Once a Mail Order Bride

by Bold, Diana

  “Seen your brother came for a visit.” Hank sat down beside him and started wolfing down his food.

  “Yeah.” Luke glanced up at Joe and caught a glimpse of a smile poking through the old man’s thick gray beard. Shit. He should have known nothing he did ever stayed a secret from these two for long. “I guess you know about the girl?”

  Hank grunted and shoveled in another mouthful of food while Joe’s smile widened.

  Luke shook his head. “That damned Matt sent away for her. A mail-order bride. Can you believe it?”

  Joe’s smile faded. “You need a woman, boss.”

  Hank chortled his agreement. “Hell, there’s been many a time I told ol’ Joe what you needed was a good poke. Ain’t right for a man your age to live up here with only a couple ol’ geezers like us for company.”

  Luke stared at the two of them in stunned disbelief. “I’ll tell the two of you what I told my brother.” He shoved his plate away and stomped toward the door, determined not to stick around and listen to any more of this. “Stay out of my business.”

  “Sure thing, boss.” Joe’s laughter followed him out the door.

  SARAH ATE HER SOLITARY breakfast quickly, trying to keep her glance from straying too often to Luke’s empty chair. She’d been alone for most of the last few years, so it was silly to feel this sense of loss over having to eat by herself.

  Luke’s company had spoiled her. He was the only man she’d ever met who treated her as though she had something worth saying. Even her father and brothers had never listened to her the way he did.

  She finished her meal, rinsed off her plate, and then left the kitchen to concentrate on the rest of the house. She’d finished the parlor last night, after Luke retired for the night. Pausing in the doorway, she admired the results. The room fairly gleamed. The heavy drapes were open, and sunlight bathed the wooden floors. She took a deep breath, inhaling the lemony fragrance of furniture polish instead of must and neglect.

  She turned around, her gaze resting upon the music room across the hall. She would begin there, she decided, and work her way from the front of the house to the back.

  Hurrying back to the kitchen, she returned moments later with her cleaning supplies. She scrubbed layers of dirt from the room for over half an hour. When she reached the corner where the scattered art supplies lay, she found something completely unexpected.

  A leather case, filled with paints and various art supplies, was open on the table, and the piano stool had been placed in front of the lowered easel. Everything was just the right height for Luke to reach without having to stand on his bad leg.

  The canvas showed signs of having been the recipient of a temper tantrum. Splashes of color marred the surface in a surreal jumble of angry color. One end was bent and ragged, as though the whole thing had been thrown across the room in a fit of rage. Obviously, it was Luke’s doing, and she wondered what had made him so upset.

  What had he been attempting to paint? And what had made him so angry? It all hinted at the depth of character, the seething passion she’d experience in his arms. There was more to Luke than met the eye.

  She didn’t know whether to be intrigued or terrified.

  LUKE AND HIS MOUNT, a fiery sorrel he’d named Loco, came out of the trees in a burst of speed and topped the ridge overlooking his land. The stallion wasn’t even breathing heavy, and Luke gave his powerful shoulder an affectionate pat. “You’ll do,” he murmured. “You’ll do just fine.”

  Matt had brought him the fine stud horse the day before yesterday, but in all the commotion had neglected to mention it. Or perhaps he’d decided not to push his luck after the comment Luke had made about picking him a wife like he picked stud horses for the ranch. On this trip, Matt had decided to do both.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his brother’s judgment. Matt knew his horseflesh. Women, too, he admitted, letting his gaze stray to his house. It just annoyed him that Matt didn’t think he could make decisions like this for himself.

  With a sigh, he turned the horse away from the bluff and headed back down the hill. If he wanted Matt to leave him alone, he was going to have to take charge. Somehow he was going to have to find the courage to ignore the whispers and stares that invariably followed him everywhere he went.

  If he needed a new stud horse, or anything else, he would have to venture out into the world. He couldn’t hide up here on this damn mountain for the rest of his life.

