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“You all have cells. I’ll call you.”
“We should see him,” Harper said.
“All right,” the doctor said. “But only for a minute or two. Then listen to your mother. She’s right. Go home.”
* * *
If only she’d listened to her mother and gone home. The image of her father in a hospital gown, unconscious, tubes sticking out of his body, haunted her. Why hadn’t she noticed how much weight he’d lost? Harper had mentioned it in passing a couple weeks ago, but she’d pooh-poohed him and said Daddy was fine.
And why hadn’t it occurred to her to question why he was suddenly so interested in her learning the ranching business? She’d assumed he was just being a belligerent old man.
She truly was shallow.
No longer. Now she’d live a meaningful life and make her daddy proud. She’d be the best damn rancher in the whole state of Colorado, and she’d learn to ride as well or better than Catie.
And despite what her father had done, she’d never settle for anything less than true, unbridled, passionate love.
She drove, staring ahead, not paying much attention to traffic, which was light, luckily.
She didn’t want to go home.
Didn’t want to be alone. Didn’t want to talk to anyone, but still didn’t want the isolated loneliness of her own home. She wanted strong arms, warm words.
Instead of turning off the main road to get to her house on the ranch, she drove through town. Stopped right in front of the vet’s office and parked in back. Walked up the stairs to the apartment where Rafe lived. Hoping Tom was working tonight, she knocked.
The door opened, and a shirtless Rafe appeared.
Bronze hairless chest, dark brown nipples. She couldn’t help herself.
She fell into his arms, sobbing.
Chapter Nine
“Angie? What is it?”
His low voice soothed her, its honey tone a warm blanket for her fatigued brain.
“Take me to bed, Rafe.”
He picked her up—how wonderful his arms felt around her—and carried her across the tiny living area to a bedroom. Gently he laid her down on a rumpled bed. “What’s the matter, baby?”
Angie couldn’t talk about it. Didn’t want to. Not yet. “Please make love to me.”
He hovered over her, placed his hand on one side of her face with the gentlest, almost reverent, touch. “Tell me.”
“Please,” she said again, her voice but a hoarse whisper now.
His lips met hers, softly at first, just small kisses around the outside of her mouth. She parted her lips and his tongue swept in gently. They kissed slowly, passionately, their tongues intertwining and their lips sliding. He pushed his hardness into her as they kissed kissed, ground against her.
Her weakened body melted into the soft coverlet. If only she could become one with the bed, the room…with Rafe. Drown her sorrows in this magnificent man. What a soothing salve for the horror that was today.
But Rafe deserved better. She deserved better.
They both deserved a partner who made love for the right reason. She could escape with him. And she would. But it would not be merely an escape. It would be an act of passion. An act of love.
Because she loved him.
She was crazy in love with him. She had to tell him. But would he return her love?
