by Linda Broday
Her words slapped him.
Damn!
Luke cringed. Not that he didn’t deserve it. He was no saint by a long shot.
But neither did he need reminding of the grief he’d caused. His conscience made sure he didn’t forget.
For the thousandth time, he wished he could go back and undo it. He touched her arm, wishing to apologize. When they connected, a current crackled and he thought he’d grabbed the tail end of a lightning bolt.
“I’m going to make it up to you, I swear on my mother’s grave. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.”
* * *
Idleness was a poor bedfellow. A couple of days later, Luke figured he’d recovered enough to make a few much-needed repairs on the farm. He felt obliged for the disruption he’d caused. Besides, if he didn’t put his hands to work, he’d go stir-crazy.
Glory had ridden off on the white mule. Hope had Patience helping her with the laundry.
And Mrs. Day had taken to her bed with a headache. It seemed the woman’s sole enjoyment in life was reading aloud after supper…except for last evening. Strange for the woman to not once poke her head out. Hope took a tray in and came out with a chalky face. Glory had read aloud instead. Sounded real nice in her smooth-as-thick-cream voice. She seemed to have some trouble seeing the words though. He’d made the mistake of asking about that.
“Nothing wrong with my eyes, McClain. Concentration is the problem. Keep losing my place is all.” Then she firmly shut the book, her glare ending further discussion of the matter.
The answer merely aggravated his concern. He’d noticed other times when he could have sworn she had problems seeing, and the panic that had crossed her features.
Nope, Glory hid a secret beneath her stubborn pride. She had trouble. Something a pair of spectacles would help?
If only he could hang around a bit longer. The lady would deny it to her dying breath, but she needed him. Maybe after he finished with Perkins…
Evenings had become his favorite hours of the day. Glory could be the spittin’ image of Jo March. Fact of the matter, he seemed to have landed smack dab in the middle of a real-life storybook.
Shoot! What was he thinkin’? Next thing he’d be spouting off a bunch of poetry or some such nonsense. Must be getting soft. He grinned. No, he took that back. Glory Day was the soft one—outwardly. He hadn’t minded one bit when she’d accidentally bumped against him with those hips that drove a man wild. Lush, ripe curves.
Damn, she’d be the ruination of him yet.
Oh, but what fun if he could afford to let his imagination run rampant?
The stern features of Mother Day quickly stifled those visions. Her frailty could be an act. She’d probably have him strung up before he could whistle “Dixie.” Suddenly, the image of a rope dangling before his eyes made him switch horses in midstream. He turned his thoughts in a more gainful direction.
Each day put more miles between him and Perkins. Being unable to ride didn’t sit well. He’d give himself two days more, then he’d go whether up to it or not.
An object in his pocket poked, jarring his memory. He pulled out the tin star that said Texas Ranger and touched the metal reverently. He fingered the dent a bullet had left, recalling the time and place.
Grief, thick and overwhelming, squeezed his chest.
It’d belonged to Max Sand, his best friend and partner. A scorching day. Horse thieves ambushed Max and him near Chandler’s Peak over by Goldsboro.
His hand trembled under the weight of the memory and he almost dropped the badge. It took six bullets to put Max down. He kept standing long after an ordinary man would’ve fallen. Max died in his arms despite his bumbling attempt to stanch the flow of blood. The tin star brought back all of his shortcomings and his promise to Max.
He squared his jaw.
Since then, he’d learned the killer’s name.
A quick glance at the sky told him time was wasting. “Mad Dog, you’d better run like hell.”
Hate left a bitter taste in his mouth. Luke dropped the star into his pocket. The reasons to get back on his feet had multiplied to three.
Irritated with the delay, he vented an oath. The walking stick protested as he leaned, taking stock of the neglected surroundings.
His energy would be better put to use doing needed handiwork. He limped to the barn for a hammer.
