Irresistible You

by Barbara Boswell

  But before hanging up, Brenna couldn’t help adding, “Luke, let’s not mention it tomorrow, okay?”

  “You want to pretend it never happened. I hear you, Brenna.”

  “No hard feelings?” She was a bit surprised she even cared about Luke Minteer possibly harboring hard feelings against her.

  “No hard feelings at all. After all, we’re, uh, buddies, Brenna. Jury buddies, right?”

  “Right.” She smiled. “You really are a nice guy, Luke Minteer.”

  “Yeah, it’s a well-kept secret, but I’m a gem. A modern-day Prince Charming. The kind of man a girl is proud to bring home to Mother. Shall I continue, or have I run the analogies into the ground?”

  Brenna thought about that last one he’d mentioned. She wouldn’t be bringing any man to meet her mother, and despite Luke’s belief that he was some kind of rogue, Brenna knew that Marly Morgan would probably regard him as tame as a pussycat, as straitlaced as a Sunday school teacher.

  Marly’s tastes ran to what she described as “bad boys.” Law enforcement had another term for them—felons.

  Brenna shivered, remembering. And then, determinedly, she dismissed her dark thoughts.

  “You’d better quit with the analogies, Luke,” she said dryly. “You’ve not only run them into the ground, you’ve buried them six feet under.”

  “That’s exactly what a snotty newspaper critic said about all the snappy similes in my first book. I guess I don’t have to add that he isn’t a fan of my writing.”

  “Oh, what does he know? The bestseller lists can’t be wrong.”

  “Now you sound like my agent. Good night, Brenna.”

  Five

  A snowstorm, complete with gray sky, icy wind and a blinding gust of flakes greeted Brenna when she opened her front door the next morning. Not for the first time, she wished for an attached garage to keep her car indoors, protected from the elements. Plus, she wouldn’t have to endure winter’s slap in the face first thing in the morning.

  Brenna glanced longingly over at the Walsh house, where she knew the whole family was cozily ensconced for the day. According to the radio’s list of closings, the entire school district was taking a snow day, citing frigid temperatures and the possibility of more snow later in the afternoon.

  But court was in session. There had been no mention of the courthouse being closed in deference to the bad weather. Which meant she had to get herself there this wretched winter morning.

  Mentally Brenna listed the tasks to be completed before driving to the courthouse. Snow needed to be brushed from the windshield and the rest of the car windows; she probably needed to scrape off the inevitable buildup of ice, too.

  Through the whirling snow, she could barely discern the outline of her car, parked along the sidewalk in front of her house.

  The necessary tools were inside her car, and hopefully her key wouldn’t freeze in the lock, as it had on similarly frigid days. That would mean a return trip to her kitchen for the small de-icer that Ray Walsh had so kindly given her after she’d had to borrow his a few times.

  Brenna’s head was lowered to spare her face and eyes from the bracing chill of the wind, so she didn’t notice anyone coming up her front walk until a pair of hands closed over her shoulders.

  She jerked up her head, and her eyes met Luke’s. Somehow she must have intuited who it was before she saw him…because if she hadn’t, Brenna knew she would have screamed.

  Being grabbed unexpectedly had that effect on her.

  “Let’s go. I’m parked right in front of your car.” Luke wrapped his arm around her, holding her close against him, using himself to shield her from the wind.

  Moments later Brenna was packed into the passenger side of his big black SUV. The car was blissfully warm, the heat on full blast, the radio tuned to a fast-talking disc jockey who was making jokes about the latest celebrity arrest in New York City.

  Luke slammed her door shut to walk around to his side, and for a moment Brenna was alone and enclosed in the warm quiet confines. Well, it would’ve been quiet, if only that DJ would shut up. Automatically she reached over and turned off the radio.

  Luke climbed into the driver’s side. “Hey, what happened to—”

  “I can’t stand that guy yammering in the morning—well, not at any time, actually. The other local station will have weather and traffic updates,” she added helpfully.

