by Jule McBride
For the first time, she sounded scared. “Do you really think Clive’s in there?”
Luke sighed again, still wishing she was safely back at the Lazy Four. “Beginning to think you shouldn’t have come?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m fine.”
“You insisted on coming.”
Her eyes shifted to the shack, and some of the fight went out of her. “That was before I saw the place,” she admitted, nervously tugging the braid out from the collar of her parka. “Shouldn’t we wait for Wesley? Luke, it’s really isolated out here.”
She had a point. Heavy snowfall had made the first road they’d tried impassable, and the drive here was longer than Luke had anticipated. The sun had slipped lower behind clouds, turning the sky gray, and on the radio, the D.J. had announced they were in for more snow. Luke squinted into the weak light, his eyes trailing over three barely discernible sets of footprints that led from the red truck to the shack, then he turned toward Claire, feeling torn up over her relationship with Clive. Why couldn’t she have been involved with any other man on earth? As confused as he felt, Luke couldn’t stop his voice from growing husky with concern. “You going to be okay here, darlin’?”
Her eyes widened in protest. “I’m coming with you.”
“No way,” he said simply, his chest constricting with sudden tension. He’d had it with her willingness to put herself in danger. He’d had it with lying awake burning with aching physical need for her, too, and with possessing every last inch of her last night, only to feel as if he had to take it slower with her now because of Clive.
“Look,” he said sighing, stepping closer.
“I’m looking,” she returned, stepping back and looking luscious when she leaned against a tree trunk.
“I tried calling you this morning,” Luke continued, edging nearer. “And I wanted to talk on the way over here, but I’m not sure what to say. Claire, I want to be with you. If marriage is what you want, I thought I was ready. That’s why I was looking for you, to tell you. I can’t stand the thought of losing you. But now...what if Clive’s my brother? Can’t we take this slow?” The more Luke had sat with the feelings, the more last night seemed like a revelation. It was only the beginning of what he and Claire could be together. Still, he knew he wasn’t offering much more than he’d said this morning.
Her eyes were crystal clear as they gazed into his. “I know things have changed now, but my feelings haven’t since the summer we were together in high school. I know Clive’s your brother, Luke—he’s got to be—but...”
He nodded, knowing she was ready for a sign of commitment from him, one he couldn’t give until he’d figured out what to do. Lifting a dark, ungloved hand to her cheek, he brushed a thumb across her cold, silken lips. She looked as if she were freezing. “C’mon. Your teeth are chattering and your lips are turning blue,” he said. “And since Clive might be in trouble, I’m not going to wait for Wesley. So, why don’t you get back in the Jeep and get warm?”
She shook her head. “I’ll wait right here.”
“Do me a favor and stay put, then,” Luke warned.
Her eyes suddenly looked so trusting that all his heartstrings pulled. He just wished he wasn’t so scared something might happen to her. At least her parka was white. It blended with the snow, just the way his Jeep blended with the green of the trees. Suddenly, he could no longer fight his urges, and he lightly pressed his mouth to hers.
“Luke,” she whispered as he drew away.
“Stay warm when I’m gone,” he said gruffly.
“Hurry back.”
“I will,” he promised.
And then he turned, edging around the ring of trees that circled the clearing, intending to approach the shack from the back. Moving soundlessly behind snow-heavy pines, he surveyed the place, his eyes as sharp as a hawk’s. Strange time to notice, he thought, but it was beautiful out here. Despite the gray, cloudy sky, the clearing and surrounding evergreens looked quiet and peaceful.
Moments later, Luke crept behind the shack. After discerning there was a back door, he edged to the side of the building. He glanced toward the Jeep, his eyes scanning the trees. Claire was gone. Dammit. He should have known she was lying about staying put. Biting back a testy sigh, he crouched down, planted a hand on the top of his hat to keep the wind from blowing it off, and moved toward the shack’s side window, wincing every time his boots crunched in the snow.
