by Kate Little
“Funny how I didn’t hear too many complaints at the time. Heck, if I didn’t know better now, I would have sworn you enjoyed it.”
She had enjoyed it. More than she’d enjoyed kissing anyone else in recent memory.
That was just the problem.
Suddenly she needed to say something, anything, to knock this man down a peg or two.
She forced a lighthearted laugh. “I’m a professional actress, remember?” she reminded him.
“If you say so.” With a slight shrug he turned and began to leave the room. “But, honey, if that was acting,” he called over his shoulder, “you deserve an Academy Award.”
Infuriated by the exchange, Carey felt a slow burn simmering inside while his heavy footsteps disappeared up the stairs. She turned her attention back to the dishes and channeled her fury into scrubbing the pots and pans.
When she finally went upstairs, Luke’s door was firmly closed. She shut her own door, flicked on the small lamp atop the dresser and got ready for bed.
Seated on the edge of her bed in her nightgown, she stared down at the bright gold band on her finger, surprised to find it there. This was hardly the way she had imagined her wedding night, Carey reflected. But beggars could not be choosers.
At least she wouldn’t lose the ranch, after all. The thought made her feel a bit brighter.
But at what price?
She’d never met a man like Luke Redstone before, one who could get under her skin so completely, so quickly.
Maybe familiarity would lessen the attraction, Carey consoled herself as she slipped under the covers.
But somehow she didn’t think so.
Four
Luke woke to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom down the hall. As often happened these past few weeks, the unbidden image of his “wife,” standing naked in clouds of steam, spray and suds filled his mind. He knew what most of her looked like by now and could all too easily imagine the rest.
He’d met her once, racing from the bathroom to her bedroom with just a towel wrapped around her middle. A towel that did not do a completely adequate job of covering her wonderful, womanly assets.
Right now he knew that her long, golden curls would be piled on her head, her thick lashes spiked with water. Her breasts were full and soft, her tapered waist and slim hips a perfect fit for his hands, her lean, tanned legs seemed to go on forever.
If he were husband for real, instead of this insane arrangement they’d agreed to, he’d be in there with her right now, running his soapy, admiring hands over every inch of her gorgeous anatomy. But that wasn’t the way it was between them. And never would be.
He couldn’t help himself. It’d been this way for him from almost the very first time he’d seen her. Though, of course, he hadn’t quite realized what was going on for a while. Until it was way too late.
Today marked the first month anniversary of their wedding day. He wondered if Carey realized it. If she did, he doubted she would say anything. A month of wanting her—craving her so badly at times he felt as if his head was about to blow off. Damned distracting and annoying as hell. But he knew that if he’d been given the chance, he would never have chosen to miss out on meeting her.
At first Luke thought that as time passed it would get better. But it hadn’t. If anything, it had gotten worse. The past four weeks had felt more like a year.
Fantasizing about her—torturing himself those mornings when she beat him to the shower—didn’t help, either. The only thing these wild visions accomplished was to make him touchy and cross. With a groan of frustration, Luke flopped over onto his stomach and jammed the pillow under his chin.
If he’d ever guessed he would be cursed with this relentless, all-consuming hunger for this woman, he might have turned down their sham marriage in the first place.
But he’d been dazzled. Bewitched, maybe, like a poor dupe in one of the fairy stories he read to Tyler at bedtime. He remembered the first time he’d seen her, her wide hazel eyes peering at him through the rain, her lovely face—a beautiful apparition.
Then back at the house when he’d first found out about her trouble, with her tangled hair tumbling around her shoulders, her fancy outfit soaked to the skin, she’d looked more like the winner of a wet T-shirt contest than a bride on her wedding day.
She hadn’t said much about her father that day, just the bare bones of the problem. He still didn’t know the whole story. But he could tell she was hurting, and some mysterious button in his hard heart was irrevocably pushed by the sight of her forlorn expression and teary eyes.
Not that he didn’t have a truckload of his own problems—problems that kept him up nights until his mind was worn and weary, his head pounding. Problems Carey had no idea about.
