Brooding Rebel to Baby Daddy Page 4

  Unthinkingly, Rafe took the ladle from Janie’s hand and tasted the cooling mixture. He coughed as the tart taste hit the back of his throat.

  “Give it.” Janie grabbed the ladle right on back. “It’s super healthy. And a work in progress. Besides, I had no idea you’d be back here for dinner.”

  Even while several years down the track, Rafe had built himself his own little sleepaway spot on the property, he often slept on the couch in Janie’s van when he was in town. She liked playing hostess. Liked looking after him for a change.

  And he let her. For while she was an adult now, which she was at pains to constantly remind him, the way she still bit her fingernails to the quick, and preferred staying in her little cave than being anywhere else, reminded him of all she’d had to overcome.

  No matter how grown up she was, he’d always be her big brother.

  “I thought you were flying to Sydney this arvo to give the final okay on the Pontiac,” said Janie.

  Rafe leaned his backside against the edge of the kitchen bench. “I was.”

  Janie glanced through the small window facing the overgrown forest blocking any view of the neighbour’s house. “But you just had a sudden urge to stick around, hey? Did news get around I was making soup, or—”

  “So you had a visitor,” said Rafe, not bothering to pretend a certain someone wasn’t forefront on both of their minds.

  “I did! For about three minutes before she scuttled away. I recognised her in a second. All that ridiculously fabulous hair. And those eyes—like she could see straight through to my soul.” Janie sighed. “I was smitten with her back then. Total girl crush.”

  “That so?”

  “It was the way she moved, all slow blinks and liquid limbs. Like she was floating through life.”

  Floating through life. That was Sable. Like flotsam. Tossed about on her formidable mother’s whims. Tossed to New York by a rare chance. To LA by some famous chef...

  Now back again.

  Rafe had no doubt she’d be tossed somewhere new soon enough.

  As if she’d read his mind, Janie added, “She’s different now, don’t you think? Grittier, somehow. Grounded. Dare I say, more interesting?”

  More interesting? Even as a teenager she’d been more interesting than he’d known what to do with. Sensitive, emotional, beguiling, and ingenuous, with those strange dreamy eyes, the kind you couldn’t look at long for fear of falling in...

  But that was then. And if she was “different” now, he was a new person entirely.

  Rafe looked down at his hands. At the oil tattooed into the grooves. The bruises under half his nails. The stubby ends of his fingers. The swollen knuckles. Okay, so not entirely.

  He felt the frown pulling at his forehead. He might still be found beneath the bonnet of a car, more often than not, but he was also a successful businessman. A well-regarded collector. Renowned the world over for his ability to spot a gem, to restore the unrestorable.

  Not that she needed to know any of that. He did not owe her a thing. Not a conversation, not a coffee. Not any more.

  Rafe tipped his chin. “You got all that in the three minutes in which you spoke?”

  “Yep,” said Janie with a grin. Then her eyes narrowed. “Hang on a second. She found you, didn’t she? I can tell by the mulish look on your face. How was it? All hearts and flowers and swelling string section? Or did you pull a you and answer in monosyllables?”

  Rafe shot Janie a flat stare, only to find she wasn’t laughing at him. She looked concerned. But Janie had nothing to worry about. He leaned over, wrapped an arm about her neck and ruffled her messy hair.

  “Hey! This do takes effort.” She ducked out from under his loose grip. “Come on, I want to know how it all went down.”

  “While I want dinner. So, I’m gonna head back into town for a real meal.”

  Janie threw her ladle into the sink with a clang. “This is barely good enough for the chooks. Give me five minutes to wash up. I’ll drive.”

  Rafe laughed before he even felt it coming. Janie, a Thorne and therefore a rebel, drove a tiny battery-operated tin can on wheels when he could have sourced her the coolest muscle car on the planet if she’d let him. “Funny girl.”

  “I know right. Don’t leave without me.”

