Luke: A West Bend Saints Romance

by Paige, Sabrina

  "I have a baby," I protest, my voice indignant. "And a fledgling business to run."

  "Your business isn't fledgling anymore," June says. "And in case you haven't noticed, Olivia is getting bigger. You could use a little fun." She pauses when she sees the expression on my face. "I say all of this with love, obviously."

  "Yeah, I can tell. Saying I need to – " My voice drops to a whisper. "Have a fling with the teenage hottie I hired to be a foreman sounds like a super responsible thing to do."

  "He's hardly a teenager," June says, laughing. "And a fling sounds like exactly what you need. It wouldn't hurt you to get some."

  "Who's getting some?" A male voice booms from behind us, startling me, and I turn to see June's husband Cade, walking with Callie in his arms, wrapped in a warm cotton blanket.

  "Cade, take her back in the nursery if she's sleeping," June chides. "It's too chilly for her to be out here, even wrapped up in that blanket."

  "Hush, woman," Cade says, the edges of his lips curled up in a smile. "I don't want to put her down. Let me be proud papa if I want to be. I'll bring her back inside in a minute. Besides, I'm toasty warm."

  June rolls her eyes and sighs, but she smiles and pats Cade on the arm as he slides into the chair beside her. The way she looks at him and then at their children, like they're the center of her world, makes me simultaneously happy for her and jealous of her.

  I don't know what Cade's story is exactly. June is quiet about his past, mentioned in passing once that he used to run as part of an outlaw biker club out in California – the Inferno Motorcycle Club. The sleeves of tattoos that run up his arms, down the back of his neck, hint at his past. He's a good man, though. And he adores June and the kids.

  So maybe, just maybe, Cade is proof that bad boys are capable of settling down and becoming good men.

  "I'm not interrupting any girl talk, am I?" Cade asks. Olivia's high-pitched squeal cuts through his question. "Come on, Stan, don't put dirt in her hair. When she screams, she's telling you clear as day she doesn't like it. Put the shovel down."

  "Nope, you're not interrupting," I say, too quickly. "At all."

  "I was just telling Autumn she should have a little fun," June says.

  "June," I warn.

  "Oh God, this is girl talk," Cade says. "I should go back inside – that's what you're saying, right?"

  "Luke Saint is working the orchard." June looks at Cade meaningfully.

  "If there's one thing in life I've learned this far, it's when to keep my mouth shut about things and stay out of people's business, June-bug," Cade says. "That might be some good advice for you, you know."

  "Oh shut your mouth." June slaps him playfully on the arm. "She's single. He's single. And he's also hot."

  "Oh, so my wife is telling you Luke Saint is hot, is she?" Cade asks.

  "More like the other way around, sweetheart," June says.

  "Luke Saint is telling you you're hot?" Cade asks.

  "Shut up," she says. "You know what I mean. Autumn is telling me how irresistible Luke Saint is."

  "Oh my God, that's not true," I protest. "Well, I mean, it's true, but it's irrelevant. And seriously, when did my visit turn into an interrogation about my dating life?"

  "Non-existent dating life," June says pointedly.

  "Okay, my non-existent dating life. The very full, very busy, very scheduled, very orderly non-existent dating life that I have. I have a routine."

  "See?" Cade asks. "She has a routine, June-bug. Leave her alone. You're starting to become as bad one of the ladies down at the hair salon."

  "Oh my God, I am not."

  Cade leans forward, Isabella in his arms, looking around June at me. "Luke Saint. I don't know him, but I know of him. His brother Elias is seeing the actress, River Andrews," he says. "Elias is a good guy. Ex-Navy. You want me to check this Luke guy out?"

  "Yes," June says, grinning.

  "No!" I protest.

  "Didn't you check him out when you hired him?" she asks.

  Did I check him out? A flush comes over me at the thought of how very well I checked him out, from his chiseled jawline to his muscled chest to the way his ass looked as he walked away in his jeans.

  June giggles. "Forget it," she says. "I can tell by your reaction that you've been doing a lot of checking him out."