The terms of Jonah Winslow’s will had required that Carey marry “a man of good character.” But somehow, Luke hadn’t heard about that bit of fine print until the marriage was signed, sealed and delivered. After reading all his glowing letters of reference, Carey had apparently not thought it necessary to question him point-blank about his virtues—or lack thereof.
The first he’d heard about it was right before the meeting with Herbert Grimsby, an attorney in town, who was the executor of Jonah’s estate. With the ink barely dry on their marriage certificate, he and Carey had driven into town in their Sunday best, looking for all the world like any other newly married couple out for a day off the ranch.
Luke recalled the moment Grimsby read the clause out loud and questioned them. While Luke’s jaw dropped open, Carey calmly produced the pile of reference letters. Mr. Grimsby leafed through them and then, with a thin smile, promised he would review the information and get back to them shortly.
Luke remembered, even now, leaving the office on shaky legs. During the drive back from town, Carey only questioned him once about his apparent distress, but he passed it off as a deep dislike of lawyers, which was in part true. She’d accepted his explanation and had not questioned him further in the days that followed, though he was even more cross and touchy than usual as he sweated out Mr. Grimsby’s research.
Miraculously, Grimsby had not discovered any reason to dispute Luke’s claims of a being an up-standing citizen, and the attorney set the wheels in motion for Carey to receive her inheritance.
When she heard the good news, Carey ran out to the stable to tell him. The radiant look on her face made him want to wrap his arms around her and swing her feet right off the ground. But somehow he managed to stifle the impulse and turn back to the horse he’d been grooming.
The relief that swept through him at her words nearly knocked him off his feet. Thankfully, they’d dodged that bullet. But how long would his luck hold out?
More than a few times he’d considered leveling with Carey, telling her about his ex-wife, Emily, and his real relationship to Tyler. Telling her how he’d stood by for years, knowing his son was ignored and neglected, but unable to do a thing about it. Until finally one night he came to visit them unexpectedly and found himself in every divorced father’s nightmare.
No matter what the law said, Luke believed he had no choice but to take his son. “Rescuing Tyler,” was the way he thought about it.
But the law had another name for it. They called it kidnapping.
So now he was hiding out on this ranch, trying to buy some precious time while he and Emily worked out a deal. But could he tell Carey? In the days since he’d started living and working here, he’d come to see that she was a smart woman, reasonable and fair-minded. He respected that about her.
But no, he couldn’t risk it. What if she didn’t understand? She might lose her entire inheritance if the truth about his circumstance ever came to light. And more important, he couldn’t risk losing Tyler again. Not when he was getting so close to reaching an agreement with Emily.
As if he could trust anything his ex-wife said. Emily was always changing her story, upping the stakes. Just when he thought he could deliver what she wanted and be done
with her, she wanted more.
But he had to assume she’d stick to the figure she’d named this time. It was sure as hell high enough. He’d already sent her most of the money Carey had so far paid him. He only hoped that, despite her threats, she didn’t have the police after him. During their last phone call, he’d asked her straight out, but she wouldn’t put him at ease, of course. Still, she wasn’t stupid. If he was locked in a jail cell somewhere, she knew she’d never get what she wanted, he reminded himself.
All she wanted—all she’d ever wanted—was money. Marrying Carey was going to give Luke the money he needed to buy off his ex-wife and gain custody of their son.
This was his goal and the only reason he’d agreed to Carey’s strange proposal. The money she would pay him in a few months’ time would make all his problems go up in smoke. This deal was an unbelievable blessing, a bolt from the blue. It had convinced Luke that, despite everything, maybe somebody up there was on his side, watching out for him and his boy.
Sometimes he imagined making a new start with Carey, on this ranch. Whispering Oaks was a nice chunk of land, the kind of place he’d always dreamed of having for himself someday. And despite all Carey’s claims of being a city girl, she handled a horse as if she’d been born to it and shoved around the stock as well as any experienced hand. She wasn’t afraid of hard, gritty work; he’d have sworn that these past weeks, she’d developed some sexy, new muscles to show for it.
