She refused to rise to the bait. “You’re welcome.”
He opened the truck door, and it squeaked unmercifully, splitting the night with sound. “This is a first, you bringing me home. Too bad it looks like a last, as well.”
“Yes, it is too bad,” she said, and meant it.
“Good night, Charlotte. Sleep well.” His mouth lifted at the corner, the city cynicism written in every line of his face. Then he turned his back and went into the house.
On the way home, she opened the window and let the crisp night air blow in on her face, but even the chill didn’t take away the heat—or the pain.
Up in her room, Charlotte lifted her hand to her hair and cried out. Her mother’s crystal butterfly was gone. She put her hands to her hot cheeks. She’d lost so much this evening, first her dream of Luke, and now this. Oh, if only it was still in the truck. Surely she would have seen it lying on the seat. She had been upset—perhaps it escaped her notice. She would go and look at once. She would find it. She knew she would.
Luke leaned against the window frame in his old bedroom, gazing out at pasture sheened silver under the moon, at tree shadows tossed by the wind. He felt…restless. He opened his hand The ornament she’d worn in her hair lay on his palm, effervescing in a stray moonbeam. She’d have to come to him for it…or else he’d take it to her. Either way, the ornament was his guarantee that he’d see her at least once more before he left. To go where, he didn’t know. For the first time in his life, he had no destination, no plans, no goal. He’d thought he wanted it that way. He’d worked hard to free himself of his old demon, ambition. Funny how he’d thought freedom would solve all his problems. Funny how the perfect solution never was perfect…or a solution.
He wanted to stay. Damn it to hell. He really wanted to stay. Which meant he couldn’t. If he stayed, he’d hurt Charlotte. Better to practice damage control and go now, before it was too late. He’d cut off his arm before he’d hurt her.
Luke padded in stocking feet to his bureau, laid the ornament carefully on top of a white linen scarf and went to the closet to take out his duffel bag, tossing it on the low seat under his window. He’d get a good hot shower in the morning, and then he’d pack and head out. There was nothing he could do here. For anybody.
Chapter Four
The next morning, sun streamed in the bathroom window and steam curled around Luke as he emerged from the shower stall. This was the way he liked to start a morning. Heat energized him. Like Charlotte.
Water beads sparkled on his body, nestled in his dark brown chest hair. He toweled his chest, then took a swipe at the bathroom mirror, misted in the heat.
Out in the hallway, a step sounded. Athena, perhaps? He’d forgotten about living in a house with an unrelated female. He swathed the towel around his hips. When he heard nothing more, he went ahead and spread his toilet kit out on the counter, spritzed on some deodorant and began to shave.
Cool air wafted across his back. He had company. He checked the level of his towel and then the mirror to identify his visitor.
Nick lounged against the doorjamb with a dancer’s boneless grace, his hair slicked back with movie-star panache, a hand thrust in his jeans pocket, the other tucked away at his side.
Just what he needed—a confrontation with his brother before nine o’clock. Luke applied razor to jaw, hoping he wouldn’t give his old nemesis the satisfaction of seeing him nick his throat. “I’ll be done in a minute, if you need the bathroom.”
Nick smiled. “Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”
Nick in a good mood was bad news. “Sleep well, brother?”
“Passably—considering that you came in rather lateand noisily—last evening.”
“I’m sorry if I disturbed your sleep.”
“You disturb more than my sleep.” Nick raised the hand he’d kept hidden, and in the stray beam of sunlight, Charlotte’s crystal butterfly caught fire.
Anger flared quick and hot inside Luke, but he knew better than to show it. He gave his attention to his mirror image, outwardly engrossed in gliding his razor along his cheek, inwardly girding for the fight. “What’s the matter, brother? Don’t you like my taste in hair bows?”
“The last time I saw this conspicuous little piece, it was in Charlotte Malone’s hair.”
