A Family Kind of Wedding (11 page)

“They're fine,” he assured her and reached for the handle of the door. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” Before he could yank the door open, Bliss added, “I was just trying to talk Luke into attending the wedding and reception.”

“Oh, you should come.” Katie turned and gave him her thousand-watt smile. “It's going to be the event of the summer.”

“I'm not usually one for ‘events.'”

“Well, think about it. Just drop by the reception, if you'd like,” Bliss invited, and he inclined his head.

“I just might.” He left feeling that he'd somehow been manipulated by the two sisters, but he didn't much care. He wouldn't attend the wedding, but, hell, he might as well check out the reception.

But it had nothing to do with the fact that Katie Kinkaid would be there, he told himself. Absolutely nothing.

“You think this is authentic?” Jarrod asked as he eyed a copy of the note Katie had received from Isaac Wells.

Dressed only in frayed cutoff jeans, he toweled his hair and stood dripping on the rocky shore of the Rogue River. His house, a small single-story cabin of shake and shingles, overlooked this wild stretch of water and had been his home for nearly ten years. Jarrod, solitary by nature, lived alone here with his dog and seemed to like it just that way. No women to bother him. No children to care for.

“I wish I knew,” Katie admitted. “It would make things a whole lot easier.”

“What did the police say?”

“Just that they'd look into it”

A half-grown black Lab bounded up, and Jarrod bent down to pick up a stick, “Here ya go, Watson,” he said, hurling the stick into the water. The dog jetted into the swift current and caught up with the bobbing piece of wood.

“Do you think it's a hoax?”

“Could be.” Jarrod scowled and squinted as the sun lowered over a ridge of hills to the west. Overhead a hawk slowly circled in the hazy blue sky. “But why?” He shoved his hair out of his eyes and chewed on his lower lip. “I don't like it. Something's not right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why would Isaac Wells—or even an imposter, for that matter—want attention from you?”

“Publicity?”

“A man who spent most of his life as a recluse?” Jarrod's eyes followed the dog as he galloped out of the river and, with the prized stick in his mouth, shook the water from his coat. “Tell me you're not going to print it.”

“Too late.”

“Not smart, sis.” His eyebrows slammed into a single, intense line. “You might be playing right into his hands.”

“Whose? Into whose hands? Ray Dean's?”

“I wish I knew,” Jarrod said.

“Well, maybe we'll finally find out.”

“Be careful, Katie. One guy's already missing, and don't even think about messing with the likes of Ray Dean if he's involved—and even if he isn't. The guy is a criminal, remember that.” Jarrod's eyes held hers for a second. “I wouldn't want anything to happen to you.”

“It won't. I'm always careful,” she said flippantly. “I just stopped by because I thought you'd want to know.”

Jarrod flung the wet piece of wood back into the river.

“I do.” His scowl was so dark she nearly laughed.

“Better crack this case quick,” she teased, “or I might just beat you to it.” She checked her watch and sighed. “Look, I've got to get a move on. I've got another errand to run before I go home. Mom's hanging out with Josh, and I said I'd be back by five.” With a wave she was off, and she refused to let Jarrod's warnings give her pause. He was just in a bad mood because this was one case he hadn't been able to solve. The deputy she'd spoken with at the sheriff's department hadn't been any happier with her. He'd taken the note and asked her if she'd touched it, which, of course, she had, though she'd been cautious as she'd figured someone would check it for fingerprints.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” she whispered to herself as she drove away from Jarrod's hermit's abode in John Cawthorne's Jeep. At a fork in the road, she turned toward the hills and angled away from town. As she passed Isaac Wells's ranch she thought fleetingly of the mystery surrounding him, but didn't turn off until she reached the Sorenson place. Her heart thudded with painful memories as she wheeled through an open gate where wildflowers and brambles grew in profusion. The smell of dust, dry grass and Queen Anne's lace hung in the late-summer air as the Jeep bounced over the ruts and potholes of a lane that was once familiar to her.

