27
Scorpion’s sting
Hovering low in the southeastern sky, the sun cast a silvery sheen across the dew-laden grass, and Rafferty filled his lungs with the crisp morning air as he drove the UTV along the rough path.
The mesquites, desperately holding onto a few leaves, painted lacy shadows on the ground.
There was a stillness in the air, a serenity that dueled with the accusing voices rattling in his head.
There were no second chances for him.
No absolvent of the crimes he had committed.
He would carry the darkness with him till the day he took his dying breath.
But fuck, he knew that day wouldn’t be soon, because he had a lot of penance to do. For a brief, glorious moment in the jungle he’d thought the time to meet his Maker had come. But then Esther happened along, yanking him back from certain death.
He peered up at the brightening sky, the sun’s glow soft and golden.
Gentle, soothing. A sharp juxtaposition to his emotions.
“I know why you did it, God. Your plan is truly masterful. For living here, facing the consequences of my actions, my choices, is torturous. More painful than any fire in hell.”
So yes, he would wait out his days in earthly purgatory.
He’d accept Aidan’s suspicions; endure the flashes of disappointment his parents desperately tried to hide; and fight his relentless attraction for his brother’s ex-girlfriend.
Or he could run.
Flee to some isolated existence where his mistakes did not slap him upside the head on a daily basis.
But that would be too easy.
He burst out from the dappled shadows of the mesquite grove and joined the gravel road leading to Blaze Canyon Stables.
And thought of her.
Are you obeying the doctor’s orders, Red?
“Stop. She is not your business,” he muttered, turning off at the short path leading to his first stop of the day. By the time he reached his destination, Rafferty had all thoughts of Brandy-Lyn and his fucked-up life neatly boxed away.
The thunder of hooves drew his attention, and he watched in delight as Elsa raced across the paddock and executed a snappy turn when she reached the gate. The mare lifted onto her hind legs and issued a throaty whinny.
“Morning, darlin’,” he said. She leaned her head over the fence, and he gave her neck a thorough rub, relishing the way she leaned her head on his shoulder.
He stepped back and unlatched the gate. Elsa spun about and galloped up the fence line, skidding to a stop beside the feed station where her paddock mates patiently waited.
He shook his head and gave a low chuckle at her antics, somewhat lightening the despondency that had blanketed him since his encounter with Dickhead.
About to clamber back on the UTV, the distant call of a bird gained his attention.
Turning toward the bluff, he searched and found the circling hawk, its wings catching the sun on the graceful upward glide.
And then it dipped down in a majestic swoop and disappeared.
He kept watch, hoping to catch its upward flight, but Elsa’s impatient neigh forced his attention back on his current task.
He drove through the gate, closed it, and proceeded to where the horses waited.
Rafferty walked under the roof covering the feeding station, unlocked the storage bin, and measured out the alfalfa mix into buckets, sprinkling a blend of vitamins and probiotics and flaxseed oil on top.
He upended the buckets into their individual feed troughs.
With the horses occupied filling their bellies, he cleaned and filled the water trough and swept the concrete floor free of debris before tackling their stalls.
Elsa still would not tolerate a traditional stable — and most likely never would — but the clever design of the P-shaped, run-in shed protected her and her roomies from the weather while giving Elsa the freedom to move at will.
Rafferty felt her presence before he heard her.
It was the shift in the air, a visceral knowing deep in his soul the moment she entered his orbit.
His pulse quickened, heart thudding hard against his ribs.
He straightened but kept his back to her.
Tightening his grip on the pitchfork, he steeled himself for the confrontation ahead.
“Hey,” Brandy-Lyn greeted.
He closed his eyes and pulled in a hard breath, blowing it out before turning to face her.
“You should be resting,” he said, his gaze snagging on the small white bandage and the yellowish discoloration around her eye.
It had spread down to her cheek, but the swelling seemed less.
It took everything in him to remain still, to not fling the pitchfork aside and drag her into his arms and never fucking let go.
Instead, he willed his body to remain still, only using his eyes to drink her in as they drifted over her face, tracing the curve of her cheek, the hollow of her throat above the opening of her shirt, the glorious fall of hair tumbling around her shoulders.
Arms folded, she leaned against a stall post, front knee bent with booted toe braced against the ground.
Her faded jeans clung to her thighs like a second skin, while (unfortunately) the sleeveless army-green puffer jacket concealed her shapely figure.
But he knew what lay beneath. The swell of her breasts and the narrow cinch of her waist were imprinted on his mind.
Her lips parted, drawing his gaze. Plump, kissable delicious lips, a taste he craved since the first time their mouths touched. “I’m just walking about. Not even working up a sweat.” She dropped her arms and pulled upright, frowning as she moved into the stall. “You’ve cut your hair.”
He touched the skullcap he’d pulled on earlier. “Shaved, actually.”
“Why?”
