Page 51 of Rafe

Thirty minutes later she eased the SUV onto the gravel driveway, the crunch of rocks under her tires. She killed the engine and stepped into the cold, crisp air, then trudged toward the glow of golden light spilling from the cabin windows.

The door swung open before she reached the porch. Rafe stepped out, his breath steaming in the chill.

“Were the roads bad?” he asked.

“Not really,” she said, leaning against the railing. “I had to wait at an accident, that’s all.” She tipped her head and grinned. “Did you miss me?”

“Of course,” he said, concern knitting his brow. “I was worried.”

She slipped her arms around his waist. “I should’ve called.”

He shrugged, pulling her close. “It’s fine, baby. Come on—I’m freezing my balls off.”

Maggie laughed. “I could warm you up.”

Rafe stared into her eyes. “No doubt there.”

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of pine logs burning in the stone hearth. Maggie kicked off her boots and changed into soft lounge pants and a worn T-shirt. She curled up beside Rafe on the sofa, his arm settling around her shoulders. The fire crackled, casting dancing shadows across wooden beams.

She sighed happily as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” he replied, his voice low.

Maggie sat up, tracing the lines of his face in the firelight. Something in his expression made her heart skip. “What’s wrong?”

He exhaled, eyes drifting to the dancing flames. “Fredrick’s been hanging around the barn. I don’t know what he and Fred talked about last time, but it’s not good. He’s planning something.”

Maggie frowned. “Maybe you should ask Fred what they discussed.”

Rafe shook his head. “It’s none of my business.”

“Bullshit,” she said softly. “It is your business. What if he threatened him?”

“You’re right,” Rafe conceded after a moment. “I’ll talk to him on Monday. For now, let’s forget about that prick and just relax.”

Maggie pressed closer, whispering, “I still think he’ll come after me.”

“I do, too,” Rafe admitted, squeezing her hand. “But for some reason, he just wants us to know he’s around.” He kissed her forehead, and the fire popped, sending a shower of sparks upward as they settled back into the warmth of the cabin.

****

Monday morning light crept across the snow-blanketed yard as Rafe lingered in the wide-open barn doorway, watching thick flakes drift down like feathered ghosts. Each swirling wisp carried the sharp sting of winter air, and his breath puffed out in ragged bursts. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He was determined to speak with Fred before the cold drove him back inside.

At last, he exhaled, and a little cloud faded before his face. Steeling himself, he trudged through the yard, his boots crunching in the half-frozen drifts. He kept his head bowed so the snow wouldn’t batter him in the face.

At the porch steps, he paused, stomped the snow from his boots. Then he raised a gloved fist to knock, when the door opened. Fred stood there in his faded denim shirt, a gentle smile creasing his weathered face.

“Damn, son,” Fred said. “What are you doing out in this?”

Rafe squared his shoulders against the breeze. “I need to talk. Got a minute?”

“Always for you. Come on in. I’ll fix you some coffee.”

Rafe nodded in gratitude. He removed his cowboy hat, and after wiping his feet on the mat, he stepped into the warmth of the kitchen. The air was rich with the smell of roasting beans. He removed his coat and hung it beside his hat.

“Have a seat,” Fred said. “I just made a pot. I’ll get myself another cup, then we can talk.”

Rafe settled onto the worn wooden chair. Through the window, the barn stood silent and pale under the snowfall. He watched Fred pour dark coffee into a mug and set it before him, steam curling in lazy tendrils.

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