Читать книгу When I'm With You - Donna Hill, Donna Hill - Страница 12

Chapter 2

Rafe disembarked from his Cessna. Flying always filled him with an awesome sense of invincibility. High above the clouds was a feeling that he could not describe. The only thing more thrilling was being with Avery. He smiled. He’d barely been gone three hours and he missed her already.

He thanked the crew, hopped on his motorcycle that he’d left parked at the landing strip and sped home. As he rode with a controlled abandon, the landscape of his life spread out before him. He’d spent years doing just this, racing through life, not taking the time to really see what was in front of him. Sure, there were good times to be had, and he’d never want to go back and change them. But he’d done it all while running on empty. For all the travel, the music gigs, the successes—and failures—and the women, there was a space inside him that none of those things could fill. He was starting to feel whole again from the inside. All the bourbon, reckless behavior, and even the fights with his father were all part of trying to fill the emptiness.

He maneuvered around a slow-moving minivan, resisting the urge to lean in and press the gas all the way down to the blacktop of the highway. He smiled beneath the tinted visor that shielded his face. It was all Avery’s fault. She was the one responsible for his reincarnation.

Rafe signaled for his exit, dutifully followed the flow of cars up the ramp and out into residential traffic. After a short ten-minute ride he pulled into the driveway of his two-story townhouse. The garage door whirred open. He parked his bike inside and entered the house through the door that led to the kitchen. He set his helmet on the granite countertop, tugged off the black leather gloves and tossed them there, as well.

He walked through the kitchen and into the living space to be greeted by the pile of mail that had been slid inside the mail slot of the front door. Scooping up the stack of bills, newspapers and subscription magazines, he absently sorted through half of them, deciding what to keep and what to toss, before dropping them on the end table. And then he headed upstairs to his bedroom.

He wanted to change his clothes first. After that he would get in touch with his producer to set up a meeting about the new tracks, and then check in with Quinten and try to twist his arm into coming to the Big Easy to sit in on a set. He’d bribe him with gumbo. Tomorrow he would go to the office. Although he’d put together a solid team for his foundation, he still needed to show his face and be a presence. Besides, there was something intangibly fulfilling about walking into a building and into rooms he’d envisioned that were now a reality. But it was the good work the RBL Foundation did for the young people of the community that was immeasurable. For all the crazy bull that he’d done in his life, the Foundation at least put a fresh coat of paint over it, and it was certainly an endeavor that he could be proud of.

He pulled on a pair of well-worn gray sweatpants and a T-shirt and then went back downstairs in search of food. Passing through the living room he grabbed the mail he’d tossed on the end table and took it with him to the kitchen.

Although the Lawson family always had a housekeeper, each of the Lawson siblings learned how to cook. And if Rafe had to say so himself, he was pretty damned good. He tugged open the fridge. Milk, eggs, a half roll of salami and something in a plastic bowl that he didn’t recognize. The trick of course was to remember to shop. He pulled open the vegetable bin and grinned with relief at the sight of a green and a red pepper that still had life in them, along with a package of shredded cheddar cheese. Omelet coming right up.

While he wolfed down his omelet, he snapped open one of the major New Orleans newspapers that he received via delivery service. He started at the back of the paper, in the sports section, worked his way forward and nearly choked on his omelet when a picture of him and Avery—taken when he had no idea—with the caption “Rafe Lawson, New Orleans’s most eligible bachelor, engaged to Avery Richards.” There was a short paragraph that followed, announcing the engagement and that Avery was the daughter of Senator Horace Richards. It went on to state that the marriage of Lawson and Richards will redefine the political power couple. The nuptials are scheduled for early summer. No date has been set.

With every word, the knot in his stomach tightened. First of all, where the hell did anyone get their picture? Were they being followed? And most important, who gave the damned newspaper information on his and Avery’s engagement? He slapped the paper down on the counter. Had to be one of his sisters, and he would bet money that it was Dominique. It had her signature all over it.

“Shit.” He pushed back from the table with such force that the stool toppled backward, hit the floor and rolled. He gripped the paper in his fist and stormed upstairs to get dressed. His visit to the family home was going to be sooner rather than later.

Friday nights when the family was in town they generally turned up at the family home at some point. Hopefully tonight would be no different, which would help him avoid having to make a round of house calls. More than likely Lee Ann was in DC with Sterling. And he didn’t think the announcement in the paper was her doing, anyway.

Rafe opted to drive his Audi. As furious as he was he didn’t want to get on the road with his bike. He checked the trunk to make sure his small duffel bag with his “on the road” change of clothing was inside. He unzipped the bag and did a quick check of the contents. Satisfied, he slammed the trunk shut and got in behind the wheel. He had a very strong feeling that tonight would be a three-bourbon evening and driving would not be an option.

