Susan Amarillas (20 page)

Evidently he wasn’t. “Not exactly the greeting I was expecting. Most people are at least civil to their lover the next morning.” He put his cup down and advanced toward her. “Have you forgotten already? Maybe you like to be kissed first thing in the morning? You have to tell me these things.”

He was dark and powerful, and his intentions would have been clear even to a cloistered nun. She was not as immune to him as she had thought. As she watched him close in on her, her throat went dry and, God help her, she actually felt her body sway toward him, as though reaching for the enchantment that logic demanded she refuse.

Teeth-gnashing willpower kept her anchored to the spot. It didn’t keep him from touching her, though. If only he wouldn’t touch her. If only he weren’t so heart-stoppingly handsome.

Though it felt like a retreat, self-preservation made her take a firm step backward. “Don’t touch me!”

Alarm was obvious in her voice, and it gave him pause. His hand dropped away. “What?” His tone was incredulous.

“I said, don’t touch me.”

Luke stare at her intently. “That’s not what you said last night.”

She spun away and walked to the cupboard near the sink. Reaching up, she helped herself to a coffee cup. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, pleased her voice sounded so casual, so calm. She didn’t turn around to face him.

“I’m talking about us making love last night—until just a few hours ago, actually,” he added, his tone firm.

Discreetly she gripped the edge of the counter, needing support. “We... I... Last night was a mistake.” She straightened and turned to face him, though her hands still sought the support of the counter.

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I do. Furthermore, I will not discuss it, now or ever again. It will
not
happen again. And if you bring it up or mention it to me or anyone, I will continue to deny it.”

Here in the middle of this kitchen, on a bright October day, her announcement could not have surprised him more than if he’d been struck by lightning.

Was this some kind of a joke? It was a joke—right? Okay, her expression was grim, but she had to be joking.

His mind was working overtime. What the hell was going on? Could she have been that wild, that willing, and not care anything for him? Could he have been that wrong?

Not moving, he sought her gaze. That was when he knew. She was serious. He could see it in the hard glint of her eyes, as clearly as he’d seen the unbridled passion in them last night. It wasn’t anger or even shame. No, what he saw there was fear, stark and raw. He knew it, had seen it in men’s eyes before they made a deadly miscalculation.

But there was no miscalculation here, no reason to flee. Was there? Their lovemaking had been beautiful, passionate, endless.

His head came up with a start. Was that it? Was she afraid of the passion he’d ignited in her, afraid of her wild abandon?

Being with her, making love to her, had been more than he’d remembered, more than he’d imagined. What they had shared was soul-searing in its power. But her eyes held only fear and regret. It was perhaps the regret, most of all, that ate at him.

His desire faded under her cold stare. What had been blissfully beautiful dissolved, transformed into something quite different, something dark and ugly and cold.

An hour ago, he would have bet his life on her, on them—he’d been that certain. When she walked in here ten minutes ago, he’d been ready to reveal his feelings, tell her he loved her, tell her she’d given him all he ever wanted from this life.

Instead, here she stood, telling him that she wished last night had never happened. It hurt.

Though his expression was hard, Rebecca saw the emotions cloud his eyes. He raked both hands through his hair, his mouth pulled down in a hard line.

“Let me see if I have this right. You’re telling me that what happened— Sorry,” he said sarcastically, “that
nothing
happened. Is that it, sweetheart?” His face was stiff. A muscle played back and forth in his cheek. “If it wasn’t you who left bloody claw marks on my back, then who the hell was it? Tell me, and I’ll thank her for a mighty fine fu—”

“Go to hell, you arrogant bastard!” she snarled at him.

His eyes narrowed and his face went stone-hard. Rebecca inched backward, suddenly afraid, knowing firsthand the fury he was capable of.

But he never moved. In a voice that was tinged with barely controlled rage, he said, “I don’t care what you say or what you do or how you lie, it won’t change things. We
did
make love, and dammit, it was good, really good.” His voice softened. “You enjoyed every breathless minute of it as much as I did. You can lie to yourself and you can lie to me, but I’m in your blood, sweetheart, and God help me, you’re in mine.”

Rebecca cringed, hating herself for hurting him, hating him for being right. She had enjoyed it, but the risk was too great. If her secrets were revealed, lives would be in jeopardy. There was no way she could explain without revealing the very thing she was guarding so fiercely. If she stayed with him, let him stay with her, it was only a matter of time until he guessed. No, she had to end this, had to send him away. It was her only choice, her only hope.

“It’s over. Please leave.”

“You’re dismissing me? What’s the matter...I’m not good enough for you, Princess? Afraid of what people would think if you were consorting with a common cowboy, instead of some high-class banker?”

“That has nothing to do with it, and you know it.”

