Angie wrinkled her nose at the aroma of dirt and steer. He sure did need a shower.
Cheryl turned from the counter. “About fifteen minutes, Mr. Chad.”
“That’s plenty of time,” Catie said. “Go ahead and wash up. Angie’s staying for dinner. She wants to talk to you.”
“Oh yeah? What’s up, Ang?”
Angie cleared her throat. “It’s nothing important. Nothing I can’t handle alone, actually. Let’s just have a nice dinner.”
“Sounds great to me,” Chad said. “See you in a few.” He headed upstairs.
“Spill it,” Catie said. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, I promise. But before Chad comes down, I want to know every single thing you can tell me about Rafe Grayhawk.”
* * *
Angie still cringed. Every hair on her body stood upright.
Rafe Grayhawk was twenty-five years old. Seven years her junior! And he’d grown up in the trailer park on the south side of town. The south side, a step below the west side, which was the bad part of town.
He was descended from the Comanche on his father’s side, Irish and Lakota Sioux on his mother’s. Nearly a full-blooded Native American. That part hadn’t surprised her. He sure as heck looked the part. Put him in a pair of buckskins with a feather in that long black hair and place him atop a pinto and he’d be the picture of a young warrior. He’d steal the heart of every girl in the State of Colorado.
His mother had passed away about three years ago, though Catie didn’t know how. His father still lived in the family trailer in Echo Gardens, the trailer park on the south side. A Mexican woman named Lilia lived with him and kept house. She worked part time for Jason McCourt, a realtor in town. Rafe’s father had retired from construction work on disability due to a hip injury, and he had chronic asthma and had a hard time with Colorado winters. Rafe had a brother, Tom, about two years older and divorced. He worked as a mechanic for Joe Bradley in town. He and Rafe shared the small two bedroom apartment above Annie McCray’s vet office. Rafe, to Catie’s knowledge, had never been married.
No wonder Angie had never seen hide nor hair of Rafe or his brother. She and Harper were too old to have known them in high school, and Catie, at nearly twenty-two, too young.
When Chad came down to dinner, Angie’s appetite had waned. She excused herself and left. She pondered all Catie had told her as she drove to her house on her father’s property.
Had she not been intimate with the man, she’d have called him trailer trash. It was a term she used often, though less since she’d stopped hanging around with Dallas McCray’s ex-wife, Chelsea. That bitch had been a bad seed, no doubt. A few years ago, she’d poisoned Dallas’s cattle. And all that after he’d given her a seven figure settlement! Why she hadn’t taken the money and run, Angie had no idea.
She sighed. Chelsea had been fun to shop with for sure, but the woman possessed no real depth.
But did Angie? Was she headed that route herself? She’d certainly never poison anyone’s livestock.
Trailer trash?
Rafe?
He spoke well. She’d only heard him say “ain’t” once, though that meant nothing. The McCray boys habitually used that word, and they were all intelligent and highly educated.
Rafe and Tom had both finished high school but hadn’t gone to college. No doubt their parents hadn’t been able to afford higher education. They lived in a trailer, after all.
So she wouldn’t marry the guy. He was a ranch hand, for goodness’ sake. That didn’t mean they couldn’t screw each other’s brains out. Truth be told, he was better in the sack than any she’d had, including Zach McCray.
He’d shown her a passion, an intensity, that no other man had. And though it’d been five years since she’d had any, she’d had plenty in her younger days for comparison.
But a trailer? Angie couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the concept.
Abruptly, she stopped her car and turned around. The evening was sunny and warm. The sun hovered right above the mountains, magenta clouds surrounding it. A beautiful sunset was on the horizon. Why not take a drive?
And why not check out Echo Gardens trailer park?
Chapter Seven
“You feelin’ up to a drink at the Bullfrog?” Rafe asked his father. “Tom told me he’s working tonight.”
The door of the trailer jiggled and in walked Lilia. “Hi, Rafe,” she said in her Mexican accent. “You staying for dinner?”