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  RAFE

  TEXAS BOUDREAU BROTHERHOOD

  By

  KATHY IVAN

  COPYRIGHT

  Rafe – Original Copyright © March 2020 by Kathy Ivan

  Cover by Elizabeth Mackay of EMGRAPHICS

  Release date: March 2020

  Kobo Edition

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are fictionally used. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, downloaded, transmitted, decompiled, reverse engineered, stored in or introduced to any information storage and retrieval system, in any form, whether electronic or mechanical without the author’s written permission. Scanning, uploading or distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission is prohibited.

  Please purchase only authorized electronic versions, and do not participate in, or encourage pirated electronic versions.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Description

  Books by Kathy Ivan

  Author’s Note

  Editorial Reviews

  Dedications and Acknowledgements

  Newsletter Sign Up

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four – Epilogue

  Excerpt from Antonio

  Newsletter Sign Up

  Books by Kathy Ivan

  About the Author

  RAFE – Texas Boudreau Brotherhood

  When Sheriff Rafe Boudreau catches Tessa Maxwell climbing through the window of a house where she doesn’t belong, the crime rate isn’t the only thing that spikes. Turns out, trouble has followed the small-town schoolteacher to Shiloh Springs, and Rafe and the rest of the Boudreau clan must step in to keep her safe. Can they decipher the clues and end the danger Tessa faces before time runs out?

  BOOKS BY KATHY IVAN

  www.kathyivan.com/books.html

  TEXAS BOUDREAU BROTHERHOOD

  Rafe

  Antonio

  Brody

  NEW ORLEANS CONNECTION SERIES

  Desperate Choices

  Connor’s Gamble

  Relentless Pursuit

  Ultimate Betrayal

  Keeping Secrets

  Sex, Lies and Apple Pies

  Deadly Justice

  Wicked Obsession

  Hidden Agenda

  Spies Like Us

  Fatal Intentions

  New Orleans Connection Series Box Set: Books 1-3

  New Orleans Connection Series Box Set: Books 4-7

  CAJUN CONNECTION SERIES

  Saving Sarah

  Saving Savannah

  Saving Stephanie

  Guarding Gabi

  LOVIN’ LAS VEGAS SERIES

  It Happened In Vegas

  Crazy Vegas Love

  Marriage, Vegas Style

  A Virgin In Vegas

  Vegas, Baby!

  Yours For The Holidays

  Match Made In Vegas

  One Night In Vegas

  Last Chance In Vegas

  Lovin’ Las Vegas (box set books 1-3)

  OTHER BOOKS BY KATHY IVAN

  Second Chances (Destiny’s Desire Book #1)

  Losing Cassie (Destiny’s Desire Book #2)

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to Shiloh Springs, Texas! Don’t you just love a small Texas town, where the people are neighborly, the gossip plentiful, and the heroes are …well, heroic, not to mention easy on the eyes! I love everything about Texas, which I why I’ve made the great state my home for over thirty years. There’s no other place like it. From the delicious Tex-Mex food and downhome barbecue, the majestic scenery, and downhome atmosphere, the people and places of the Lone Star state are as unique and colorful as you’ll find anywhere.

  The Texas Boudreau Brotherhood series centers around a group of foster brothers, men who would have ended up in the system if not for Douglas and Patricia Boudreau. Instead of being hardened by life and circumstances beyond their control, they found a family who loved and accepted them, and gave them a place to call home. Sometimes brotherhood is more than sharing the same DNA.

  If you’ve read my other romantic suspense books (the New Orleans Connection series and Cajun Connection series), you’ll be familiar with the Boudreau name. Turns out there are a whole lot of Boudreaus out there, just itching to have their stories told. (Douglas is the brother of Gator Boudreau, patriarch of the New Orleans branch of the Boudreau family.)

  So, sit back and relax. The pace of small-living might be less hectic than the big city, but small towns hold secrets, excitement, and heroes to ride to the rescue. And who doesn’t love a Texas cowboy?

  Kathy Ivan

  EDITORIAL REVIEWS

  “Kathy Ivan’s books are addictive, you can’t read just one.”

  —Susan Stoker, NYT Bestselling Author

  “Kathy Ivan’s books give you everything you’re looking for and so much more.”

  —Geri Foster, USA Today and NYT Bestselling Author of the Falcon Securities Series

  “In Shiloh Springs, Kathy Ivan has crafted warm, engaging characters that will steal your heart and a mystery that will keep you reading to the very last page.”

  —Barb Han, USA TODAY and Publisher’s Weekly Bestselling Author

  “This is the first I have read from Kathy Ivan and it won’t be the last.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “I highly recommend Desperate Choices. Readers can’t go wrong here!”

