"What've you got against poor Luke? What'd he ever do to you?" Beth turned the tables on her.
Memory of "poor" Luke's kiss from thirteen years ago assaulted her. Had he acted on a dare? A joke? She still had no clue as to why he'd kissed her. All she'd known was that kiss proved true every unkind word she'd overheard between Amy, Lucy and Melissa. She'd run as if Beelzebub himself—actually Luke wasn't far off in her book—had cornered her. She'd never ever mentioned it to anyone. And she wasn't about to confess now. That kiss had haunted her for years. More than once she'd dreamed of Luke and that kiss, only to awaken in the grip of restless discontent.
"Luke's never done anything to me. He's just not my type." A shiver chased down her spine. Damnation. Simply speaking his name set her nerves on edge.
Olivia jumped off the bed and walked over to the dresser, the hardwood floor cool beneath her bare feet. She shifted a stack of mail off her jewelry box and opened it to search for a pair of earrings for the evening. "I can't understand someone born into privilege and opportunity, squandering it by thumbing their nose." She plucked out a pair of amethyst stones in a dangling filigree setting from among the jumble of earrings and held them up.
Beth nodded her approval and went back to the subject of Luke. "Luke's a rebel, all right. I think he was born with a streak of wild in him. The thing about those bad-ass boys, when they finally settle down, they make good husbands. Guess it's 'cause they've sown all those wild oats." Beth shook her head, her eyes dancing with devilment. "And I'd say Luke's almost sown himself out. If I hadn't already invested five years of marriage in Chuck and almost had him trained…"
Olivia laughed, eager to latch on to a topic other than Luke Rutledge. "Yuh-huh. You are such big talk. Chuck is a saint." Well, perhaps Beth's husband wasn't a saint, but he was a very nice man, which was close to one and the same these days. "Not to mention the father of your child."
Beth, nine weeks pregnant, grinned all over herself while she rubbed her tummy. "Well, there is that little matter."
Olivia pulled out the satin-and-lace merry widow she'd mail-ordered on a whim. She unfolded the undergarment and held it up in front of Beth.
"Ooooeeee. Adam is a lucky man." She plucked the sexy lingerie from Olivia and turned it one way and then another. "Hot. Definitely very hot. You go, baby."
"You don't think it's too…" Olivia pursed her lips and pretended to evaluate the underwear "…let's see, how did you describe my wardrobe earlier … oh, yes, prudish?" Actually, she still couldn't quite see herself in such a sexy getup.
"This," Beth dangled the satin and lace from one finger, "is a start. A step in the right direction."
"A start? A step? How about a big flying leap?" Compared to her usual white cotton briefs and the occasional splurge for matching bra and panties, buying this qualified as a veritable walk on the wild side. She felt a little excited and a whole lot naughty just owning such a garment.
"We'll talk flying leaps when you go crotchless." Beth wagged her brows.
"Crotchless?" she squeaked. Olivia imagined herself stretched out on her bed next to Adam, the sheets folded back neatly. In her mind's eye, Adam's expression registered disgust rather than excitement when he noted her crotchless state. "I don't think so. This is plenty wild for me." Olivia toed the line between seductive and trashy, careful not to cross it.
"You've got the right idea in mind. But it seems a shame to waste this on Adam."
Olivia opened her mouth to protest that Adam wouldn't be viewing her underwear.
Beth, who always had to have the last word, laughed and cut her off. "Just kidding. I know you're going to tell me he won't see your underwear."
Her sense of humor surfaced. Olivia smiled a secretive smile, sure to make Beth nuts. Also, just to counteract her predictability.
Worked like a charm. Beth popped off the bed like a spring-loaded action figure. "Are you holding out on me?"
Olivia laughed. "No. It's just a feeling I have."
"It could be gas."
"Maybe it's love." She made a joke of it, in light of Beth's earlier comments. But, just maybe she was on to something. Her feelings had developed into something more than friendship, and Adam had definitely sent similar signals. What kind of husband would he make?
"It's more likely gas. You better go take your shower if you want me to help with the hair and makeup. What time is Adam coming by for you?"