  “Stating the obvious. Like we can’t see for ourselves that it’s snowing, and traffic is going to be hopeless.”

  Luke didn’t turn the radio back on, and Brenna was pleased until it occurred to her that she really had no grounds to take command of the airwaves while in his vehicle. The particular “shock jock” whom she abhorred had a lot of devoted listeners; Luke might very well be one of them.

  She felt guilty, disturbing his morning routine. “Do you want me to turn the radio back on to—”

  “Nah, leave it off.” He pulled into a deserted, snow-covered street that was lined with the residents’ parked, snow-covered cars. “Looks like everybody is staying home today.”

  Brenna nodded. “The school district called off classes and most businesses are shut down for the day.”

  “But there’s no such break for us worthy citizens serving in the courthouse. They must figure the wheels of justice are equipped with snow tires and chains.”

  “Maybe trials are supposed to be like the mail. You know, going on through rain and hail or sleet and snow,” suggested Brenna. “Remember that old jingle?”

  “How could I forget it? My great-uncle Marty the mailman used to quote it endlessly. Uh-oh.”

  As he pulled up to a stop sign at a four-way intersection, they watched a car skid, nearly sliding into another car, which managed to swing out of its path at just the right moment.

  Brenna expelled a nervous breath. “The roads are bad,” she murmured. Unfortunately, she identified with the skidding driver, not the artful dodger.

  “The trucks are out plowing and salting the main high-ways first. By the time they get to these little neighborhood streets—no doubt in the spring—the stuff will have melted on its own.”

  She had to smile at his hyperbole. “They’re not quite that slow.”

  “Creative enhancement, as we in the political arena liked to call outright lying. Has a much more positive connotation.”

  Brenna was back to staring anxiously at the snow and skidding motorists. “I don’t remember them predicting snow for us yesterday. Of course, I didn’t watch the eleven o’clock news with the weather report.”

  “I did, so I knew it was coming. The Midwest blizzard moved faster than anybody thought it would. I thought you were the Weather Channel junkie. How could a snowstorm catch you unaware?”

  “I was working till past midnight and didn’t even have the TV on,” Brenna admitted.

  “Do you have to have complete silence to work?” he asked curiously.

  “No, I play music.” Brenna thought of her show tunes, which never failed to touch her, to uplift her. “I have lots of CDs and tapes of really lovely songs.”

  “I have to have music while I’m writing. Total silence would drive me nuts. But I don’t think my tastes would fall into your ‘lovely’ category.” Luke cast her a quick sly glance. “That’s your cue to make some wisecrack about Music to Create Murder and Mayhem by.”

  “I’ve heard way too many jokes about my love for show tunes to dump on your music. Everybody is entitled to their own tastes.”

  “Ah, the perfect carpool passenger. Sucking up to the driver. Next you’ll say you tried to buy a copy of my book, but it was sold out at the bookstores,” he added dryly.

  “Perfect passengers don’t take control of your radio,” she reminded him. “And you can count on me never buying your books, unless you switch to writing romance novels with a guaranteed happy ending.”

  “Just the thought of that is more bone-chilling to me than this weather.”

  “Your devoted readers probabl
y feel the same way. I really do appreciate the ride this morning, Luke. I’m sure the jurors’ parking lot won’t be plowed yet, which would mean driving all over town trying to find somewhere else to park and—”

  “Finding a place to park was the least of your troubles this morning, Brenna,” Luke cut in bluntly. “You could’ve easily slipped on the ice and fallen flat on your face. Or on the baby.”

  “Actually, I hadn’t thought of that.” Brenna was surprised that she hadn’t—and even more astonished that Luke had.

  In fact, Luke had visualized that alarming possibility last night, when the weatherman on the local news had warned about the likelihood of snow this morning.

  He’d made up his mind right then to pick her up and drive her to the courthouse this morning, if court was in session. Which, unfortunately for those having to brave the as-yet-untreated roads, it was.

  Luke braked to a stop at a red light and stole a glance at Brenna, sitting quietly beside him. He wasn’t one to enjoy silence—he equated it with boredom or awkwardness—but he felt neither bored nor awkward with Brenna.

