Table Of ContentRAFE
BOOK FOUR
THE WOUNDED SONS SERIES
BY
LEAH SHARELLE
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
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
EPILOGUE
Copyright © 2020 Leah Sharelle
RAFE: The wounded sons – Book Four
By Leah Sharelle
All Rights Reserved.
Editing and Proofreading: R Corcoran
Photography: Chic Professional Photography
Cover Models: Dustyn Rogers
Cover Design: Formatting & Design by Jaye
Interior Design: Formatting & Design by Jaye
This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without
permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials
in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the properties of the author, and
your support and respect are appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any
similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
This author writes using Australian English and may include Australian diction
FROM LEAH
And I am back in the world of Team FIVE and the Wounded Sons after spending time with three Hott
Aussie cowboys. I have to admit I am excited to be back with Gabriel and his team. This is Rafferty
‘Rafe’ Walsh’s story, and oh my word, what a tale he has to tell. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t add some
twists, a few heart-thumping moments and a lot of smouldering sexy stuff. So sit back and let’s head
back to the Sons, oh and of course, a glimpse of my beloved Souls too.
Important note: This story briefly mentions the sadness of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. I
wholeheartedly hope that I treated this part of the storyline with the respect and carefulness that this
heartbreaking syndrome deserves.
DEDICATION
Thank you Tamara Jane, my last born and my rock. You are a beautiful young woman Marty Jane, and
I love you to the stars and back.
To Handsome, as I say every time, thank you my dear wonderful friend for being you. XOXO
PROLOGUE
RAFE
“Angie baby, are you ready to go?” I yelled out as I entered the house from the back door, my heavy
boots echoing on the hardwood floor as I made my way through the kitchen to go in search of my wife.
Wife. I still couldn’t get my head around that I had a wife or that I was someone’s husband. Three
weeks and four days ago, Angie put the thick, gold ring on my finger and promised to love me forever.
Me doing the same as I slipped the thick diamond band next to her modest engagement ring.
My parents and hers said we were just kids and had no business getting married at twenty-two. I
understood their concerns, Angie was two years younger than me, but it wasn’t as if we were rushing
into married life without knowing each other. I met Angie when she had been just sixteen, we clicked
right away and only days later, we became a couple. Since that day we have been inseparable … until
today.
“Honey, we gotta get moving,” I called out a little louder this time, a little more frustrated that I
had to go chasing her when she knew I was on a timeframe.
Moving through the house we rented, I looked in almost every room but came up short.
No Angie.
I knew what she was doing, but going over the argument that seemed to play on a record was not
something I wanted to get into today. I’d always, always told Angie the truth. She knew what I wanted
to do with my life, had accepted it, and married me knowing it. Why she was being difficult now kind
of pissed me off. I was nervous enough as it was without Angie throwing one of her tantrums.
Deep down, I knew I indulged my wife in many ways. She came from money, I did not. She never
had a part-time job in her life, I had several. She was an only child, with rich parents to lean on; my
parents were blue-collar workers and had been all their lives. Where they installed morals and work
ethics in their kids, Angie’s parents tossed money at their only child and left her care to her nanny.
When we got engaged, I told Angie I wanted to support her with the money I earned, not have her
parents set up a bank account for us or gift us a house of their choosing paid for by them. I learnt early
into our relationship, the Laylaw’s were generous, but every handout came with conditions. They
didn’t always become apparent right away, but trust me, they were there.
Angie accepted it, I did not. Therefore I wanted to make it on our own, and renting a three-
bedroom cottage was part of it. The other part of it was my big career move, doing this was going to
be good for us and set me up for a lifelong career and paycheque. Once Angie had some time to come
to terms with it, she was going to be fine.
Walking down the hall after checking the bathroom and spare rooms, I headed for our bedroom,
coming to a halt when I looked inside and saw my wife tucked in bed with her phone in her hand, her
fingers flying across the screen, and the TV on.
“Angie, what the hell?”
“Don’t swear at me, Rafferty, it is uncouth.” My full name sounding like a curse word when she