“To remind me of who I am. What I am.”
“And who are you?”
“ An Scairp. The Scorpion.”
Her breath hitched. And, hell and damnation, something flared in her eyes.
Brandy-Lyn stepped in close, stopping just before him. Before he could react, she tugged the black fleece from his head.
She hesitated, then said softly, “The rose is a surprise.”
He resisted the urge to shift under her gaze. “For Charlie,” he said. “A rose caught in the scorpion’s sting.”
She began to move, slowly circling him. “I knew the ink covered your scalp, but this…” She trailed off, coming to stand before him again, her eyes fixed on the design.
“Repulses you?” he snapped, stepping back, wanting to distance himself from the inevitable look of disgust.
Her gaze shot to his. “No!”
“Aw, come on, Brandy-Lyn. At least be honest.” His eyes hardened as he lobbed back the stinging words that haunted him. “You’ve seen my scars, the stain of prison covering my back. Both are repulsive, but that’s who I am.”
“Be quiet!” She closed in on him again.
Another step back brought him up against the wall.
She pried the pitchfork from his fingers and set it aside. “You’re wrong,” she whispered, placing her hand on his chest. Right over his thudding heart. “So very wrong. Nothing about you repulses me, Rafferty Lawson. Nothing.”
The touch burned through the thin cotton, through his skin, scorching to the very core of him.
Like the fiery drink she was named after, she went straight to his head, made him forget his stark reality.
He craved her touch. Wanted her with a need that scared him more than facing the worst of humanity.
His enemies had tried to break him without success.
But this woman?
This brave, smart, beautiful, and very, very sexy woman had the power to destroy him in a manner Kamila never had. The draw of Brandy-Lyn Powers was stronger than the allure of narcotics, and he needed to call upon every ounce of willpower to set her aside.
He brushed away her hand. “Everything your ex said is true, Brandy-Lyn. Going undercover changes a man. I am an ex-con, no matter the reason I went behind bars. I’ve lived with scum.
I became scum. I’ve done things that will sicken you.
” He severed eye contact lest she see the filth churning inside him.
“I’m everything a nice girl like you should run from. ”
His breath snagged as her hand touched his jaw, cool and firm, the rasp of her thumb stroking the stubble on his chin the only sound within the confines of the stall.
“You’re wrong. I see you. I see right to the very heart of you.
I see the broken man determined to find his way back to a whole life. ”
And he wanted to believe her words. Wanted to believe he was the man she alluded to.
But there was no way back to a whole life.
“I am an addict, Brandy-Lyn . Once an addict, always an addict. ” He shoved up his left sleeve, exposing the track marks in the crook of his elbow.
“It’s a battle I will fight till I die.”
“I believe you have the willpower, resilience, and inner strength to overcome this.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Guess time will tell. But it doesn’t involve you.” He snagged his cap from her hand, pulling it low over his head, and shifted away from her forcefield. Grabbing the pitchfork, he began rearranging the hay scattered across the stall floor.
She cocked her head. “What happened to taking us somewhere ?”
“Reality slapped me upside the head,” he muttered.
Then he stopped, exhaling a hard breath.
“Addiction is only part of what’s bad in me.
I am a killer ,” he snapped. “I beat a man to a pulp.” He flung the pitchfork aside, pulled his work gloves off, and waved his hands in front of her pale face.
“With these hands. Then I stood over him and watched him die while he begged for help. That doesn’t make me a good man.
It makes me evil. And it sure as hell does not make me someone fit to share your bed. Or be a role model to your kids.”
He dragged his hand down his face, frustration pulling his skin taut. “And then there’s your ex. That asshole will take your kids away from you, Brandy-Lyn. If that ever happens, because” — he stabbed a finger at his chest — “of me , I’ll never forgive myself. Neither will you.”
He turned, his throat thickening. “And there’s still physical danger.
Kamila Carvalho is alive. Alive . And she’s more vengeful than me.
She’s just biding her time. But mark my words, she’s coming.
Coming for me. And the people I love. I cannot take that chance, Red,” he added, his voice cracking.
“I cannot draw you, your kids, into my sphere. I just can’t. ”
“Now see,” she bit back, “ that exactly makes you a good person. You care. For me, my kids. Your family. You care!”
He exploded. “Yes! I care! I do. I do,” he repeated, softer.
“And that’s exactly why you need to stay away.
Because I’m a fucking selfish prick, and one day you will catch me in a vulnerable place, and I’ll give in.
And that will be the worst thing I could do to you. Please, Red, I beg of you, just go.”
Her swallow was audible. “I’ll leave. For now.
Because nothing I say or do will change your mind today.
But I want to leave you with two thoughts.
One, Richard is full of hot air, his custody threat mere bluster.
And two, I believe in you , Rafferty Lawson.
I really do. And when you’re ready, I’d like to explore an … us.”