  As soon as he and his mount were down off the hill, he dug his heel into the stallion’s side and coaxed him toward home. He’d given the fine animal a good workout this afternoon. Despite the exhaustion that was starting to creep up on him, he felt better, more in control, than he had in a long time.

  Loco’s powerful muscles bunched beneath him, and he closed his eyes, letting his body meld with the animal. Wind stung his face and whipped at his hair, and for now, for this moment at least, he was whole.

  LUKE NOTICED THE CHANGES Sarah had made to his home the moment he opened the front door. First of all, it smelled different. A fresh, clean scent had replaced the dust and mildew. A riot of fresh-cut flowers, in hues of red and yellow, filled a huge crystal vase on the elegant table in the entry, and the wood shone in the late afternoon light.

  The parlor sparkled, as did the music room. He froze, seeing that his work area in the corner was spotlessly clean. Good Lord. He’d never intended for her to see his pathetic attempts to get something down on the canvas.

  “Oh, good, you’re home.” Sarah came rushing down the curving flight of stairs, her green eyes full of welcome. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

  He returned his gaze to the destroyed canvas, and her steps slowed.

  “I didn’t realize you were an artist.” Her voice had lost its exuberance and was now tempered with hesitation.

  Luke gave her a suspicious glance. “And I didn’t realize you’d be snooping through my private belongings.”

  She flinched at his sharp tone. “I’m sorry.” The ferocity in her eyes belied her meek words. “But I had no reason to believe you didn’t want me to see it. You left it in plain sight.”

  Of course, she was right, which fueled his anger and embarrassment. He shook his head, trying to dispel a sudden sense of panic. “Don’t be sorry. It’s my fault. I overreacted.” He tried to smile at her, but she was still looking at him as though he’d lost his mind.

  Perhaps he had. “I’ll get cleaned up,” he murmured, hurrying past her to the relative safety of his messy room.

  SARAH HAD DINNER ON the table by the time Luke joined her in the kitchen.

  He pulled out her chair, his handsome face grim. “Forgive me for snapping at you.” His breath was warm and tickled the back of her neck as he seated her. “I haven’t tried to paint anything in years, and I was embarrassed when you saw my pathetic attempts.”

  “It’s all right,” she assured him, surprised he’d admit such a thing to her.

  He took the place across from her, giving her a rueful smile. “Living with me won’t be easy, Sarah. Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind?”

  She caught her breath and held his brilliant blue gaze for a long moment. “I won’t change my mind. Are you sure you haven’t changed yours?”

  “I haven’t.” He sighed and filled his plate. “I like having you here. I just don’t want you to feel trapped. Matt said he was more than willing to find you a job in Denver.”

  She picked at her food, trying to read between the lines. Was he telling the truth, or was he trying to get rid of her? It would probably be best to take Matt’s offer, no matter how much she hated to do so. She had a feeling her relationship with Luke could only lead to heartache.

  But if there was a chance, even a small one, that they could find happiness... Well, she was willing to take it. Better the devil she knew, she supposed.

  “I like it here.”

  “Good.” He grinned at her, and her worries vanished. “It’s settled then. We won’t speak of it aga
in.”

  For the rest of the meal, he kept her entertained with small talk about the ranch and the two men who worked for him. Sarah let herself imagine he was truly hers, that they’d spend the rest of their life together, talking over dinner.

  “Am I boring you?” Luke was staring at her, and she wondered how long she’d been lost in thought.

  Heat burned her cheeks. “I’m sorry. My mind wandered for a moment.”

  “That’s all right. I just asked if you’d like me to draw us a hot bath after dinner. I usually bathe down in the creek, but it’s a little nippy this evening.”

  “Yes. That sounds wonderful.”

  Chapter Ten

  LUKE DUMPED ONE LAST kettle of boiling water into the deep brass tub, then reached in and tested the temperature with his hand. Ahh, just right. He smiled, recalling the pleasure on Sarah’s face when he’d mentioned a hot bath.

