by Sarah Title
Mal wished she had listened to Luke and kept her jeans on as she tried to back closer to the fireplace without losing her grip on Luke’s arm. She fingered the cheap metal ring she wore. It definitely wasn’t gold, although this one wasn’t turning her finger green like the one they got out of the vending machine. Still, there was no way anyone would think it was real.
“I don’t know about this. I don’t want to impose on your family. I don’t know them, I can’t—”
“Hush. I told you it’d be fine. They would do anything for the woman I love.”
“Can’t we just say I’m a friend who needs a place to stay?”
“Now what fun would the truth be? Anyway, this will make it easier for them to get to know you, and once they do, they’ll love you and do anything for you purely on your own merits and not because you tried to tame the wild beast that is Luke Carson.”
As he said the last, he puffed out his chest and squeezed her tighter. She laughed up into his green eyes. Luke had always been able to do that, ever since he tried to pick her up at that fund-raiser in Bethesda almost a year ago. He teased her, but that laugh in his eyes always made her feel, well, comfortable. Good thing she had had her fill of charming, handsome men. Otherwise, she would be in big trouble.
Suddenly a fiery blond streak came charging through the living room and launched itself into his arms. Mal was almost knocked over by the force, but then she found herself clutched into the embrace as well.
“Whoa! Mal, meet my little sister, Katie.”
“Luke, you jerk! What is this about you bringing home a fiancée?” The blonde turned to Mal. “Hi there. I don’t know how you put up with an animal like my brother, but I love you for it. And if you hurt him, I’ll break your legs.”
Kate—Katie—was as tall as Luke, maybe an inch taller, and she was long and lean. Mal was pretty sure she was heavier than Katie, but she decided that when the time came for the real story to come out, she was going to be far away from this one. Preferably in a different state. “Hi, I’m Mal.” She shook Katie’s outstretched hand.
“A firm handshake, I like it. OK, enough nicey-nice, let’s eat.”
Katie led them into the dining room, which was much more formal than Mal was expecting from the country-comforting interior she saw, not to mention the downright rundown state of the outside of the house. The table sat six, and over a gleaming dark wood tabletop was a brocade table runner in fall hues of red, orange, and green.
Apparently Mal was not the only one impressed. Luke let out a whistle. “Miss Libby went all out. What are those, napkin rings?”
Luke reached for her hand and guided her to a seat next to his. She was grateful for the comfort and she didn’t let it go, not even when he tried to pull the chair out for her. “Sorry,” she murmured when she realized what she was doing.
“You’re OK, baby,” he said, and pecked her on the cheek. Mal blushed, not sure how such public displays of affection would go over in this formal setting. Well, formal except for the fact that Mal was the only one not wearing jeans.
She looked up as a chair scraped across the hardwood floor. A tall, imposing man stood and nodded at her. She could definitely see him in Luke—the slope of the nose, the high cheekbones, the green of the eyes. But where Luke had laughter in his eyes, this man revealed nothing but weariness, and maybe a little boredom, like this was nothing he had not seen before. How many women had Luke brought home?
“Dad, this is Mallory, my fiancée. Mal, this is my father, Cal.”
He nodded, then nodded at her seat, indicating she should sit. Luke leaned to her ear and said, “What did I tell you, nothing to it.”
Mal smiled meekly at Cal, then studiously admired the details on the napkin ring.
Just as she was about to make an insightful comment on making crafts by hand versus machine, which she was sure the horse farmer and the charming bartender would be really interested in, the door to the kitchen swung open and Libby’s ample bottom came through.
“Oh, Mallory! Mal, right? OK, let me put down this ridiculous platter and give you another hug.” Cal stood to take the plate from her and placed it in front of himself, at the head of the table. Before Mal could say anything, before she could really even stand properly, she was enveloped in strong, soft arms, her back rubbed in that maternal way that brought tears to the eyes of people who didn’t get enough mothering. She blinked hard.
