The Reture of Luke McGuire

by Justine Davis

  She tried to tamp down her response, but it seemed al­ready out of control. And when he pulled back just slightly and she realized he was staring at her mouth, it was all she could do to stop herself from closing the gap between them.

  As soon as she thought it, he did what she'd longed to. He lowered his head, his mouth brushing hers, then return­ing, lingering. And Amelia knew that the heat she'd felt before had been a mere flicker.

  His lips were warm and firm, but that alone surely wasn't enough to send this wave of sensation rocketing through her. Nor was the way he moved his mouth on hers, gently, slowly, coaxingly....

  She heard a tiny moaning sound and was amazed to re­alize it had come from her. Luke seemed to take it as a sign and deepened the kiss. And then she felt the incredibly hot, erode swipe of his tongue over her lips, and she gasped at the pleasurable shock. She opened for him without thought, eagerly. He probed deeper, tasting, and Amelia felt a tremor that she couldn't be sure started in her or him.

  At last he broke the kiss and drew back. She smothered the sound of protest that rose to her lips; she couldn't believe what she'd done. He was staring down at her, his breath coming hard and fast, and the only thing that saved her from total embarrassment was the look of stunned wonder in his eyes.

  "Damn," he muttered.

  Indeed, she thought, completely incapable of forming a coherent, audible response.

  She was still unable to speak as he made some fumbling excuse and escaped. Only when she heard the roar of his bike did she let out a breath and sink down into her desk chair.

  So that was it, she thought, still a bit dazed. That was the attraction of the bad boy. All these years she'd wondered why she was so fascinated. Now she knew.

  He kissed like a fallen angel.

  * * *

  Damn. Damn, damn, damn. .

  Luke turned his bike inland, heading for the canyon in an instinctive need to put some distance between himself and the woman who had startled him with her response to a kiss that had been supposed to be merely a token of appreciation.

  He had a sneaking suspicion his own response was driving him, as well, but there was no way get some distance there. Well, there was, and once he might have resorted to it, the numbing relief of booze or drugs, but not now.

  He leaned into the turn onto the canyon road, laying the bike over hard. He accelerated out of the turn, and the bike obediently snapped upright. And he kept right on rolling the throttle forward.

  For a few seconds he goosed it up to mind-clearing speed, feeling the power of the wind in his face and the tug of his hair as it whipped behind him. But he knew the cops kept a close watch on this stretch of road, and he didn't really want a speeding ticket, especially coupled with a helmet violation, so after too short a time he let it edge back down.

  He pulled over at the spot near the end of the road where a gap in the hills gave a view down to the Pacific. The lay of the land was such that you could see only the water, not the sprawl of civilization beside it, and if you looked from just the right spot, you could convince yourself you were

  the only person for miles.

  He used to love that feeling and had come up here often seeking it when he couldn't stand to be closed inside his other secret refuge. Seeking just a few moments of pretend­ing he was alone, free of all the troubles down below. The canyon had been populated with wildlife then, including his favorites, the red-tailed hawk and the clever coyote.

  It wouldn't last much longer, he thought, glancing over his shoulder at the seemingly inexorable march; bulldozers and graders were already at work on the hills behind him. Another wild place lost. The coyotes would adapt, they al­ways did. And maybe even the hawks would survive.

  It was creatures like him who had the problem. Who kept having to go farther and farther out to find the places that brought them wonder and peace.

  But this time he had the feeling his usual places weren't going to bring him peace. Not when he could still feel Ame­lia's mouth beneath his, not when the tiny cry she had made echoed in his ears as surely as the rustle of the leaves in the afternoon sea breeze.

  He heard the sound of a car and turned to look. His jaw tightened slightly when he saw the marked police unit. He relaxed slightly when he saw that the woman in the uniform wasn't much older than he was; it wasn't a cop he'd had a run in with before, at least.

  She pulled up beside him, looked him over, and appar­ently decided on a neutral approach.

