Page 18 of Rafe

“Have you been here long?” Nate asked, his eyes scanning the lively environment while he attempted to catch the attention of a busy bartender.

“Not really. Maybe fifteen minutes. I just needed to get out of the house,” Rafe replied, his tone hinting at more than just a mild restlessness.

“What’s wrong?” Nate’s concern broke through the chatter around them.

Before Rafe could voice more, Dixie Townson, dressed in the uniform of a seasoned bartender, leaned in with a smile. “What’ll you have, Nate?”

“Whatever’s on tap, Dixie. Thanks,” Nate answered effortlessly.

Dixie then turned her attention to Rafe. “Rafe? You good?” she asked, her tone warm yet probing.

“Yeah, I’m fine for now, Dixie. Thanks,” Rafe murmured, forcing a smile as his thoughts weighed heavily on him.

“Be right back,” Dixie said, swiftly moving on to get Nate’s beer.

Rafe lifted his beer toward his lips but paused when he felt Nate’s steady gaze on him. With a resigned sigh, he set the glass down and met his friend’s eyes.

“What?” Rafe asked, his brow slightly furrowed.

“Why did you have to get out of the house?” Nate asked, his concern unmistakable.

Rafe shrugged, a weary motion that spoke of tired resignation. “Long day,” he offered, the simplicity of his answer belying the storm of emotions beneath.

Dixie soon returned, setting Nate’s beer on the bar with a friendly smile before moving off to tend to another patron.

“Every day’s a long day on a ranch,” Nate remarked, the tired humor in his voice lightening the mood.

“Some are longer than others,” Rafe responded with a soft, defeated sigh, and noticed Nate still staring at him. “What is your problem?”

“My problem? I don’t have one,” Nate said. “But apparently, you do. You know you can tell me anything, Rafe, and you know it goes no further.”

“Not tonight,” Rafe murmured.

“So, something is up?” Nate prodded, his tone both playful and sincere.

“Nate, let it go for now. Please,” Rafe pleaded, his eyes revealing a glimmer of vulnerability.

“All right,” Nate conceded, taking a contemplative sip from his beer. “Damn, this place is packed tonight.”

“When isn’t it?” Rafe replied with a wry smile that failed to reach his eyes.

“True,” Nate agreed, giving him a gentle nudge with his elbow. “So, how many women have hit on you in those fifteen minutes?”

Rafe narrowed his eyes in a mix of irritation and amusement. “None.”

“Bullshit,” Nate laughed.

“Whatever,” Rafe muttered, his tone indifferent despite the quiet tension.

“Damn, if I’d known you were going to be in this kind of mood, I would’ve stayed home with Markie,” Nate teased, his voice lightening the heaviness of the air.

“Sorry. I just have something on my mind. I’m hoping a beer or two will help,” Rafe replied, his gaze temporarily drifting back to his drink.

“Okay. I’m sure you’ll tell me when you want to, if at all,” Nate said reassuringly. With that, he turned his stool to face the crowded room, and remarked, “Good band tonight.”

“Yeah,” Rafe agreed, his tone distant.

“Damn, Rafe. Should we just go? You’re obviously not in the mood to be here,” Nate suggested, leaning closer with genuine concern.

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