He shrugged. “It appears I don’t know anything, sweetheart,” he offered smoothly, glancing around the room with a disdainful look before focusing on her again. “Except you, of course. I know
you
quite well.”

Heat flushed her cheeks, and she drew in a sharp breath, the air fueling the rage inside her. “Please accept my sincere thanks for your assistance in returning my son,” she replied, her words cold and flat. “If any remuneration is required, I’ll have the bank send you a check.”

“Payment is not mine to accept,” he said, with equally cold politeness. He started for the door, his boots drumming on the polished plank floor. “It was you who came to my room, remember, so if anyone is due payment...”

He tossed a gold piece on the counter. It landed with a piercing clink. He walked out of the room. For a long moment, she stood there, trembling with rage.

Damn the man.
She grabbed hold of the counter edge, her fingers white-knuckle tight. She clenched her jaw so hard pain shot down her neck, then ricocheted up to give her a pounding headache. She wanted to shoot him. How dare he say such a thing to her—no matter what they’d shared, what she’d done, how she’d hurt him!

She rubbed at her temples, hard enough to make the headache worse instead of better. How she could have been attracted to him for even one instant was beyond her. She dragged in a couple of cleansing breaths, trying to still the anger that his remarks had evoked. She never wanted to see him again, she never wanted to hear his husky voice or see his sable-soft eyes or feel his provocative touch.

She dispelled the image of him by pounding her small fist on the smooth pine of the countertop. Yes, she thought with satisfaction, she’d made her feelings perfectly clear.

Luke Scanlin was gone from her life for good.

H
e was there before breakfast the next morning. Rebecca stood in the shadows inside the back door.

Every single member of her household, including all the servants, was in the backyard. They were laughing and shouting and throwing a ball in ways that made no sense to her.

“Here. Throw it to me, Luke,” Andrew shouted. His small foot was braced on a five-pound sack of cornmeal that was leaking badly, apparently from being kicked.

“Run, Jack,” Mrs. Wheeler called to the stable boy, who was racing between the other sacks of cornmeal and headed right at Andrew.

Luke tossed the leather-covered sphere to Andrew, and it sailed right past him. He took off after it while Jack slammed into the sack Andrew had just vacated.

There was more shouting and cheering, and Andrew was hollering something about the game not being over. Everyone was laughing and having a good time.

Mrs. Wheeler picked up a large stick and rested it on her shoulder, seemingly heedless of the dirt mark it left on her navy blue uniform. The usually perfect bun at the nape of her neck was loose and half-down.

Her cheeks flushed as she took a couple of swings with the stick. “Okay, Marshal, pitch it,” she said with a fierce determination that was undermined by her ear-to-ear grin.

It was at that exact moment that Rebecca stepped out into the sunlight of the porch.

“What the devil’s going on?” she demanded more harshly than she’d intended.

Everyone turned to see her standing there. In a glance, Luke took her in. Her black skirt, curve-hugging tight in front, with yards of fine muslin gathered over the bustle in back. Another of those high-necked blouses, this one in royal blue, tucked securely into her narrow waist. Her hair was done up in a style that was prim and proper, accenting her neck, all smooth and warm and soft. Beautiful as always, he thought with a sudden flash of familiar desire that he mildly resented.

“Mama!” Andrew exclaimed, his high voice breaking into Luke’s thoughts. “Look! Luke’s here! Isn’t that great? He’s teaching us to play baseball!”

“Great, dear,” she muttered as she took in the scene in a heartbeat. Every face was bathed in a radiant smile that bespoke relief from the anguish and fear that had stalked them. Songbirds, finches and doves, sang merrily from the oak trees that bordered the yard. Even the sky was bright and clear and blue—not all that common in San Francisco.

It was good to see Andrew so happy, so excited—a miracle actually, considering the ordeal he’d been through. Now here he was, playing in a childish reverie. That was terrific. Trouble was, it was Luke who had brought the color back to his cheeks and the spark of excitement to his eyes. Why did it have to be Luke? Hot resentment flooded through her.
He can’t be here. He can’t!
her consciousness screamed in denial. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She’d thought she’d seen the last of him. Hadn’t she made her feelings clear? With a sigh, she realized that now was not the time or the place to confront him.

Whatever his reason for being here, it was obvious that Andrew was thrilled. The two had taken an instant liking to each other. If there had been any doubt in her mind, Andrew had dispelled that yesterday. From the moment he got up and found Luke gone, he’d done nothing but talk about him. Luke was brave. Luke was strong. Luke was a marshal who’d saved him from the bad men. Luke. Luke. Luke! Until finally, in a fit of temper, she’d said, “He’s gone and he won’t be back, and I don’t wish to discuss him any further.”

Ruth had looked startled at the vehemence in her tone. Andrew had looked genuinely hurt. Rebecca had been instantly contrite. After all, it wasn’t Andrew’s fault that she was in this state of emotional turmoil. It was Luke’s.

