Her cheeks flushed as she took a couple of swings with the stick. “Okay, Marshal, pitch it,” she said with a fierce determination that was undermined by her ear-to-ear grin.
It was at that exact moment that Rebecca stepped out into the sunlight of the porch.
“What the devil’s going on?” she demanded more harshly than she’d intended.
Everyone turned to see her standing there. In a glance, Luke took her in. Her black skirt, curve-hugging tight in front, with yards of fine muslin gathered over the bustle in back. Another of those high-necked blouses, this one in royal blue, tucked securely into her narrow waist. Her hair was done up in a style that was prim and proper, accenting her neck, all smooth and warm and soft. Beautiful as always, he thought with a sudden flash of familiar desire that he mildly resented.
“Mama!” Andrew exclaimed, his high voice breaking into Luke’s thoughts. “Look! Luke’s here! Isn’t that great? He’s teaching us to play baseball!”
“Great, dear,” she muttered as she took in the scene in a heartbeat. Every face was bathed in a radiant smile that bespoke relief from the anguish and fear that had stalked them. Songbirds, finches and doves, sang merrily from the oak trees that bordered the yard. Even the sky was bright and clear and blue—not all that common in San Francisco.
It was good to see Andrew so happy, so excited—a miracle actually, considering the ordeal he’d been through. Now here he was, playing in a childish reverie. That was terrific. Trouble was, it was Luke who had brought the color back to his cheeks and the spark of excitement to his eyes. Why did it have to be Luke? Hot resentment flooded through her. He can’t be here. He can’t! her consciousness screamed in denial. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She’d thought she’d seen the last of him. Hadn’t she made her feelings clear? With a sigh, she realized that now was not the time or the place to confront him.
Whatever his reason for being here, it was obvious that Andrew was thrilled. The two had taken an instant liking to each other. If there had been any doubt in her mind, Andrew had dispelled that yesterday. From the moment he got up and found Luke gone, he’d done nothing but talk about him. Luke was brave. Luke was strong. Luke was a marshal who’d saved him from the bad men. Luke. Luke. Luke! Until finally, in a fit of temper, she’d said, “He’s gone and he won’t be back, and I don’t wish to discuss him any further.”
Ruth had looked startled at the vehemence in her tone. Andrew had looked genuinely hurt. Rebecca had been instantly contrite. After all, it wasn’t Andrew’s fault that she was in this state of emotional turmoil. It was Luke’s.
No wonder, then, that she was furious to see him. Besides, her rapidly elevating temper coaxed, just look at the man. He was dressed in faded denim, which molded provocatively to his legs like it was put on wet, and his midnight blue shirt was loose and opened at the collar. He wasn’t even wearing a tie—not that he ever had, but it would be nice to see him conform, once in a while, she thought rue-fully. His hair was too long, his hat was too old, and his black jacket barely concealed the gun he had tied to his right thigh.
Gun. The word and the reality slammed together in her mind. Good Lord, he was wearing a gun! Yes, she’d seen him wear one before, but not with her child so close. Not while he was in her backyard, playing with her son.
“Good morning,” Luke called, with a smile that was warmer than sunshine. He waved, as though yesterday hadn’t happened. “We were beginning to think you were never getting up.”
“Oh, Mama likes to sleep late on Sundays,” Andrew supplied, rushing up to stand next to Luke and cling to his hand.
Rebecca bristled. “Why are you here?” she demanded bluntly. “I mean, it’s early.” She stepped farther out onto the porch, squinting in the harsh sunlight. “We usually don’t receive—” she emphasized the word “—until late afternoon.”
If he noticed her rebuke, he gave no indication of it.
Luke’s hand rested affectionately on Andrew’s shoulder in a way that made her uneasy. “Is it early? I didn’t realize,” he drawled smoothly. “I didn’t know. I haven’t been to bed yet.”
I’ll just bet, she fumed inwardly, remembering his affection for cheap perfume and cheaper whiskey. “Come on, Andrew.” She motioned to him with her hand. “We have to go in now.” She made a half turn, certain he would comply. To her great surprise, he didn’t.
