don't feel like a poor little boy. I'm sorry my daddy is dead, but I
never even saw him ever once in my whole life."
Luke's stomach clenched tightly at Cody's words. He knew well what it
was like not to know his father. He understood the gnawing emptiness
that would follow Cody into adulthood. He understood it because it
lived in him.
"Are you a real cowboy or not?"
"I didn't know there was any other kind," Luke answered.
"Mom says there's two kinds. The real kind and the pretend kind."
Despite his reluctance, Luke found himself curious. "What's the
difference?"
Cody clicked the heels of his boots together, like Dorothy wishing
herself home from Oz. "Mom says the pretend cowboys dress the part,
walk the walk and talk the talk, but they don't live by the cowboy
creed."
"The cowboy creed?"
Cody nodded solemnly. "You know, stuff like always tell the truth and
don't hurt other people and love the land and your horse." He
hesitated a moment, then added with a toothless grin, "Oh, yeah, and
love your mom."
Luke looked away from the kid, not wanting to be sucked into the sweet
innocence in his eyes. Cody's eyes held not only the childish ability
to dream, but also the ability to believe in his dreams. His smile
held an appeal that, if Luke allowed, would pierce through Luke's soul
to any softness that might remain there, and Luke couldn't afford that.
He couldn't afford to care about this tow-haired moppet, not with the
way he felt about Abby.
Luke looked back toward the corral, only to realize that at some point
Abby and the sheriff had apparently returned to the house.
He plucked out a piece of hay and chewed it thoughtfully, wishing he'd
been privy to whatever conversation the two had shared. He glanced at
the kid beside him, surprised to see that Cody had positioned himself
exactly like Luke, right down to the piece of hay in his mouth.
Luke stood and threw the hay away, needing to distance himself from
this boy with his sweet youthful scent and sunshine smile. At that
moment Abby stepped out onto the porch. She scanned the area, her gaze
stopping when it landed on Luke and her son.
She walked toward them in purposeful strides, the waning afternoon sun
painting her in lush gold tones. Again Luke was struck with wonder at
how such outer beauty could hide such a selfish, black heart.
"Cody, Bulldog is looking for you. I think he wanted to play some
catch," she said as she approached the two.
Cody flashed a quicksilver smile to Luke as he scrambled down from the
bales. "Bulldog is my best friend even though he's a grown-up."
Luke nodded. Bulldog was one of the ranch hands. Although as big and
strong as a mountain, it hadn't taken Luke long to realize the man was
slow.
"I hope he wasn't bothering you," Abby said after Cody had disappeared
around the back of the house.
Luke shrugged, unsure how to answer the question. Yes, he was
bothering me because I don't want to like him or you. Or, No, he
wasn't bothering me because I refuse to be affected by the innocence of
a child.
She sank onto the bale of hay and he noted the lines of stress that
furrowed her brow. "This has all been difficult on him. He doesn't
know how to react to everything that's happened."
"There's a big crowd here. Your ex-husband must have had a lot of
friends."
Her eyes narrowed. "Greg didn't have friends. He only had marks ...
people he could suck money and favors from."
"Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to speak ill of the
dead?"
"My mother's dead," she said stiffly, then sighed. "But you're right.
Not only do I not want to talk ill of the dead, after today I don't
want to talk about Greg at all."
Cold. How easily she was able to dismiss the man who'd been her
husband," the father of her son. And how amazing that he could feel a
lick of lust stir inside him as he gazed at her creamy complexion, the
fullness of her lips, the azure blue of her eyes. Lust coupled with
hate. An interesting combination.
"I'd better get back inside," she said as she stood. "The guests are
staing to leave." She turned to leave but he stopped her by placing a
hand on her arm.
Warm. Her skin was warm and soft beneath his touch. It surprised him.
He hadn't expected her warmth. A swift arrow of desire shot through
him. "If you get lonely, you know where to find me."
She pulled away from him, a blush once again darkening her cheeks. "I
don't get lonely," she replied.
He watched as she walked back to the house, her hips softly swaying
beneath her dress. Lust and hatred. Definitely an intriguing
combination.
He crossed his boots and plucked another piece of hay to chew. He
intended to follow through on both emotions. He could satisfy one
while entertaining the other. A vision of Cody's face filled his head
and he shoved it away. He couldn't let his resolve waver, couldn't
allow any softness in his own hard heart. He intended to destroy Abby
Connor and he couldn't allow anything to get in his way.
