Luke

by Leigh Greenwood

  What kind of man could do that?

  He looked up at her window. There was no doubt about it. He was watching her room. Otto had paid him to go away. Why was he still here? Then he did something very surprising. He took off his hat and made a sweeping bow, flashed a brilliant smile, returned his hat to his head, and retreated to the shadows once more.

  Valeria felt exposed, defenseless. She wanted to jump back into the shadows, to crawl back into the safety of her bed. Luke Attmore had seen her at the window. He knew she'd watched him, and it pleased him.

  As much as it unsettled her, she admired his boldness. She had dispensed with his services, so he had apparently decided to show her exactly what she'd thrown away. He intrigued her, she admitted that, but she wouldn't change her mind. She didn't like Mr. Attmore, and she didn't want him anywhere near her.

  A light flared. Another cigarette. He obviously didn't intend to leave his position for a while yet. She didn't know whether to feel safe or pursued. She knew nothing about him. He could be the man Hans feared wanted to kill her. What better plan than to hire on as her guide and kill her in the desert where no one would ever find her body.

  The pinpoint of light at the end of his cigarette glowed brightly, then faded.

  Why was he watching her? Did he know the noise in the street had kept her awake? Why should he care? He had called her shallow, spoiled, and overdressed. Anger at his remarks swept through her. No one had ever dared to say such things to her. No one! But he hadn't hesitated.

  The cigarette glowed again.

  Valeria turned away from the window and back toward her bed. She prided herself on knowing men, understanding them. It was the only way a woman could achieve any degree of happiness. But she didn't understand Luke Attmore. He didn't behave like any man she'd ever known.

  That probably came from living in this strange country. He intrigued her. She almost wished he were going with her. She even considered sending Otto to ask him to be her guide after all.

  She lay back down on the bed. She refused to do anything so foolish just to satisfy her curiosity. She closed her eyes. But rather than her fiance, the image of Luke Attmore, standing in the middle of the street, smiling up at her, filled her thoughts.

  "What do you mean, no one will take the job?" Valeria asked. Both Hans and Otto stood before her, Otto looking irritated, Hans nervous and fidgety.

  "It seems he's a famous gunfighter," Otto said. "Everybody is afraid of him."

  They had interrupted her breakfast. She was already irritated because her chef had not been given free rein to use the kitchen. A reprimand sent through her maid had resulted in a sharply worded reply stating that the princess wasn't the only person in Bonner in need of breakfast. It wasn't so much the lack of respect or the late breakfast. It was more that everything familiar, safe, and comforting had been taken from her, leaving her feeling very much alone, vulnerable, and adrift. But she couldn't confess that to anyone. A princess never admitted weakness. She was hemmed in, held defenseless by the very status which should have protected her.

  "They also say he's the best," Hans said, wringing his hands in a fashion that made Valeria want to slap him. He was a good man-honest, dependable, hardworkingbut she wished he would act like a man instead of a mouse.

  "Thank you for trying to make sure I'm safe," she said, smiling at Hans. "I'm sure dealing with such a man must have been hard for you, but I can't have him in my service."

  Both Hans and Otto put forth several reasons why she should retain Mr. Attmore's services-Hans more convincingly than Otto-but she wouldn't listen. She would have nothing to do with Luke Attmore.

  Still, something about him tugged at something deep inside her, something that had never come to life before. She knew it was a purely physical response, and that frightened her. Her entire life had been fabricated of arrangements made for reasons of state. Personal likes and dislikes weren't allowed to enter into her decisions. As for physical reactions, well, that was unthinkable. She was a princess.

  But telling herself that didn't change the fact that she couldn't stop thinking about Luke Attmore, couldn't stop picturing him sitting in that chair, his deep blue eyes watching her every move, his near-perfect features immobile, his sensual lips parted in speech. Nor was she unaware of his broad shoulders and powerful thighs. He was a man who'd reached full, magnificent maturity, and it was impossible for her-for any woman, she was sure-to be unaware of or unmoved by him.

