Читать книгу Luke's Promise - Eileen Wilks, Eileen Wilks - Страница 10

11:58 p.m.

Five hours and several hundred miles later, Maggie was feeling a lot better.

The stars were blisteringly bright this far from the city, and the darkness was huge. It was cut by the twin beams of the truck’s headlights, interrupted here and there by distant dots of light from scattered houses. Inside the truck it was dark, too, save for the glow of the dashlights. And quiet, save for the low, bluesy throb of the music from one of Luke’s CDs. Luke liked country and western music for dancing, she knew, but preferred jazz or blues for listening.

He smelled good.

Maggie leaned her head against the window, her eyes closed, drowsily enjoying the music and the faint, familiar scent of the man she’d impulsively married. It was going to work. It was all going to work out just like she’d planned.

How silly she’d been to panic. On the plane ride back to Dallas turbulence had defeated her desire to escape in sleep. Instead she’d been forced to talk to Luke—and a good thing, too.

They’d talked about horses and horse people, riding and various events, and it had been blessedly normal. Like old times. She’d felt that flicker of connection again, just as she always did. Months could go by without her seeing Luke, but when they met again she’d feel that click of recognition, as if they hadn’t truly been apart.

A friend like that was worth a lot. She yawned, comfortable with the night and the man. An easy quiet had fallen between them, the kind that old friends could enjoy. Yes, a friendship like this was more important than the distracting hum of desire.

An uneasy little frisson went through her. What did that say about her plan?

But their friendship had survived last year’s mistake, she assured herself. And she’d learned her lesson. She’d keep her eyes open, her goals clear.

Feeling cramped and suddenly wide-awake, she straightened, stretching her legs.

“I thought you’d dozed off.” Luke gave her a teasing grin. “Doesn’t do much for a man’s morale for his bride to fall asleep on him on their wedding night.”

“You said that without even stuttering,” she said admiringly. “Bride, I mean.”

“I’m working on it. We’re almost there,” he added, slowing. The headlights flashed on the wintry skeletons of two enormous oaks as he turned onto the blacktop road they guarded.

“Good. It’s been a long day, what with getting married and standing up to my father. In absentia, of course. I’m not quite up to doing that in person yet.”

“We could have stayed in Vegas overnight.”

He’d suggested that, offering to get a suite so they could have separate bedrooms. Maggie had vetoed the idea. Staying in a hotel with Luke had sounded entirely too intimate.

She really was an idiot, wasn’t she? She was going to be living with the man, for heaven’s sake. “This way I can see Dandy as soon as I get up in the morning.”

“I imagine he’ll be glad to see you.” He glanced at her. “You’ve got one hell of a horse there, Maggie.”

She beamed at him. “He is, isn’t he?”

“I’ve seen the two of you compete. He’s not a horse who worries about pleasing his rider, is he?”

“No, you have to prove yourself to him. He loves to compete. To win. That’s why Walt told Father to get rid of him—he claims Dandy is too much horse for a woman.” She gave the last word an awful emphasis. “He said my fall proved he was right, that I couldn’t control Dandy.”

“All riders fall,” he said mildly. “What happened, anyway?”

“It was my fault, but it didn’t have anything to do with my gender. We were on a course I knew really well, just hitting it for practice, not speed, and I got sloppy. Didn’t place him right before a jump, then overcompensated.”

He nodded. “A familiar course can be more dangerous than a new one, because we stop paying attention.” He yawned and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been a long day.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Luke had gorgeous hair. She’d always liked the way it curled at his nape. It was longer than his brother’s. Messier, too, which summed up a lot of the differences between him and Jacob. She liked his neck, too—it was strong and masculine, and the taste of his skin along the muscular cord that ran from jaw to collarbone, when he was slightly sweaty…

Down, girl. She shifted in her seat again.

“Maggie?” Luke’s smile was quizzical. “You drifted off on me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were nervous. You’re not having wedding-night jitters, are you?”

Why did he keep referring to wedding nights? “Don’t be silly. I’ve been traveling all day, I’m sleepy and I’m sick of sitting. And this isn’t a real wedding night.” No more than it had been a real wedding, even if the tight-skinned man who’d pronounced them man and wife had been a minister. Her ring wasn’t on the right finger, and it was loose. She fiddled with it, turning it around and around. “I’ve never been to your ranch. It’s funny to think I’ll be living someplace I’ve never seen.”

“The house isn’t fancy, but it’s comfortable. You’ll like the stable.”

He’d told her about his place on the plane—well, not about the house, but the important parts—the stable, the riding ring and the grounds. There was an area for dressage and a course that could be varied for fieldwork. And there were the horses, his horses, the ones he bred and the ones he trained. She was eager to see everything, but it would have to wait for morning. It was too late now.

Too late… “Hey, is that your place up ahead?” she said quickly. “I see lights.”

“That’s it. I wish you could see it in the summer. Winter doesn’t do the place justice.”

By summer, they might already be divorced. Maggie ignored the tight, funny feeling in her stomach. “You’ll have to ask me back to see it sometime, then,” she said lightly.

