Star Bright (23 page)

Rainie studied the little boy’s face. “He looks so much like you.”

“Looks like all of us,” he said with a grin. “It’s the Harrigan curse. We all take after the old man, big nose and all.”

“Your nose isn’t big.”

“I love you. Will you marry me?”

Rainie laughed. “It truly isn’t that big.”

“Ah, now the truth starts comin’ out. It goes from not big at all to not that big.”

She found it difficult to believe that he was seriously self-conscious about his nose. He was one of the handsomest men she’d ever known, his skin burnished dark by the sun, his jet-black hair falling in lazy waves over his high forehead, his body honed to perfection by years of physical labor.

He went on to show her pictures of the rest of his family, his voice deepening with affection as he pointed at the images and recited names. Rainie didn’t even have a snapshot of her father, a loss that made her ache with regret.

“I always wished for brothers and sisters,” she confessed. “Even a few cousins would have been nice, but I was never so fortunate.”

He chuckled. “Be careful what you wish for. Comin’ from a big family has its perks, but there are times, even now, when I could use some breathin’ room. Quincy’s always after me about how I eat. Zach is always razzin’ me about one thing or another and has an uncanny knack for sayin’ inappropriate things at the most inopportune moments. Clint sets an example that only a canonized saint could follow. His wife unnerves me with information about my past that feels like an invasion of my privacy, whether she can help it or not. Sammy criticizes my lifestyle, my workaholic schedule, my bad language, my speech patterns, and my dating habits. Then there’s my dad, who watches over all of us and can’t stop bein’ protective.” He sighed. “I actually turn off my phones sometimes to get some peace and quiet.”

“Your phones haven’t rung all afternoon.”

He chuckled. “That’s because I’ve got them set to screen all my calls. Nobody can get through.”

“What if there’s an emergency?”

He sighed and hooked a thumb toward a window. “They’ll throw a rock at my house to let me know.”

After showing her the formal dining room, which sported a huge, ox-yoke trestle table and ten rustic chairs, he led her toward his office. Before opening the door, he held up a staying hand. “Not one word about the clutter on my desk.”

Rainie bit back a grin as she leaned in the doorway to survey the room, which was richly appointed with cherry furniture that brought out the rust accents in the cream-colored imperial plaster. “Nice,” she said, then couldn’t resist adding, “Except for the mess on the desk, of course.”

“I
knew
you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“Never. Office tidiness is almost a religion to me.”

As he closed the door, he jabbed a finger toward the vaulted open-beam ceiling. “Upstairs are the bedrooms, five of ’em, no less, just in case I ever get married and have kids. I’ll strike those from the tour. I don’t want to be accused of any funny business.”

Smiling to herself, she followed him back to the kitchen, her gaze fixed on the rich outline of his strong shoulders beneath his blue shirt and then on the easy shift of his narrow hips as he walked. He exuded strength, this man, and yet, somehow, she didn’t find it intimidating anymore.

The wonderful aroma of stew greeted her as she moved into the room behind him. “Your Crock-Pot creation smells divine.”

“Good. But I’ll put off servin’ you for a while, all the same. I learned the hard way that starvin’ my supper guests makes them more appreciative of my less-than-stellar culinary skills.”

“I’m not that picky.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Excuse me, but I’ve tasted your cookin’. You’re used to better vittles than I can serve up.”

“Not really. I usually have soup and a sandwich. It’s not much fun to cook for myself.”

“Was it fun when you cooked for What’s-his-name?”

Memories of Peter’s rages when a meal hadn’t measured up to his standards flashed through Rainie’s mind.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” She shrugged. “In answer to your question, no, it wasn’t fun to cook for him. He had very exacting tastes and wasn’t easy to please.”

He gave her a long, unnerving study. Then he stepped over to a built-in wine cooler.

She sat at the oak table, watching as he expertly uncorked a bottle. As he filled two crystal glasses with the pale pink liquid, he talked more about his house, telling her that he’d designed it himself.

