The Bachelor’s Surrender Read Free

type, but he was certainly appealing—if you overlooked that perpetual scowl on his handsome face, which wasn’t hard to do when a woman had such a physically attractive body to admire.
    It was then she noticed a barely perceptible hitch in his walk, and remembered reading in Chad’s scrapbook about the injury that had ended Rafe’s career as a champion bull-rider. He’d been gored in the right thigh by an out-of-control bull while attempting to rescue a young rider who’d been knocked unconscious after being thrown by the beast. Judging by the way Rafe favored his right leg, she guessed the affliction still nagged him—along with the honor of being hailed a hero, a title he’d earned that fateful day. One he clearly scorned.
    They entered a room furnished with a brown leather wraparound couch, a matching easy chair, and complemented with oak end tables and a wall length entertainment unit that held a large screen TV. Surprisingly, she saw no evidence of the PRCA champion he’d been. No trophies. No plaques. No pictures. Nothing to indicate he was anything more than a simple, down-home cowboy—albeit a grouchy one.
    He stopped and propped his shoulder against the doorframe leading into the room, his stance impatient, his expression bored. She paused beside him, waiting for an invitation to venture further into his domain.
    He wasn’t a gracious host. He didn’t offer her a seat, or a cool drink, which she would have welcomed. A secret smile touched Lauren’s lips. Her prim and proper mother would be shocked at such atrocious manners, not to mention appalled by the fact that he was entertaining a guest without a shirt on. “Uncivilized” is what Maureen Richmond would call a man like Rafe.
    A long, insufferable sigh escaped him. He looked as though he was barely tolerating her, so she claimed the leather chair nearest him and got down to business. She had a lot to accomplish in fifteen minutes, her main goal to wring a little compassion from the hard-hearted hero.
    “Like I mentioned before, I’m a foster care assistant. I work for Blair Foster Care Services in Pasadena, California, but I also represent Bright Beginnings, which is a foundation I personally established which caters to helping foster children adjust to their new lives. Every once in a while I come across a young client whose extenuating circumstances warrants an extra special request.”
    Pulling a manila folder from her briefcase, she set it on the oak coffee table in front of her, and opened the file. Amongst typed reports and a Bright Beginnings application was a candid photograph of her young client. The picture of Chad depicted a smiling, healthy nine-year-old boy, but there was an acute sadness in his brown eyes, a sense of loss that reached out and grabbed at Lauren’s heart. She pushed the image across the coffee table toward the man standing a few feet away, hoping the snapshot had the same effect on Rafe’s emotions.
    His gaze flickered briefly over the picture, then returned to Lauren, his features remaining as hard as granite.
    “This is Chad Evans,” she explained, unwilling to admit defeat so soon. “When he was six his father took him to the Grubstake Days PRCA Rodeo in Yucca Valley, California. You won the bull riding event that day, and when he approached you afterward you signed his program for him.”
    “Do you expect me to remember one kid out of a thousand?” He asked, his tone defensive.
    “I’m not asking you to remember Chad. I’m telling you this story because I want you to realize how special you made that day for him. You completely captivated him. After that rodeo he managed to follow your progress through the Internet and trade publications.” She smiled, absently touching the picture of the young boy. “Chad has quite an impressive scrapbook that spans the last two years of your career.”
    He tucked his hands beneath his arms, and the muscles across his bare chest flexed with the movement. “As short