Taming Rafe by Susan May Warren

felt to watch your career vanish, along with your hard work and reason for living. Couldn’t she see that he just wanted to be left alone, to wallow in his shattered life in solitude?
    “No, I guess not,” she said softly in answer to his question. She looked past him, toward Andy’s truck. “Oh, boy.”
    Not quite the response he expected. “Something I can help you with?”
    She tightened her jaw, and for a second he regretted his tone.
    “I want . . .” She cleared her throat, then looked down at a torn piece of paper, as if it held a script. Then she folded it and slipped it into her back pocket with a small shake of her head. She looked up. “I know I didn’t call in advance, but I was hoping . . .”
    “Oh, c’mon—just ask.”
    “Huh?” She took off her sunglasses and stared at him. Big, innocent hazel eyes, hair tickled by the wind.
    “Fine, you can have an autograph. But then I’m done. No interviews, no pictures. You leave, okay?”
    Something sparked in her eyes. “I don’t think you underst—”
    “Listen—” what more did she want? a date?—“if you can’t already tell, I’m out of the game. No more riding for me. I’m really sorry you came all this way, but I’m not in an interview mood. Now, I’ll sign whatever you have . . . just don’t tell anyone how you found me, okay?”
    She stared at him a moment longer, and then anger sparked in her eyes. “Wow, you’re really a piece of work.”
    Everything inside him tightened as if he’d seen his future flash before him. But he hadn’t ridden bulls since he was a kid without learning to hide his wounds. “Don’t you worry, sweet thing. I’ll be back in the game in no time.”
    “I’m not your sweet thing.”
    And right then, like he’d been kicked in the head, he heard the voice, the one that had been haunting him. The one that still made him feel like he’d up and run off with her daddy’s gold.
    “It’s you.”
    Katherine Breckenridge—she looked a lot less like the snarling coyote he’d imagined on the other end of the phone and more like a spooked filly.
    As if to confirm his accusation, she turned as red as his father’s Ford pickup. “Okay, I thought I could do this, but you’re . . . such a . . . such a . . . I knew I shouldn’t have felt sorry for you. You really are as nasty in person as you sound on the phone. Are all bull riders jerks, or do you have the corner on that market?”
    So much for spooked filly. “I can’t believe you had the gall to fly all the way—”
    “Drove. I drove.”
    “ Drove all the way from New York just to—”
    “Actually, I flew to Rapid City and—”
    “I don’t care how you got here. You get back inside that Jeep, turn around, and head east.” And don’t look at me that way. He stood, hoping to put oomph to his words.
    “If you’d only listen—”
    “I’m calling the cops.” He turned, bumping into his wheelchair. Pain shot into his brain, and he started to fall. His hand went out, hoping to catch the wheelchair, but it rolled back, and he missed.
    He landed on his knee, his shoulder, his back. It slapped the breath straight out of him. He lay there, openmouthed, feeling as if he’d been kicked by a bull.
    “Are you okay?” Katherine Breckenridge stood over him, with what looked like real concern on her face. “Let me help—”
    “Go away!” Where the volume came from, he didn’t know, but he pushed her hand away. “Get away from me!”
    She recoiled. “You’re hurt—”
    “You just figured that out?” He pulled himself up, gritted his teeth as he staggered to stand.
    “I just . . . I thought—”
    “I’m flat broke. So you can do your vulture picking somewhere else.” He stood, grabbing the porch beam to keep from falling.
    “Can I help you?” Stefanie rounded the corner of the house.
    Katherine glared at Rafe. Then she smiled and turned to Stefanie. “Yes, please. I was wondering if I can hire someone to show me ranch