by Kate Little
“These letters are pretty impressive,” she said, placing the pile of references on the table between them. “So, in addition to being my husband, I’d also like to hire you as foreman of this ranch. You’ll be paid a separate salary for that, of course.”
Carey named the salary and he nodded, his head tilted to one side. “Sounds like a fair deal.”
“Do you have any other questions?” she asked.
He considered her for long moment, his dark gaze moving slowly over her face, making her suddenly self-conscious. She nervously wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. His expression darkened, becoming shuttered.
“You really want this ranch, don’t you? I mean, you really must, if you’re willing to marry a total stranger.”
His cool, censuring tone stung her with a distinct note of disapproval. Or had she just imagined that?
“Of course I want it.” Carey bristled at the question. “I grew up here. The land was originally settled by my mother’s family. Then it passed to my father when we lost her. My father should have left it to me outright, without all this silliness about being married. It’s mine. Or it should be.”
Carey thought her words were more than enough explanation for him. After all, I’m the boss, she wanted to remind him, you’re just hiring on, remember?
Yet he still looked unsatisfied.
“So you want to stay here. Build this place up again, is that it?” he quietly persisted.
“No, that’s not my plan at all,” she countered firmly. “I plan to fix the place up for a quick sale. Take what profits I can and go back to the West Coast.”
“Oh, so it’s not about the land at all, then, is it? It’s the money, right?” He tilted back in his chair, gazing at her with a heavy-lidded look of distaste.
“It’s about my inheritance. My rightful inheritance.” She heard her own voice rising defensively and willed herself to take a deep breath and count to ten. “Do you have some problem with that?” she asked finally.
“No, not at all.” He shrugged his large shoulders. Yet somehow she doubted the sincerity of his words. “Just like to know the plan. I mean, I’m signing on here to be a little bit more than your foreman.”
“Well, as long as we understand each other.” She cleared her throat, straightened the pile of letters. Then she looked him straight in the eye. “So, do we have a deal or not?”
He cocked his head to one side, staring down at his hands.
“Well, let’s see,” he began with unnerving slowness. “I set out this morning looking for a job. While this isn’t quite what I had in mind… I believe in playing the cards you’re dealt as best as you can, if you know what I mean. So—” he looked up at her “—I guess I’ll take it.”
“Fine, then.” Carey felt a mixture of relief…and bone-chilling apprehension at what she’d just agreed to.
She stood up from her chair, and Luke stood, too, watching her, waiting for her cue.
Tall, dark and intimidating, she thought. It wasn’t so much his height, she decided, as the width of his shoulders and solid, muscular chest. Her soon-to-be husband, Carey realized with a little rush. Very soon-to-be. The table suddenly seemed an inadequate barrier between them.
“Want to shake on it?” he asked.
Carey turned toward him again. His expression was sincere, his hand politely extended toward her. She had no choice but to take it in her own.
His large, warm grip enveloped hers, and once again she felt the evidence of years of outdoor work—the impressive strength held in check. An unsettling gentleness that contrasted sharply with his work-toughened packaging.
She felt his gaze seeking her own and could not resist staring into his raven-black eyes. His gaze seemed searching, questioning.
What was he wondering about her? Serious questions, it seemed. Did he have sudden doubts—as she did?
The sound of Ophelia and Tyler’s happy chatter broke the heavy silence. Carey abruptly dropped Luke’s hand and turned to watch them enter the kitchen.
“So?” Ophelia asked cheerily. “Did you folks have a nice talk?”
Carey tried to hide a smile but couldn’t. Okay, Ophie, you won, she wanted to reply.
“Somebody better wake up the judge,” she said instead. “Looks like it’s time for the wedding.”
“Hallelujah!” Ophelia clapped her hands and dashed off to the dining room.
