Seeing Daylight (3 page)

Yes, Rachel could be right. Amazingly, guilt didn't sizzle this time. Other than, of course, he still hadn't gotten around to starting that art gallery in Marianne's memory. He plunged ahead. Brayton Metcalf, who'd never been afraid of making a new deal.

“You know, Rachel.” He said slow, liking the taste of her name on his tongue. “I hope this isn't coming out of nowhere, but would you like to get a cup of coffee? Looks like Addie'll be busy for a while.”

Her cheeks pinked. “Oh, goodness. Please, forgive my lack of manners. My mother always has a pot of Arbuckle's going. I'll go get you a cup.”

“Well, I meant”—heat brushed his cheekbones—“could I take you to get a cup in town? The Coffee Corral?”

She didn't say anything, and her eyes widened, making him feel like a sixth-grade dork. Brayton Metcalf, who had scored several multi-million dollar deals before aged thirty, had his confidence slammed to the ground.

“Thanks, but I don't think so.” Her hand squeezed his arm like she was comforting a kid with a scraped knee. “But maybe I‘ll see you around. And please. Feel free to hit the kitchen for some coffee.”

Her smile all but knocked his breath from his lungs, even with her “no.” She gave a prim little salute at her hat's brim, turned, and walked toward the house. It was a brush-off, not any sort of invitation to follow. If he wanted coffee, he'd need to find the kitchen all on his own.

Nonetheless, rejection wasn't a word in his vocabulary. Rarely, if ever, had he taken no for an answer.
See you around?

You bet your boots.

 

 

 

 

3

 

Rachel trembled as she stumbled up the steps of the big front porch. Weighted both from disappointment and the confidence building in her heart. Here was somebody interested in her. And a handsome successful somebody at that. But was she ready? Nick's memory and her guilt somehow told her she wasn't. Still, all Brayton had suggested was a cup of coffee. It hadn't been a date, now, had it?

A touch of confidence had her peek behind her shoulder as she opened the front door. Hoped Brayton was watching. A new kind of disappointment surged when he wasn't. For a flash, she watched him feeding carrots to the horses in the corral, his back to her. Then her rudeness reared an ugly head. Hearts Crossing Ranch was based on hospitality, and she'd just committed a cardinal sin. She should have taken Brayton's arm, walked him over to the kitchen for coffee. Even if Rachel hadn't found the nerve to join him, Ma could have chatted him up for hours. For a moment, Rachel was tempted to run after him and offer a last-minute invitation, but embarrassment had her flee inside and up to her room.

She held cold hands to her hot red cheeks in her bedroom, “Belle's Starry Night Suite,” as it was known officially to guests. Named both for outlaw Belle Starr and Vincent van Gogh's famous painting. The room had value for other reasons—the redecorating project to help distract her oldest brother during the dark chemo days of his battle with cancer. Both Hooper's remission and the wagon-wheel headboard made Rachel smile. And Rachel needed to vacate it, get on with her life. The room with its red gingham curtains, log cabin quilt, and terrific view needed to get back to basics as a guest room for tourists.

With the summer rush over, she had time, and searching out new digs for her and Matty would be a fine goal. Maybe a condo at Woodside Meadows. There, Scott and Mary Grace would be neighbors, and Rachel would be close enough to Ma for babysitting.

Calming herself, she gazed out the window. Far off pines stabbed the sky. Aspens shook and glowed like fire across the autumn-brown hills. She brushed her hair and tossed cold water on her still-flaming cheeks. Well, it was time to find Matty and take him for a ride. If Brayton had left the corral, that is. With her luck, he'd want to join her. That didn't sound like a bad thing, but was she ready?

Riding has a way of making things better.
Her own words to him slid into her mind, and she nearly lost her own argument as she headed downstairs. Maybe that day would come, riding with Brayton by her side.

But that day just wouldn't be today.

Except…she already recognized his laugh. It bounced through the dining room from its origin in the kitchen, straight up the stairs to her ears. To her heart. He'd found his way inside without her. Suddenly, heading out on a trail ride seemed more than ever a perfect escape, but she still had to retrieve her son.

