Free Heroes of Heartbreak Creek 02 by Where the Horses Run

to Rafe. “A Texas Ranger.”
    “Deputy U.S. Marshal,” Rafe corrected. “The Rangers were disbanded last year, although I suspect they’ll be reinstated soon.” The rampant corruption of their replacement, the newly formed State Patrol, was one of the several reasons he’d left Texas.
    “What’s the difference between Rangers and Marshals?” Mrs. Bohm asked.
    “Jurisdiction.” Rafe studied his empty plate, wondering if it would be rude to ask for seconds. “One is state, the other is federal.”
    “This is Mr. Jessup’s first trip to our country,” Miss Cathcart said, having finally gained control of her amusement.
    “Is it?” Mrs. Bohm beamed. “And how do you find it, Mr. Jessup?”
    “Wet.”
    Thankfully, the footmen stepped into the breach his comment caused, and began removing plates and serving dessert—another of those pudding things the English seemed to favor. Conversation wound through other topics and Rafe let his mind drift again, until he looked up from his admiration of Miss Cathcart’s bosom to find her glaring at him.
    He pretended innocence, but didn’t think she bought it.
    The remainder of the meal progressed with little conversation. Other than a nod or two when cornered, Rafe avoided further participation until their host stood and herded his guests into the drawing room for brandy or tea.
    Rafe wanted neither. But it would be rude to refuse, and since he had already made enough mistakes for one night, he dutifully folded his long frame into a delicate, overly ornate settee he was half afraid would collapse beneath him. Sadly, it didn’t, and for the next hour, he sat sipping tepid tea from a tiny china cup and feigning interest in gossip about people he didn’t know and places he had never been.
    It was apparent to him these people didn’t have enough to do.
    To pass the time, he mused on possible ways to avoid future dinner gatherings and take his meals with the grooms, then realized if he did so, he would miss the treat of seeing the beautiful Miss Cathcart and her alluring attributes across the table each evening.
    Not something he was ready to forgo.
    But even with her sitting so close that he could smell her perfume—lilacs, maybe?—time dragged. Conversation moved from meaningless to inane and his efforts not to yawn grew desperate, until finally, the vicar asked for their buggy to be brought around.
    Rafe bounded from the couch, thinking the evening was over at last and soon he would be free to visit the stables before he retired. Following the Cathcarts out onto the drive to see the elderly couple on their way, he saw that it had stopped raining and a light still showed in one of the stable windows.
    His spirits rose.
    Then the endless good-byes began.
    His frustration must have shown. “Patience, Mr. Jessup,” Josephine Cathcart whispered by his shoulder. “It’s a virtue, you know.”
    “Not with me.”
    By the time the Bohms’ buggy finally departed, the stable window was dark.
    Mr. Cathcart said his goodnights and weaved back inside, leaving his daughter and Rafe standing on the drive. When Rafe gazed longingly at the dark stable, she chuckled. “Let them sleep, Mr. Jessup. They’ll be there in the morning.”
    He masked his disappointment. “Dawn is at seven, you say?”
    “Half past. Or thereabouts. Shall I see you then?”
    “If you’re up that early.”
     • • • 
    She wasn’t. After a restless night, Josephine slept so late that by the time she arose, Jamie was already dressed and gone, and the sun was beginning to burn away the morning mist. Without waiting for her maid or a corset, she threw on her serviceable boots, a woolen work dress under her barn coat, tied a scarf around her unruly hair, and hurried down the path to the stables.
    Halfway there, she came to a stop when she saw Rayford Jessup, hatless, his long open duster swaying at his heels, walking into one of the pastures below. A bag hung from his hand. Stopping several yards