By the time they pulled up in front of a rambling ranch-style house, there were other lights to hold back the inky-darkness of the country. One glowed above the door to the stable; another rested atop a pole at the entrance to the driveway. Light poured from windows at the house, and Sarita had left the porch light on for him.

The welcoming lights, the familiarity, kindled a warmth in Luke’s chest. This was his. It was a good feeling.

Maggie hopped down from the truck before he could get her door, which didn’t surprise him. He did manage to snag her suitcase. The cast slowed her down.

“I can get it.”

“Enjoy my fling with chivalry while it lasts,” he told her, heading for the door. “Tomorrow, when I put you through your paces, you’ll be cursing me.”

“Tough trainer, huh?”

“Merciless.” He swung the door open. “Come on in.”

She wandered down the short hall to the living room.

“Wow.” She stood in the center of the long living area, turning slowly. “This is great. It isn’t what I expected, though.”

“I only put mirrors on the ceiling in my bedroom.”

Her laugh was low and husky. It ran through him like invisible fingers, making him itch. Making him want. He set her suitcase down and watched as she wandered around the room, investigating the entertainment unit, running a hand along the back of one of the leather couches. She paused at the mantel to study the gold medal that rested on a special stand beneath a glass dome.

She had no business having a laugh like that, not when she looked like a hundred pounds of girl-next-door. Though that, too, was deceptive. Maggie was an athlete. Her build might be small, but it was all muscle. He gave that build an appraising and appreciative eye. “You’re what—five-two? Five-three?

“Five-two.”

“How much do you weigh?”

“Luke.” Her sideways glance might, in another woman, have seemed flirtatious. But Maggie didn’t flirt. “Don’t you know better than to ask a woman her weight?”

“I’m your trainer.”

“Oh.” She flushed. “Right. One-twenty.”

“You don’t look it.”

“The freckles add ten pounds. I want one of those,” she said, nodding at the medal.

“Give it time. You’re not ready yet.”

The slight lift of her chin turned her suddenly haughty. “Oh? Walt Hitchcock thinks I am.”

“Yeah, but he’s an idiot.”

“If you don’t think I’m any good, why did you—”

“You’re damned good. I wouldn’t take you on if you weren’t. But you can be better.”

She met his eyes levelly for a moment, then nodded. “I will be.”

He smiled, liking her attitude. Maggie might have some problems with self-esteem, but when it came to riding, she knew her worth. “Come on,” he said, lifting her suitcase and heading for the bedroom wing. “It’s late. I’ll show you to your room.”

Hard to understand how a woman as sexy as Maggie could have such major doubts about her appeal. He wasn’t sure if her father was to blame, with his constant carping, or if the problem had started with that jerk she’d dated last year. Luke would have liked to blame it all on the jerk. She’d been looking for a friendly shoulder the night the man broke up with her. Unfortunately for her, she’d run into Luke. He’d ended up giving her more than his shoulder.

Well, he couldn’t change what he’d done, couldn’t undo the hurt, but he could make it up to her in other ways. He could give her Fine Dandy and see that she had a shot at the gold, but that wasn’t enough. A rider of Maggie’s caliber would do well with a number of trainers.

“That thing has wheels on it, you know.”

“Hmm?” No, what Maggie really needed was something he was particularly suited to give her. She needed to believe in herself as a woman.

“The suitcase,” she said. “You don’t have to play macho man and carry it. If you put it down and pull on the little strap, it rolls along nicely.”

“Smart-ass.” He stopped at the door to the largest guest bedroom. “You’re supposed to admire my manly muscles.”

She chuckled. “I just know how much you want to impress me with your manliness, too. You’ve already crushed one of my illusions, you know. I was expecting a lot of bachelor clutter, a little dust, but everything’s spotless.”

“Shame on you for stereotyping.” He opened the door and flipped on the light. “Of course, if Sarita didn’t put sheets on the bed for you, we’re in trouble. I have no idea where they are.”

“Sarita?”

“My housekeeper. You’ll meet her in the morning.” He put her suitcase down on the old-fashioned quilt that covered the bed. “I called her right after I made the plane reservations and told her to get a room ready for you. I think we can count on fresh sheets.” He turned to face her.

Maggie had stopped a foot inside the room. Her expression was cheerful, her posture relaxed and she had a two-handed, white-knuckled grip on her purse as if it was struggling to escape. “I guess you told her about us getting married and—and everything.”

“About getting married, anyway.” He moved toward her. “There won’t be any ‘everything,’ but I didn’t mention that.”

She flushed and, at last, moved farther into the room, circling him to put her purse on the bench at the end of the bed. She glanced around the room brightly, looking everywhere except at him. “Oh, this is nice. Homey and soothing, with all the blues and browns.”

“I can see how soothing you find it,” he said dryly. She was ready to jump out of her skin just from standing in a bedroom with him. “You know, when you blush, your skin and your freckles blend together.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks very much.”

“That was a compliment, Maggie. You look pretty when you blush.” He moved closer, cupped her cheek in one hand and touched softness. Gently, he reminded himself. He didn’t want to scare her. “Makes a man want to find out if your skin is as warm as it looks.”