Judge Kendall had known Carey since she was a child and was sympathetic to her predicament. The long-standing feud between the Kendalls and Burketts also helped oil the squeaky legal wheels of Carey’s makeshift marriage. While the law required an official license drawn by the bride and groom in advance of the ceremony at the county courthouse, the judge had the necessary documents on hand and, with the help of his brother-in-law, the county clerk, he promised to procure the necessary seals and signatures so that all would be legally airtight and dated to beat Carey’s deadline.
After signing the necessary forms, Carey and Luke took a few minutes to prepare for the actual ceremony. Carey did little more than comb her hair, smooth out her clothes and add a dash of lipstick.
She decided to hold the ceremony in the great room, in front of the big stone fireplace. The rain had stopped, and the late-afternoon sun drifted through heavy curtains, casting the room in soft shadows. A portrait of Carey’s mother that hung above the mantel seemed to Carey like the vision of a gentle, guiding spirit watching over the amazing event and bestowing her blessings.
Ophelia’s husband, Willie, had appeared from outdoors just in time to stand in as a second witness beside his wife. Dazed and confused, he did as instructed, but when he dared to ask, “Who’s that fella she’s marrying? He don’t look like an actor.” Ophelia fiercely shushed him.
Carey didn’t know how Luke explained the turn of events to Tyler. But whatever he’d said had left the small boy looking happy, without qualms or questions. With his face washed and hair neatly combed, Tyler sat quietly on a large leather couch, watching the adult performance with intense concentration.
Everyone stood in their appointed place. Except for the groom. Luke was still loitering somewhere in the house. Carey felt too nervous to call out to him. Or perhaps, just too shy, she realized. She fidgeted nervously with the small bouquet of flowers she’d purchased as a necessary prop.
The judge cleared his throat. He peered at Carey over the frame of his reading glasses. The silence was deafening.
Finally Ophelia called out, “Luke? Where the heck are you?”
He appeared seconds later, coming through the closed door that led to the foyer. He walked up to the small group and took his place, facing her, with only inches to spare between them.
It appeared that Willie had loaned the groom a sharp razor and a dark tie. A good tie, made of silk. He had dampened his hair and combed it neatly back, a style that emphasized his wide brow, high cheekbones and square jaw.
He’d looked perfectly fine before with a bit of shadow on his jaw, but he looked even better with a clean shave, Carey thought. Her fingers itched to test the smooth plane of his cheek, and she fought off the urge, gripping her bouquet. He peered down at her, his lips curving in a small, knowing smile, as if he’d read her thoughts.
Then Judge Kendall instructed them to join hands, and in a bland, mechanical motion, Carey did as she was told. Yet the feeling aroused by Luke’s warm hands enclosing both her cold ones was anything but bland.
The judge rambled on, familiar phrases ringing in Carey’s ears, while his voice seemed to come from a distance, through a hazy cloud.
Finally she was asked the inevitable question.
“Carey Mae Winslow, do you take this man, Lucas Redstone as your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do,” she replied, and nodded, her gaze fixed on her bouquet. She was instructed to fit one of the gold bands she’d bought a few days ago on Luke’s finger, and managed to do so without fumbling too much. It fit surprisingly well, she noticed.
Then Luke
was asked the same. She heard him answer with a deep, heartfelt assurance that made her marvel. When she looked up at him in surprise, he spared a small smile and gently squeezed her hand as he slipped on her own ring.
Seconds later the judge gave his official permission for a kiss. Carey barely had time to take a deep, steadying breath as Luke’s dark head dipped, his lips drawing closer to her own.
A stage kiss, she reassured herself as her heartbeat quickened. A courteous, indifferent kiss. Just enough to make it all official.
Then Luke’s mouth met her own. She felt his hands grip her waist possessively, masterfully, and felt herself sway toward his heat and strength. Their lips met, softly at first, Luke seeming to savor the very first moments of contact.
Then slowly but determinedly, he deepened the encounter, his mouth moving over hers, coaxing her to respond and part her lips until she felt his tongue thrusting provocatively against her own.