A few well-placed tacks fixed the torn screen door. He replaced a broken porch step and did half a dozen other small tasks. Grunting with pain, he managed to crawl onto the roof, where he patched a hole above the kitchen. Then, he turned his attention to the shabby barn.
“Patience Ann, put down those kittens and help me.”
Frustration filtered through Hope’s usual way. He’d not once heard her voice raised. He paused outside the barn door to watch the sisters. A familiar whine drifted on the slight breeze.
“Washing clothes is no fun. When I grow up—”
“I don’t want to hear that babble. If you don’t get busy hanging these clothes on the line to dry, you won’t live past today. We all have to do things we don’t like. But that’s the way it is. Grin and bear it.”
“Donkey head,” Patience called her older sister.
“Mule breath,” Hope threw over her shoulder.
Luke laughed. Normal behavior for siblings everywhere, it appeared. Squabbles he’d had with his big brother, Duel, swirled through his head. He’d not taken Duel’s well-intentioned bossiness a bit better. Must be a law against accepting correction. Patience required a firm hand. She had a mite too much sass.
The girl needed her father. They all did. Glory’s fierce determination as provider would put her six feet under without relief soon. He dearly wished for different circumstances that would prolong his stay. The family had a tough row ahead of them. Still, he reasoned, catching Perkins would help more.
Watching Glory work from daylight to dusk brought a hardness to his jaw. A trip to town before breakfast to sell milk and eggs; then she hauled water from the creek in a feeble attempt to keep the pitiful garden going.
Back and forth she went, almost dropping with exhaustion.
At one point, he’d grabbed the buckets from her, only to have them snatched right back, accompanied by a tongue-lashing.
“Kinda brazen for a man with only one good leg, aren’t you?”
“You just can’t abide anyone lending a hand, can you?” God, what a stubborn woman. Didn’t make a lick of sense.
“Go sit down. You’ll start your leg bleeding.”
After she and the mule completed a dozen trips, he’d had enough. Despite her cussed independence, he led Soldier from the barn and tied two barrels on the paint’s side.
“What are you doing?”
“Earning my keep.” He tugged on his horse’s bridle.
“We don’t need you. I can take care of this farm.” The fire flashing from her blue eyes had caught him by surprise. “We’ve gotten along perfectly fine without a man this far, and we sure don’t need one now. So you can put your horse back up and get out of my way.”
“Two can carry twice as much. I’m helping.”
He had to strain to catch her muttered reply.
“If that’s the case, you can do that by healing your leg and riding out of here.”
Luke had scratched his head in confusion. “Didn’t know my company was so dadblasted bothersome.”
“Now you do.” She’d kicked a clump of dried grass with her toe. “You’re a bother, McClain.”
Long into the afternoon, Luke still mulled over the words. He didn’t think Glory meant to sound rude. The tone of her voice didn’t mesh with the words. No hardness in the accusation. Her voice had been too soft. He suspected his bothersome nature wasn’t solely due to the extra work he heaped on them. Could be his presence aroused womanly desires she’d buried
deep beneath that gritty exterior.
Women. Trying to reason their ways boggled a man’s mind.
He turned to go inside when he caught a flash of white from the corner of his eye. The mule rose from the creek bed with Glory astride.
“Have mercy!”
What he saw stepping from the incline wasn’t a woman dressed in men’s clothes riding on a white mule. A fairy princess on a snow-white stallion rode toward him. She wore a silk gown laden with pearls and rubies and emeralds.
Glory brought an ache in his chest, the kind that posed more danger than what came from her Winchester.
She held him mesmerized in the spell. Every intention vanished into the mist of the daydream he shamelessly created. Through half-closed lids, he watched her lift the floppy hat. At a shake of her head, the golden corn silk strands tumbled around her shoulders in a glistening swirl. Waning sunlight danced off the thickness. He imagined mischievous fairies cavorting in the field of spun gold.
