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“And what did you come up with?” Russell asked, his tongue darting along the edge of his lips.
Rafe swallowed hard. “I wanted to do something personal.” He reached out and slid a hand along Russell’s neck. When he didn’t pull away, Rafe drew him closer before tilting his head slightly. Russell came nearer, and Rafe closed the distance between them, just touching his lips. Fuck, he really didn’t know how to do something like this. Fucking he could do; sucking, yes; everything else sexual—that was in his wheelhouse. But just kissing another guy? That was something he didn’t have much experience with.
Russell ran his hand over Rafe’s, holding his arm, and deepened the kiss, pressing more firmly, his tongue slipping lightly along Rafe’s lips. The heat continued building, and Rafe so badly wanted to crush himself against Russell, to hold him, hell, to take him to a quiet room and touch and taste firsthand what he felt through his jeans. But they were in Russell’s home, so Rafe pulled back. The last thing he wanted was to lose control.
“That was the best thank-you I’ve had in a long time,” Russell whispered.
“Cool. Because I had thought about sending a card or writing you a note, but I don’t think either would have had the same impact,” Rafe said, smiling. Russell rolled his eyes but remained standing close. So close it took all of Rafe’s willpower not to kiss him again.
“Are you two going to come on in for dinner, or just stand there ogling each other until the food gets cold?”
“Dad….” Russell sounded like a teenager. Then he turned to Rafe. “Come on. Let’s go eat before Violet gets upset. She’s the best cook in the state, and she hates it if her food gets cold. Believe me, we don’t want to upset her.”
“But she’s the cook,” Rafe said. Clearly there was something he was missing.
“She’s also one of the most amazing ladies I’ve ever met. I used to hide out in her kitchen when I was in trouble. She’d give me milk and cookies and listen to me. By the time I left, she’d told me why I was wrong and helped me figure out how to make it right. My mother always knew where to find me at times like that, and yet she left me alone because she knew that somehow Violet would straighten me out.”
“Sounds like you’re lucky to have her,” Rafe said, following Russell into the eat-in area of the large kitchen. He had passed a huge dining area with enough room for twenty people, and yet he somehow knew that this table, big enough for six, was the true heart of this home.
“I know you men like your steaks,” Violet said as she set a platter on the table. “I also found some fresh vegetables at the market. So don’t just eat meat.” She glared at Elliott for a few seconds. “And I made a salad.”
Elliott rolled his eyes but tried to pass the salad on without taking any.
“Dad, you know what the doctor said.” Russell handed him back the bowl, and he added some salad to his plate, as well as a huge steak.
“Mr. Elliott,” Violet said, her hands on her ample hips, a twinkle in her eyes. “How am I supposed to keep you around until I’m old enough to retire if all you eat is red meat?”
“We’re both plenty old enough to retire and you know it,” Elliott countered before pointing at the empty chair. “Now, sit on down and have some dinner with us. You made plenty. Always do.” But she stepped away.
“She always eats on her own. She says she shouldn’t be eating at the table with the family,” Russell said quietly. “Even after all this time, she still stands on formality.”
“Please join us,” Rafe said to her. “You can tell me stories about Russell when he was a child.”
She looked like she was going to turn away, but then grinned. “That boy never stopped moving, let me tell you.” Finally she pulled out the empty chair, and Russell practically jumped up to get her a plate and silverware. “He would run all day long, from dawn until nightfall. You could always find him either in the stables or the kitchen.”
“Me too,” Rafe said, meeting Russell’s gaze and his soft smile. “Mom said I had hollow legs.”
“You were growing boys. Of course you did.” She took a steak and then some of the potatoes, as if she really wasn’t thinking about it, then ate a few bites. “Has he told you about the time he decided to make his mother cookies for Mother’s Day?” She grinned.
“Those were good cookies. Mama loved them,” Russell protested.
She smiled indulgently. “He was nine and wanted to make cookies for her. He got the recipe and mixed everything together. Then he made the cookies and put them on the pan. The only thing he let me do was put them in the oven for him. Then the little stinker shooed me out of the kitchen. The thing was, he misread the recipe and put the cookies in the oven for an hour. Then he left the kitchen, and I came back to smoke pouring out of the oven.”
Russell was aghast. “That didn’t happen.”
“It surely did. But he was so proud of making something for his mama that I whipped up a batch from his recipe, threw out the burned ones, and….”
“Violet,” Elliott said, trying not to laugh. “You let him think your cookies were his.”
She shrugged. “They were for his mama. What was I supposed to do, let him serve her burned crumbs? No, sir. But I didn’t let him cook in my kitchen again until he was old enough to know better.”
Russell sat still, his mouth hanging open. “No way.”
“You were nine. And it all worked out. You were happy, your mom was happy, and the entire kitchen didn’t burn down.”
Rafe turned away, trying to hide his laughter. Russell still looked skeptical, and Elliott just smiled. “Russell was lucky to have someone who cared so much,” Rafe said once he pulled himself together, tapping Russell’s foot under the table. “I didn’t have that.”
“Didn’t your mom bake?” Violet asked.
