Читать книгу Marriage at the Cowboy's Command - Ann Major, Ann Major - Страница 8

What the hell did she have to tell him that was so important?

It wasn’t the first time she’d fed him that line. On the day he’d left for good, nearly six years ago, she’d told him she had something important to tell him. But when he’d gone to meet her in their secret place, her mother had showed up instead. Her mother had fired him and set him straight about a lot of other things, too. Caitlin planned to marry someone else.

Luke had left, but later when he’d calmed down, he’d called Caitlyn. She’d never answered his calls, so he’d written. She’d never written back. Clearly, she’d wanted him out of her life but had lacked the courage to break up with him in person.

Who cared what she had to say today? Quit thinking about it, he told himself.

As if he could. Her brown eyes had been huge, fear-filled dark orbs, her shaky tone ominous. He’d wanted to reach out and pull her close. Thank goodness he hadn’t acted on that rash impulse. She didn’t deserve his kindness, nor his compassion. She never had.

They say you can never go home.

As he’d told Caitlyn, Luke damn sure wouldn’t have come here if he’d had a choice. He belonged in London, in his office, sitting at the helm of his many businesses.

But Hassan, to whom he owed everything, had prevailed.

For nearly six years, Luke Kilgore had avoided all things Texan, especially its women. He wanted no one with dark hair or fiery dark eyes that held a hint of vulnerability; he wanted no one with a soft drawl that sounded too much like a cat’s purr.

Now, sprawled in the back of his leased stretch limo on this fool’s errand, trying to pretend he was relaxed, Luke’s fingers clenched, wrinkling the latest of his CEO’s reports about Kommstarr’s disgruntled employees. Luke thrust it aside impatiently. Steve’s figures in defense of his out-of-control expenditures at Kommstarr made no sense. Luke didn’t like firing people any better than Steve did, but some cuts had to be made.

Hell, Luke had hardly been able to concentrate since he’d landed in San Antonio last night and felt the warmth, even in winter, of the vast, starlit Texas sky. So different from London’s gray, damp chill that all he’d been able to think about was her. In his hotel in downtown San Antonio he’d even dreamed of her.

Why was she scared?

Caitlyn Cooper Wakefield.

Now that he’d seen her, touched her, tasted her, she’d scrambled his brain just like she’d done in the past. How could she still get to him?

Six years ago she’d merely been Caitlyn Cooper. A respected rancher’s only daughter. She should have been off-limits to the motherless son of the county’s number one drunk, Bubba Kilgore. She would have been—if she’d obeyed her daddy or if Luke had had enough sense to keep his hands off her.

Luke compared the woman she was now to the slim girl she’d been back then. She’d been more cute than beautiful, with a freckled nose and wide, dark, innocent eyes that had sparkled with curiosity and laughter. And she’d laughed a lot. At least, in his company.

She hadn’t laughed today.

Back then she’d seemed to find him as exciting as he’d found her. From that first afternoon, when he’d stomped onto her daddy’s porch, desperate for a job, and she’d refused to invite him in, there had been vital chemistry between them.

She wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the women he dated now, and she didn’t dress as fashionably. She’d never cared about those things. Deep down he admired her because she wasn’t vain. Her face was narrow and angular, her thick black hair unruly. She hadn’t worn any makeup. Did it matter? There was something real, something genuine about her, and she sure as hell knew how to kiss.

He wished he could forget how seductively soft and warm her lips had felt beneath his own, forget how good she’d tasted, forget how hard he’d become even before he’d grabbed her this afternoon. Lacking polish, she was all fire and sass, making him burn.

Her hands had climbed his chest and wrapped around his neck as if she knew she belonged to him and no one else. When she’d leaned into him and pulled him close, he’d felt the heat of every female curve.

She’d been hotter than ever, maybe because she’d known exactly what she wanted. Or maybe she’d missed him … really missed him, as he’d missed her.

Like the kiss today, the memory of the long-ago evening when he’d made love to her still had the power to sear him. He hadn’t gone looking for trouble that evening, but it sure as hell found him.

