been amused, however—not one bit. It had been tempting to tell them it was too bad it wasn’t true, since Jackson’s child wasn’t likely to want for anything. But they would have just reminded her that Phillip didn’t have to want for anything either. They were willing to help her—just not on her terms.

And they didn’t have to. Phillip was her child. So far, he was healthy, fed, clothed, and sheltered. The fear inside her was much worse than the reality.

Though lately, when the fear became terror, Abby had begun to comfort herself with the knowledge that she could move back to Boston—and that scared her almost as much as the thought of not being able to care for her child. She’d move if she had to—even if it meant regressing back to her wispy, transparent self until she faded into nothing.

Abby gave herself a rest from her fears and let herself enjoy the sight of the Beauford Bend Plantation house. The noble, brick structure was especially beautiful in the golden September light.

She would have passed the house and turned down the road to the renovated gristmill where Gwen and Dirk lived, but a bit of bright blue near the rear family wing entrance caught her eye. It looked like Rafe Beauford’s truck, but he shouldn’t be here. He was off riding bulls, and according to Emory, they wouldn’t see him until Thanksgiving. Something must be wrong.

Gabe had left yesterday for Dallas where the Titans were playing the Cowboys on Sunday, but if something had happened to him, Neyland would have called. Jackson and Emory were fine. That left Beau—the special ops soldier and the baby of the family.

Abby backed up and turned toward the house. If something had happened to Beau, everyone would be up, and Gwen and Dirk would likely be with them. If this were Boston, Abby would have turned around and left, not wanting to intrude—but this was Beauford, Tennessee where it was expected for everyone to do all they could in times of trouble.

She parked beside Rafe’s truck and said to Phillip, “Just sit still for a minute, baby. Mama needs to check on something.” She’d stick her head in the kitchen. If there was no activity, she’d proceed on to Gwen’s. If there was trouble, she’d come back and get Phillip.

But when she stepped out of her car, something in Rafe’s truck caught her eye—and it appeared to be Rafe Beauford, himself, slumped over the steering wheel. At first she thought he was sick or—even worse—dead, but he shifted and pushed his hair away from his eyes before settling back into what had to be the most uncomfortable sleeping position ever thought up by man, woman, or acrobat. He was asleep, or maybe drunk—though she’d spent a little time with him at Jackson and Emory’s wedding last spring, and he didn’t seem to be the kind to drink and drive. But he wasn’t driving. Maybe he’d done his drinking after arriving. But if that were the case, why not go inside? Each of the brothers had his own suite of rooms in the family wing of the historic mansion.

When Abby looked around the truck cab for signs of drunken debauchery, what met her eyes instead was evidence of gluttony gone bad. There were open packages of Oreos, Chips Ahoy!, Nutter Butters, Fritos, and chili cheese fries flavored potato chips. And it was all tossed around willy-nilly with half-eaten Happy Meals and open bottles of chocolate milk.

She didn’t know what was going on here, but it was nothing good and time Rafe Beauford woke up.

It was when Abby opened the passenger door and put her head in with the intention of rousing Rafe that she saw what was in the back seat—a set of sleeping twin girls about the same age as Phillip. They were strapped in their car seats, leaning toward each other so that their bright blond heads almost touched. Their faces were covered in what looked like mustard, ketchup, and chocolate milk. From the smell of things, they both badly needed diaper changes.

And—even if their dresses hadn’t been filthy—clothing changes. There was plenty astounding about this situation, but what those babies were wearing might take the cake and the crystal stand it sat on.

Their matching bright turquoise satin dresses were covered with enough spangles and glitter to light up a New York sky, and there couldn’t be a ribbon, flounce, or rosette in the particular shade left in the universe, because it was all here filling the back seat of Rafe’s truck. One of the girls still wore a headband with a huge turquoise organza flower accented with feathers and crystal beads, but the other girl had apparently liberated hers and thrown it onto the seat among the broken cookies, cheese puffs, and melted ice cream cones. The baby seated directly behind Rafe idly kicked the back of his seat in her sleep. Who knew they made crystal-encrusted shoes in that size?

