He felt her come up behind him and, glancing over his shoulder, he saw her hovering in the doorway. “That’s a lot of white cake,” he said.
She smiled faintly, color turning her cheeks pink. “Better be. It has to feed over two hundred and forty people.”
“Two hundred and forty?” he repeated.
“It was hard to narrow the guest list to that. It’s a small town. Everyone wanted to go.”
Of course everybody did, he thought, his chest tight and growing tighter. Mineral Wells was a small town and Sally James had been widely loved by all.
Cade glanced down at the tips of his boots, wishing yet again he’d never come. He’d wanted to know that Rachel was happy, but this...this wasn’t how he wanted to see her...the blushing bride...the day before her wedding. But he had to be happy for her. This was what he wanted for her. Good things. Good people.
He forced himself to look up at her and he managed a smile. “Well, it’s a beautiful cake with all that fancy lace. Have never seen that done before.”
“The lace is actually icing. It’s all edible.”
“Really?”
“Yep,” she answered, a hint of laughter in her eyes, and he felt a tug of emotion. There was no one prettier than Rachel James when she smiled.
“And it tastes good, too?”
“I think so. Mia called it heavenly.”
“When is the wedding?”
“Tomorrow.”
He was determined to be happy for her. He was. “Where?”
“Clark Gardens. Over in Weatherford.”
He nodded and turned away to look out the kitchen window into her backyard. Cardboard boxes leaned against the garage. She’d been packing, getting ready for her move to her new life. “So you’re happy?” he asked, not trusting himself to look at her, afraid of what she’d see in his eyes.
But she wasn’t looking at him. She’d followed his gaze outside to the boxes. “Yes.”
“I’m glad,” he said, and then hesitated, wondering how to say the rest, wishing the words were easy, but they weren’t easy, they’d never be easy. Best thing he could do was just say them. Straight out. “I’m sorry, Rachel, truly sorry for all the pain I caused you—”
“That was five years ago, Cade—”
“Maybe. But I was wrong. I was a selfish ass, and I ask your forgiveness—”
“Cade.”
“Please, Rachel, forgive me.”
“I do,” she whispered. “I did. A long, long time ago.”
He exhaled and glanced around the kitchen, still able to see them all here. Sally, Rachel and him, having dinner, lingering over dessert, teasing and talking and telling stories. Sally had a nice dining-room set, but she preferred the kitchen table. He did, too, and he’d cherished those meals in here. They were warm and real and special. And he felt like one of those kids on TV who’d grown up with a normal family, a nice family...
“Things have worked out the way they were meant to,” she added kindly.
He nodded, his gut cramping, his chest hot and tight. He was glad she was happy. Glad everything in her world was good. “You deserve every good thing, Rachel,” he said, placing the flowers gently on the table. “You really do.”
And then he was walking out of there, fast, needing to escape the little house and all its memories before he said or did something stupid.
Chapter Two
Cade shoved his hat onto his head as he headed to his truck, his boots thudding against the pavement.
That had been a disaster. His timing couldn’t have been worse. Showing up on her doorstep the day before her wedding? Awesome. It was bad enough seeing the fancy cake and hearing the ceremony details. Thank God he hadn’t caught her in her actual wedding gown. That would have pushed him over the edge.
Starting his truck, he pulled away from the ranch house, his gut churning as he drove.
Hot, sharp emotions surged within him. Emotions he hadn’t felt in God knew how long. Disappointment and regret, but relief, too. Relief that she was okay. Relief that she was cared for. Not by him—which hurt—but by someone better. Because Cade King might be a champion on the rodeo circuit, but he was no prince in real life. He had problems...issues...for God’s sake, he was an alcoholic.
True, he hadn’t had a drink in over two years, and he continued to go to his AA meetings, even when he was traveling, but once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. You could put recovering or recovered before the word alcoholic, but it still meant the same thing.
Cade exhaled, trying to ease some of the pressure in his chest, but his deep breaths did nothing to ease the ache.
That was his girl, back there. His woman. And it was damn hard to walk away from your woman, even if it was the right thing.
But she was okay, he reminded himself. Better than okay. She was happy and in love and getting married tomorrow. Everything had worked out for her. And while the way he left her would never be right, at least she’d found someone who would treat her the way she deserved to be treated—like a princess. No, make that a queen.
Cade glanced at the clock on his dash. He still had an hour and a half before his appointment with Jeffrey Farms, a horse farm that was interested in using Cade’s stallion Orion as a stud. Adam Jeffrey had offered to come to him, but Cade had been thinking about Rachel lately—couldn’t get her out of his mind these past few months—and he’d thought that by coming to Mineral Wells he could kill two birds with one stone. Meet Adam, discuss the stud fee. See Rachel, make sure she was fine. Go home, business accomplished, mind at ease.
And his mind should be at ease. His conscience could rest easy. But his heart sure felt like hell.
He’d always thought he’d be the one to marry her. From the moment they met, he’d known she was the one for him. And it might have been five years ago, but he still remembered the day they first met as clear as anything.
He’d been crossing the street in downtown Mineral Wells and a girl on a bike—one of those old-fashioned bikes with a big wicker basket attached to the handlebars—turned the corner and crashed into him. He’d been surprised but unhurt. But she, and her bike, had gone flying, straight into the curb.
Cars slammed on brakes, and between the screech of brakes and rubber tires squealing, he’d rushed to get her out of the street.
“I’m sorry,” she said, as he scooped her up into his arms. “I didn’t see you. I’m so sorry—”
“It’s all right,” he said.
She shoved dark glossy hair from her eyes. “No, it’s not. I could have killed you—”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. “No, you couldn’t have,” he said, stepping onto the sidewalk and glancing down at her. She was bleeding everywhere—her cheek and chin, her elbows and knees—but thankfully, nothing looked broken.
“Yes, I could,” she retorted irritably, looking up into his eyes. “Cyclists kill pedestrians all the time.”
Her fine dark brows had pulled, and she looked so cross and serious that his lips had twitched, fighting a grin. “How ’bout you? You okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, dabbing her cheek where she’d skinned it. “And you can put me down. I’m tough. I’m not your average girl.”
He’d held her a moment longer, just because he could, and then gently he’d placed