The vision stole not only his breath, but his very thoughts. Surely he hadn’t made that tortured groan aloud.
Rooted to the spot, he stared as she raised her arm and slipped her fingers through the silky mass. Blood hammered in his ears. His eyes widened to better catch the faintest details of her outlined breasts taut against the fabric.
Her proud carriage spoke of self-confidence that she could do anything she set her mind to. The strong spirit enveloping her settled around his shoulders.
While he waited for her at the barn door, he listed all the reasons why he should resist the one thing he most wanted to do.
His duty.
His purpose.
His secret devotion to his brother’s wife.
The stabbing pain was red-hot and searing.
“I see the hunter gods smiled on you today.” A tremor ran through him as he reached to help her down.
For an instant, she seemed about to hand him his head on a platter. Then almost shyly, she accepted his grip and dismounted.
“Pure luck, McClain.”
He suspected she tucked that shyness behind the gruff exterior because it was easier than dealing with other emotions. Ones that scared the living daylights out of her. And him too.
Glory untied the legs of two large gobblers and let them fall to the ground.
“Nice shot,” he said, examining them. “Punkin might have a point after all when she claimed you could shoot whatever you aimed for. Now, I’m not sure filling my leg full of lead was all that accidental. Could be—”
“Could be you talk too much.” She probably meant the flippant tone as a warning. “As you said, you can’t believe everything that impossible sister of mine says.”
Luke should’ve let the comment pass, but he couldn’t help stirring the boiling pot…even if he got scalded. Manure for brains, his father had said many a time.
“Like the part about you never having a beau? Or never lettin’ a gentleman call on you? Or is it the part about never having been kissed that’s bunched your tail feathers in a wad?”
A shocked gasp filled the space. “Mr. McClain! That’s my business. What right—”
Before he realized his intentions, he slid his hand beneath her hair. With a tug on the back of her neck, he pulled her against him. Glory trembled under his touch, a fragile leaf in a storm’s path.
Her soft lips parted slightly in anticipation as her eyelids fluttered down to hide the solid, blue gaze that rocked the foundation of his soul.
Sure as his name was Luke McClain, he knew he had to kiss her. Knew he had to taste the forbidden nectar or die from pure want.
At that moment, he knew he wanted to be a bother more than anything else.
Six
“Mr. Luke, Mr. Luke.” Patience tripped and almost fell over her own feet as she ran.
His slow advance toward moist, rosy promise came to a halt. Glory jumped back. Panic, and something awful close to fear, swept her face.
Cotton-pickin’!
He groaned, swallowing more than a mouthful of frustration. The girl ruined a perfect moment. Darn his hide, he might never find Glory in this receptive frame of mind again.
“Punkin, where’s the fire?”
“Nowhere. Come ’ere.” The girl grabbed his hand and pulled him. “I wanna show you some baby rabbits I found.”
“Don’t reckon it can wait a few minutes, can it? I’m talking right now.” He tried to catch Glory’s attention, to let her know he intended to pick up where he left off the next chance he got. But she snatched up the turkeys without a glance and made long strides for the house.
“Seems Glory’s done talkin’, Mr. Luke.”
“Reckon she is at that.” Regret covered him, scratching like those darn woolen pants. With considerably more pain than that in his busted leg, he let the girl lead him to her discovery.
Problem was, he hadn’t found a woman he’d wanted to kiss since Jessie. Not one awoke a flicker of response inside his lonely heart. None until he’d met the blue-eyed Glory.
Odd he didn’t sense a betrayal to Jessie’s memory. Not that she’d ever returned his sentiment. She hadn’t. He’d kept his pining secret, not daring to allow a whisper of it to cross his lips. Only in the dead of night did he take her memory from the hiding place and hold her. Such as it’d always be. Jessie had eyes for no one other than his brother, Duel.
With his stare hidden beneath the shadow of the hat, Luke admired the sway of Glory’s hips. Those britches outlined each curve of her willowy legs as she strolled toward Hope.
