Luke's Runaway Bride

“I can’t keep you here against your will.

“Someone’s bound to get hurt. That’s not my intention at all.”

Her insides fluttered. “Will you play any more tricks?”

“No.” He said it with such honesty and compassion, but he looked so defeated standing there.

Her heart would not go out to him, she warned herself. “Can’t you see—” she pleaded, stepping closer. “Can’t you see? How am I supposed to know who to believe?”

Luke stepped closer. He lifted her hand, his unexpected touch sending a ripple cascading up her spine, and placed her palm over his heart. Then he flattened his own hand over hers. She felt the heat of his flesh beneath the cloth, the pounding of his blood.

“You’re not supposed to know it, you’re supposed to feel it.”

She withdrew her hand, feeling as if it had been singed in a flame….

Praise for KATE BRIDGES’S previous title

The Doctor’s Homecoming

“Dual romances, disarming characters and a lush landscape make first-time author Bridges’s late 19th-century romance a delightful read.”

—Publishers Weekly

“The great Montana setting and high Western action combine for a top-notch romantic ending.”

—Romantic Times

“Kate Bridges has penned an entertaining, heartwarming story that will live in your heart long after you turn the last page.”

—Romance Reviews Today

Luke’s Runaway Bride

Kate Bridges

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedicated to my dear friends Donna L. and Heather H.—thank you both for your encouragement, and your wonderful sense of humor.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter One

Denver, September 1873

Tall, rugged and dangerous. Who was he?

Jenny Eriksen spotted the stranger from across the deserted street. Her pulse strummed with awareness.

Silhouetted in moonlight, the stranger walked his bay past the golden cottonwoods near the livery stable, then past the newly painted hitching posts of the corner café. A rough block of square shoulders and long legs, the man moved with muscled control. With a gun belt slung low around his hips, his Stetson tugged over his brow, he was the type of man in this wild mining town Jenny tried to avoid. Especially since the robbery in Daniel’s office that afternoon.

For a moment, Jenny stopped breathing.

She had just stepped out of the crowded dance hall onto the boardwalk with her housekeeper. At first, she’d been relieved to escape the charity ball to run her delicate errand, but now Jenny wasn’t so sure. In the cool night breeze, she studied the wavy black hair and somber, clean-shaven face of the stranger.

Lord, he was handsome. But what set him apart from other men was his air of isolation, of danger. His long, deliberate stride and his easy, graceful movements commanded obedience. Definitely a man who’d never interest her. She preferred…a milder man, who thought with his head and not his hands. A man like her wonderful Daniel, her fiancé.

The wind danced across her bare shoulders and stirred her blue velvet sleeves. Familiar piano music floating through the air eased her tension, reminding her she was safe. She yanked her peacock-feather shawl tight against her gown.

“Six months in Denver,” she said, gulping perfume-scented air, “and I’m still not used to seeing strangers wearing guns.”

Beside her, Olivia’s satin skirts rustled. Dressed in pleated burgundy, the pretty dark woman peered up at Jenny. “At least in Boston, the men conceal them.”

Stepping from the boardwalk onto the rutted path, Jenny watched the stranger disappear down an alley. She brushed him from her thoughts. Glancing up at the quarter moon, she relaxed and smiled. Tonight at the ball, Daniel had formally announced their engagement, and she wanted to waltz with excitement.

In four short months, she’d be Mrs. Daniel Kincaid. She was such a lucky woman. Wasn’t it Daniel himself who’d organized this fine charity event? Such a kind, loving man. Her father was right in his arrangement, after all.

Two months wasn’t a long time from first meeting to engagement, she admitted, but she shouldn’t worry. She and Daniel had a solid base of companionship, and love and passion would grow from there. Marriage and children were what she’d always wanted.

Olivia adjusted her fringed wrap. “Did you tell Daniel where we’re headed?”

“I tried, but he was talking to the banker and his wife, getting a big donation. I couldn’t very well approach them with my bodice gaping open.” With good humor, Jenny glanced down at the space where her button used to be, and pulled her shawl tighter. Her beaded bag dangled at her wrist.

“But we should tell someone—”

“If one more person sees my dress like this, I’ll die of shame. Daniel’s house is just around the corner. His butler couldn’t leave the ball because he was serving drinks at the bar, but he told me where he keeps the sewing basket. He also gave me the key.”

“Well…the fresh air’s nice. My eyes are waterin’ from the cigar smoke, and my nose…” Olivia, more of a sister than a housekeeper, chattered on in her usual lively manner, in a voice that had soothed Jenny since they were children.

Jenny yanked at the tight curls pinned on top of her head, wishing she’d arranged her hair in her usual beaver tail. She agreed with the elderly Windsor sisters next door—her hair was as straight and thin as a plank—but why had she allowed them to curl and powder it? Powder hadn’t been used for decades!

