Luke poured himself a cup of high-octane brew and shoved open the back door. He stepped off the back porch and onto the patio, breathing in the cool, sweet morning air. Felt like rain. He glanced toward the sky, gray and overcast. Looked like rain, too.
His gaze traveled from the red-streaked horizon down to the guest cottage. There wasn’t a light on in the place. Deanna was probably still asleep. At the very thought of her, his body hardened. That’s the way it had always been. Every time he got near her, his sex got hard and his head got soft. He hadn’t given a damn about anybody’s feelings in a long time, except maybe Kizzie’s. But Kizzie left him alone, didn’t bother him with demands or needs he couldn’t meet. Deanna was altogether different. She needed things from him, and as time passed she’d start demanding more and more. The sexual satisfaction he’d given her earlier this morning wouldn’t be enough. She’d start making female noises about feelings. She’d want them to talk about what they thought and how they felt.
He could tell her that he thought she was the sexiest woman he’d ever known and that he felt like having sex with her morning, noon and night.
What he couldn’t admit to her—what he could barely admit to himself—was that he had no intention of ever having sex with her again. After what he’d done to her at the motel, he had owed her the fulfillment he’d given her this morning. But that had to be the end of it. If he allowed himself to give in to his needs and take Deanna whenever he wanted her, she would soon be the one calling the shots. She possessed some kind of wicked control over him when they were lovers, and he had sworn that no one—least of all Deanna Atchley—would ever again have that kind of power over him.
But she would wonder and probably ask why he’d changed his mind about their having sex as payment for his help. He’d just have to think of something to tell her. Something that would ruffle her feathers enough to keep her from asking any more questions about his feelings.
Deanna awoke to the sound of rain. A slow, steady downpour. The kind that usually lasted all day. She stretched languidly, enjoying the feel of the cool cotton sheets against her skin. She hadn’t slept naked in a long time, nor had she slept so soundly or awakened so contented. She wondered if Luke would come to see her before he had breakfast this morning. He would have a lot to do before he enjoyed the first good, hot meal of the day. But maybe he would make time to drop by and say hello. And maybe he would stay long enough for—No! She couldn’t dwell on Luke making love to her the way he used to do. That was asking for too much. But a kiss wasn’t out of the question, was it?
Deanna got up, went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The bath was small, almost cramped, but the fixtures were fairly new and the room was spotlessly clean. Rummaging around in her makeup bag, she found her raspberry-scented body wash. Pressing her nose against her shoulder, she breathed in the rich, musky scent that was a combination of herself and of Luke. She almost hated to wash away the smell of him, that unique earthiness. Her body tingled with remembrance. Luke’s hands caressing, his lips possessing, his tongue delighting.
She stepped under the warm water flow, tossed back her head and smiled. She felt deliciously content. Lathering her body with the fragrant wash, she shivered slightly. Her breasts were tender from Luke’s ardent attention. Just the thought of his mouth on her body created a moist throbbing between her thighs.
After her shower, Deanna inspected her clothes, wanting to choose something perfect, something that would please Luke. She picked up a pair of hot pink slacks and a matching silk blouse. Luke had always loved her in pinks and reds.
Later, she discovered the kitchen was indeed stocked—fully stocked. There was enough food here to feed four people for a couple of weeks. While she busied herself with preparations for coffee and toast, she turned on the small radio sitting on the window ledge over the sink. Finding a local country music station, she set the dial.
Maybe she’d have scrambled eggs to go along with the toast. She was starving. She broke the eggs into a bowl, added a dash of milk and a pinch of sugar, then whisked them until they were fluffy. She wished Luke was here, sharing the morning with her. She would have fixed him a big, country breakfast for his man-sized appetite.
Don’t do this to yourself, Deanna. Don’t pretend that just because Luke offered you a sexual apology in the dark hours of early morning, things are all right between the two of you. Nothing has changed, not really. He still hates you and still blames you for sending him to prison.
But did he still want revenge against her? Only time would tell.
Nothing had changed for her, either. She still needed Luke’s help. No matter what happened between them, she couldn’t forget why she was here, in Stone Creek, at Montrose. Nothing could ever be all right for her, or for Luke, until they knew the truth. Finding her father’s real killer had to take priority over everything else.
Deanna emptied the scrambled eggs onto a plate, buttered her toast and poured herself a cup of black coffee. She added a teaspoonful of sugar and stirred.
She tried to recall the nightmare she’d had last night, but already the dream was fading. Her mother had been there, and so had Eddie. But that might not mean anything. She’d been told that Eddie was the one who’d found her kneeling over her father’s body. Had her mother really been there, too, when Eddie had found her? Had Phyllis actually slapped her? If so, why? Was it possible that they had thought she’d killed her father?
“Did I kill him?” Deanna asked aloud. Was it possible that she actually rammed the pitchfork through her daddy?
She had loved her father and in his own fashion, he had doted on her. Lord knows, he had bought her anything money could buy. But he’d gone mad when he’d found out that she was pregnant with Luke’s baby. He had struck her. He’d never even spanked her before that day. And after he’d knocked her to the ground, he’d rounded up Eddie and Junior and gone after Luke. They’d found him alone on the range that evening and, outnumbered three to one, Luke had had little chance of escaping Rayburn Atchley’s wrath.