Halfway between his home and the family residence Rafe used the voice-activated phone feature and called Avery.

“Hi, darlin’,” he said the moment the call connected.

“Hi.” She yawned.

“Everything good? Sounds like I woke you.”

“Hmm, I guess I really did nod off. Alice fed me and insisted I take a hot bath.” She yawned again. “I thought I was reading,” she said over light laughter.

Rafe chuckled. “Not going to keep you. You need your rest. Just wanted to hear your voice and let you know I got here okay.”

“Sounds like you’re outside or something.”

“Yeah, I’m on my way to the family house.”

“Oh.”

“Plan to talk to my sisters...about the wedding.” No reason to tell her more than that. He’d deal with the mess in the papers.

Alice’s advice rushed to the forefront. “Rafe...babe, I was being overly sensitive. I’m not going to put you in between me and your family. When I come down there next month I can talk to them myself. I know they mean well.”

Rafe ran his tongue across his bottom lip. He couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t in his DNA, but he wasn’t going to upset Avery. “Whatever you want to do, darlin’. As long as you’re happy and stress-free. To me, that’s what’s important.”

“Thanks. Well, say hello to the fam for me.”

“I will.”

“Love you.”

“You, too, cher. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Have a good evening.”

“You, too.”

The call disconnected. Rafe frowned. He didn’t want to slip into a habit of lying to Avery. Even though what he told her wasn’t an out-and-out lie, it was a lie by omission. If he could stomp out the newspaper reports, then she wouldn’t have to know. His line of reasoning was thin to say the least. What he needed to do, in the meantime, was set his sisters straight. The last thing he wanted was for Avery to get bombarded with her face plastered on the tabloids and splashed across every Louisiana paper’s gossip section. He was used to it. He grew up on the receiving end of razor-sharp pens and intrusive flashbulbs, lived much of his adult life as a “trending topic” and grew immune to seeing his face on the pages of the news or covers of magazines. But that wasn’t Avery’s life. He had to do everything in his power to protect her. She may carry a gun and have security clearances, but both were useless against vigilant and determined journalists.

Rafe made the turn onto the private grounds where the Lawson mansion stood, glad to see some lights on, signaled right and eased his vehicle down the winding road that opened onto the sweeping green landscape that braced the eight-bedroom, six-bath family home. Growing up, it was nothing to play hide-and-seek in the massive house, peek into the formal dining room to see the famous faces of those that most only saw on television, slide down the mahogany bannisters, race for hours across the grassy lawn, attend the best schools or skip rocks along the pond that ran behind the house. For him and his siblings, and cousins that frequented the home, it was all pretty normal. But his father and his uncles drilled into them from the time that they were old enough to sit still and listen that the life the Lawsons lived was a privilege, not a right, and as such they owed society a debt, and that debt was to pay it forward. Each of his siblings, minus himself and Dominique, embraced the Lawson mantra. As the two rebels of the family, Rafe and Dominique were hell-bent and determined to do whatever was necessary to tick their father off. Their track record in that regard was impeccable. Dominique should have been his twin instead of Desiree’s. He and Dom were true sibling soulmates. However, that pesky thing called love swept through the Lawson clan like a summer storm and took each of them out one by one, Dominique included. Rafe remained the last holdout—until Avery.

He parked on the side of the house, used his key to open the front door. The aroma of backyard barbecuing mixed with laughter beckoned him. He followed the lip-smacking scents and was met by the wide-eyed surprise of his aunt Jacqueline, his brother Justin and his fiancée, Bailey.

“Rafe!” Jacqueline greeted him, her smile wide. “I thought you were in DC, baby.”

“Hey, big bro,” Justin said, raising a bottle of beer in salute.

Rafe rounded the white wrought-iron table, leaned down and gave his aunt a hearty kiss on the cheek. “Hey, Aunt J, good to see you. Where’s Ray?”

Raymond Jordan had long been his aunt’s freelance photographer. They’d traveled the world together, chasing that elusive story in some of the most exotic and often dangerous places on the globe. Finally they realized that what they needed—beyond the excitement of the next assignment—was each other. More than that, Raymond was instrumental in seeing his aunt through one of the most difficult times in her life. As much as her brother Branford’s bone marrow saved her body, Raymond’s love saved her soul. Now that the Lawson children were either married off or working on it, the house for the most part was empty. Jacqueline and Raymond decided to return to Jacqueline’s childhood home and finally put down some roots.

Jacqueline laughed at her nephew’s question. “Down in the wine cellar. He swears he’s a wine expert now.”

Rafe chuckled and went to bear-hug his brother. “Hey, bro. Didn’t expect to see you here. When did ya’ll get in?”

“Came in from New York this morning. Just for the weekend.”