He imagined her as his partner, his friend. How they would work together to build this place up again. Every day, they’d work side by side. And every night, they’d share the same bed. They’d have a real marriage, the kind of loving partnership his folks had shared. She’d be a good mother to Tyler, too, he could tell. She’d already won the boy over with her warm ways and spirited personality.
She even wanted to teach Tyler to ride, though Luke had only begrudgingly given his permission. Tyler was so young, barely more than a baby, Luke thought, and he’d never been around animals larger than a hamster before. But Carey had pleaded the kid’s case and so, he’d given in to them.
Then he shook his head. For all her apparent attachment to Tyler, it didn’t mean anything. She was fixing this place up for a quick sale. She preferred California—shopping malls and wine bars—to the open range and mending fences. Maybe she even had a guy out there, Luke speculated. He had to admit that she had never said otherwise. Lord, he was a fool to waste his time with these silly pipe dreams. He couldn’t get too attached. No, he had to keep her at a safe distance.
Haven’t you learned anything about women by now? he cussed himself. No matter how nice they looked or how sweet they acted, women were trouble.
Carey wasn’t the heartless type, like Emily. She had a warm heart and seemed to be a soft touch at times, he thought. But wasn’t money her main motive here, as well? For pity’s sake, the woman was willing to marry a complete stranger for the deed to this land. He didn’t need another money-hungry female in his life, that was for sure. For all her charms—obvious and not so obvious—Carey Winslow seemed to fall into that contemptible category.
The realization had the same effect on Luke as a brisk, cold shower. He sighed and flipped the covers back, swinging his legs to the floor as he sat up. The water had stopped running. Carey was out of the shower. He would wait a few moments until he heard her pass his door and go into her own bedroom. He would not risk another half-clothed encounter in the hallway. He had willpower, but he wasn’t superhuman.
The small clock that sat on top of the high wooden chest read six-thirty. Early-morning light filtered into the room through drawn curtains.
He smoothed back his sleep-tousled hair and ran his hand over his stubbly chin. Every morning when he woke up he schooled himself to put on his mask—the cold, impassive face he wore around Carey, and today was no different. Still, every day the act grew harder and harder.
After grabbing a mug of coffee and some toast in the kitchen, Luke went outside. He spotted Carey with Tyler in an empty corral in front of the barn. Carey was cinching the saddle buckle on a small, spotted mare called Sweetheart. Couldn’t she have started Tyler on a pony, Luke wondered.
His boy sat up on the fence in rapt attention, concentrating on Carey’s every word of instruction. Overnight, it seemed, Tyler had lost the look of a city kid. Luke marveled at the change. Along with his jeans and Western-style shirt, he even wore a small, straw cowboy hat pushed back on his head, a gift from Tyler’s newest hero and surrogate grandpa, Willie Jackson.
Despite Luke’s initial concern, Tyler wasn’t lonely at all living on the ranch and had a steady supply of lively playmates in the Jacksons’ grandchildren, who were dropped off at the ranch by their various parents for baby-sitting almost daily. No doubt in Luke’s mind—so far this summer had done Tyler a world of good. His son looked happy and healthy, and though he missed Emily from time to time, Luke’s company was still enough of a novelty to make up for her absence.
Carey looked good, too. Too good for his peace of mind, that was for sure. Her long, lovely hair was twisted into a braid that trailed down her back. Her butter-yellow T-shirt was a bit too tight, he thought, to wear around here, with all these hands gawking at her. His gaze glided over her full breasts and tapered waist, then back up to the lavender bandanna she’d loosely tied at her throat. Handy during the hot workday, he knew, but adding a feminine touch to her rugged attire.
He sighed. He was dying to get his hands on her.
Luke took a long gulp of coffee, which did little to cool his rising temperature. He watched as Tyler hopped off the fence and approached the mare. Carey was instructing him on the proper way to mount, and Luke felt his nerves kick in. He strode toward them and called out a greeting.