  Then there was his standing on the street outside her window the last two nights. Was he trying to scare her into hiring him back? She didn't think he was protecting her. Men who could be bought didn't have the kind of honor and loyalty Hans and Otto had. But if he wasn't protecting her, what was he doing?

  In the middle of a thought that said she was helpless to find out, she remembered she wasn't in Europe any longer. Neither her uncle nor Rudolf could forbid her to do what she wanted.

  "Bring him to me," she said.

  "Why do you want to see him?" Otto asked.

  "He won't come," Hans said.

  "Why not?" she asked.

  "He said he wouldn't be your guide unless you asked him."

  Valeria jumped to her feet. "Me! Beg him!"

  "He said ask," Hans said. "He was not happy that you dismissed him without a reason."

  "He was rude."

  "I don't think he meant to be," Hans said. "It's just the way of these Americans."

  "Then he should change his ways. I don't like them." "I don't think he cares what we like," Hans said. "He made that abundantly clear," Valeria shot back.

  Well, he would find himself at a loss this time, this brash American. A princess did not beg.

  "Take me to him," she said.

  "It would be improper for you to be seen on the streets," Otto said.

  That would have been true in Belgravia, but her life had changed forever the moment she entered the United States. If she couldn't go out, she would be bored to the edge of insanity. She'd had parties, balls, visitors, trips, concerts, the library, a thousand and one things to entertain her in Belgravia, and still she'd frequently been bored. She would have none of that at Paul's ranch. She should begin right now to adapt to her new circumstances.

  "It won't matter here," Valeria said. "Elvira will accompany me. With you and Hans along, what could be so improper?"

  "I don't know where he is," Otto said. "I do," Hans said.

  "Then take me to him," Valeria said.

  "I ought to make sure he's still at the hotel," Hans said. "And hire a proper room as a meeting place."

  Valeria wouldn't be put off. Hans was fanatically loyal, but he was also a stickler for maintaining her royal consequence. "I'm not willing to wait. Elvira, bring me my cloak. If I pull the hood over my head, no one will notice me."

  The moment she reached the street, she knew she'd made at least two mistakes. First, the cloak was too hot. She didn't think she could walk a hundred feet without fainting. And second, she could tell from their stares that the people of Bonner knew her at a glance. They all watched her progress down the street in fascination.

  "I advised your highness not to venture out," Otto said.

  "They're only looking at me, Otto. That causes no harm." But people usually looked at her in admiration, not in gape-mouthed wonder.

  "Where is this hotel?" she asked Hans.

  "It's right here."

  "That's a saloon," Otto said.

  "Americans stay at saloons, too," Hans said. "Some of them have rooms just like hotels."

  Valeria doubted she would ever accustom herself to the strange and unaccountable things Americans did.

  "They're not very different from inns in our country," Hans added.

  Valeria had never stayed at an inn. But the moment she entered the Crystal Palace, she decided there couldn't possibly be anything like it in her country. Except for a bar of about a dozen feet, tables and chairs filled every inch of space in the long, narrow room. The walls were bare e
xcept for a mirror and two racks of glasses behind the bar. The tables looked clean and the floor had obviously been swept recently, but the odor of whiskey and tobacco vied for prominence with the aroma of coffee and the smell of bacon grease.

  Valeria expected to be disgusted. She was only surprised.

  But not as surprised as the men seated at the tables. Their stares when she entered made it plain women weren't frequent visitors. Even though she'd come to put him in his place, she felt greatly relieved when Mr. Attmore stood up at one of the tables in the back of the room.

  "I didn't expect her to change her mind so quickly," he said to Hans when they reached the table.

  "Change my mind about what?" she asked Hans.

  "My being your guide."

  "I didn't." It disturbed Valeria that she was more aware of the attraction between them than the feeling of outrage that had brought her here.