Rafe turned to his sister-in-law-to-be. “Bailey, woman, you still hanging out with this guy,” he teased and buzzed her cheek.

Bailey giggled. “No other choice. He’s stuck with me.”

Justin draped his arm around Bailey’s shoulder and winked up at his brother.

“You two keep it up and somebody’s gonna write a book about you,” Rafe playfully warned.

“Very funny,” Justin groused. “But I see you’re still in the headlines.” He lifted his chin toward a magazine tossed on top of the side table.

Rafe’s eyes narrowed and zeroed in on the magazine.

“My man,” came a hearty greeting from behind Rafe.

Rafe looked over his shoulder. Raymond stepped out onto the veranda with a bottle of wine in each hand.

“Now it’s a party,” Raymond joked and set the bottles down on the table.

Rafe grinned. “Was just asking about you. Looking good, man.”

“Other than the snowcaps,” he said, running a hand over his head and then stroking his tapered goatee, “I’m feeling good.” He patted his chiseled belly. “Gotta keep up with my gorgeous wife.”

“How’s Avery doing?” Bailey asked.

“She’s good,” Rafe said on a breath. “Heading back to work next week.”

“So soon,” Jacqueline said with a frown. She held out her flute, which Raymond filled with chilled red wine. “Seems like that mess in France was just the other day,” she softly said and mouthed her thanks to Raymond, who took a seat next to her. “Your father is still recovering. Still needs a cane to get around and rehab once per week.”

“Dad’s injuries were a little more severe, Aunt J. He had broken bones, and he’s no kid.”

“Still...” She sipped her wine. “As long as she’s better.”

The headaches, the nightmares... The family didn’t need to know all that. “Yeah, me too.” He stepped around his brother and pulled up a chair from the back end of the veranda.

“Beer’s in the cooler,” Justin offered.

“Thanks.” He flipped open the cooler and took out a can and then reached for the magazine. His jaw tightened. There was a picture of him holding open a car door for Avery, with the caption “Louisiana playboy Rafe Lawson a person of interest to Secret Service Agent Avery Richards.” He muttered a string of curses under his breath. “You wanted to know what brought me here,” he ground out, flashing a look at his aunt. “That’s why.” He tossed the offending magazine onto the table.

“Guess you haven’t seen the local daily paper,” Justin said with a raised brow. “Big spread.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened.

“Rafe,” Jacqueline began, her tone soft and entreating. “You know how this works, especially with our family.”

“I do. But Avery doesn’t.”

“Maybe not, but unfortunately when she agreed to marry you it came with all the Lawson baggage. Media has been tracking your every move since you were a teenager.”

“Gotta admit, big bro, you always give them plenty to feed on,” Justin added.

And now Avery was paying for his wild ways. Rafe pushed out a breath and plopped down in the available chair, stretched his long legs out in front of him. He snapped off the top of the beer and took a long, deep swallow. “Yeah,” he muttered in reluctant agreement. “Pictures are one thing, but giving details is something else.”

“What do you mean?” Bailey asked.

“Announcements in the papers about our engagement. Someone had to tell them, and it wasn’t me.”

Everyone got quiet.

Rafe looked from one averted face to the next. “Dominique,” he said for all of them. He shook his head.

“You know Dom,” Jacqueline offered, stretching out her hand to cover his. “She’s so happy for you and Avery. Making the announcement wasn’t done to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“Your wedding is all she talks about.”

Rafe sighed. He knew his family was sincerely happy that he was finally settling down, that he’d found someone to fill the space in his life. After Janae, he’d gone on a buck-wild, non-stop binge of reckless living. When he met Avery, his world finally came into focus and his nonchalant attitude shifted. He finally, for the first time in years, wanted more than the thrill of the moment. He wanted a forever. His aunt and brother were right, of course. He’d lived his life, along with the rest of his family, under the glare of the spotlight. However, it was a part of his reality that he didn’t want for Avery, especially when the glare of the spotlight was intentional. Add the zeal of his sisters into the mix, wanting to have their hands in every aspect of the wedding, and it was a blowup waiting to happen. As much as he may not have a problem with his sisters planning his wedding, his first obligation now was to Avery. She was the only one he wanted to make happy. Dominique was going to have to take a step back. Two steps.

“Dom coming by this weekend?” Rafe asked.

“Probably,” Jacqueline said. “I was planning Sunday dinner. She usually drops by.”

Rafe nodded. He pushed up from the chair and stood. “In the meantime, what’s a brotha gotta do to get some of that barbecue?”

The tense air filled with relieved laughter.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout,” Raymond said.

Rafe walked over to the stainless-steel grill that was set up outside of the veranda. Sunday couldn’t get here fast enough. He loaded a plate with ribs and a side of salad to take the edge off. He and Dominique were going to have a serious chat.