  She’d looked so wilted this evening. She must have worked like a slave all day to accomplish everything she’d done. He’d wanted to do something nice for her, and a bath seemed the perfect solution.

  “Is it ready?”

  He turned and found Sarah standing behind him in the cramped little room he’d renovated into a bathroom when he’d bought the house. “Yeah, it is. Let me get out of your way.”

  Clearing his throat, he moved to step around her, but she laid her hand on his arm, stopping him. “Would you go first, Luke?”

  He raised a brow. “Are you sure?” Perhaps she hadn’t been as eager to take a bath as he’d thought.

  She flushed, a delicate pink heat creeping up her cheekbones. “I like to take my time. Besides, I want to put rose perfume in the water.”

  “Of course, I’ll go first. I’d hate to smell like a rose.” But he loved the scent on her. Just the thought of her, lovely and bare, the fragrance of roses filling the room, was enough to bring him to his knees.

  She tossed him a few fluffy towels, fresh from the clothesline, and took the empty kettle. “I’ll heat one more kettle, and I have to go upstairs and gather my things, so don’t hurry.”

  He nodded, and she closed the bathroom door with a click. He stripped, tossing aside his fake foot and climbing into the tub.

  Women were such a mystery. A simple thing like a bath became some strange ritual, which involved things like rose perfume and scented soap.

  He sighed as the heated water enveloped his aching body. He’d worked hard today, too, and it was a rare indulgence to simply relax in the tub.

  After a few minutes, he reached for the soap and began to scrub, knowing Sarah was probably getting impatient, despite her words to the contrary.

  As he scrubbed his mangled left leg, he paused, really looking at it for the first time in years. From the knee down, what remained of his leg was scarred and wasted; very unattractive. They’d hacked the rest of it off at his ankle, like a piece of meat gone bad.

  The Confederate bullet had gone through his boot, shattering his ankle. There had been dozens of times, looking at the mess left behind, when he’d wished the bullet had found its mark somewhere more fatal.

  In shock, he realized those days were over.

  He was no longer unhappy with what life had dealt him. In fact, he knew he’d been far luckier than most. If his younger brother, Mark, dead at the age of twenty, had been given the choice of merely losing a foot instead of his life, Luke was sure he would have taken it.

  Sarah had something to do with his improved attitude, and he wondered what she’d think of his leg if she saw it. Would she be as horrified as Christine had been? Somehow, he doubted it, and the thought was liberating.

  His life stretched before him, no longer an empty, barren desert, but a place of light and happiness. He wanted Sarah, wanted her as more than a friend, even more than a lover. With her, he could have the kind of marriage he never would have had with Christine.

  Maybe it was time to take a chance.

  SARAH WAS SITTING AT the kitchen table when Luke opened the bathroom door fifteen minutes later. His bare chest gleamed with droplets of water. There was a towel draped around his broad shoulders, and his trousers rode low on his lean hips.

  She stared at him, her mouth gone dry with the sheer beauty of all that dark, supple skin. The patch of ebony hair between the flat coins of his nipples narrowed to paint an intriguing arrow down the washboard ridges of his stomach.

  “Do you need help with that kettle?”

  She started and pulled her gaze from his body to his face. “No,” she told him, hoping she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt. “I can get it.”

  “Good. I didn’t want to put this damned thing back on.” He held up his hand, and she saw that his fake foot dangled from his fingertips. “Would you do me a favor and grab that crutch over by the back door?”

  “Yes, of course.” She hurried over to the door and grabbed the carved oak crutch, her heart swelling with gratitude. He’d taken a big chance, letting her see him in such a vulnerable state, and the fact that he trusted her enough to do so filled her with hope.

  He took the crutch from her outstretched hand, and his fingers brushed hers for just a second too long. “Thanks,” he murmured, searching her face. “Would you like to meet me in the parlor when you’re done? We could play a game of chess.”

  “I’d love that,” she replied. “But you’ll have to teach me how.”

  “I’ll teach you.” His gaze settled on her mouth, and she knew he wasn’t talking about chess.

