“Cade.”
“Please, Rachel, forgive me.”
“I do,” she whispered. “I did. A long, long time ago.”
He exhaled and glanced around the kitchen, still able to see them all here. Sally, Rachel and him, having dinner, lingering over dessert, teasing and talking and telling stories. Sally had a nice dining-room set, but she preferred the kitchen table. He did, too, and he’d cherished those meals in here. They were warm and real and special. And he felt like one of those kids on TV who’d grown up with a normal family, a nice family...
“Things have worked out the way they were meant to,” she added kindly.
He nodded, his gut cramping, his chest hot and tight. He was glad she was happy. Glad everything in her world was good. “You deserve every good thing, Rachel,” he said, placing the flowers gently on the table. “You really do.”
And then he was walking out of there, fast, needing to escape the little house and all its memories before he said or did something stupid.
Chapter Two
Cade shoved his hat onto his head as he headed to his truck, his boots thudding against the pavement.
That had been a disaster. His timing couldn’t have been worse. Showing up on her doorstep the day before her wedding? Awesome. It was bad enough seeing the fancy cake and hearing the ceremony details. Thank God he hadn’t caught her in her actual wedding gown. That would have pushed him over the edge.
Starting his truck, he pulled away from the ranch house, his gut churning as he drove.
Hot, sharp emotions surged within him. Emotions he hadn’t felt in God knew how long. Disappointment and regret, but relief, too. Relief that she was okay. Relief that she was cared for. Not by him—which hurt—but by someone better. Because Cade King might be a champion on the rodeo circuit, but he was no prince in real life. He had problems...issues...for God’s sake, he was an alcoholic.
True, he hadn’t had a drink in over two years, and he continued to go to his AA meetings, even when he was traveling, but once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. You could put recovering or recovered before the word alcoholic, but it still meant the same thing.
Cade exhaled, trying to ease some of the pressure in his chest, but his deep breaths did nothing to ease the ache.
That was his girl, back there. His woman. And it was damn hard to walk away from your woman, even if it was the right thing.
But she was okay, he reminded himself. Better than okay. She was happy and in love and getting married tomorrow. Everything had worked out for her. And while the way he left her would never be right, at least she’d found someone who would treat her the way she deserved to be treated—like a princess. No, make that a queen.
Cade glanced at the clock on his dash. He still had an hour and a half before his appointment with Jeffrey Farms, a horse farm that was interested in using Cade’s stallion Orion as a stud. Adam Jeffrey had offered to come to him, but Cade had been thinking about Rachel lately—couldn’t get her out of his mind these past few months—and he’d thought that by coming to Mineral Wells he could kill two birds with one stone. Meet Adam, discuss the stud fee. See Rachel, make sure she was fine. Go home, business accomplished, mind at ease.
And his mind should be at ease. His conscience could rest easy. But his heart sure felt like hell.
He’d always thought he’d be the one to marry her. From the moment they met, he’d known she was the one for him. And it might have been five years ago, but he still remembered the day they first met as clear as anything.
He’d been crossing the street in downtown Mineral Wells and a girl on a bike—one of those old-fashioned bikes with a big wicker basket attached to the handlebars—turned the corner and crashed into him. He’d been surprised but unhurt. But she, and her bike, had gone flying, straight into the curb.
Cars slammed on brakes, and between the screech of brakes and rubber tires squealing, he’d rushed to get her out of the street.
“I’m sorry,” she said, as he scooped her up into his arms. “I didn’t see you. I’m so sorry—”
“It’s all right,” he said.
She shoved dark glossy hair from her eyes. “No, it’s not. I could have killed you—”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. “No, you couldn’t have,” he said, stepping onto the sidewalk and glancing down at her. She was bleeding everywhere—her cheek and chin, her elbows and knees—but thankfully, nothing looked broken.
“Yes, I could,” she retorted irritably, looking up into his eyes. “Cyclists kill pedestrians all the time.”