When he reached the window, he blew out a surreptitious breath, then gingerly raised himself and peeked inside. Sure enough, Clive was in there. My brother, Luke thought, new emotion pulling at him. Unfortunately, the situation wasn’t good. Clive was sitting upright in a hard-backed chair, his hands bound behind his back with rope. Ham and Jack were both armed and pacing the room. Jack’s navy parka was slung on the seat of another chair, and his shoulder holster was visible against the plaid flannel shirt he wore. Ham, rifle in hand, was talking to Clive. Knowing he had to pay attention, Luke tried to push away thoughts of Claire. But it was hard. Ever since he watched her drive away this morning, he’d been trying to find her, to tell her he loved her. He wanted to let her know he’d do anything rather than lose her. But this could cause a rift with his father and brothers, and so Luke just kept going over it in his mind, the whole thing ripping him to shreds. He sighed. At least Wesley hadn’t mentioned the woman from the drugstore while Claire was within earshot. It was too soon to tell if Clive had been visiting the woman and why, and Luke wanted to protect Claire in any way he could. Shaking his head, as if to clear it of the unwanted thoughts, he turned his attention back to the window—only to find that the lapse of attention had left him vulnerable.
Jack had whirled around. The man squinted, pointing at Luke. “Ham! It’s the guy from the stables! He’s out there.”
Ham didn’t waste a second. Swinging his rifle to his shoulder, he aimed and fired. Just as the window glass shattered, a figure lunged from nowhere, flying through the air and knocking Luke to the side. “Claire,” he gasped, as a bullet hissed, hitting the ground near them. “Run.”
She ran.
Luke scrambled up just as Ham’s thick, muscle-bound body swung around the side of the building. He must have come from the back door, and his heavily bearded face was a mask of fury as he raised the rifle, pointing it at Claire.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“GET BACK HERE, CLAIRE!” Luke yelled.
“What do you think I’m doing!” Claire had pivoted and was now running toward the front of the shack again, snow flying up from beneath her boots.
Just as she passed Luke, Ham fired a round into the air, probably trying to scare them into leaving. Luke bolted after Claire. Lifting his leg as he ran, he tried unsuccessfully to raise his jeans leg and snag the Colt Pocket Ponylite from its holster. Half-hopping, he uttered a curse. Ahead, Claire was rounding the corner of the shack. Suddenly, Luke looked up—and stopped in his tracks. “Great,” he muttered.
Jack was leaping through the front doorway, flying over the cinder-block step, waving a pistol. Landing squarely in the snow, Jack lunged at Claire.
“Luke!” Feinting left, Claire turned toward Luke, but Jack was too fast. He swiftly grabbed her from behind, looping an arm around her neck. Jerking her to his chest, Jack brought the gun right to her head.
She gasped, clutching at the strong forearm locked across her neck. “Wha—” She didn’t finish protesting because the pistol’s bore came to rest against her temple.
The back door slammed, and from inside the shack, Ham yelled, “You got the situation under control out there, Jack?”
“Looks like it, Ham.”
Luke’s heart hammered, making blood roar in his ears. Even from here, he could see the tremor of pale skin, just inches from Claire’s eye where delicate skin met blue steel. He’d kill any man who touched her, he thought, m
urderous rage surfacing. As Luke faced Jack, his fingers itched at his sides, his mind racing. He wished he wasn’t wearing this bulky shearling jacket. Could he reach down, pull up his jeans, get the gun and fire before Jack killed him? Doubtful. Even if he could, Jack was using Claire as a body shield, holding her from behind. Ignoring the wild, frightened darting of her eyes, Luke growled, “Let her go.”
Instead, with a flick of his wrist, Jack turned the pistol on Luke, took aim and pulled the trigger. The second Jack fired, Claire elbowed him, momentarily upsetting the aim and making the shot fly wild, but it caught the brim of Luke’s hat, blowing it off his head. The Stetson rolled through the air like a tumbleweed, and as the wind took it, Luke was in the process of dropping to his belly, the soft snow cushioning his fall. His hand went straight for his boot and gun. “I was trying to save your life,” he managed to say. “Not the other way around.”
“No problem,” Claire shot back tremulously as Jack grunted and dragged her backward, now hauling her over the cinder-block step and across the threshold, into the shack. If Jack bothered to close the door, Luke didn’t hear it.
