Slow Hand Luke. Debbi Rawlins

his hard-drinking days. When he’d been too young and too stupid and spent too much money on flashy cars and even flashier women. Luckily, those days were gone, but so was a lot of his money. Friggin’ idiot that he was.

      Finally, he’d gotten his act together. He’d actually managed to save his last three winnings. And then this mess with Seabrook. Stupid bastard. Ready to ruin another man’s reputation over his damn pride. Luke wondered how much pride a man actually had when he was willing to do something low-down dirty like that.

      It didn’t matter. Seabrook was angry, and Luke doubted he’d let up soon. Which meant if Luke didn’t get to Joanne and straighten this mess out in the next two weeks, he’d miss the Houston rodeo. Even second place offered a big enough purse that he’d have the money to put down on that sweet spread outside of San Antonio. With his savings, he’d buy horses and cattle. But only if his shoulder held out.

      A damn big if.

      The aroma of brewing coffee seeped into the room, and he stopped rubbing his cock long enough to check the time again. Only five minutes had passed. But it was past time to get up. First a shower, and then he’d find his way to the kitchen for some of that coffee.

      He swung his legs out of bed and, before his feet hit the floor, the ache started. Both shoulders, his lower back, his thighs. Too many fractures and broken bones. Thirty-three and he felt like he was seventy-three. But he couldn’t quit yet. No matter what the doctors said.

      

      H E LIMPED BADLY, probably should have been using a cane. From the kitchen window, Annie watched Chester, shoulders stooped and holding a pail in each hand, come from the barn toward the house. Her heart broke with every uneven step he took. He’d already looked old the last time she’d been here, and that had been a long time ago; there had always been something more important going on in her life than visiting her aging aunt.

      Annie sniffed, and blinked a couple of times. She wasn’t one to get emotional, but guilt had a way of obliterating her defenses. Looking away, she got out another mug and the small pitcher of cream Aunt Marjorie always kept in the refrigerator. Annie specifically remembered that Chester used cream. He’d always drank his coffee nearly white and sickeningly sweet.

      After a brief knock at the door, Chester came in. He grinned wide, a lower tooth missing, which had been gone forever. “Hi, honey,” he said, and put down the pails. “You’re looking pretty as ever.”

      “And I see you still need glasses.” She went into his open arms and hugged his thin body. He’d lost a lot of weight since she’d seen him last but, remarkably, his hair was still more red than gray. “It’s good to see you, Chester.”

      He still smelled like fresh cut hay.

      “Good to see you, too, missy. Been a long while.”

      “Yes, I know.” Her face flushed. “Too long. Come sit and have a cup of coffee.”

      “Don’t mind if I do.” He limped across the aged yellow linoleum floor and removed his battered brown hat before sitting down at the table. “Not that I ain’t happy to see you, but I told Marjorie she didn’t need to call and bother you. It’s not like Marjorie’s any help when she’s here.”

      Annie swallowed hard. “Has she been sick long?”

      “What?” Chester’s bushy eyebrows drew together. “Oh, I just meant that she’s too busy being bossy to get any real work done.”

      “Ah. Well, that’s good.” Smiling to herself, she brought two mugs of coffee to the table.

      “Ain’t nothing good about it. How’s a man supposed to get any peace and quiet while he’s getting his chores done?”

      “If you want peace and quiet, Chester, why aren’t you retired?”

      Snorting, he made a face. “That’s for city folks.” After dumping three large teaspoonfuls of sugar into his coffee, he took an appreciative sip. “Whose truck is that you’re driving?”

      She’d almost forgotten about the man down the hall. How that was possible was beyond her comprehension, since it had taken her over an hour to fall asleep last night, even though she was dead on her feet. “Do you know a Luke McCall?”

      Chester’s weathered face creased in a frown. “Luke? Yeah, I know the boy. Fritz McCall’s grandson. Ain’t seen him in a good long while. Why are you asking?”

      “He’s here.” She tilted her head toward the bedrooms. “It’s his truck.”

      Chester’s mouth dropped open, his gaze went to the empty hallway. “Luke is here?”

      She nodded. “I landed my rental car in a ditch last night. I was lucky he came along when he did.”

      “Luke is here,” he repeated, his grin growing wider. “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. Where is that son of a gun?”

      “Still sleeping, I think.”

      Chester absently shook his head. A faraway look came into his watery blue eyes and his smile faded. “Wish he could’ve made it to his granddad’s funeral. I figure he didn’t come on account of his mother. Dang shame, though.”

      Annie was dying to know what Chester meant, but she kept her mouth shut because she didn’t like anyone nosing around her personal business, either. She only smiled and sipped her coffee.

      “He say why he’s here?” Chester asked.

      “He has some kind of business to tend to. Plus, he’s between jobs.”

      Chester looked confused for a moment, and then let out a howl. “Between jobs, is he?”

      “That’s what he said.” What was the big joke? The more he laughed, the more annoyed she became. “What am I missing here?”

      “You old goat. Thought they’d put you out to pasture by now.”

      At the sound of Luke’s voice, they both turned. His hair still damp, he wore jeans that rode low on his hips, no shirt, and a white towel draped around his neck.

      Chester pushed up from the table with impressive ease and speed. “You come here and smart mouth me, boy.”

      The two men embraced, giving each other a quick hug, before standing back to eye each other. “You look good, you old coot,” Luke said. “Mrs. W. seems to be taking good care of you.”

      Chester grunted. “The woman never could cook.” He slid a sheepish look at Annie. “Beggin’ your pardon, Annie.”

      She shrugged. “You’re right. She cooks everything to mush.”

      Ironically, for years Annie thought her aunt was the greatest cook in the world. Easy assumption since the rest of the year she mostly ate peanut butter sandwiches because that was something a seven-year-old could make for herself. The real treat was when her father brought home fast food. Always cold because he’d inevitably stop at the racetrack on the way home, but at least it was something her daddy had brought her and she’d gobbled it down as if every bite was an expression of his love. Foolish child that she’d been.

      Chester looked hopefully at Annie. “I don’t suppose you know how to cook.”

      “Breakfast I can handle.”

      “I brought in fresh eggs,” he said, indicating the pail he’d left at the door. “I know Marjorie always keeps ham steak and bacon in the ice box or the freezer.”

      “How about you?” she asked, looking at Luke, though trying really hard not to stare at his bare chest. With the sun streaming in through the kitchen window, his incredible blue eyes shone like sapphires. “Hungry?”

      “I could eat.” He gave her one of those heart-stopping grins that made her question the wisdom of having him stay here in the house. “I’ll make toast.”

      “Okay, then after breakfast how about we go get my car?”