Luke's Promise

Her hand was shaking when she held it out so he could slip one of those rings on her finger. It stuck at the knuckle. “Uh-oh. My fingers are swollen from the cast.”

“No problem.” He grabbed her right hand. “You can switch it later.”

So he slid her ring onto the wrong finger. It doesn’t mean anything, she told herself. The ring meant nothing, just as the wedding meant nothing. And she was not going to throw up. She was definitely not going to throw up.

His ring, at least, fit perfectly.

The minister—if that’s what he was—managed to smile without splitting his skin. “You may kiss the bride.”

Luke’s hands moved to her shoulders, and he turned her to face him. There was a smile on his lips, but his eyes looked old and sad. Apparently this mockery of marriage didn’t scare him the way it did her. It just made him miserable.

He bent and brushed his lips across hers. “Buck up,” he whispered. “The worst is over.”

Her mouth tingled and her skin flushed from the brief touch of his mouth. Oh, help. What had she done?

This time would be different, she told herself firmly. This time she had nothing to prove—though she did have an agenda, one she hadn’t told him about. One she prayed she’d have the courage to act on.

And this time, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she wasn’t in love with him.

Three

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.”