Luke watched in frustrated fury, then leaped to his feet, this time wielding the Colt. Steel flashed in his hand as he ran for the door and leaned his back against the outer frame. Resting a foot on the cinder block, he raised the Colt and swiftly swung his body inward. From inside, a shot was fired.
Luke jerked back as the bullet whizzed through the door frame. He waited a second, his heart pounding. He was vaguely aware of the freezing-cold temperature, and of the snow-covered trees circling the clearing. There was ice on the cinder block, too, and he eyed it, hoping he wouldn’t slip when he ran inside. Should he make his move now? he wondered, tossing his head to keep the hair out of his face. If Clive and Claire weren’t inside, Luke would consider offering return fire, but he couldn’t put them at risk. Besides, as much as he disliked Ham and Jack, he’d rather not have their blood on his hands. Cocking his head, he listened. Everything had gotten real quiet inside the shack. If he tried to rush in, there was a chance he’d be hit. From far off, he was glad to hear a car motor, then another. Help was on the way. Probably Wesley and whoever he’d been able to strong-arm into coming out on Christmas Eve.
Suddenly, he heard a thud. Claire shrieked, “Luke!”
No longer caring if he took a bullet, and not about to wait for Wesley, Luke swung around, lunged through the doorway and rushed the room. His darting eyes speedily assessed the situation: The chair to which Clive had been bound was overturned. Clive had freed himself and was fighting Ham for the rifle, and Claire was wriggling away from Jack.
“Hit the floor,” Luke commanded as he flew to her rescue, ramming Jack with his full weight. The gun spun from Jack’s hand, and the man went down with a thud. Luke rolled with him, then scrambled to his hands and knees. Swiping the floor, he pocketed the pistol and grabbed some strands of rope Clive had left near the chair. Jumping onto Jack’s back, Luke ignored the man’s writhing and tied his hands to the leg of the coal-burning stove.
“Here.” Claire crouched beside Luke, her hands moving over his, taking the extra rope. “You’d better help Clive,” she continued in a panic. “I’ll tie Jack’s feet.”
Ham was definitely getting the best of Clive, so Luke was glad to hear a car door slam outside. Voices sounded, one of which was Wesley’s. “In here, Wesley,” Luke shouted. As he ran for Clive, Ham reared back, giving a loud belly roar. Suddenly, the burly man’s beefy fist connected with Clive’s chest, sending Clive sprawling. Ham whirled around in fury, raising the rifle.
Luke’s heart stopped the second he understood where Ham was aiming—at Claire’s head. Forgetting all reason, Luke lunged just in the nick of time, right as Ham fired. Diving through the air, he landed on top of Claire, knocking the breath out of her and shielding her body as a bullet splintered the wood floor right next to her ear.
Just as she whispered “You saved my life, Luke,” Wesley barreled across the threshold. He was a big man, redheaded with a full bushy beard. “Drop the rifle,” he commanded as another officer appeared behind him. “You two are under arrest.”
Seeing the officers was enough to convince Ham he wasn’t going to win. Angrily, he tossed down the rifle. “It’s not my fault,” he growled. “I work for a man, name of B. G. Boggs. He’s a miner, out of Glenrock. He said we wouldn’t get no Christmas bonus this year if we didn’t help him buy some property around here.”
“We weren’t gonna hurt this guy,” Jack added. “We was just trying to warn him to leave us alone!”
They’d hardly seemed like warning shots to Luke. He half listened as both men’s tongues wagged, and his palm smoothed over Claire’s back as he rolled away from her. “You okay?” he asked, registering the husky gentleness and concern in his own voice. The love, he thought.
Claire sat up looking shaken. “Yeah,” she said, brushing dust from her parka, then staring in shocked horror where the bullet had marred the wood only inches from her head. Her voice shook. “Thanks.”
Luke smiled, running a hand through his hair, the squint of his blue eyes making them crinkle. “I owed you one,” he said, grabbing her hand and standing, helping her to her feet.
“Ever since the bachelor’s auction I guess you have,” Claire agreed, her body bouncing comfortably against his. “But you’re all paid up now.”
