Page 52 of Rafe

“How many is that today?” Rafe asked, raising an eyebrow as he nodded toward Fred’s cup.

Fred shrugged, the lines around his eyes deepening. “I stopped counting years ago.”

“Probably a number too damned high,” Rafe muttered, and Fred chuckled.

“I do love my coffee,” Fred admitted, sliding into the chair opposite him. He folded his hands on the table. “What’s on your mind?”

Rafe lifted the mug to his lips, letting the bittersweet warmth seep into his fingers before he set it down. He cleared his throat. “I know it’s not my place… but I want to know what Junior said when he came by. If you’d rather I mind my own business, just say so.”

Fred’s gaze was steady, cradled by deep creases of concern and pride. “First off, you have every right to ask. You’re like a son to me. There’s nothing I’d hide.”

Rafe sighed and nodded. “Maggie suggested I talk to you.”

“Ah, Maggie,” Fred said, leaning back. “I was hoping that once she left Frederick, you two might see how right you were for each other.”

Rafe shook his head, stung by modesty. “I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

Fred reached across the table and patted Rafe’s forearm with calloused fingers. “You could never disappoint me, especially after what Frederick did to her.”

Rage flickered in Rafe’s eyes. “If I’d known sooner, I would have hunted him down and choked him with my bare hands.”

Fred closed his eyes, pain flickering across his face. “I can’t imagine what she endured. I taught that boy to respect women. Hitting her once was too much, but to…” He shook his head. “It breaks my heart.”

“She’s strong,” Rafe said softly. “She knows I’d never treat her that way.”

“I know,” Fred murmured. “The day I sent you to fetch my frame was my clumsy attempt to nudge you two together.”

Rafe smiled, a brief, honest curve of his lips. “You can be sneaky, Fred.”

Fred chuckled, then his face sobered. “Frederick spun me some story about taking over the ranch. Said he’d changed, wanted to make amends. Bullshit, if you ask me.”

“I don’t buy it either.”

“He only stayed a few minutes, but I could barely look at him. No real man hits a woman, let alone…” Fred’s voice cracked. He drained his cup and set it down firmly. “It was the last nail in that coffin.”

Rafe’s chest tightened. “He even threatened me, said I’d be out of work once he inherited.”

Fred’s eyes narrowed with resolve. “Well, he won’t. My mind is made up.”

Rafe frowned. “Fred—”

“Don’t ‘Fred’ me. My legacy here would be gone if Frederick got hold of this ranch. I know he’d sell it as quickly as he could.”

Fred’s stern expression softened into a crooked smile. “He did ask if he could visit—said he hated the motel. I told him he could visit if he kept the peace. I think he was hinting around about possibly staying here, but that won’t happen. We both know how dishonest he is.” His face darkened. “He stole my horses, Rafe. His own father’s livelihood.”

“That had to sting,” Rafe said quietly.

“It’s bad enough for anyone to steal but coming from my own blood.” Fred sighed, the weight of betrayal settling in each word. “He ain’t fit to run half a barn, let alone a ranch.”

Rafe agreed as he looked outside to see the snow continued to drift, muffling the world in quiet white.

“He doesn’t want the ranch; he just wants the money it would bring him.”

Fred nodded. “I know. Thank you for worrying about me, son.”

Rafe nodded. “Always, Fred.”

In the silence that followed, the two men sat at the table, the kitchen’s warmth wrapping around them like a promise. And out in the snowy yard, the ranch lay peaceful once more, at least for today.

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