How to wiggle out if Brayton asked to come along? Or did she want him to? Matty might make a good buffer. But maybe Brayton didn't know about her son. Maybe he was the sort of man who would run from a woman with the complication of another man's child. Most of all, maybe he was just being polite?

She had no choice. Her stomach snarled at its emptiness. And the scent of hot, fresh coffee was a temptation she couldn't resist.

Apology ready, she proceeded to the kitchen table. Over a cinnamon roll the size of her headboard, Brayton Metcalf joked with Ma as though he'd known her forever, and Matty squealed with delight on the man's lap. She rolled her eyes. The man was more than polite, more than pleased with her boy.

“Rachel?” He said her name almost with reverence. “You've got quite a little guy here.”

“Sit down, girl.” Ma ordered.

The now-familiar heat flooded Rachel's face again. “Don't I know. He's the love of my life, that's for sure.”

“There's always room for more,” Ma said. As usual, Rachel knew what Ma truly meant, and it had nothing to do with matchmaking her daughter. For the last couple of years, Ma had been keeping company with a successful rancher an hour away in Sunset Hills. Trying to assuage the guilt over somebody replacing Rachel's father. Rachel had to wonder when she'd get there herself.

“Hi Brayton.” She took a deep breath and gave his left shoulder a quick apologetic squeeze. “Please forgive me leaving you in the lurch out there.” There. She said it, and she meant it.

“No offense taken.” His smile was kind but his eyes sparked. “But I needed my caffeine fix, and that's a fact.”

Her guilt started to ease and more than that, attraction flickered. Then raged.

Something about his gentle hands holding her son touched her soul's core. Not that her brothers didn't…but this was someone else showing obvious affection. Someone who wasn't related and didn't have to.

With a deep breath, she sat down.

“Now Rachel, I know you and Matty have a trail ride on order, but I need to get some yarn at the Bobbin and Skein. I promised Matty a prize in town if he'd come along with me.” Ma's eyes gleamed, and Rachel inwardly groaned. Matchmaking
was
afoot. She could smell it. Soon as she could, she'd halt that notion before it took root.

“I don't know. I've been promising him…”

Matty shook his whole body along with his head. “No. Gramma is getting me a prize. 'K, Mama?”

Her heart melted as it always did. Spoiling her son was almost always first thing on her to-do list. “All right. You be a good boy and mind her, OK? We'll ride later on.”

“Come on, sugarplum. Let's get our coats.” Ma turned one last time to their guest. “Brayton, good to meet you finally. Congratulations on getting that exclusive contract. Be seeing you next week for Addie's lesson.”

After waiting for Rachel to kiss her son, Ma stomped out, all six feet of her. Rachel couldn't help a smile as she busied herself with the coffee pot, and Brayton settled back to his cinnamon roll with a hearty bite.

“Mmmmm. This is beyond anything I've ever eaten before.”

“I would thank you, but I had nothing to do with it.” Rachel grinned. Cooking was not a gift she'd been given. “That's all my sister Kelley. She runs the Butterbean Café in town and is chuck cook for our wagon train tours.”

“Butterbean? I've seen it. Nice. Maybe—”

“What contract deserves congratulations?” Rachel had a pretty good idea where Brayton had been going with the “maybe” so she interrupted as politely as she could. She wasn't normally nosy—discretion was a big part of her career—but if Brayton had let loose to Ma in the ten minutes they'd been together, Rachel doubted he'd construe her question as meddlesome.

His tanned cheekbones bronzed further. “Ah, the saddle makers just got the exclusive contract as official saddle for the Western Rodeo Riders Association.”

“Wow.” Rachel knew her eyes widened. Impressive. “Congratulations indeed.”

Brayton nodded. “Thanks. Good people. Here.” He pushed the plate toward her. “Help me finish off this bad boy. I can hear your stomach growling from over here.”

“Hope you're not insulting me.” She tried a girly pout as she pulled off a small bite. “What wonderful news for the folks of River Ridge. You're a rancher now, too. But what did you do in Los Angeles?”

His face coppered further. “Real estate. These days, I diversify, the market being what it is. But…” He hesitated as if wondering how or if to proceed. “I rodeo'd a while back and still have some contacts with the association. Good for me and mine; good for them.”

