Hitched by Christmas

by Jule McBride

  Luke hadn’t, and now he told himself he hadn’t asked out of personal curiosity, but only as an interview tactic to put Claire at ease, so she’d offer more information. Not that Luke had any intention of looking for Clive, but he was sure Claire was withholding something. “And you tried to call Clive today?”

  She nodded. “He canceled his meetings.”

  “You say nobody else knows he’s gone?”

  Shaking her head, Claire anxiously toyed with her braid, pulling it in front. The movement shouldn’t have called his attention to her chest, but it did. She didn’t have much of one. She was small-breasted, slender and leggy. Catching the tenor of his deeper thoughts, Luke suddenly frowned, repositioned the toothpick in his mouth and trained his mind back on the conversation. “Do you always check up on Clive like this?”

  “I’m checking up on him because I’m worried!” she defended.

  “You don’t look all that worried, Claire.”

  “Well, I am. And...yesterday, I thought I saw Clive in town. Right in Lightning Creek.”

  Luke was starting to feel torn. There might be trouble in paradise, but he wasn’t chasing all over town, searching for Clive Stoddard. Suddenly, his frown deepened. Luke didn’t want to hurt her feelings by offering the suggestion, but he had no choice. “Do you think Clive’s having an affair?”

  Her eyes widened. “Affair?”

  “You know, is he sleeping around?” He wasn’t sure which made him feel testier—the idea of Clive hurting Claire because he was fooling around, or imagining Clive fooling around with Claire.

  “I know what it means to have an affair.”

  “I bet you know a lot of things,” he couldn’t help but say, his eyes smoldering as he thought of the things she’d probably shared with Clive. “Well, is he?”

  “Why the third degree?”

  It was her refusal to answer that convinced him she thought Clive was two-timing her. Luke saw red.

  Claire was watching him carefully. Her voice was touched by concern. “Luke?”

  “If you want me to help, I’ve got to ask questions.” Trouble was, he was both curious about her relationship with Clive and angered by the things he’d heard. Still, he was beginning to think Clive wouldn’t cheat. Since their engagement was announced, Luke had taken an interest in Clive’s activities, and the man was reputed to be honest and hard-working.

  Relief flooded Claire’s features. “You’re really going to help me?”

  Right now Luke felt pulled every which way but loose. He knew he needed to steer clear of Claire. She could turn things around on a dime; already he felt unaccountably guilty for not doing more for her. “Sorry,” he forced himself to say, “I’m real busy, what with Christmas and all.”

  She sent a dubious glance toward the Santa outfit.

  He sighed. “Some of us have to work for a living,” he reminded. In fact, he was supposed to inoculate some cattle at Cross Creek later.

  “I work,” Claire defended.

  “But you don’t have to.”

  For a second, he thought she’d react. Dark emotion flashed in her eyes, but then it disappeared. “Well, I understand you’re busy,” she continued diplomatically. “But do you have to...uh...be Santa this afternoon?”

  Luke shook his head. “Another guy comes on after lunch. The security guard here asked me to do this because a group of teenagers have been snatching purses. Now that they’ve got one of them, he’ll probably turn in his buddies.”

  “You were so good with those little kids....”

  “Watch it, Claire,” Luke warned. “Flattery won’t work on me.”

  “It’s not flattery. It’s the truth.”

  Biting back a sigh, Luke refrained from pointing out that he’d had lots of experience with kids. At Lost Springs, there’d always been younger boys who couldn’t tie their shoes or do their homework, and Luke had helped them out when he could. Dealing with kids was second nature.

  Unwanted emotion suddenly made his gut constrict. Every time Claire crossed his path, she fueled his fantasies. It had taken months to get last summer’s kiss out of his system. Luke had women friends, of course, but nothing special, and he’d always known making love with Claire would be different. Even though she was engaged, he was still looking at her and wondering what it would be like to start a family. He was good with kids. Still, he had to consider the morning he’d been left on the porch at Lost Springs, with nothing but a blue-and-white-checkered blanket to keep him warm. Had his mother or father—whoever left him there—known in advance they were going to abandon him? Maybe they’d once wanted kids, too.

