Читать книгу The Maverick - Carrie Alexander, Carrie Alexander - Страница 10

MARY LUCAS STABBED HER CANE against the marble floor. “Of all the foolish notions!”

A small smile flickered across Luke’s face. He’d completed the paperwork of his official release to find his grandmother waiting for him outside the courtroom doors and Deputy Sophie Ryan set like a guard dog near the exit at the other end of the hall. In between were a surprising number of townspeople, some of them friends, many of them busybodies, all of them loitering to see firsthand what would happen next.

Which was why Luke smiled. One glance at Sophie and he knew what was going to happen next—something he’d been waiting to do for fourteen years.

“I’m certain our lawyer can handle the situation,” Mary continued. She cast her grandson a sharp look. “If you had called, I might have heard about your unfortunate incarceration in time to deal with it properly.”

“I’m sorry, Grandmother. I would have called, but I didn’t want to involve you.” Luke—he’d been named after his mother’s side of the family—bent slightly to kiss the old woman’s cheek. She held herself stiffly and gave an abrupt “Harrumph,” but her stern bluish-gray eyes had suddenly developed a softening sheen.

Luke stroked a hand between her shoulder blades, reassuring himself that she was okay. He’d expected that in her late seventies his grandmother would have become noticeably older, but other than the cockeyed gait that precipitated the cane, she was the same tall, spare, tough old bird that she’d always been. Of course, she was not the type to give in without a fight, not even to old age.

Mary looked him up and down. “I certainly hope that this is the last of it, young man. Now that you’re back where you belong, I’ll stand for no more of your ma-lingering. Unless you’ve changed your mind about our business dealings—” Luke’s shrug conceded that he hadn’t “—you’ll take your place at the ranch.” She tapped her cane for emphasis. “Yes, yes. That’ll do. Running the ranch was never Heath’s strong suit. But you’ll be fine at the job, Luke. Just fine.”

“If I choose to stay, we can discuss it.”

The imperious angle of her head drew his attention to her feathery cap of white-as-snow hair. One sign that she’d grown older; when he’d left, it had been dark gray. “You’ll stay,” she insisted.

“I’ll consider it.”

Mary looked deliberately to the other end of the hallway, where Sophie stood by the double doors that led outside. “Oh, I think you’ll definitely be staying.”

Suspicion rankled. Luke’s gaze skipped across the curious faces of those loitering in the long hallway. Every muscle in his stomach clenched. Did they all know something that he didn’t?

“You heard Harriet’s ruling. You’re to stay under court supervision.” Mary nodded with a good amount of satisfaction, apparently realizing that the judgment hadn’t been so foolish after all.

“Oh, right. That.” He doubted that the ruling was legally enforceable, but for now he saw no reason to protest. It might be enjoyable, having Sophie as his watchdog.

“You will stay. I’m an old woman now, Luke. I’ve had all of your rebellion I can take. I need to see that my family is safe and settled, capable of carrying on to the next generation…” Again, Mary glanced toward Sophie.

A second shot of suspicion darkened Luke’s thoughts. “Don’t get any ideas in that regard, Grandmother.”

Mary’s thin lips curled in what passed for a smile. Her gaze shifted. “It’s not ideas that should concern you,” she insinuated.

Luke cocked his head. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that it’s time we had a serious talk, young man.”

After fourteen years apart, he could see the sense in that. Unfortunately, Mary Lucas’s “serious talks” usually entailed him buckling to her will. There was no listening or back and forth; only orders. She’d wanted him to study mining, mineralogy and business at Wyoming State. When that failed, he’d been instructed to focus on ranch work, then to surrender his motorcycle for the reward of a brand-new Chevy Blazer just like his brother’s. Although Luke had tried to explain to Mary and his frequently absent father that he wasn’t suited to the life they expected him to lead, not even his skirmishes with the law had seemed to convince them. His father put Luke’s troubles down to a bad reaction to his mother’s death, sure he’d get over it in time.

It had been more complicated than that. But explaining would hurt his father, and Luke couldn’t do that. Mary Lucas knew the truth, but she admitted only what suited her. She put his maverick ways down to grief and the sowing of wild oats, too bullheaded to believe that she couldn’t domesticate him to her purposes.

