Slow Hand Luke

“I have a gun and I know how to use it.”

“Now you’re getting me excited.”

She laughed. “You’re one sick puppy.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Deservedly?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said matter-of-factly, and tipped the beer to his lips. Setting the bottle back on the table, he jerked and winced. His sharp intake of breath ended with a mild oath.

“What’s wrong?”

He gingerly rolled his shoulder. “Got a bad bruise.”

“A bruise?”

“From a fall.”

She didn’t say anything, just watched him probe his shoulder. A bruise wouldn’t cause that much pain. Maybe he didn’t want to tell her what had happened. Maybe she should start worrying.

He sighed. “You know what a rodeo is?”

“Of course.”

He started to unbutton his shirt. “Let’s say I met a bull more ornery than me.”

Each unfastened button exposed more smooth golden brown skin. “What are you doing?”

He undid the last button and shrugged the shirt off his left shoulder. “The doc gave me some ointment that helps with the stiffness.” He got a small tube out of the duffel bag beside the cooler and uncapped it. “I’ve dislocated it twice now and tore some ligaments last year, so now it acts up every once in a while.”

“Should you have been carrying all that stuff?” she asked, nudging her chin toward the cooler, but unable to drag her gaze away from his chest.

“It didn’t hurt then.”

“Are you twelve?” Her gaze stalled on his belly where the hair arrowed downward, and then slid to the bulk behind his fly. Definitely not twelve.

Smiling, he squeezed the white goop onto his palm. When he stretched his arm across his chest to reach the back of his shoulder, he grimaced, the pain tightening his features.

“Here.” She scooped the ointment from his palm onto hers and stood behind him. After rubbing her palms together to warm them, she gently slid them across his back.

He tensed.

She withdrew.

“Don’t stop.”

“Tell me if I hurt you.”

“I promise to cry like a baby.”

She smiled and slid her palms over hard muscle and smooth skin. Wow, he was perfect. Too perfect. Her nipples tightened. She bit her lower lip, and slowly worked her fingers around his shoulder blades.

He moaned. Not like he was hurt. More like how she felt: damp between the thighs, her mouth dry as cotton. When her hands started to shake, she stepped back until he was out of reach.

Luke looked over his shoulder at her.

“Good night,” she murmured, and took off down the hall.

4

L UKE WOKE UP with a hard on. Not the usual morning kind. This one was much more specific. Caused by one Annie Corrigan of the Brooklyn police department. Sergeant Annie Corrigan. Some luck he had.

Still, the woman was easy on the eyes and, man, those hands of hers. She might have eased the pain in his shoulder, but she’d stirred up a world of hurt in other areas. His cock twitched at the thought of her soft palms exploring his back, tracing his backbone lower than she’d needed. She had great hair, too. Long and slightly wild, its softness had brushed his bare shoulder and, for a moment, the pain was gone.

So she was a cop. She didn’t have any jurisdiction or interest in what was happening way out here and, since he didn’t dare go to Granddad’s place, staying here was perfect. Who’d poke around way out here? From what he recalled, Marjorie Walker had been a loner since her husband passed. She didn’t care for the local grapevine, so mostly stuck to herself, and Chester only went to town for supplies. Luke was pretty sure, if he asked him, the old guy wouldn’t mention Luke was back.

Poor Annie had her hands full enough. She’d be too busy fixing the place up to be dawdling around town, inviting questions. Anything they needed in the way of food or paint or wood, he’d go over to Sawyer County and pick up. Some folks knew him there, but mostly on account of the rodeo.

He rolled onto his side and squinted at his watch on the antique oak nightstand that matched the narrow twin bed. It couldn’t be nine already. He hadn’t slept that long since his hard-drinking days. When he’d been too young and too stupid and spent too much money on flashy cars and even flashier women. Luckily, those days were gone, but so was a lot of his money. Friggin’ idiot that he was.

Finally, he’d gotten his act together. He’d actually managed to save his last three winnings. And then this mess with Seabrook. Stupid bastard. Ready to ruin another man’s reputation over his damn pride. Luke wondered how much pride a man actually had when he was willing to do something low-down dirty like that.

It didn’t matter. Seabrook was angry, and Luke doubted he’d let up soon. Which meant if Luke didn’t get to Joanne and straighten this mess out in the next two weeks, he’d miss the Houston rodeo. Even second place offered a big enough purse that he’d have the money to put down on that sweet spread outside of San Antonio. With his savings, he’d buy horses and cattle. But only if his shoulder held out.

A damn big if.

The aroma of brewing coffee seeped into the room, and he stopped rubbing his cock long enough to check the time again. Only five minutes had passed. But it was past time to get up. First a shower, and then he’d find his way to the kitchen for some of that coffee.

He swung his legs out of bed and, before his feet hit the floor, the ache started. Both shoulders, his lower back, his thighs. Too many fractures and broken bones. Thirty-three and he felt like he was seventy-three. But he couldn’t quit yet. No matter what the doctors said.

H E LIMPED BADLY, probably should have been using a cane. From the kitchen window, Annie watched Chester, shoulders stooped and holding a pail in each hand, come from the barn toward the house. Her heart broke with every uneven step he took. He’d already looked old the last time she’d been here, and that had been a long time ago; there had always been something more important going on in her life than visiting her aging aunt.

Annie sniffed, and blinked a couple of times. She wasn’t one to get emotional, but guilt had a way of obliterating her defenses. Looking away, she got out another mug and the small pitcher of cream Aunt Marjorie always kept in the refrigerator. Annie specifically remembered that Chester used cream. He’d always drank his coffee nearly white and sickeningly sweet.

After a brief knock at the door, Chester came in. He grinned wide, a lower tooth missing, which had been gone forever. “Hi, honey,” he said, and put down the pails. “You’re looking pretty as ever.”

“And I see you still need glasses.” She went into his open arms and hugged his thin body. He’d lost a lot of weight since she’d seen him last but, remarkably, his hair was still more red than gray. “It’s good to see you, Chester.”

He still smelled like fresh cut hay.

“Good to see you, too, missy. Been a long while.”

“Yes, I know.” Her face flushed. “Too long. Come sit and have a cup of coffee.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He limped across the aged yellow linoleum floor and removed his battered brown hat before sitting down at the table. “Not that I ain’t happy to see you, but I told Marjorie she didn’t need to call and bother you. It’s not like Marjorie’s any help when she’s here.”

Annie swallowed hard. “Has she been sick long?”