Chapter Ten
“It’s true?”
Miles looked at the petite blonde woman who, according to Nic, Tris, and every other native of Last Stand, was the powerhouse of the entire town.
He remembered her from the day she had presented Jackson with the cowboy hat he now wore with pride.
And he remembered what he’d heard Nic telling Jackson when this woman had called him up on stage at the dedication for Thorpe’s Therapy Horses, and he supposed it applied just as much here at Jeremy’s birthday party.
You know you don’t dare ignore Maggie Rafferty.
It made him extra cautious when he answered. As did knowing they were talking about this woman’s late husband. “It…appears to be. I can’t confirm it until I get home and check the paperwork, but the style is the same, and…the initials in the lower right corner.”
“And Jackson tells me it was that painting that inspired you to create Stonewall?”
He let out a small laugh. “It gave me the idea, yes. But I was just one cog in a big machine. A lot of people came together to get it done.”
She lifted a brow into the bangs of her short, pixie-style haircut. “Modesty. Nice. Unexpected for someone in your position, but nice.”
“I try to be more like Jackson than like the rest of Hollywood,” he said solemnly.
The woman laughed in obvious delight. “All right, I think I’m going to have to accept Jackson’s assessment of you as one of the good guys.
” Her expression became serious, with a touch of sadness he didn’t understand until she said, “As I would have anyway, given you had the taste and sensitivity to see the glory both in Texas, and in my husband’s work. ”
Again he chose his words with care. “I think it was more that he made it impossible to miss,” he said quietly.
He got his first real clue to how deeply this woman had loved that man she spoke of when her eyes glistened at his words.
He knew it had been many years since Kyle Rafferty had been killed overseas, but his wife still loved him, and Miles guessed she always would.
Which told him even more about the artist, the man who could hold the heart of a woman like this for so many years.
He didn’t even realize Jackson had come over to them until Maggie turned and patted him on the arm.
“I approve heartily, Jackson. He’s everything you said he is.”
She walked toward the gathering of kids around the table Jeremy’s cake sat on, leaving Miles feeling a little stunned, as if he’d just won another Emmy or something.
“I can see by your expression I don’t need to explain what an honor that is,” Jackson said with a grin.
Miles reached up and tapped the dark blue cowboy hat his friend had on for the occasion. “You would know,” he said. As he said it he had the thought that the hat was the same shade of deep blue as Riley Garrett’s eyes.
He was glad Nic came up just then and Jackson had turned away, because he couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes at his own idiocy. But he quickly tuned in to what they were saying.
“—just arrived.”
Jackson swore under his breath. “Why is he here?”
“It wasn’t by invitation,” Nic said with a grimace.
“Sorry,” Miles said, “I zoned out. Who’s here?”
“Swiffer,” Jackson muttered.
Miles echoed Jackson’s earlier oath. “Well, I’m willing to bet just about everything I own that he’s not here for Jeremy’s birthday.”
Jackson started to move, but Miles grabbed his arm. “Let me. You go keep him away from Jeremy.” He looked at Nic. “Where is he?”
“Over by the food, of course,” she answered dryly. “Can’t miss him—he’s in a black suit and tie.”
Miles headed that way, and it only took him a moment to spot the obvious intruder.
Shorter than most of the men here, his thinning hair gelled up to try and hide the bare spots, he was indeed by the long buffet table that was loaded down with goodies for both kids and adults.
But Felix Swiff was glancing at it as if he didn’t trust any of it to be sanitary enough to eat.
And at the children who ran up to the table to grab a treat with annoyance. Typical.
Miles picked up his pace but then stopped dead. Because Swiff was standing next to a woman with long, dark hair and a slightly uptilted nose, clad in a dark blue pullover sweater and a pair of lighter blue jeans, both of which subtly emphasized a figure he already recognized.
Riley.
He should warn her. She knew of Swiff by name thanks to Nic, but she might not know this was him. He started moving again, faster now. He got to within a yard just in time to see Riley reach out and pat Swiffer’s cheek, and his stomach roiled in response.
But then he tuned in to what she was saying, in the sweetest drawl he’d ever heard.
“—y’all take the biggest slice of that cake, hon. Don’t worry about biting off more than you can chew, because I’m sure your mouth is a whole lot bigger than you think.”
Swiffer stood there with his brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle it out.
Miles had to bite his lip to keep from bursting into laughter.
He must have made some sound, because she glanced his way.
And he saw the amusement in her eyes. And more than anything he wanted to ignore Swiffer and walk away with her.
But he’d volunteered for this, so he had no choice.
He pulled the man aside, away from Riley.
“Felix, didn’t expect to see you here. Since when do you care about a kid’s birthday party?”
“I don’t,” Swiffer said, sniffing audibly. “I just came to make a final effort to talk some sense into Jackson. The network brass says they’ll consider a restart, if he comes back. He owes us all that.”
“He owes his son more,” Miles said sharply. “Give it up.”
Swiffer gave him his usual disdainful look. “You speaking for him now?”
“In this case, I’m saying what he would say.”
“You’ve really gone over to the other side.” Disgust laced his voice.
Miles stiffened. “Your problem,” he said slowly, “is that you think there have to be two sides. Go home, Felix. You won’t accomplish anything here.”
