Luke

by Leigh Greenwood

  "Don't you know what you're going to eat?"

  She sighed over her next admission. "Not until it reaches the table."

  "People here generally take care of things themselves, or nothing gets done."

  "I understand that," she said, trying hard to keep her voice steady. "I just need to know what you think we ought to do now."

  "I need to talk to your cook. Go find him," he said to Elvira.

  Valeria had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything. Luke deplored her dependence on servants, yet he spoke to Elvira as if she were a slave. How could a man who kept talking about the importance of the individual act like people were of so little value?

  Chapter Eight

  Luke wondered why Europeans came to America thinking they could continue to behave as they had in the old country. Didn't they know anything about America? And the cook-Luke refused to call him a chef-had no concept of how to prepare anything except grand dishes. One of the drivers said he'd rescued enough leftovers from that night's meal to feed the whole party for two days.

  "I don't care how you do it," Luke told the cook when he presented himself at the table. "You've got to do your work faster and make your food last longer."

  It was nearly midnight, and they still hadn't finished cleaning up. Luke didn't know how he was going to get that many pots and pans washed when the river went underground and there was no surface water to be had without digging for it. There'd be a lot of dirty pots, pans, dishes, and glasses. Sorry, goblets. Royalty didn't drink from glasses.

  "I cannot serve the princess ill-prepared food," the cook protested. "I would disgrace my profession."

  "Fine. She can eat with us," Luke said.

  "The princess cannot eat that melange you call food," he said, turning up his nose with enough disdain to have been a member of royalty himself.

  "Do what you want," Luke said. "Just remember we leave at dawn tomorrow."

  "When is dawn?" Otto asked.

  "About six o'clock."

  "I'll have to be up at four!" the cook exclaimed. "The princess will have to be up at four to dress. We will both be too tired."

  "Your wagon leaves whether you're in it or not. That goes for everybody else. You should have been in bed hours ago."

  "I haven't finished my cognac," Otto said.

  "By all means, finish your cognac," Luke said as he turned away.

  "Mr. Attmore."

  Luke didn't stop at the sound of Valeria's voice. He'd had just about all he could take. Though they came from a country where revolutions happened all the time, they didn't seem the slightest bit concerned about danger.

  "Mr. Attmore!"

  "What?" Luke whirled to find Valeria had followed him.

  "You can't leave like that," she said. "You haven't told us what to do."

  "I have, but you continue to ignore it. Apparently you can only learn by experience. Well, you're in luck. You're about to get more experience that you ever thought possible."

  She drew herself up just like he was certain her royal ancestors had when about to announce someone was going to lose his head. "Why don't you like us?"

  "There are too many of you for one answer."

  Her back seemed to get a little stiffer, straighter. "Very well, I'll make it easier. Why don't you like me?"

  He'd never expected her to ask that question. "Give me one reason why I should like you."

  "I'm a woman, reasonably attractive, I'm told. I thought American men liked women."

  "You got two things wrong. First, American men like sex. They don't much care about the woman as long as she isn't downright ugly."

  If it were possible, she became even more stiff. "And the second thing I got wrong?"

  "You're not reasonably attractive." He saw her prepare herself for the blow. "You're beautiful. Even a savage American can see that." It pleased him to know he'd surprised her.

  "Then why are you so cruel to me?"

  "I just gave you facts. Why should I waste time being cruel?"

  "Because you don't like me, what I represent."

  "I don't hold you responsible for what you represent, but I can hold you responsible for what you do." "Then I can hold you responsible for what you are." "And what am I?"

  "You're rude, thoughtless, and you enjoy making fun of me. You resent the fact that you have no ancestors you can point to proudly, no history, no-"

  Luke's patience snapped. "You got two out of four this time, a better average than before. I am rude and thoughtless. I'm hired for my ability, not my manners. I don't give a damn about your ancestors. You people don't think, you don't create. You're like a wind-up toy that does the same thing over and over again.

  "You're right in saying I have no noble ancestry. I don't have hundreds of relatives with portraits on the wall prodding me to remember who I am, but you're wrong in thinking I want to remember my family. My father was an outcast from an old Southern family, my mother a barroom songstress. Their passion for each other burned out almost as quickly as it ignited. I'd hardly learned to walk when she ran off. My father dragged me from one highstakes card game to another until a poor loser shot him in the back. My parents had nothing to leave me but their weaknesses. They're probably laughing right now, waiting for me to screw up, knowing I'll end up in Hell with them.

  "My advice about the food and my plans for tomorrow still stand. It'll be a lot easier if you cooperate, but if you want to fight me, I'm game. Just remember I knew a hell of a lot more about fighting before I was five than you'll ever know."

  Luke walked away, leaving Valeria in a state of shock. She felt nearly destroyed. He didn't hate her. He felt nothing at all.

  "I don't think he means that."

  She turned, startled to find Hans standing a few feet away, mortified to realize he had heard every word Luke uttered. In her world appearance was everything. That was why clothes, servants, palaces, and extravagant food served on costly silver or exquisite china were essential. That was the reason for the ritual, the pageantry, the enormous sums of money spent on show. Luke, and circumstances, had ripped all that away from her, and Hans had seen and heard every bit of it.

