Trading Places with the Boss

But Rafe felt edgy. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket to keep from reaching out to help guide Shelley as she walked along beside him. Glancing sideways he saw that she came up above his shoulder. The perfect fit for him. He could already feel how it would be to put an arm around her slender form and curl her up against him.

He swore softly, fed up with the way his mind kept trending.

“You rang?” she said quizzically, glancing upwards in a way that emphasized the almond shape of her big brown eyes, her dark lashes leaving long shadows on her cheeks.

He swallowed hard and looked to the heavens for help. “Sorry,” he said shortly. “I just had a thought.”

“Quite an unusual experience for you I guess,” she said archly. “Do you swear every time you get one of those?”

He stared at her, fighting off the impulse to grab her and either shake her or kiss her. “You know what?” he said instead. “You’re as big a brat now as you were when we were kids.”

She glared at him. “Why not? You’re as big a bully.”

The crowd surged around them and someone bumped against Shelley, sending her reeling into his arms.

“Sorry,” said a disembodied voice but Rafe’s first instinct to go after the perpetrator evaporated as he looked down into her face and felt the fragility of her body against the strength of his.

Time stood still. He couldn’t breathe. The background faded into a swirling mist and all he could see were her huge eyes.

Then things went back to normal and they pulled apart, avoiding each other sternly, walking quickly toward the river. Rafe turned into a viewing bump-out and she settled alongside him as he leaned his elbows on the railing and stared into the inky waters below.

It was too late to pretend he didn’t react to her like a bug on a hot skillet. Everything she did, every time she moved, everything she said, triggered a response in him of one kind or another. If he couldn’t conquer it, at least he had to learn to hide it. He stood very still, steeling himself. Time to take back the controls, all the way around. Otherwise he was going to turn into a mushy mess. And that couldn’t happen.

Shelley was floundering. She had no idea what was going on with Rafe. He was acting so weird. He probably hated her.

And why not? She’d never liked him much.

Of course, there had been that New Year’s Eve party when they had both had a little too much to drink. He’d hung around making caustic comments and she’d given as good as she got—but when midnight came, he’d kissed her. The surprise of that kiss had shocked them both and they’d drawn apart unable to look each other in the eye. If it had been anyone else, that kiss might have launched a torrid affair. But since it was the two of them, they hadn’t spoken to each other since—until this weekend. The fact was, any sort of civil relationship between them just wasn’t meant to be.

Sighing, she looked out at the water, enjoying the bobbing lights reflected there. A slight breeze pressed the lacy fabric of her skirt against her legs.

“I love San Antonio,” she murmured, mostly to herself as she drew her shawl closer around her shoulders.

He turned to look at her, then looked away again.

“Funny how it used to seem like this huge city when I was young,” he said. “Now it seems more like an overgrown small town.”

“That’s what I like about it. You can wrap your arms around it and become a part of it so easily.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I like small towns. In fact, it’s cities I hate.”

She bit her tongue. If he was going to make everything into an argument, she just wouldn’t talk anymore.

The silence stretched between them. She risked a quick look his way. His attention was on the other side of the river, giving her an opportunity to study him for a moment. He had a rugged, masculine appeal, untamed and proud of it. Pure Texas. She remembered he’d always looked so very good riding a horse.

But that was then. And remember, she’d never liked him much. She had to keep that in mind at all times.

Suddenly, as though there had been no pause in their conversation, he spoke softly.

“My mom brought me to San Antonio for a weekend one November when I was a kid, to see the Christmas lights on the river.”

That surprised her, and not only because he was talking like a normal person for a change. “Just you? Not any of the others?” There were plenty of Allmans.

He shook his head. “Just me. I was about thirteen and she thought I needed something special. I think she was trying to make up for the fact that Pop was making it pretty plain that he considered Matt his fair-haired child and thought of me as good for nothing much.”

He stopped, frowning fiercely. Why the hell was he telling her all this? Of all people, she was the last…

But maybe it was because they’d known each other forever, practically grown up side by side. Too bad he couldn’t just think of her as a sister. But the feeling that swelled in him whenever he looked at her had nothing to do with brotherly love. So he had better stop looking.

“You were her favorite,” she said softly.

“Me?” That startled him. When he thought of his mother, he remembered a warm smile and a feeling of peace. She was just about perfect in his book. No one could ever touch her. It still hurt to know she was gone. “Nah. She didn’t have favorites. She was good to everyone.”

Shelley nodded. “She was a wonderful woman and she died much too young.” Reminders of that awful time, when Jodie’s sweet mother was dying of complications from heart surgery, made her wince. “But believe me, she had a special soft spot for you.”

He turned to look at her, frowning. “You were just a kid. You paid attention to things like that?”

She couldn’t hold back a smile. “Of course.”

His gaze lingered, then he turned away and her smile drooped.

But he’d unlocked a lot of memories. She’d spent so much time at that house, with that family, probably because she didn’t have much of a family herself. All she had was her always busy single mother. No one else. Millie avoided any talk about who her father was, so she’d made one up for herself. Tall, handsome, kind and loving, he was ideal—though he tended to evaporate into mist whenever she tried to reach out to him. That was the trouble with fantasy fathers.

So that really didn’t fill the lonely hole in her heart. She’d prayed every night for a brother or sister, until she’d finally gotten old enough to begin to understand why that wouldn’t ever happen. So she’d attached herself to the Allmans.

“You seem to have grown up okay despite losing your mother,” she told Rafe now. “And being left to the untender mercies of your father.”

He shrugged. “Pop’s okay.”

That almost made her angry. It wasn’t the way she remembered things.

“He can’t hit you anymore, can he?” she said softly. “You’re bigger than he is now.”

He reacted as though she’d said something crazy.

“What? Ah come on, he never hit me all that much.”

He turned to lean with his back against the railing, his arms crossed over his chest. This was something no one would ever understand. His father had always been rough on him. But that only made the times he came through and surprised the old man all the more satisfying.

“Anyway, that was the way his generation dealt with things. Say what you want about Pop, he’s a man of his time.”

She shook her head, wondering how he could defend the man. Jesse Allman was a character, a legend around their hometown of Chivaree, Texas. A hardscrabble sort of guy, he’d managed to work his much-scorned family out of poverty and up into dizzying success. He was a genius in his own way, and adept at turning his life around and making something of himself. But he hadn’t been a gentle father.

“You wouldn’t hit a child, would you?”

He gave her a look of weary resignation. “It’s called spanking, Shelley. And no, I don’t suppose I would do that. How about you?”

She shrugged. “I’m never going to have children.”