A Cowboy for Christmas by Lori Wilde Read Free Book Online Page B

but of course, after that, Amelia couldn’t make the payments and we ended up back where we’d started.”
    Lissette didn’t know what to say, so she just opened the lid of the cake plate, cut off two slices of crumb cake. “What were you doing in Australia?”
    â€œMaking a film.”
    â€œYou’re an actor?” That surprised her. It wasn’t that he wasn’t good-looking enough to be an actor, because he certainly was. He just seemed too down-to-earth for such a quixotic career. Then again, what did she know of him?
    â€œI train horses for the movies. I have to be on set every day.”
    â€œIs there a lot of money in that?”
    â€œI wouldn’t say a lot, but I do all right. I work on three or four movies a year. It covers the bills.”
    A low rumble of thunder crackled overhead. She glanced out the window again. A black cat ran across the backyard in a fine-mist drizzle. Another long silence stretched between them. They looked everywhere but at each other. The red light on the coffeemaker glowed. The kitchen clock ticked loudly. The crumb cake dissolved into sweet moistness on her tongue, but she barely tasted it.
    â€œJake called me from Kandahar,” Rafferty murmured.
    â€œWhat?” she asked, not certain that she’d heard him correctly. “When?”
    â€œIt was just days before he was killed. He hadn’t called me in five years.”
    Distressed, Lissette inhaled audibly. Jake had called Rafferty from Afghanistan, but he had not called her? She hadn’t even gotten more than a couple of e-mails from him during the three weeks after his arrival in Kandahar for his tour of duty until the time the death notification officers had shown up on the Fourth of July to break the tragic news.
    At the time, she’d thought Jake’s silence was nothing more than a symptom of their deteriorating marriage. Now, with what Rafferty was telling her, she couldn’t help wondering what else had been going on in Jake’s head.
    â€œWhat . . .” She moistened her lips, braced herself. “What did he say?”
    Rafferty winced, but he didn’t mince words. “Jake must have seen something pretty damn bad. He wouldn’t talk about what had happened. Just that—”
    â€œWhat?” Her throat convulsed.
    His gaze seared hers. “Are you sure you want to know?”
    She lifted her chin. Did she? Her stomach quaked. Her hand was glued to the cake plate. She braced herself. “Yes.”
    Rafferty pressed a palm to the nape of his neck. “He said that he shouldn’t have come back to Afghanistan, but that when he was home in Jubilee, he tried so hard to be what you wanted him to be, but he simply couldn’t do it.”
    â€œWh . . .” Air got trapped in her lungs. “What does that mean?”
    â€œAfter being in the Middle East he couldn’t live a regular life. Being a husband, a father, and the thought of going to work at a normal job. It was—these were his words—too stupefying.”
    Her cheeks burned as if he’d slapped her with two open palms. Her mouth worked but no words came out. She’d suspected as much. When Jake was home he seemed so distant. And yet, when he talked about Afghanistan, his eyes would light up and his muscles would tense and he’d grow restless with excitement. As if he was addicted to war. When she’d seen the movie The Hurt Locker , she remembered thinking, That’s Jake. To a T.
    She shifted her gaze to an aloe vera cactus in the windowsill. It needed watering. Grateful for something to do, she moved to fill a cup with water. Why had she prodded Rafferty to talk about his conversation with Jake? Really, what did it matter at this late date?
    â€œJake said he didn’t fit in here anymore,” Rafferty went on. “And that he only felt real when he had a gun in his hands. He said war was a bigger high than bull