No wonder, then, that she was furious to see him.
Besides,
her rapidly elevating temper coaxed,
just look at the man.
He was dressed in faded denim, which molded provocatively to his legs like it was put on wet, and his midnight blue shirt was loose and opened at the collar. He wasn’t even wearing a tie—not that he ever had, but it would be nice to see him conform, once in a while, she thought rue-fully. His hair was too long, his hat was too old, and his black jacket barely concealed the gun he had tied to his right thigh.

Gun. The word and the reality slammed together in her mind. Good Lord, he was wearing a gun! Yes, she’d seen him wear one before, but not with her child so close. Not while he was in
her
backyard, playing with
her
son.

“Good morning,” Luke called, with a smile that was warmer than sunshine. He waved, as though yesterday hadn’t happened. “We were beginning to think you were never getting up.”

“Oh, Mama likes to sleep late on Sundays,” Andrew supplied, rushing up to stand next to Luke and cling to his hand.

Rebecca bristled. “Why are you here?” she demanded bluntly. “I mean, it’s early.” She stepped farther out onto the porch, squinting in the harsh sunlight. “We usually don’t
receive—
” she emphasized the word “—until late afternoon.”

If he noticed her rebuke, he gave no indication of it.

Luke’s hand rested affectionately on Andrew’s shoulder in a way that made her uneasy. “Is it early? I didn’t realize,” he drawled smoothly. “I didn’t know. I haven’t been to bed yet.”

I’ll just bet,
she fumed inwardly, remembering his affection for cheap perfume and cheaper whiskey. “Come on, Andrew.” She motioned to him with her hand. “We have to go in now.” She made a half turn, certain he would comply. To her great surprise, he didn’t.

Andrew’s eyes widened in puzzlement. “Aw, Ma, I don’t—” His gaze immediately flicked to Ruth, who turned a questioning stare on Rebecca, as if to say, “Why?”

Rebecca ignored the unspoken question. She didn’t want to say,
Because Luke Scanlin is here and he heats my blood and makes me want him.
Her pulse fluttered unsteadily.

“Andrew!” Rebecca repeated in a no-nonsense tone.

Andrew merely inched closer to Luke. Luke’s hand moved more fully around the boy’s shoulder in a gesture of noncompliance, which fueled that quickly rising temper of hers. Andrew pushed protectively against Luke’s denim-clad hip, his back nestled against the holstered gun.

Alarm made her shout, “Andrew! Get away from him, right now!”

Luke’s black eyes glowed with an anger that his expression did not betray. He cocked his head slightly to one side in thoughtful consideration. “Why?” His tone was calm, and there seemed to be a slight nodding of heads, affirming that the same question was on everyone’s mind.

“The gun! He’s—” She pointed.

“What?” Startled, he glanced down, relieved to see the weapon still securely hooked in his holster. His gaze flicked sharply back to her. “He’s safe,” he told her, folding his arms across his chest in what felt like a challenge. “He’ll always be safe with me. Won’t you, cowboy?” he added affectionately.

“Yup.” A beaming Andrew craned his neck to look up at Luke’s face. Even from this distance, Rebecca could see the adoration on her son’s face, adoration that had always been reserved for her alone. Until Luke. Tears glistened in her eyes. He’d obviously won over her entire staff, and Ruth, and now even Andrew. Damn the man. Was there no limit to his charm? Was no one immune?

She was, she told herself firmly and, as though needing to prove it, she stepped down off the porch and took a step, one step, in his direction. “Guns, Marshal, are dangerous, and I prefer
not
to take chances.”

“So I’ve noticed.” His words were innocent, but charged with a smoldering intent that sent a shiver down her spine. “You needn’t worry, Becky. I wear a gun for protection, mine and other people’s.” Moving his gun hand, he ruffled Andrew’s hair playfully.

The implication of his words was lost on Andrew, but she understood. Oh, yes, she understood, with gut-twisting reality. He was here for Andrew, to protect Andrew. One of the men who had taken her child was still out there. Andrew was a witness. No matter what had happened between them, Luke had not forgotten that her son could still be in danger.

And here she’d been thinking only of herself, assuming that he was here because of her, when all the time he’d come to protect Andrew. Oh, God, how could she have been so foolish? She felt about two inches high. She wanted to apologize. She wanted to thank him. Pride wouldn’t let her do either.

“Andrew, I think all this activity is too much for you,” she said in a more subdued tone. “I don’t want you to get overtired.” She turned to her mother-in-law. “Ruth, do you think
you
are up to all this?” It was a gentle rebuke.

“Lord, yes,” Ruth replied with a negligent wave of her hand. “You think I’d miss a chance to play baseball with my only grandson?” She winked broadly at Andrew. “Besides, I’m not doing anything. I’m the...the...” She shot Luke a questioning look.

