Husband for Keeps

by Kate Little

  Luke looked down and kicked the dirt. “I’m responsible for him. And I take that responsibility seriously.”

  “Maybe a little too seriously?” she prodded him.

  “As I said before, that’s hardly your call, Carey.” He fixed her with his gaze. He felt a mixture of emotions churning within—anger, frustration, guilt. He tried to control his temper, but it was a losing battle. “And another thing, I don’t exactly recall giving my permission for him to start learning how to ride today.”

  “You didn’t?” she challenged him, her eyes narrowing.

  “Not that I remember.”

  “I must have misunderstood you, then. I thought last night, when we were all at dinner and I asked you—point-blank—about it you said it was okay,” she reminded him harshly. “Maybe I ought to have my hearing checked.”

  “Well, maybe I did say something like that. I don’t remember.” Luke ran his hand absently through his hair. “I just didn’t think you were going to start him off without checking with me again. And not on a real horse first thing. Don’t you have some sad old broken-down pony hanging around here? For Christmas sake, he looked like a little peanut sitting up there.”

  Carey laughed. “Sorry, no ponies. Broken down or otherwise.”

  “I just think he’s sort of young, is all. Heck, he’s not even five.”

  “Let me ask you something,” Carey said. She smiled up at him, and he felt himself grow considerably calmer, despite everything. “How old were you when you learned how to ride?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Luke shrugged. “About seven—” He glanced at Carey as she made a face of sheer disbelief. “Okay, six probably. Yeah, about six—” Again her expression mocked him.

  “Try about five? Tyler’s age?”

  “Okay, I guess I was about his age. But that was different. I grew up on a ranch. He’s never been around horses before. He has no idea how nasty and ill-tempered they can be.”

  “Well, he’ll have to learn pretty soon about that part, won’t he?” she offered. When he didn’t reply, she added, “Look, if you don’t want him on the horses, that’s your call. But don’t you think it’s better that one of us teaches him, rather than say…his buddy, Peter, giving him lessons behind your back? If Tyler really wants to ride, one way or another he’s going to figure out how.”

  Luke frowned, his mouth set in a hard, tight line. “I guess I see your point,” he said finally. “You can teach him, if you’d like.”

  “I would like to. Thanks. And I’ll make sure he wears his helmet, and I won’t let him take on too much too soon, and I’ll be sure to explain how horses are foul-tempered, nasty beasts sometimes,” she rattled off in a breath. “How does that sound?”

  “Just fine.” Luke finally smiled, and when his gaze met Carey’s he felt his heart lift and soar.

  She was a fighter, he had to hand her that. She dug in her heels when she wanted something. “So tell me, how do you know so much about kids?”

  “I don’t know anything about kids.” She hopped over the railing and unfastened Sweetheart’s lead. “But I think I know something about Tyler. We’re a lot alike,” she confided as she swung up into the saddle. “We don’t like anyone pinning back our wings.”

  “I’d never dare,” Luke silently promised. With one hand resting possessively on her leg, just above her knee, he stared up into her luminous eyes and felt himself drowning in her radiant loveliness. Going under for the last time and loving it.

  If she hadn’t managed to put a few hundred pounds of horseflesh between them just now, he knew he would have lost all self-control and pulled her into his arms.

  Ophelia’s voice, rising on a shrill note as she called out to Carey, made Luke turn toward the house.

  Tyler. An accident. The thought raced through his mind as a knot of dread tightened his gut. But no, Tyler and Peter were under the big elm near the back door, taking turns on the tire swing.

  “Burkett!” Ophelia called out, waving a dish towel in the air as if sounding the alarm in a fort about to be raided. “—just pulled up in front of the house.”

  His gaze shifted from Ophelia to Carey. He noticed her take a deep breath, her lightly tanned complexion growing considerably paler. Then, with her shapely lips set in that firm line of determination all too familiar to him by now, she swung her leg over Sweetheart’s rump and hopped off the horse to stand beside him.