He’d knocked on her door, looking for her daddy. He’d needed an advance against his wages since Bubba had drunk up the rent. She’d come to the door in tight shorts that skimmed her curvy bottom and said, “Maybe he’s in the barn.”

Only, she’d known he wasn’t when she’d followed Luke out there, closing the big, heavy doors behind her, calling to him across the dark in that raspy purr of hers. Then she’d undone her hair so that it tumbled around her shoulders. When she’d held out her arms and told him she loved him, he’d tried to talk some sense into her, even as his heart thundered.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, girl,” he’d warned.

“But I’ve always known how I feel,” she whispered, “ever since I first saw you.”

“You’re too young to know anything. Folks around here think I’m nothing.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to go my whole life wanting you like this … and never having had you.” She moved toward him. “Just once. That’s all I’m asking for.”

“No one can know,” he said.

“Nobody but us,” she’d whispered, sliding into his arms, her soft curves melting against his hard muscles.

She’d felt right, perfect.

“Just us,” he’d murmured, kissing her passionately.

For him, that time with her had been special. No other woman had ever come close to mattering so much. But then, no other woman had used her mother to throw him out like he was nothing. That had been equally hard to forget.

Had she just wanted to scratch an itch? Had she known then she would have to marry Wakefield if she wanted to get her precious ranch back? For years Luke had tormented himself with those questions.

She’d been the first girl he’d loved—and she’d be the last. She’d taught him love held a dark power. She’d taught him there were worse things than having a mean old man for a father. She’d taught him there were worse things than being born poor. She’d taken a hatchet to his heart and soul.

Swearing she loved him, she’d given herself to him on a bed of hay that night in the barn. Then, as soon as she could, she’d married Robert Wakefield, no doubt because he was the son of the banker who’d repossessed her family’s ranch.

But life had a way of being messy, and nothing had worked out as she’d planned. Robert had died. The ranch was in trouble again, and she was a struggling widow with a son.

A son. Funny that he hadn’t seen the kid. Not that he wanted to see Wakefield’s kid, who was living proof that she’d been with another man these past six years.

Some people were good at letting go. Luke envied them. Not that he didn’t go through the motions of a man who’d moved on. He owned a glamorous penthouse in London. Invitations to his parties were sought after. He dated the most beautiful women in Europe. Except for his friend Nico Romano, an Italian prince with an independent wife from Texas, his married male business associates said they envied Luke his carefree life.

Although he didn’t pick up the report again, Luke barely spared a glance out the tinted windows. He didn’t have to. The harsh brown scrubland was deeply engraved into his consciousness.

He’d accomplish this errand for Hassan as quickly as possible. Then he’d figure out once and for all what was behind Hassan’s obsessive interest in Caitlyn.

Not that he hadn’t tried to find out after Hassan had met her at Keeneland. When Luke hadn’t reacted to the Wakefield name, Hassan had pressed, asking him if he’d known Caitlyn Wakefield personally.

“Yes, I worked for her father.”

“And? Did you care for her?”

“It doesn’t matter. Her mother fired me. I left Texas and never saw any of them again. Why do you want to know?”

“You don’t talk about Texas much.”

“I’m not all that proud of who I was in Texas, or of how people treated me. It’s something I’ve tried to put behind me.”

He’d thought that was the end of it. Then Hassan had asked Caitlyn to help him with Sahara and had invited Luke to Deauville without telling him he’d hired Caitlyn as Sahara’s trainer. When Luke had seen her working with the stallion, he’d asked Hassan again why he was so interested in her. It would have been so much easier to use a world-class French trainer instead of bringing Caitlyn from the States.

Again, Hassan had been evasive, saying only that her advice had saved him from making a particularly disastrous purchase.

“Why did you invite me to dine with the two of you?”

Luke had asked. “It’s as if you are determined to get us together.”

“Sometimes we are rash in our youth. Sometimes it’s a mistake to lose touch with old friends.”

“Not in this case.”

“You could be wrong, my son.”

“Well, I won’t come for dinner if you insist on including her.”

