by Diane Darcy
The thought made her relax even more.
Of course, she was claiming to be a Carmichael, so that might earn her a target on her back. Taking Penny’s name had been the original point. The lure. Now it felt like pure stupidity. She should have taken another name. Jones, Smith, Miller—anything but Carmichael.
At the time, it had seemed a good idea. A recompense for getting Penny in the situation in the first place. Regardless, there wasn’t a dratted thing she could do about it now.
He’d come or he wouldn’t. He’d recognize her or think her surname was coincidentally the same as the girl he was obsessed with. Still, if he asked around, wouldn’t most people call her Grace? Wouldn’t that throw the man off her trail?
She looked into Luke’s stern face. In the meanwhile, her best bet might be to stay close to a big, strong man who looked capable of easily handling villains. And if she could talk him out of holding the tournament, so much the better. She realized she was touching her scar through her clothes again.
Luke missed nothing. His suspicious expression deepened. “If there is something wrong, you need to tell me what it is.”
She needed to distract him, so she tried a smile, pushed her chair back and stood. “Are you just here to enjoy pie? Or are you here to tempt me with canoe rides and such?”
That got a smile out of him. “Oh, I always like to tempt a lady.”
“Really? Should I be worried?”
“Worried? No. But maybe the slightest bit excited.”
She chuckled. “For now, I’ll get you some pie.”
“Spoilsport.”
She rounded the counter and felt herself calming. She was only going to be there for a short while. Mrs. Carmichael had promised to call her home when Penny married. If Grace knew Mrs. Carmichael, and she did, Penny would soon have a suitor and it would be a short engagement.
So she might as well enjoy this courtship with Luke. It was fun. The way he looked at her was addicting. She knew it couldn’t go anywhere. She was just plain Grace West, not an heiress of any sort, but should the villain find her, she would still be in danger.
If she needed an excuse to keep Luke close until they called her back, it sounded like a pretty good one to her.
Chapter 7
The next day Luke was lying in wait. Well, standing, actually, and trying not to look conspicuous as he loitered near Mrs. Rowland’s hedges. It didn’t take long before Grace came by, swinging a basket in one hand. She looked fresh, pretty, and happy with her dark curls blowing in the breeze where they’d escaped her white bonnet. She hummed under her breath.
Luke stepped out from behind the hedge. “Hello. What have you got there?”
Grace jumped, dropped the basket, and lifted both hands up in front of her.
Luke chuckled. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Lowering her hands, Grace exhaled. “Truly? This is what the mayor of Orchard City does in his spare time? Jumps out at innocent citizens? I think it’s time I see those supposed voting cards that won you the election. I suspect a fraud has been perpetrated on the general citizenry.”
He chuckled again. Her smart mouth was one of the reasons he couldn’t stay away. “Where are you headed this fine day, Miss Carmichael?”
“I was going to the mercantile to get a few things for Mrs. Phillips. But, if there are other innocents about to frighten, perhaps I could join you in harassing the public?”
He grinned. “Actually, I have something better in mind. Would you like to join me?”
Grace’s mouth parted, but nothing came out. He could almost see her weighing her options in her mind. He found himself holding his breath. Finally, she smiled slowly and he knew he’d won. “Yes, I believe I would.”
“Wonderful.” He took the basket from her and hid it behind the hedge. He offered his arm and was extraordinarily pleased when she took it, the heat from her hand seeming to sear through his shirt.
“Where are we going?”
“Come with me and you’ll find out.”
“Ah.” Her hazel eyes sparkled. “A surprise, is it? Lead on, good sir.”
Luke directed her toward a nearby wagon he’d already hitched. She shot him a knowing look, then smiled and accepted his help in boarding. “Are we going any distance? Should I tell Mrs. Braxton I’ve gone?”
“Only if you want to stay home.”
She laughed. “In that case, I put myself into your care. Can I trust you?”
Luke grinned. “Trust is such a strong word, and could mean so many things.”
She chuckled as he settled in beside her, took the reins, and clicked his tongue to start the horses moving. They were close enough, leg pressed to leg, that he felt her shiver. If he affected her in the same way she did him, then that telling tremor was a combination of attraction and temptation. He relaxed, loosened the reins, and let the horses set the pace.
She moved her leg away. “So, I’m supposed to enjoy the view, but not ask questions about where we’re going?”
“You’re a fast learner, Miss Grace. I appreciate that in a woman.”
She snorted, glancing around as they drove past orchards, houses, and finally made their way to the open road.
“It’s greener in New York—I suspect because we have more rain—but it’s very pretty here.”
“I like it,” Luke replied. “I wouldn’t live anywhere else.”
It didn’t take long to arrive at the meadow, and he slowed the horses and guided them to the grass. “This is it.” She glanced around while he looked at her. “Have you eaten any breakfast yet?”
She smiled. “Breakfast, is it? You know, I’ve warned—that is to say—I’ve been warned about men like you.”
He laughed. “Men like me?”
“Certainly. Men who gather ladies up, take them to secluded locations, and—”
“—and feed them breakfast?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Just mind yourself.”