“That so?” Seized by a sudden urge, Luke leaned over to kiss her, and then he realized Clive wasn’t but six feet away. My brother. Luke came up short, his lips stopping so close to Claire’s that he could feel her breath.
“Lost your hat, huh?” Claire’s voice was throaty.
“To hell with the hat,” Luke returned, gazing deeply into the shadowy eyes he knew so well. He was only vaguely aware that Wesley was clamping a hand down on his shoulder. Luke said, “I’m just glad you’re still in one piece, Claire.”
“Me, too,” said Clive. Without another word, he brushed past Luke, stopped in front of Claire, and then drew her into an embrace.
Luke’s heart pounded. He’d always known Clive by sight, but now, when Luke looked at him, it was with the awareness that Clive was most certainly his half brother. Clive was younger, but he shared Evander’s—and Luke’s—blue eyes. He was lighter-skinned than Luke, too, with wavy dark blond hair and a mustache. Good-looking, Luke decided, his throat and chest feeling tight. Countless emotions welled within him, but the main one was panic. Especially when Claire wrapped her arms around Clive’s neck.
Wesley’s hand clamped down harder on Luke’s shoulder. “Turns out it’s real simple,” Wesley said conversationally. “Boggs sent these two fellows to get whatever land’s available real cheap. He didn’t want to mine it, just to combine and ranch it. Figured if he could buy up enough small farms, he could put together a big spread, since no big ranches around here ever go up for sale.” Wesley nodded toward where the other officer was reading the Miranda warning to the men. “Guess Boggs had ideas about competing with all the larger concerns around Lightning Creek. Anyway, we’ve got enough to file harassment and weapons charges, as well as attempted murder, since they were shooting at you. We’ll recheck Elmer Green’s place and the Lazy Four for physical evidence indicating that the fires were suspicious.” Wesley glanced toward where Clive and Claire were still locked in each other’s arms. “What a great guy. When he got interested in what was happening, he sure took the law into his own hands.”
The law wasn’t the only thing Clive had taken into his hands. Right now, his palms were roving over the dirt-streaked back of Claire’s parka, and just watching them was making something dark and untamable course through Luke.
“Guess this is wrapped up,” Wesley said jovially. “Like a Christmas gift. All those folks who were being harassed will definitely have a better Christmas.” At least someone would, Luke thought as Wesley continued, saying, “Yeah. This case s
ure was simple.”
Simple? Luke’s eyes were still riveted on Claire and Clive. Wesley couldn’t be more wrong. This wasn’t simple. This was the most difficult moment of Luke’s life.
* * *
“I’VE BEEN SO WORRIED,” Claire managed to say, barely aware the two officers were in the corner, questioning Jack and Ham. As Clive stepped back, Claire glanced through the still-open door of the shack, renewed panic seizing her. Luke was taking long strides, heading straight across the clearing toward where they’d hidden the Cherokee. He’d retrieved his hat, and the Stetson, like the rest of him, looked almost like a silhouette in the shadowy afternoon light. Although his back was turned, Claire knew he was reaching into his shirt pocket for a toothpick. What was he thinking about? And how could he leave like this, when she’d still been hugging Clive? She felt a round, hard knot of discomfort settle in her gut, and then she realized Clive was watching her carefully.
“Claire? Are you okay?”
There were so many questions in his eyes. She hazarded a glance at the officer who was leading Jack and Ham toward the door. “Guess I’m shaken up,” she said. And getting more so by the minute. Outside, looking very far away, Luke was disappearing under the hanging, snow-laden bows of the trees.
“I should have called you, Claire,” Clive began.
“You should have. I was worried sick.”
“Sorry.”
“You should be,” she said with a sigh. She surveyed him a long moment, taking a deep breath. No, she realized, she didn’t feel the same heart-racing, soul-shattering, crazy emotions she felt for Luke, but she did love Clive. As she glanced toward Luke again, her heart pulled with a peculiar savage, unsatisfied longing. Judging from how he’d just walked away, she might as well face it. Something—and it was always something, wasn’t it?—would always come between them, whether it was Luke’s past or the one she shared with Clive.
