Читать книгу The Wolf And The Dove - Linda Turner - Страница 13

The snow that had been falling all day had finally stopped, but the night was dark as pitch and cold as the devil. Flipping off the clinic lights, Lucas stepped outside and locked the front door, swearing under his breath as the wind seemed to cut right through his clothes. With a sharp jerk, he tugged the zipper of his down jacket as high as it would go, but it didn’t help. Nothing did when the temperature was dropping like a rock toward zero and a twenty-mile-an-hour wind was blowing fit to kill. Leaning into the gale, his shoulders hunched against the cold that snaked down the back of his neck, he hurried toward his Bronco at the far end of the clinic’s small parking lot and quickly climbed inside.

It wasn’t until he stuck the key in the ignition and started the motor and the heater, though, that he allowed himself to even glance toward the hangar that he’d leased to Rocky Fortune a week ago. A hulking shadow in the night on the far side of the runway, it was bathed in light, just as it had been every night that week. And for some gnawing reason that he couldn’t have explained, that irritated the hell out of him.

When he agreed to lease the place to her, he’d told himself the lady wasn’t going to be a problem. Because of the security deposit and first and last months’ rent she’d paid him, Michael Hawk had gotten his operation, and that was all he cared about. If that black pickup of hers was parked in front of the hangar when he got to work in the morning and was still there when he left at night, drawing his eye every time he stepped outside, he’d just learn to ignore it and her.

Yeah, yeah, he thought bitterly. Even on a bad-hair day, Rocky Fortune wasn’t the type of woman a man could easily ignore. And it was damn frustrating! What the hell was she doing in there, anyway? Didn’t she ever go home? And why did he care?

He didn’t, he told himself flatly. Not a lick. She had a lease—the place was hers to do with as she liked. She could move a cot in and sleep there for all he cared, as long as she left him alone. If he was curious, it was just because he couldn’t imagine what she was doing in there. When they struck their deal, he’d warned her the hangar had to be renovated before she could use it, but he had yet to see a work crew there. And he didn’t believe for a second that she was making the necessary improvements herself. Not a Fortune. She might have slapped a couple of coats of paint on the walls of that old house she was renting, but when it came to work, the hard, physical, dirty kind that got under your nails and stained your clothes and skin and left you bone-weary at the end of the day, she’d probably never done a smidgen of it in her spoiled little life.

His hands curling around the steering wheel, he glared at the hanger’s blazing lights and told himself that whatever Rocky was doing, it was none of his business. But when he put the Bronco in gear, he headed for the hangar instead of home, cursing himself all the way.

With a low moan, the wind whistled around the hangar, searching and finding a way in through the cracks and crevices of the old sliding metal door. In the corner, the heater was working overtime blowing, but it did little good against the chilly air that crept around her ankles. Shivering, Rocky tried to ignore it as she bent over the metal work-table she was sanding so that she could paint it in the morning, but her toes and fingers were nearly numb from the cold. She was, she decided, going to have to call it a night soon. Then, tomorrow, she was going to do something about that door. And get another heater—she could see right now that one just wasn’t going to be enough. The plumbing in the bathroom needed to be checked over, and then she’d have to see about getting someone out there to haul away all the rusty junk that had been left behind by the previous occupant. It had taken her most of the week to go through it all, salvaging what she could, then piling the discarded pieces neatly in a corner. But it couldn’t stay there—

Without warning, the outer door adjacent to the hangar’s small office suddenly flew open, sending a blast of icy wind rushing inside. Startled, her heart jumping into her throat, Rocky glanced up just in time to see Lucas Greywolf blow in with the wind.

Over the course of the past week, she’d spent every waking hour at the hangar and she hadn’t caught sight of the doc once, which was just fine with her. He’d made no secret of the fact that he didn’t approve of her, and that still galled her. Not that she cared what he thought of her, she was quick to assure herself. She had her own agenda and wasn’t looking for a man. Especially one who was so quick to look down that proud nose of his and find her lacking. That didn’t mean, however, that she’d forgotten how just the sight of him had made her stomach flutter.

