Until There Was You

by Unknown

  A muscle leaped in his bronzed jaw. “Whoever it was is not coming back. But if you’re afraid to be alone after I’m gone, I’m sure, Mary, the housekeeper, would be willing to stay up here with you.”

  “I’m not afraid. I can take care of myself,” she said, incensed that he thought she needed someone to watch over her. Worse, that her erratic behavior had given him cause.

  “You don’t have to convince me. Not many women or men could have handled themselves as well as you did last night.”

  Catherine stared up at him in surprise and delight at the unexpected compliment. She had thought he’d never forgive her for what happened. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was trying to bolster her courage. She took a deep breath. Perhaps he was. It all came down to how much more of her self-respect she was willing to sacrifice.

  “If we’re going out to eat, I’m taking a bath and changing clothes first.”

  Although his expression remained unchanged, relief rushed through him. “We’ll check on your hybrid on the way. I’ll wait outside.”

  Catherine stared at the closed door and hoped she was making the right decision. She didn’t want to be alone, but her mind was developing the annoying habit of creating little fantasies where Luke was concerned. There could never be anything between them.

  She had to remember that. Forgetting would be disastrous.

  After showering, Catherine dressed in caramel-colored gabardine pants and an ecru-colored blouse, then slipped on low-heeled shoes. She tried to tell herself that she didn’t care what Luke thought of her, but she watched his face carefully as she came out of the bedroom.

  “Glad you didn’t take all day. I’m starved.”

  She wanted to clobber him, but she was the one who needed the bash over the head for letting herself be concerned over Luke’s opinion of her. Men generally occupied very little of her time or thoughts. “I’m not promising anything about staying.”

  “Good enough.” He clasped her elbow and headed out the door.

  THE HYBRID WAS DOING AS WELL AS COULD BE expected, Dr. Youngblood reported. The animal didn’t like his cage and made sure anyone who came within hearing distance knew it. Once again Luke worked his magic and had the animal literally eating out of his hand. He frowned when Catherine bent down beside him and stroked the animal’s head.

  They were outside before he said, “One day you’re going to try and tame the wrong animal.”

  She glanced at him and again thought of the easy way he moved, like a wild healthy animal, and was glad he didn’t know how close to the truth he really was. Forcing herself not to stare at the revealing way his well-worn jeans fit his long, muscular legs and hips, she climbed inside the truck and fastened her seat belt. She definitely was not spending the night with Luke.

  LUKE PULLED INTO THE CROWDED PARKING LOT OF THE Red Cactus near the Plaza in downtown Santa Fe. The casually elegant cafe was housed in a territorial-style adobe house built in 1867. Indian corn and chile ristras dangled in the windows. The two-story structure with its traditional flat roof already had a line forming outside.

  Getting out of the truck, Luke went around and opened Catherine’s door. “Come on.”

  Grabbing her red jacket, she got out of the truck, frowning at the fast-growing line that curved around to the small garden patio on the north side of the restaurant where customers were outside laughing and dining. “Maybe we should have called for reservations.”

  Luke closed the door and reached for her elbow. “There’s always a table for us.”

  “Us?”

  “My brother owns the Red Cactus,” he said, holding her arm to steer her across the busy parking lot.

  Even with her long legs she had difficulty keeping up with him. “Does your family eat here that often?”

  “Depends. Mostly I get mine to go.” He waited until a Jeep passed, then assisted her onto the sidewalk.

  “He’s losing a lot of money that way,” Catherine said.

  Luke led her around the line forming out the double wooden doors. “So his accountant tried to tell him.”

  “What did your brother say?” She smiled at the customers who glared at them as they passed through the open brick courtyard. Luke didn’t seem to notice.

  “Threatened to fire him.”

  As soon as the hostess saw them, she smiled and picked up two menus in the shape of red cacti. The menu cactus had a black Stetson tilted to one side and a black bandanna around its spiny neck.

  “Good evening, Mr. Grayson, welcome back to the Red Cactus. Your table is ready.” She turned to a slim, attractive woman with straight black hair. “Nacona will show you to your table.”