During those days, Sophie had been Luke’s only comfort. His eyes sought her out as surely as a compass points north. He moved toward her without conscious intent, brushing past the curious onlookers. Snake Carson stepped into Luke’s path, tattooed and muscled, grinning and calling him Maverick, saying something about Mustangs sticking up for each other. With a friendly slap on the shoulder, Luke made his way past the diehard member of his old motorcycle gang. Plenty of time for that later.

Someone pushed a door open to enter the courthouse. A slanting ray of bright September sunshine washed over Sophie. She turned away, squinting, tugging on her hat brim, the girlish curve of her cheek as firm and downy as a golden-pink apricot.

Luke put his arms around her. Struck with resurgent emotions, he wanted to sweep her up and carry her down the broad concrete steps. Only the years of misunderstanding that stood between them restrained the impulse.

She let out a squeak at his unexpected touch. He said, “Come outside with me,” giving no time for objection as he led her out the double doors. They clanged shut, cutting off the rising babble of voices. With only seconds to spare, he pulled Sophie off to the side. In the cool shadow of the portico, his lips covered hers. Sweet bounty. Her mouth was open, soft, caught by surprise. And warm, so warm…like liquid sunshine. His arms curved around her narrow back, drawing her closer.

The kiss was full, but too brief. By the time Sophie’s instinctive response had deepened into womanly knowledge, she’d regained herself. Luke felt her struggle against his embrace. Her head snapped back. She gave him a push that he allowed to propel him back a few steps.

Flushed, fuming, she said, “How dare you!” and swung at him wildly. Luke stood his ground. Her open palm cracked against his cheek.

Sophie’s eyes widened. For an instant she looked appalled, but then her face closed down. Without a word she turned on her heel and charged down the steps, stopping only when the doors opened and the others began pouring out.

Luke leaned against a pillar, his arms folded across his chest as he watched her inner struggle. He supposed he’d been wrong to kiss her without warning. But there were some temptations a man could resist for only so long. Sophie had always been his weak point.

The crowd was milling around, reluctant to leave when it was obvious there was much unfinished business between Sophie and Luke.

Ignoring them, Sophie stomped back up the steps. “Don’t you ever do that again,” she said to Luke in a low, sharp voice. Her brown eyes snapped with indignation.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, yes I do.” Her rigid control was new to him. They’d both learned their lessons, perhaps.

“I’m a sheriff’s deputy now, Luke, whether you like it or not. Sworn to uphold the law. Which means I have authority over you—”

“Not when it comes to kissing.”

Her narrowed eyes warned him to hush. “Kissing,” she hissed, leaning closer, “doesn’t come into it. What we have is a professional relationship. That’s it.” Her expression was not as confident as her words. “That is it,” she repeated for emphasis.

Yeah, sure. He was convinced.

“I don’t appreciate you trying to undermine my reputation—my authority, I mean—with adolescent stunts like…like…”

“Kissing?”

“I can’t believe you did that. Someone might have seen!”

Luke spread his hands, as if he were blameless. “Sorry. It dawned on me that I’d forgotten to give you a proper hello.”

She tamped her trooper hat back in place, eyeing him belligerently from beneath the brim. “After so many years, a handshake would have sufficed.”

“Not for Deputy Sophie.” He gave her a lazy, two-finger salute. “Apparently only handcuffs do it for you, ma’am.”

“Well, gosh, Luke, what did you expect?” She was baffled. “A big Welcome Home party? Was I supposed to be stuck here in Treetop, unchanged, waiting breathlessly for the day you’d return for—” She swallowed the next word, but he thought it might have been me.

His pulse raced. Maybe it wasn’t too late to right an old wrong.

Sophie wasn’t as hopeful. With an effort, she reassumed her distant, objective detachment. “Too bad Judge Entwhistle chose today to go soft. You’d be sentenced to ten years of hard labor if it had been up to me.”

“Exactly what crime would you be punishing me for?” he asked softly.

She sucked in another breath, her unschooled response apparent in the glitter of her eyes and the high color flaming in her cheeks. After a moment, she looked away. Too late.

She despises me, Luke thought. Suddenly he knew that his abandonment had been harder on her than he’d imagined, never mind Heath’s party-girl reports. And that in spite of it she’d stood her ground, living out her pain and humiliation under the scrutiny of the local denizens, some of whom had labeled her “trailer trash” before she’d learned how to talk.