"I'm meeting him at the country club around eight-thirty. I need to check on Pops before I go, and there's no need to drag Adam out there with me."
"Mr. High and Mighty too good to go out to the farm with you?" Beth asked, sniffing.
"No. He's been before. And he was very nice." Perhaps he'd laughed a bit too heartily, his air faintly patronizing, but her father was a far cry from his. Two beers shy of polishing off a twelve-pack, Pops had been feeling no pain as he'd subjected Adam to the farm tour in his rundown pickup. Actually, Adam had requested the tour. Pops maintained, drunk or sober, that it didn't matter how much money was sitting in the bank or buried in the backyard, if a man owned land, he was wealthy beyond compare. Even if the screen door was held together with duct tape. She hadn't invited Adam out again.
"He has a meeting late this afternoon. Something to do with policies regarding special deposits. He may be running a little late to the party."
Beth shoved her toward the bathroom. "So will you, if we don't get you ready. And don't forget to shave your legs!"
* * *
Luke Rutledge pulled into the garage next to the stables and killed the engine. He slid out of the driver's seat and slammed the door. His parents' his-'n'-her matching Cadillacs, his brother's late-model BMW and Luke's old pickup sporting the Rutledge & Klegman Construction logo along with more than a few dings and dents. Which one of these did not belong? He grinned at the joke only he found funny.
A pirate costume hanging in the back of Adam's car caught his eye. His brother as a pirate? He didn't think so. Adam was definitely the starched chinos and tasseled loafers type.
Luke crossed the manicured lawn of River Oaks to the back of the Greek Revival mansion. The return of the prodigal son to his ancestral home. He knew exactly how his father regarded him. The black sheep once again darkening the door.
He'd displayed a knack for finding trouble early on. At what age had he finally figured out that not everyone fell prey to the wildness that seized him at times? He couldn't put an exact memory to the time he realized he was different from the rest of his family. But lines had become clearly drawn about the time he'd discovered they primarily cared about money and position and they figured out he didn't give a damn what people thought.
Rutledges didn't ride big, black motorcycles, sport tattoos, wear an earring, or make a living at something as menial as manual labor. It didn't make a rat's ass difference he'd earned a civil engineering degree, owned his own construction firm, and had more money sitting in the Colther Community Bank than he'd ever need. He'd tainted his success when he'd gone into business with Dave Klegman, a transplanted New Yorker.
Nope. Luke didn't look like a Southern gentleman. He didn't conduct himself like a Southern gentleman. He didn't judge people by their last name or the amount of money they did or didn't have. Luke didn't measure up to Rutledge standards.
He paused at the mudroom that led to the kitchen and checked the thick soles of his scuffed work boots. Ruth would have a piece of him if he tracked mud in on her floors.
The familiar noise from the kitchen brought a smile to his face. Thunk-rolllll, thunk-rollll, thunk-rollll. Ruth rolling out piecrust. An assortment of smells wafted out on the early evening air, evoking earlier years as clearly as a photo album. Chicken and dumplings, blackberry cobbler, crisp pickles, pungent turnip greens—some of his better boyhood memories. Ruth had cooked and run the house at River Oaks since before he'd been born.
Luke stepped into the kitchen. Ruth paused in midroll, a smile joining the other creases in her worn face. "Bless my
soul, you're a sight for sore eyes. We haven't seen you in almost two months."
"Been over in Mississippi on a big job for the last six weeks. We wrapped it up early."
"Well, it's good to have you home." She shook her rolling pin in his direction. "Did you check your boots?"
"Clean as a whistle. And you're still as pretty as a picture." Luke wrapped an arm as far around her ample frame as possible and kissed her weathered cheek. Although her salt-and-pepper hair had lost its pepper and was a snowy white, Ruth's blue eyes remained sharp. He glanced at the mountain of food on the sideboard. "Getting ready for Grandma Pearl's big birthday bash tomorrow?"
"I've been cooking for three days now." She leveled a stern gaze his way. "You are coming, aren't you?"