How had she let the years roll by without once trying to contact Dave, to tell him about Josh? Why had she let pride—always her enemy—come between her and the truth? She swallowed back a lump in her throat as she angled the Jeep around a bend in the lane and the Sorenson cabin came into view. A rambling single-story with a loft, it sprawled between thickets of pine and oak.

Wearing only worn jeans that looked as if they might fall off his hips at any second and a pair of weathered rawhide gloves, Luke was straining against a wayward post in the fence near the barn, trying to push it into an upright position. His booted feet were planted solidly in the dry earth, one muscular shoulder braced against the graying post. Jaw set, lips pulled back with effort, he glanced in her direction, then gave one final shove. The post slowly inched upward, and Luke, muscles straining, sweat rolling down his face and back, moved one leg and kicked a pile of stones into the widening hole at the post's base.

Katie felt a jab of disappointment that he wasn't glad to see her, then swept that wayward emotion aside. Feigning disinterest in his sun-bronzed chest with its mat of gold hair, she pretended not to notice how those curly, sun-kissed swirls arrowed down to his navel to disappear in a gilded ribbon past the worn waistband of his jeans.

Her heart fluttered, and her stomach did a slow, sensuous roll as he straightened, crossed his arms over his chest and she noticed the striated ridges of his flexed shoulder muscles. Perspiration glistened on his chest, face and arms; dust clung to his skin.

She climbed out of the Jeep and managed a smile that felt as frail and phony as it probably appeared. Just being on Sorenson ground gave her pause. “Hi.”

“The convertible's still not workin'?” He kicked the remainder of the stones into the hole, then tested the post by trying to move it with his hands. It held, and he grunted in satisfaction.

“No… And Len seems to think it's a goner.” Lifting a shoulder, she tried to sound cheerier than she felt. “I guess I'm in the market for new wheels.”

“Humph.” He yanked off his gloves and stuffed them into a back pocket. “Somethin' I can do for you?”

Her heart pounded, and her throat went dry. She remembered his hands on either side of her face as he'd kissed her, the desire that had burned through her body. Clearing her throat, she looked away. “Thank you again for helping with the car…it's been acting up a lot. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come along.”

“It was nothing. Really. Don't think anything of it.”

She managed a smile and glanced around the outbuildings. “So this ranch was the Sorensons'.”

“That's right.”

“And you said you knew Dave.”

Luke nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing. “Since I was about twenty when I went to work for his old man. I was hell on wheels, in trouble all the time, and Ralph took a chance on me. Gave me a job. That's how I met Dave.”

“You became friends?”

“For the most part, when he was around,” Luke said as he walked toward the ranch house. Katie fell into step with him. “He joined the army a little while after high school, became career military.”

“What happened to him?” Katie asked as they reached the shade of the wide front porch.

Luke frowned. “I'm not sure anyone knows all the details, but he was killed this past year in a freak accident. Helicopter crash during routine maneuvers.”

Katie's blood turned to ice. She closed her eyes and held on to the rail by the steps to steady herself.

“Ralph and Loretta took it pretty hard,” Luke said.

“I don't blame them.” She ran a trembling hand over her forehead. “Lord, what a blow.”

“I'm sorry.”

She swallowed hard and sagged against the rail. Dozens of memories, yellowed with age, their edges softened as the years had passed, swam through her mind. “So am I,” she said roughly, then cleared her throat.

“You knew him well?”

Better than anyone,
she thought, then realized that wasn't the truth, either. Dave had kept to himself, for the most part. As naive as she'd been all those years ago, she'd sensed that he was holding back, that even during their lovemaking there had been a part of him he'd kept hidden and remote, a part she would never understand. “I'm not sure anyone really knew Dave,” she admitted. “As I said, he didn't live here all that long.”

“A year or two, the way Ralph talks about it.”

“Yeah, about eighteen months, I think.”

“He involved with any girls back then?” Luke asked, and she stiffened.