  "Whatever you came to do, it'll attract less attention if you sit down," Mr. Attmore said.

  Valeria wanted to refuse to be seated in such a place, but she knew she would probably have to do many things she would never have considered only a few months ago. When Hans held a chair for her, she sat down. The infuriating Mr. Attmore held a chair for her maid.

  But taking a seat didn't remove her from the glare of attention. It seemed no one in the room had anything to do but stare at her.

  "Could I offer you some coffee?" Mr. Attmore asked. "No, but I would accept a cup of cocoa."

  The look he gave her reminded her forcibly of the one he had given her when she had been foolish enough to ask what he thought of her.

  "I'm afraid Sandoval doesn't get many requests for cocoa," Mr. Attmore said. "All he has is coffee. Unless you'd prefer a beer."

  She supposed he'd said that intentionally, just to rile her. Well, she could play this game just as well as he.

  "I'd love a Blauenstaff," she replied, then tried not to laugh at the shocked looks on the faces around her. "It's the favorite beer in my country."

  The faint crinkling of the skin at the corners of his eyes told her Luke knew exactly what she was doing. "I'm afraid Sandoval's shipment of Blauenstaff was stolen last week. It's a favorite of so many of the miners, they can't wait for it to reach the saloon."

  He wanted to joke. She didn't care as long as he realized she wasn't a silly little fool he could insult at will. "In that case I'll have to decline your offer." "We have other beers."

  "I couldn't think of drinking anything but Blauenstaff. I came here to tell you, Mr. Attmore-"

  "Call me Luke."

  "-that I have no intention of asking you to escort me to Rudolf's ranch. I wouldn't accept your services if you volunteered them."

  Chapter Three

  "I never volunteer my services," Luke said, without the slightest change of expression. "I charge an exorbitant price. That makes me even more valuable to my clientele."

  "Not to me."

  "So you've made clear."

  "You're free to leave Bonner."

  "So I am."

  "I'm sure someone else is anxious to retain your services."

  "I've had several requests."

  "Then by all means take one of them." "I'm considering it."

  This interview hadn't proceeded as she'd anticipated. No man had ever sat across a table from her, regarding her with expressionless eyes, returning minimal responses to her questions or statements. She'd all but ordered him to leave town, and he just sat there watching her like a cat with a cornered mouse.

  "When are you going to leave?" she asked.

  "Why is it so important to you?"

  She bridled at the inference. "It isn't. I just wanted you to know you're free to go about your usual activities." "Thank you." His smile was faint and ironic.

  "Hans said you refused to keep the money Otto offered you. Why did you do that?"

  "I hadn't done any work. It seemed unreasonable to keep the money."

  "But you took it at first." "Yes."

  "Then you gave it back." "Yes."

  "Stop answering me in monosyllables!" "WRY?"

  She'd never liked the idea of firing squads, but right now she'd have given half her dowery to see him standing before one. "Because it's rude."

  "Why?"

  Luke clearly had no respect for position in society, her status as a woman, or her as a person.

  "I just came to let you know you were free to take other employment," she said, getting to her feet.

  "I'm not sure I feel like working just now." She turned to leave.

  "Bonner seems like a nice little town. I think I'll stay for a while."

  She turned back. "I would prefer that you leave." "Give me a good reason why I should care what you prefer."

  She saw traces of that ironic smile. She reminded herself this wasn't Belgravia, that he wasn't one of her subjects. Probably not one person in this entire, huge, endless country cared what she thought or what happened to her.

  That terrified her. Only the loyalty of her servants separated her from complete and helpless isolation. And what reason did they have to be loyal? Could money ensure the kind of loyalty she'd always taken for granted?

  If she could only get to Rudolf's ranch. All her life she'd been protected by her prestige, her rank, the circle of people who orbited around the court. It had seemed so deep, so endless, so permanent, she'd never considered the possibility it might be taken away.