She had guts, his Sophie. Whereas he’d taken the easy way out, even though it was becoming apparent that the path he’d traveled had cost him more than he’d known. Sophie had paid a high price too, but gained a new confidence and self-respect in exchange. She had found her place in the community, while he was still a freewheeling vagabond.

The question was: After fourteen years and inestimable miles, had they wound up in the same place? With—considering the thin line between love and hate—equally strong feelings for each other?

Did he still love Sophie Ryan, the feisty little brown-eyed girlfriend of his misspent youth?

She’d never left his heart, hard and shriveled though it was. But he was smart enough to recognize that the woman she’d grown into might turn his memories and fantasies of her as topsy-turvy as a carnival ride.

A ride for which the lady judge had just handed him a ticket. Which was not at all the harsh, swift justice Deputy Ryan had wished for, that was certain.

Luke smiled.

“Don’t smile at me,” Sophie warned, knowing she sounded foolish. It took all of her willpower not to wipe his kiss off her mouth, where it lingered like the warmth of a summer day.

The courthouse doors opened. More of the spectators filed out. They gave Sophie and Luke a wide berth, not out of caution, but out of amusement. She seethed, struggling with her anger and frustration.

Luke had made a laughingstock of her—again.

“Keep an eye on him, Deputy,” someone called, eliciting laughter. “Don’t let him get away this time!”

Snake Carson guffawed. “Handcuff him to your bedpost.”

Sophie gritted her teeth. Ever since their time with the Mustangs, Snake had treated her like a pesky mosquito worthy of a good swat. The several hundred dollars’ worth of traffic citations she’d written him went unpaid, as if she were playing pretend, her badge made of tinfoil, her uniform only a costume. Someday, she vowed, she’d prove herself to Snake, to the Mustangs, and to every single person in Treetop who looked down on her.

For now, she had to settle for jingling the handcuff case clipped to her equipment belt. “Better watch out, Carson. If you don’t pay your fines you’ll be next.”

“G’wan, Soph.” Snake was a large, muscular man in a tight black T-shirt, baggy camo pants and Army boots that had never seen Army duty. He was also the kind of arrogant bully who’d never been properly challenged. She suspected he wasn’t as tough as he liked to imagine.

The biker held up his tattooed arms, fists clenched, biceps bulging. “You can cuff me to your bed any day of the week, sweetheart.” A smattering of uncomfortable laughter accompanied his leer.

Luke turned his steely, unblinking stare on Snake. It curdled the ex-Mustang’s bravado as swiftly as it had Sophie’s, even though Luke didn’t say a word.

Snake did, but only one. A surprisingly high-pitched “Hey” popped out of his mouth as he lowered his arms. His lips clamped shut in embarrassment.

When Luke looked back at her, there was a strong light in his eyes. Possession, Sophie thought. A chorus of breathy exhalations rose from the onlookers as though they’d all reached the same conclusion. It didn’t matter one iota that Luke hadn’t uttered a word, or even raised the mask of his icy non-expression.

Branded. They all know I’m branded.

Her throat was raw, her nerve endings screaming. The injustice of it inflamed her. She was the one with the gun, the handcuffs, the badge, the authority—and she was still the one who was branded. It wasn’t fair.

Life was never fair, she brutally reminded herself. Especially not for women who were all too often at the mercy of their biology.

Sophie thought of Joe—her sacrifice and her reward. Her burden. Her heart. And she thought of the judge’s unconventional ruling, a ruling that pretty much gave Sophie the leeway to handle Luke how she saw fit.

Well, fine. The iniquity of life being what it was, there was still the law. Although men like Luke and Snake and Demon sometimes made the law seem as strong as the paper it was written on, let Luke try anything under her watch and he’d soon find out just how ruthless a woman scorned could be.

“All right, everyone,” Sophie said in her brusque deputy voice. “The show’s over.” For now. “Let’s clear the steps.” She made shooing motions as if the townspeople were a bunch of sheep who needed to be herded in the right direction.

She turned when Luke gingerly took his grandmother’s arm. “Just a moment, Mr. Salinger. I’d like to speak with you.”

Mary Lucas nodded. “Good day, Deputy Ryan.”

Sophie touched her brim. “Ma’am.” The frankness of the older woman’s cool-eyed regard was as discomfiting as ever. “I—um, I’m sorry I had to arrest Luke on his first day back, but…”

“It was your job.” Mary waved a hand that had retained its elegance despite being roughened by work and gnarled by age. “Yes, yes, of course. I understand.”

