Luke

by Leigh Greenwood

  "And I was beginning to think you liked her."

  Luke stopped. He hadn't realized he knew half the things he'd just told Zeke until the words were out of his mouth. That wasn't like him. To Luke, women were objects of desire, for companions for an evening to soothe his spirit and satisfy his body. He never bothered looking beneath the surface. Occasionally he might remember a name, but most of the time women were interchangeable.

  But not Valeria. The moment she'd walked into that hotel-tired, irritable, imperious-he'd felt something inside him jump. A muscle twitch. A spasm. A sensitive nerve. He didn't know. He just knew he had a definite reaction to her, and that wasn't good. He needed to be immune to all women, unaffected by anything and anyone around him.

  "Time to get moving," Luke said, "or we'll still be within sight of Bonner when we camp tonight."

  "Move 'em out!" Zeke shouted, then headed toward his horse.

  The call reminded Luke of the days when he lived with Jake and Isabelle, working the ranch with all the orphans, going on trail drives with the Randolph family. They had been good days, but all the boys had been filled with hate, anger, jealousy, distrust, a thirst for revenge, a desire to hurt someone because they'd been hurt so badly. For some, the anger gradually worked itself out and faded away. Others learned to keep it under control.

  For Luke it remained just below the surface, festering, infecting everything he did, until he couldn't stand it any longer. One day he'd simply taken his guns and ridden out. Within a month he'd taken his first job, killed his first man. It was something he could do, something he did better than others. He kept on doing it until he became known as the best.

  Now he didn't know how to do anything else.

  Hans burst from the hotel, waving and shouting, "Wait for me."

  The silly fool. He could get himself killed running in front of a wagon. "Get in the coach with the princess," Luke said.

  "No one rides with the princess except her maid," he said. "It's not proper."

  "You'll ride in the coach, or you'll walk," Luke said. "Now where the hell is Otto?"

  "He and the landlord can't agree on the bill."

  Luke uttered a volley of curses and headed toward the hotel. Inside he found Otto and the landlord shouting at each other. "How much does he owe you?" Luke asked the landlord.

  "Two hundred and forty-seven dollars."

  "This flea-infested hovel isn't worth seven dollars," Otta said.

  "Give me your wallet," Luke said to Otto.

  Otto clutched his coat protectively.

  "Give it to me, or I'll take it from you." Luke drew his gun, gripped it by the barrel, and raised the butt in the direction of Otto's head. Otto quickly withdrew a wallet from inside his coat and handed it to Luke. Luke holstered his gun, opened the wallet, and pulled out three hundred dollars.

  "Here," he said to the landlord. "Keep the extra. I'm sure you deserve it."

  "Thank you." The landlord took the money and shoved it into his pocket. He made no attempt to hide his triumphant grin.

  "That's robbery," Otto shouted.

  "I'm sure you paid more than that for hotels in London and Paris," Luke said.

  "But they were elegant."

  "This is the most elegant hotel in Bonner. Now get in that coach. I won't wait for you any longer."

  "I'm in charge of the princess," Otto said, swelling up like a blow toad. "I'll say when-"

  Luke grabbed him by his shirt front and pulled him close until their noses were only inches apart. "You were in charge until you hired me. Now I decide when you get up, when you go to bed, when you eat, when you relieve yourself. You try my patience, and I'll leave you in the desert for the coyotes to pick your bones. If this isn't to your liking, stay here. Otherwise, shut the hell up and get in that coach."

  Otto was so off balance when Luke released him, he nearly fell.

  "I will speak to the Duke about this," Otto said, trying to maintain his dignity but sounding spiteful.

  "Speak to anybody you want," Luke said. "But if you annoy me too much, I'll cut your tongue out."

  Luke strode from the room, Otto's stunned reaction bringing a rare smile to his face.