  But it had been. Now she stood perched on the edge of a trackless wilderness with two old men who knew no more than she how to provide guidance and protection. She needed to get to Rudolf. Once she reached his ranch, everything would be all right again.

  "Since you are no longer in my employ," she said, "I suppose there is no reason for you to care what I want. However, whether you stay or go, I would like you to remove your prohibition against anyone else serving as my guide."

  His expression didn't change one iota. "I haven't prohibited anyone from accepting your offer."

  "But Hans and Otto say they've been unable to hire anyone to take your place."

  His look might as well have said, No one can take my place.

  "I've offered a great deal of money," Otto said. "Offer more," he said.

  "I have, and they still won't take the job."

  "Then I guess you'll have to find your own way," he said.

  "None of my servants know anything about your country," Valeria said.

  Mr. Attmore looked from Otto to Hans. "Do you consider yourselves servants?"

  Otto sputtered.

  "I consider myself in the service of the princess," Hans said.

  "But not a servant?"

  "I'm employed to advise her highness."

  "So am I," Otto said.

  Luke Attmore turned to Valeria. "Looks like you don't have any servants, ma'am, just advisers."

  Valeria had known immediately she'd said something to upset this man. Now she knew what. She'd always referred to the people who worked for her as servants. The term didn't suggest anything demeaning. Apparently it meant something quite different in this country, something she would have to try to understand.

  "My advisers know nothing about your country," she said, trying hard to remain pleasant in the face of his continued provocation.

  Luke motioned to the man behind the counter to come over. "Sandoval," Luke said when the man reached him, "do you think Bob Wilson could guide the princess to a ranch above the Mogollon Rim?"

  "Bob's tied up working for the stage company just now," Sandoval said. "Just took the job yesterday. He won't be done with that for I don't know how long."

  "How about Abe Custis?"

  "His cousin broke his leg yesterday. He's got to take over working his ranch until he can get back in the saddle."

  "Surely Sam Prentiss could do it."

  "Sam left to visit his mother in Alabama yesterday. It seems there's a senorita who claims Sam's the father of her baby. The senorita's father, four uncles, six brothers, and eleven cou
sins are anxious to talk with Sam."

  "How about you, Sandoval?" Luke asked.

  "I think the senorita should wait. Somebody will come."

  Valeria hadn't failed to notice that all three incidents happened yesterday, after Otto had informed Luke his services were no longer required. Luke had boxed her in, and she couldn't do anything about it.

  "How long would I have to wait?" she asked Sandoval. "Can't say," the man said with his heavy accent. "A day. A month. Who can tell?"

  "A month!" Otto exclaimed.

  Sandoval shrugged. "It's possible." He returned to the bar, leaving Valeria to confront an innocent looking Luke Attmore.

  "This is your doing."

  "Do you think I could arrange all that?" "Yes."

  "Those are tough, dependable, knowledgeable men. They wouldn't care what I think."

  "Miners are supposed to be tough men," Valeria shot back, "yet you frightened them into being quiet last night."

  "I didn't frighten anybody," Luke said, his eyelids sinking a little lower. "I just told them we had a genuine princess staying at the hotel and that it would be plain old American courtesy to let her sleep."

  "I was already awake," Valeria said, forcing herself to smile sweetly when she would much prefer hitting him hard enough to remove that self-satisfied smile from his face. "You know that. You saw me at the window."

  "And a lovely sight you were," Luke said, "but I would advise against doing that again. In their condition, some of the men might misinterpret your reason for appearing at the window."

  If it hadn't been for Hans's gasp, Valeria would have been at a loss to understand Luke's meaning. The idea that she could have been mistaken for a harlot would never have occurred to her.

  "When a man is drunk and hasn't seen a pretty woman in months, maybe years, well..."

  "It is a pity Americans are so prone to act like beasts. Your army should do something about that."

  "They call America a melting pot," Luke said. "Most of the miners come from European stock. It's possible some immigrated from your own country."

  "My countrymen would never behave so."