She jerked her head back. “Luke. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but—”

“I’ll show you,” he said amiably. And bent and kissed her.

The charge that jolted through him surprised him—surprised him so much he forgot to pull away after brushing her lips once. He had to go back for another, deeper taste.

A small fist hit him squarely in the chest. Hard.

“Hey!” He stepped back. “A simple no would have worked.”

“You keep your hands to yourself!” Both her hands were knotted into fists, even the one on the casted arm.

He rubbed his chest, scowling. For a little thing, she packed quite a wallop…in more ways than one. “I didn’t touch you. I kissed you. There’s a difference.”

“I know what you did.” She made it sound as if he’d torn her clothes off. “I should have known when you kept mentioning wedding nights that you’d try something.”

Anger bit. “If I’d been trying to seduce you, Maggie, you’d be on your back in that bed right now. It was an impulse, not an attack. You looked pretty, so I kissed you.”

She glared at him. “You can’t go around kissing everyone you think looks pretty! No, wait—I guess you can. You do. But you can’t go around kissing me whenever the urge strikes.”

It occurred to him belatedly that her reaction had been perfect. If he forgot himself again when he was making her feel wanted, she’d punch him. Even through the remarkable haze of lust she inspired, that would get his attention.

He grinned, pleased with her. “I’m weak, but I can learn. If you clobber me like that every time I give in to the urge, maybe it will go away.” He turned. “Go ahead and sleep in, if you like—it’ll be your last chance for a while. After tomorrow, you’ll be up early, running laps.”

“I hate laps.”

She sounded sulky. It made her voice huskier than ever. His hand tightened on the doorknob as another wave of heat hit. “Tough,” he said, and shut the door firmly behind him.

Tomorrow, he thought, heading back to the living room, he’d start working with Fine Dandy and Maggie. He was looking forward to it. Dressage first, he thought, turning off the light. Dressage was the foundation for all the rest, and shouldn’t strain that broken wrist too badly.

Instead of going straight to his room, he paused to appreciate the way the huge, undraped window at the back of the house let the night in. Stars spilled over each other overhead, a vast nightly show he never grew tired of.

He ached. Still. In fact, he was log-hard and ready for something that wasn’t going to happen…not for several months, most likely. He thought about a cold shower and shook his head ruefully. How long would this marriage last? Four months? Six? Taking a cold shower once or twice a day for the next six months did not appeal.

It looked as though he was going to become more closely acquainted with himself in the next few months than he had been since Serena Sayers took him around the world in the back seat of her daddy’s Chevy. Lord, that had been a long time ago. A lot of years had passed. A lot of women, too. Some would say too many—Maggie would, and did. But Luke liked women. He liked the way they looked and moved and thought, their moods and quirks, the mystery of them. They were tough and fragile all at once, and never wholly predictable. He wouldn’t apologize for having enjoyed the women he’d known. And there was only one he truly regretted.

Thirst hit, quick and hot. He looked at his empty hands, and could almost see one of them curled around a glass half-filled with amber liquid. All too easy to picture that, to imagine the sweet burn of Scotch sliding down his throat. His mouth tightened.

It was the thought of Pam that did it, he supposed. Only rarely did he drink, and even more rarely did he crave a drink. Odd that he had such a distrust of the stuff, when it had been Michael’s mother, not his, who’d fought a losing battle with the bottle. But he didn’t handle alcohol well, never had. Drink made a fool of him, and he seldom indulged in more than a casual beer or glass of wine…except when the memories rose and choked him. It didn’t happen often these days. No more than once a year.

It had been on one of those nights, the ones when he felt too sorry for himself, with too much already lost, for it to matter if he lost some small piece of himself in the bottle, that he’d run into Maggie last year. And proved he was still more of a fool drunk than sober.

Luke sighed. Well, he’d do what he could to make amends. It was a relief, a big one, to know that Maggie would stop him if he lost sight of his little-used nobility and tried to take her further than he should.

Tomorrow, he thought, turning away from the window, he’d see about getting Fine Dandy’s ownership transferred to Maggie. Hitchcock was an idiot to have advised Malcolm Stewart to sell the horse. Maggie’s big gelding had the heart, the smarts and the strength for eventing. In the right hands, Dandy could be a champion.

Just like his owner. Luke smiled as he entered his bedroom.

Whether she knew it or not, Maggie’s training had already started.

Maggie sat in the middle of the big bed, the covers pulled up to her waist, her journal propped against her lifted knees. She was wearing her usual winter sleepwear—raggedy sweats. The pants had once been red; the top was violently orange. She was chewing on the end of her pen after recording the events of this extraordinary day.

All in all, she finished, I think my plan has an excellent chance of success. If one simple kiss can make me feel…

She lifted her head, staring into space. The feeling was easily summoned, though memory was a pale creature compared to the original experience. But she couldn’t find words for it. Not a tingle, no, nor an electric jolt…warmth? Yes, but the sun was warm, and this hadn’t felt all light and pleasant, like sunshine.