Their Forever Family. Abigail Gordon
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anyone cringe, but Duncan hardly looked disturbed.
Duncan snorted and reached out to take Rebel’s hand for a second. “That’s about enough of the grilling.” He leaned forward, getting into Rafael’s face. “And I’ve never been your favorite grandson.”
“Duncan certainly is a fine doctor and a fine man, but the fact is I don’t date. It has nothing to do with him.” There. She said it out aloud, and she hadn’t been struck by lightning. She looked overhead. It could still happen. Looked like thunderheads were coming their way. Outrageously huge ones, racing across the horizon.
“Why not?” The frown grew even more fierce. “Don’t you like men?”
“I like men just fine.” She glanced down and fiddled with her glass. “Things just haven’t worked out that way for me. So I’ve decided to let go of that part of my life.”
“Why? There must be something wrong with the men you’re picking, then.”
“Yes. Well.” Rebel’s insides tightened a bit, not wanting to get into her tragic family history the second they arrived, but it seemed they were on the edge of it.
“Seriously, Rafael. Enough.” Duncan defended Rebel. She didn’t need that sort of treatment. “Rebel’s decisions are her own and it’s not for us to pry. She hasn’t even had a cup of coffee, and you’re jumping down her throat.”
“It’s not natural, that’s for sure,” Rafael said, and eased back into his chair.
“If I’ve offended you, sir, I apologize, but, as Duncan says, this is my own business.” She stood and wrapped the plaid around her shoulders as if it would protect her. “You’ll have to excuse me for a while,” she said, and walked away from the table, back out the gate they’d entered and away from the house. Where she was going, she didn’t know, but she needed a breather. Now.
Her strides lengthened until she was almost running away from the house. If she’d worn better shoes, she would have raced, but her flats weren’t designed for that. And there were too many rocks and stickers on the road.
Minutes later she heard the crunch of tires on the dirt, but no engine. She kept going, not looking behind her. It was probably one of the field workers she’d seen, and she wrapped her tartan around her shoulders tightly. Certainly wouldn’t be Duncan chasing after her. He wasn’t the kind to chase.
“Rebel, wait.”
It really was him. “No.”
“Seriously, please wait.” He drove the golf cart closer and pulled alongside her as she huffed along the dirt road. A small rock had gotten into one shoe and now she limped along, pain in every step. But it was nothing to the pain in her heart. She didn’t want to have to explain herself to anyone. Her lifestyle was a choice. A personal one. Telling it didn’t change it.
The sky darkened further as the thunderclouds raced closer and drops of rain began to fall all around her while Duncan was safe in the little golf cart.
“I’ll stop if you’ll stop.” What a ploy.
“I’m not stopping.” It was a matter of stubborn pride now. The Irish always could out-stubborn the Scottish. Or at least that’s what her mother had told her. Rebel was about to find out.
“Then I guess I’m not either.”
When the skies opened up minutes later and lightning sizzled too close, she jumped into the golf cart. “Let’s go. I can be mad at you later.”
Duncan guided the lumbering golf cart toward a large barn, which looked really far away. Rain pelted down on them and Duncan began to drive slower.
“What are you doing? Go faster, not slower.”
“The battery is dying. Damned kids never plug anything in. We’re going to have to run for it.”
“Oh, no.” She got out of the questionable shelter of the cart and ran alongside Duncan. They were getting closer to the barn when mud engulfed one of her shoes, and she was forced to stop.
“Come on!” Duncan raced back to her.
“I’m stuck!” She was not leaving her shoe.
Like any superhero ready to save the damsel in distress, he bent at the waist, put her over his shoulder and ran for it.
Rebel screamed the whole way.
Duncan stumbled into the barn and collapsed into a pile of hay as he lowered Rebel down. Or tried to. It was more of a controlled fall than a gracefully executed maneuver. Seemed like he was always stumbling into something when he was around Rebel.
“Are you okay?” Riding on his shoulder couldn’t have been comfortable.
“I’m fine. Just soaked.” She pushed her dripping hair up and out of her face. “That storm came up quickly.”
“Welcome to monsoon season.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously, but that’s not what I mean. I meant okay about what happened back there. He’s a cantankerous old buzzard, but that was going overboard, even for him.” Duncan slid his hand down her arm until he reached her hand. “I’m sorry. I should have stepped in sooner, but I didn’t realize he was going for the jugular until too late.”
“It’s okay, really. I should be used to people asking me questions like that.”
“Well, no, you shouldn’t. Your personal decisions are nobody’s business, not even mine. Though I don’t understand, it’s really none of my business.” He wanted to, but it was such a waste of life to not fully enjoy it. And for someone as vibrant and lively as Rebel, it was equally sinful in his eyes. Especially when that life could be ripped out from under you at a moment’s notice. Like in a car wreck.
“Thank you.” Giving herself a verbal shake, she sat on a bale of hay and patted the space beside her. “Sit down. Why don’t you tell me about this monsoon season? I’ve never heard of it.”
Duncan shook himself like a dog. He dropped onto the spot beside her. “It’s the rain this time of the year that makes or breaks a chili season.” Though he was soaked to the bone, it didn’t bother him. He was warming up watching Rebel try to make headway with her hair, which was a wild tangle. He itched to dig his hands into the mass and test it for himself.
“I had no idea.” She huffed one last strand out of her face.
Pieces of straw poked out from her shirt, and he reached to remove that. She looked up at him, and she’d never looked more beautiful, more alluring than she did sitting there soaking wet on a hay bale in his grandfather’s barn.
“Rebel.” He reached out and cupped her face so she looked up at him. “I want to kiss you again.”
She didn’t say anything, but held his gaze. He wanted her with everything he had in him, but she was much more fragile and vulnerable than he’d known. Hiding behind all that fire and sass was a profoundly bruised soul. He leaned closer, drinking in the sweet fragrance of the hay, the fresh aroma of the rain falling around them, the unique perfume of Rebel’s body, and he leaned closer still. Her eyes dilated, and her gaze dropped to his mouth.
He’d only intended to give her a small kiss. But his appetite to taste her had been whetted that morning. When his lips touched hers, she took a deep breath, as if scenting him, breathing his essence, and he was lost. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he brought her fully against him. She tasted sweet, like the rain on his lips. Pliant, she relaxed beneath his touch and parted her lips to his questing tongue.
Lord, the man could kiss. Unable to deny herself this moment, she wrapped her arms around his middle and hung on as he kissed her like he couldn’t get enough of her. His hand dove into her hair and cupped her head while his mouth explored hers.
She’d been kissed plenty of times, had had a few short-term relationships that