Luke's Runaway Bride

Her friend shrieked. “We’ll get beaten!”

“Hush, Olivia, he’s unconscious. Come here and help me.”

Jenny knelt at his side. His hat had fallen off. A breeze billowed between them, lifting black hair off the handsome curves of his face. Light glimmered from the lamppost and caught his chin. A threadlike scar ran from his left ear to beneath his jaw, as if someone had once tried to slit his throat. Jenny gasped. Controlling her shaking fingers, she lifted his shirt. The bandage around his ribs oozed fresh blood. How much pain was he in? Could she help him without endangering herself or Olivia? Living alone as he did, Daniel only required the services of one hired man, and he was at the ball. The house was empty.

Olivia’s cloth boots crunched in the dirt beside her.

Jenny clawed her hands underneath his shoulders, groaning under the weight. “Help me get him into the house.”

“What if he tries to have his way with us?”

“He’s in no condition to attack us.”

Olivia picked up a chunky rock. “Should I hit him over the head to keep him that way?”

“No. Grab his legs and help me drag him in.”

In a back recess of his mind, Luke McLintock registered the faint scent of perfume. He stirred.

Regaining consciousness, but still dazed from pain, Luke slowly opened his heavy lids. Where was he? His blurry vision focused. A woman was leaning over him. One cameo button—the top one—was missing from her gown, and for a blissful, groggy moment, Luke was sure he’d died and entered the pearly gates of male heaven.

Intrigued, he stared at the glorious vision of creamy cleavage. The stickpin she’d apparently tried to fix it with still pierced one side of the gaping blue velvet, and beneath it all, her lavender lace corset—a color he’d never seen before in a corset—strained to contain her curves. He held his breath, anticipating, hoping, her cups would soon runneth over.

Then pain hammered through his right side, reminding him he wasn’t in heaven. He was slumped in a leather chair, stripped from the waist up, while she wrapped gauze around his ribs. Cool air surged across his hair-matted chest. Where was he? Lying still, he eyed the room from beneath her dancing blue velvet sleeve.

Two kerosene lamps lit the well-to-do office. Cherry-wood paneling, rawhide sofa and chairs, silver-framed photographs—it contained all the trinkets an up-and-coming land developer could afford.

Daniel’s house. But since the bastard wasn’t home, there was no reason for Luke to stay. Besides, he had a man waiting for him at the rail station. But he’d return to haul Daniel back to Cheyenne. After what had happened between them today, Luke sure as hell would. He shifted on the plush leather. Dammit, his hands were tied behind his back!

He yanked hard on the ropes and cursed. The blonde jumped away from his heaving body, clutching a pair of silver scissors. Strands of long golden hair loosened from her upswept arrangement and tumbled over naked satin shoulders.

Luke peered up into startling blue eyes. In her mid-twenties, she had a heart-shaped face and determination in her gaze. The single dimple in her cheek fluttered, betraying her cool demeanor. He’d seen prettier women before, but something about the intelligent look in her eye held his gaze. Then her friend stepped forward, waving a gun in his face. His own Colt, for cripes sake.

“Put that thing down,” he snarled.

But the woman braced herself. By the smooth way she clasped the ivory grip and cocked the hammer with her thumb, he knew she’d held a gun before. Uneasiness snaked along his spine.

The blonde drew her shoulders back and ran a hand along her sleeve. “Don’t get mad, we’re trying to help you.”

He shook his head to clear the fog and braced his long legs in front of him. “Then why’d you tie me up?”

“We didn’t, not until…” she gulped and lowered her eyes to his chest “…not until we took your shirt off and saw those scars. We got scared.”

The knife wounds were old, from saloon brawls in his younger days, and three or four from overnight stays in jail with not-so-pleasant company. He hardly noticed them anymore.

With trembling lips, the quick dark woman stepped forward. She looked a bit older than the blonde. “You like to fight, mister?”

“Used to.”

“Not anymore?”

“No.”

The blonde leaned in past her friend and inspected him, causing him to squirm. “Then how’d you get your latest injury?”

Daniel shot me. Luke swallowed as he stared at the flushed, upturned face. What would she say to that? His gaze dropped from her eyes to her creamy throat to the top of her scooped neckline. Heat pounded through his muscles. With a stab of disappointment, he noticed her stickpin was again in place, concealing her curves. Gazing back up at her breathless expression, he recalled she was Daniel’s fiancée.

The fact that she belonged to him made Luke’s teeth rattle. And telling her the truth about this injury might make matters worse. “Scraped myself on wire fencing.” Well, the flesh wound could be mistaken for a scrape.

“You a drover?”

“I help out on a ranch.”

“Where?”

“North of here.”

Her eyes widened. “If—if we let you go, how do we know we can trust you?”

His head started to cloud. “Look, my name’s Luke. If you’d really like to help me, you’ll untie me.” He yanked at the ropes, but they dug deeper. The sting in his side flared.

“I wouldn’t pull at the ropes anymore,” said the older one matter-of-factly, adjusting her bonnet. “It’ll just start tearin’ into your skin. Jenny’s granddad was a sailor, direct from Sweden, then Boston. He taught her how to tie over twenty different kinds of knots. What’s this one called again, Jenny?”

“The constrictor knot.” A flash of amusement danced across Jenny’s face. She bit it back, or had he imagined it? “The harder you pull, the more constricted you’ll get.”

Wonderful. One was good with a gun and the other good with knots. The two of them made a dangerous pair, and any man who thought otherwise was a fool. He assessed her boldly, and to his delight, she got flustered. With a huff, she smoothed the tendrils from her face and stepped beside her friend in front of the ballooning drapes.

So Daniel had picked a girl from Boston.

Well, lah-dee-dah.

It did explain the way she spoke. She fidgeted with her hands. They weren’t the usual smooth hands of a privileged woman. One bulky engagement ring. A two-inch scratch on one palm, and closely bitten nails. Hands used to doing things.

Would she be as shocked as he’d been to discover her beloved Daniel had a five-year-old son? One he’d ignored since birth? And the only damn reason Luke was here tonight was to haul Daniel back to acknowledge his son, Adam. With the boy’s mother now gone, Adam’s only relative was his father.

Arguing with Daniel in his office this afternoon hadn’t worked, but Luke had to solve the problem soon. What the hell was he supposed to do with a five-year-old kid? Keep him in Luke’s own room above the saloon? Ridiculous.

A flash of inspiration hit him. Maybe this woman could help. When she married Daniel, then maybe she and Daniel could raise the boy together. Wouldn’t that be a nice, tidy solution?

“Tell us what you’re doing on Daniel’s doorstep. How…how well do you know him?” Jenny’s clear blue eyes, as deep as the Rio Grande, met his. His palms got clammy.

A yearning to escape this place and ride hell-bent for Cheyenne pulsed through him. “I know him well. Daniel and I grew up together. His family took me in when my father died. We used to be best friends.”

Jenny’s mouth sprang open in alarm. She stepped back and took a good, hard look at him. “Best friends?” Her slender neck infused with color, then her cheeks. She clutched a hand to her throat. “Oh Lord, what have we done? Are you one of the McLintock boys?” She gulped. “I mean, men?”

He nodded. “He told you about us?”

“How down-and-out you were, and how he helped your whole family get back on your feet.”