  Rafe smiled. “Never.”

  For Janie had been right. Radiance was home.

  And though Sable Sutton was out there somewhere, and they might yet cross paths again, she would leave, and he’d stay, and that really was all that there was to say about that.

  * * *

  Rafe stood outside the front door of the Airstream, stretching his arms over his head as the weak wintry morning light poured over his bare arms and a sliver of belly beneath the lift of his old T-shirt, the crisp mountain air sending goosebumps in its wake.

  The roar of a quad bike had woken him. Janie was out in the paddocks, zooming around checking on her animals.

  Smiling, he turned to make his way back inside when he saw someone at the front gate.

  Not just any someone. Sable Sutton. Sitting on a post. Boots kicking against the fence palings. What looked like her old camera swinging around her neck.

  She must have seen him watching her, as the fence kicking stopped. She lifted her hand in a wave, hit the ground with both feet then started down the drive.

  Equal parts disquieted and curious, he made to meet her halfway.

  They came to a stop around two metres apart. Minimum safe distance.

  She was carrying a tray from Bear’s in one hand, the other she held up to her forehead as she squinted against the morning sun. Her shadowed gaze giving him a quick once-over. He figured he was decent enough in pyjama bottoms and a ragged T-shirt. Till he glanced up in time to see her swallow.

  “What can I do for you, Sutton?” he asked, his voice a little rough.

  “Me? I’m...” Her gaze dropped to his chest. “Aren’t you frozen solid?”

  “I run hot. Remember?”

  With that one word, she stilled. Her gaze lifting to meet with his. The years stripping away. Then she shook her head, just the once, her hair floating and settling. Her jaw tightening.

  “I brought coffee.” She held one out to him, at arm’s length. “Do you still take yours milky? Sweet?”

  He slowly shook his head.

  “Oh.” She pulled the coffee back into her side, her expression flagging. Her bottom lip disappearing beneath her top teeth.

  She’d never been any good at hiding her feelings. It used to terrify him how readily she entrusted all that vulnerability in his big, rough, dirty hands.

  But that was then. This was now. And his hands weren’t going near her vulnerability.

  Since it was clear she wasn’t going anywhere till she did what she had to do, he figured the best thing was to let her get there as fast as she could.

  He held out a hand. “Just give me the coffee, all right?”

  She looked up. Her bottom lip came free, glistening. Plump.

  His solar plexus tightened. If he wasn’t running hot before, he was now.

  With a grunt, he stepped forward, tugged the coffee out of her hand, then turned and walked back to the Airstream.

  Sable fell into step beside him. Easy enough when he was barefoot and she in knee-high boots that hugged her calves as if she’d been sewn into them.

  “I’m not going to shake you, am I, Sutton?” Rafe said.

  “Nope.”

  “Because you have something to say.”

  “Yep.”

  “Then say it.”

  She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it. Closed it.

  He might have enjoyed watching her squirm, if not for the tension gripping him as if his skin were three sizes too small. For while she was a pace to his right, he could feel her. The warmth of her.
The peculiar, golden light of her.

  “Fine,” he said, his spare hand gripping the back of his neck. “I’ll say it. I accept your apology. For leaving the way you did. In fact, I’ll go so far as to thank you. Thank you for leaving.”

  She blinked at his bluntness. But he was on a roll now.

  “You had an opportunity and you took it. You did what I’d never have had the foresight to do: you saw beyond the hand we’d been dealt, and demanded more. I demanded more too, once you were gone. I demanded more of the town. Of myself. And it paid off. I have a good life now, Sutton. Janie too. So...thank you.”

  He stopped to take a breath. It was a heck of a lot more words than he was used to saying in one go. And as he breathed, something dark and dicey skittered behind Sable’s eyes. Ghosts in her gaze.

  Reminding him that this wasn’t the naïve seventeen-year-old he’d once known.

