Page 57 of Beat of Love
The veins on the back of his hand shifted with every movement as he set about unwrapping the small gift, his fingers flexing slightly. His knuckles bore the marks of a man who knewhow to use his fists as weapons, emphasizing the raw power in his hand.
And she wondered what pleasure those hands would invoke if he put all that strength and gentleness and intensity into removing her clothing?
He flipped open the square jeweler box and stared at the chunky amulet in silence. Hooking his finger on the leather cord, he lifted it. Light caught the silver horseshoe pendant, highlighting the intricate embossing and the delicately carved horse head nestling within the curve of the U. “Your kids chose it?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
“Actually, they saw something similar online and went to Brookman’s in town to have it made.”
“They had it made?” He canted his head to look at her, his throat bobbing fiercely. “For …me?”
His disbelief brought tears to her eyes. “My kids really like you, Rafferty.”
He swallowed. Hard. And turned his attention back on the gift, rubbing his thumb over the horse’s face. “It’s … perfect,” he rasped.
“They included a note.”
He retrieved the little card from the lid of the box and opened it.
Dear Raff,
Happy birthday!
Thank you for being our friend.
Love,
Mimi, Liv, and Pres
???
He glanced up, a raw, unguarded look flickering across his face. His throat worked before he spoke. “I don’t deserve this,” he said, hoarse with emotion.
Brandy’s smile was soft, her eyes steady on his. “You don’t have to deserve it. They see you as their friend, Rafferty. That’s enough.”
14
Toying with the verboten
Lawson’s Landing, mid-November
The Ducati rolled in fast, kicking up dust as Rafferty turned off the road and onto the stretch of gravel leading to the carport. A pair of wind-tossed mesquites flanked the entrance to the large overhang, their branches clawing at the wind. His jaw clenched behind the helmet, thoughts still tangled in the meeting from earlier — the clipped words, the sideways glances, the not-so-subtle reminders of the life he’d left behind. Or tried to.
He coasted in beside the Jeep, killed the engine with a flick, and sat still for a beat. The silence made the weight in his chest press harder. His mind swirled with memories he didn’t want to replay, but they kept cycling back.
Nothing good or clean.
He dismounted, boots hitting the ground with more force than necessary. In one slow motion, he removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. Peeling off his gloves, he looked toward the main house, where the warm glow of the veranda light beckoned a quiet welcome. He knew they were inside — his parents, his grandmother — likely waiting with their cautious smiles and eyes full of questions they’d try to ask gently, but that would still cut to the bone.
Are you okay? What did the agents say?Are you going back?
He wasn’t in the mood for an interrogation. His pulse hadn’t settled. It probably wouldn’t tonight.
He grabbed the helmet and gloves and stowed them in the metal cabinet and hung his keys beside all the others.
He ran his fingers through his unruly hair still damp from the ride, his eyes on the house as he moved out from under the carport and away from the light, the night swallowing him up step by step. He unzipped his leather jacket, and the dry and restless wind tugged at it, like something about to break loose.
He didn’t slow.
Didn’t look back.