Carey looked up, and Tyler called out to him, “Hey, Luke, want to watch me ride Sweetheart?”
“Uh…sure, pal.” Luke stood next to the corral fence, his hands thrust in his rear pockets. It wouldn’t do to undermine the boy’s confidence, make him scared of horses. Yet, Luke’s fatherly heart lodged in his throat as he watched his son step into Carey’s hands for a boost and then fling himself up on the saddle. Tyler suddenly looked so small, and Sweetheart, a small, gentle horse by any standards, looked so large and powerful.
Now Carey was handing Tyler the reins, putting his hands in the correct position.
“You’ve got a good tight grip on the bridle, don’t you, Carey?” Luke pressed himself against the fence, willing her to meet his gaze. “I don’t want that horse to spook and run away with him.”
Carey laughed. “The barn could explode and it wouldn’t spook Sweetheart.”
Tyler laughed, too. Sweetheart snorted and tossed her head, as if insulted.
“I’ll take it from here,” Luke said, hopping lithely over the railing.
Carey’s eyes widened. She looked miffed, he noticed with a pang. Still, he did not hesitate to take the leather tether that served as the horse’s lead and pulled it up short in his hand.
“You all right up there, Ty?” Luke asked his son. He quickly checked the fit of the boy’s feet in the stirrups. “You don’t have to ride today, you know, if you feel nervous. You can just get used to the feel of sitting in the saddle for a while and then come down.”
“Let’s get going,” Tyler said eagerly. “Sweetheart needs her exercise,” he added, his words sounding exactly like something Carey would say, Luke thought.
Carey’s mouth twisted in a barely suppressed grin as she lounged back on the railing. The breeze lifted a few strands of her hair, and the sunlight sparkled in her hazel eyes. Tiger eyes, Luke called them secretly. Had a lovelier woman ever waltzed into his life? If one had, her face was forgotten to him now, eclipsed by Carey’s.
“Luke? What are you waiting for?” Tyler’s voice brought him back to the problem at hand, and he checked the cinch on the saddle one more time.
“We’ll just circle the corral once or twice, nice and easy,” he told Tyler as he began to
lead the horse in a turtle-slow pace. “I don’t want you getting saddle sore.”
“Saddle sore?” Carey asked incredulously. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her expression challenging. But when Luke met her gaze with a steely look, she simply shook her head and turned away.
“Leave Sweetheart saddled when you’re done. I’m going to give her a little workout,” she said as she headed toward the barn. “She’s getting too flabby.”
Luke ended up taking Tyler around the circle several times, but wouldn’t give in to the boy’s entreaties to let go of the lead and let him handle Sweetheart with just the reins. To Luke’s relief, Tyler’s favorite playmate, Ophelia’s five-year-old grandson, Peter, appeared at the back door with his grandmother.
“Tyler? Peter’s here,” Ophelia called out.
One hand gripping the saddle horn, Tyler waved to his friend. But his interest in riding Sweetheart didn’t last much longer than it took for Peter to race over to the corral fence and admire Tyler on horseback.
“I have my own horse. He’s a lot bigger than Sweetheart. His name is Bandit,” Peter bragged.
While Luke hated to see his boy humbled, he was relieved to see him dismount. As the two boys ran off toward the barn, Carey reappeared.
He led Sweetheart over to where she stood, and secured the lead to the fence.
“I know I have no right to tell you what’s best for Tyler, but believe me, shielding him too much is a mistake.”
“You were right the first time. You’ve no right to say,” he answered curtly.
Carey’s eyes narrowed. She was clearly stung by his rebuke. But instead of backing off, she held her ground. “Sorry if you don’t like hearing the truth,” she said tightly. “But there’s a difference between keeping him safe and smothering his spirit.”
Her last barb hit home. Luke felt the blood pound in his head. “What would you know? You’re not a parent.”
She stared at him, her head cocked to one side. “Neither are you—last I heard.” Her eyes narrowed in a questioning glance.