Luke wiped his mouth with a towel. With careful casualness, he turned completely around to face his brother and leaned his back against the sink. “The last time I saw it, it was on my bureau.” Odd, facing off against Nick as an adult. Big brother no longer had the advantage. In the old days, Nick’s baiting had put Luke between a rock and a hard place. If he belted Nick, he’d lose what little he had of his father’s approval. Nothing to lose now.
Looking slightly less sure of himself, Nick closed his fingers around the butterfly. Despite his careful striving for coolness, Luke’s anger flared again. Experienced needler that he was, Nick read the reaction in Luke’s eyes and smiled. “I saw your duffel bag spread on your bed. I took a step in to see if you were really packing and planning on leaving us so soon, when this—” he lifted the crystal butterfly “—caught my eye. Made me curious.”
“I see the house rules for privacy haven’t changed while I was gone. What’s yours is yours and what’s mine is yours.”
The faintest stroke of red touched Nick’s cheeks. “This house is going to be all mine someday. Nothing in it will be yours.”
“Succinctly put.”
Nick said, “Exactly how did you come by this charming little trinket…brother?”
“None of your business.. .brother.” Luke folded his arms over his chest and kept his face expressionless. “This may be your house in the future, but for right now, I’ll thank you to stay out of my room.”
“I wonder what this thing is worth.”
Slowly, deliberately, Luke extended his hand. “I’d guess its greatest value is sentimental. I seem to remember her mother wearing it.”
Nick held on to the butterfly. “You do know Dad’s considering taking her into court, don’t you?”
He treated Nick to a long scrutinizing gaze. “Yes, I know.”
“Then you’ve got to know he wasn’t too happy, seeing you cuddled up on the dance floor with her.”
“I’m sure Henry would prefer to deliver his opinions himself.”
“How would you know what Dad does or doesn’t like? You haven’t been around here for ten years. Now, suddenly, you’re back, pretending to be all solicitous about his health and welfare. Who are you trying to kid? If you’re hoping to impress him and make him change his mind about leaving the ranch to you, you’re wasting your time.”
Luke felt suddenly cold. “I would hope it will be a long, long while before either of us has to worry about our ‘inheritance.”‘
“Well, of course. So do I.”
In the silence, Luke studied his brother, wondering how this man could have come from half the same gene pool as he. “Nobody’s going to supplant you here, least of all me. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Dad’s firmly in your corner, just as he’s always been. I’m a temporary aberration in your world, nothing more.”
“I can only hope that’s true.” Nick rubbed his fingers over the edge of the butterfly and raised an eyebrow, looking exactly like a calculating Mordred baiting King Arthur. “You hoping to get a little something on with her, sort of…one for the road?”
“You haven’t been around me enough to know what I like or don’t like, so I’ll tell you—very carefully and slowly, so you’ll get it. I don’t like you maligning Charlotte.” Luke didn’t realize he’d clenched his fist until he saw Nick’s pupils flare.
Shaken, but unwilling to concede, Nick persisted. “What a champion you are for the little thief. I would not advise taking her to bed, however much fun you may think it would be. Dad would not…understand.”
“And having my best interests at heart, as you always do, you wanted to clarify it for me.” It took all the control Luke had to keep his voice
level, to keep from taking that step forward.
“Just trying to be a good elder sibling.” An extremely conciliatory smile lifted his lips, and Nick quickly tendered the butterfly to Luke.
Luke gazed down at it, his brain starting to function the way he’d been taught. “I have to be curious about your interest in my relationship with Charlotte.” Luke raised his eyes to Nick’s face in sharp examination. “I understand you and she went out to dinner a while back. Is it possible you’re jealous?”
Nick scowled, as if he wanted to deny it, but, strangely enough, he didn’t. “So she told you all about it?”
“Inadvertently she mentioned your…date, when she said you’d encouraged her to sell off some troublesome cattle.”
“Did she mention that our outing was strictly a business appointment that she tried to make into something else?”
“She did say it was something in the nature of a peacekeeping mission. Failed, as I understand it. What did Dad have to say about your asking her out?” Luke asked lazily.
“He understood I was trying to settle our border dispute peacefully.”