Her fine dark brows had pulled, and she looked so cross and serious that his lips had twitched, fighting a grin. “How ’bout you? You okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, dabbing her cheek where she’d skinned it. “And you can put me down. I’m tough. I’m not your average girl.”
He’d held her a moment longer, just because he could, and then gently he’d placed her on her feet, keeping a close eye on her in case she wobbled. But she didn’t.
“See?” she demanded.
“Not your average girl,” he agreed.
And then she laughed, her light gray eyes crinkling at the corners. Her eyes looked so cool and clear, they made him think of a summer rain. He’d stared into her eyes trying to find the bottom.
She let him look, too. She let him drink her in as if she were a refreshing glass of ice water on a humid afternoon. Until he soaked her in, he hadn’t realized how thirsty he had been.
No, he thought, she wasn’t his average girl. She was far from average, could never be average, not in her faded yellow cotton sundress, the soft mustard-hued fabric sprigged with blue flowers, the neckline edged with tired lace. It wasn’t just because she was pretty—there was something else in her that called to him. Something about her that felt right...familiar and new, exciting, terrifying, but also right. Looking down into her light gray eyes he suddenly knew why he’d left home at fifteen to find his way in the world. He knew why he’d been through hell and back. It was for her, this girl. To love her and protect her and keep her safe...
He’d put her bike into the back of his truck and driven her home, and he’d returned the next day to check on her, and her grandmother had invited him to stay for dinner. And he’d returned for dinner every night that he wasn’t on the road, competing.
But later his demons caught up with him, and what started out as a drink now and then turned to drinking 24/7, and all of Cade’s good intentions were drowned out by his need for Jack Daniel’s.
Once in one of his AA meetings, after he’d shared his story, someone said to him, “Thank God you sobered up before you hurt someone,” and Cade had nearly puked right there in the middle of the church basement where the meeting was being held. Because he had hurt someone. He’d trashed Rachel. And maybe it wasn’t a drinking and driving accident, but it was just as destructive. Maybe even more so because it was personal.
* * *
NEEDING TO KILL TIME, CADE stopped for dinner downtown in his favorite diner. It was still early, almost five, but the place was half-full with seniors who’d come in for the early-bird special.
Cade ordered coffee and chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes, then picked up a paper somebody had left behind in another booth and sat back down to read while he waited for his food. He scanned the headlines before flipping to the business section, checking th
e agriculture report and then the NASDAQ to see where his stock closed the day before.
His dinner arrived before he finished reading the business section, so he folded the paper and continued to read as he ate.
Midway through his meal, a strong hand clapped his shoulder. “Cade King, it’s been a while. How are you? What brings you back to Mineral Wells?”
Cade pushed his plate away and wiped his mouth as he looked up at Larry Strauss, a burly rancher in his early sixties. He smiled warily and extended his hand, knowing that Larry was close family friends with the Jameses. “It has been a while,” he agreed. “Care to join me? Do you have time?”
“I’ve already eaten but I will sit for a minute.” Larry slid into the booth seat across from Cade. “Quite a year you’ve had, son. Third straight All-Around title in a row, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been lucky.”
“That’s not luck, that’s skill. And you won easily this year.”
“I drew some good bulls. Two of them were yours.”
The older rancher inclined his head. Strauss Ranch was known on the circuit for their outstanding rough stock, including their bucking bulls. “But you knew what to do with them, and that’s what counts.” He gestured to the waitress that he’d have a cup of coffee, too. “So what brings you to town?” His narrowed gaze raked over Cade, his expression a little less friendly. “Haven’t seen you in years.”
Cade noted the coolness in Larry’s tone. He wasn’t surprised. Larry would have known that Cade had callously given Rachel the boot, and Larry being the old-fashioned rancher he was, wouldn’t have liked it. “Haven’t been back in years,” he answered evenly. “But I’m meeting with one of the Jeffrey brothers from Jeffrey Farms a little later. They’re interested in one of my horses.”