  "I'm certain he does," she said. "From the first moment he set eyes on us, he's made no effort to disguise the fact that he despises me and everything I stand for."

  "I don't think-"

  "You heard him, Hans. It's not a matter of guesswork."

  She was surprised to feel the tears start. Princesses weren't allowed to cry. Weakness wasn't tolerated.

  Yet she was crying. She turned away to dash the tears from her eyes.

  "I don't understand him," Hans said, "but I think he's a good man."

  "He's not. He said so himself."

  "He could have taken the money Otto offered him and disappeared, but he stayed. He also kept anybody else from taking his job. He's a proud man, your highness. I don't think anybody has ever fired him before."

  "So being stubborn and full of pride is a good thing."

  "It has to be. It's what has sustained your family for these past five hundred years."

  Somehow it didn't look the same when she saw it in Luke. Was it the clothes, the palaces, the wars they won? Did all that wealth and power make it look admirable and worthwhile in her family but churlish and meanspirited in him? "Are you sure?"

  "My family has served your family for more than a hundred and fifty years," Hans said. "We know just about every mean, despicable, underhanded, traitorous deed your family has committed during that time. I can assure you that there are enough to make a man like Luke Attmore seem very good. He may not think much of himself, but he has a code of honor he will up hold at the perilpossibly even the expense-of his life. Your greatgrandfather wouldn't have hesitated to sacrifice his entire family to keep his throne."

  "How can you say such a thing?"

  "He sacrificed a son."

  "Who?"

  "Your grandfather."

  Valeria wanted to deny it, but her words died
unsaid. There had always been a silence, a turning away of heads, when she asked about her grandfather. Even her father would say only that he died in a military operation.

  "He wanted to lead the country toward democracy," Hans said. "He had met with opposition leaders. They were all killed at the direct orders of your greatgrandfather. My grandfather delivered the orders."

  Valeria had never pretended her ancestors were scrupulously honest or honorable. But she'd always glossed over their misdeeds, saying they had done what was necessary to preserve the government, keep the country safe and prosperous for the people. Could she still say that?

  She longed to ask Hans more, to search until she found a reason to believe he was wrong, but she was afraid she would find even more that would shame her. "What does this have to do with Luke Attmore?"

  "He will do what he must to see that you reach Duke Rudolf. It won't matter to him whether you like what he does or the way he does it. He will deliver you safely."

  "Then what?"

  "He'll move on to his next job."

  "Just like that?"

  "Why shouldn't he?"

  She couldn't think of a reason, but she couldn't understand how he could just turn his back after being willing to risk his life for her. She didn't see how her life could be so important and his count for so little.

  Then she understood. It wasn't her life at all. It was his reputation. His honor as a gunfighter. But having understood that only made her feel worse.

  "You think we ought to do what he says?" she asked.

  "I don't see that we have any choice."

  Her laugh was humorless. "Nor do I. I expect we'd better get to bed. I intend to eat breakfast tomorrow."

  "And I intend to see the chef finds something to feed Otto at noonday. If he's in the same mood tomorrow as today, I'll kill him before nightfall." He paused. "Aren't you coming to bed?"

  "In a minute."

  "Goodnight, your highness. Don't stay up too long."

  It would probably be better if she stayed awake all night. Then she would sleep through some of the interminable day. When her family had gone on vacations to the Greek Islands, Marrakesh, or Tangiers, the native people had taken naps after luncheon to escape the heat of the day. Some people in Bonner did the same. It was probably a good idea.

  Besides, she felt too full of food to go to sleep, and she wanted to enjoy the coolness of the evening. Being outside in the dark was a new experience for her, but she felt safe as long as she could see the light from the fires. The trees along the river looked dark and menacing, but bright moonlight bathed the plain, the foothills, and the mountains. It was an unfamiliar and forbidding landscape, but it didn't frighten her.

  Luke was nearby.

  She didn't want to think about him-he made her question too much-but she couldn't stop. Was her family as bad as his? Were they two sides of the same coin, one looking better only because of its setting? Disturbed by her thoughts, she tried to come up with ways to make the food last longer, ways to make the journey as quick and easy as possible, but she couldn't focus on anything but his comments about her family, about the things her family would have done-had done according to Hansto preserve their throne. If he was no worse than she, then she had no right to question his advice or scorn his opinions.

  Something inside whispered that her entire existence had been a sham. But she couldn't accept that. If she wasn't a princess, what was she? A figment of her own imagination. Could she exist without substance or purpose?

  Everything inside her cried out against such an appraisal. She was somebody, she did have a purpose, she wasn't imaginary. She did exist.

  But if she wasn't a princess anymore, who was she? What was her purpose?

  Luke nearly bumped into Zeke.

  "That was a clever way to handle them," Zeke said, sarcasm dripping from each word. "I'm sure they can hardly wait to cooperate."

  "Shut up!" Luke snapped.

  "I agree they're just about the most worthless human beings I've ever seen, but you can't keep carrion from rotting."