  Wanted me.

  Not that it mattered now. The point was that people never knew themselves until they were tested, Luke included.

  “You owe me, Luke,” Claire said again.

  As she stepped toward him, Luke suddenly wondered if he wouldn’t be doing himself a serious favor by helping her. Rumor had it that Clive Stoddard was a fine, upstanding man, not the type to carry on with women. Besides, Luke thought, as his eyes drifted over Claire, no man in his sane mind would choose another over Claire. And how hard could it be to find a guy in Lightning Creek, Wyoming, anyway? If you blinked as you drove through, you’d miss the place. Clive had probably rearranged his schedule due to the holidays. And the sooner Claire found Clive, the sooner she’d be married off, and out of Luke’s blood forever.

  As she looked at him, Claire tilted her chin more than she needed to, seemingly for the express purpose of making him feel ten feet tall. Luke’s remaining resistance weakened. “Well,” he said, “I never did come out to your ranch, to do those chores after the bachelor auction.”

  “And it’s Christmas,” she put in quickly.

  “You’ve roused the spirit of giving within me,” he said dryly. “So, why don’t we go out by the Christmas tree and get a cup of coffee? You can tell me where to start.”

  Claire’s voice caught with relief. “Have I ever mentioned that you’re my personal Santa, Luke?”

  Lifting his shearling jacket from the back of the door, he waved Claire across the threshold. “Nope.”

  She sighed. “Well, right now you are.”

  Capturing the toothpick between his teeth, Luke rolled it onto his tongue. “Thanks, darlin’. But after this, can’t we just call it even?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “I CAN’T HEAR,” Claire whispered in protest.

  “I’m on hold, anyway. And you’re not even supposed to be here,” Luke whispered back, his hand curling around the phone’s mouthpiece, covering it just in case Wesley came on the line again. He glanced around the unfinished kitchen of the house Claire would soon share with Clive. Dropping Claire’s Jeep at her folks and driving out to the Lazy Four had seemed like the next right step after leaving the mall, but now this whole place was making Luke feel out of sorts. Every time he looked at Claire, he wound up thinking back to the way they’d kissed last summer, and despite all the snow outside, he could still feel the sultry heat from that night and recall how the wet warmth of Claire’s mouth had affected him. Putting a fresh toothpick between his lips, he wiggled it under his tongue.

  “Luke.” Claire released an audible sigh. “What do you mean I’m not supposed to be here?”

  “I’m a hired gun, remember?” he returned, trying not to react to her voice, which was so soft a man could float on it. “We walk alone.”

  Leaning against the counter beside him, Claire tilted her head in a way that drew his gaze down the long curve of her neck. Her shadowy blue eyes looked dubious. “First, you’re not charging me,” she returned petulantly. “Which means you haven’t been hired. And second, you’re doing this because you still owe me from the bachelor auction. Besides, you don’t even carry a gun.”

  “Wrong. There’s a Colt Pony Pocketlite
in my boot.” The .380 was so small Luke could hide it in his hand. But Claire was right about one thing. He’d never take her money. Especially not for something so simple as finding a missing fiancé. Even now, after years of supporting himself, accepting Buchanan money would have felt like taking charity. Unwanted memories came to mind of the open cardboard boxes of canned goods, used clothes and toys that folks always dropped at the Lost Springs ranch during the holidays. Like all the boys, Luke had been grateful for the donations, but they’d also served as a sore reminder of his station in life.

  “C’mon.” Claire’s soft pout of a mouth pursed in a way he wanted to take as a dare. “It’s my house, Luke.”

  That it is, he agreed. Giving up, he tilted the phone so she could listen when Wesley returned. Luke had been trying to keep her at arm’s length, and now, as Claire leaned beside him, he caught a scent of fancy shampoo that made him want to nuzzle her. At least there was solace in the fact that Claire and Clive’s new A-frame looked so uninhabited. The main house at the Lazy Four had Christmas candles in every window, and huge crossed candy canes hung above the entrance gate, but there were no such decorations in here. Drywall and studs were visible in the kitchen, sawdust clung to Luke’s boots, and the new furniture in the living room still had plastic wrapped around it. Claire, who didn’t have a prissy bone in her body, seemed blissfully oblivious to the mess.