“Hi,” she said into the shoulder, inhaling some old-lady rose perfume that went completely against the vivaciousness of the woman holding her. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Miss Libby pulled back, blushing, and cupped Mal’s cheeks in her hands. “Well, don’t believe a word of it. We’re thrilled to have you here. You must be one special gal to have tamed this wild one.” She reached over one hand and patted Luke’s cheek. One hand on each of their cheeks, she looked at Mal, then at Luke, then back again. “Aren’t you two just the sweetest—” Libby’s eyes misted over. Mal looked to Luke for help, which was not forthcoming. “Luke, if your mother could see you . . .”
“That’s enough,” Cal practically barked from his place at the head of the table. “Let’s eat.”
“All right, all right. Katie, come help me bring out the rest of the food.”
“Can I help with anything?” Mal asked.
Katie laughed. “No, dearie,” she said in a pretty good imitation of Miss Libby’s voice, “you’re the guest of honor and you won’t lift a finger. Whereas Katie could use a few lessons in being a proper lady so she’ll bow and scrape and serve the men like all good women of the twenty-first century ought to.”
Katie let out a very unladylike snort, but followed Libby through the swinging doors. Mal meticulously unrolled her napkin from the ring and spread it over her lap.
“So, Mr. Carson, I saw that you have horses here?”
Cal looked up at her, then at Luke, his eyes narrowing a little. “Call me Cal,” he said to her.
When he didn’t offer anything else, Mal continued, “I was telling Luke that this is my first time in Kentucky, and I can’t believe how beautiful it is. This house is amazing. How old is it? It looks like it’s at least a hundred years old, but Luke said you built it? I love old houses, I feel like there are so many stories inside . . .” She trailed off when she realized Cal was staring at her.
“Your girl sure talks a lot,” he said to Luke. Great first impression, Mal.
She turned her head and said meekly to Luke, “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it, baby, ol’ Cal here must’ve just left his manners in the barn.”
“Buried under the shit you should be helping me muck out.”
Well. That was something, a nice pre-dinner guilt trip. Mal was about to cut the tension with several comments about how little she knew about horses, when the kitchen door swung open again, but it wasn’t Katie or Libby. It was all Mal could do to stifle a gasp. He was a big guy, a real-man kind of man. The kind who split wood for fun, or whatever people in the country do to show how strong they are. His strength radiated from under his plaid flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal powerful forearms. His jeans were well worn, distressed from use, not from the factory. His brown hair was darker than Luke’s, and shaggier, like he needed a haircut. It suited him. Mal blinked, shocked by his careless, unconscious manliness.
Of course, nothing was manlier than the set of floral potholder mitts he was using to carry a steaming bowl of potatoes.
He put the bowl down on an empty trivet and nodded to Luke. Was Luke the only man in this family who spoke?
“Keith, this is my fiancée, Mal. Mal, my older brother, Keith.”
Huh. Luke hadn’t mentioned having a brother. But there was no mistaking the family resemblance. The lines around his bright green eyes matched Luke’s, from too much sun or too much laughter. No, Mal thought, not too much laughter. His eyes were like Cal’s, a little tired and a little sad.
“Hi.” She stood up and reached out a han
d to him. He extended his hand to her, then retracted it fast, pulling the oven mitt off. His gaze locked on hers, searching, maybe a little suspicious. She broke the handshake first, pulling her hand away a little fast, and swinging wide to indicate how nice the house was (true), how welcome she felt here (lie), and a million other things she had to say to counter the stifling silence of these big men. In her enthusiasm, though, she knocked her hand into one of the candlesticks. Before it could even finish its wobble, Keith grabbed the base and set it right. She looked at him, blushing, starting to come up with the words to express how much she would regret burning down such a nice house, especially on her first day there.
“Nice to meet you.”
Then he turned on his heel and walked back into the kitchen.
Chapter 3
Mal looked around the tiny bedroom she’d been, as Luke said, assigned. The plaid bedspread was more shabby than chic, but it looked warm and she was desperate to climb under the covers. She had started changing when she realized that she had nothing appropriate to change into—in addition to no dressy fall weather clothes, she also had no pajamas. Katie was going to lend her some sweats to sleep in, although Mal was dubious about how far over her hips they would go. Katie was tall, but she was thin as a reed. And she still managed to look like a pipsqueak next to her brothers. No wonder Luke was so protective. At one time, that would have driven her crazy. Now Mal was grateful for the protective interference of Luke Carson.