Andrew’s eyes widened in puzzlement. “Aw, Ma, I don’t—” His gaze immediately flicked to Ruth, who turned a questioning stare on Rebecca, as if to say, “Why?”
Rebecca ignored the unspoken question. She didn’t want to say, Because Luke Scanlin is here and he heats my blood and makes me want him. Her pulse fluttered unsteadily.
“Andrew!” Rebecca repeated in a no-nonsense tone.
Andrew merely inched closer to Luke. Luke’s hand moved more fully around the boy’s shoulder in a gesture of noncompliance, which fueled that quickly rising temper of hers. Andrew pushed protectively against Luke’s denim-clad hip, his back nestled against the holstered gun.
Alarm made her shout, “Andrew! Get away from him, right now!”
Luke’s black eyes glowed with an anger that his expression did not betray. He cocked his head slightly to one side in thoughtful consideration. “Why?” His tone was calm, and there seemed to be a slight nodding of heads, affirming that the same question was on everyone’s mind.
“The gun! He’s—” She pointed.
“What?” Startled, he glanced down, relieved to see the weapon still securely hooked in his holster. His gaze flicked sharply back to her. “He’s safe,” he told her, folding his arms across his chest in what felt like a challenge. “He’ll always be safe with me. Won’t you, cowboy?” he added affectionately.
“Yup.” A beaming Andrew craned his neck to look up at Luke’s face. Even from this distance, Rebecca could see the adoration on her son’s face, adoration that had always been reserved for her alone. Until Luke. Tears glistened in her eyes. He’d obviously won over her entire staff, and Ruth, and now even Andrew. Damn the man. Was there no limit to his charm? Was no one immune?
She was, she told herself firmly and, as though needing to prove it, she stepped down off the porch and took a step, one step, in his direction. “Guns, Marshal, are dangerous, and I prefer not to take chances.”
“So I’ve noticed.” His words were innocent, but charged with a smoldering intent that sent a shiver down her spine. “You needn’t worry, Becky. I wear a gun for protection, mine and other people’s.” Moving his gun hand, he ruffled Andrew’s hair playfully.
The implication of his words was lost on Andrew, but she understood. Oh, yes, she understood, with gut-twisting reality. He was here for Andrew, to protect Andrew. One of the men who had taken her child was still out there. Andrew was a witness. No matter what had happened between them, Luke had not forgotten that her son could still be in danger.
And here she’d been thinking only of herself, assuming that he was here because of her, when all the time he’d come to protect Andrew. Oh, God, how could she have been so foolish? She felt about two inches high. She wanted to apologize. She wanted to thank him. Pride wouldn’t let her do either.
“Andrew, I think all this activity is too much for you,” she said in a more subdued tone. “I don’t want you to get overtired.” She turned to her mother-in-law. “Ruth, do you think you are up to all this?” It was a gentle rebuke.
“Lord, yes,” Ruth replied with a negligent wave of her hand. “You think I’d miss a chance to play baseball with my only grandson?” She winked broadly at Andrew. “Besides, I’m not doing anything. I’m the...the...” She shot Luke a questioning look.
“Umpire.”
“Ah, yes,” Ruth repeated with a smile. “I’m the umpire.” She thumbed her chest.
“Oh, really?” Rebecca replied absently. “That’s very nice, but why don’t we all go in and—”
“Nooo, Mama,” Andrew whined. “The game’s not over.”
Luke ruff
led Andrew’s hair again, making him grin and laugh before he raked it back with his stubby fingers.
“Why don’t you join us? You like games, don’t you?” Luke added, in a deep, husky tone that made Rebecca take a faltering step backward. With a pat on Andrew’s shoulder, he said, “Go get your mother.”
“Oh, yes, Mama.” Andrew raced across the grassy yard to fetch her. Tugging firmly on her hand, his voice shrill with excitement, he said, “You can do it, Mama. Don’t be afraid. Luke will teach you. Won’t you, Luke?”
He was already pulling her reluctantly toward the place where Ruth and Mrs. Wheeler were standing, about ten feet from Luke.
“Of course,” Luke said. “It would be my pleasure to teach you...everything I know.” The words were innocent, the tone was not. Nor were the erotic images that flashed, hot and luscious, in her mind.