Chuckling, and suddenly unwilling to mind himself, he helped her down. His hands may have lingered just a bit too long on her waist. When she arched a dark brow, he laughed and grabbed a basket out of the back of the wagon, handed her a blanket, and followed her. He watched as she spread it out, then set the basket down and opened it. “Mrs. Samuels, my housekeeper, put this together. It looks like we have boiled eggs, muffins, sliced cheese, and a jug of apple juice.”
“Hmm. Not knowing that I’d be kidnapped off the street this morning, I had a bite to eat earlier, but it sounds wonderful. Next time, warn me when you’re planning an abduction that includes a meal.”
“Will do,” he laughed.
She sank down, spread her dress around her daintily, and handed him a napkin. “So tell me,” she said as she arranged food onto a plate, “are you doing this simply because the widow told you to stay away from me?”
“There is that incentive. But maybe I just don’t like to eat breakfast alone.”
She handed him a plate and he helped himself to food as she dug out a couple of mugs and poured some juice. “And what is so special about this location?”
He grinned devilishly. “The widow can’t find us here.”
“I knew it,” she crowed, hazel eyes sparkling with delight. She nibbled on a small slice of cheese. “I’ve met men like you before, you know. Men who simply can’t resist a challenge.” She shot him a speculative look. “Is that why you’re holding the tournament? Because you can’t resist a challenge? Is small town life boring you?”
He spread out on the blanket and propped himself on one elbow. “Give me some credit. I’m using the money we make off the tournament to build a new school. Don’t you think that’s a worthy cause?”
“Sure. It’s just, how many people would come up with the idea of a gambling tournament to support a worthwhile endeavor? Let me ask something. Could you put a stop to it at this point? I mean, if you had to? Could you send out another notice saying the tournament is canceled?”
“Sure, I could. I’m not
going to, but I could. We’d probably still have some gamesters show up in town, and that might make some folks a mite testy, but if I had to, I could put a stop to it.”
“Hmm.”
“Isn’t this where you ask me to do just that?”
She looked off into the distance. “I’ve promised to read a book to a couple of boys in town. It’s called Treasure Island. Have you heard of it?”
He shrugged, curious to see where she was headed with the new subject.
“Anyway, in the story, there’s a young boy named Jim. He’s quite a timid child and is just at the age to be searching for examples of good behavior in life. He falls in with the bad lot—pirates, to be precise—and they have a poor influence on him during his formative years.”
“I’m trying to see your point.”
“Don’t be dense. My point is, young boys need inspiration, good examples, and responsible men in their lives they can look up to. You’re trying to make Orchard City a better place. Do you think gambling is the best way to do that? I’ve noticed a lot of men, both young and otherwise, who admire you. Don’t you want to set a good example?”
“If I remember correctly, doesn’t young Jim outwit pirates, commandeer a ship, and save lives?”
She smiled widely, not sure why she was surprised. “You’ve read Treasure Island.”
He shrugged again, but for some reason, her obvious approval warmed him.
“My point is that young Jim starts to imitate Silver. Even Silver tells Jim he reminds him of himself as a young boy.”
He loved the passion sparkling in her eyes and wanted to see more of it. “It seems to me that what young Jim took away from his adventure was courage, a newfound sense of power, and independence. In fact, you could say Silver became an influence for good in the young boy’s life.”
“An influence for good? You’re twisting everything.”
He chuckled. Yep. There was that passion he was starting to crave.
She lowered her gaze. “I’m not being very subtle, am I?”
“Nope. But I’m enjoying the debate.” And he was. He was intensely aware of her every move, enjoying the way her pliable expression revealed each thought before she spoke it, and admiring the way her pretty lips formed words.
She sighed. “Let me be frank. I’d like it if you’d cancel the tournament.”
He popped a piece of blueberry muffin into his mouth, chewed, then took a sip of juice, enjoying both the attention she focused on him and making her wait. He swirled the drink. “Not going to happen.”
She blew out a breath as her features twisted in irritation. “When I came here from New York, I had a picture in my mind. A small town—the type of place everybody knows everybody else. Quiet, civilized, and peaceful. And yet, here you are, trying to take all that away. If I, an outsider, can see the draw of this town, why can’t you understand those who live here are trying to preserve that very element?”
“I see it well enough. I also see that progress is the answer to stagnation. Nothing stays the same. Situations change, for better or worse. They never stay the same. I am simply trying to facilitate that change in the direction I want it to go.”
“But gambling? Surely there’s a better way?”
“I can see you’ve been talking to Widow Braxton.”
“I do live with the woman. She makes a lot of sense.”
“Someday, I’m going to remind you that you said that.”
“But—”
“Enough.” He held up a hand. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on the subject.”
Her lips tightened and she looked away. “Fine. What would you like to discuss?”
“The weather?”
She shot him a heated glare. “Tell me about your parents. I assume you have them, and they had some sort of minimal influence over you during your formative years.”
He laughed. “Oh, I have them all right. And they do try to influence me. At the moment, that consists of my mother dragging my father off to live in San Francisco. She refuses to come home until I produce a grandchild.” He shrugged. “Which suits me just fine.”
She hesitated. “I understand you’re a widower.”