“I do insist on her presence tonight.”

“Then I’ll pass.”

“You shall be missed, my son.”

Hassan’s stubborn behavior and fascination with Caitlyn made no sense, but Luke would get to the bottom of it. Then, hopefully, within the week, he’d be home with Teresa.

Luke saw a flash of movement out the window. A handsome blood bay horse, ridden by a small figure, sprang across the road right in front of the limo. The driver honked and hit the brakes too fast and too hard. The bay spooked and started bucking.

Tires squealing, the limo fishtailed in a swirl of gravel, sliding to a standstill in front of a prickly pear cactus. The pages of Steve’s report came loose and flew all over the limo’s plush interior.

The riderless red horse plunged wildly away from the veils of dust near the car, racing across the depopulated landscape. Then he stopped and circled back, staring at something on the ground. When the dust settled, Luke saw a small boy lying still and lifeless on the road.

Luke leaped out of the limo at the same moment as his driver.

“I didn’t see him, sir! Not until it was nearly too late!”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Luke assured the man.

“He came out of nowhere.”

“See to the car.” Luke strode toward the prostrate boy, who’d stirred at the sound of their voices.

A cowboy came running from the pasture. “The boy, he got away from me, señor.”

When the kid moaned, Luke felt some of his tension ease. The car hadn’t hit the boy. He’d just been bucked. Maybe he was okay. At the same age, Luke had ridden just as recklessly and had taken many a hard fall without doing permanent damage. In some ways, kids were tougher than adults.

Careless of the fine wool and silk blend of his custom-made suit, Luke knelt on the ground beside the boy.

The kid groaned and sat up, blinking at him suspiciously. The boy’s red-checked cowboy shirt was torn in two places. He raised a quick, thin hand to shade his tanned brow, squinting at the brilliant afternoon sun coming from behind Luke. The boy’s lips parted in a gap-toothed grin.

“You okay …?” Luke began, feeling a jolt of recognition.

“Sorry, mister. I …”

The kid had jet black hair and green eyes—green eyes that were the exact same shade as his own.

Luke’s gut twisted. Emerald eyes stared straight into his for an endless moment, during which Luke felt something near his heart shift.

Luke didn’t believe in coincidences, and Hassan placed an inordinate value on sons. Was this boy the answer? Did Hassan think …?

Had Hassan seen Caitlyn’s son and noticed the resemblance to Luke? Had Hassan met the boy at Keeneland?

Suddenly Luke couldn’t breathe. It was as if a band had wrapped around his chest and squeezed. In a weird panic—he never panicked—he fought to ignore dozens of questions that bombarded his stunned mind.

“I asked you if you’re okay?” Luke’s voice was hard and strange, unrecognizable. “Anything hurt? Broken? Are you dizzy?”

The kid felt real. The rest of his life—London, Teresa, his businesses, his unstoppable ambition, even Hassan—belonged to a dream that had nothing to do with his life, which was here.

“I’m fine, but I’ve got to catch that damn Demon before he bolts for the barn and I have to walk all the way back.”

“Don’t cuss.”

“Sorry!”

The kid didn’t look the least bit sorry as he sat up and got ready to spring to his feet.

Luke put a hand on his shoulder. “Not so fast. Why don’t you sit here a minute or two, catch your breath.”

“I said I’m okay,” the boy protested impatiently, looking defiant.

Just as Luke would have done at the same age.

“Right. And I say it’s too soon to be so sure. What’s your name?”

“Daniel.” His bottom lip curling, the kid stared at the ground.

“You got a last name?”

“‘Course I do! Wakefield.” There was fierce pride in his low tone, the kind of pride Luke had never felt for his biological father. When the kid tried unsuccessfully to shake loose from Luke’s iron grip, his bottom lip grew even more prominent.

“My name’s Luke Kilgore.”

“Glad to meet you, Mr. Kilgore,” Daniel said automatically.

“Glad to meet you, too.”

The boy on the ground didn’t look a thing like the blond, blue-eyed Wakefield bunch. Luke’s mind raced backward.