  Luke glanced outside. It wasn’t yet five o’clock, but it was already dark, and light from the uncovered overhead light fixtures cast reflections in the darkened windows. Staring into an uncurtained picture window that faced a deck and the back of the lot, he took in Claire’s tall, slender body. It was definitely a turn-on. His eyes settled where her tight jeans hugged a gorgeous rounded tush. The phone clicked back on. “Luke?”

  “Yeah, Wesley,” said Luke, picturing his stocky, redheaded friend. “So, you say Clive Stoddard came to the police barracks and told you all this?” Luke prompted. He’d already found Clive’s well-worn calendar book and confirmed the cancellation of his appointments, then, against Claire’s protests, Luke had called Sheriff Hatcher’s office and the state police barracks to make some casual inquiries.

  “Yeah,” said Wesley. “Like to say, yesterday a feller by that name walks into our barracks. Looks like he’s got a bone to pick. Says he wonders if we can’t send some boys to interview folks at a coupla mom-and-pop ranches around Lightning Creek.”

  “You mean like the one I work out at Cross Creek?”

  “Naw, Lydell. That’d be a big spread by comparison. I’m talkin’ little. Places that are really just farms, like Gomer’s Hole or the Flying Swords.”

  “Never heard of ’em.”

  As Wesley continued offering names, Luke shoved the phone under his jaw, dug a notebook from his shirt pocket, flipped it open and began writing. “Uh-huh. The Triple T. And you say North Fork’s owned by a fellow named Elmer Green?” Realizing Claire’s luscious blue eyes were bugging, Luke tilted the phone toward her again. As she leaned to listen, he felt the casual brush of her silken skin by his temple. Shifting his eyes from her profile, he continued, “Is that all the ranches he mentioned?”

  “Yeah. Swears up and down that somebody’s been forcing people to consider selling land. Suspects that’s why there’s been more than the average number of tragedies this year—barn fires and the like. Says he questioned some folks personally, and found out they’ve gotten serious about selling. Turns out some of those places I mentioned have already been sold.”

  Luke realized he was studying Claire again. “Nothing wrong with selling land.”

  “Yeah, but Stoddard claims folks are being run off.”

  “He say who’s behind it?”

  “He didn’t have a clue, but he was mad. Says the next thing you know, they’ll be targeting bigger spreads.”

  “Places like his,” Luke muttered, then felt taken aback by the unexpected venom he’d felt toward the man. Berating himself, Luke shook his head. Clive was going to make Claire happy, so there was no call for jealousy. Still, it grated that Clive had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and that in addition to getting the most desirable woman in Lightning Creek, he was heir to a spread the size of the Lazy Four. “What?” Luke suddenly said, realizing he’d experienced an uncharacteristic lapse of attention.

  “Turns out Stoddard had a barn fire himself last year. Anyway, I’d never heard of Clive Stoddard ’fore yesterday. As you know, Sheriff Hatcher handles Lightning Creek, so we State boys tend to stick to our own side of the road. Like to say, I even thought the man might just be paranoid. I mean, he looked rich as sin...good vest and boots, you know what I mean?”

  Luke’s eyes darted around the house Clive was building for Claire, then his eyes settled on the glittering rock on her ring finger. “Sure do. He’s the real thing. He’s got money.”

  “Well, like to say, thought he might just be paranoid. You know how loco those rich guys can get, especially when they think they’re about to lose a few of their inherited greenbacks.”

  “Yeah,” Luke managed to say, once more hating the twinge of resentment he felt. What was wrong with him? There were haves and have-nots in this world, and Luke had never cared that he wasn’t in the former group. Especially nowadays, since he did better than average financially. Catching Claire’s gaze, Luke twisted his lips into a smile. She smiled back, the comments about rich folks not seeming to disturb her in the least. “So, Wesley,” Luke continued, “what’d you tell Clive?”