Had he noticed? she wondered, and winced at the thought. She’d been expecting a middle-aged, paunchy doctor in a white lab coat, not a tall, lean hunk who could have just stepped out of one those sexy cigarette ads. If she’d been momentarily thrown for a loop, it was a natural enough reaction. He’d just caught her by surprise—that was all. The next time she ran into him, she’d promised herself, she wouldn’t bat an eye.

Well, here it is—the next time—Rocky, my girl, a voice drawled in her ear, and not only are you not batting an eye, you’re not breathing, either. Try not to drool, sweetie. It’s so tacky. And the good doctor just might get the mistaken impression that you’re interested. You’re not, are you?

Her heart stumbled. Of course she wasn’t! The last man she’d made the mistake of getting interested in had left a bruise on her heart that was only just now starting to heal. Greg Butler. Just the thought of him brought a bad taste to her mouth and put her off even looking at another man. If Lucas Greywolf caught her attention, it was only because she couldn’t figure him out. Every time she saw him, he was scowling, and tonight was no different. Did he never smile? Openly studying him, she watched him sweep his cowboy hat off and knock the snow from it and assured herself she wasn’t even close to drooling. Just because she wasn’t buying, however, didn’t mean she couldn’t window shop.

“Hey, Doc.” She greeted him easily as she reluctantly returned her attention to the rusty table she was sanding with a wire brush. “You picked a heck of a night to come calling. Sorry I can’t give you the guided tour, but I’ve sort of got my hands in this right now, and I want to finish before I close up shop for the night.”

If he hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes, Lucas would have never believed it. The oh-so-rich, born-with-a-gold-not-silver-spoon-in-her-mouth Ms. Fortune was actually working. Her face free of makeup, her worn jeans and faded college sweatshirt splattered with dirt and grime, she scrubbed at the metal table she was refinishing with a total disregard for the rust she was getting all over her. Her hands were stained with the stuff, splotches of it had settled on her cheeks and neck, and she even had it under her fingernails. Yet she still somehow managed to look beautiful. How the hell did she do it?

Disgusted with himself for even noticing, Lucas dragged his eyes away from her and glanced around in surprise. If the lady had done this all by herself in just a week, she’d really been hustling. She’d cleaned the place up, collected all the old motor parts in a pile in the corner, then scrubbed decades of grease from large patches of the cement floor. There was still a lot of work left to be done, but she’d made more of a dent than he’d expected, and he had to admit he was impressed. He hadn’t thought the lady had it in her.

As if reading his thoughts, she laughed softly. “Don’t look now, Doc, but your chin’s on the floor. What’s the matter? Did you think the spoiled little rich girl was too finicky to get her hands dirty?”

The teasing gibe struck home. Heat, brick red and uncomfortable, rose in a tide from his neck to his cheeks, making it impossible for him to deny the accusation. So he did the only thing a man with any integrity could—he looked her right in the eye and baldly told her exactly what he thought of her. “To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think you’d even know where to begin. But then again, spoiled little rich girls aren’t exactly my field of expertise.”

“So what is?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Your field of expertise,” she answered patiently, knowing she shouldn’t push the issue, but unable to drop it. Just what type of woman attracted a man like Lucas Greywolf? And why was that information suddenly so important to her? “And I’m not talking about medicine, Doc. You’re what—thirty? Thirty-two?”

“Thirty-five.”

“And well preserved for your advanced age,” she said teasingly. “Men like you, especially when they’ve got M.D. behind their names, don’t usually walk around loose. You must have to sweep the women off your front porch every night just to get inside your house.”

Something flickered in his eyes, something she couldn’t quite read before it was quickly shuttered behind a glint of amusement. “Yeah, life’s rough. So what do you want to know? How short or tall I like my women, and if you fit the mold?”

“No! Or course not!”

Flustered, she glanced away and inadvertently jerked her hand across a rough, jagged corner of the table she was sanding. The rusty edge, as sharp as a razor, cut right across the pad of her thumb, slicing it open. “Damn!”

“What’s wrong?”

Her teeth clenched tight to hold in the curses that rose to her tongue, Rocky pressed the wound against her middle, cradling the injured hand close. “Nothing,” she said tersely. “Just a scrape.”

“The hell it is. You’re white as a sheet.” Crossing the hanger in four swift strides, he reached for her hand. “Let me see, Rocky,” he said quietly. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re bleeding all over that dirty shirt of yours.”