  "Nice view."

  He nodded.

  "That all you're up here for?"

  He resisted the urge to ask what else it could be, in this still-isolated area. Maybe she thought he was going to steal a bulldozer. But he'd learned—finally—it was more trouble than it was worth to antagonize the police.

  "I used to live down there. I just wanted to see if it was the same up here."

  She looked him up and down again, then at his bike, lin­gering on the winged symbol on the tank. "McGuire?''

  Great, Luke groaned inwardly, even cops I've never set eyes on know me. He felt the old feelings welling up, the defensiveness, the urge to either answer sarcastically or clam up entirely.

  With an effort, he said merely, "Yes."

  He waited, leaving the ball in her court. Somewhat to his surprise, she only nodded and told him to have a nice day. He watched as she drove away and wondered if she would take up a position down the hill and wait for him.

  He turned to look out toward the ocean again but finally had to admit it wasn't going to work this time, that the sense of solitude wasn't enough anymore. Maybe it was the cop's visit. Maybe it was the lurking presence of the heavy equip­ment that would soon turn this place into just one more housing development, or maybe he was simply anxious to get out of Santiago Beach.

  Maybe it was just that he was an adult now, with problems too complex to be eased by a peaceful vista. But he knew that wasn't really true; he still found peace and comfort in the new wild places he'd found. Or maybe he was restless, anxious to get back to those places.

  Maybe he was just restless, period, and that was what had sent him shooting up the hill to this place.

  His mouth twisted. He knew perfectly well what had sent him screaming up here, and her name was Amelia. He reached for the helmet he'd forgone on the way up and jammed it on, for the benefit of the cop he figured would be waiting for him. He started the bike, wheeled it around and started down the hill at a much more decorous pace than he'd come up it. And when he passed the police car, parked and waiting, pointed down the hill to come after him if nec­essary, he nodded and waved; it could have been worse, he thought.

  It could have been Jim Stavros, who had made a special trip to Amelia's store just to warn her about him.

  He smiled behind the helmet as he remembered how quiet, reserved Ms. Blair had stood up for him. It had happened rarely enough in his life, certainly not often enough for him to take it for granted. And never here.

  And she hadn't even asked him, despite the pointed hint, what he was doing now.

  Maybe she thought she already knew, he thought, a little grimly. Maybe she figured, like everyone else did, that he was up to no good like always.

  But surely she wouldn't have kissed him then? Because she hadn't just let him kiss her; she had kissed him back. It had been hesitant and unpracticed, but she had kissed him back.

  The heated memories stormed back into the front of his mind from where they'd been lurking not far away ever since it had happened.

  So much for quiet and reserved; she'd almost fried him with that kiss.

  Distance. That was what he needed, distance from the unexpectedly explosive woman who hid that fire behind a facade of reserve and shyness.

  He was still pondering—dangerously, he knew—the pos­sibilities there as he reached the bottom of the canyon road and headed back toward town. A convenience store with a boarded-up front window caught his eye for a moment—it hadn't been like that yesterday, he thought—but nothing
was quite distracting enough to keep his mind occupied.

  Back at the motel, he had his duffel bag inside and was dragging out the clothes he'd just laundered before he no­ticed the message light was lit on the telephone.

  He crossed the room and dialed the office; the small motel didn't run to sophisticated voice mail. A female voice came on the line—the wife of the man who had checked him in, Luke supposed. He'd said he and "the missus" ran the place.

  The tiniest hint of curiosity came into her voice when she realized who was calling. He tried to ignore it, tried not to think of what she might have heard that would make her suddenly interested in a guest who'd been there a couple of days already.

  "The message?" he prompted.

  "Oh, of course." He heard the rustle of paper. "Here it is. It's from Amelia Blair and says 'David went home. He's grounded for a month.' That's all."

  Luke let out a sigh of relief. Grounded for a month seemed rather mild, compared to his own history with their mother's punishments.