  —Melissa, Joyfully Reviewed

  “I loved how the author wove a very intricate storyline with plenty of intriguing details that led to the final reveal…”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  Desperate Choices—Winner 2012 International Digital Award—Suspense

  Desperate Choices—Best of Romance 2011 –Joyfully Reviewed

  DEDICATIONS AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  To my sister, Mary Sullivan, for her unwavering belief that I can write good stories. She keeps me focused, prodding me when I need it, and bopping me upside the head when I’m being lazy. This book is also dedicated to my mother, Betty Sullivan. She instilled in me the joy of reading at an early age and a love of romance, no matter the genre. I’d also like to thank Chris Keniston and Barb Han, who helped with writing blurbs, encouraging me, and helping keep my on track when I’d wander off in my own little world, chasing rabbits down rabbit holes.

  More about Kathy and her books can be found at

  WEBSITE:

  www.kathyivan.com

  Follow Kathy on Facebook at

  www.facebook.com/kathyivanauthor

  Follow Kathy on Twitter at

  twitter.com/@kathyivan

  Follow Kathy at BookBub

  bookbub.com/profile/kathy-ivan

  NEWSLETTER SIGN UP

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  http://eepurl.com/baqdRX

  RAFE

  By

  KATHY IVAN

  CHAPTER ONE

  Pausing at the edge of the worn sidewalk, Tessa Maxwell contemplated the house she’d agreed to rent, sight unseen. Well, not exactly unseen. She’d viewed photos the realtor e-mailed her, but they didn’t quite match the overgrown bushes and chipped paint on the shutters. But it would be okay—it had to be. Driving cross-country from Charlotte, North Carolina, she’d spent the last three days hauling a rented trailer behind her car, which contained almost everything she owned in the world. The few things she’d left behind at her sister’s place would be shipped once she settled into her new life in Texas.

  When she’d first pulled in front of the cottage, she spotted the honeysuckle wildly climbing along the side of the porch, overflowing a plastic garden trellis somebody had nailed on the side of the wide front porch. Up close, the fragrance from the white and yellow flowers evoked a sense of nostalgia, along with a touch of melancholy. Her mother had always worn a perfume with undertones of honeysuckle. She brushed at her eyes to keep the tears from overflowing.

  No. No sad thoughts today.

  Climbing the two steps leading to the porch, she ran her hand across the top of the wooden railing. Missing a couple of spindles, it resembled a kid who’d lost their two front teeth. At least a couple treads felt loose and threatened to collapse beneath her feet. Nothing she couldn’t remedy with a hammer, a few nails, and a bit of elbow grease.

  The overgrown shrubbery was lush and thick, and definitely in need of a good scalping, but the slightly bedraggled appearance of the old place didn’t faze her. As long as the roof didn’t leak, and the four walls remained intact, she’d make due.

  Glancing at her watch, her lips twisted in a grimace. The realtor’s e-mail stated she’d meet her at five, and it was already a quarter after with no sign of anybody around. Which might be a bit of a problem. That last drive-through extra-large salted caramel Frappuccino had definitely tipped the scale over into one frap too many.

  Walking across the front porch, she grabbed the doorknob and twisted, praying it was unlocked. If luck was with her, she could sneak inside and take care of business before the realtor showed up. Heck, this was in the middle of Podunk, Texas—didn’t everybody leave their front doors unlocked here? The last thing she wanted was to get caught doing the potty dance in front of a total stranger her very first day in town. She chuckled as the image of her squatting behind the bushes sprang to life. The newspaper headline seemed obvious—new schoolteacher caught with her pants down—literally.

  When the knob didn’t turn beneath her hand, she nibbled her lower lip. Maybe I should text the realtor, and find out what’s keeping her? Or tell her I have to leave, and I’ll be back? Because I’m not sure how much longer I can hold it.

  Her gaze landed on the window by the front door. Old fashioned, like the cottage itself, it was one of those that slid up from the bottom. Perfect. She grinned, grabbed onto the edge of the white-painted wood, and gave a sharp upward tug. It moved slightly beneath her fingertips, and she wiggled her tush in a happy dance.

  Maybe all wasn’t lost.

  With another hard tug and a bit of wrestling, she got the window halfway open, mentally crossing her fingers it was wide enough to squeeze through. Just her luck, she couldn’t seem to get the stupid thing to open any farther. Plus, every time she let go of the pane, it slid a little downward.

  Stupid window.

  Grabbing onto the ledge, she wriggled and shimmied, managing to get her head and upper shoulders through the narrow opening. So far, so good.

  Oh, well, here goes nothing.

  Easing from the front seat of his pickup, Sheriff Rafe Boudreau left the truck’s door ajar, not wanting to spook the intruder currently trespassing and jimmying open the window of the old Johnson house. Overgrown shrubbery obscured the lower half of his would-be felon, but the view of the upper half had the corners of his mouth tugging upward.

  Long auburn hair hung down the center of her back, partially escaping from one of those elastic poufy things she’d used to tie it back. And his little cat burglar was definitely a female. A light blue T-shirt fit snugly, encasing a deliciously curvy figure. He couldn’t help noticing her struggles with the old wood-framed window, which stubbornly refused to stay open, no matter how high up she pushed it. Not surprising in a house as old as the Johnson place, especially since it had sat vacant for most of the last year.