Except maybe make me, and Jackson, hate you even more.
“Don’t go thinking you’re invincible,” Swiffer said in an unmistakable tone of warning. “You’ve had some luck, but maybe that’s all it’s been.”
A million responses shot through his mind, but in the end, he settled for a simple: “Back at you. Because eventually backstabbers reap their just reward.”
Swiffer flushed, glanced over at Riley, then stormed off. Miles realized where he was headed, guessed at how much time it would take him to work his way through the not inconsiderable crowd, then yanked out his phone and dialed Jackson.
“I managed to piss him off, and he’s probably headed for you. He’ll have the syrup on by the time he gets there, but he’s the same old Swiffer.”
When he ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket, he realized Riley had moved over next to him and was watching. Was he imagining approval in her expression?
“That man could strut sitting down,” she said, making him laugh, and the anger at Swiffer drained away. “And he keeps looking at his shoes like he thinks he stepped in something nasty.”
“Might have to arrange that,” Miles said with a grin.
She laughed, and he felt inordinately pleased. “I guessed from the first he’s not here for Jeremy’s birthday,” she said.
His mouth twisted wryly. “Felix Swiff wouldn’t show up for his mother’s funeral if he thought he could make money being somewhere else.”
Her brows lifted. “That bad, huh? So why is he here?”
“More pressure on Jackson,” he said. But he didn’t want to talk about Swiffer, so he was thankful when Jeremy appeared, excited.
“I named him!” the boy yelped, smiling at Riley.
It took Miles a moment to realize he meant the new pony. “So what moniker did you decide to grace him with?”
“You talk funny,” Jeremy said with a grin.
“So what did you name him?” Riley asked.
“I named him Ice Cream.”
Miles blinked. “Ice Cream?”
“Yep. ’Cuz it goes with Pie!”
Miles gaped after the boy as he darted back into the festive crowd. He looked at Riley. She looked back at him. Then, simultaneously, they both burst into laughter.
“Perfect,” she said when she caught her breath.
“Absolutely,” he agreed.
For a long moment their gazes locked, and he was reminded of that instant when he’d first seen her, when the ground beneath him had shifted.
He realized he was just staring at her, and that it was going to start seeming weird soon.
He took a steadying breath and grabbed at the first thing his brain came up with.
“Jeremy told me this land the therapy center is on used to be yours.”
“It was, for a while. But it was part of the Baylor ranch before that. I only bought it because it gave me access to an exit on the far side of my place. Always good to have in case of an emergency.”
“But you sold it back?”
She smiled, and his gut kicked up again. “That was always in the agreement, that they could buy it back. Once I found out what Jackson wanted to do with it, there was no question. And he made sure I still had a legal easement to the access road, so everybody wins.”
He liked that, both that she was all for the therapy center, and that she appreciated Jackson’s seeing to her own concern. “That sounds like him—” He broke off as his phone chimed Jackson’s notification tone. “And so does that,” he added as he pulled it out of his pocket.
When he answered Jackson was laughing, and Miles’s tension eased a little.
“He’s gone,” Jackson said.
“Good news,” he answered, meaning it.
“You should have seen it. He was already mad when I told him to get lost and started making a big fuss about how he was going to get back to town since we’re too uncivilized to have a rideshare at his beck and call.
Then Chief Highwater walked over and offered him a free ride to the police station. ”
Miles couldn’t stop his snort of laughter. “I would have liked to have seen that.”
“Don’t think he’ll be back soon,” an utterly unconcerned Jackson said. “Maverick growled at him.”
He thought of Jeremy’s sweet golden dog. “Now that’s hard to believe.”
When the call ended, he relayed what Jackson had said to Riley, who had been waiting with obvious interest. “That’s our chief,” she said approvingly. “And good for Maverick.”
“I feel honored he hasn’t growled at me,” he said.
“As well you should,” she said. She seemed to study him for a moment, long enough to make him edgy again. “I have to say, though, I like the way you handled your Mr. Swiff.”
He shrugged. “I feel like I should have put him in a hammerlock and thrown him off the premises.”
She tilted her head again in that way she had, just looking at him, before she said, “I would have liked to see that. Like on-screen heroics and all. Do you get mistaken for an actor a lot, back there in California?”
He stifled a grimace, wondering if she was instead implying he was a fake, and couldn’t have done it. And also how the hell he went from feeling great around her to feeling…whatever this gut-churning thing was.
“No,” he said, his voice a little tight. “Mostly a surfer.”
“Now that I can see,” she said, smiling now. “Are you?”
“Used to. Not much time anymore.”
Again she just looked at him. What the heck was it about her that made him nervous? Out of desperation, and a need to do something, anything, he grabbed one of the offerings from the buffet table. Maybe she’d think that was why he was hanging around this spot.
“Are you still involved on the other two shows?” she asked.
“Some. But not as much as in the beginning.”
“So what’s eating up your time, now that Stonewall isn’t?”
He almost said, “What makes you think it isn’t?” but bit it back, knowing the thoughts that had begun stirring after seeing that exact place that had been so beautifully represented in that painting on his wall were not something he should be talking about yet.
Especially to her.