"Would I miss a chance to be held close to the family bosom? Uncle Jack'll be three sheets to the wind." Uncle Jack managed to get wasted at every family function and generally invite disgrace. Luke liked the old reprobate. He and Uncle Jack shared a penchant for trouble. "And Grandma'll be thumping her cane and threatening to disinherit everyone. I wouldn't miss it for anything."
His stomach issued a loud growl. "Any chance of me getting some of those leftover chicken and dumplings?"
"Guess you should've showed up at lunch like decent folk and then you could've had some." Despite her fussing, Ruth spooned up a generous portion.
"Wouldn't want to ruin my reputation by doing anything decent folks might." He accepted a bowl of homemade heaven with a grin. "Actually, I was double-checking the supply list for the library's new addition. Our crew starts work on Monday."
"Olivia's mighty excited. But then she's worked real hard to raise the money." Ruth and Olivia Cooper's father claimed distant kin. Ruth resumed rolling her crusts.
"She must've busted her … butt. It's a nice addition. A new ivory tower for her to lock herself away in her library castle. How is Lady Olivia? It's been years since I've seen her." Olivia. Just speaking her name knotted his gut. He'd known thirteen years ago, she was far too good for him. When she'd pulled away and run from him as if he'd tainted her, he'd vowed to stay away. He could live without that kind of rejection. Especially when so many other girls had been willing. He'd talked to the assistant librarian earlier today, but Olivia, with her solemn gray eyes and touch-me-not air, had been conspicuously absent.
Ruth lowered surprisingly delicate brows in her weathered face. "You'd be a far sight better off with someone like Olivia than those trashy women you're too ashamed to bring home to meet your mama."
Luke shrugged off Ruth's rebuke as he spooned in a mouthful of dumplings. So, he liked women that ran as fast as his motorcycle. He wasn't ashamed, just never interested or involved enough to bring them home to meet his mother. "I believe your dumplings get better every time I eat them."
"Changing the subject ain't gonna change the fact that you ought to stop chasing tramps."
"Should I chase the fair Olivia?" He laughed but somehow the idea didn't sound as ridiculous as it should have.
"Nope." Ruth plunked the rolling pin down on the counter. "Adam beat you to it. They've been seeing one another." She sniffed in apparent disapproval.
Startled, Luke paused, his spoon in midair, his entire body taut with surprise and a gut full of instinctive protest. "Olivia and Adam?" He wasn't a snob, but his family sure as hell was—it was one of the major differences that formed the chasm separating them. "Dating? When did this happen?"
"A little over a month and a half. Maybe two."
"About the time I headed to Mississippi."
"Um-hmm." Ruth cut out the crusts with practiced economy and draped them over two pie plates mounded high with apples and cinnamon. Her nimble fingers tucked and shaped the pastry. "Can you imagine?"
Luke put the bowl on the counter, his appetite gone. Actually he could and that was the problem. Apparently Olivia hadn't run like hell when respectable Adam kissed her. Thirteen years and her horrified flight from him still rankled. Thirteen years and he still remembered the sweet innocence of her lips, her brief flare of passion. "Can't be very serious. They haven't been seeing each other that long."
Ruth slid the pies into the oven and straightened, sending him a dark look. "How long do you think it takes?"
For what? hovered on the tip of his tongue before he thought better of it. Never mind. It wasn't his business and he really didn't give a damn, even though the idea of Adam and Olivia nettled him, like a splinter beneath his skin.
Luke shoved away from the counter without comment. "I stopped by to see Mother. Any idea where she is?"
"Mrs. Rutledge headed down to the river. She's been painting late in the afternoons. The Colonel's in his study."
They both knew she'd added his father's whereabouts, not so Luke could seek him out, but as a warning. His mother might not understand him, but she loved him fiercely. The same could not be said of his father. "Thanks, Ruth. Great chicken and dumplings, as usual."
"I've never known you to leave more than a bite of 'em in a bowl before." A hint of speculation glimmered in her eyes. "I'll save them for you."
Without comment, Luke let himself out the back door of the kitchen and headed for the path that skirted the terrace and led downhill to the muddy banks of the Cohutta River. He pulled out a thin cheroot and paused beneath the broad arms of a river oak to light it.