He had told her that was what the men in his family did, looked out for the women. Mal thought that was a pretty unenlightened attitude, but she was in no position to turn it down. She had known Luke for less than a year, and even though their friendship had been slow to develop—he was just the charming bartender she sometimes saw at charity events when she was on Michael’s arm—now she didn’t know what she would do without him. She knew he had a wild, restless streak, and he was getting ready to leave DC anyway. But for him to pick up and come home, a home he only talked about as a punch line, a place she knew he did not feel, well, at home, that was big, and it was all for her. She had no one else—no family, no real friends beyond Luke. But he made her feel like this was the easiest, most natural thing in the world, to put a fake ring on a friend’s finger and take her home.
She had a hard time imagining the other men in the Carson family being as sweet about it. Probably as high-handed (and Luke was high-handed—she was here, wasn’t she? And without any pajamas?). There was nothing sweet about Cal and Keith Carson, although Mal had to admit that Keith didn’t have the same hardness that Cal did. Maybe that would come with time. For now, Keith seemed happy to wear floral oven mitts and hold out Libby’s chair for her. Oh, manners. Manners were very sexy. Maybe he had a mommy complex, she thought, fingering the fraying corner of the comforter. She shook her head. This was Kentucky, not Oedipus.
Besides, she was engaged to Luke. So even if she did find her gaze lingering on Keith’s sad eyes or his strong forearms, it didn’t matter. She was here for however much time it took Michael to forget about her, and for her to make a plan for what she was going to do for the rest of her life.
No big deal.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Luke snuck in before she could answer. “Luke! You’re not supposed to be in here!”
“Can’t I sneak in to say good night to my best girl?”
She didn’t really mind, and if they really were engaged, she would have welcomed it. But Miss Libby had told her that she knew it was old-fashioned, but in this house, two people did not share a bed unless they were married. She said it with a smile, which seemed to be the only way Miss Libby said anything. But still.
Luke came over to put his arms around her, but she pushed at his chest. “Luke, get out. I don’t want to face the wrath of Miss Libby if we get caught.”
“Miss Libby won’t care. She likes you, she told me.”
“She likes me until she catches me taking your virtue under her roof when she expressly said it was forbidden.”
“Darlin’, if I ever had virtue, it was gone a long time ago.”
“Well, then if she catches you taking my virtue.”
Luke just raised an eyebrow at her. “Katie gave me these for you.”
He handed her a pair of sweatpants and a very old, ratty-looking T-shirt. At least it looked big. She immediately started to slip the sweats on under her skirt. Ah, warmth. She sighed to herself.
“Come here, sit down,” Luke said, indicating the bed. It was her turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “I’m not going to do anything unvirtuous. I just want to talk to you.” When she sat, he said, “How are you doing?” and started rubbing her shoulders.
She moaned, letting her head roll forward. “Fine. A little awkward. I know you insist I’m not, but I still feel like I’m imposing.”
Luke tsked at her and rubbed up her neck to the bottom of her skull.
It took a Herculean effort to turn and take his hands in hers. “Luke, please be serious. I can find another—”
“Mal, we’re in the middle of nowhere—”
“But if Michael—”
“And we’re country people. We have guns.” He smiled and gently stroked the skin under her right eye where the bruise had faded to nothing. “You just needed to lay low for a while. Well, you ain’t gonna find anyplace lower than Hollow Bend,” he said, his Kentucky accent exaggerated. When she started to protest, he reached up and grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Trust me. You’re safe here. You can take all the time you need.”
Her eyes moistened, and she shivered. Not from cold, really—although a little from the cold.
Luke noticed. “Sweetheart, you’re freezing. Get under here.” He pulled the covers back while she quickly changed her shirt and pulled off her skirt. She crawled under the covers, and Luke kicked off his shoes and climbed in with her.
