I Run to You (3 page)

“Wine?”

“Yes. White?”

He nodded and left, returning with that and a
young waiter, a male who left menus.

Brook sipped the wine he had poured and
pleaded, smiling, “You choose something. I’d order everything on
here.”

Rafe grinned, obviously pleased, and then
chose from the menu. After placing it, they relaxed with their
wine.

“This suits you,” she reflected aloud,
looking up at the wrought iron chandeliers. It was a mix of style
and comfort, but still with that foreign flair.

“Does it?’

She lowered her gaze, to see him sitting
back, hand on the glass stem—his dark gaze moving over her
face.

He had gorgeous eyes. “Yes.”

He grinned a bit crooked. “It’s a mountain up
from my beginnings, Brook.”

She skimmed her gaze over his face this time.
“You alluded to that before?”

Instead of elaborating, he simply held her
gaze a little longer, making Brook flush because—dammit— he was so
handsome in that sensual way.

“You’re more beautiful each time I see you.”
He mused, almost as if he was thinking and speaking it at the same
moment.

“Thanks.” Brook cleared her throat.

He seemed sense her discomfort and said next,
“You know, Madeline has all of us come to her house twice a year.
Once, in the summer, and at Christmas.” He grinned. “Mitch likes to
call us Madeline’s dysfunctional family.”

“She loves all of you.”

“It’s mutual.” He shrugged. “Madeline has
protective instincts for people she cares about. She is an amazing
woman. Marrying Mitch only added more depth to an already endless
soul.” He laughed low. “Of course, Mitch likes the summer gathering
when he can get me and Sunny, even Nick, on the lake. Not—that the
Coburns are not into winter sports. I think last year Ashley broke
her ankle riding sleds off the hill side.”

Chuckling, Brook nodded. “Mom sent pictures.
Scads of them. I could imagine everything.” The food arrived. The
delicious aromas teased her nose and stomach. Served on a bed of
wild rice, she caught the scent of pineapples and coconut, among
the seafood.

She picked up their conversation, “There was
one photo of Nick looking horrified on the back of horse, I
believe.”

He nodded for her to eat and said, “Yes. We
have caught on, you know. The Coburns enjoy competing amongst
themselves, but they love to watch greenhorns look like idiots
trying to keep up.”

“And you?”

“I’ve ridden for years—well not here. I did
as a boy. Cars, I love. Jude cannot stand that he has lost on the
track to me twice. I don’t water ski, but the first time J.W.
overturned a boat on me, I swam fast enough back to shore to
impress them.”

Shaking her head, chewing a delicious
mouthful of the food, Brook signaled an agreement on the Coburn
clan and their blood sport competitiveness—and their “testing” of
anyone who was sucker enough to let them.

Taking a sip of wine, she said afterwards,
“Are you a cornbread brother yet?”

He laughed deep and rich. “Yes. Nick regained
his honor finally. We all meet at the tavern. They come here, for
dinner—it’s like seeing family.”

“I’m glad. How’s sunny?”

“Busy. Wanting to see you.” He wiped his
mouth and sat back. “He’s here more during lunch, since he’s
working for the DA. Still goes to the tavern. I think he is going
to sell his estate though, and find a smaller house. He has had a
hard time with the grief. For all they seemed opposite, they were
close.”

“Yeah, I knew it would be rough on him.”

They finished their meal. Brook drank another
glass of wine before shaking her head. “No more for me. I’ve got
enough jet lag; I’ll be yawning before I get home.”

He stood and held her chair, then said, “I’ll
walk you out. You can go through here.”

He escorted her though a back door.

It was a warm night, nice, tinged, and
breezy. Strolling leisurely to her car, Brook tossed her purse in
when she reached it, and then leaned against the back of it, arms
casually crossed while she studied him.

Rafe had his hands in his pockets lightly. A
lock of his jet hair had become mussed by the breeze, and fell one
brow.

“I’ll be a regular customer.” She told
him.

“Join me in back, anytime.”

“A paying customer,” she said dryly. “You run
a business. I love the food.”

He looked like he would argue, but then
glanced around and then back at her. “I still go to the tavern on
Fridays. If you’re there, we can share a drink.”