  Valeria had never spent a more miserable morning in her entire life. Luke had assured her the coach was one of the finest made, that its suspension was the best that could be had, that the seats rode on additional springs to absorb shock. If all that were true, she couldn't imagine the torture of riding in a normal coach. She had been jostled and tossed about until she wanted to scream. Every part of her body would be covered with bruises before nightfall.

  But nothing could compare to the heat. They had opened the leather curtains earlier, but reluctantly gave up. The sun poured in, baking whoever was unfortunate enough to be in its path. The dust choked them.

  "I'm so sorry, Your Highness," Hans said for the hundredth time. "If I had known things would be this bad, I'd never have brought you here."

  "You had nothing to do with it," Otto said. "I'm in charge of the princess."

  "For the time being, Mr. Attmore is in charge," Valeria said. "And I'm going to tell him to stop and let us rest for a while. I can't wait for a drink of cool water."

  "Here, drink some of mine," Hans said, holding out a canteen.

  Valeria recoiled at the idea of drinking from such a vessel. "Where did you get that thing?"

  "At the hotel. The landlord said there would be no water in the desert, that we all ought to have canteens."

  "There has to be water out here," Valeria said. "If I had needed a canteen, I'm certain Mr. Attmore would have said so. That looks exactly like the kind of thing he would take pleasure in forcing me to drink from."

  Valeria lifted the leather curtain. After the dimness of the interior, the sunlight nearly blinded her. She closed her eyes, then opened them gradually until they adjusted to the light. Distant mountains rose abruptly out of the flatness, almost as though God had punched his fist through the earth's surface without disturbing the surrounding land. They didn't form a chain but were scattered, breaking up this seemingly limitless, parched plain.

  Nowhere did she see any sign of shade. They hadn't crossed a single stream, creek, or wash containing a drop of water. Nor did she see any sign of animal life. If the native animals had forsaken this part of the Arizona Territory, how were people supposed to survive?

  She put her head out of the window and was able to see the wagons that went before and behind her coach, but not Luke. She pulled her head back inside and lowered the leather curtain.

  "He must be on your side," she said to Elvira. "Exchange places with me."

  Elvira stood up to allow Valeria to slide across the seat. The coach lurched, throwing Elvira into Hans's lap. Valeria couldn't decide who was more embarrassedHans, who blanched white, or Elvira, who plopped down in the seat next to her, red-faced, her gaze fixed on the floor of the coach.

  Valeria raised the leather curtain and stuck her head out. The landscape looked remarkably similar, with one exception. A belt of lush green meandered across the plain only a few hundred feet away. She didn't know the name of the tall trees with deep green leaves that rustled in the light breeze, but she thought they were incredibly beautiful. Trees meant shade. And water. The grass grew thicker, the bushes taller. The sight of a bird appearing momentarily above the trees before diving back into the shady coolness cheered her considerably. She didn't see Luke.

  "Stop the coach," she said to Hans. He pounded on the roof with his walking stick, but the coach continued to bump along. Repeated pounding did not good.

  "How do you stop a coach in America?" Valeria asked. "I don't know," Hans said.

  But Valeria knew who could stop it. She stuck her head through the window. She didn't see Luke. "Mr. Attmore." He might be the most obnoxious man in the world, but she couldn't believe he'd abandoned them. "Mr. Attmore!" she called again, more imperatively. Still, he didn't appear.

  She drew her head back inside. "He is the most insuffera
ble man, forcing us on this horrible journey, then leaving us to others."

  "I'm sure he's close by," Hans said. "I don't believe he's a man to take his obligations lightly."

  "He takes the rest of us very lightly indeed," said Otto, still angry over Luke's overpaying the landlord.

  Valeria sometimes wondered if the money Otto saved didn't manage to find its way into his pocket. "If he's here, I wish he would do me the courtesy of answering," she said.

  She stuck her head through the window again and came practically nose to nose with a horse. She jumped back with such force she nearly knocked Elvira off the seat.

  Luke leaned low in the saddle until the window framed his face. "Did you want something?"

