by Debby Conrad
Then, spinning on her heels to face Luke, Rusty said, “Mr. Galloway, you are not helping here.”
“Really? I thought I was.”
Marcel advanced on Rusty, and keeping one hand on his nose, reached for her upper arm with the other. “Rustina, tell me it’s not true, that you’re not sleeping with this guy.” He gave her arm a little shake.
“Let go of me, Burke.”
“Let the lady go,” Luke warned, moving toward him. But before he had a chance to knock the guy on his ass, Rusty stomped on the toe of Marcel’s alligator shoe with the heel of her yellow, three-inch, designer shoe.
“Ow!” the man screamed, hopping on one foot.
“Burke, if you don’t leave this instant I’m calling the police, and the press can just have a field day. And I’ll tell them how pathetic you’ve been behaving. Now, get out of my house!”
To Luke’s amazement, Marcel walked through the door and out onto the front step. Turning to look over his shoulder, he said, “This is it. It’s over between us. I’m not going to ask you to marry me again.” Then he headed for the red Italian sports car that had followed Luke almost the whole way from the airport.
Rusty marched to the door, slammed it shut and sighed with relief. “Thank God for small favors.”
“You’re welcome,” Luke said.
Pivoting around to face him, she said, “I wasn’t talking to you.” She ran her gaze down the front of him and back to his face. “What was it you wanted to see me about?” The look she gave him said she wasn’t used to cowboys calling on her. And apparently she didn’t like the idea either.
“I’m here about your father.”
“Sam?”
Did she have another father? Well, he supposed she’d had six if he included all the stepfathers. “Yes. Sam. He’d like you to come home to the ranch.”
“To Kentucky? To the horse farm? They’re called horse farms in Kentucky, Mr. Galloway, not ranches.”
“Yes, well excuse my ignorance, but calling it by a fancy name doesn’t change what it is. Anyway, Sam sent me here to get you. Escort you, I meant to say.”
Placing both hands on her hips, she said, “Well, as much as I’d like to visit, this isn’t a good time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Galloway.”
“Yes, I can see you’re probably very busy. What is it you do again?”
She dropped her hands to her sides and served him a haughty expression. “Mr. Galloway, please tell Sam that I have a life, and the next time he’d like to arrange for me to visit, he should phone ahead. Maybe he won’t wait twenty-one years the next time.”
Ignoring her, Luke went on. “As I was saying, your father—Sam— would like for you to come home. In fact, our plane leaves in a few hours. Do you think you could throw a few things together in a hurry?” he asked, raking his gaze down the front of her. “Maybe something warmer than what you’re wearing.”
“Like I said, I’m afraid I’ll need a little more notice than—”
“He’s dying.” He’d sworn he wouldn’t say that unless it was absolutely necessary. He hated lying about something as serious as death. Especially Sam’s death, even if it was a hoax. But he’d promised the old man he’d bring Rusty back. And Luke was a man who never went back on his word.
He heard her suck in her breath, saw the mournful look in her green eyes. Maybe she wasn’t as cold as he thought she was. Maybe she had a heart, after all.
Suddenly, she looked as if she were about to collapse, and his hand shot out to steady her, clutching her by the elbow. “You okay? You want to sit down?” Without waiting for an answer, he slid a wingback chair toward her and lowered her into it.
Noticing the bar in the library across the hall, he asked, “Can I get you something to drink? A whiskey, or a brandy?”
“No, thanks. I don’t drink, other than a little wine once in awhile.” He gave her some time to compose herself. Finally, she spoke. “How much time does he have?”
“We’re not sure.” He avoided looking directly at her as he continued the lie, but managed to catch her nodding her head.
“I’ll have Zuri pack some of my things.” Luke helped her to her feet. “I’m fine,” she said, disengaging herself from his grip and giving him a look of annoyance. She glanced at her arm and then back at him before shuddering. As if his hands had somehow left a nasty residue on her creamy, white skin. The back of her left arm had already started to bruise from the rough way Marcell had handled her. The bastard.