Sophie drew herself up. “I intend to follow Judge Entwhistle’s instructions. Luke won’t be getting into any trouble while he’s under my watch.”

Although Mary was not normally one to bow to outside authority, she did not seem perturbed by Sophie’s pronouncement. “Indeed. My grandson needs to be kept on a short leash.”

One corner of Luke’s mouth quirked, but he didn’t protest, either. It seemed that he’d learned the value of holding his tongue. Even so, Sophie rather missed the way he’d once jumped into every conversation with all guns firing, so fervent about his beliefs that he couldn’t understand how anyone’s view could possibly differ from his own.

Despite the guardedness, she doubted he’d changed all that much. If he was like the other Mustangs, he was taking her as seriously as a tiny Chihuahua nipping at his heels, unworthy of too great a defense.

Sophie huffed. “Indeed he does need a keeper. Don’t worry. I’ll see to him.”

Mary Lucas brushed away her grandson’s helping hand. “Between us, I expect we’ll manage, Deputy Ryan.” Setting her cane with a careful precision, she started down the steps, her head held high.

Sophie had the funny feeling a deal had just been struck. Only she didn’t know the terms.

She followed Luke, who was following his grandmother, ready to help in case she should falter. In the way of small towns, Sophie knew that Mary Lucas had badly bruised her hip in a recent fall from a green horse someone of her advanced age shouldn’t have been riding in the first place, but that the prognosis was good for a full recovery.

Typically, Mary refused to use her temporary infirmity to her advantage, even in Luke’s case. She gestured for him to rejoin Sophie and proceeded along the sidewalk without them.

Luke turned, disconcertingly good-looking even though he wore the same clothes as yesterday. His dark hair brushed the collar of the leather vest, curling slightly at the ends in a way that made Sophie’s fingertips tingle with a desire to comb it. She was going to have to watch herself as closely as she watched him.

“Okay, Deputy, what do I have to do?” he asked. “Check in with you like a parole officer?”

She tucked her traitorous fingertips into fists, not exactly sure of how to handle the unorthodox situation. “You might start by telling me what your intentions are.” One of the possible interpretations of the phrase scrambled her thought processes. “That is, I meant…” She swallowed, her throat still as raw as a slab of fresh-cut beef. It was a funny thing how emotions of the heart manifested themselves in physical symptoms. If she spent an extended time around Maverick she’d likely find herself in the hospital, languishing with an incurable case of lovesickness.

Lovesickness? Good God.

“Why have you come back?” she blurted.

There was a pause before he answered. “Not for any funny business.”

Hmm. Was his hesitation born of caution, or deception? She shrugged. “Given your record…”

He grinned. “You have good reason to doubt me.”

He didn’t have to look so pleased with himself.

“You’d better keep a very close eye on me,” he said with a sly intonation.

Sophie tilted her head back to regard the sky. “Am I the only one who’s taking this seriously?” she asked the bountiful cumulus clouds. It was much better not to look at Maverick. The smallest things about him—the flicker of his lashes, the tiny curved line that too many wry, lopsided grins had cut into the side of his cheek—knocked her off center.

“Seriously?” he said. “I don’t need a baby-sitter, if that’s what you and the judge had in mind.”

Sophie steadied herself. “That’s fine, because I’m a deputy, remember?”

“So you’ve said. Repeatedly.”

“You don’t think I can do my job?”

He looked her up and down. She felt far too aware of the feminine curves that filled out her uniform. More than her fingertips were tingling by the time he finished. The smile line in his cheek deepened, though he didn’t come right out with a full-fledged, wolf-licking-his-chops grin. “Anything I say now will get me into trouble.”

Sophie wanted to feel stolid and obdurate, not like a weightless butterfly shimmering in the sky, vulnerable to every turn of breeze. “Try me.” She touched her tongue to her upper lip. “I can take it.”

“I think…you’ve grown up very nicely.”

“Grown up being the operative phrase.”

He slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, rocking slightly on his heels. His face was still, but his eyes danced. “I was emphasizing nicely.”

She frowned to disguise the pleasure flickering inside her.

“Don’t be like that,” Luke said. “I was giving you a compliment.”

