Donna Hill - When I'm With You

“Hi.” She yawned.

“Everything good? Sounds like I woke you.”

“Hmm, I guess I really did nod off. Alice fed me and insisted I take a hot bath.” She yawned again. “I thought I was reading,” she said over light laughter.

Rafe chuckled. “Not going to keep you. You need your rest. Just wanted to hear your voice and let you know I got here okay.”

“Sounds like you’re outside or something.”

“Yeah, I’m on my way to the family house.”

“Oh.”

“Plan to talk to my sisters...about the wedding.” No reason to tell her more than that. He’d deal with the mess in the papers.

Alice’s advice rushed to the forefront. “Rafe...babe, I was being overly sensitive. I’m not going to put you in between me and your family. When I come down there next month I can talk to them myself. I know they mean well.”

Rafe ran his tongue across his bottom lip. He couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t in his DNA, but he wasn’t going to upset Avery. “Whatever you want to do, darlin’. As long as you’re happy and stress-free. To me, that’s what’s important.”

“Thanks. Well, say hello to the fam for me.”

“I will.”

“Love you.”

“You, too, cher. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Have a good evening.”

“You, too.”

The call disconnected. Rafe frowned. He didn’t want to slip into a habit of lying to Avery. Even though what he told her wasn’t an out-and-out lie, it was a lie by omission. If he could stomp out the newspaper reports, then she wouldn’t have to know. His line of reasoning was thin to say the least. What he needed to do, in the meantime, was set his sisters straight. The last thing he wanted was for Avery to get bombarded with her face plastered on the tabloids and splashed across every Louisiana paper’s gossip section. He was used to it. He grew up on the receiving end of razor-sharp pens and intrusive flashbulbs, lived much of his adult life as a “trending topic” and grew immune to seeing his face on the pages of the news or covers of magazines. But that wasn’t Avery’s life. He had to do everything in his power to protect her. She may carry a gun and have security clearances, but both were useless against vigilant and determined journalists.

Rafe made the turn onto the private grounds where the Lawson mansion stood, glad to see some lights on, signaled right and eased his vehicle down the winding road that opened onto the sweeping green landscape that braced the eight-bedroom, six-bath family home. Growing up, it was nothing to play hide-and-seek in the massive house, peek into the formal dining room to see the famous faces of those that most only saw on television, slide down the mahogany bannisters, race for hours across the grassy lawn, attend the best schools or skip rocks along the pond that ran behind the house. For him and his siblings, and cousins that frequented the home, it was all pretty normal. But his father and his uncles drilled into them from the time that they were old enough to sit still and listen that the life the Lawsons lived was a privilege, not a right, and as such they owed society a debt, and that debt was to pay it forward. Each of his siblings, minus himself and Dominique, embraced the Lawson mantra. As the two rebels of the family, Rafe and Dominique were hell-bent and determined to do whatever was necessary to tick their father off. Their track record in that regard was impeccable. Dominique should have been his twin instead of Desiree’s. He and Dom were true sibling soulmates. However, that pesky thing called love swept through the Lawson clan like a summer storm and took each of them out one by one, Dominique included. Rafe remained the last holdout—until Avery.

He parked on the side of the house, used his key to open the front door. The aroma of backyard barbecuing mixed with laughter beckoned him. He followed the lip-smacking scents and was met by the wide-eyed surprise of his aunt Jacqueline, his brother Justin and his fiancée, Bailey.

“Rafe!” Jacqueline greeted him, her smile wide. “I thought you were in DC, baby.”

“Hey, big bro,” Justin said, raising a bottle of beer in salute.

Rafe rounded the white wrought-iron table, leaned down and gave his aunt a hearty kiss on the cheek. “Hey, Aunt J, good to see you. Where’s Ray?”

Raymond Jordan had long been his aunt’s freelance photographer. They’d traveled the world together, chasing that elusive story in some of the most exotic and often dangerous places on the globe. Finally they realized that what they needed—beyond the excitement of the next assignment—was each other. More than that, Raymond was instrumental in seeing his aunt through one of the most difficult times in her life. As much as her brother Branford’s bone marrow saved her body, Raymond’s love saved her soul. Now that the Lawson children were either married off or working on it, the house for the most part was empty. Jacqueline and Raymond decided to return to Jacqueline’s childhood home and finally put down some roots.

Jacqueline laughed at her nephew’s question. “Down in the wine cellar. He swears he’s a wine expert now.”

Rafe chuckled and went to bear-hug his brother. “Hey, bro. Didn’t expect to see you here. When did ya’ll get in?”

“Came in from New York this morning. Just for the weekend.”

Rafe turned to his sister-in-law-to-be. “Bailey, woman, you still hanging out with this guy,” he teased and buzzed her cheek.

Bailey giggled. “No other choice. He’s stuck with me.”

Justin draped his arm around Bailey’s shoulder and winked up at his brother.

“You two keep it up and somebody’s gonna write a book about you,” Rafe playfully warned.

“Very funny,” Justin groused. “But I see you’re still in the headlines.” He lifted his chin toward a magazine tossed on top of the side table.

Rafe’s eyes narrowed and zeroed in on the magazine.

“My man,” came a hearty greeting from behind Rafe.

Rafe looked over his shoulder. Raymond stepped out onto the veranda with a bottle of wine in each hand.

“Now it’s a party,” Raymond joked and set the bottles down on the table.

Rafe grinned. “Was just asking about you. Looking good, man.”

“Other than the snowcaps,” he said, running a hand over his head and then stroking his tapered goatee, “I’m feeling good.” He patted his chiseled belly. “Gotta keep up with my gorgeous wife.”

“How’s Avery doing?” Bailey asked.

“She’s good,” Rafe said on a breath. “Heading back to work next week.”

“So soon,” Jacqueline said with a frown. She held out her flute, which Raymond filled with chilled red wine. “Seems like that mess in France was just the other day,” she softly said and mouthed her thanks to Raymond, who took a seat next to her. “Your father is still recovering. Still needs a cane to get around and rehab once per week.”

“Dad’s injuries were a little more severe, Aunt J. He had broken bones, and he’s no kid.”

“Still...” She sipped her wine. “As long as she’s better.”

The headaches, the nightmares... The family didn’t need to know all that. “Yeah, me too.” He stepped around his brother and pulled up a chair from the back end of the veranda.

“Beer’s in the cooler,” Justin offered.

“Thanks.” He flipped open the cooler and took out a can and then reached for the magazine. His jaw tightened. There was a picture of him holding open a car door for Avery, with the caption “Louisiana playboy Rafe Lawson a person of interest to Secret Service Agent Avery Richards.” He muttered a string of curses under his breath. “You wanted to know what brought me here,” he ground out, flashing a look at his aunt. “That’s why.” He tossed the offending magazine onto the table.