  "I'm not trying to keep them from rotting. I'm just trying to keep them alive."

  "You're doing more than that, brother."

  "Don't call me brother."

  "Adopted brother, " he said, caressing the words in a way that made a mockery of their meaning.

  "To hell with you!"

  "Isabelle wouldn't like that."

  Luke wanted to say to hell with Isabelle! but the words wouldn't come up as far as his throat. No matter how low he sank, that part of his life was too sacred to curse. "They're so caught up in their fantasy world, they can't see the reality around them. They're too afraid to admit things have changed, that nothing is the way it used to be."

  "Otto's not afraid of anything," Zeke said. "Elvira is afraid of everything."

  "She wouldn't be if you'd stop terrorizing her."

  "I'll stop terrorizing her if you'll stop coddling the princess."

  "Her name is Valeria. When have I coddled her?"

  "I heard you got the miners to be quiet when they passed her window."

  "I was trying to annoy her."

  "That's a strange way to annoy someone."

  "If you're trying to say something, spit it out and get to bed. Tomorrow will be worse than today."

  "Don't let yourself go soft on her. Her kind will never see people like us as anything except servants." "You mean slaves, don't you?"

  Zeke's features hardened. "I know what it's like to be thought of as worth less than a good milk cow. To her we're peasants to work in the field, servants to fetch and carry, so much cannon fodder to die on the battlefield. She'd never consider marrying one of us."

  Zeke's words blindsided Luke. The idea of marrying anyone, least of all someone like Valeria, was so preposterous his anger evaporated, and he laughed. "If that's what you think, you've been in the sun too long. Remind me to ask Valeria if she's got an extra parasol."

  "Make a joke if you want," Zeke said, "but I've worked with you on more than one job. This one's different. Maybe you're not going sweet on her, but whatever it is will put us in danger if you don't watch out."

  "I'll watch out. I don't want to lose my hide any more than you do."

  "Sometimes I think that's exactly what you want," Zeke said. He turned and walked off.

  Luke was at a loss to understand Zeke's meaning. He had done everything he could to make certain he had the edge on anyone who might come up against him. He took great pride in having been wounded only twice in his career, neither time seriously. He sometimes took chances that might seem overly dangerous to someone else, but he'd learned long ago that doing the unexpected was often the safest way out of a difficult situation.

  He had an uneasy feeling that he would need all of his expertise on this trip. Valeria was the wrong kind of person for Arizona. He could see no logical reason why an ex-princess with her wealth would want to live in such an out-of-the-way place. He didn't know much about fine china, silver flatware, and crystal goblets-he'd been uninterested when Isabelle tried to teach the boys about such things-but he knew the money represented by her belongings would have supported a small town for several years.

  His instincts had served him well over the years. The minute he'd set eyes on Valeria, they had told him this job didn't feel right. He should have kept going when he walked out of her hotel room. He could think of no reason why he'd let Hans talk him into staying. Or why he had talked three other men out of accepting Otto's offer. He could talk about pride and reputation all he wanted, but he knew what made this time different.

  Valeria.

  He should have been furious at her. And he was. He should have scorned everything she stood for. And he did. He should have lost patience with her ignorance and reluctance to make even minimal changes in her ritual. And he had. He should have turned his back, walked out, and left her high and dry.

  He hadn't.

  It would have been the same as abandoning children. The
y knew nothing about the new world they had entered. They were trying to live, act, and think as they always had. While that was understandable up to a point, anyone could see they would have to make substantial alternations in every aspect of their lives.

  At times Luke wondered if it was fear that made them hold on to the past so grimly. They'd always been in control, but now that was the one thing they didn't have.

  Hans accepted the fact that they'd lost their source of power, but he expected the old-world traditions to be perpetuated. Luke couldn't be sure what Otto thought. He figured he was one of the opportunists to be found about any court, clinging to the past because it provided him an opportunity to pluck rich rewards without having to break a sweat.

  Then there was Valeria. In a way she was the most obvious and at the same time the most enigmatic. She'd been raised to provide her husband a loyal consort, to bear his children, to be an ornament to his position, and to accept all of that without question. No thinking required. Individuality discouraged. Conformity rewarded.

  Yet Luke was certain she'd inwardly disliked being treated like a priceless jewel to be taken out for display and tucked safely away when she wasn't needed. Now she'd been cast out of her familiar setting without any preparation for her new life.

  It was as if she'd been kept in the dark her whole life and was suddenly brought into blinding light. No wonder she couldn't see clearly. Even familiar things would have a new meaning. She must feel fear, a reluctance to venture too far. At the same time she would feel curiosity, a desire to explore the uncharted.

  Valeria was an innocent standing on the edge of great discovery. Great care had to be exercised to make certain she didn't fall and do permanent injury before she had a chance to run.

  Nice, idealistic, altruistic. Isabelle would have loved it. It was just the kind of thing she'd tried to pound into the boys during the few years they'd all been at the ranch. Apparently she'd been successful. All but three of them were back in Texas, living within a day's ride of each other, raising families, becoming the solid citizens Isabelle had envisioned when she started out from Austin to find homes for eight incorrigible orphans.