Luke watched her walk down the hall and around the corner. While he waited for her to return, he drifted across the hall and nosed in the library. Spotting a photo of Marcel with his arm around Rusty had him narrowing his eyes. They were standing next to his race car, smiling at each other. It was enough to make Luke sick.
He couldn’t imagine making a fool of himself the way Marcel had. To think the man had proposed to her more than a dozen times. Luke shook his head in dismay. He must have been crazy in love with her, or else he wanted her money pretty badly.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Galloway?” Rusty asked, staring at him from the doorway.
“I just realized I forgot to get Marcel’s autograph,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
With her housekeeper on her heels, she rolled her eyes and headed up the staircase.
CHAPTER TWO
RUSTY RECOGNIZED THE BLACK Ford out front. The one she’d passed in her hurry to get home earlier.
“Is that everything?” Galloway asked, closing the Ford’s trunk. Zuri had helped Rusty pack some of her things, and he had carried the four bags—two at a time—downstairs and out front. He’d offered, although he looked extremely agitated with her now that the deed was done.
“Yes, for now. Zuri promised to box and ship some more of my things as soon as I call her.”
He rolled his eyes, as if to say, what more could you possibly need. Not that she expected him to understand.
“Then, let’s get a move on,” he announced in that Texan drawl and proceeded to get into the car, ignoring her completely; he hadn’t even offered to open the door for her. Stupid, ill-mannered cowboy, she thought. With her still standing on the curb, he started the engine. When she remained standing, he lowered the passenger window.
After a long, breathy sigh, he asked, “Is something wrong?”
“No. Not a thing.” She didn’t like him. He was rough around the edges and too sure of himself. And then there was the way he’d man- handled Burke. She had appreciated Galloway coming to her defense, but surely he could have been more civil. She didn’t care for men who tried to settle their differences with their fists. It was not only childish, but barbaric as well.
She thought about giving him a lecture on chivalry, then decided not to waste her time or energy. Pulling open the door handle, she slid onto the seat. She’d barely shut the door, when the man jerked away from the curb. Fumbling with the seat belt, she managed to buckle it as he made his way onto the main road.
Luke Galloway looked a lot like a dark-haired Nick Nolte. Tall, lean and very muscular. He sported a crooked nose, as if it had been broken, and five-o’clock shadow covered his square jaw. There was a small scar above his left eye. And his too-long, straight, ink-black hair kept falling forward. Couldn’t he afford a barber? she wondered, but had no intention of asking.
Next, she took in his clothing. Worn out blue jeans, a faded, red, flannel shirt, and dirty, scuffed boots. A cowboy hat and a sheepskin- lined suede coat sat on the back seat of the car. Although she knew most women would find Luke Galloway attractive—sexy even—he simply didn’t appeal to her. Not in the least.
“You’re not from Kentucky, are you?”
“No, ma’am.” He deliberately added emphasis to his accent, but didn’t bother to say where he was from. He didn’t have to. He was Texas bred, that was obvious by the way he spoke and dressed.
Kentucky horse breeders were a different lot than the Texans. The ones she’d met wouldn’t be caught dead in blue jeans and co
wboy boots. But Galloway seemed right at home in his choice of clothing.
She turned her head and stared out the window. For the first several miles, all she could think about was her dying father. She hadn’t seen Sam in twenty-one years. With the exception of her mother’s funeral. He hadn’t looked sick then, older than what she remembered, but certainly not sick. Of course, he hadn’t stuck around very long. He’d come, paid his respects, asked if she needed anything, and left. He’d never even offered to buy her a cup of coffee, chat with her, something, anything, after not seeing each other in a blue moon.
Her parents had divorced when she was only a baby. And she couldn’t remember much about Sam. She had only one photograph of him. He’d been holding her on a horse when she was no older than five or six.