Was he deliberately trying to...to... What? Inflame your senses? If he was, then he was doing a really fine job of it—not that she’d tell him so, of course. Mostly what she felt was trapped and, judging by the smug way he was regarding her, he knew exactly what he was doing. Moreover, he was enjoying every minute of it.
So the trap tightened, as if she were a rabbit in a snare. The more she struggled the tighter it got.
Her trap was emotional, not physical. Luke was a danger to her safe, orderly life, to her peace of mind, to her secrets, yet he was protection for her son. At least for Andrew’s physical safety. The rest...
She wanted him far away from her, but close to her son. How could she have one without the other? How would she survive his constant nearness?
There had to be a way. There had to be a middle ground, but right this minute she didn’t have the vaguest idea what that would be. For sanity’s sake, her only hope was that the police found the kidnapper soon.
In the meantime, Luke was here, and she had to grin and bear it. There was no point in arguing. Sending him away would mean putting Andrew at risk. This was his job, after all, and, grudgingly, she decided to let him do it.
“All right,” she said cautiously. “I’ll play along...for a while.” She meant more than the game.
Relief flashed in Luke’s eyes. A smile threatened the corners of his mouth, but he restrained himself. So, she understood his meaning, and more than just the part about protecting Andrew. He was here for that, certainly. He liked the little guy—liked him a lot. She wouldn’t send him away now. It was a start, anyway. Shifting his weight to one leg, he watched while the others surrounded Rebecca and tried to explain the game to her.
He’d like to explain a few things, too, but they had nothing to do with baseball. No, he had indoor sports in mind, very private indoor sports. Standing away from the others, he let his mind wander while he half listened. Ruth and Andrew were both talking at once, each telling Rebecca the rules of the game.
“Luke will throw the ball...” Andrew was explaining.
Luke smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm. He sure could have used some of his energy yesterday. Goodness knew he’d needed something, and that bottle of whiskey he bought had only given him a headache. And it hadn’t been cheap, either. It had been good single-malt whiskey from Kentucky. He’d sat in his room all night, drinking and reflecting about her and about that scene in the kitchen.
The more he’d thought about it, the angrier he’d gotten. At one point, he’d actually made up his mind to say the hell with the whole thing. It was a little vague what the whole thing was, but it was certainly anything that had to do with that woman. Yeah, even through a whiskey haze, he’d been sure of that.
But giving up didn’t sit well with him. He was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. He wanted Rebecca. Trouble was, the lady didn’t seem inclined to cooperate. So he’d forced himself to sit there, and the whiskey haze had made sure he did just that. At first he’d been angry, angrier than he’d ever been. Half a bottle of whiskey had dulled the anger to a manageable level.
“Then you hit the ball...” he heard Ruth saying. He was watching Rebecca, and the hurt he’d felt yesterday curled cold inside him. If she’d reached in and wrenched his heart out of his living chest, it couldn’t have hurt more. He’d been so euphoric, so elated, so certain and so damned wrong. Luke had thought he knew women. At least, he’d thought he knew this woman. Evidently, he hadn’t.
Looking at her now, he figured he should have known what the outcome would be. She was a lady, a woman with a position in San Francisco society, and he was a cowboy—sure a U.S. marshal, but mostly a common cowboy.
Well, dammit, this cowboy loved her. And no matter what she said, she cared for him. No woman could give herself so completely to a man and not care for him. Could she? He was damned if he knew, but he was gonna find out.
“...run really fast,” he heard Ruth say. The sound of her voice jolted him out of his musings. He looked up in time to see her pointing to the bags of cornmeal.
Rebecca was nodding, her sensuous mouth drawn down in determined concentration. He knew that look, had seen it often enough. The anger he’d shrugged off circled near the edges of his mind. Abruptly he straightened, not willing to give it credence. “Okay, let’s get going.” He cleared his throat and tossed the ball lightly a couple of times. “The championship of the backyard is about to be decided.”
Andrew returned to his place against the fence. He paced back and forth, his small face drawn in a frown that made Luke chuckle.