Abby came from a world where little girls were dressed in pastel batiste dresses with smocking and shod in English sandals. Things were different in the South, but Abby couldn’t imagine Gwen dressing Julie in such a thing. Where had Gabe Beauford gotten these dresses?

She almost laughed at the absurdity of her pondering. So distracted she had been by all the trappings and food debris, she had not wondered at all where Rafe had gotten these children.

But she wondered now.

She retrieved her cell phone from her pocket.

“Emory? I’m sorry to wake you so early, but I’m parked outside the family wing entrance. I think you’d better come down here.”

It had been a long time since Rafe had woken without knowing where he was, though he thought he might be outside because of the cool draft on his face. His shoulder hurt, and there was a crick in his neck, but he’d seen worse. He might be about to see worse, which was why he was afraid to open his eyes.

Then he remembered. Unless he was hallucinating, he was at Beauford Bend with a truckload of toddlers. Hallucinating would be too good to be true, but just in case, he opened one eye and looked over his shoulder.

Nope. Still there.

“Raphael.” Ah, he knew that voice. The whole world knew that voice—had paid a fortune to hear it.

Rafe turned his head to look out the open passenger door into the eyes of his brother Jackson.

And Jackson wasn’t alone. Oh, no. Emory stood next to him, along with Gwen, Dirk, and Jackson’s right-hand man, Sammy Anderson. They all looked equally shocked.

Standing a little apart from them was Abby Whitman. He took a second to enjoy the view. After what he’d been through, he deserved it. He had danced with Abby a few times at Jackson’s wedding last spring, and he’d liked how she’d moved in his arms. She was slim and almost tall, but not quite, depending on your definition of tall. Her head fit right against his shoulder when they danced, so he figured that would make her about 5’8”. She’d sit a horse well, but it would have to be English style, what with her cool blond coloring and that classy way she had about her.

But right now, the most amazing thing about her was she had a kid sitting on her hip and he was clean and not screaming. How did someone make that happen?

“Rafe! What—” Jackson began.

Rafe got out of the truck lightning fast.

“Shut up, Jackson!” he said in a breathy whisper and looked around at everyone else. “Nobody talk. You’ll wake them up, and there’s not a bull on the circuit that’s a bigger slice of hell than them awake.”

Around him, eyes narrowed, heads shook, and Jackson opened his mouth again.

Rafe put up his hand and projected with every muscle in his face
if you speak another word and wake those kids up, I’ll beat the living shit out of you
.

Just then a figure emerged from the carriage house and hotfooted it toward the rest of the group. Oh, great. Exactly what he needed—his twin’s fiancée, Neyland.

“What’s going on here?” she asked. “Rafe, where did you come from?”

“That’s what we’d all like to know,” Jackson said.

“Quiet,” Gwen said. “Rafe is about to go on a killing spree if we wake those kids up.”

“What kids … oh.” Neyland now looked as shocked as the rest of them.

“Let’s step over here and get some answers.” Dirk, head of Jackson’s security detail, had recovered and herded them the short distance to the porch that ran the length of the family wing.

“I need to go to work.” Abby wrinkled her brow and looked from Gwen to her child and back.

“Right,” Gwen said. “Give Phillip to Sammy. Sammy, will you take him down to the house and stay until I get back?” She unclipped what looked like a walkie-talkie from her belt and gave it to Sammy. “Take the baby monitor. I have a feeling this is a conversation I don’t want Julie and Carter to hear should they wake up.”

Once Abby and Sammy had made their exit, Jackson stepped forward and spread his hands. “All right. Where did you get those kids?”

“Denton, Texas. They screamed all the way here, and let me tell you, that was no fun. Then, as I got past the guardhouse, they fell asleep. I was afraid of waking them, so I just went to sleep, too.”