She couldn’t remember much about the farm either, only what little Natalie had told her. Her mother had said it was dirty, primitive, vile, and no place for a young lady. Rusty used to visit her father at that farm every summer. Until the year she’d turned seven. That summer, she’d fallen from a horse and broken her arm.
Natalie had screamed like a banshee when she’d seen Rusty’s cast. She’d accused Sam of trying to turn her daughter into a tomboy. Then she’d announced that Rusty would be attending boarding school that fall— in Switzerland—and would not be returning to the farm. Ever again.
Rusty had cried most every day her first year away at school. A strange country. With no mother, and no father. She’d written to Sam several times, had begged him to come and get her. But he’d never come. And he’d never answered her letters. Finally, after a year, she’d stopped writing to him and accepted the fact that he no longer wanted her in his life.
But now he was dying, and he wanted to see her. She couldn’t just ignore him when he needed her. She couldn’t be cruel.
Turning her attention to Galloway, she asked, “Is he in pain?”
The man shifted his olive eyes her way. “Who?”
“Sam.” Was the man dense?
“Yes. He swears and complains a lot. Maybe with you around, he’ll get off my back.”
She sucked in her breath. “Haven’t you any compassion? The man is dying.”
He didn’t answer, but he’d at least had the decency to look sorry for what he’d said. Neither spoke for several minutes. Rusty stared out the window again as they sped along. The man wasn’t a big conversationalist, that was for sure. Not that she wanted to engage with him in conversation, but at least it would be something to do. If they were going to travel together for the next several hours, they could at least be civil to one another.
Besides, he knew Sam. Maybe he could tell her some things about him.
She turned her head toward him. “Do you work at the farm, Mr. Galloway?”
“Yes.” He patted the pocket of his flannel shirt and pulled out a cigar.
Rusty wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Don’t even think about lighting that in here,” she warned.
Scowling at her, he sighed, then slipped the disgusting thing back into his pocket. She angled her body to look at him more fully. “Has Sam ever spoken to you about me?” she asked.
“A few times, but mostly he talked about your mother.”
Surprised, she asked, “What did he have say about Natalie?”
“That she’d been spoiled rotten, and yet no man had ever made her happy.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Apparently, that was true, considering her six marriages and six divorces.”
Rusty swallowed hard. The man certainly didn’t believe in softening his words. “Are you aware my mother died a little less than six months ago?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry.”
Sure you are, she thought, but bit back the words. “Thank you,” she said instead, remembering her manners. “Did you know Natalie was once married to a Duke?”
He shrugged as if he couldn’t care less.
“Most people find that very impressive, Mr. Galloway.”
“I’m not most people. Besides, she was only married to the man for four months.”
Rusty’s spine stiffened. Crossing her hands in her lap, she said, “For a farmhand you seem to know an awful lot about your employer’s ex- wife.”
He didn’t answer.
After a few moments, he ran a hand through his thick hair and sighed loudly. Then while driving one handed, he fumbled with the cigar in his pocket, looking as though he were trying to think of a way to convince her to let him smoke it.
It wasn’t going to happen. Rusty didn’t like the smell of cigars, or tobacco of any kind. However, she did like the scent of Galloway’s spicy cologne. At least he didn’t smell like dirt and sweat, in spite of his outward appearance.
“What has Sam told you about me?” she asked, wanting to break the silence.
He concentrated on passing a huge semi before answering. “Not much,” he said. “But I suspect you’re probably a lot like your mother.”
He’d struck a nerve. She was nothing like Natalie. Or was she? She supposed there’d been similarities between them. But she couldn’t, for the life of her, begin to imagine what they were. Natalie had collected husbands for a living, while Rusty had no intention of marrying every man who looked at her sideways, and then divorcing them when she tired of them. In fact, she didn’t plan to marry at all. That way, there’d be no chance of a divorce.
“So, how did you two meet?” she asked sweetly, wanting to get her mind off marriage. Besides, she refused to let him know how much he irritated her.
Chewing on his bottom lip, he glanced at her and drew his eyebrows together.