Ruth turned to Rebecca. “Now, I don’t want to pressure you—” amusement danced in her eyes “—but the honor of women everywhere is at stake here, so if you don’t hit the ball, we’ll never hear the end of it.” She shook her head in mock despair.
A grinning Mrs. Wheeler nodded in agreement.
“Fine.” Rebecca hefted the stick to her shoulder. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Come on, Luke!” Andrew shouted through cupped hands. “Mama can’t hit!”
“Really?” He smirked. “Glad to hear it.”
“Hit it, Mrs. Tinsdale,” the housekeeper called encouragingly.
Rebecca braced her feet in the soft grass. She focused on Luke, saw him pull back and release the ball. It whizzed past her head faster than a crazed hummingbird.
“Hey,” she muttered, her gaze darting to Jack, who’d caught the ball and tossed it back to Luke. “Try that again, mister.” Her competitive spirit rose to the surface. She wasn’t about to let him win.
Again the leather sphere sailed past. She swung and missed. The action took some of the wind out of her and made a lock of hair come loose from her comb and bob up and down over her left eye. She blew it back.
“Strike two,” Ruth said, apologetically.
“One more and we got ‘em!” Andrew called jubilantly from his place near the back fence.
Rebecca didn’t understand the rules exactly, but she knew one more wasn’t good, so when she saw Luke prepare to throw, she braced her feet and...
“Swing!” Ruth yelled, obviously forgetting her impartiality.
Rebecca swung with all her might. The stick and the ball collided hard enough to make her teeth rattle. The ball flew past Luke’s head and dropped inside the fence, about twenty feet from where a startled Andrew was racing to retrieve it.
“Run!” Ruth and Mrs. Wheeler shouted simultaneously. “Run and touch the sacks with your foot!”
Dazed, Rebecca hitched her skirt up above her knees and took off as if she were being chased by hornets.
“Get the ball,” Luke called to Andrew.
“Keep going!” Ruth hollered, jumping up and down as if she had wagon springs on the soles of her shoes. “Run faster!”
Andrew scooped up the ball and threw it, but it fell far short of its destination, so he had to rush forward and repeat the process.
“Throw the ball, Andrew!” Luke shouted, laughing, as he ran toward home base.
Rebecca touched the second sack, then the third, and saw Mrs. Wheeler waving her on to the starting point.
Halfway to
Ruth, she saw Luke step between her and the coveted home base.
“Here!” Luke shouted, arms held high, while he effectively blocked her path.
“Faster, Rebecca! Run!” Ruth shrieked, hopping up and down.
Rebecca put her head down and charged for home. A pain stitched her side. Her breath was short. She kept going, determined to win. She was moving so fast, she couldn’t have stopped if she wanted to. Full force, she slammed into what felt like a brick wall. It was Luke’s chest.
Together, they went down. Luke cushioned her fall, and Rebecca sprawled full length on top of him. His legs tangled with her skirts. His arms wrapped around her waist. When she looked down, he was laughing, really laughing. Tears glistened in his eyes, he was laughing so hard, and soon so was she.
The group converged on the spot, yelling and shouting, but mostly laughing.
“She’s safe! We won!”
“She’s out! We won!”
Luke sobered, and with genuine concern said, “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she replied, embarrassingly aware of their position, though no one else seemed the least concerned.
She squirmed to get up, but his grip around her waist tightened enough to give her a moment’s pause. Then, in one motion, he rolled them over and stood, pulling Rebecca up with him. The group surrounded Luke and Rebecca, everyone arguing about who was the winner.
Brushing himself off, Luke said, “It was a nice try, Becky, but you were out by a mile.”
“She was safe, Luke, and you know it,” Ruth countered.
“Absolutely!” affirmed Mrs. Wheeler.
“Positively not!” Jack, the stable boy, put in, then looked startled that he’d been so outspoken with his employer.
“Safe!” Luke groaned in a playful tone. “How could she be safe? Didn’t you see me catch that ball?” He was brushing dirt off his sleeve.
“Yeah,” Andrew chimed in, taking Luke’s side. “Didn’t you see?”
Ruth and Mrs. Wheeler both gave Luke rather smug looks that said the decision was made. Both women hugged Rebecca. “You were wonderful.”
Susan Amarillas Page 20