“I’d like that. I may need a few after I
start earning my bread.” She smiled. “I hear Doc Taylor is cranky
as hell to work for.”

“Ashley said so. She went to him after her
injury. You going to play, music?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t know a lot
right now.”

She peered down at her sandals to hide
anything that might show on her face. “Seven years is a long time.
Coming back at this age— things are familiar, yet a lot has
changed.”

He was considering her when she looked up
again. Brook knew, as a woman does, he had looked at her, all over
her, when she had been talking.

“When you were in that time— we took that
drive and talked, I enjoyed hearing about your days with the band,
the gigs, and your friends. I’m glad you lived some of that
dream.”

“Me too.”

She remembered sitting in his car, chatting,
talking too much likely, yet laughing a lot, sharing with him some
of the best memories, the amusing moments—the wild stories about
her band mates—who were indeed much wilder than she. There were the
usual tales of horrible modes of transportation, getting lost,
sleeping in cramped busses, losing instruments—having 40 people
show up in a place that held 2,000.

“I asked you if you were seeing someone.”

Brook remembered that, a casual question she
had assumed. “I answered no.”

He walked a bit closer. Brook had to look
upwards as he gazed at her, musing while she did so, that his thick
lashed eyes could do amazing things to a woman’s insides. They had
that hot slow sex/bedroom, look. It made her feel almost guilty
thinking that.

“I want to ask you something,” he murmured
low. “But I don’t want to, until you’ve been here awhile and
settled in. “

She raked her teeth over her lip. “You mean,
after I run into Coy Coburn again?”

“Yes.” His hand came up. His fingertips
rested at the corner of her lips. “If I asked you why you finally
came back, you’d give me all sorts of answers. But I don’t think
you’ll ever know the important ones—until you answer that one for
yourself.”

“So everyone assumes.” Her flippant tone fell
flat.

When he dropped his hand, yet did not move,
she glanced away and attempted, “I saw him on TV. He played pro
ball. It’s not like I’m—”

“—Brook,” his tone was soft. “You didn’t date
anyone in seven years.”

“That’s—not true.” Her voice was weak. “I
went out.”

“Sure. Okay, Cariño.”

She looked at him, hearing something in that
retort. “It has been seven years. I was a kid then, for God
sakes.”

“Yeah? So was Madeline when she fell in love
with Mitch.”

“Kids do that. Not all of them are—”

“Do you remember what I told you?”

“Yes,” her tone went husky.

He had told her that night after the
nightmare prom/betrayal, that all she had to do was call him—write
him, tell him in any way she needed someone, and he would be there.
He had told her after graduation that he would get tickets and fly
anywhere she needed him to be—to talk, to hold her, to make sure
she never forgot that one man would have given everything he had,
to be in Coy’s place the night of the prom.

“I had to work it out myself,” Brook
whispered finally. “I don’t think there is any escaping that
tearing apart we have to do, before the building something new. I
had to grow up.” She admitted, “I wanted to call, to write, and
yet—I felt I’d be using you—At least, I didn’t know for a while if
you were just trying to make me feel…not so… lacking.”

“You felt like that?”

“For awhile.”

“Then?” His brow rose. He watched her face
carefully.

“Then…I was thinking that everyone is
attracted to you. Women can’t help but be. And I wasn’t an
exception.” She actually flushed. “The allure of a guy like you,
Rafe, is so potent…” Brook didn’t know how exactly, to put it. She
shrugged finally.

Rafe leaned down and lips touched her cheek,
and then skimmed back. He said with more accented sultry tones,
whispering in her ear, “I want you still. I will never lie to you,
Brook. Before yes, you had to grow up. You have been away doing
that. But, as much as I intend to be your friend—and I will be.
Don’t misunderstand it. I’m a man and you’re a beautiful young
woman, I’ll seduce you given the slightest invitation, or
chance.”

His lips brushed her cheek again before he
raised his head.

Wow. Brook shivered, feeling her nipples
tingle from his breath in her ear, his words, and the tone. She
breathed shallower, looking up into those dark eyes. There was no
jest, no smile there—only a wicked kind of smoldering fire. Wicked,
in the good way.

Sounding too weak in her own ears, she
managed, “I… care for you, Rafe.”