  “This way,” she said pleasantly.

  Catherine glanced appreciatively around the restaurant as she followed the young woman. The floor was richly tiled, the decor distinctive Southwestern with large potted and hanging plants. The tables were solid wood and the benches and chairs upholstered in a beautiful red and black weave. The napkins were cloth. Thick white adobe walls were decorated with museum quality Indian art. On the way to their table they passed two kiva fireplaces.

  Nacona stopped beside an oversized booth in the back of the restaurant. Catherine slid into one of the seats, but made no motion to move over farther for Luke. He took the hint and sat across from her. Removing the RESERVED sign, Nacona handed them their menus. “Your waitress will be with you in a moment. Can I get you anything to drink in the meantime?”

  “They have some excellent house wine and mixed drinks,” Luke said.

  She debated only a moment. If Luke or his family had a problem with alcohol, they wouldn’t serve the beverage. “Margarita.”

  “Make mine the usual,” Luke told the woman.

  “I’ll be back with those in a minute.”

  Catherine leaned against the high back of the large wooden booth that almost dwarfed her. “That was done rather smoothly.”

  “Morgan’s idea. He didn’t want anyone getting upset because we were seated ahead of them.”

  Catherine thought for a minute. “The lawyer.”

  “Right.” Luke leaned forward, placing his folded arms on the scarred wooden surface of the table. “You seem to know a lot about me, and I know very little about you.”

  Usually she didn’t like talking about herself, but somehow talking to Luke, when he wasn’t being arrogant, was easy. “Thanks,” she said, accepting her drink. She took a sip, her tongue licking the salt from around her mouth. Fantastic. “If you want to be bored.”

  “I’m willing to chance it,” he said, hoping she didn’t flick her tongue out like that again. Made him think he’d like to lean across the table and taste her mouth, taste everything on her. He gulped his iced tea.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE WAITRESS ARRIVED BEFORE CATHERINE COULD SAY anything. Dressed in an off-the-shoulder white blouse and slim, short black skirt, the young woman was as friendly as the other women had been and just as slender and shapely. Idly, Catherine wondered if having a good figure was a requirement for employment. She hoped Luke’s brother wasn’t that superficial.

  “Hello, Luke, Miss. Are you ready to order or do you need more time?”

  “Hi, Paula,” Luke greeted, then asked Catherine, “You ever been to New Mexico before or had any Southwestern foods?”

  “No, but I like some Tex-Mex and Cal-Mex dishes . . . if they aren’t too spicy,” she clarified.

  “New Mexican cuisine is similar, but not the same. It’s a result of the Southwestern history. The native Indians taught the Spanish about corn and the Spanish reciprocated with their chiles. So an integral ingredient of the food here is the red or green chile. Although the food can get hot, you probably won’t find a dish as spicy as the Mexican jalapeño.”

  Catherine lifted a delicate brow. “Are we talking blowtorch versus furnace?”

  Luke almost smiled. “Cautious, huh?”

  “I don’t think those chiles ristras dangling from the walls are just for dec
oration,” she said mildly, glancing at her menu before looking across the table at Luke. “What’s good without being spicy?”

  “Everything.”

  Her head came up at the sound of the intriguingly sexy male voice. The face didn’t disappoint. High cheekbones stretched over golden bronzed skin. His eyes were as black as the thick hair on his well-shaped head. He had lips that could probably talk a woman into giving him just about anything. From his six-foot-plus height, he gazed warmly down at her.

  He was dressed in creased blue jeans and a melon-colored Polo shirt that stretched over a muscular chest. Polished red eel-skin boots were on his feet. She didn’t need but one guess to know he was Luke’s brother. A younger, more care-free version, who obviously knew the effect his smile had on women.

  Making women’s knees weak must be a family trait.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Luke?” Brandon asked, not taking his eyes from Catherine.

  “Don’t you have some paperwork to do or something?” Luke didn’t know why, but he didn’t like the way Catherine was staring at Brandon.

