Page 109 of Rocky Mountain Devil
“Don’t know why we’re trying to save the ranch. Ain’t going to be any of our blood to pass the place on to, the way that woman can’t keep a child going—doubt if that one they got already is even theirs in the first place.”
Rafe could not believe his ears. “Micah is Gabe and Allison’s son. What the hell are you smoking? Or are you fucking drunk to come up with this bullshit?”
“Don’t you talk to me like that,” his dad roared, shaking a fist at him. “Wet behind the ears. You’re lazy, you’re rude, and you need to shape up, right now, because I don’t want it ever said that one of my sons—”
Rafe broke. “I wish to hell I wasn’t your son.”
Ben stuttered to a shocked silence.
Fuck it all. Rafe’s temper flashed to white hot. The fuse had been lit, and there was no stopping this time. “I wish to hell you were even a fraction of the man that Pastor Dave is. I don’t know how Gabe ended up so damn perfect when you were constantly in his face telling him he wasn’t good enough.”
He expected his father to interrupt at any moment, but the man just stared at him, face drawn with anger. Clutching the rags in his hands so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
“It’s nothing you’ve done that’s turned this family around. Folks call this the Angel land. Well maybe there was some divine intervention going on that helped Gabe pull us out of the hell you had us headed toward.”
Ben opened his mouth, but Rafe didn’t let him get a word in. He was on a roll, and everything he’d been holding back for the past days, and months—hell, foryears—it spilled out of him.
“And if Gabe’s an angel, I have no trouble with you judging me and calling me a devil, because I sure the hell ain’t wasting my breath praying for you. You can actholier than thouall you want, but it doesn’t change the truth. I know who’s responsible for saving our land, and that’s my brother. And Allison, and the rest of the family. It’s Mom, who’s put up with more heartache andbullshitthan any woman ever should have to.”
Rafe stepped closer and stared his father in the eye. “You don’t like how I’m doing things? I don’t give adamn. You’re not the one I’m trying to impress anymore. I gave that up when I was twelve years old, the first time you got so stinking drunk you threw your empty beer bottle my direction.”
Ben’s lips were pressed together into a thin white line as his gaze flicked to the scar beside Rafe’s eye. The one he’d gotten from a flying shard of glass.
The scar on his body was small—the hurt inside was farfargreater.
His volume faded. He wasn’t shouting anymore, but there was just as much intensity in the words. Just as much anger and frustration for all that Rafe spoke barely above a whisper now. “You’ve walked too close to the line, and you can’t ever come back. Not with me. Maybe Gabe and Allison are waiting for you to come to your senses and wake up to everything you’ve got right in your hand. Maybe Mom still prays for you, hoping you’ll go back to being the man she married. But I’mdone. You’re not my father. As far as I’m concerned, you never were my father.” He took one last look into Ben’s ash-white face. “And you can go to hell.”
Rafe stood there, expecting Ben to take a swing at him. He wasn’t sure if he’d fight back, or not. His mouth tasted vile, as if the words he’d spat out had somehow left a taint behind.
Ben just stood there and stared, trembling. His mouth hung partially open, but nothing came out. No curses, no counter accusations.
Rafe turned on his heel and stomped away, slamming the door behind him and heading to his truck. Even knowing Gabe would find the abandoned mess in the morning, there was no way Rafe was going back to his task, not tonight.
His phone rang as he climbed behind the wheel—Laurel’s ringtone—and he swore. The rage burning in his veins left him hot and dirty inside, and the last thing he wanted to do at that moment was dump this crap on her. Seeing Laurel right now was out of the question.
He ignored the message. He was in such a stinking foul mood, he didn’t even want to think about her—she was going to be so fucking disappointed in him when she heard he’d lost his shit.
He didn’t want to think—period.
So he wouldn’t. Rafe took the back roads into town and swung by the local off-sales to pick up a bottle of whiskey. Skipped going to his own place—he didn’t want to deal with Jesse tonight either. Just headed into the back hills to one of the small shelters dotting the land.
Twenty-four hours—that’s all he was looking for. Time by himself to forget that his dad was a piece of shit, and while they deserved better, this was as good as it got.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A loud crash woke her, the bedroom door slamming into the wall. “Rafe, get up, man— What the fuck?”
Laurel struggled upright on the bed, blinking hard as her heart pounded.
“Jesus, what are you doing here?” Jesse demanded.
“What—?” She looked around in shock, waking up enough to discover she was alone in the bed. “Where’s Rafe?”
Jesse dragged a hand through his hair and cursed loudly, stomping back down the hall before rushing back. “Get dressed. All hell is about to break loose, and you probably want to go home before anyone finds you here.”
“I’m not hiding my relationship with Rafe,” Laurel insisted, but she scrambled out of bed. “What’s wrong?”
He stared down the hallway, pointedly looking away from her. “I’ll tell you in the living room.”