Rusty shrugged and forced a smile. “Surely it’s not a secret.”
Snorting, he turned his attention back to the road and said, “I guess it doesn’t much matter. You’ll find out sooner or later.”
“Find out what?”
“Your father was the only one to offer me a job when I got out of prison.”
Prison? Did he say prison? Casually, she turned away and faced the front. She suddenly felt chilly, and goose bumps formed on her bare arms. She adjusted the air conditioning vents to blow in the opposite direction.
Finding her voice, she spoke evenly, trying to sound perfectly normal. “Why were you in prison?” Please, God, don’t let him be some deranged killer. She’d gotten into a car with a complete stranger just because he’d claimed he knew Sam. She hadn’t even asked him for identification.
Maybe his name wasn’t Luke Galloway. Maybe he wasn’t from Kentucky. The man could be anyone. From anywhere.
Maybe he planned to rape and murder her, then leave her naked body in the woods so wild animals could gnaw on it. She shuddered at the thought.
“I was in prison for grand theft auto,” he finally said.
What arelief. “Oh,” she breathed, then looked around the interior of the car. Had he stolen it?
As if he could read her mind, he glared at her and said, “No, I didn’t steal it. I rented it at the airport.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He kept his eyes on the road and refused to look at her. It was obvious he was miffed about something, but she’d be darned if she knew what it was. She hadn’t done anything wrong. He was the car thief. And it would do her good to remember that before she had any more bright ideas about engaging him in conversation. She already knew more about the man than she wanted to know. Much more.
For the remainder of the ride to the airport, she kept her mouth shut, and her hand on the door handle, just in case she had to jump out and make a run for it. She only wished she’d changed shoes, she thought, glancing at her yellow Ferragamo heels. She couldn’t bear the thought of ruining them.
Luke fished the airline tickets from the pocket of his suede coat, and handed one to Rusty.
“We’re not sitting in first class?” she asked.
Luke stared at the woman. She hadn’t spoken a word since he’d mentioned he’d done time for grand theft auto.
And the looks she’d given him, as if he were dog shit stuck to the bottoms of her expensive, yellow shoes. Of course, he hadn’t bothered to explain that the car he’d stolen had belonged to his mother’s husband; he’d refused to call Randy stepfather. Or that Luke had been eighteen at the time, and had “borrowed” the car because his friends had said he didn’t have the balls to do it. Nor had he mentioned that Randy had it in for him, and his uncle was a judge who threw the book at Luke, disregarding the fact that it was his first offense. His only offense.
Rusty’s cold-shoulder, holier-than-thou attitude had pissed him off, and if she hadn’t been Sam’s daughter, Luke would have kicked her pretty, little, hoity-toity ass out of the car and left her on the side of the road. Designer luggage and all.
“No, we’re not sitting in first class,” he said.
“But you don’t expect to travel all that way—”
Luke cut her off. “If you want to upgrade your ticket to first class, be my guest.”
Her mouth dropped open, but she didn’t say anything as they waited in line to board. She ran her gaze over his attire again for the third time today, and then with a toss of her head, looked the other way.
Luke wasn’t sure if he liked it better when she was running her mouth, or giving him the silent treatment. Silence is golden, he told himself as they stepped onto the plane and worked their way down the aisle to their assigned seats.
He lifted the overhead compartment, tossed his hat and coat inside and took the seat by the window, while Rusty chatted with a woman across the aisle.
“I absolutely adore your shoes,” he heard the woman exclaim. The woman then proceeded to inquire as to where Rusty had bought them.
Luke shook his head and stared out the window at the pavement, wondering how long Sam’s daughter was going to hold up the other passengers while she made pointless conversation with a stranger. Who cared where she bought her shoes?
“I love the window seat,” Rusty said sweetly moments later as she stood in the aisle, apparently waiting for him to relinquish his seat to her. The line of people behind her looked impatiently at him, as if they, too, thought he should offer her his seat.