  Valeria struggled to regain her composure. Even though she'd nearly been kissed by his horse, she didn't want Luke to know it had upset her.

  "Pull this coach into the shade of those trees," she said, pointing to the inviting belt of green. "We're hot and thirsty."

  "We're all hot and thirsty," Luke said. "We'll stop for a short rest in a couple of hours."

  His head disappeared from the window. His horse moved away from the coach. Valeria thrust her head out the window. "I want to stop now."

  He didn't come back toward the coach or even turn around. "Not getting what you want will be good for you," he said. "It'll get you in shape for life on your husband's ranch."

  It took a moment for what he'd said to penetrate. "You can't refuse to do what I ask!"

  He turned toward her. "Look, woman, I know you're not stupid, so don't act like it."

  "Don't you dare address me as woman! I am a princess."

  "We don't have princesses in this country," Luke said. "Fortunately for you, we don't cut their heads off, either. We just strip them of their titles. What do you want me to call you?"

  "You must address her as your highness," Hans said.

  "We don't do that, either. Do you want me to call you Valeria?"

  "You wouldn't presume," Hans said.

  Luke grinned. "You have no idea how much I can presume. How about Miss Badenberg?"

  ""The proper form of address would be Your Highness, the Princess of Badenberg," Hans said.

  "No more argument," Luke snapped. "I'm calling her Valeria. That's the end of it."

  "Then I'll call you Luke."

  "Good. If you're still thirsty, drink some of Hans's water. He was the only one sensible enough to come supplied with a canteen. If you'd looked out your train windows in Texas, New Mexico, or Arizona, you'd have known this place is as dry as a bone."

  "But we're following a river," Valeria objected. "There's plenty of water there."

  "You'd better hope so. With all these animals, we'll need barrels of it."

  He dug his spurs into his horse's flanks and rode off toward the head of the column.

  "He's not going to stop," she reported unnecessarily. "Apparently he doesn't consider our comfort of any importance."

  "It must be even hotter riding in the sun," Hans observed.

  "He's not human," Elvira said. "He can't be and have grown up with those savages."

  "They were adopted," Valeria reminded her maid.

  "I don't care. How could he go to sleep with them in the same room?"

  "I wondered the same thing," Valeria said. "But then I remembered the people we saw in Bonner, all kinds mixed together, and nobody appearing to notice the difference."

  "I would," Elvira insisted.

  "But Mr. Attmore-Luke-wouldn't, not if he'd been raised with Indians and black people." It was a strange notion. That would never have happened in her country, but after giving it some thought, she decided it might not be such a bad idea. It was certainly better than being afraid of everybody who was different.

  She doubted Rudolf would be as willing as Luke to accept people who weren't like him. She was curious to know how different people got along. Did most of them eat the same food, wear the same clothes? The people in Bonner hadn't eaten anything she could recognize. They certainly didn't dress like she did.

  She had heard many different languages from her window. She recognized French, German, and Italian, but there were others. She wondered how people of so many different nationalities had all ended up in Arizona. There must be something here that attracted them, kept them here, but she couldn't see what it was. If she had known what Arizona was like, she'd never have agreed to marry Rudolf.

  But then whom would she have married? There were no other men of suitable rank who weren't old, fat, and greedy for her money. There weren't any men like Luke Attmore in the aristocracy. There must have been back in the days when the ruling dynasties were no more than lusty young men dreaming of wealth and power. Over the centuries, that youthful vigor had been bred out of them, or bored out of them, or just drained away. There were no young men left who caused her heart to race, her blood to warm, her gaze to pause.

  She'd been taught to consider herself part of a special class of people, a class of such pure blood, so privileged, it would be impossible to think of marrying out of its ranks. Those who rebelled were shunned. Those who followed the rules were rewarded with wealth, power, privilege, position, and the comforting belief that they were the most favored of God's creatures.