  He felt comfortable.

  What was that quote his brother Matt used when describing his relationship with his wife, Kayla? Something about “speaking in silence being the most intimate connection between people”?

  Luke had never quite comprehended what on earth Matt meant. Now he felt he might have an inkling.

  Were he and Brenna “speaking in silence”?

  Or was he going totally nuts?

  She must have felt him looking at her, because she turned her head and met his eyes. Her lips curved into a half smile.

  “What?” she asked.

  “What do you mean, ‘what’?” Luke attempted to sound blasé. He wasn’t sure he succeeded.

  “You look as if you want to ask me something.” Brenna’s smile widened. “Well, go ahead. This is your car and I’m the grateful passenger.”

  Now that she’d brought it up, there was something he desperately wanted to ask her, something he’d been thinking about since last night. Something he had lain in bed ruminating over, long after he should have been asleep.

  Luke took a deep breath. “When that…bad thing you mentioned last night happened to you, uh, were the police involved?” he blurted out. “Was the—for lack of a better term—the perp ever caught?”

  Her smile instantly disappeared, like in a comic strip panel where a smile flipped upside down into a deep frown.

  “I told you I don’t want to talk about that.” Her voice was as cold as the wind whipping the snow around outside. “I told you it happened in the distant past and it’s long over. What part of that didn’t you get?”

  “You said I looked as if I wanted to ask you something.” Luke was defensive. “You said to go ahead and ask. So I did.”

  She gave an impatient huff. “I thought you wanted to listen to that idiot on the radio. I thought you were going to ask whether I minded if you turned his show back on.”

  “So much for speaking in silence,” muttered Luke.

  As far as he and Brenna were concerned, their silence was spoken in two vastly disparate languages. Which was exactly as it should be, because there was no “intimate connection” between them.

  There was no connection at all. His lack of sleep was getting to him, making him imagine all sorts of foolish things that had somehow gotten stuck in the grooves of his brain.

  Defiantly Luke turned on the radio.

  The DJ’s voice filled the air. He was raucously proclaiming, between snorts and guffaws, that men want to get laid all the time, therefore making platonic friendship between the sexes impossible.

  “Idiot!” snarled Luke and switched the radio off again.

  Brenna stared at the windshield wipers, which were getting a heavy workout in the storm. Her hands rested on her huge swollen belly.

  “You don’t agree with him?” she asked impassively.

  “That all men think about is getting laid?” he snapped. “No, I don’t agree. We—I think about other things. Although you probably don’t believe me because of what happened last night,” he added testily.

  “You promised you wouldn’t mention that.”

  “Sorry. You have so many conversational taboos, it’s hard to keep track of them all. Refresh my memory…exactly what am I allowed to talk to you about besides the weather?”

  “Stick to the weather and we’ll get along fine,” she retorted.

  They drove along in silence, a smoldering silence, complete with dueling glares. Every time Luke shot her one, she gave it right back to him.

  His sense of humor began to get the best of him. Brenna Morgan could be as annoying as hell, but somehow she amused him, too. Her stubborn refusal to back down reminded him of his younger sisters, Anne Marie, Mary Catherine and Tiffany.

  Those little hellions had always stood their ground—and still did, though they were all happily married now with little hellions of their own.

  Not that he thought of Brenna as a little sister. He stole a quick glance at her. Did he?

  Brenna caught his look. It wasn’t a glare, so she didn’t return it. “You stopped glaring at me. Are you over your snit?”

  “I don’t have snits. Only girly-men have snits.”

  “I’ll probably regret asking this, but would you please describe what you consider to be girly-men?”

  “Oh, you know, those hapless twits who can’t hit a ball with a bat and are mocked at their company softball games. The ones who can’t tie good strong knots so when they’re moving or on vacation, their stuff flies off their cars or pickup trucks and ends up all over the road.”

