Page 127 of Rocky Mountain Devil
How precious did that grace appear, the hour I first believed.
Maybe being afraid something would happen was enough to make sure that it never would. Rafe was still worried that he’d fail Laurel, but he figured there was a good chance she’d kick his butt anytime he stepped out of line.
It wasn’t grace but Laurel he believed in, and at that moment, it was enough.
And when the service was over, they waited until it was only the immediate family at the graveside, the rest of the Colemans drifting away as Dana stared at the place where the headstone would go.
Laurel bumped Rafe’s side. “Flowers,” she whispered.
Right. It seemed too little, too late and somehow wrong, but he trusted Laurel, so he pulled the little batch of purple plastic from under his coat and turned to his mom. “I know it’s—”
Dana’s instant gasp cut him off, sending him into a near panic as she pressed her fingers to her mouth, eyes filling with tears.
Then,thank God, she spoke, and while her voice was shaky, it was clear she was happy. “Oh, Rafe.” She took the bouquet and stroked the flowers. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Gabe glanced between him and Laurel, a small smile coming on as his brother nodded his approval.
The day wasn’t over. All Rafe’s worries weren’t gone, but right then he felt as if he’d finally stepped onto the right path, and pretty much knew why.
He wrapped his arm around Laurel’s shoulders where he planned to keep it—forever.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Ben’s death brought changes. Big ones and little ones, not only in what went down between Rafe and Laurel, but around the Angel ranch. During the early days, sadness always swept in when they gathered, but also a sense of purpose—something fresh and hopeful.
The aunts came and helped his mom go through the house from top to bottom, clearing away bitter memories of Ben’s later years. Rafe and Gabe helped fix things up, listening to Dana chat about the things she brought out to display on freshly painted shelves.
Laurel stopped in often. She and Rafe ate dinner with his mom at least once a week, and he’d drop by the ranch house at other times between chores to discover his girlfriend’s car in the yard, cups of tea between her and his mom as they chatted. Or Laurel holding knitting needles awkwardly as Dana tried to teach her.
Rafe teased as he drove her home after supper one night. “I swear you’re going out with me because you like my mom.”
“And your point is?” she asked in a completely serious tone.
He laughed. “Brat.”
She curled up a little tighter to his side. “Your mom’s happy. You’ve done good things for her, and you should be proud.”
“There’s a long ways to go to get the ranch the way we want it, but yes, the house is looking much better, and I’m glad Mom is comfortable. Still think it’s a big place for her to take care of on her own.” Which gave him ideas and made him want to have a certaindiscussionwith Laurel, but the timing sucked to rush into things. “This spring we’re going to be extra busy,” he warned, wishing it wasn’t true.
“Maybe you’ll be busy enough to stay out of mischief, then.”
“Look who’s talking about mischief? I’m not the one who stole the cookies out of the staff room.”
She gasped in mock horror. “Seriously? You’re willing to gothatfar back to find the one bad thing I did on my own?”
“You still did it.”
“Never got caught,” Laurel pointed out. “Therefore, it never happened.”
He laughed, walking her to the door and dropping her off with a kiss. Long, slow and tender, pulsing heat there between them, under the surface. The temptation to stay with her for the night, every night, was strong, but she’d made it clear she didn’t want them to push too fast.
Only the rental was getting lonely to ramble around in on his own, and crawling into bed without her in his arms was nearly unbearable.
By the time the winter weather broke, it was the tail end of March, the month going out like a lamb for the first time in years. It made him think ahead to springtime flowers and green growing grass.
New starts. New beginnings.
It was time to make the next move.