“I, uh, I don't think he dated much. Why?” She couldn't help but ask. There were questions in his eyes she didn't understand, didn't want to trust.

“Ralph seemed to think he might've had a girlfriend.”

“He could have,” she hedged. Though tempted, she wasn't about to tell this sexy stranger that she'd been involved with Dave Sorenson. Not until she'd spoken with her son. Josh deserved the truth. All of it. “So…tell me about your plans.”

She needed to change the subject. She'd dwelled enough on the subject of Dave Sorenson. She'd mourn her first and only lover in private and then confide in her son. Josh might hate her for keeping the truth from him, might never forgive her for not allowing him the privilege of knowing his father, but she couldn't keep Dave's death from him.

Luke hesitated for a second, as if he had more questions, but he eyed her, tugged on his lip and lifted a shoulder. “Let me show you around.”

He opened the door and led her into the main house, a building she'd been inside only twice before, long ago, and both times in the middle of the night, with Dave holding her hand and leading her through the darkened rooms.

It hadn't changed much. From the looks of the curtains, she imagined that they were at least twenty years old; the furniture, too, felt as if it had been in the house for two decades. A couch with wooden arms and feet, tables nicked and scarred, a leather recliner that was worn in the arms and where a man's head had rested.

“The entire place will be remodeled,” he said as they walked through a small eating area and into the kitchen. He showed her how he planned to push out walls and connect the main house with what had once been the detached garage and bunkhouse. That area would be more rustic, with bunk beds and shared baths, while in the existing house the attic would be expanded into bedrooms with private baths and back stairs that led to the main hall that could be used for dining or dancing or general recreation.

“If things work out, I'll expand the stables in the next year or two,” he said, leading her down a short hallway and past the door to Dave's room. She felt a sliver of pain pierce her heart again but ignored it as he opened the door to the master bedroom, an expansive room big enough for a king-size bed and an armchair or two. A stone fireplace, dusty and missing a few rocks, filled one corner, and a mouse scurried quickly into a hole in the mortar. Long horns were still displayed above a thick mantel, and from one of the exposed beams of the ceiling a wagon-wheel chandelier hung from a wrought-iron chain.

“In time this'll be my living quarters,” he said with a crooked smile. “I was going to make it the only guest suite in the place, but decided I didn't want to bunk with the hands.” He walked to a window and cranked it open. A soft summer breeze slipped into the room, carrying with it the scent of roses and honeysuckle.

“It'll be nice.” She was already envisioning the room as it would be. With a few dollars and a lot of elbow grease, the hardwood floors would gleam, clear-paned windows would give a view of the garden and beyond, to the fenced fields where the hills rose sharply and trees dotted the fence line. In her mind's eye she saw volumes filling the now empty bookcase near the fireplace and warm coals glowing in the grate on a cold winter's night.

“Why did you decide to settle in Oregon?” she asked as Luke opened a door that led from the bedroom to the backyard.

“Ralph and I had a deal. I worked for him for ten years, and he kept half of my salary—invested it in some of his real estate. I was supposed to end up with a small spread of his outside Dallas, but he really wanted to get rid of this place, which is quite a bit larger.” Luke eyed the craggy hillsides. “I needed an excuse to get out of Texas. This was it.” He turned his attention back to her, and she felt the weight of his gaze, hot and steady, against her skin.

“Why did you want to leave Texas?”

His lips tightened just a fraction, as if he didn't like the intrusion into his personal life. “It was time. I lived there most of my life.”

She sensed there was more to his story but that no amount of prying would get it out of him. Luke Gates was a private man with a past he preferred to keep to himself. A secretive man. The kind to avoid.

They walked to the front of the house, past the overgrown rose garden and a sagging clothesline. Luke frowned as he eyed the grounds. “It's gonna take a lot of work.”

“But it will be worth it, don't you think?” Katie asked, some of her enthusiasm returning.

“I hope so.”

“Oh, sure. The area is primed for this kind of thing. Are you going to let your guests brand and rope and whatever else it is a cowboy does?”