  “That we’d call Sheriff Hatcher. I figured we’d go at the case jointly after the holidays.” Wesley sighed. “’Course, Stoddard was mad when we didn’t get right on it, but he said he understood. You know how it is. With the weather like this, and so many folks traveling to get home for the holidays, we’ve been instructed to concentrate on safety first. Ain’t nobody selling their property on Christmas Day, know what I mean?”

  “Yeah. Well, thanks, Wesley.” Luke distractedly worked the toothpick between his teeth while his eyes took in an open, airy loft space in the central room beyond. Seeing the open double doors that led to the master bedroom upstairs, his mood further soured, and his gaze returned to the picture window where Claire’s reflection was superimposed on the snowy night. “Oh, one more thing, Wesley.”

  “Shoot, partner.”

  “Mind running down this number?” Luke rattled off a number he’d seen on a matchbook cover in Clive’s home office. The office was the most-used room in the place, but even it was still a mess of unpacked boxes, scattered file folders and disconnected office equipment. Still, Clive would be organized under usual circumstances. He kept extensive home files on every head of cattle at the Lazy Four. He obviously had a love of computers, just as Claire had said, and duplicate records were in the ranch office on disks. “Really appreciate all the help, Wesley,” Luke said before he hung up the phone.

  Still leaning beside him, Claire frowned. “Do you think Clive went to interview some of those folks on his own, maybe hoping to help straighten out their troubles before Christmas? I mean, assuming somebody’s been trying to buy land?”

  Luke shrugged. “Possible.”

  Her frown deepened. “It’s just not like Clive, though. All he ever thinks about is ranching. And computers. He loves fooling around with them.”

  She sounded none too happy about that. Luke couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. Was there more difficulty than the seemingly inconsequential fight she’d mentioned? “Trouble in paradise?”

  She looked nervous. “Not really. I mean, we did have that fight...but he must be somewhere on business.”

  “He probably is.” That was better than thinking of Clive helping his fellow man while he, Luke, was in Clive’s house lusting after his woman. And that was what Luke was doing. Not that the way Claire looked gave him much choice. He glanced at Claire and sighed, then he pushed aside his shea
rling jacket and Stetson, both of which he’d laid on the newly sanded island countertop. He circled the island and perched on a stool.

  “Want something to drink?” Claire asked. “I’ve got no idea what’s here, but I figure I can find something.”

  “Sure.” Luke watched as she opened and shut various cabinets, all of which appeared to be empty. Picking up the thread of their earlier conversation, he said, “Even if Clive did question those folks, it doesn’t sound particularly dangerous, so I wouldn’t worry about him overmuch.”

  “Hmm.” Claire headed for some cardboard boxes that were open on the floor, squatted down and began rooting through them, making pots and pans rattle and clank. “But why would Clive stay in town without telling me?”

  Luke had no answer, unless Clive really was seeing another woman. “You’re probably right, Claire. So close to Christmas, he must have had trouble keeping his business appointments. Folks leave for the holidays, that kind of thing. There’re still people jotted on his calendar who we haven’t reached.” Lifting a hand, Luke took hold of the toothpick and thoughtfully rolled it between a thumb and index finger. “Is Clive usually accountable for his time?”

  Claire glanced up from the boxes, a saucepan in her hand, and blew out a quick, exasperated sigh. “Never. He won’t even carry a cell phone. If he’s working around the ranch, mending fences or riding, he hates to be disturbed. He gets really mad.”

  “Has he ever been gone overnight?”

  “Once or twice.” Shrugging, she turned to the boxes again, now lifting some coffee filters and peering beneath them. “Usually we eventually find him up in the barn with a sick calf.”

  A sick calf. It was getting harder by the minute to dislike Clive Stoddard.

  “Like I said on the way over,” Claire continued, “Clive’s got tons of friends in both Laramie and Cheyenne. I’ll give you their names and numbers. With the roads so bad, I guess he might have stopped, which would explain things. Usually I wouldn’t worry, but...”