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“It’s okay.” His voice soothed her. “It’s going to be okay, baby.”
He held her then, held her and rocked her as she choked back the sobs that threatened to unleash again.
Finally, he spoke. “Can you eat something? You should eat.”
She shook her head. The thought of food turned her stomach. “Not hungry.”
“Okay.”
He didn’t push her, thank goodness. He’d made her dinner, and she loved him for it. For that and so many other things. For what a good man he was, his amazing work ethic, his devotion to his father, his devotion to the livestock he cared for at Chad’s. Mostly she loved him because he was Rafe.
The man she adored.
“Here,” he said. He arranged a few pillows and blankets and tucked her under them. Then he lay down next to her and gathered her in his arms.
“Go to sleep.”
And she did.
* * *
She awoke to Rafe still beside her. He’d taken off his jeans and shirt and wore only navy blue boxer briefs. She got up and headed to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror shocked her. What a freaking mess. How could he have stayed?
But then, she loved him. She no longer cared what he looked like. She loved the Rafe inside. If he looked a mess she’d love him just as much. Was it possible he could feel the same for her? Would she ever have the courage to find out?
She jumped in the shower. The water pulsing down her tired body soothed her aches. She closed her eyes and let the warmth coat her hair.
“Like some company?”
She opened her eyes. Rafe, naked and glorious, stood outside her shower, his hand holding the open door.
She motioned him in. He’d taken his hair out of the ponytail, and it hung in glorious tresses down his back.
“Here, let me help,” he said. He grabbed shampoo from the shelf and massaged a generous dollop into his hands. He spread it onto her hair and began to massage her scalp.
Judy offered scalp massage for an extra ten dollars at the salon, and Angie took it when she had the time. But Rafe’s fingers were in a class all their own. He kneaded her head and neck and pulled the suds though her strands all the way to the ends. She savored the feel of his fingers, the warmth of his presence.
“Now rinse,” he said, turning her toward the shower spray. He massaged the suds right out of her hair, squeezed conditioner into his hand, and stroked it into her hair. “Your hair is beautiful, Angie.”
“Mmm.” She closed her eyes and let his fingers tantalize her. “So’s yours. You look like a Lakota warrior, all fierce and wild and free.”
“I am part Lakota Sioux.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Really? How?”
She jerked her eyes open. Would he think she’d been asking questions about him? “Catie told me.”
“Oh.” He rinsed the last of the conditioner from her hair. “My other half is Comanche, on my dad’s side. My mom is Sioux with a little Irish mixed in.” He squeezed some shower gel onto her mesh body scrubber and started washing her. “So where do you come from?”
“Mmm, that feels good. The Bays are English with a little French. My mama was born Maria Ciara Gomez. Her father was Mexican and her mother Irish.”
“Maria Ciara, that’s pretty.”
She closed her eyes, relaxing. “She was named after her two grandmothers, so she named me after my two grandmothers. Angelina was my father’s mother, and my middle name is Siobhan, for my mother’s mother.”