“A rodeo rider.” Rachel's heart fluttered. Rodeo was hard work, dangerous, and kept a man on the road, but the image of a cowboy on a horse in an arena never failed to stir her blood. Her belly started a new rampage, hunger and Brayton both, and picking up a knife and fork from the Lazy Susan dove in now, waiting for him to talk while her mouth was full.

“Yep. Rode saddle broncs. Did well enough to put myself through college.”

She swallowed the scrumptious bite while visions of him atop a roiling gelding teased her mind. “Where are you from then?”

“Southeastern Idaho.” For a flash, he smiled and looked away, eyes brimming with memories. “My gram Adelaide? Well, her second husband, my step-gramp, passed his ranch on to his son Bernie. Uncle Bernie kept Gram on, loved her like his own. Took me in.”

Rachel was awed. The well-off Californian had ranch roots after all. It sure gave them something to talk about, although, she realized, there didn't seem to be any awkwardness between them at all. Even after his date request and her
faux pas
. “A ranch boy? I'd have never thought. I just…”

“Well, whatever you hear about me, some fancy big city boy developer and such, well—” his grin would have sent her heart pounding if she'd allowed it. “—I've got plenty of country roots. And here I just feel I've found home again. This all is something else.” Voice full of awe, he raised his head to look out the window

“What happened to the ranch?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Still there. The Lazy T is just this side of Victor. Uncle Bernie finally married and had his own set of kids to leave it to. I got into rodeo, and after Gram passed, the circuit seemed the place to be.”

Rachel fiddled with a fork. “You're still in touch with Uncle Bernie?” She had to ask, hoped she wasn't nosy. Kin and family relationships were the driving force for the Martins of Hearts Crossing.

“Absolutely. He and Auntie Norma are Addie's godparents.” A real smile broke over handsome white teeth before it faded. His eyelids fluttered for a moment. “That plane accident? Well, we were on our way home from seeing them.” Then he tried to retrieve his grin. “These days, we drive.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry, Brayton. I can't even imagine.” Her voice shook. Brayton's loss of his wife was as staggering as losing Nick. Only… Brayton as pilot held himself responsible for an accident. Nick's death had been his own fault.

“Well, maybe you can.” Brayton looked straight at her. “You said…your husband died.”

“It was an accident, too,” she said, voice and heart dull. Maybe it was time. After all, Brayton had let his hair down just moments after they met.

“Nick had survived deployment in the Middle East” She heard her voice go as flat as her high school days, reading the morning announcements over the intercom. It had to or she would scream. “Comes home a hero with the Silver Star. But he had some adjusting to do. Myself, too, I can't deny.” She couldn't. Brayton would probably hear the gossip some time. “I honestly think Nick's spirits were on the rise. Being named grand marshal of the Memorial Day parade last year helped. Then a few weeks later, he climbed down a cliff for a swim. Slipped and died.”

“No-o-o.” Brayton grabbed her hand, held it right. Brought it against his cheek.

“So you can see I bear anger, too. Against something that should never have happened. He was showing off and refused to use the rappelling ropes.” She let her hand linger, taking comfort from Brayton's warmth. “A war hero who died doing something stupid in his own backyard.” She took another forkful and put it in her mouth. But chewing and swallowing stopped as the nightmare niggled again, and she couldn't hold off the doubt and fear. She grabbed a glass of water, heart hammering. What if Nick hadn't merely been showing off? What if he'd fallen on purpose? A war hero so full of survivor's guilt he wanted to join the buddies he had lost?

What if he'd left her on purpose? Abandoned Matty...
on purpose?

In her throat, the bite of cinnamon roll turned into a lump of clay. The silence in the room all but roared. Then…

“Well, I did something stupid and as a result my wife died.”

Brayton's voice was as quiet as the air around them, and his pain reached into her soul. She took his hand as her own pain and bad memories took flight. Something special passed between them, making the conversation unique, meaningful rather than weird or inappropriate.

“Brayton, it was an accident. You'd never have taken off if you had any doubts. I mean, Addie's life was at stake, too. Not to mention your own.”

She squeezed once as Brayton nodded. “Actually, the investigation
was
inconclusive as to pilot error. But what else could it have been?”