Luke's Runaway Bride. Kate Bridges

returned with a cloth and dabbed at her forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me you can’t ride?”

      “I didn’t have time.”

      He pushed his hat back. The sweat-dampened hair at his temples glistened in the sunshine. “It’s my fault, I should have asked. I’m sorry.”

      Finally, an apology for something. He kept dabbing. “You surprise me. A polished lady from the East, dressed in velvet, wearing imported perfume…yet you sure spit tacks. You don’t complain very much, do you? I mean, about sleeping in a pile of straw or at being thrown onto a horse when you don’t know how to ride.”

      She broke their intimate gaze. The words seemed harmless, but the sincerity in his eyes… He was sitting so close she could feel the breeze whisper off his skin. How did a man like him know her perfume was imported?

      How did she wind up this near to him? She squirmed away.

      “Hey, come back here, it’s almost cleaned up.” He moved closer, poured water from his canteen onto the cloth and wiped her forehead. When he looked into her eyes again, her pulse rushed like a waterfall.

      His gaze went lower, down to her quivering lips and then back up. A powerful awareness shot through her. He seemed different than he had last night. Gone was the hardened stranger and in his place was a compassionate man, rugged and appealing.

      “Let me help you to your feet.”

      “No, it’s all right…” She shouldn’t allow herself to be swayed. He was her captor and she was his prisoner.

      It was too late to stop him. Attempting to pull her up, he grasped her upper arms, but squeezed the sore one by mistake. She yelped.

      “You’re hurt.” He released her. His face creased with concern as his gaze skimmed over the jacket. “Where?”

      “My right arm.”

      “Let me check to see if it’s broken.”

      “No, please—”

      He was unbuttoning the sheepskin jacket before she could stop him, his warm hand grazing her shoulder, trailing down her bare arm. She tried to ignore his touch and the tingling sensations.

      “It’s not broken, thank God,” he said. His charcoal-gray eyes, flecked with cinnamon-brown, glistened as he looked at her. A knot tightened in her belly.

      His fingers slid from under the jacket, more of a caress than a withdrawal. His gaze slid down to her mouth.

      She knew it was coming, but in her mind she whispered No.

      She heard a shameless moan of surrender. Good grief, it was coming from her. She turned her face away so his lips couldn’t meet hers. His mouth grazed her earlobe instead, sending a shudder through her body.

      She thought turning away would stop him, but he kept going, hungrily kissing her jaw, skimming his lips along her throat. She gasped. No man had ever kissed her neck before, and his warm lips were as soft as butterflies. Although untouched, her nipples ached, as if he were teasing them with feathers.

      His lips tantalized her throat to the base of the hollow. In a rush of desire, she arched her neck. How would his demanding lips feel on hers?

      No. This was bad. This should stop.

      She tried to wrench away. He followed, not allowing a break. She gasped for air. “Please…”

      How would Daniel react to seeing her here? Shame tore at her. “No. I said no—”

      She ripped free, raised a palm and slapped him hard across the face. “I’m engaged to a man you call your friend.”

      He blinked. She watched the red stain of her handprint rise on his cheek. Who the hell did he think he was?

      Regret flitted across his face. He slid the jacket closed.

      With a shaky sigh, he turned away. “You have my word this won’t happen again. Button up. I’ll help you back on the horse. We’ve got miles to go.”

      There was no way in hell anyone was going to take advantage of Daniel Kincaid. Daniel bit off the tip of his fresh cigar and spat it into the dusty street. If he came within five feet of Luke McLintock, he guaranteed Luke wouldn’t rise from the dirt for days.

      Dressed in a freshly pressed worsted wool suit, silk vest, cravat and overcoat, he rubbed at the kink in his neck. Blazes, he needed a drink. He smacked his dry lips together and lit his stogy. His temples pounded from lack of sleep.

      What the hell was McLintock trying to prove?

      For cryin’ out loud, it was just a kid they were fighting over. A Mexican. And how did anyone know for sure who the father was? Might be anyone. Hell, it might be Luke.

      The only reason Daniel had paid that waitress, Maria, was because he’d been a sitting duck. It was her word against his, but she’d seemed content, and quieter, with two extra dollars in her pocket each month. He shouldn’t have given her that.

      If McLintock told Jenny anything about the boy, Daniel would deny every word.

      Was he expected to give up his life for this kid?

      His mouth twisted. Hellfire! If he knew Luke at all, Luke’d have the kid off his hands quicker than lightning. Luke didn’t want the boy any more than he did.

      Daniel gritted his teeth, chomping into the cigar. The bitter taste seeped across his tongue. Since when had Luke become so high and mighty? What had happened to the little squirt who used to follow Daniel around, mirroring his every step as if Daniel were a knight of the round table? Now Luke had proved he was no better than his lowly father.

      Cripes, if the bullet had struck an inch lower, McLintock would have dropped dead…

      A flash of sunlight blasted off the bank window into Daniel’s eyes. Squinting, he turned the corner.

      Blazes. The gun had gone off by accident. Was that why McLintock was doing this? To get even for the bullet graze? So what! McLintock had tried to grab the derringer out of his hand. So Daniel had let him have it! He wished now he’d pulled the trigger deliberately, and hadn’t weakened at the last minute.

      And yeah, he’d called the sheriff. McLintock needed to be thrown in jail. Anything to stop him from spreading a false rumor about the boy. Daniel’s shoulders stiffened. His fury yesterday was nothing compared to how he felt today.

      He reached the office door and thrust a gold key into the lock.

      “Mornin’, Mr. Kincaid, sir,” the night guard rumbled. A former boxer from New York City, Harley Cobbs scoured the street, on the lookout for anything unusual. Daniel had hired him three years ago, the minute he’d laid eyes on Harley’s face, which was as broad and gnarled as the trunk of a weathered pine. Daniel bet if you sliced his skin, you’d see the rings.

      “No trouble last night, sir. The office was quiet.”

      Daniel turned the knob and kicked the door. He already knew that. The trouble had already fled town, most likely by the quickest method available—the train. Reaching Cheyenne by horseback would take two to three days. “Tell the two other men I don’t need ’em anymore.”

      “You sure?”

      “Yeah.” No sense paying for extra security when it wasn’t necessary. Yesterday, he’d hired additional men to protect the office. He hadn’t thought of protecting Jenny, and knowing he’d been outwitted made him seethe. McLintock would pay.

      Stalking into his private office, Daniel scanned his morning appointments. It was up to him to make the next move. What else could McLintock do but sit and wait for a response?

      In the meantime, Daniel had to deal with Jenny’s father, Nyland Eriksen. Luckily the old geezer was out of town.

      What would Nyland say if he knew about the kid? Nyland wouldn’t give his daughter so freely. Daniel’s hands trembled