Luke's Runaway Bride. Kate Bridges

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.”

      Luke felt his neck flush with shame. Daniel probably made himself sound like a hero. He hadn’t helped all of them. Luke’s brothers were shipped off to another neighbor. But because Luke was only six, the youngest, he’d stayed with his ma. Scrubbing and cleaning and picking up after all the Kincaids. Wasn’t that why Daniel had nicknamed him “workin’ class boy”? Luke’s jaw stiffened at the memory.

      “I’m sorry,” Jenny said, glancing down at her hands, “I didn’t mean to make you sound…down and desperate.”

      He shrugged, pretending he didn’t care, and glanced at her friend. At least she was lowering the gun.

      Jenny stumbled behind him and worked at the ropes. “I’m Jenny Eriksen, and this here’s Olivia Gibson, my dear friend and housekeeper. Sorry we had to resort to these tactics, but we’re alone and this town’s full of men who…”

      The scent of her skin and faint perfume roused him. White powder floated onto his black denim pants. Powder?

      “Sorry,” she said, “it’s my hair.” She nervously wiped the powder off his muscled thigh. With her warm touch, he felt an awakening right down to his boots. Blushing, she slid behind him again. Her hot fingers played along his cool wrists.

      The ropes slackened as she continued talking. “No wonder you came to Daniel’s door. Who else would help you with your unfortunate injury but your best friend?”

      Hah! His best friend was the one who’d shot him. An accident, yes, as Luke had struggled to grab the derringer from Daniel, but the recollection made his blood pound. Daniel had ordered him out of the office, shrieking at him to shut his mouth about the kid. After the bullet exploded, Luke’s fury could barely be contained. He’d raged out into the street, determined to wash his hands of Daniel forever. They hadn’t spoken for years, and why not keep it that way?

      But once Luke had gotten back to the rail station, calmed down and bandaged his ribs, he’d realized he couldn’t walk away. Dammit, he couldn’t. If he did, what would happen to Adam?

      Luke’s last promise to Adam’s mother, Maria, was that he’d do the proper thing for the boy. A man’s word was everything.

      “There we go,” said Jenny. The knots released and Luke surged to his feet, the quick movement causing her to draw a sharp breath. He brushed against Jenny’s bare shoulder with his own naked one and tried to ignore the heat that trembled between them. Light-headed,