Well, because it was the first time in two weeks, since the loss of their beloved cat, that Jenny had seen the two sisters smile. She hadn’t the heart to refuse their offer.

Thank you kindly, but no. She had to practice saying those words more often.

They turned the corner, passing massive stone-and-cedar houses. Petticoats swished around their ankles. Tomorrow, Jenny would rise early. Her crate of bridal fabrics had finally arrived from the East, and she was itching to cut her wedding corset. In Boston, her late grandmother had taught her how to sew the finest undergarments—“lingerie,” the French called it—and it still gave Jenny such pleasure.

Too bad she wasn’t able to convince Daniel a lingerie store would be appropriate for a woman of her stature, even though it had been her dream since she was fourteen. When would he decide on the type of store he did consider appropriate?

Her father and brothers hadn’t needed anyone’s permission to plan their dreams when they’d decided as a family to move West. Why did she? Even Denver bankers had refused her loan requests, because she was a woman on her own. She still knew that newspaper clipping by heart—“Store owners needed in Denver. Plenty of opportunities for men and women”—and she ached for the challenge.

A train rumbled through the foothills, scattering her thoughts. As Olivia chattered on, Jenny glanced up through the trees.

She spotted him again and lightning bolted through her.

The same tall stranger. Wide shoulders and a massive frame, leaning on Daniel’s porch. What did he want?

He wasn’t looking at them. instead he pressed a bulky hand to his shoulder, and his suede jacket fell open. His white shirt was soaked with a spreading stain of blood.

Her heart jumped madly. Instinctively, she stepped toward him. He needed help.

But if she had a lick of sense, she’d turn around and run. As her footsteps slowed, his head came up. She heard a jingle of spurs. He gazed at her, level and bold, as if he had every right to be here. Her muscles quaked.

Apparently, Olivia hadn’t noticed him. “…And so I answered, ‘Oui, monsieur,’ and he was sure surprised to hear me speaking French. Couldn’t imagine, he said, my folks being runaway slaves. My, it’s cool—”

“Olivia,” Jenny whispered, “look at the porch.”

Her friend came to a stop and grimaced in dismay. “Sweet stars above! Let’s get out of here.”

She tugged at Jenny’s sleeve, jiggling the feathers, but Jenny stayed put. If the man had wanted to attack them, he could have done it already. “He’s injured. He needs help.”

“Are you out of your mind? He looks dangerous! And you don’t always have to be the one—”

“He must know Daniel. He must be a friend. Why else would he be on the porch?”

“Maybe he’s the robber!”

Jenny swallowed, trying to control her fear, wishing Daniel had given her more details about the robbery instead of worrying he’d frighten her. “The sheriff’s looking for the culprit, and the guilty man wouldn’t be so foolish to stand right on Daniel’s porch.”

“We ought to run in the other direction. Bad things always come in threes, and this is the third thing today.”

Jenny’s gloved fingers tightened around her shawl. “That’s an old wives’ tale.”

“You know you believe it. Ever since your shoelace broke this morning, you’ve had a run of bad luck. First the robbery, then your button. Poppin’ off right in front of the entire church committee, I might add, exposin’ more flesh than any of ’em has seen in the last decade. Now this.” She motioned to the stranger. “Let’s not get attacked by a lunatic!”

Jenny drew a clipped breath. He was much bigger than they were. “You’re right, let’s go back and get the men.”

The stranger slumped forward, apparently in pain.

Compassion surged through her. “Are you…are you all right?” she called out.

Olivia gasped. “Jenny, don’t talk to him.”

He stood up, a tall dark figure in the shadows, swaying on his feet. “I’ll be fine. I was…hoping for someone else. Looks like he’s not coming.”

Her voice wavered. “You need a doctor. Who are you?”

He staggered toward the side of the house, to the iron rings that studded the twisted cottonwood where he’d tied his horse. “I’ll be heading out,” he said, not bothering to give his name.

“Are you waiting for Daniel Kincaid?”

The stranger spun in her direction. He peered at her in potent silence. “Who’s asking?”

Her stomach rose and fell. “I’m—I’m his fiancée. I could tell you where he is, but you really should see a doctor. Most of them are at the charity ball. You can see the lights through the trees.” She pointed. “We’ll show you the way.”

“We will not,” Olivia squeaked.

Jenny scowled. “He might be bleeding to death.”

“His fiancée,” the man repeated, stumbling to his horse. In the streaky moonlight, Jenny caught the look of disgust that rippled across his face.

A tremble ran down her spine. Who in blazes was this man? Why was he snarling at the fact that Daniel had a fiancée? Daniel—her beloved, her protector. And hadn’t she just decided, five minutes ago, she should learn to say no? Someone else could help this man. She inched back and signaled Olivia it was time to run.