“How old are you, Daniel?” Luke asked slowly, as unwanted pressure pounded in his temples.

This couldn’t be happening. But it was. The angry kid looked just like he’d looked at the same age.

“Five.”

The number was a sucker punch in the gut.

Damn her. Was this why she had married Wakefield so quickly? Had she been pregnant? Had she slept with them both and hoped to pass off his baby as the wealthier Wakefield’s to get the ranch back? Had she despised the thought she might be carrying a Kilgore?

Luke clenched and unclenched his fists. When one speculated, one was usually wrong. What mattered now was finding out the truth.

“Does your mother know where you are?” Luke asked in a low, even tone. “That you were riding Demon bareback?”

The kid tensed and then lowered his eyes guiltily. “Sure. I was with Manuel, so it’s okay.”

“Right,” Luke said softly. “What do you say we catch Demon so the two of you can run along home, back to the ranch, so your mother won’t worry?”

“She’s not worrying. She’s too busy getting ready for her meeting with some guy.”

“That would be me.”

“Oh. Are you rich? Some car, huh? Long.” His eyes lit up. “Like a bus.”

“Not exactly. It’s called a limousine. Limo for short. What do you say we catch your horse?”

Luke and Daniel stood up together, and Manuel joined them. Demon’s ears shot forward and he whinnied. As Luke and the boy dusted themselves off, the blood bay gelding hung his head and licked his lips.

Good sign, Luke thought as Manuel slowly approached the horse.

The well-proportioned gelding didn’t run away. He stood docilely, allowing Manuel to retrieve the reins. Manuel swung himself onto the horse. Then Luke lifted Daniel up to the mounted man.

A shadow passed over Daniel’s face as he looked down. “I got you all dirty. You’re gonna tell Mom on me.”

“I’m not sure what I’ll say to her. But I’ll catch up to you two at the house,” Luke said, his tone hard as he dusted himself off again.

“Did you come to buy a horse or something?” the kid asked.

“Or something.”

“Good, ‘cause me and Mom could sure use the money.”

Money—had she married Wakefield because his daddy had been a banker and he’d owned Wild Horse Ranch? Or to give her baby a name?

When had she learned she was pregnant? Was her pregnancy the reason she hadn’t taken his calls or answered his letters?

“See you,” Daniel said, dismissing Luke casually.

Then the boy leaned forward with the ease of a natural rider. Soon boy, man and horse were cantering down the shoulder of the road while Luke stood still and silent, watching them.

Luke identified with that half-wild kid. Almost as if Luke was riding Demon himself, he felt the calves of those thin legs gripping the powerful animal. They were his legs, his knees squeezing tight, his lean body leaning forward, his hands lightly holding the reins. It was him urging the great creature faster, faster, until the ride became exhilarating.

“Breathe, Daniel. Don’t forget to breathe,” Luke whispered.

Then horse, boy and man were flying, airborne, united, and Luke’s own soul rushed after them. He hadn’t felt this alive in years.

What if the kid was his son?

No sooner had the trio melted into the haze of the horizon than a knot of longing formed in Luke’s throat. Should he have let Daniel back on the beast so soon? The boy had said he was fine, and he was with Manuel. But was the boy okay? What if he had a concussion?

Acute parental anxiety was new to him and made him feel foolish. The kid probably wasn’t even his. But whether he was or he wasn’t, Luke’s concern caused beads of sweat to break out on his brow.

Had Caitlyn wanted him gone so he wouldn’t find out about Daniel? Was that why she’d been afraid? If so, she was far more deceptive than he’d believed.

Luke wanted answers, and he wanted them now. Grabbing his cell, he punched in Hassan’s number. It was probably midnight Hassan’s time, but Luke didn’t give a damn.

As always, Hassan’s voice was warm with paternal interest in a way that Luke’s biological father’s never had been.

“Raffi. You had a safe journey? No problems?”

“Only one. I just met Daniel.”

There was a long silence before Hassan finally spoke. “I saw him at Keeneland. He looked so much like you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was right? He is yours, then?”