“Yes, bonito, that’s mutual. But you want me
too.”

He smiled slowly, forming a blinding white
grin between those sensual lips. Rafe then turned to go, glancing
back though, as she pulled away from the car. He added, “We don’t
need games between us, Brook. We do not need to avoid each other.
You know I am here for you, as a friend. “

She nodded.

She had a fantasy memory of him, mingled
between affection, attraction—all sorts of jumbled things—but
nothing was like being a grown woman, here in the flesh with him
like this.

“I know, Rafe.”

“Get some sleep. You look tired.” he
admonished softly, “There’s no need to be so on guard. When
anything happens between us, it will be obvious to us
both—why.”

He walked back.

He had a great ass.

Brook blew out a breath she had held and then
swallowed. She would bet entire inheritance that women for 100
miles in any direction dropped their knickers for Rafael. Between
the food and the man— they probably orgasmed on their way out of
the restaurant. She wondered who he had slept with in town? If he
slept with—

(Oh shut up, Brook. Really. )

She got in her car, sitting there, telling
herself, okay. So. She was not really surprised. Since that
kiss—that amazing kiss—seven years ago, she had known there was
chemistry there. There were times in recent years that she’d felt
the urge to call him, to see where it would lead, after feeling all
the natural arousal after going out with someone she liked but
could not trust.

She had all sorts of trust issues.

Decisively, Brook pulled out and drove home.
She was tired.

She showered, climbed into bed, and lay in
the dark—seeing Rafe as he stood in that lot. Brook groaned. She
shoved her head under the pillow. She had a life to start. Was she
ready for an affair? Oh, God, what a sexy, incredibly alluring guy
he was. Dammit—she knew he really, really, did care for her. Even
just sex would not be just sex with him. She could trust him. She
would never worry about that. But, she would worry about having a
thing— when she was not through answering her own questions…

Sleep, for God sakes, she begged. I cannot do
this again.

Chapter 2

Copper Creek Lake

Sunlight streamed through the big picture
window, softening the mellow wood of the bedroom walls. Coy Coburn
lay awake, listening to sounds of his seven-year-old son, Levi,
watching cartoons.

Rubbing his hands over his rugged,
beard-stubbled face. He then scrapped fingers through his wheat and
sun streaked hair. Muscles flexing and bunching, he finally raised
his six plus frame to a sitting position. The white sheet had long
since been pushed to the bottom of the bed. His sun-browned
athletic body felt that same morning wash of sunrays.

He turned and set his feet on the floor,
pulling down the bunched right leg of his thigh length black
briefs. His gaze drifted to the scar that went from his thigh, down
past his knee, and half way to his calf. He hardly thought about
the injury that put him out of the pro football arena—unless it
ached like a bitch—and it did when it rained or when he had
foregone the required physical therapy.

The muscle looked as perfect as the other
leg, his body having always been muscled and cut, well-honed and
hewn since boyhood. The injury swelled a bit around the knee, where
the cartilage had been shredded.

Absently rubbing at it, Coy glanced over at
the sound of running feet slapping on the wood floors. He watched
the door open, then his husky son stood there, butter blond curls
mussed from sleep and body browned from the active life all Coburns
lived—the children were as high strung and fearless as the
grownups, being a part of the horse riding, motorcycles, cars,
boating and everything physical, from diapers on.

Leaning against the doorframe, his PJ’
bottoms depicting his favorite character—wolverine, Levi asked,
“Want me to start your coffee?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Coy smiled at him and winked,
knowing how pushing that button to start his coffee maker was as
important a routine for Levi as it was Coy letting him help with
other chores. The kid was all about independence. He liked to help.
He had that whole, it’s you and me dad, thing, which Coy was glad
for, since he often felt guilty those first years traveling round
and having obligations away from Levi.

Coy pushed to his feet and reached to the end
of the bed for a pair of soft fray-hemmed denims. He drew them on,
doing the buttons up on the fly, the last one below his navel. He
walked over to the pine dresser and looked at his face, rubbing
that scruff again— eyeing the white and wheat streaks brighter in
his hair since he spent most of his time out of doors. Even as he
did that surface thing, his topaz eyes were looking back in time.
Other than getting Levi out of those years, he avoided doing
that.