  "Shush, you." I wave dismissively at her, focusing my attention on Cade. "Okay, fine. What do you know about Luke?"

  "Nothing really," Cade says. "Aside from the business with his family."

  "What happened with his family?"

  "Well, I assume that's why he's back in West Bend," Cade says. "At least, that's why Elias came back here. Their dad died a little while back, some kind of accident in an illegal mine on their property. Their mother killed herself after that – guess she couldn’t handle being apart from him or something. No big loss there, when it came to the dad. Dad was a mean sonofabitch. Angry drunk, evil through and through. Everyone knew that, even back when I was a kid."

  "Ahem," June says, throwing a warning look at Cade, then back at the kids in the sandbox. "Language."

  "Did you know the brothers, when you were growing up here?" I ask.

  June tosses Cade another one of those looks. “Cade,” she says. I’m not sure what the warning look is about, but there’s clearly some kind of past history that June has with the Saint family.

  “Not really, aside from the dad being mean,” he says. “Didn’t think much of them, but Elias has grown on me. If Luke’s anything like his brother, he’s probably a decent enough guy. That father of theirs, though, was a real piece of work.”

  "And no one said anything," June says, shaking her head.

  "West Bend is one of those places," Cade says. "Justice tends to get doled out outside of the regular channels. West Bend has always been old school like that."

  "Is that what happened to the dad?" I ask. "Justice got doled out?"

  Cade shrugs. "I doubt it," he says. "I'm sure he fell down the mine shaft or something. But I'd imagine there were plenty of people who'd like to see him dead."

  "Well, Autumn has the hots for Luke," June says. "And I was trying to convince her that she should go for it."

  "June!" I protest. Except I know what she's saying is true. The fact is, ever since I laid eyes on him, I haven't been able to stop thinking about him. The trouble is, I can't act on it. Acting on it would be a total and complete disaster.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Luke

  "I figured you'd be running headlong out of town by now." Killian doesn't move his head, just faces forward, his gaze seemingly directed toward the wall opposite us in Bud's Bar, a wall that's covered in twenty years worth of dirt and grime. He gives me a glance out of the corner of his eyes, or maybe I just imagine that he's looking for a reaction from me.

  And I'm not going to give him one. My brother Killian has always had an uncanny ability to read me like an open book, and the last thing I want to do is talk to him about Autumn. Shit, I don't even want to think about Autumn. Thinking about that girl is giving me the biggest case of blue balls known to man.

  "Well, I'm still here," I answer, my tone short. The words leave my mouth, sounding defensive.

  "Uh-huh," Killian says, still looking ahead. He takes a long pull on the glass bottle, a local craft brew that's way too hipster for my roughneck brother to be drinking, but Killian has never been one to care much about trends or social convention. "That's why you're taking a job out at the Mayburn place."

  "Another?" The owner, Bud himself, saves me from having to scramble for a reasonable justification for Killian about why the hell I'm sticking around here in town. Why the hell am I sticking around in West Bend, anyway? I tell myself that I'm here to find out what's going on with my mother's suicide, but that's not nearly all there is to it.

  Not now, anyway. Not since I started working at the Mayburn place.

  I nod, and Bud pops the top on a bottle and sets it in front of me at the bar. "You boys stic
king 'round here a while more?"

  The question catches me off guard and I look at the old man blankly. He shuffles down to the other side of the bar, a wet towel in hand, wiping the edge of the bar top half-heartedly, as if it's going to do any good when it comes to this decrepit place.

  The weathered sign that hangs outside Bud's Bar proclaims it "West Bend's oldest drinking establishment." That may or may not be true, but it has certainly earned its reputation as the most disreputable establishment.

  This bar used to be one of our asshole father's old haunts, and there were too many times that Bud had to send for Killian and I to pour our drunk father into the bed of the old pickup and drive him home before either of us were legally allowed to drive.

  The fact that Killian and I are back here, in this place with all of its shitty memories, is some kind of fucked up, I think. At least Bud isn't trying to reminisce, make small talk about the past, rose-colored memories or some bullshit. He's happy just leaving us alone.