ABBY RAN, HER BREATHS coming in harsh pants as she tried to get away
from Greg. He bellowed rage from behind her and when she turned to
look at him he was no longer Greg, but a skeleton.
Around her the landscape changed before her eyes, the trees coming to
life, reaching out their limbs with evil intent, trying to capture her.
The ground Writhed beneath her and the grass became fingers grasping
her feet, impeding her escape.
"Help me," she cried, but her words came out of her mouth in large
bubbles, like comic strip thoughts, and shattered as they hit the
ground.
Greg yelled once again and when she turned around to see him, he'd
become a branding iron.
Luke held the branding iron. "Just have dinner with me and he'll go
away," Luke said.
She watched in horror as Luke's features melted and he became Junior.
"Just tell me the truth, Abby girl. Tell me how you killed him." Then
the branding iron was in her hand and it was covered with blood.
Abby fell to the ground, too exhausted to run any farther. She
squeezed her eyes closed, the brilliant sensory madness making her
ill.
She awoke slowly, fighting her way up from the darkness of her dreams.
Dreams. A wave of relief raced through her as she realized they'd just
been horrid, disturbing, crazy dreams.
The relief lasted only a moment. Her cheek was pressed against cool
earth and dewy grass tickled her nose. She opened her eyes, horror
sweeping through her as she found herself lying in the middle of the
front yard.
She sat up, confusion sweeping away the last of the horrific nightmare
images. How had she gotten here? The last thing she remembered was
drinking a cup of hot chocolate, then getting into bed.
She stood, slightly woozy and looked around, seeking some kind of
answer for how she had come to be in the middle of the yard in t
he
middle of the night.
Overhead the quarter moon spilled a faint light but offered no answers.
Her nightgown was damp with dew, attesting to the fact she'd been
outside for some time. Her lungs hurt, as if she'd been running for
miles. Dear God, what had happened? How had she gotten here?
As she took a tentative step, a pain shot out from the bottom of her
foot. She limped toward the house, realizing she must have cut or
bruised it somehow. She paused on the porch and raised her foot to see
the bottom. Dried blood surrounded a jagged tear. How had she cut it?
Closing her eyes, she drew a deep, steadying breath.
Why couldn't she remember? She sank onto a wicker chair and wrapped
her arms around herself, stating out into the darkness of the night.
Had she sleep walked She couldn't ever remember doing anything like
this before. If she'd been asleep, why hadn't she awakened when she
cut her foot? Nausea rumbled in the pit of her stomach and she
swallowed several times against it.
As the images she'd dreamed swept through her mind once again, she
shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
Had it been a dream . or something more insidious? She remembered the
night of Greg's murder. She'd driven to Walker's pond and had sat
stating at the calm, smooth surface of the water. Two hours later
she'd come to, thinking she must have fallen asleep.
Was it possible she'd sleep walked that night? That somehow while
thinking she'd been sleeping she'd actually driven her car to Greg's
rented room and killed him, then driven back to the pond and awakened
with no memory of the act?
"No." The single word of denial escaped from her on a desperate
whisper. No, she couldn't have killed Greg. She would have known if
she had, she would remember.
But you don't remember how you got into the yard, a small voice niggled
in her head. You don't remember cutting your foot.
She clapped her hands over her ears, as if by that act alone she could
quiet the terrifying voice in her' head. I sleep walked she told
herself firmly. Tonight had been a single anomaly, a result of all the
stress she'd been under. She'd had nothing to do with Greg's death.
To think otherwise was to flirt with madness.
Chapter Four
"Luke asked for a ride into town and we told him we were sure it would
be fine," Colette said When Abby met her, Hank and the baby at the car
the next afternoon. "Since you're driving us to the airport, I didn't
think you'd mind him tagging along," she explained. "I know you have
some shopping to do and at least he'll be some company on the ride back
home."
Bad company, Abby thought, irritated that Luke had managed to
manipulate his way into the ride. "Where is he?" she asked, looking
at her watch. "We don't want you to be late for your flight."
"Relax, we have plenty of time. He just ran back to the bunkhouse for
something." Colette linked arms with her husband and gave him a
lingering, intimate smile that caused a stir of envy in Abby. Oh, to
have somebody to love her, to hold her while she battled the craziness
that had become her life.
As Hank and Colette talked softly of their travel plans and they all
waited for Luke to return to the car, Abby found herself ruminating
over her sleep-walking the night before.