Carey fought against the feeling at first, but finally she couldn’t help melting against his rock-hard body, surrendering her mouth to his sensitive seduction. She felt every nerve ending in her body quiver with awareness and longing, urging her to heedlessly respond, to give as good as she got.
The world faded away, and she felt lost.
Lost and liking it….
Judge Kendall noisily cleared his throat, breaking into Carey’s pleasant cloud. As she and Luke slowly moved apart, she felt a warm blush creep up her neck.
“Oh, these newlyweds,” the judge chuckled. “You’d think they just invented—”
“Uh, thank you, Judge. That was a lovely ceremony,” Carey said, diplomatically interrupting him. “Would you mind staying for some pictures?”
The judge gladly assented, and Willie took some photographs. Then the wedding cake was served with coffee and punch. It wasn’t much, but as in keeping with tradition as Carey could manage. She made sure Willie took a whole roll of pictures with an automatic camera she’d purchased expressly for that purpose.
The judge departed, promising to return with the marriage license and certificate in a few days.
While Ophelia set about clearing up dishes and putting the house back in order, an uncomfortable silence descended between Carey and Luke, broken finally by Willie’s offer to drive Luke to get his truck.
Willie, who was handy with engines, thought he might be able to get the vehicle started. At the very least Luke could collect his belongings. Luke eagerly accepted the older man’s offer of help, and Carey noticed that the look of relief in her groom’s eyes was unmistakable as he left her company, quickly stripping the tie off his neck and shrugging into his damp denim jacket.
Up in her room Carey changed out of her wedding clothes into jeans and a black T-shirt, then readied the spare bedrooms for Luke and Tyler.
Down in the kitchen, she found Ophelia preparing something that smelled good for supper, while Tyler sat at the kitchen table drawing with crayons. Tyler smiled up at her when she entered.
“What are you drawing?” she asked him.
“A picture of the dogs in the barn,” he said, showing off his picture.
“Gee, that’s nice,” she responded, admiring the unintelligible scribbles.
“Want to help?” he asked sweetly.
Carey knew she was not much of an artist, but was unable to refuse the boy’s request. As they sat side by side, with Tyler’s head bent in concentration as he worked with his crayons, Carey was struck by the boy’s amazing likeness to Luke. Tyler seemed the very vision of what Luke must have looked like as a small boy.
A few minutes later the side door opened. Luke and Willie entered, stomping their outdoor boots noisily in the mudroom and carrying on as if they’d known each other for years.
“Well, you two been gone a while. What’d you do, drive up to Boulder for spare parts?” Ophelia asked dryly.
“Took us a while, but we got Luke’s truck running. Then I showed him around the place a little. Since he’s going to be working here and all,” Willie explained.
“Nothing like a broken-down vehicle to bring men together,” Ophelia murmured to Carey.
As soon as Luke walked in the room, Tyler ran to show off his drawings. Luke swung the boy up in his arms in a big bear hug and took time admiring and praising each of Tyler’s creations. His eyes were bright, his hair windblown, his expression animated as he spoke to Tyler. He was simply so good-looking. It was hard to believe that they were actually married, Carey thought.
A short time later Ophelia and Willie departed. Carey normally cooked for herself at night, but Ophelia thought it her duty to prepare dinner for the “newlyweds.” It was only roast chicken with stuffing, green beans on the side, but Luke and Tyler seemed to appreciate the simple meal immensely.
After dinner Carey cleared up the dishes while Luke put Tyler to bed. From the sound of it, Carey guessed that Tyler liked his new room. Luke returned only a few minutes later, explaining that Tyler was so worn-out from the day’s excitement, his eyes closed before his head even hit the pillow.
“Have you been taking care of Tyler long?” she asked as she loaded the dishwasher.
“Oh, for a week or so now,” Luke replied. “My…my sister isn’t a very good mother. I was always concerned about the boy, from things Tyler would tell me when I managed to visit.” He sighed deeply, and Carey could tell it was a difficult topic for him to talk about. “The last time I went to see them…well, I convinced her to let me take care of him for a while.”