  “It can wait.” Brandon’s smile broadened as he extended his hand. “Since my brother seems to have forgotten his manners, I’m Brandon Grayson.”

  Catherine lifted her hand and found it clasped in Brandon’s larger one, but unlike when she had shaken Luke’s, there was no spark. At least she was selective in her idiocy. “Catherine Stewart, and you have a fantastic place here.”

  “Thanks.” Still holding her hand, Brandon sat down beside her. She had no choice but to scoot over. “I’d be honored to give you a tour.”

  “She’s not interested in a tour, Brandon,” Luke said tightly.

  Surprised by the irritation in Luke’s voice, she simply stared at him.

  “Don’t mind him,” Brandon told her. “I guess he forgot to eat his prunes this morning.”

  “Brandon,” Luke growled.

  Catherine burst out laughing.

  The bubbling sound increased Luke’s annoyance. Ten seconds and Brandon had her laughing. He’d had to practically drag her here.

  “Save the jokes until after we eat,” Luke said with a disgusted grunt.

  “If a woman as beautiful as Catherine was with me, the last thing I would think about was food.”

  Catherine blinked, not sure how to respond.

  “So what are you doing later on tonight when you dump the old man?”

  She laughed again. She had learned the hard way how to distinguish the difference between a man who was really interested, a man out for a quickie, or one playfully flirtatious. Brandon was definitely the latter. “You and Dr. Youngblood must keep the women very happy in Santa Fe.”

  Brandon grinned brashly back at her. “We do try.”

  “Cut it out, Brandon,” Luke warned. He’d forgotten Brandon was supposed to “tempt” any woman Luke brought into the restaurant. “You’re making Catherine uncomfortable. She’s not number twenty-eight.”

  Her curious gaze went from Brandon to Luke. “Number twenty-eight?”

  Brandon’s went from Catherine’s to Luke. “You mean this is a real date?”

  “Of course not.”

  “No.”

  Catherine and Luke’s denial came almost at the same time, then they stared at each other. She was the first to look away. “I think I’m what’s considered as a charity case.”

  “That’s a crock and you know it,” Luke bit out.

  Catherine faced the argument head on. “We wouldn’t be here if you weren’t trying to watch over me and make me stay at the cabin, and you know it.”

  “We spent last night together. I can’t see why you’re in such a hurry to leave when you don’t even know where you’re going.”

  She sucked in her breath sharply. Her cheeks heated. “It’s not the way it sounded,” she told an amused Brandon. “We only met last night at the cabin. I didn’t know Luke was coming and he didn’t know I was there.”

  Now Luke was the one who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Daniel sent her.”

  A grin spread across Brandon’s boyishly handsome face. “Curiouser and curiouser. That must have been an interesting surprise for both of you.”

  Luke grunted again.

  Catherine bit her lower lip.

  “Do I draw my own conclusions or is someone going to tell me what happened?” Brandon asked, folding his arms.

  “She pulled a gun on me.”

  Catherine felt her face heating again. “I didn’t know who you were.”

  “Sounds like a perfectly normal reaction to me. You should be happy Catherine isn’t the trigger-happy type,” Brandon said mildly. “I’m pleased that you have no new bullet holes in you.”

  “New?” Catherine asked, her voice strained, her body beginning to shake.

  Luke frowned at his brother. “Long ago and forgotten.”

  Distressed eyes stared at him. “I’m so sorry I pointed the gun at you. It must have brought back horrible memories.”

  Luke leaned over the table, his hand reaching for hers. Nothing was as terrible as seeing her upset again. He didn’t think until later how easily and naturally she placed hers in his. “You were justified in what you did. Only next time, put a clip in the chamber.”

  “I’ve seen what bullets can do to the flesh.” She bit her lower lip. “I thought I could bluff my way through.”

  “Did your instructor tell you to bluff?” Luke asked, his voice terse.

  “No. He cautioned me not to pull the gun unless I was sure I needed it, but if I did, be ready to use it,” she admitted.