  A softly muttered curse floated from the porch, and he bit back a chuckle. Looks like my trespasser is struggling with the entering part of the whole breaking and entering thing.

  “Here I thought my jail cell would be sitting empty tonight. Guess I need to rethink that.”

  At his words, the intruder jumped, banging her head against the windowsill with an audible thump. Straightening, she rubbed at the spot, and glared at him with the prettiest blue eyes he’d ever seen. Surrounded by dark lashes, they reminded him of the sapphires in the ring his dad gave to Ms. Patti on their last anniversary.

  Lush, full lips compressed into a line of pain. Despite that, his little thief was definitely easy on the eyes.

  “I’m not breaking in. I live here—or I will as soon as the realtor shows up with the keys.”

  Pretty, smart, and obviously thinks fast on her feet. Maybe she’s done this kind of thing before, but she won’t get away with it here—not in my town.

  “House isn’t for sale, or old Darrell Johnson would’ve mentioned it. Which means, I get to haul you in for trespassing, plus breaking and entering.”

  Crossing her arms, she gave him a thorough once over, and he stood silent, letting her look her fill. He’d been headed home after working a double shift, and had changed clothes at the station. He wasn’t in uniform, instead wearing a faded pair of jeans, a plaid cotton shirt, and his favorite pair of cowboy boots. A dark Stetson shaded his eyes, but he still managed to see her, perfectly outlined against the porch’s faded paint. He’d spent the better part of the day dealing with trivial misdemeanors and the ever-expanding pile of paperwork on his desk, and had been on his way home, planning on a quiet evening with a cold beer and maybe finding an action flick on the TV, when he’d spotted movement outside a house he knew stood empty.

  Would she continue to bluff her way out of being hauled to the sheriff’s office, or try to talk her way outta being charged? He’d play along—for now.

  “I don’t know who you think you are, Mister, and frankly I don’t give a rat’s patootie. I rented this place a week ago, and I am supposed to meet with,” she paused before reaching into the front pocket of her jeans, and pulled out a piece of paper, “Serena Snowden, at five o’clock, to receive the keys.”

  Well, didn’t that beat all? Either she was a very well-prepared thief, or she was telling the truth. He hadn’t heard Old Man Johnson had finally agreed to rent out the empty house.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone. Might as well give Serena a call and verify Red’s alibi. Plus, he admitted, his curiosity was piqued by the feisty woman standing in front of him. The sound of car tires crunching against gravel drew his gaze to the drive, and he spotted Serena’s white sedan pulling onto the driveway. A petite brunette stepped from the car and leaned back in, grabbing a briefcase.

  Looks like Red’s telling the truth.

  He bit back a chuckle when he realized what it meant. Since he lived only a few houses further down the street, it looked like she was his new neighbor. “Afternoon, Serena.”

  “Rafe. What’re you doing here?” Her worried gaze shifted between him and his pretty thief. Pushing back his hat, he couldn’t stop grinning. Red glowered at him, and he had the feeling she’d like nothing better than to take a chunk outta his hide. More intrigued now than before, he wondered what brought her to town, and exactly who she was.

  “Caught
this little lady red-handed, crawling through Old Man Johnson’s front window.”

  Serena’s brow rose and she glanced at the other woman. “Ms. Maxwell?” He watched Red nod. “Sorry I’m late. I got caught up with a problem at the office. I know I should have called, but I was hoping I’d get here before you arrived.”

  “No problem. I couldn’t wait to see inside the place.” Though her words were pleasant enough, with his job and training, Rafe instinctively knew there was something more beneath her banal statement. She’d seemed a little too anxious to get into the house. Enough she’d risked climbing through a window. What the heck was up with that?

  “I’ve got the keys right here.” Serena held up a keyring with two shiny silver keys attached. “Why don’t we head inside and do a quick walk through?”

  “Sounds great.” Red—no, wait, Serena had called her Ms. Maxwell—shifted from left to right, her body practically vibrating, anxious to get inside.

  “Rafe, I’ve got this if you want to get home. I appreciate you checking things out, though.” Serena smiled at him, and he knew he’d been dismissed. She’d shifted from family friend into businesswoman mode, the consummate professional ready to seal the deal, and he got the distinct impression he’d be in the way. A shame, because he really wanted to find out a bit more about the intriguing Ms. Maxwell.

  It wouldn’t take much to know everything he needed to about his new neighbor. He’d simply ask his mother. If there was one person in Shiloh Springs with their finger on the pulse of everything happening in their town, sometimes even before it happened, it was Patti Boudreau. He’d have answers by morning on Shiloh Springs’s newest resident.

  “No problem, sugar. Just doing my job. You ladies have a nice evening.” Touching the brim of his Stetson, he turned and jogged down the steps and back to his truck.