  She was close. So close he could inhale the flowery scent of her shampoo and her sun-kissed skin. She gazed up at him with luminous golden eyes, and he felt himself leaning toward her, pulled by some unseen but powerful force.

  “Well, husband of mine,” she said softly. “Looks like it’s show time….”

  Five

  Carey gripped Luke’s hand as they entered the great room, where Ophelia had left Roger Burkett waiting. She felt a surge of confidence flow through her as she felt Luke gently squeeze her hand, his clasp solid and reassuring.

  Part of the show, she told herself. Newlyweds hold hands all the time, right?

  “Roger—” she greeted her cousin shortly. She didn’t add the perfunctory “how good to see you” business when they both knew that sentiment would be a lie. “May I present my husband, Luke Redstone?”

  “How d’ya do?” her cousin replied with a nod. Under the pressure of Luke’s cold stare, he finally removed his hat with a fumbling motion. “If that’s even your real name,” he added under his breath. “Where’d she ever find you, bud? Sittin’ on a bar stool, I’d bet, drinking up your payday. What’d she do, flash cash? A little skin…?”

  Luke’s expression grew stony. His eyes black with anger. Carey felt her heart clench. She’d seen him riled, even mad. But never like this. He looked about to tear her cousin’s head off.

  “I don’t give a damn who you are, mister. Nobody’s going to talk about my wife like that in front of me—”

  As Luke moved toward his target, his fists clenched, Carey hung on to his arm and pulled him back.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind she took a secret pleasure in hearing Luke call her his wife. But she didn’t have time to mull it over now.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered to him. “He’s just trying to get a rise out of you. Don’t let him get under your skin.”

  Luke took a hard swallow and backed off. Roger’s harsh laugh rang through the room. “Hey, for a minute there I thought you were going to haul off and hit me, big guy.”

  “I was. And I still might before this little family reunion is over,” he said grimly.

  Roger laughed again. “Family reunion. Good one. Hey, he’s muscle bound and tells jokes, too. You sure got a lot of value for your money, there, Carey. I might ask you to take over my bidding at the livestock auctions next spring.”

  Again Luke made a move toward her cousin, and Carey gripped his arm.

  Carey had not seen her cousin in years, and in appearance, at least, he hadn’t changed for the better. His small blue eyes looked even colder and beadier. He’d gone bald on top and now sported a dark-red toupee that didn’t do much to improve his looks. His face, which had always been round and boyish, was now soft and jowly. His middle had expanded, a generous portion of belly sticking out of his brown-suede vest and overlapping his belt.

  His expensive Western wear and custom-made boots and the long, black luxury sedan parked in front of her house told the rest of his story. Roger was no working rancher. His hands bore only a single callus, she suspected, caused by pushing a pencil to add up his net worth. Or maybe he even paid somebody to do that for him. With all he already possessed, she couldn’t quite understand what drove him to go after her land. Simple greed, she guessed. And maybe that was how people like Roger got rich in the first place.

  “Sorry we couldn’t invite you to the wedding, Roger,” Carey taunted him. “We did get some nice photos, though. Care to see our album?” she asked as bright and self-absorbed as any new bride.

  She noticed Luke wince, and wondered if she w
as pouring it on a little too thick. Then she realized she’d been unconsciously squeezing his fingers with tension. She picked up the little silver-plated album off the bookcase and held it out to her cousin.

  “You think I’d waste a minute looking at those phony photographs of your sham nuptials?”

  Roger appeared on the verge of spitting on her wedding album, Carey thought. But far from being frightened by him, she nearly laughed with pleasure at his distress.

  “So, you got yourself married just in the nick of time. Think you’re pretty damn clever, don’t you? Well, let me tell you something, big Hollywood star. I’m going to find a way to break that will if it’s the last thing I do. And I can afford the army of lawyers it will take to do it, too. You know your father meant to leave this place to me. He never meant that marriage clause seriously. Can’t you see?” he asked with a harsh laugh. “It was his way of having a last little joke with you, dearie.”