She wanted to deny it, but anything that hurt this bad had to be bleeding like a stuck pig. Reluctantly letting him take her hand, she winced as he gently turned it over to expose the two-inch cut at the base of her thumb. Blood seeped from it, flooding her palm.

His expression grim, Lucas looked up from the wound to her ashen face. “You’re not going to pass out on me now, are you?”

She gave him a withering look that her grandmother would have been proud of. “A Fortune woman faint at the sight of a little blood? Kate would turn over in her grave. How bad is it?”

He probed gently, not wanting to hurt her, but knowing there was no avoiding it. “It’s in an awkward spot,” he finally announced, glancing back up at her with a frown. “Every time you move your thumb it’s going to break open if you don’t have it stitched. How long has it been since you’ve had a tetanus shot?”

Caught off guard, she blinked. “I don’t know. Maybe a couple of years. I can’t remember.”

“Then it’s probably been longer than you think. You’ll need another one.” Pulling a clean, neatly folded handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans, he wrapped it around her hand and stanched the flow of blood as best he could. Glancing around for her jacket, he found a forest-green down coat hanging on a hook near the door and helped her into it. “Come on, let’s go.” Hustling her out the door and into his Bronco, he quickly drove her over to the clinic.

Rocky protested that all the fuss wasn’t necessary—if he’d just give her the tetanus shot, she’d clean the wound herself and slap a butterfly bandage on it when she got home—but Lucas wasn’t listening. Ushering her into one of the examining rooms, he took her coat from her, settled her in a chair and collected the supplies he needed. All business, he took time only to wash his hands and make sure she wasn’t allergic to any medications before he pulled up a stool next to her and reached for her injured hand.

Over the course of the years, he’d lost track of the number of cuts and gashes he’d cleaned and stitched, and he could normally do it with his eyes closed. But his knees brushed hers, his concentration wavered, and suddenly nothing was as it should be. Her scent, subtle and spicy and damned provocative, reached out to him, teasing his senses, distracting him. Why hadn’t he noticed in the hangar how soft her skin was? How delicate her fingers were? With no trouble whatsoever, he could imagine those same fingers touching him, caressing him—

“Doc?”

Her husky query seemed to reach right inside him and pull him out of the fantasy that had come out of nowhere to swamp him in heat. Jerking his eyes up to hers, he found her watching him with an amused, puzzled frown. Swallowing a curse, he stiffened. “Yeah?”

“You’re looking at my hand like you’ve never seen one before. Is everything okay?”

Hell, no, it wasn’t okay, he almost snapped. How could it be when she was hurt and bleeding and all he could think of was how good she smelled? What the devil had she done to him? “Everything’s fine,” he growled. “Just peachy. Give me a second to clean this up, and you can get out of here.” And out of his life, he silently promised himself. Because just as soon as he had the lady patched up, he swore he wasn’t going anywhere near her again. Not if just touching her did this to him.

His face carved in harsh lines, he went to work and had the wound cleaned and stitched in no time. Her gaze carefully directed away from his handiwork, she stared at the far wall and chatted about the progress she was making at the hangar, the mechanic she had hired, who would start tomorrow, the coming of Christmas and the shopping she still had to do. He put seven stitches at the base of her thumb, bandaged the cut and gave her a tetanus shot after she rolled up her sleeve, and she didn’t so much as whimper.

What did you expect? a voice drawled in his head. She’s Fortune-tough, just like her grandmother.

Then she turned toward him, and he felt as if someone had punched him hard in the gut when he saw for the first time the tears welling in her eyes. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, a crooked smile pushing up one corner of her mouth as she hastily swiped at her still-pale cheeks. “Don’t pay any attention to me,” she said thickly, laughing shakily. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Then why are you crying? Did I hurt you?”

“No! Oh, no,” she quickly assured him. “I’m just a lousy patient. I didn’t feel anything once you deadened it, but I could just imagine this needle going in and out—”

Turning slightly green, she swallowed and quickly abandoned that line of thought. Straightening her shoulders with a visible effort, she warned teasingly, “You realize, of course, that if you tell anybody I was bawling like a baby over a few stitches, I’ll be forced to deny it.”