  And then his brow furrowed. "Did she say Amelia Blair?"

  "Yes, that's what it is. I always make sure I get names right."

  "I mean, did she say Blair, or did you ask her last name?"

  "She said it. I only asked how to spell it."

  "Thanks," he said, and hung up.

  She'd said her last name? How many Amelias did she think he knew here? Was it simply a habit, to give her last name when leaving a message?

  Or had she done it intentionally, given that formal "Ame­lia Blair" as if they weren't even on a first-name basis?

  Irritation spiked through him at that thought. But it was quickly followed by a sheepish realization. Hadn't he just been recommending to himself that he put some distance between them? But when it seemed she might be doing the same, all of a sudden he wasn't happy with the idea.

  His mouth twitched at his own rueful self-assessment. For somebody who had spent his childhood all too aware that life could be very inequitable, he'd just pulled a beaut. If he was going to pull back, then she had the same right. If he didn't like that, then maybe he needed to think about why.

  And if he didn't want to think about it, maybe he needed to figure out the why of that, too.

  Chapter 9

  "—Child is going to turn out just like his brother, you mark my words."

  This had to be a record, Amelia thought; Mrs. Clancy came in regularly, but never three days in one week. And this time she didn't seem interested in even pretending to look for something to buy; she'd headed for Amelia the mo­ment she'd spotted her and started right in.

  "My George spoke to Mrs. Hanson from the convenience store this morning, and she's certain the Hiller boy and his friends are responsible for that broken window. And no doubt that fire in the Dumpster behind the library and de­stroying the playground in the park."

  "David has been grounded," Amelia said; perhaps she shouldn't let that out, but she wanted to nip this in the bud.

  "Well, he hasn't let that stop him," Mrs. Clancy said with a sniff. "I saw him and those other delinquents just last night, as we came out of the movie theater. Nearly midnight, when he should have been at home."

  Amelia frowned. "You're certain it was David?"

  "Of course I am. My eyes are still sharp, girl."

  If she was right, then David must be sneaking out, Amelia thought, stifling a sigh. And if he was, he was headed for even more trouble.

  "You're not still seeing that boy, are you?"

  "David?" Amelia asked, knowing perfectly well what the woman meant.

  "Don't you get smart with me," Mrs. Clancy warned. "You know who I mean."

  The last thing she needed was the imperious woman angry at her, so Amelia answered by stating a truth she wasn't necessarily happy with. She hadn't seen or heard from Luke since he'd kissed her, and she didn't like any of the reasons that she could come up with.

  "I haven't been 'seeing' him at all, not in that sense," Amelia said, neglecting to mention that the idea of spending more time with Luke was oddly exhilarating, considering that she was spending most of her time telling herself that that kiss had meant nothing. That he was probably used to kissing women like that all the time. That he'd only meant to thank her for standing up for him to Jim, not curl her toes and very nearly her hair. It wasn't his fault if she'd... overreacted.

  You reacted, she told herself wryly, like a love-starved prude who suddenly woke up. You probably embarrassed him, that's why he took off running like that. He'd been saying a simple thank-you, and you reacted as if he 'd de­clared undying love.

  "—of your reputation. People will talk, you know." And some of them, Amelia thought wearily, will talk endlessly, "For one thing, you must be years older than he is."

  "Thank you for pointing that out," Amelia said, her tone a bit acid; she'd done the math long ago. But her sarcasm was lost amid the continuing lecture.

  "And for all we know, he's the one behind all this van­dalism. It's just the sort of thing he'd do."

  What happened to your certainty it was David? Amelia wondered. Mrs. Clancy was one of her best customers, and she'd never had a problem with her before, had always thought of her as set in her ways but a good person at heart, But if the woman told her one more time what a wastrel, cad and scoundrel Luke was, she was going to say some­thing rude.