  “Damn right,” Luke said with conviction. “Bluffing works better if you have something to back you up. Next time put the clip in.”

  Her gaze fell, her hands trembled in his. “I hope there won’t be a next time.”

  “You sound as if you think there might be.”

  Her eyes widened. She snatched her hand back. “Oh, no,” she quickly assured him. “I was just speaking in general.” Hurriedly she picked up the menu and turned to Brandon. “I haven’t eaten all day, what do you suggest?”

  “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” Brandon came out of the booth; gone was the playfulness and in its place the efficient, caring restaurateur. He rattled off several dishes and ended by saying, “It’s all freshly prepared on a mesquite-wood grill.”

  Catherine opted for a traditional meal while Luke went for Southwestern. Brandon left the table only to return shortly with a basket of tortilla chips, salsa, a sampler of three salad specials—shrimp and shredded-crab salad, egg noodle salad, and artichoke heart/calamari salad—homemade rolls and cinnamon-honey butter.

  “Nibble on this until I can get your food prepared,” Brandon said, then he was gone again.

  Catherine stared at all the food, then at Brandon in amazement. “He’s going to cook our food?”

  “Yeah. He often does when it’s as busy as it is tonight,” Luke said scooping up a generous amount of salsa on a chip. “Claims it keeps him from getting rusty. The family figured it’s because he doesn’t like putting our orders ahead of his other customers’ or for us to wait.”

  Catherine dipped a forkful of the egg noodle salad into the sesame-seed sauce. Fabulous. “He’s funny, conscientious, a fantastic cook, and good looking. He’s going to make some woman a very good husband.”

  Luke went still. “You looking to fill the position?”

  Catherine blinked, then stared at him across the table. “Of course not. I just met your brother.”

  “If you knew him longer?” He didn’t know why he couldn’t let the subject rest.

  She placed her fork on her salad plate. “Set your mind at ease. I have no intention of marrying your brother or anyone else.”

  Luke saw the hurt and something else in her brown eyes and sought to make amends. “Sorry. Guess I’m touchy on the subject of marriage.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  He could easily see why she was a psychol
ogist, and it wasn’t just because she was easy to look at. Her warm brown sincere eyes and caring manner would lure almost anyone to spill their guts. He wasn’t the talkative type, but he owed her an explanation. “Ever since Dominique’s wedding my mother has been parading women in front of me trying to marry me off.”

  “So that’s what the number twenty-eight meant?”

  He nodded. “I got the impression from some of them that I could be a clone to Bigfoot and they’d still happily say ‘I do.’”

  “Have you told your mother how you feel?”

  “In every way I know how, but she has it in her head that I’d be happier married, and married is what I’m going to be.” He sighed. “She loves me.”

  “What does your father say?”

  “I lost my father when I was eight.”

  Sadness showed in her deep brown eyes and spilled over in her voice. “Luke, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Luke folded his arms on the table. “The memories are good ones so I don’t mind remembering. My father was one of the first black commercial pilots with a major airline. On his third trip to Brazil his plane went down. I’ll never forget the look on my mother’s face when she got off the phone or the feeling of helplessness. Since I was the eldest of my three brothers and sister, Dad had always left me in charge and somehow I had failed.”

  “You were just a child,” she told him.

  “As an adult I realize that, but then, all I wanted to do was make it better for my mother and my brothers and sister.” His hand atop the table flexed. “We prayed to my mother’s god and to my father’s that he’d survive the crash and come home to us. An airline representative came the next morning. They’d located the wreckage in the mountains. Three people survived out of one hundred and seventy-four. My father wasn’t one of them.”

  Without thinking, she reached across the table to grasp his hand. “Oh, Luke.”

  His hand closed over hers. “I was angry at the world, the gods I prayed to. My father was a good man, he shouldn’t have had to die on a mountain half a world away.” His thumb stroked across the top of her hand. “I’d hear Mama weeping late at night so we wouldn’t hear her cry. That was the hardest, knowing she was hurting and I couldn’t help her because she didn’t want to upset us. But because of her shielding us, we couldn’t help each other.”