“Really?” She cast an admiring glance at the cabinetry. “Everything, you mean?”

“Every last nook and cranny. I’m not very imaginative, so I went for practicality and convenience—lots of room for large family gatherings, heaps of storage, big bedrooms. I chose post and beam because of the settlin’ problems with whole-log construction.”

“It’s a beautiful house,” she said, meaning it sincerely. The home’s rustic simplicity mirrored his character. If he’d opted for fancy and splendorous, the surroundings wouldn’t have suited him nearly as well. “I’d love to have my own place someday.”

“Then I’m sure you will. You don’t strike me as the type to give up on a dream.”

Rainie’s smile faded, for she had given up on all her dreams after marrying Peter. “You give me too much credit.”

He led the way outside to sit on the porch swing to watch the sun set. After Rainie had perched on the swaying seat, he handed her one of the wineglasses. “Do you realize how critical you are of yourself?” he asked. “It’s one thing to give up on a dream and quite another to have it stolen from you.”

She gave him a sharp glance, wondering how he’d developed the ability to read so much between the lines with such amazing accuracy.

When she took a sip of the wine, she sighed at the taste. “This is lovely. I’ve never tasted this kind.”

“It’s white zinfandel, mildly fruity. I like a good merlot occasionally, but I’m not into the dry, bitter stuff.”

She took another sip. “Neither am I. Peter was a wine snob. His idea of good wine made my tongue shrivel.” She held up her glass. “Something like this never would have been allowed in the house.”

He sat back, relaxing his broad shoulders against the wooden slats. “A wine snob, huh?” He pretended to shudder. “No wonder you left him.”

Rainie relaxed beside him, acutely conscious of the warmth of his thigh against hers, even through two layers of denim. The evening breeze was soft on her face, and she breathed deeply of the now familiar scents: grass, alfalfa, grain, pine, and field clover. For the second time that day, she experienced the incredible sensation of simply being. Perhaps it was the surroundings—or some kind of magic that the man beside her emanated—but she felt content and at peace in a way that had eluded her for far too long.

“You are so lucky,” she said softly.

He gazed off across the fields at the gorgeous Cascade Mountains in the distance. “I really am,” he agreed without hesitation. “God has blessed me with almost everything a man could want.”

“Almost?”
She sent him a curious look. “It appears to me that you’re a man who has it all.”

“Nope.” He gestured at the ranch. “I have so much, but no one to share it with. It’s kind of like cookin’ is for you: not much fun when there’s only one person to enjoy it.”

Rainie understood precisely what he meant. Her life was lonely, too, the only difference being that she didn’t yearn to rectify that anymore. She’d done the marriage thing and learned the hard way that giving a man dominance over her life was a mistake she never wanted to repeat.

They fell into a companionable silence, yet another thing about Parker that she appreciated. Though he loved to talk and normally entertained her with almost nonstop conversation, he was content with occasional lulls of quietness as well. She felt no need to think of something to say.

Suddenly her stomach rumbled. He turned his head to look at her. Then he grinned. “Well, I reckon you’re finally hungry enough to endure my cookin’. You about ready to eat?”

Rainie followed him back into the house and helped to set the table. He had gorgeous earthenware dishes in bright mix-and-match tones of red, yellow, green, and brown. She had to smile over his flatware, which was heavy and bulky stuff well suited to his big, work-roughened hands.

“I’m not into dinnertime folderol,” he told her as he set the Crock-Pot on the table and stuck a ladle into the stew. “I hope you don’t mind paper towels as napkins.”

“Not at all.”

They settled down to eat their stew with a sleeve of saltine crackers lying between them. Normally, he said his meal blessing in silence, but tonight he crossed himself, took hold of her hand, and said it aloud. She enjoyed finally getting to hear the words. It was a simple prayer and over with quickly. She liked the fact that he didn’t drag it out as some people did, which in her opinion was more about impressing others with one’s piety than to express gratitude to God for providing daily nourishment.

