20
Seeing someone
Rafferty lingered just beyond view, watching as the kids laughed and jostled one another, water sloshing from overfilled buckets. The sun was out, unseasonably warm — a last hurrah before winter set in — and the morning light draped the scene in an inviting golden haze.
His chest tightened. He wanted to walk in, grab a sponge, maybe flick soap at Preston just to hear him squawk.
He wanted to belong to that moment.
To them.
But he couldn’t.
Not yet.
He’d promised himself that he’d stay away until he’d done the work.
Until he dealt with the shadows in his life, his past would keep looming — threatening retaliation. Threatening his sanity. His sobriety. The people he loved.
But watching them now, sunlight bouncing off windshields and bare hands red from cold water, he knew staying away might be the hardest part of all.
They were bundled in mismatched hoodies and jackets, soaked from the waist down. Olivia stood on tiptoe to rinse the Yukon’s roof with the hose while Preston ducked for cover, nearly slipping on the gravel.
“You trying to drown me, psycho?” he yelled, shaking water off his hoodie.
“I’m doing you a favor. You smell,” Olivia shot back.
Amelia stood between them, arms crossed, a sponge dangling from one hand. “If you two would stop goofing off, we might actually finish this.”
Rafferty’s boots crunched over the gravel, drawing their attention.
Amelia spotted him first. “Hey, Raff!”
He raised a hand in greeting, pushing a smile into place. “Morning.”
Preston straightened. “You want in?”
Rafferty’s heart pinched. He almost said yes. Almost.
He shook his head. “And spoil your fun?” he said instead, even managing a low laugh.
Amelia narrowed her eyes at him like she didn’t quite buy it but let it go.
“Great way to start the season, Preston. You guys really played well.”
Preston squinted into the morning glare. “You watched?” he asked, surprise tugging up one corner of his mouth.
Rafferty gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Wouldn’t have missed it.” The game had been an hour’s drive away, but after his session with Sykes, watching a group of boys play their hearts out had been a welcome distraction — even if he’d stood alone in the shadows of the bleachers.
Preston looked down, trying to play it cool, but the slight puff of pride in his chest gave him away.
Rafferty saw it, felt it, and knew he’d done the right thing.
“Mom’s inside,” Olivia said, nodding toward the back porch. “Making breakfast.”
“Thanks.”
As he climbed the steps, he felt the weight of every footfall. The pull of something he wanted but wasn’t ready for.
He paused in the doorway between the mudroom and kitchen, drinking in the sight of Brandy-Lyn swaying to an upbeat country song while whisking something in a bowl.
And he wished, oh, how he wished he was able to walk up behind her and kiss that exposed shoulder of hers.
Sucking in a fortifying breath, he stepped into the kitchen. “Hey.”
Brandy-Lyn yelped and jerked back from the counter, her arm — still gripping the whisk — slicing through the air and flinging batter in a wild arc.
“Argh!” she gasped, stumbling a step. “Rafferty! You about scared the life right outta me!”
Rafferty raised his hands in mock surrender, eyes flicking to the glob of batter now sliding down a cabinet door. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
She blew out a breath, chest rising and falling, then looked at the mess. “Look what you made me do.”
“I’m pretty sure you did that all on your own,” he said, biting back a grin.
There was a smudge of flour on her cheek. It begged to be kissed off.
He didn’t.
Didn’t even trust himself to brush it away.
She stood and, eyes narrowing slightly, broke the silence. “What are you doing here, Raff?”
“I’m, uh …” He cleared his throat. “I’m seeing someone.”
She froze. Blinked. The color drained from her face — pale like that flour on her skin. “Seeing …” she repeated, voice small. She swallowed. “Someone?”
“Yeah.” He caught her expression and cursed. “Wait. No! No, not like that. Fuck, Red. No.”
He dragged his hand down his face and took a breath. “I’m seeing a psychologist. Dr. Sykes. My life’s a mess — has been for a long time. I need to dig myself out of the rubble before I can even think about taking … us … anywhere.”
She stared at him. “You want to go somewhere. With me?”
“Yeah.” His voice was low. Honest. “I do. Very much.”
She didn’t speak.
He kept going. “But I’m not in the right place. Not yet. I need—”
Fuck . The way she looked at him. Wide-eyed, soft, open. It made him want to say screw the damage, screw the past, lift her up on the counter and kiss the air out of her lungs.
“I need to fix myself first, Red.” The words came out a little rough. “And help bring Kamila to justice.”
A small frown creased her brow. “You going to Brazil?”
“No.”
She smiled — small, but real. “Then take the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
There was silence for a moment. Comfortable. Charged.
Then he stepped back.
“I need to go,” he said, his voice thick. “Before I do something I shouldn’t.”
She raised a brow. “Such as?”
He looked her dead in the eye. “Kiss you senseless,” he said, and spun away.
“Raff,” she called out as he reached the doorway. “Are you leaving? The ranch, that is?”
He turned back and leaned a shoulder on the doorjamb. “Thought about it, but I don’t want to do that to my family.”
“So … I’ll see you around?”
“Probably better if we avoid each other for a while. But I’d still like to check in on Elsa. If I may?”
She blinked. “Of course. Elsa will … miss you. If you didn’t … check in on her.”
His look softened. “Not as much as I’d miss her.”
They both understood this had nothing to do with Elsa, and everything to do with them.
Then.
“Dammit, Red,” he exploded.
In two long strides he was back, one hand at the small of her back, the other cradling her face. Her breath caught just as his mouth crashed onto hers — hot, desperate, claiming. She melted into it, arms winding around his neck.
He didn’t just kiss her. He devoured her.
And she kissed him right back with just as much fire.
When she gasped, he shifted, and gripped her waist, hoisting her up with a growl. Something crashed to the floor. He ignored it, setting her on the edge of the counter. She locked her ankles behind his back, pulling him closer. He could feel her heat sear his aching dick.
His hands tangled in her hair. Her fingers dragged across the line of his jaw, around his head, digging into his scalp. When he broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers, his breath ragged. “We shouldn’t’ve done this,” he rasped.
Brandy-Lyn’s hands moved down, fingers clutching at his shirt. “I know.”
His eyes searched hers. “I want to do this right, Red. Not as the messed-up version of me. The real one. The man who’s whole.”
Her palm pressed over his heart. “This part of you feels pretty real to me.”
He kissed her again. Softer this time. Reverent.
Then he eased back, hands lingering at her waist like letting go physically might undo him completely.
“I need to finish what I’ve started,” he said. “And I’m gonna keep my distance, Red, because I have no willpower when it comes to you. But I will be back.”
Her smile was unsteady, her lips swollen. “I’m holding you to that, Rafferty Lawson.”