  "I don't know," I say, glancing at Killian. "Got a job up at the Mayburn orchard."

  "In the bar, I mean," Bud says, giving me an odd look. "I'm heading into the back office for a bit, got some paperwork to do. If you need a refill, you know where the beer is. You boys yell if anyone else comes in."

  "Sure, Bud," Killian says with a laugh that sounds more like a cough. The bar is empty except for the two of us and a regular slumped down in the dimly lit back corner, his feet propped up on another chair and his cowboy hat pulled halfway down over his forehead, shielding his eyes. I'm not sure if he's passed out or asleep or if he's a permanent fixture of the bar. He could very well be dead.

  Killian and I drink in silence until I finally speak. "The job at the Mayburn orchard is a temporary thing," I say. I'm not sure why I feel the need to tell him this. "Foreman position. The fucking chick running the place is lucky she didn't burn down half her orchard."

  Killian nods and takes another pull on his beer. "I knew this was a story involving a chick," he says, finally turning toward me. His expression is serious, but there's the familiar twinkle in his eyes he gets when he gives me shit, just like he always has. Killian and I are two years apart, and were always closer to each other than we were to Elias and Silas.

  Silas and Elias always had some kind of weird ESP shit going on, even when they were kids, whatever the hell kind of simpatico twins inevitably seem to have. They were always on the same wavelength. Killian, on the other hand, used to give me a ration of shit nearly all the time, smacking me across the back of the head for doing something stupid, but taking up for me when kids at school acted like assholes.

  Or when our father came home drunk and mean. Killian was the one who took the brunt of his rage as the oldest, always stepping in to protect us. I don't know how bad that fucked him up, but I can imagine. He never talks about it.

  "It's not about a chick," I say, but the thought of Autumn makes my cock stir, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

  "Sure it's not," Killian says, laughing. "Shit, I'm your big brother. You think I don't know how you lose your damn mind over pussy? There's definitely a girl involved. I'm just surprised that you're sticking around here, that's all."

  "There's no pussy involved," I protest. "I want to find out what the hell happened with mom, that's all."

  Killian shrugs. "What the fuck do you think happened with her? Pills and booze."

  "Mom hardly ever drank, Killian," I say. "You know that. With how much of an alcoholic dad was? She hated the stuff. Besides, you were the one who said there was no way she killed herself.”

  "People change, Luke," he says. "And maybe I’m just playing devil’s advocate. How long has it been since you've been back here? You don't know that she didn't start drinking. Who knows what the hell happened?"

  "It doesn't make sense," I protest. "Anyway, why would she kill herself after the asshole died? After all that time with him, suffering living with him – she just goes and offs herself once she's free? Come on, Killian, even you know that doesn't make a lick of sense."

  Killian turns toward me now, his dark eyes flashing. "You go poking around in shit like that, Luke, you may not like the answers you find to those kinds of questions."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Killian's tone pisses me off – some kind of cross between a warning and a big brotherly lecture. I'm not a kid, the way Killian seems to perpetually think of me.

  Killian takes another pull on his beer and then exhales heavily. "It means that you should stop poking around in this kind of bullshit. What if you find that it really was a suicide?"

  "So what?" I ask, shrugging. "Then we know. She killed herself, and that's all there is to it."

  "And if it's a suicide, it means that our mother killed herself because she couldn't live without the asshole," Killian says. "It means that all that time, all those years she was with him, all those years he kicked the shit out of us as kids, she didn't leave him. That she wanted to be with him. That's what it's going to mean if you find out that she committed suicide. Do you really want to find out the answer to that question?"

  "She was weak, Killian," I say. "That never really was a question. I'm not doubting that."

  "But if she offed herself over that asshole, then it's more than just she was weak. Do you fucking get that? It means she loved him the whole time. Do you feel what I'm saying?"

  "I get it," I say. "I just don't think that's what happened."

  Killian rolls his eyes. "You think someone killed her?" he asks. "Why?"

  "I don't know why. That's what I want to know."