  “No wonder the poor souls have snits,” Brenna said dryly. “They strike out at softball and are laughed at, their stuff gets strewn all over the highway and the drivers passing by are laughing and calling them girly-man.”

  “True.”

  “Actually, that’s a useful bit of information, Luke. If my baby is a boy, I’m going to make sure he can hit a ball and tie a strong knot.”

  “He’ll thank you for it.” Luke smiled. “And if you need any assistance, give me a call. Every Minteer male hits ’em out of the park and ties knots of steel.”

  “No doubt from the age of five,” Brenna added, getting into the spirit.

  “Three,” corrected Luke, and they both laughed.

  Luke turned onto the street where the courthouse was located. The usually crowded, bustling area was empty, every reserved VIP parking place in the front of the building unoccupied.

  “Where is everybody?” murmured Brenna. She looked at the dashboard clock. “It’s normally packed around here at this time. Court should be starting shortly and—”

  The sharp, wailing sound of a police siren abruptly silenced her.

  Moments later a uniformed policeman leaned in the window Luke had opened on his side.

  “Hey, Patrick, what’s up?” Luke asked. “This place is as deserted as an Arctic outpost.”

  Brenna wondered if this was Luke’s cousin, the policeman who’d authorized their special parking privileges.

  “The courthouse is closed today, Luke,” said Patrick. “Didn’t you hear it on the radio or TV?”

  “I sure as hell didn’t!” Luke added a few choice expletives. “And I listened to the whole list, too. Took forever! I heard every school listed, every meeting, just about every store in the whole damn mall, but not a word about the courthouse being closed today!”

  “Yeah, word didn’t go out till late. The powers that be waited until fifteen minutes ago to officially cancel.” Patrick heaved a disgusted sigh.

  “Why?” demanded Luke.

  “Packed schedule. There’s a trial in every courtroom, including that double homicide at the gas station last summer. The judges and lawyers want to speed things along on account of the holidays coming up,” explained Patrick. “But when nearly 90 percent of the jurors called the courthouse or police station saying they wouldn’t be in… Well, there wa
s no choice. Court is closed for the day. I’m here to tell the diehards who show up to go home. So far you’re only the fourth diehard, Luke.”

  Luke groaned. “Go ahead and substitute moron for diehard, Pat. I deserve it, I should’ve known.”

  “We both should’ve guessed, just from looking out the window,” interjected Brenna, willing to accept her share of the blame. “I mean, when you really think about it, is there any way that Wanda or Roger or the others would’ve ventured out in this, with or without an official cancellation?”

  Patrick leaned his head farther into the car. He looked at Brenna, then an expression of undisguised astonishment crossed his face as his gaze lowered to her unmistakably pregnant shape.

  “Who are you?” he fairly gasped.

  Brenna stifled a grin. Obviously, the sight of Luke Minteer in the company of a pregnant woman unrelated to him was as stunning to Officer Patrick as it had been to the Lo sisters in the China Palace.

  “Brenna Morgan.” Feeling devilish, she leaned over and offered her gloved hand for Patrick to shake, leaving him no choice but to stick his hand across Luke to grip hers.

  “Patrick Minteer, Luke’s cousin. Pleased to meet you, Brenna. You, um—” he glanced furtively at his cousin, whose face was a half inch away from their handshake “—a friend of Luke’s?”

  “I’ll have to ask him.” Brenna wondered at this strange impulse she had to tease Luke Minteer. But it was too irresistible not to give in to. “Are we friends, Luke?”

  Luke’s reply was a fierce scowl.

  Patrick immediately dropped Brenna’s hand and withdrew from the window.

  “Luke, be careful driving, okay? Better yet, stay off the roads today. Even a fender bender could be nasty with, er, her in her…her condition,” Patrick added uneasily, heading back to the patrol car.

  “We’re free! I feel like a kid who just heard school’s been canceled,” Brenna exclaimed jubilantly.

  Luke stared stonily ahead. “Why did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “‘Are we friends, Luke?”’ He did a mocking, high-pitched imitation of her response to Patrick’s question.