"How much longer will you have to see that Cooper girl?" His father's voice carried clearly from the open French doors of his study. Luke stilled the lighter, the unlit cheroot clenched in his teeth. Even though he couldn't see the Colonel, the disdain in his voice clearly painted the sneer on his face.
"Only a little longer. She's an ice princess, but she'll come around. I'll put a ring on her finger if I have to." Adam laughed in derision.
People swore Adam and Luke sounded alike. His own mother often couldn't tell them apart on the phone. Luke hoped he didn't sound like a pompous ass. And he shouldn't be so damn glad to hear Adam refer to Olivia as an ice princess. She might not run in the other direction when Adam kissed her, but it also sounded as if Adam hadn't tapped into the passion Luke knew simmered beneath her surface.
"Good God, I hope it doesn't come to that. But do what you have to do. There's a lot at stake here."
Well, well, well. Adam was dating Olivia because she could help him somehow? Luke rubbed his jaw.
"At the party tonight, I'll invite her to Grandmother's birthday celebration."
What strings could she pull for a powerful Rutledge? Whatever was going on, it didn't bode well for Olivia.
Luke leaned against the rough bark of the tree and squelched his inkling of protectiveness. Olivia was a big girl. She could take care of herself. Luke was nobody's hero and it'd stay that way. He'd hate to ruin his reputation.
"What about—" The shrill of the phone, his father's private business line, masked the name. "—Will he be there?"
Adam's "Yes" coincided with another ring of the phone.
His father answered, held a brief conversation and hung up. "That was Boswell. You need to meet with his man tonight."
"But what about the party? I've already got a pirate costume and everything." The outfit in the car.
"Forget the party. You can get the final bid information later. Meeting Boswell's man is more important."
Boswell? Had he heard that name before? This was getting more interesting by the minute.
"But that's a three-hour drive. I won't get back here until two in the morning."
"Put a sock in it, son. We're so close now, I can smell the money. Take the farm truck. Your car draws too much attention and you don't want that."
Luke shook his head in disgust. Adam had always been something of a bootlicker, but when had he so thoroughly become his father's puppet?
"Of all the rotten timing. I spent a lot of money on my pirate outfit." Maybe Adam would like some cheese to go with that whine.
"Shut up about your pirate costume. Dress up in the goddamned thing when you get back ho
me," the Colonel snapped. "You've got to leave within the hour. Meet me back here and I'll have the money ready."
Inside, a door opened and closed.
Luke pushed away from the oak and backtracked to the garage. He'd see his mother tomorrow at Grandma Pearl's party. What the hell were his brother and father up to? Walking in and demanding answers would get him nowhere. Who, other than Olivia, had Adam planned to meet tonight at the party and what information did he need? And why would Adam willingly engage himself to a woman he referred to as an "ice princess"?
And what difference did any of it make? He could just walk away and pretend he'd never overheard that particular conversation. He'd head back home. Maybe stop off at Cecil's Bar and Grill and throw some darts.
A full moon waited, heavy and ripe in the eastern sky, even as the sun edged toward the horizon. A familiar restlessness gripped him. He stepped into the cool dark of the garage and flipped on the lights.
Glimmering metal caught his eye. The scabbard housing the sword in Adam's back seat, part of the pirate costume. Is this how pirates felt. Edgy? Restless? Seeking a treasure or excitement? Unsure of what they wanted, but knowing they wanted something? He'd felt this way all of his life. And it usually got him in trouble.
The eyepatch beckoned him. The scabbard flashed her beguiling jewels. The dark wig was about the same length as his own shoulder-length hair. They entreated him, calling to the always-lurking wildness in his soul. A slow smile edged his mouth as an idea took hold.
The car. The costume. The country club. The companion. Opportunity knocked and Luke answered. Could he pull it off? He and Adam sounded alike, and they were about the same build. Luke was darker than Adam, but with low lighting and a costume, if he could figure out who the mystery contact was, he might get some answers. Perhaps a dance or two with Olivia. Then, if he dropped some information her way, it shouldn't be misconstrued as some misguided attempt at chivalry. It would constitute a leveling of the playing field.
BARELY MISTAKEN Page 2