“The point is my competence, not my appearance.”

He shrugged. “You asked, darlin’.”

“Luke,” called Mary from the open window of her big old Ram pickup truck.

“Two seconds, Grandmother,” he said without taking his eyes off Sophie. He was only looking at her, but it was the sort of “looking” usually aimed at bikini-clad babes. With the added impact of the old-style Maverick magnetism. Sophie hadn’t experienced anything like it since he’d skipped town, and while she knew she should be demanding to be taken seriously, at heart she exaulted that he hadn’t completely changed.

Luke was still Maverick—intense, vital, electric Maverick.

And she could feel herself opening like a sunflower under his brilliant illumination.

SEEING THE LUCAS RANCH again was like getting slammed in the chest with a sledgehammer. Luke’s heart ached. For the moment, he let himself forget that his place in the family had been purchased at a high price. He believed that he was coming home.

The ranch looked good—too good. Almost enough to make him wonder why he’d left. The road turned in a wide arc between the gate and the house, sweeping past the stand of quaking aspen, alder and birch where he and Heath used to play Davy Crockett and Jim Bridger. The trees were already decked out in yellow and orange for autumn, whispering of winter with each shake of their leaves. A blue jay squawked and flashed its brilliant wings, scaring a flock of goldfinches up into the branches. The sight spread warm fingers of bone-deep satisfaction inside Luke. He’d missed this place.

A grassy slope rose toward the grand house. The original Lucas homestead had been built in a natural hollow of the land, where it was sheltered from the scouring wind. A practical, commonsense approach. After the family had prospered, the fancy new house, a three-story Georgian with rows of tall windows across the front, had been constructed on the rise. It overlooked the ranch in majestic splendor. To the east, the ranch land spread flat like a bolt of cloth flung across a table. To the west, ridges and red granite mesas were dotted with pines twisted by the cruel winds.

Mary Lucas surveyed the land with a satisfied air. “Good to be home,” she said, not quite a question.

Luke drove onto the apron of paving bricks that stretched across the front of the house. Low brick planters bristled with multi-colored asters and chrysanthemums. “It’s the same.”

“I expect you’ll notice a few changes.” His grandmother directed him to park near the steps. “We had to take down the old hay barn and rebuild. Roof was caving in. Lightning split the tree by the pond. That firewood lasted us two winters.”

“The one with the rope swing? That’s a shame.”

Mary shrugged. “We have no younger generation to enjoy it.”

The irony was apparent only to Luke. “Heath’s slipping up on the job, huh?”

“Kiki.” Snort. “That’s his wife. Too delicate and flighty by half. It takes a strong woman to bear a Lucas child.”

“Especially with the weight of all previous generations on your back.” Luke stepped out of the truck and slammed the door, not waiting for a response. Mary Lucas was not the doting grandmother type, looking to cootchie-coo a baby out of maternalistic yearnings. Her maternal instinct was for the land. All she cared about was continuing the family line for posterity. By any means necessary, up to and including paying a brood mare—or an expensive stud—to do the job.

Luke welcomed the harsh reminder. It kept him from getting sentimental.

His grandmother had opened her door, but was willing to wait for him to help her step down. He put his hand on her elbow, alarmed by the thin layers of skin and fat that barely padded her fragile bones. “Careful, Grandmother.”

She shook him off once she was on level ground. “I might have one foot in the grave, but I’m not dead yet. If you’ve come back to inherit, it’ll be a long wait, young man.”

You wish, old lady.

Luke refused to rise to her bait. “No problem. I assumed you went to the lawyers and changed the will years ago,” he said, then couldn’t help adding, “Leaving it all to Heath. As it should be. He deserves it.”

She stiffened her neck. “I reward loyalty.”

“But you revere blood.”

She refused his bait as well. “Rightly so. The Lucases have an honorable history in this state. Jefferson Lucas homesteaded this land at the turn of the century. His nephew was a state senator during the days when politicians were honorable. Even your father has managed to double our net worth.”

“Pretty good, considering he’s only a Salinger.”

“The Salingers are an important family as well. I approved the match.” Mary nodded, her cane tap-tapping up the stone steps. They’d never had the confrontation he’d intended, so Luke couldn’t figure out whether she didn’t know or simply didn’t care that he’d discovered the dirty little secrets that hadn’t made it into the public version of the Lucas family history.