  She turned away and gathered up her bundle of clothes and towels. “I won’t be long.”

  He gave a soft laugh and made his way out of the kitchen with painful slowness. She watched him maneuver down the hall with the crutch and his good leg and was touched again that he’d let her see him with his left pant leg empty.

  She forced her gaze away, then lifted the heavy kettle of hot water off the stove and carried it into the bathroom.

  A moan of pure pleasure escaped her lips as she lowered herself into the steaming tub. How long had it been since she’d had the luxury of a hot bath? Not since the first days of the war. She’d made do with a basin of tepid water each morning and before she went to bed at night, alternated with an occasional dip in the river.

  Among her things were a sliver of finely milled soap and a small bottle of rose perfume. She reached for them almost reverently. They were the only luxuries left from her life in Georgia, and she’d used them sparingly, knowing that once they were gone, there would be no more to replace them.

  She held the rose perfume above the water, deciding to use it all and be truly decadent. The flowery scent filled the air, and she closed her eyes, breathing it in. She was so relaxed it took her a few moments to realize the soft music she heard wasn’t in her mind.

  Lifting her head, she turned toward the sound. A sweet, soft tune drifted to her on the night air. Luke, she thought, a pleased smile curving her lips. He was playing the piano, a beautiful melody she remembered from her childhood.

  Her eyelids felt heavy, and she yawned, wondering what other wonderful surprises Luke had in store for her.

  LUKE CLOSED HIS EYES, letting the music flow through his soul and out his fingers. The soft, haunting lullaby consumed him, chasing away the lingering lust that pulsed through his veins.

  It had been months since he’d played, and he wasn’t certain why he did so now, other than the fact that he desperately needed something to occupy his hands. If he let himself think about Sarah, alone in that deep tub, wearing nothing but the scent of roses... Lord, it was driving him insane.

  He didn’t know how long he played before it occurred to him that Sarah was taking an awfully long time in the bathroom. Longer than even a leisurely soak in rosewater warranted. He glanced at the clock on the mantle. Almost an hour had passed since he’d left her in the kitchen.

  His hands stumbled over the keys, and he ceased playing, listening for any sounds from the bathroom. The house was eerily quiet, and he was filled with sudd
en disappointment. She must have decided to go straight to bed.

  With a sigh, he reached for his crutch and stood up. It had taken more courage than he’d thought he possessed to leave the boot off after his bath. But it would be impossible to live in such close proximity to Sarah without ever having her see him this way, and he’d wanted to know how she’d react.

  His trust in her had been well founded. She’d been so busy looking at his bare chest she barely seemed to notice his missing foot. He’d wanted to kiss her for that more than he’d ever wanted anything in his whole life.

  He shuffled into the kitchen and saw a sliver of light beneath the bathroom door. Was she still in there?

  Pressing his ear against the wooden panel, he listened for the telltale sounds of splashing water or rustling clothes but heard nothing. “Sarah?” He knocked quietly, but there was no answer.

  Thinking she’d forgotten to blow out the lantern, he pushed the door open. He froze, his heart thundering in his chest, as he stared at the angel asleep in his tub.

  Her golden hair spilled over the back of the headrest in a wet tangle, almost touching the floor. Her lovely face was sweetness incarnate, a soft smile curving her beautiful mouth. From his vantage point, he could see the long length of one bare leg and the gently rounded mounds of her breasts, her nipples wet and erect, peeking through the water.

  Luke’s mouth went dry and he tried to swallow, his hands clenching into fists at his sides as the need to reach out and touch her buffeted him.

  Pulling the door closed and blocking out the erotic sight of her was the most difficult thing he’d ever done. He pressed his face against the wood, struggling to control his ragged breathing.

  He couldn’t let her know he’d walked in on her, or she’d never trust him again. But he couldn’t let her sleep in the tub all night, either. He hobbled over to the kitchen table and sat down, staring at the small clock on the wall. He’d give her fifteen more minutes. If she didn’t wake up on her own, he’d rap on the door and call her name until she did.