She was about to spin away when the stranger placed his foot in the stirrup. Instead of swinging up, he staggered back and fell into the dirt. A moan escaped his lips.

Jenny’s breath caught. The man was truly injured.

As still as a boulder, he didn’t rise.

She couldn’t abandon a wounded man. She flung the gate open and dashed to his side.

Her friend shrieked. “We’ll get beaten!”

“Hush, Olivia, he’s unconscious. Come here and help me.”

Jenny knelt at his side. His hat had fallen off. A breeze billowed between them, lifting black hair off the handsome curves of his face. Light glimmered from the lamppost and caught his chin. A threadlike scar ran from his left ear to beneath his jaw, as if someone had once tried to slit his throat. Jenny gasped. Controlling her shaking fingers, she lifted his shirt. The bandage around his ribs oozed fresh blood. How much pain was he in? Could she help him without endangering herself or Olivia? Living alone as he did, Daniel only required the services of one hired man, and he was at the ball. The house was empty.

Olivia’s cloth boots crunched in the dirt beside her.

Jenny clawed her hands underneath his shoulders, groaning under the weight. “Help me get him into the house.”

“What if he tries to have his way with us?”

“He’s in no condition to attack us.”

Olivia picked up a chunky rock. “Should I hit him over the head to keep him that way?”

“No. Grab his legs and help me drag him in.”

In a back recess of his mind, Luke McLintock registered the faint scent of perfume. He stirred.

Regaining consciousness, but still dazed from pain, Luke slowly opened his heavy lids. Where was he? His blurry vision focused. A woman was leaning over him. One cameo button—the top one—was missing from her gown, and for a blissful, groggy moment, Luke was sure he’d died and entered the pearly gates of male heaven.

Intrigued, he stared at the glorious vision of creamy cleavage. The stickpin she’d apparently tried to fix it with still pierced one side of the gaping blue velvet, and beneath it all, her lavender lace corset—a color he’d never seen before in a corset—strained to contain her curves. He held his breath, anticipating, hoping, her cups would soon runneth over.

Then pain hammered through his right side, reminding him he wasn’t in heaven. He was slumped in a leather chair, stripped from the waist up, while she wrapped gauze around his ribs. Cool air surged across his hair-matted chest. Where was he? Lying still, he eyed the room from beneath her dancing blue velvet sleeve.

Two kerosene lamps lit the well-to-do office. Cherry-wood paneling, rawhide sofa and chairs, silver-framed photographs—it contained all the trinkets an up-and-coming land developer could afford.

Daniel’s house. But since the bastard wasn’t home, there was no reason for Luke to stay. Besides, he had a man waiting for him at the rail station. But he’d return to haul Daniel back to Cheyenne. After what had happened between them today, Luke sure as hell would. He shifted on the plush leather. Dammit, his hands were tied behind his back!

He yanked hard on the ropes and cursed. The blonde jumped away from his heaving body, clutching a pair of silver scissors. Strands of long golden hair loosened from her upswept arrangement 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, he staggered back. He hadn’t lost that much blood, but due to the day’s chaotic events, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. He rubbed his sore wrist, then held out a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

She reached out and their hot palms met. His stomach shuddered with the contact. She was Daniel’s, Luke reminded himself. His jaw tensed. He cleared his throat, forced himself to drop her hand, and looked away.

He watched Olivia slide his gun back into its holster. First chance he got, he’d snatch it back. For some reason, a rock lay on the desktop, and she stared at it in a peculiar way.

“I suppose,” said Olivia, swinging around, “if you’re Daniel’s—” She lowered her lashes. “I mean if you’re Mr. Daniel’s friend, I should do my duty and put together a tray of refreshments. Looks like you could use a bite to eat.” The housekeeper eyed him like a cat eyeing a spider, and he twisted under the scrutiny. “Wait here, s’il vous plaît.”

“Much obliged.” When she disappeared behind the ornately carved door, he turned to Jenny. “You two speak French?”

The mountain of curls on her head jiggled. Jenny’s smile was slightly crooked, but somehow balanced her lopsided brow and single dimple, and held his attention more than it ought to. Altogether her face made a captivating composition.

“Olivia’s teaching me a few words. She lost her folks when she was a baby, and just discovered they came from New Orleans.” Walking to the desk, Jenny replaced the scissors. “Olivia’s become enamored with everything from Louisiana. The language, Creole cooking…”

He splayed a palm over his bandaged ribs and Jenny trailed off into a sudden, uncomfortable silence. She lowered her gaze to his chest, and he saw her swallow. He couldn’t help but lower his eyes to her bountiful assets. Her pin had come undone again, exposing creamy rounds. His heart thudded and he wondered if his wound was making him feverish, or the woman.