When he released her hand, he said, “Now for my dad’s version. Three beans for four of us; thank God there ain’t no more of us. Lay back your ears and dig in.”

Grinning at his foolishness, Rainie ladled some stew into her bowl. “You don’t have to tell me twice.” After taking a bite, she made an appreciative sound. “This is wonderful. The meat almost melts in your mouth.”

“Like I said, I can make a halfway decent stew. I fail miserably at everything else, except for steak and baked potatoes. I drive Quincy nuts.”

“The spinach-shake fellow?”

“You’ve got his number. Spinach, kelp, raw eggs—if it’s weird and raw, he eats it. I keep tellin’ him he’s gonna drop dead from food poisoning, but he says the most deadly of food poisoning comes from consumin’ the crap I do.”

“Are your eating habits that bad?”

He grinned at her. “Probably. I love canned chili, which he says is full of fat and hell on my cholesterol levels. I love chips, fried food, frozen dinners.” He shrugged as he shoveled in another spoonful of stew. “Hell, I eat like a bachelor. It’s not my fault I can’t find a woman who wants me, and even if I did, she might be a career woman with eatin’ habits as bad as mine.”

Gazing over at him, Rainie marveled that he had escaped marriage for so long. She had a sneaking hunch that the true problem for Parker was that he’d never found a woman who measured up to his standards, not the other way around.

They finished the meal in silence. Rainie burst out laughing when he offered her a Twinkie for dessert. She accepted and sank her teeth into its creamy center. “Yum. I haven’t had one of these in years!”

“They don’t measure up to your homemade chocolate cake, but they’ll do in a pinch.”

Smiling, he reached over to flick a bit of white from the corner of her mouth. His touch made her skin tingle, and her heart started to race.
Not good.
She was falling for this man. Falling hard. And all indications were that he was developing feelings for her as well. His eyes had gone cloudy with affection and tenderness. His usually firm mouth had softened to a shimmering temptation in the light from the canned ceiling fixtures.

Panic welled within her. “Peter was older than me, a lot older,” she blurted.

“He was?”

“Yes, and so are you. Peter was wealthy, and so are you. He was influential in the community, and so are you. He was physically fit, and so are you. He was opinionated, and so are you. Remember when I told you my life is starting to feel like a bad rerun on television?”

He sighed and sat back suddenly in his chair, reminiscent of that first afternoon when he’d startled her so badly by striking the chair legs sharply onto the tile. When had she lost that edge of nervousness around him? When had she grown accustomed to his raw masculinity and supercharged vitality?

“What are you sayin’, Rainie, that I’m Peter all over again?”

“There are similarities,” she said tautly. “Similarities I can’t ignore.” Her eyes stung with tears she refused to shed. “Being with him was the worst mistake of my life, and yet in the heat of things, I thought it was true love and incredibly right.”

He searched her gaze, his expression solemn and thoughtful. “And now it’s happenin’ again?”

“I didn’t say that,” she replied, her panic increasing.

“You don’t have to. This is the second time you’ve told me that your life is startin’ to feel like a rerun. That says it all. Well, let me put your mind at rest. I’m nothin’ like Peter. I don’t know the man, but I do know you, and when you first came here, you were obviously a dyed-in-the-wool city girl, so it’d take a long stretch for me to imagine that good old Peter was a rancher raised with the down-to-earth and sterling values that my father taught me. I’m also guessin’ that he was older than you by more than ten years. I’m also guessin’ that he was a mean, ruthless son of a bitch. I’m not.”

Rainie stared at him through a misty blur, knowing that was true. She’d seen his patience with his horses, and more recently with Mojo. A cruel man didn’t allow a puppy to nurse on his armpit hair as it fell asleep because it missed its mother. A cruel man didn’t walk through piles of shredded newspaper and pretend they weren’t there. A cruel man didn’t shrug when that same puppy peed and pooped on his beautiful plank flooring.