Fighting a smile, he nodded, his expression deliberately solemn. “My lips are sealed.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Her gaze immediately flew to his mouth, and suddenly the air between them was sparking with the kind of hushed expectancy that invariably proceeded an approaching storm. Giving in to impulse, to insanity, he reached for her and captured that beautiful face of hers in his hands, bringing her mouth to his.

The instant his lips settled over hers, he knew it had been too long since he’d kissed a woman, too long since he’d allowed himself to even think about needing one. He was in no shape to handle one like Rocky Fortune. Surprise held her motionless under his hands, but then her mouth softened under his and she was like heat lightning in a bottle…wild, hot, unpredictable. Too late, he realized that she had what it took to make a man sweat in the darkest, coldest part of the night.

The thought lodged in the back of his brain, throbbing like a railroad warning light, but he couldn’t focus on anything but the taste of her, the feel of her, the heat of her. God, he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt any kind of female warmth. He just wanted to hold her and kiss her and not think about anything except how good it felt. With a groan that came from the depths of his soul, he slanted his mouth across hers and took the kiss deeper.

Dazed, boneless, clinging to him, Rocky tried to remember Greg and how he had hurt her, but the only image that came to mind was Lucas with his dark, wary eyes and rugged face. He kissed her with a desperation that stole her breath and set her pulse thrumming with a blind, lonely need that was as plaintive and heart-tugging as the call of a wolf on a cold winter night. Her head spinning, she frantically ordered herself to stop this madness right now, but in the dark, wet, hidden recesses of her mouth, his tongue wooed and cajoled and sweetly seduced. Shuddering, her hands climbing up his arms, she moaned and crowded closer, lost to everything but the pleasure drizzling through her like warm honey.

The second her injured hand molded itself to his shoulder, however, pain flared in her palm like a struck match, so hot she could practically smell the sulfur. Her cry muffled against his mouth, she jerked back, breathing hard, and stared at him in dismay. Dear God, what was she doing? This was Lucas Greywolf, her landlord, for heaven’s sake, the man who thought she was spoiled and pampered and walked around with her nose in the air and hundred-dollar bills hanging out of her pockets. He was arrogant and condescending and judgmental, and she’d kissed him! She had to be losing her mind.

Heat stealing into her cheeks, determined not to let him see how he had shaken her, she let out her breath in a huff and forced a cheeky grin. “Well. If that was an attempt to kiss it and make it better, you were more than a little off the mark, Doc.”

He was not amused. His jaw was as rigid as granite. “What it was was inexcusable. I wouldn’t blame you if you slapped my face.”

“C’mon, Doc, it was just a kiss.” She laughed with pretended nonchalance. “Don’t sweat it. And thanks for the stitch job. Don’t forget to send me a bill.” Grabbing her coat, she headed for the door, trying not to run.

Ten seconds later, the front door slammed, leaving behind a silence that was as cold and deep as the snow piling up outside. Standing flat-footed in the examining room where she’d left him, feeling as if he’d been run over by a truck, Lucas stared after her and started to swear.

Bustling into Lucas’s private office three days later, Mary caught him scowling out the window at the hangar in the distance and hurriedly bit back a smile. Lucas wasn’t normally a brooder, but he’d spent most of the day staring out the window—at the hangar—whenever there was a lull in patients. And she had a feeling his interest in the old place had nothing to do with planes.

Her eyes starting to dance with expectation, she laid the day’s mail on his desk, then said casually, “I’ve been going over the invitation list for the Christmas party, and it seems to be missing a few names.”

He turned, his scowl still in place. “Oh, yeah? Who?”

“Judge Ryan,” she replied promptly. “Since he bought the old Carson place, he’s practically a neighbor.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “I should have thought of him myself. Go ahead and put him on the list.”

“What about Rocky Fortune?”

The look he shot her would have done one of his fierce Shoshone ancestors proud. Mary didn’t even blink. “What about her?”

“What about her?” Mary echoed, amused by his deliberate obtuseness. “Lucas, you’re leasing the hangar to her! Don’t you think it would be rude not to invite her to the only party you give all year?”

“Not at all,” he said curtly, his gut clenching just at the thought of seeing her again. He’d spent most of the night fighting off the memory of a kiss that never should have happened, and his obsession with her hadn’t improved with the light of day. Damn the woman, he could still taste her, still feel her against him—

Swearing under his breath, he picked up the mail Mary had brought in and blindly flipped through it. “It’s not like she’s a friend or anything. We have a business arrangement, nothing more.”

