Page 96 of Beat of Love
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, mychoices,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 isnotyour 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 thefeeding 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 shapelyfigure. 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.WhatI 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.”