  Or at least give the woman a current dictionary, so she could pick out some new words, perhaps rooted in this cen­tury.

  "Remember your gardenia, Mrs. Clancy?" Amelia said, not caring that she'd interrupted the woman's latest ha­rangue.

  "My gardenia?" the woman said, startled.

  "Yes. Remember all the trouble you had when you first got it? All the books you had to consult, to get the soil and conditions just right so it would bloom?"

  "Well, of course." The woman shook her head, but there was a note of pride in her voice. "Took me nearly three years to get that bush to bloom. But now it's the best in town, probably even in the county."

  "Why didn't you give up on it?"

  "Give up? I knew I just had to find the right combination, and with enough care and attention it would thrive."

  "So you'd say it changed a great deal from the trouble­some plant you first bought?''

  "Well... yes." .

  "If a plant can do it, Mrs. Clancy, why can't a person?"

  There were a few seconds' delay before the woman got her point. Then she frowned, her face as set as her mind apparently was.

  "You're too generous, girl. Luke McGuire will never change."

  Amelia's jaw tightened with determination. "You know, walking past your garden today, you would never know what he once did to it. I'll bet that before he came back, even you had forgotten. But he didn't. It's been ten years, and he still feels guilty."

  "As well he should."

  "But don't you see?" Amelia said, sounding almost ur­gent, even to her own ears. "If he was as bad as you've painted him, he wouldn't care at all."

  Mrs. Clancy opened her mouth to retort. Then closed it. Her frown deepened.

  Amelia could only hope it was because she was having to think about her hatred, probably for the first time in a decade.

  When the woman finally left, Amelia breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. She didn't know how much more of this ad­vice giving she could take, however well-intentioned it might be. She supposed she should be happy that people cared enough to warn her. And she might be, were it not for the niggling certainty that it was mainly the fact that it was Luke who was garnering her all this concern.

  Think about David, she ordered herself.

  The problem was, she didn't know what else to do. To the outside eye, the boy had a good—even enviable, if com­forts and money were your standards—home. And his mother had become the proverbial pillar of the community;

  she might once have been the subject of gossip, but now she was the object of admiration for overcoming a rocky start, and even more for having done it with the drawback of a ne'er-d
o-well son like Luke.

  Too bad they weren't as generous when it came to that son.

  And there she was, back on that channel again. For nearly two days she'd waited, wondered what he was thinking, if she would hear from him, until finally she was convinced she was either losing her mind or a fool, and she wasn't sure which of the two she preferred.

  She'd even sunk to driving by the motel this morning after her kickboxing class—a class she'd attacked with a bit more vehemence than usual—telling herself it was only a block out of her way. His motorcycle hadn't been parked outside his room, and she was torn between wondering where he was and wondering if he was even still in town at all.

  The possibility that he'd simply left without a word to her stung. But she couldn't deny it was a possibility. He hardly owed her a formal goodbye, just because of one kiss.

  David was another matter. Surely he wouldn't leave with­out saying goodbye to his brother?

  But if David was still angry, as his actions seemed to indicate, he might well be in no mood to see his brother at all. And it was David she should be worried about, not her own silly feelings. It wasn't David's fault if she let her imag­ination run away with her every time she saw his brother.

  It wasn't Luke's fault, either, really, she admitted wryly as she called up her accounting program on the computer, desperate enough for distraction to tackle even that. He was probably trying to be kind by staying away, so she didn't get any silly ideas. Any more than she already had, anyway,

  When the door alarm activated, she instinctively smiled at the classic voice of Mr. Spock, but inside she was chant­ing to her heart not to leap, her eyes not to snap toward the door in hope....

  It was David.

  He looked ragged enough for Mrs. Clancy to have been right about him being out all night. And suddenly she didn't know what to do or say. The closer the boy got to the edge, the more afraid she was that she might inadvertently push him even further. So when he came to a stop beside the counter, the only thing she could think of to say was, "Are you all right?"