  He owed her nothing. And to be honest, she didn’t owe him anything either. Things had ended, not in the most ideal way. But were endings ever ideal?

  She was no more to him than a memory, now. No longer his responsibility. No longer his to protect.

  “So, are we done?” he asked, no longer concerned if his words made dents. “Have you got what you came for? Because I really need to get on with my day.”

  She gripped her coffee hard. Her fingers long and lean, the nails almost blue.

  Unprotected, a memory swarmed over him. Taking those cold hands in his, blowing warm air onto her palms, rubbing heat back into her fingertips, kissing the tips...

  “This must be so strange for you,” she said, snapping him back to the present. The feathers on her coat fluttering and settling, as if the ripples of her return now affected the very air around them. “My, just showing up, after all this time. And the last thing I want to do is seem obtuse. Or as if I don’t appreciate how nice you’re being.”

  Nice? If this was her version of nice, he wished he could come face to face with the jerk who’d skewed her opinion on that score.

  But no. Again, she was no longer his to protect. Perhaps he ought to set an alarm on his phone. Repeat hourly. Till she was gone.

  “Rafe,” she said, taking a step closer, those vivid eyes flickering with more thoughts than he could possibly translate. “You want to know what I came for? Fair enough. What I want...”

  She stopped. Glanced over his shoulder as the sound of the quad bike rolled up behind the caravan and shut down.

  Knowing Janie, knowing how ripples messed with her composure, Rafe moved closer to the Airstream.

  “I’m hungry,” said Sable, matching his steps. “Are you hungry? Of course you are. You were always hungry. Can we go get breakfast somewhere? My shout. Or at least let me get you a coffee you’ll actually drink.”

  “I don’t remember you being this pushy.”

  “That’s the LA in me, baby. It’s the quick and the dead.”

  A smile hooked unexpectedly at the corner of her mouth. He’d forgotten how it did that. First a dimple appearing in her right cheek, a lift at the right corner, then the rest followed. Like a sunrise.

  Her beauty had been more subtle back then. She’d been more subtle. A little shy, a silent witness to life rather than the kind to dive right in. Deeply sensitive, which was what had made her such a great photographer. The ability to see richness where others saw nothing at all.

  The kind of person you’d notice out of the corner of your eye. Till one day you realised they were no longer beside you, and the loss was like a crater in your gut.

  Add a dash of confidence, a splash of experience, and honed edges and the effect was like a sledgehammer. A sledgehammer who wasn’t going anywhere till she’d said her piece.

  He took another step towards the Airstream. As did she.

  “Wait here,” said Rafe. “The alternative is you following me inside while I get dressed.”

  Her chest lifted and fell. Her throat worked so hard he was surprised she didn’t pull a muscle. “I’ll wait. Not moving from this spot.”

  Rafe jogged up the stairs. Nudged his way through the small galley kitchen to the smaller washroom. Listing, in his mind, all the things he’d already missed by sticking around even one extra day.

  Three impending sales of completed vintage car refurbishments that he had to physically sign off on. Requests to eyeball several possible restoration commissions. Council paperwork for the local car show Janie helped him organise. He was known not only for his workmanship, but his professionalism. He did not let things get out of control.

  So, coffee. A little food. He’d hear her out. Shake her hand. Make her think all was forgiven. And get on with his life.

  For it was a fine life. Perfectly satisfying.

  He imagined Janie rolling her eyes at such a comment. Her voice dripping in sarcasm: Sounds like a dream come true.

  As a kid contentment hadn’t even been in his vocabulary, much less his plans. As for authority? Respect? Success? Big words for better people.

  But now he had them, and nothing was taking them away.

  Rafe turned off the water, skin prickling with goosebumps. He grabbed one of the small floral towels Janie kept on the “guest” rail and ran it hard over his hair. Stopping when he thought he heard voices. Female voices.

  Janie had found Sable. And let her inside.

  “Dammit.”