“I can’t remember you being so diplomatic.”
Nick’s eyes slanted away from Luke’s, and he straightened away from the door. “Maybe I’ve changed.”
“My word,” Luke murmured.
“People do.”
“Only when they’re going for a new goal.”
Fear flared in Nick, darkened his eyes, tightened his shoulders. Luke felt it as palpably as if he’d experienced it himself.
Suddenly, in a lightning-swift mood swing typical of Nick, he beamed a hundred-volt smile at Luke that must be a killer with the ladies. Luke was far too familiar with its volatility to be moved. Nick said, “I’m sorry I gave you such a rough time when we were growing up. Since you’re leaving today, shall we part friends?” He held out his hand.
Luke might have forgotten many things about living at home, but this he remembered: Nick making nice was trouble. Luke ignored the hand. “I must say you’ve aroused my curiosity. Maybe I’ll stay around just a little while longer.”
Nick dropped his hand quickly, looking shaken.
“What’s the matter, brother? Did I say something wrong?” Luke asked, his voice easy, his eyes watchful.
“I thought you were really leaving,” Nick said, obviously trying to control his temper. “Your gear is all out-”
“Gear can be put away. Putting your ever-present dislike for my company aside, is there some other reason you want me gone so urgently?”
Flushed with anger, his body tense, Nick stared at Luke, and there was a hot intenseness in his eyes that bothered even Luke, who’d thought he’d seen every brand of human anger. Then, suddenly, the eyes were shuttered and the anger was tamped down. “I should have known it was too good to be true.” His eyes ice-cold, his face hard, Nick turned away and headed down the hall.
Luke leaned against the door to stare after Nick, watching him walk down the stairs and disappear. “Odd little fellow, my brother.”
Inside his room, while Luke stowed his duffel bag in the closet again and returned his toilet kit to its place in the top drawer of his bureau, he did as he’d always done: He relegated his difficult brother to a back corner of his mind and concentrated on something positive. There was nothing like the feel of a well-washed denim shirt, nothing like jeans that had been nicely broken in. And nothing like the thought that he would be seeing Charlotte soon. Whatever had happened between Charlotte and Nick had nothing to do with now. It was probably a mistake to stay. Still, what difference could a couple of days make? No matter how wrong or right it was, no amount of logical caution whispered by the small voice inside his head could keep his body from stinging with anticipation when he thought about what those days might bring.
The butterfly went into a clean white handkerchief, to be tucked in his shirt pocket. He could feel the padded edges of it moving against his chest as he walked down the stairs.
The kitchen sparkled with sunshine, smelled of sugarcured bacon cooking. A stray sunbeam flicked over Athena’s jet-black hair, swept up high on her head and fastened with a long wooden pick. Her bearing that of a queen, her back regally straight, she held court at the stove. Her white apron sported a perky bow, the starchiest in three counties, and too tempting for Luke. “Good morning, beautiful.” He caught a crisp end strand and tugged. The bow fell loose with a cottony whisper.
Athena whirled around, her forehead wrinkled m a fierce frown, her spatula raised and ready, the apron fanning out around her hips. “Now, Mr. Luke, you stop that—unless you want me to paddle your backside with this.”
“You’re not big enough to push me around anymore, sweets.” He snuck a kiss onto her cheek, smelled cinnamon and sugar.
She tried to look cross with him, but a smile lurked at the corner of her mouth. “My, we are feeling foxy this morning, aren’t we?” She cast him one of her sternest looks. Luke responded by smiling innocently. She laid the spatula down and retied her apron bow with large hands that were deft and competent. “Now, Mr. Luke, you set down at that table, and you behave yourself, or your food is going to look like a burnt offering.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Luke said, his mouth quirking. “Where’s Henry?”
“I don’t know. Nobody tell me important things like where they are going and when they’ll be back. I’m just the hired help.”
“Oh, you’re much more than that, woman. You’re the backbone of the home, the soul of the kitchen, the heart of my hearts.”