“Luke—” she started to protest.
“I’m not going to touch your virtue. I’m just getting you warm is all. Damn, girl, you’re an icicle.” His arms wrapped around her; his hands pulled her head to his chest. “Just relax, try to get some sleep. I reckon you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in a while.”
That was true enough. Before she could only lie stiffly next to Michael, hoping not to alert him to her presence in case she woke him in the middle of the night. There were two possible Michaels who could wake up—the cranky Michael who complained that she was preventing him from getting the sleep he needed to be able to perform in the operating room, or the amorous Michael, who was just as unpleasant. The one time she snuck out of bed to sleep on the couch was a very unpleasant morning for her. “How would it look,” he said, “if people knew they weren’t even sleeping in the same bed?” How would they know? she thought, but she never did it again, even after they were separated. Well, at least when he slept at home.
Nothing at all like beautiful Luke, with his sparkling green eyes and his mess of wavy blond hair, his happy-go-lucky attitude that drew people to him, his sweet, sweet heart that wanted to keep her safe. She loved him. She wasn’t sure if she would ever be able to fall in love again, not the way she had been with Michael in the beginning, but she did love Luke. She leaned forward and tentatively placed her lips on his. She felt him flinch in surprise, then warm to the idea as her lips moved over his. He put his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” he said, cupping her cheek in his hand.
“Just testing. Seeing how it felt. You know, if it still felt the same.”
“How did it feel?”
Mal sighed. “Like friends.”
Luke’s laughing eyes met hers. “And how are we going to stay friends if you keep trying to seduce me every time you feel a little low? That’s not good for my self-esteem, darlin’.”
Now Luke stroked her hair and whispered to her to trust him, that she was safe, that he would take care of her.
She fell asleep.
&nb
sp; Mal turned the dark corner, running toward the light at the end of the hallway. She wasn’t sure where she was or where she was going, but she heard footsteps behind her and she knew she had to get ahead of them. She ran and ran, her legs pumping, muscles burning, and when she got to the light, her momentum propelled her through the doorway out into empty space. There was no floor beyond the doorway and she was falling . . .
She woke up with a gasp and shot straight up in bed. Where was she? Plaid quilt—hotel room? Slowly the details started to take shape in her sleep-addled brain. Football trophies on the walls. Worn wooden floors. Luke’s house. Well, Luke’s family’s house. Luke had murmured her to sleep. She turned around in the bed; she blearily scanned the room.
Luke was gone.
Chapter 4
Keith was up with the roosters the next morning. Since his dad got up that early, he knew Miss Libby would have some breakfast out. No one was in the kitchen when he crossed the yard and went in through the back door, so he wrapped a couple of pieces of bacon in a paper towel and stuffed a biscuit in his mouth. He turned back to stuff another biscuit in his pocket, then headed out to the bunkhouse.
His little house wasn’t much to look at, but it was sturdy. The outside needed painting, something he should have done this summer but never got around to. He made a mental note to corral Luke into helping him while he was home. For however long he was home. He noticed Luke’s car was gone from the driveway, but he didn’t think anything of it. Luke kept the most irregular hours of any man he had ever met. He knew Miss Libby hoped that fiancée of his would straighten him out; didn’t seem to be working so far.
Mal. She seemed nice enough. OK, she seemed downright sweet. Not that phony kind of sweet he was used to seeing around town, girls who would bat their eyes and laugh at your jokes until they found out that, no, his no-good brother was not in town and, no, he still was not over his dead wife. At least they were natural blondes, which was something Mal definitely was not. He didn’t pretend to know about the ins and outs of women’s hair coloring, but when Vanessa dyed her hair (“Frosted,” she corrected in his head), it looked different, but good. Brought out the blue in her eyes. Mal’s hair seemed to make her look a little sick. He felt bad for Luke when he broke the bad news to her that there were no hair salons in Hollow Bend, although maybe Jack would be visiting his horse again soon. He was still a hairdresser, right? Keith should store that away to tell Mal. She looked high maintenance.