“But—”

“And she probably wouldn’t come, anyway. We don’t exactly run in the same circles, you know.”

“Then it won’t hurt to send her an invitation,” Mary said promptly, grinning. “Just as a courtesy.”

Tossing down the mail, he growled, “Don’t waste a stamp.”

Mary shrugged, as if to say that was fine with her, but there was a glint of mischief in her eye that Lucas would have immediately recognized if he had seen it. He didn’t. Deliberately turning toward the door, she quickly brought the subject back to work. “Elizabeth Crow’s here. She thinks she wrenched her back carrying in firewood. I’ll show her into room two.”

When she got the invitation in the mail, Rocky stared at it long and hard. There had to be a mistake. The doc might have kissed her until her toes curled, but she wasn’t fooling herself into thinking that he liked her. In fact, she seemed to have a talent for getting under his skin. He’d gone out of his way to avoid her ever since he’d kissed her. So why had he invited her to his Christmas party?

“What’s that?”

Glancing up from her confused thoughts, Rocky smiled at Charlie Short, her new mechanic. He’d been the first one to answer the ad she placed in the local paper, and she’d only had to talk to him five minutes to know that he was just the man she was looking for. As short as his name, wiry and pushing sixty, he was gruff and blunt and not shy about giving her advice when he thought she needed it. And what he didn’t know about planes wasn’t worth mentioning. Over the past two days, he’d gone over the fleet she’d inherited from her grandmother, and he had every engine purring like a kitten.

“Nothing,” she said with a shrug. “Just an invitation to Dr. Greywolf’s Christmas party next week.”

“Hey, great! I’ve heard about those parties of his—the food’s supposed to be something else. You’re going, aren’t you?”

Her heart took a dive just at the thought of getting anywhere near the man anytime soon. She didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to socialize with him, didn’t want to look into his eyes and think about a kiss that had haunted her sleep for the past five nights.

“It’s just one of those courtesy things,” she said stiffly, tossing the invitation in the trash. “I don’t think there’s much point in going.”

“Are you kidding?” Snatching up the invitation, he looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Dammit, girl, where’s your head? Just about anyone who’s anyone in Clear Springs is going to be at that shindig. And you should be, too! You need to get out and mingle with the locals and let them know that you’re open and ready for business. This is a chance for some free advertising, for God’s sake! Take advantage of it.”

He had a point, one that Rocky would have given just about anything to deny. But she wasn’t Kate Fortune’s granddaughter for nothing. As much as she wanted to avoid Lucas like a bad case of the measles, she couldn’t let her own personal likes and dislikes interfere with sound business decisions.

“Oh, all right, all right,” she muttered. “I’ll go. If we can pick up some business, I guess it’ll be worth all the fuss.”

She didn’t plan to stay long, only as long as it took to put in an appearance, scout out the guests for hunters and guides who could possibly use her services and pass around her business card to anyone who happened to express an interest. But the second she stepped through the clinic’s front door, she knew she wasn’t going to get out of there anytime soon. The place was wall-to-wall people. Laughing and talking and nibbling on food that smelled absolutely fabulous, they were packed in shoulder to shoulder and could hardly move. And nobody seemed to care.

Mary Littlejohn, spying her hovering near the doorway, plowed her way through the bodies and greeted her like a long-lost daughter. “Rocky! I’m so glad you came! C’mon, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Not giving her time to do anything but sputter a greeting, Luke’s nurse hauled her through the crowd and stopped in front of a middle-aged man who was already deeply involved in a conversation with a woman Rocky recognized as the mayor. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said in an easy tone that was anything but regretful, “but I want you two to meet Rocky Fortune. Rocky, this is Mayor Whacker and Thomas Gustafson. I was telling them earlier about your new flying service, and they were very interested in it.”

“You’re one of Jake’s daughters,” Thomas said, pleased, as he shook her hand. “I can’t tell you how delighted I was when Mary told us you’d moved to Clear Springs to set up your business. I own the Black Bear Motel and get requests all the time from guests who just want to hire a small plane to fly them into the mountains for some trophy bighorns, and I have to send them to Jackson. This is great! Just great.”