“Now, you just stop that foolish talk this minute, and eat this food before it gets cold.” She ladled four strips of bacon, two scrambled eggs and four pancakes onto his plate and tried very hard to keep her stern demeanor. But she smiled at Luke as he examined his breakfast. She seemed almost to know what he was thinking, that if he started counting fat grams, he wouldn’t be finished by tomorrow. What the heck? He was on vacation. He might just as well forget about fat and cholesterol and enjoy.
He did leave a pancake, a strip of bacon and half the eggs. He got a hard look from Athena, but she didn’t say anything when she took his plate away. He was just rising, telling her thanks for an excellent breakfast, when Henry Steadman walked into the kitchen. He’d been out to the barn, for he still wore his sleeveless coat of red cotton above stocking feet. Athena was adamant about banning barn shoes from her kitchen.
Her silence saying more about her attitude toward Henry than any words could have, Athena reached for a pan she’d been keeping covered at the back of the stove and poured out cooked oatmeal into a bowl in front of Henry.
Henry eased himself into his chair and surveyed the lumpy mass with all the enthusiasm of a man facing a firing squad.
Luke stifled a smile. “Good morning.” Still standing, Luke gripped the back of the chair he’d sat in.
“Good morning, Luke.”
Not exactly encouraging, but civil enough. “I thought you didn’t like oatmeal.”
“I don’t. That damn fool doctor, Merrill Thompson, clucked about my cholesterol the last time I went to see him, and I made the mistake of telling Athena.” Henry scowled down at his cereal bowl. “Be damned if I can see how this stuff helps.”
“They say it does. How high is your number?”
“I don’t remember.”
Wouldn’t, more likely. Luke felt that niggle of concern for his father again. “If the good doctor thinks you’ve got a problem, you’re wise to make some dietary changes.”
“My only problem is him. And her.” He frowned at Athena, she treated him to her placid queen’s face. “I’d rather go to an early grave than eat this stuff. Take it away.”
Athena’s eyebrows flew up, but she clamped her lips shut, and snatched the bowl away.
“I smell eggs and bacon. Are there any left?” Henry asked Athena, in a hopeful tone that sounded strange to Luke’s ears.
“No, sir,” she said, scraping the remains of Luke’s plate into the sink and
turning on the garbage disposal with a noisy whir.
“She’s trying to reform me,” Henry said to Luke, “but as you can see, she has her work cut out for her.”
“No doubt,” Luke murmured.
“I wondered what your plans for the day were.”
Caught, Luke glanced at Athena. Her eyes rolled heavenward. Then she turned her back to him and stood at the sink, humming a low tune, clearly telling him that when it came to his father, he was on his own.
“I have an errand at the Malone ranch.”
“I see. Oh, come now, son, relax. You’re not ten anymore. We’re both adults. Where you go is your business.” Henry sat back in his chair, his mouth lifted in something that might have been called good humor. “Although I must admit I’m understandably curious about your…errand.”
Odd to be speaking to his father in this relaxed way. “I need to return something.”
“Return something?”
“Charlotte dropped her hair ornament after the dance last night. I’m sure she’s missed it by now and is anxious about its whereabouts.”
“Valuable, is it?”
“No. More sentimental value, I should think.” He drew it out of his pocket and unfolded the handkerchief, bringing the butterfly glittering into the light. Before he thought, he said, “I seem to remember her mother wearing it.”
A stray sunbeam turned the crystal to fire. Henry’s head bowed, his shoulders sagged. Athena touched Luke’s elbow in alarm.
When Henry lifted his eyes to Luke’s, they were opaque, expressionless. “We’re leaving in a few minutes for the northwest pasture to round up calves and new mothers. I thought you might come along, but I guess you won’t be able to.”
“I can ride up later.”
“No need We’ve managed to get the job done without you for several years. We should be able to do it again.”
Whatever ground Luke had gained, he lost in that instant. “I’m sure that’s true,” Luke said evenly, “but I will be back soon and I will ride up to help.” Even if you don’t want me.
A Cowboy Is Forever Page 7