  Killian shakes his head. "Shit, Luke, you never could settle for doing what anyone told you to do, without asking 'why' a thousand damn times."

  "Remember in sixth grade when Ms. Hasley kicked me out of class for arguing with her about the field trip?"

  "Fuck," Killian says, laughing under his breath. "Of course I do. I was the one who had to pick your damn ass up from school and take you home. You would have gotten your ass beat too if I hadn't covered for you. At least Ms. Hasley didn't send a note home."

  "She knew what the asshole would have done if he'd have found out."

  "I reckon so," Killian says. He drains the rest of his bottle and stares ahead for a long time, silent. "So you really think something's going on?"

  "I don't know," I tell him. The honest truth is that I have no fucking clue. But my gut says something's not right with her death. And if something's off with hers, it has to do with the asshole's death too, since he didn't die that long before her. They have to be connected. But I definitely don't tell Killian that part of things. "Maybe. Maybe it's nothing."

  "Yeah, well, I've got to go back out to the rig this week," Killian says. Killian is a roughneck, has been working on oil rigs since he turned eighteen. Just like the rest of us, he got the hell out of West Bend as soon as he could.

  I've passed through West Bend before, come through the area to snowboard, or on a smokejumper contract. But this trip is different. This is the longest I've stayed in West Bend since I left.

  I tell myself that fact is entirely about my mother's unexpected death and not at all to do with the smokin' hot redhead who owns the orchard.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Autumn

  Yanking the cidery door open, I walk inside, grateful for the rush of warm air when I enter the building. I push a rogue strand of hair away from my face and tuck it back into my ponytail. "Damn, Mary," I call. "It's starting to get chilly out there in the mornings."

  The sound of her laughter reverberates through the front room of the distillery, and the door to the back room swings open as she walks through the doorway, Luke trailing behind her.

  "Autumn," Mary says. "Luke was just telling me the funniest story about –"

  "Yes," I interrupt, my tone harsher than I intend it to be. I swallow hard, hoping I sound more business-like than jealous. Because I'm totally not jealous, and have no reason to be, I remind myself. "I didn't realize you
were in the cidery today, Mr. Saint."

  Luke shouldn't be in the cidery. He should be outside in the orchard, overseeing the workers. Or repairing a fence or something. Like the last time – standing in the sun, sweat glistening off his shirtless chest…

  On second thought, it's good that Luke Saint is in here. Fully clothed and not doing manual labor.

  "I was looking for you, actually, Ms. Mayburn," Luke says, emphasizing my name. My face flushes warm at the way my name rolls off his tongue, slow and warm. Intimate.

  I tell myself that the way it sounds is all in my imagination, not intentional on his part, merely an inappropriate fantasy of mine.

  But when my eyes meet his, even standing here on the other side of the room, it doesn't dilute the sensation. In fact, arousal practically floods my body, the intensity of his gaze causing heat to flow through my body.

  Mary stands beside Luke, awkwardly shifting her weight from one foot to another as she looks back and forth from me to him. Clearing her throat, she gestures toward the door. "You know, I actually had something to get outside," she says, before she scurries past us and out the door.

  I'm suddenly embarrassed by Mary's obvious discomfort, as if it somehow makes whatever attraction between Luke and I that I swear is only in my head suddenly real. Now I'm the one shifting my weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

  "She ran out of here quickly," Luke says, the sides of his mouth curled up in a knowing smile.

  "I don't know why," I say, my tone imperious. But my voice falters, and I tell myself to stop acting like a silly schoolgirl with a stupid little crush. The sight of a cute guy should not be enough to make me lose my mind. It's never been a problem with a guy before, and there's no reason for it to be now. "She should have stayed to listen to the story you were telling her."

  Now I sound like a jealous girlfriend.

  But Luke just saunters toward me with the kind of cocky confidence that guys like him always have, their egos propped up by women hanging on every word they say because they're that kind of gorgeous. I tell myself I'm not one of those girls. Yet, when he reaches me, I find myself closing my eyes, inhaling deeply, some kind of reflex, I can't quite control.