Smiling, Mayor Louise Whacker agreed. “We’ve needed the services you’re providing for a long time, dear. Especially search-and-rescue. Your grandmother would be so proud of you.”

That started a conversation about Kate, and then the mayor spotted one of the town bigwigs that she insisted Rocky meet. Before Rocky quite realized it, she’d been there well over an hour and enjoyed every second of it. Then she spied Lucas towering head and shoulders over most of the crowd.

She’d known she’d have to speak to him, of course—she couldn’t just show up at his party and ignore the man—but she planned to keep it short and sweet, then get the heck out of there. What she didn’t plan was for her heart to stop in midbeat at the sight of him.

Damn the man, he had no right to look so good, she thought, shaken. Casually dressed in a white shirt and a red V-necked sweater that did incredible things for his broad shoulders, he was talking to a small, wizened man and laughing at something he had to bend his head to catch. Transfixed, Rocky could do nothing but stare. It was a sight that she knew would follow her into her dreams.

Still chuckling over Whitey Walker’s latest joke, Lucas felt the touch of eyes on him and glanced up, only to suck in a sharp breath at the sight of Rocky staring at him from across the room. He didn’t have to ask what she was doing there—Mary’s innocent smile when he found her in the crowd had told him all he needed to know. She’d invited her, in spite of his direct order not to.

“Pretty girl,” Whitey drawled, noting his sudden distraction. “That’s Kate’s granddaughter, isn’t it?”

Lucas nodded. “Yeah. One of Jake’s girls—Rachel.”

“The one they call Rocky,” the old man said knowingly. “She’s got the look of her grandmother. And all her spunk, from what I hear. Word is, she gave old Jake more than a few of those gray hairs of his. A regular daredevil she is. And she’s eyeing you like you’re the next best thing to sliced bread.” Grinning up at Lucas, his black eyes danced with mischief. “So what are you standing here humoring an old man for? Go talk to her, son.”

He didn’t want to go anywhere near her, but she was his guest, whether he wanted her to be or not, and his mama hadn’t raised him to be rude, especially not to a woman. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Don’t run off.”

He’d be polite, make sure she was enjoying herself, then find an excuse to put some space between them for the rest of the evening, he promised himself as he started toward her. Considering the number of people he still had to speak to, that wouldn’t be hard to do.

Catching up with her, however, proved to be more difficult than he’d expected. He’d hardly taken three steps before one of his mothers-to-be latched on to him and worriedly confided that she thought she might be going into labor three months early. By the time he’d questioned her and determined that she was just being the tiniest bit paranoid, Rocky was nowhere in sight.

Scowling, he went looking for her, got waylaid by one of his elderly patients, then stopped by the police chief for a lengthy conversation about the pros and cons of lowering the speed zone in front of his clinic because of the amount of traffic that was always coming in and out of there. Impatient, he broke away as soon as he could manage with the excuse that he needed to check to see how the food was holding out. Finally, breaking through a group blocking the entrance to the waiting area, he caught up with Rocky near the front door, just as she pulled her coat from the coat rack.

Walking up behind, he took it from her before she even knew he was there. “Sneaking out, Ms. Fortune?” he taunted softly. “And without even a proper thank-you to your host. Tsk, tsk. What would your grandmother say?”

Startled, Rocky whirled with a gasp, her hand flying to the pulse that was suddenly thundering irritatingly at the base of her throat. What was it about this man that had her always off balance? He hadn’t even touched her, and her knees were already weak. It was downright embarrassing.

“I wasn’t sneaking,” she lied. “You were busy and I didn’t want to bother you. I was going to send you a note tomorrow telling you how much I enjoyed myself, but now I won’t have to do that.” Using the manners she’d been taught as a child, she said sweetly, “It was a wonderful party, Dr. Greywolf. Thank you for inviting me. Good night.”

She started to reach for her coat, but before she could take it from him, Mary appeared at the door to the waiting room, her smile wide and devilment dancing in her eyes. “Oh, good, I see you found it.”

Confused, Rocky looked around. “Found what? My coat? It wasn’t lost.”

“No, the mistletoe.” Mary laughed, nodding to a spot above their heads. “Go ahead, Lucas. Kiss her.”