  For a long time Valeria had accepted that belief without question. Even the revolution and the deaths of her parents hadn't entirely destroyed her faith in the system that had upheld her family for more than a hundred generations.

  The first man to ask for her hand had been a drunk, a womanizer, a gambler, a liar, and completely incapable of inspiring anything but disgust in Valeria. She felt fortunate to be marrying Rudolf, even if it meant coming to America. At least he was young and attractive. She had had every hope she would learn to feel admiration for him, if not affection.

  But that was before she met Luke Attmore.

  Even though she'd disliked him immediately, she now understood that she had also recognized in him the kind of man the founders of the house of Badenberg must have been. Except for his looks. If all the gloomy portraits that adorned the walls of the various palaces where she'd grown up were any proof, no one in her family could claim half the looks Luke Attmore possessed. After their first encounter, Valeria had tried to tell herself looks didn't matter, that nothing could compensate for a personality as cold and rude as Luke Attmore's.

  But she couldn't get him out of her mind.

  He'd held an entire town in his control, yet no one appeared to be afraid of him. He hadn't killed anyone or raised his voice. What was it about this man that caused everyone to pay such attention to what he wanted?

  The search for an answer plunged her so deep in thought she didn't notice that two hours had passed until the coach turned and headed toward the river. It came to a halt within a hundred feet of the dappled shade of those trees with the rustling leaves.

  "You have thirty minutes to rest," Luke announced. "Don't waste it sitting in the coach."

  Chapter Six

  Valeria didn't have to wait for him to open the door. Hans practically fell out of the coach, then scrambled to his feet to offer his assistance.

  "Next time you'd better let me do that," Luke said. "You're liable to break your leg. You wouldn't want me to have to set it for you."

  Hans blanched.

  Valeria knew Hans wasn't a man of physical strength or courage, but his loyalty was unquestionable. "At least he's a man of honor," she said to Luke.

  "I yield to no one in my admiration for Hans," Luke replied.

  Valeria didn't know what to make of that. As far as she could tell, Luke didn't respect or value anyone. "Please help Elvira down," she said to Hans. "She's suffering more than I am."

  "Then I'd better get you both in the shade as soon as possible," Luke said.

  Cactus unlike anything she'd seen until now and grass thicker than she'd seen since her train rolled out of San Antonio filled the space separating them from the shade. She couldn't possibly drag her skirts through all of
that.

  "What are you waiting for?" Luke asked.

  "I can't wade through all of that," she said, gesturing at the uneven ground and thorny vegetation.

  "Unless you come down off your high horse, you won't be able to leave that ranch house until they carry you out in a coffin," Luke grumbled. Then, without warning, he swept her up in his arms and started toward the trees.

  "Put me down!" Valeria cried.

  He put her down right between a towering cactus with several upstretched arms and a big bush covered in tiny, greenish-gray leaves and an unbelievable number of thorns.

  "I didn't mean here," she said.

  "You said to put you down. I did."

  "You shouldn't have picked me up."

  "I thought you wanted to reach the shade." "I do, but-"

  He swept her up and headed off again. "You've got to learn to say what you want the first time. Not everybody is going to stand around while you dither."

  "I suppose you mean yourself."

  "You're paying me to stand around."

  "I hadn't noticed you standing anywhere for more than a few seconds. Do you always snatch up women before they can make up their minds?"

  "No, just ex-princesses who don't like it. Most women out here can't wait to be snatched up. They can be the devil to get rid of."

  There was so much in that group of sentences to take exception to, she didn't know where to start. She waited

  too long and lost her advantage. They reached the trees, and he set her on her feet.

  "If I were you, I'd unbutton that dress and try to cool off. You can wade in the water if you like, but drink first. It's not so good once you stir up the mud."

  "I'm not going to drink that water," Valeria exclaimed.

  "What water are you going to drink?"

  Surely he couldn't expect her to drink from a river. The idea was revolting. "You must have a water barrel you filled before we left town."

  "It's on one of the wagons."