His swallow got stuck.
* * *
Perspiration soaked Glory’s shirt. She wished she could lay it in the sun’s waning rays. Tiny trickles ran down the crease between her breasts. Boiling her in hot oil couldn’t have made her skin more sensitive or more ablaze.
If beaus and courting did this to a body, she didn’t know why anyone would seek the experience. Her stomach twisted and turned worse than a butter churn full of fresh cream.
She flopped a turkey onto the chopping block and reached for the hatchet. Suddenly the full import sank in.
Oh my! McClain had almost kissed her. Had it not been for Patience, she might’ve known the thrill of those taunting lips pressing against hers. A sudden giddy rush buckled her knees. She gripped the tree stump for balance.
“What’s the matter, Glory? You’re pale.” Hope waited for her to chop off the bird’s head so she could clean and pluck it.
“I’m fine.” A quick flick of the wrist separated the dead turkey’s head from his body. “Just fine.”
“Well, you don’t look it.” Hope began her task of readying the big bird for supper.
Glory slung the other one onto the block. From the corner of her eye, she caught McClain’s lean figure. Even at this distance, she couldn’t miss the anguish that swept his face as it often did when he thought no one noticed. His leg hurt more than he admitted. Though he tried to fake everyone, he didn’t pull the wool over her eyes for a minute.
He bent stiffly and made an agonizing attempt to squat for a better view of the rabbits to which Patience pointed. The trousers molded to the muscle and flesh beneath. She missed the second gobbler’s neck by several inches.
“Your friend sure has nice manners. It says something about a man when he pays attention to a pesky chatterbox.” Hope’s observation made Glory wonder if she’d witnessed her shameful display earlier. “Yep, Mr. McClain is real nice. And handsome to boot.”
“He’s not my friend. He’s a stranger.” Impatience seeped into her voice. Not at Hope though. The irritation lay with herself for falling so readily into a perfect stranger’s arms.
Perfect? Dear heavens! Even though she couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion he kept a dark secret from them, she allowed there were one or two things that came awfully close to it. She supposed a body might cal
l his white teeth surrounded by a warm, generous mouth and mischievous brown eyes as close to perfect as a man could get.
Nonetheless, she didn’t have to become a mindless Amelia. She drew back the hatchet and this time cleanly whacked off the head.
Hope gasped softly, making Glory wonder if she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.
“Who do you suppose that is?”
She followed Hope’s gaze to a horse and buggy turning onto the property. An unsettling hunch flickered through her mind.
“Guess we’ll find out shortly.”
Glory hurried to meet the visitor. Should this pertain to what she thought, she didn’t want McClain to get wind. This was Day family business and none of his affair.
“Good Day, Miss Glory,” called Alex O’Brien, a nice young man who worked at the bank. Seemed a pleasant enough sort and she didn’t hold his pronounced limp against him. Can’t help the way you come into the world or the things that happen once you get here. At least, most of the time.
“Afternoon. What brings you out this way?”
Alex wore a solemn expression. “Sorry to say it’s business, ma’am.” His gaze drifted past. “Howdy, Miss Hope.”
Glory supposed it would be safe to say the boy was moon-eyed over her middle sister, though he hadn’t yet gotten courage enough to come calling. Merely a matter of time.
“This isn’t a proper place to discuss it.” She cast an anxious glance toward McClain, who stood staring with something akin to snoopy interest. “Step into the house.”
“Would you care for a drink of water or some fresh milk?” she asked after he seated himself stiffly in the parlor.
Alex licked his lips nervously. Her fear of impending doom grew at seeing him fidget with the hat in his hands.
“Water might be nice, ma’am…if it’s no bother.”
“Hope, please take care of our guest.” Glory sank into her father’s chair. O’Brien hadn’t met her gaze since his arrival. That spelled trouble of the foreclosure kind.
“What can I help you with?”