Carey felt part of this story had been left unspoken. Few mothers could be persuaded to give their child up to a relative’s care for very long. Even a caring uncle like Luke.
It sounded as if Tyler’s mother had some serious problems. Or perhaps had put the child in jeopardy somehow. How could a mother be so irresponsible? Carey couldn’t understand that. If she ever had children, she would guard them with her life and make sure that they always felt safe and loved, just for themselves.
In her father’s keeping she’d felt protected—overprotected, actually—but never truly loved for just herself.
“It’s good of you to take on the responsibility,” she said finally. “A lot of other men wouldn’t. Especially if they were single.”
“It’s no sacrifice on my part, believe me. I’d do anything for that boy.” His tone was absolute…and almost defensive, she noticed.
Luke was quiet for a long time, then suddenly said, “Besides, I’m not single anymore, am I?”
“Uh, no, I guess not.” Carey felt the plate in her hand nearly slip through her fingers, but she caught it just in time.
“Can I help you clean up?” He stood and seemed about to take a step toward her.
“No, thanks. I think I can handle it.” Carey felt suddenly alarmed at the prospect of sharing the small space around the sink with him. “There’s a TV down the hall in the study. We only get three channels, though. My father never got cable or a satellite dish. He only watched the news and weather. He thought everything else on TV rotted your brain.”
“Your father was probably right. Gee—I’m beat,” he announced with a loud yawn. “Guess it’s time to hit the sack.”
He was standing very close to her, leaning back on the counter, watching as she prepared to scrub the pots and pans. She felt her mouth grow dry and cottony. She didn’t dare turn around to look at him.
“Your room is all ready. Second door on the right from the top of the stairs.” Her voice was brisk and polite, as impersonal as the desk clerk in a hotel. “The bathroom is at the end of the hall,” she rattled on. “There are clean towels on the counter, but let me know if you need anything else…”
She heard him laughing softly to himself, and when she turned toward him finally, she met a sexy grin and an unnerving, penetrating dark gaze. She remembered the kiss that had sealed their wedding vows just hours before and felt her stomach flutter.
“You sound nervous, Carey. Do I make you nervous? I don’t mean to.”
�
��I am not.” She dismissed his comment with a forced laugh.
Instead of arguing the point with her, he held her gaze steadily, unfolded his arms and took a step toward her.
A very deliberate step, she thought as her mouth grew drier. In response she stepped back until the edge of the counter pressed against her.
“What are you worried about?” he asked quietly with the dangerous calm of a predator stalking its quarry. “Afraid I might demand my conjugal rights? Seeing as how it is our wedding night and all.”
“Of course not,” she said flatly.
She wished he wasn’t standing so close. She tipped her head back to look up at his face. “We have an…an agreement,” she stammered, “and I expect you to respect it.”
“You mean, I’m the hired help and don’t forget it, right?” he replied, sounding amused at her irritation.
His words should have been reassuring. But to Carey at that moment, they were anything but. It somehow suddenly infuriated her that he could turn up the heat between them—or turn it down—as he pleased, as if he was handling a kitchen appliance. She, on the other hand, seemed to be at the mercy of her hormones whenever he so much as glanced in her direction.
“Well, since we’re on the subject,” she retorted, “we might as well get the ground rules straight. That kiss at the ceremony? Totally out of line.”
His eyes widened, a lazy smile forming on his lips.
“Guess I misunderstood your instructions, boss. I thought you wanted it to look good.”
“Not that good. Besides, I’m not paying you for overtime.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied evenly. His tone was serious, even respectful, while his gaze and superior smile totally mocked her.
“You do that,” she agreed.
Lord, but there was nothing more smug in this world than a man who thought he had the upper hand in a battle of attraction. And right now Luke’s expression was a perfect picture of smug male superiority.