“Did Mrs. Braxton tell you that?”
“She did.”
“Then I suppose you’ve heard my wife and child died in childbirth.” Luke’s tone sharpened. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”
She shook her head and glanced away and Luke immediately regretted his terseness. He hadn’t dragged her out here today to exchange harsh words. So, why had he brought her?
His gaze immediately dropped to her lips, emotions teeming. He might not want to admit it to himself, but there was something about this girl that drew him in.
He wanted her.
He’d like her to want him as well.
He wasn’t exactly thinking marriage. He wasn’t disregarding it, either. He quickly stood and held out a hand. “Come on.”
She hesitated, grasped his hand, and allowed him to tug her to her feet. After placing her hand in the crook of his arm, they headed across the grass toward the stream.
“I apologize,” he said quietly. “I just don’t like to talk about my wife.”
“Completely understandable. We’re practically strangers, after all.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call you a stranger.”
She glanced up, her expression soft, concerned, searching. He placed his hand over hers and walked with her to the stream. She looked down into the clear water. “Oh, look at the fish.”
He watched her lips curve as she viewed the tiny fish darting about. Her hand clenched on his arm and, after a moment, she slowly turned to face him, appearing content and fascinated.
It was a combination he couldn’t resist.
He took her hands in his. Her skin was soft, warm, enticing. Her fingers trembled. The tiny reaction made his heart speed. He wasn’t ready to admit he’d set out to seduce her. Regardless, she was the one seducing him.
He brushed her hair away from her face—touched her skin, the softness of her cheek.
She shivered.
Feeling overheated, he leaned down to kiss her, and she tore herself away and ran.
He laughed. Something within him, something primitive, liked that she ran. He took off after her, slowly at first, then easily gaining ground. He finally reached out and caught her, and she screamed, laughed, as his arms wrapped around her small waist, pulling her slightly off her feet, tight against his chest.
Breathing hard, she grasped his hands at her waist. “I don’t think—”
“Yes. Don’t think.” Bending so his mouth was against her ear, he murmured, “I only let you run so I could catch you.” His voice was low, gravelly. “I could chase you forever.”
“Luke.” Her voice was breathless, and once again, she shivered in his arms, though the heat of their bodies pressed together left her anything but cold. Her plump bottom lip quivered. “You are the mayor of Orchard City. You shouldn’t ... we ... I mean, I ... I demand you take me home.”
He bit out a sound of frustration, breathed her in, and slowly, reluctantly released her before he could reconsider. “All right.”
She didn’t look at him as they gathered the picnic supplies, walked the short distance to the wagon, and placed everything in the back.
“You know, whatever this is,” she waved her hand between them, “It could never work out. All we do is fight all the time.”
“I like fighting with you.”
“Oh.” She finally looked at him. “I like fighting with you too.”
They were grinning at each other when he helped her onto the bench, and, when her hand gripped his, it was all he could do to keep from hauling her back down and into his arms. He remembered the Widow Braxton telling him he should get married. He’d only known Grace a short while, but he was finding the thought an actual temptation.
Did Widow Braxton have this in mind all along? Was she manipulating him?
Di
d he care?
Grace was glad when Luke finally pulled to a stop near the same hedge he’d kidnapped her from earlier. Sitting beside him, reviewing their missed kiss, had left her feeling shy and frazzled.
He helped her down, then fished her basket out of the greenery and handed it to her.
They stood staring at each other for a long moment.
His height made her feel petite, not a usual occurrence given that she was tall for a woman. Under the shadow of his black hat, his dark hair framed his lean face with a dark hint of stubble around mouth and jaw. She stood drinking in his appearance. His scent teased her, alluringly male, but subtle, reminding her of his hard body pressed against her own. Her cheeks warmed again and she counted three breaths before he finally spoke.
“Thank you for coming with me today.”
Her head bobbed once. “Thank you for asking me.”
He cleared his throat, tipped his hat, and returned to the wagon.
She watched him go, so she knew he didn’t look back. Somehow, that disappointed her. Her feelings for him were so … intense. It was almost a relief to get away from him, and she wondered if he felt the same.
He’d almost kissed her!
She’d almost let him!
She felt alive. Energized. Ridiculous.
She considered heading straight back to her bedroom. Maybe a short nap would snap her out of this emotional maelstrom and she could restart her day.
The only problem was, she knew she’d never fall asleep.
Clutching her basket tighter, she decided a brisk walk in the fresh air on the way to the mercantile would be just what she needed.
It was better than taking to her bed like a hysteric.
Grace went inside the mercantile and looked around the lovely store. Large, plate-glass windows looked out onto the street and shelves lined the walls. Aisles containing all types of goods were arranged neatly throughout the main floor. Merchandise hung from hooks and she could see a section devoted to notions and sewing materials. There were shoes, foodstuffs, canned goods, flour, sugar, jerky, clothing, and more.
The placard above the front desk declared that this was also the place to post mail—a reminder that she really needed to write to the Carmichaels. The desk itself hosted a pretty selection of candies in jars. The store smelled delicious. The sweetness of baked goods and confections, the scents of cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla, the smell of leather goods, and soap. It was really quite charming.