  “Well, I guess the joke’s on him, then,” Luke interrupted smoothly, “because we are well and truly married, Mr. Burkett. And in keeping with the terms of Jonah Winslow’s will. The documents are on file at the county clerk’s office or you can check with Grimbsy, the executor.”

  Luke freed himself from Carey’s hold and moved closer to Roger with every word he spoke. Carey watched as Roger slowly but surely backed toward the door.

  Finally he stood in the doorway facing Luke, who had now taken a protective position between their adversary and Carey. Luke smoothly leaned over and plucked Burkett’s black Stetson off an armchair.

  “Your hat, Mr. Burkett.”

  Roger snatched up the hat and planted it on his head, his face red with fury as he peered at Carey over Luke’s broad shoulder. “Fine. But you’re living in a dreamland if you think this is over. It’s not over, Carey,” he warned her. “Not by a long shot. And as for you,” he nearly spat the words into Luke’s face, his expression crude and ugly, “I hope you’re gettin’ some, buddy, for all your trouble. I bet she’s damn good in the sack, too….”

  Carey saw Luke’s arm fold back, then release like a powerful spring, his balled fist meeting Roger Burkett’s face with a loud thud. Roger’s head went back and then bobbed forward, his hat flying off into the air, his toupee flopping to one side.

  Amazed, Roger touched his hand to his lip, which was bloody and starting to puff up. “Why you no-account lout!” he screamed at Luke. He pulled out a hanky and dabbed at his injury. “I’ll have you arrested for assault and battery!”

  “Oh, you will, huh?” Luke’s tone was low and menacing as he took slow, sure steps toward him. “Here, hold this,” Luke suggested as he rescued the toupee from the sliding to the floor. Unthinkingly, Roger took the wig in his hand but before he could back away, Luke grabbed his collar and lifted the man up on his feet with one hand.

  Roger balanced on the steel toes of his multi-colored custom-made boots, doing a mincing little dance as he tried futilely to push Luke away. He made some attempt to speak, but all that came out were sputtering, choking sounds.

  “Now, if you’re really going to have me arrested, Mr. Burkett, the way I see it, I might as well finish the job…” Luke confided, balling his fist and cocking back his arm again.

  “No, please…” Roger whined. He lifted his hands to his face. “I just had my teeth done. It cost a fortune…” he babbled. “I won’t call anybody. Honest. Just let me go….”

  Luke released him and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. Stuttering and cursing under his breath, he scuttled out the door, then turned. “My hat!” he squawked, pointing to the expensive Stetson on the floor near Luke’s feet.

  “No problem.” Luke smiled graciously and kicked it out the door.

  Moments later they heard the sound of Roger’s big car starting up with a roar, then sand and pebbles flying out from under the wheels as he flew out the driveway.

  Finally Carey turned to Luke, her arms crossed over her chest. “Well, is that any way to treat my relations?” she teased.

  “I couldn’t let that piece of garbage talk to you like that.” Still fired up, Luke paced from side to side, shaking his head in disgust. Obviously he didn’t realize she’d been joking with him.

  “Well, at least you spared his toupee. That was considerate of you.”

  He saw her smile, and his expression lightened. “I believe in a clean fight. Picking a poor defenseless hairpiece is definitely bullying in my book. By the way, do they all have such hard heads in your family?” he asked rubbing his knuckles. “I think I broke a finger.”

  She gently took his hand in her own. His knuckle was swollen, she discovered, tracing it with her forefinger. But probably not broken. “You ought to put ice on that,” she said seriously.

  Then she looked up into his eyes. Dark eyes that were devouring her.

  “Keep stroking my hand like that and I’ll need to put an ice pack on something,” he murmured. His deep voice sent electric ripples of heat racing through her.

  She tried to laugh, but couldn’t. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched his head move closer and felt his free hand rest heavily at her waist, drawing her closer, until they stood, hip to hip.

  He was going to kiss her again.

  Now.

  Finally.

  And she was going to let him. Gladly.