  The Airstream was hardly guest friendly. It was compact, open plan. Meaning he either had to hide in the tiny washroom, till they gave up and went outside. Or he had to head out there, squeeze past them, to get to the clothes he’d forgotten to take into the bathroom.

  Sydney, he reminded himself. Ticking clock.

  So, he wrapped the towel around his hips—a Janie-sized towel, barely enough to cover his rear end—and went unto the breach.

  At the sound of the door opening, both women looked up.

  Janie, eyes the size of saucers, said, “Rafe. Wow. Um...you knew Sable was here, right?”

  “I did. Thanks,” he said, saying a hell of a lot more with his eyes. “Though she assured me she would stay outside.”

  “But it’s freezing out there! Much more comfortable in here.”

  “Nice to know you’re so concerned about everyone’s comfort,” said Rafe, lifting an eyebrow. Skin damp, hair dripping, he could feel his nipples puckering. The hairs on his legs standing on end.

  Janie bit back a grin.

  While Sable blinked at him. Once. Twice. And he felt the connection he’d been trying to pretend did not still exist twang, as if they were tied together with some invisible lasso that had just tightened around them.

  “Janie,” Rafe growled when the knot of the towel began to slip.

  “Right.” Janie moved to block Sable’s view, to usher her back towards the door. “Come to think of it, that coat does look very warm. What’s it made of? Crow?”

  “Ah, nothing real,” Sable stammered. “It’s fake. Fluff. Stuff. But yep, definitely doing its job. Feeling pretty warm right now. And happy to wait outside.”

  Janie opened the door, and said, nice and loud, “Sorry about that. He’s not usually such an exhibitionist.”

  Sable’s fading voice wafted to him as the door slowly swung closed. “Could have fooled me.”

  * * *

  Sable didn’t want to blink in case it rid her of the vision currently burned into the backs of her retinas. Acres of hard male chest. Naked. Rippling. That magical vee of muscle she’d only ever seen in underwear ads. And a happy trail leading beneath the edge of the minuscule towel held precariously at lean hips.

  “Earth to Sable.”

  “Hmm?”

  Janie watched her, head cocked to one side. “I was saying... Have you decided how long you’re staying?”

  “Staying?”

  She wasn’t staying. She was on a mission. For Rafe.
/>
  Not all the bits she’d just seen. Ogled more like. Other bits. A single healthy, hearty sperm would do her just fine. He’d never had any plans for them so he’d never miss it. Not that she’d put it quite that way.

  “Sable?”

  “Right. Staying. How long? Depends.”

  “On? Mercury’s alignment with Mars?”

  “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

  Sable stamped her feet, the dew having seeped through the bottoms of boots that had not been made for the great outdoors. “What’s he doing in there, do you think? Curling his hair? Sewing his clothes?”

  Janie laughed. Then, in the same tone one might use to ask where they might go for breakfast, she said, “Just don’t hurt him, okay?”

  “I’m sorry?” said Sable, though she’d heard just fine.

  “My big brother might never say so out loud, but he’s really made something of himself since you left. He’s respected. Settled. And a raging success. I’m sure you can imagine the amount of work he had to put in for all of that to come to pass.”

  Sable blinked. “I’m really glad to hear that.”

  “Mmm. The thing is, as a kind of cosmic payment for all the good that has come to pass, he has this thing about responsibility. About not turning his back on anyone. His staff, the townspeople, me. He takes that obligation very seriously. To a fault. Our very own St Jude, Patron Saint of—”

  “Lost Causes,” Sable finished.

  Janie clicked her tongue and pointed at Sable. “That’s the one.”

  Sable tried hard not to swallow. Not to let Janie know that every word felt like a barb, snagging on her vulnerable underbelly.

  For a few months back she had felt like a lost cause. Humiliated, broken-hearted, and appalled at how she’d let herself become a passenger in her own life, she’d felt about as strong as a single strand of dandelion fluff.