By the time dawn had crept into her bedroom, she'd managed to convince
herself it had been an isolated incident, brought on solely by the
trauma of the past several days.
She knew with a certainty she couldn't be responsible for Greg's death.
She didn't have that kind of anger, of hatred, inside her, didn't have
the rage that would be required to commit murder.
Yes, Greg had frightened her with his talk of taking Cody, he'd angered
her with his games of manipulation. Yes, she'd made crazy, rage-filled
threats, but never had there been murder in her heart.
"Ah, here he comes," Colette said, pulling Abby from her thoughts.
Abby turned to see Luke approaching them, his loose-hipped walk again
creating a flutter of unexpected heat in Abby's stomach. Beneath the
rim of his hat, his eyes glittered with a wicked light, as if he knew
she knew he'd manipulated Hank and Colette into letting him ride
along.
"Abby." He tipped his hat in mock politeness. She nodded curtly and
got into the driver seat, further irritated when Hank and Colette got
in the back with the baby, leaving Luke the passenger seat. When he
got in, the interior of the car instantly seemed to shrink.
Abby had never met a man with so much physical presence, a man who
affected her so deeply in a purely carnal way. Something about Luke
Black made her ache with a need long suppressed and it irritated the
hell out of her.
Luke swept his hat off his head and turned partway in the seat to look
at Hank, Colette and their baby girl. "So, I hear you two are off for
a belated honeymoon," he said.
"That's right," Colette answered. "We did things a little backward. I
had the baby first, then we got married and now the three of us are
honeymooning together." Abby heard the love in her sister's voice. "It
took this hardheaded man of mine a long time to decide what he
wanted."
Hank's deep, husky laughter resounded. "Don't let her fool you. The
minute I looked into her eyes, I was a doomed man. What about you,
Luke? Got a special woman in your life?"
"I'm working on it."
Abby felt his gaze on her and tightened her grip on the steering wheel.
The man was absolutely shameless.
"What about family?" Hank asked.
Luke's gaze left Abby and he stared out the window. "Nope. No
family." His clipped words invited no further questions on that
particular subject.
The ride to the airport took about thirty minutes. Thirty minutes of
small talk between the others while Abby focused on ignoring Luke's
presence. She dreaded the moment when Colette and Hank would get on
the plane and she'd be left with Luke's company. But all too soon that
moment came.
As she hugged and kissed Colette, Hank and the baby goodbye at the
boarding gate, she was aware of Luke standing off to one side. Although
his hat once again hid his eyes, his lips were curved upward in a
slightly mocking smile.
"Where was it you needed to go in town?" she asked as they got back in
the car.
"Wherever you're going is fine with me."
"Playing games, Mr. Black?" Abby asked with an arched brow.
He grinned, this time a full, heart-stopping smile. "I'm an advocate
of using whatever works to get what I want."
"And just what exactly do you want?"
"You."
His answer caused Abby's mouth to dry and her throat to momentarily
constrict. She coughed out a sharp laugh. "You're crazy. You don't
even know me."
"I know what I like, and I like cool blondes with long, sexy legs."
Abby pulled to a stop in front of the feed store. She shut off the
car's engine then turned to the man sitting
next to her. "Luke, I
suppose I should be flattered by your interest, but I'm not in the
market for a summer fling with a drifter cowboy. I lived that
particular fantasy once and it turned into a night " What do you mean?
"
Abby shook her head, not wanting to get into the heartache of Greg's
desertion, the loss of dreams and happily-ever-after. "It really
doesn't matter. Look, I've got a ranch that's teetering on the brink
of financial ruin and I'm the number one suspect in a murder
investigation. The last thing I need or want in my life right now is a
relationship of any kind with any man.
He reached out and touched the pulse point pounding in the hollow of
her throat. "Then why is your pulse racing?"
His touch was warm and his masculine scent surrounded her. For a
moment Abby remained unmoving, her gaze locked with his, her heartbeat
quickened to a frantic pace. "I ... I need to go into the store." Her
voice sounded faint, faraway.
"Then you'd better go," he replied, his fingers still touching the base
of her throat, then moving up to softly stroke her cheek.
"I'm going."
It wasn't until he dropped his hand that the inertia that gripped Abby
fell away. She scooted out of the car as if on fire, irritated with
Cassidy, Carla - Midnight Wishes Page 5