  His lips met hers, warm and persuasive at first, questioning and receiving her unspoken answer. With a deep sigh of surrender, Carey wrapped her arms around Luke’s broad shoulders, her slim body pressed against his hard length as she opened her mouth under his enticing assault. Their tongues merged and twined in a hot, wet dance of desire, creating an ache of longing within her, powerful and even painful in its intensity—a yearning emptiness that could only be satisfied by a real and complete union with the man who drew her to him now, body and soul, so effortlessly in his strong arms.

  Carey may have made some sound, some sigh, some mindless murmur of satisfaction as the kiss deepened further. She heard Luke’s answering groan of desire and felt his strong hands, first in her hair, then moving down her body in a slow caress, molding, exploring her.

  He sighed against her lips—a deep, thrilling sound—communicating a heady message of admiration and pure pleasure. Lost in a steaming whirlpool of sensations, Carey was only vaguely aware as his hands finally came to rest on her slim hips, then slid across her bottom. Suddenly she was shocked into awareness as he lifted her up against him, his mouth moving hungrily against her own as she felt the hard, throbbing evidence of his arousal.

  He pulled his head back, his chest rising against hers as he dragged in a deep breath of air. “I want you so much,” he whispered huskily against her hair. “So damn much. Sometimes I think I’ll just lose my mind with wanting you,” he admitted quietly. “What in blazes did you do to me?”

  Surprised at his question, Carey finally lifted her head to gaze into his eyes—eyes that drowned her in a dark pool of his longing.

  Carey had known her fair share of romance and of intimate encounters with the opposite sex. She certainly knew she was attractive. But no man had ever looked at her like that before—a look that stole her breath away and made her heart stop beating, that promised her the world and more, whisking aside her every doubt, her every question.

  “What did I do to you?” she echoed, her hips still snugly fitted against him. If he didn’t let go of her very soon, she was going to melt in a puddle right here in the middle of the foyer.

  Carey heard the kitchen door at the end of the hall swing open. “Did that blasted Burkett leave yet?” Ophelia called out to them. Carey swiftly broke away from Luke, but she knew Ophelia must have seen something.

  “Oh—excuse me, folks,” the older woman said as she backtracked into the kitchen. “Didn’t mean to interrupt if you were still…talking.”

  Carey pushed her tousled hair back with a shaky hand, then finally turned to face Luke. He looked as dazed and off balance as she felt, which gave her some small, secret satisfa
ction. At least she wasn’t lost in the deep wilderness of desire all alone.

  “I…” His mouth hung open a moment, his gaze fixed on her as if hypnotized. Seconds later he snapped to his senses and the impassive, stony mask she’d come to know so well dropped over his handsome features. “I need to get to work now,” he said shortly.

  As if this little interlude had been all her idea! she silently huffed. “Me, too,” Carey agreed sharply. And so saying, she turned on her heel and pounded up the stairs.

  Before she’d even reached the first landing, she heard the screen door slam behind Luke and his booted feet stomp across the porch as he left the house.

  In the bathroom Carey splashed cold water on her face and checked her appearance in the mirror.

  Ravaged. That was the only word that came to mind. And not looking entirely unhappy about it, either, she had to admit to herself.

  Her neat braid had come undone in all directions and what remained of it now hung in a hopeless tangle down her back. Her cheeks were red, her lips swollen, her eyes still looking stunned and unnaturally bright. Her T-shirt had come loose from the waistband of her jeans, and her sassy bandanna was all turned around.

  And that was just from a mere kiss, she reminded herself with a grim note of warning.

  Carey quickly set herself to rights, despite knowing that Ophelia would guess everything anyway by merely glancing at her. Men were better at hiding at these things, she decided. Luke could put on that grim face and work out his frustrations on some stubborn steer that wouldn’t hold still for tagging.

  She needed to get out and work today, too—to exercise her muscles until her mind went blank. There was more than enough to do on the place before it would be ready to sell. She only hoped Roger would finally give up on breaking her father’s will. He had mocked her marriage mercilessly, yet Carey wondered if he would now accept that the game was over—and she had won.

  Still, a more pessimistic voice echoed Roger’s own threat, “You think this over? It’s not over, Carey. Believe me, it’s not over.”