“Umpire.”

“Ah, yes,” Ruth repeated with a smile. “I’m the umpire.” She thumbed her chest.

“Oh, really?” Rebecca replied absently. “That’s very nice, but why don’t we all go in and—”

“Nooo, Mama,” Andrew whined. “The game’s not over.”

Luke ruffled Andrew’s hair again, making him grin and laugh before he raked it back with his stubby fingers.

“Why don’t you join us? You like games, don’t you?” Luke added, in a deep, husky tone that made Rebecca take a faltering step backward. With a pat on Andrew’s shoulder, he said, “Go get your mother.”

“Oh, yes, Mama.” Andrew raced across the grassy yard to fetch her. Tugging firmly on her hand, his voice shrill with excitement, he said, “You can do it, Mama. Don’t be afraid. Luke will teach you. Won’t you, Luke?”

He was already pulling her reluctantly toward the place where Ruth and Mrs. Wheeler were standing, about ten feet from Luke.

“Of course,” Luke said. “It would be my pleasure to teach you...everything I know.” The words were innocent, the tone was not. Nor were the erotic images that flashed, hot and luscious, in her mind.

Was he deliberately trying to...to...
What? Inflame your senses?
If he was, then he was doing a really fine job of it—not that she’d tell him so, of course. Mostly what she felt was trapped and, judging by the smug way he was regarding her, he knew exactly what he was doing. Moreover, he was enjoying every minute of it.

So the trap tightened, as if she were a rabbit in a snare. The more she struggled the tighter it got.

Her trap was emotional, not physical. Luke was a danger to her safe, orderly life, to her peace of mind, to her secrets, yet he was protection for her son. At least for Andrew’s physical safety. The rest...

She wanted him far away from her, but close to her son. How could she have one without the other? How would she survive his constant nearness?

There had to be a way. There had to be a middle ground, but right this minute she didn’t have the vaguest idea what that would be. For sanity’s sake, her only hope was that the police found the kidnapper soon.

In the meantime, Luke was here, and she had to grin and bear it. There was no point in arguing. Sending him away would mean putting Andrew at risk. This was his job, after all, and, grudgingly, she decided to let him do it.

“All right,” she said cautiously. “I’ll play along...for a while.” She meant more than the game.

Relief flashed in Luke’s eyes. A smile threatened the corners of his mouth, but he restrained himself. So, she understood his meaning, and more than just the part about protecting Andrew. He was here for that, certainly. He liked the little guy—liked him a lot. She wouldn’t send him away now. It was a start, anyway. Shifting his weight to one leg, he watched while the others surrounded Rebecca and tried to explain the game to her.

He’d like to explain a few things, too, but they had nothing to do with baseball. No, he had indoor sports in mind, very private indoor sports. Standing away from the others, he let his mind wander while he half listened. Ruth and Andrew were both talking at once, each telling Rebecca the rules of the game.

“Luke will throw the ball...” Andrew was explaining.

Luke smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm. He sure could have used some of his energy yesterday. Goodness knew he’d needed something, and that bottle of whiskey he bought had only given him a headache. And it hadn’t been cheap, either. It had been good single-malt whiskey from Kentucky. He’d sat in his room all night, drinking and reflecting about her and about that scene in the kitchen.

The more he’d thought about it, the angrier he’d gotten. At one point, he’d actually made up his mind to say the hell with the whole thing. It was a little vague what the whole thing was, but it was certainly anything that had to do with that woman. Yeah, even through a whiskey haze, he’d been sure of that.

But giving up didn’t sit well with him. He was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. He wanted Rebecca. Trouble was, the lady didn’t seem inclined to cooperate. So he’d forced himself to sit there, and the whiskey haze had made sure he did just that. At first he’d been angry, angrier than he’d ever been. Half a bottle of whiskey had dulled the anger to a manageable level.

“Then you hit the ball...” he heard Ruth saying. He was watching Rebecca, and the hurt he’d felt yesterday curled cold inside him. If she’d reached in and wrenched his heart out of his living chest, it couldn’t have hurt more. He’d been so euphoric, so elated, so certain and so damned wrong. Luke had thought he knew women. At least, he’d thought he knew this woman. Evidently, he hadn’t.

Looking at her now, he figured he should have known what the outcome would be. She was a lady, a woman with a position in San Francisco society, and he was a cowboy—sure a U.S. marshal, but mostly a common cowboy.

Well, dammit, this cowboy loved her. And no matter what she said, she cared for him. No woman could give herself so completely to a man and not care for him. Could she? He was damned if he knew, but he was gonna find out.

“...run really fast,” he heard Ruth say. The sound of her voice jolted him out of his musings. He looked up in time to see her pointing to the bags of cornmeal.