Kizzie had called her from the hospital that night, to tell her that Luke had been horsewhipped and was in serious condition. Deanna had tried to go to him, but her parents had kept her guarded day and night to prevent her from leaving the Circle A.
Suddenly the warm, fluffy eggs in her mouth tasted like cardboard. Deanna swallowed, then washed them down with the coffee. She’d lost her appetite. Recalling the past often did that to her. Remembering, with regret, never became any easier.
The phone rang; Deanna jumped. Maybe it was Luke phoning her. Maybe he wanted her to join him for the afternoon. She’d love to ride over Montrose with him, just the two of them alone together.
She picked up the receiver, anticipation in her voice. “Hello.”
“Deanna?”
“Junior?”
“What the hell are you doing over there at Montrose?” he asked, sadness in his voice. “You’re asking for trouble, honey. Don’t you know that? Come on home where you belong.”
“Did Mother ask you to call me?”
Phyllis knew that Deanna and Junior had once been very close, that if Deanna had ever listened to anyone, it had been her big brother. Did her mother actually think Junior could dissuade her from her chosen course of action? Maybe once, years ago when she’d been very young and very weak, but not now. No one made her decisions for her. No one told her what she could and couldn’t do. A part of the healing process from her nervous breakdown had been taking responsibility for herself and her actions.
“Mother’s concerned about you. She’s afraid of what Luke McClendon might do to you.”
“Mother’s concerned about herself,” Deanna said. “She’s not afraid of what Luke might do to me. She’s afraid of what Luke and I might find out about Daddy’s death.”
“Sugar, you can’t mean to imply that Mother knows something about Daddy’s death and has kept it a secret all these years.” Junior sighed loudly. “Why can’t you just accept the
fact that Luke killed Daddy? I know he might have had cause, seeing as how Daddy nearly beat him to death.”
“And you just stood by and did nothing when Daddy whipped Luke. You could have tried to stop Daddy.”
“Hell, Sis, you know nobody stopped Rayburn Atchley when he was in one of his moods. Not even Mother could handle the old man when he went into one of his rages.”
She knew Junior was right. Their father had never been abusive to her, but she’d been aware of his temper. She’d seen her father whip Junior until blood trickled down his legs. And she’d seen her father slap her mother and curse her. Why she had been spared, she didn’t know. Spared, that is, until he’d found out about her love affair with Luke.
“I’ve already told Mother that I’m staying here at Montrose until I regain my memory. Until I know who really killed Daddy.”
“Deanna—”
“Don’t say it was Luke. I know it wasn’t.”
“How can you know, when you don’t remember anything from that night after Luke picked up the pitchfork and headed straight for Daddy?”
How did she know? Why had she always been so sure Luke was innocent, despite his having reason to want to see her father dead?
For years she had tried to forget that horrible night. Now, she wanted to remember. Needed to remember. For herself. And for Luke.
Suddenly Deanna could see her father standing tall and proud, his cheeks red with anger, his mouth curved into a snarl.
“You get off my property, boy, and you stay the hell away from my little girl,” Rayburn shouted. “If I catch you anywhere near anything that’s mine, I’ll take my whip to you again and the next time I’ll kill you for sure.”
Rayburn snapped the whip he held in his hand
“No, Daddy. Don’t. Please don’t hurt Luke. I promise I won’t go away with him. I’ll never see him again.”
“Do you mean that, Deanna?” Luke asked “Are you willing to give up all our plans just because your father forbids us to be together?”
“You heard her,” Rayburn said snapping the whip again. “She doesn’t want anything else to do with you, you filthy redskin bastard.”
Moving toward Luke, Rayburn wound the whip, preparing to use it. Deanna stood between her father and Luke, pleading with Luke to go and begging her father not to hurt Luke. Rayburn shoved her aside, knocking her to the ground. Luke backed up toward the stables, reached out and grabbed a pitchfork leaning against the outer wall.
“You’ll never whip me again, old man! I’ll kill you first.” Luke started walking toward Rayburn.
Deanna screamed. Luke drew close and closer. Rayburn’s face paled and he backed away as Luke walked toward him, the pitchfork aimed at his heart.
Within a foot of Rayburn, Luke stopped and glared into the man’s face.
“Please, Luke, don’t!” Deanna cried.
Luke froze to the spot, gripping the pitchfork with white-knuckled ferocity. Deanna’s heart ceased to beat for one second.
Then Luke threw the pitchfork into the ground and walked away.
“Deanna, are you there? What’s wrong?” Junior demanded. “Why don’t you answer me?”
Gripping the telephone in her hand, Deanna dropped to her knees. She gasped for air. She had remembered! Dear God, she had remembered that Luke had tossed the pitchfork aside and walked away.
Somewhere deep inside her, she’d always known that Luke hadn’t killed her father. But now, she remembered.
“Deanna! Dammit, if you don’t say something, I’m coming over there to Montrose right now.”
“Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m all right.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Junior asked.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’m fine.” Deanna laughed. “I’m better than fine.”
“You’re not making any sense. Are you having some kind of spell or something? I thought you said you were all right now, that you didn’t have any mental problems.”
“I remember,” she told her brother. “I remember seeing Luke throw the pitchfork into the ground and walk away. He left the Circle A. He didn’t kill Daddy.”
“Are you telling me that you actually remember that happening?” Junior asked. “You didn’t dream it? You honest to God remember that Luke didn’t kill Daddy?”
“Yes, Junior, I honest to God remember.”
“Do you remember anything else? Do you remember seeing somebody else around, somebody that might have used that pitchfork on Daddy?”
“No.” Deanna let out a long, labored sigh. “But I will remember. I know I will. And when I do, we’ll be able to clear Luke’s name and whoever really killed Daddy can be punished for what they did.”
“I—I suppose I don’t have any reason to think you’d lie about this, even if you and that...even if you and Luke are sleeping together. You wouldn’t pretend to remember things about that night, just because you’re still in love with Luke, would you?”
“No, Junior, I wouldn’t lie about something this important.” She didn’t bother to deny that she was sleeping with Luke or that she still loved him. After all, she’d had sex with Luke since her return to Stone Creek. And maybe she did still love him.
“You’re going to tell Luke that you remember, I suppose.”
“Of course I am.” Deanna smiled, cherishing that one tiny memory from her past—the memory of Luke throwing aside the pitchfork and walking away. “And you tell Mother and Eddie that my memory is coming back. After all these years, I’m finally going to remember the truth.”
“Be careful, Sis. Remembering the truth might be dangerous.”
“What?” Had she heard Junior correctly? Was he trying to warn her about something?
The dial tone hummed in her ears. Junior had hung up on her! Well, it didn’t matter. She’d talk to her brother later. Right now, she needed to talk to Luke.
She dialed the number for the main house and waited for someone to answer. Excitement bubbled up inside her, threatening to explode into laughter and happy tears.
“McClendon residence,” a female voice said.
“May I speak to Luke McClendon? This is Deanna Atchley. I’m a guest of Mr. McClendon’s. I’m—”
“The lady in the guest house?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Luke isn’t here. He’s checking the fences. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Does Luke have a cellular phone?” Deanna asked.
“He keeps one in his truck. Is this an emergency, Ms. Atchley?”
“An emergency? Well, no, not exactly.” She could wait until Luke returned to the house for lunch, couldn’t she? “Just ask Luke to call me when he comes home for lunch.”
“Sure will.”
Deanna hung up the phone and whirled around and around, laughing giddily. She had remembered something vitally important. Something that was the first step in clearing Luke of her father’s murder.
She just knew that, one by one, all her memories would return. Her mood sobered quickly as she thought of the grief remembering might bring. She had to prepare herself to face the truth, whatever that truth might be. Someone other than Luke had killed her father and that someone could be a member of her own family.
Luke stood on the back patio, looking at the guest cottage. Alva had mentioned earlier in the day that Deanna had asked to see him, but ranch duties had caused him to skip lunch and work well into the evening. Besides, a part of him had been reluctant to return to the guest cottage, to face Deanna again. It would be the easiest thing in the world to go to her, to wake her from her sleep, to apologize for coming by so late. He could say he hadn’t realized it was nearly midnight. Would she welcome him with open arms? Would she fold herself around him and take him to her bed?
His body hardened as images of Deanna filled his mind He couldn’t let her do this to him. He didn’t dare give in to his desire to possess her completely, to make love to her.
Luke McClendon didn’t make love. He had sex. Wha
t he needed was to simply release some of his tension. Just about any of the ladies of his acquaintance would do. All cats were black in the dark, weren’t they?
I’m not driving into town at this time of night. Deanna Atchley isn’t going to run me off my ranch. Maybe I am aching to be inside her. Maybe I’d kill right now to have her long legs wrapped around me. But I can handle her. I don’t need to tomcat around to stay away from her.
Luke walked out to the stables, saddled Cherokee and rode out for the hills. He’d spend the night alone, on his land, and by morning, he’d be completely in control again.
Nothing has changed, he told himself. I still hate Deanna. I still can’t trust her.
And you still want her, a taunting inner voice reminded him.
Chapter 8
Deanna chose her tightest, most body-molding jeans, dragged them up over her hips and stuffed her red-and-blue plaid shirt under the waistband, then looped a wide leather belt around her waist. Inspecting herself in the dresser mirror, she lifted her ponytail, fluffing it with her fingers. Then she unbuttoned the top three buttons on her blouse and spread the material apart just enough to expose her cleavage. She hadn’t dressed provocatively, just to tempt a man, since she was seventeen and dying to get Luke McClendon’s attention. After all these years, she wanted to gain the attention of the very same man.
He never had responded to the message she’d left him yesterday, and she’d be damned if she’d call him back and beg him to see her. She’d known Luke wouldn’t make anything easy for her, but she had hoped he’d keep his word and try to help her. So far, she was batting zero.
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