Slow Hand Luke

What he couldn’t figure out was why Joanne stayed with that nasty piece of lard. Yeah, he had money, but she was a mighty fine looking woman and half his age. She could find another sugar daddy over in Dallas. A woman like that would be taken care of for a long time if she was so inclined.

Another mosquito buzzed close to his ear. He swatted at it, slapping the back of his sunburned neck too hard. “Son of a bitch.” He stared through the trees toward the highway. Couldn’t see a damn thing. Twenty minutes ago he’d seen headlights, but it must have been a wrong turn. Besides, the lights were high and wide like a truck’s, not like McCall’s flashy red Corvette.

Jethro stretched out his legs and slid lower in the seat so that the back of his head hit the headrest. If McCall didn’t show up tonight or early tomorrow morning, Jethro’s guess was that the guy had hopped a plane in Dallas. If Jethro had stolen a million dollars, that’s what he would’ve done. Get the hell out of Dodge, pronto. The only reason he was sitting in this crummy place at all was on account of Seabrook’s stubborn belief that McCall wouldn’t leave the state. Or the county, for that matter.

The whole thing just didn’t add up. Seabrook was president of the stockmen’s association that put up rodeo prize money. Luke McCall was one of the top bull riders in the country. Over his career, he’d earned over a million dollars and, as long in the tooth as that ole boy was getting, he was still riding. More than likely he would’ve taken a nice chunk of that prize money at next month’s rodeo. So why steal the mil? And what had he been doing at Seabrook’s ranch anyway?

There was no love lost between those two. Not since the Fourth of July two years ago, when Seabrook spooked Luke’s horse real bad right before the rodeo started. Some folks thought the old man had done it on purpose. If Luke had hurt himself he wouldn’t have ridden that big mean Samson. Staying on that Brahma bull for a record time ended up winning Luke a fifty-thousand-dollar purse.

Still, that missing money didn’t mean anything to Seabrook. Only a portion of it was his contribution to the stockmen’s association and it wasn’t out of the goodness of their hearts they put up the prize money. It was all promotion. They got back large returns that made blowhards like Seabrook millionaires.

Maybe Luke grabbed the cash to get even with Seabrook. Although that didn’t seem like McCall’s style. Or maybe he just wanted to make Seabrook sweat for a while. The old man was obviously embarrassed. That’s why he wanted the whole mess kept under wraps.

Jethro adjusted his hat to partially cover his eyes but still allow him to see if any headlights appeared. Seabrook had offered to square his debt if he brought Luke back and, no matter what their beef, that’s exactly what Jethro aimed to do.

W ELL, HE DIDN’ T RUN, but he sure looked as if he wanted to. Annie poured herself a second glass of juice. Her mouth had gotten so dry it felt as if her tongue had swollen. “You want another one?”

Luke shook his head. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go get a beer out of my cooler.”

“Knock yourself out.” She’d bet next month’s rent that he’d get in his truck and she’d never see him again. The horrified look on his face when she told him she was a cop took first place as far as reactions went.

“Want one?”

“Sure.” She waited until he got to the back door and said, “You forgot your hat.”

He turned and stared at it for a moment, and then his eyes met hers and his mouth curved up on one side. “I didn’t forget it.”

She watched him leave, and then she moved to the window to watch him walk to his truck. Yeah, he made a great picture with his long legs and snug-fitting jeans. Broad shoulders, for which she was a hopeless sucker, that tapered to a narrow waist made him look like he should be in a commercial.

She was equally interested in the way he walked. His long leisurely strides told her more about the man than he had himself. It was her job to study people, to understand the small quirks or habits that gave them away. So far, Luke had shown her two things: confidence and compassion, an interesting combination in a male ego. Healthy certainly, but really surprising at his age and the way he looked.

He had to be in his early thirties, and had to receive oodles of female attention. Probably got by on charm more than anything else. He certainly wasn’t lacking in that department. Even though Annie hated gratuitous endearments, she knew enough women who ate them up.

Tomorrow she’d have to ask Aunt Marjorie about him, or even ask Chester for that matter. She’d left the barn door wide-open already, as they’d say around here. She knew well enough she wouldn’t sleep soundly with this guy in the next room. She trusted her instinct but she’d be foolish not to be a bit apprehensive.

He turned back toward the house, and she ducked away from the window, grabbed their glasses and rinsed them out. She waited until she heard him set something on the table before she turned around. He’d brought in the entire cooler, which made sense, but it was still a little weird. She’d just met him and he was practically moving in.

“I figured I ought to put this food in the refrigerator. Can’t let it go bad. We might have to live on ham sandwiches for a while.”

“With white bread, I bet.”

“Is there any other kind?” He winked at her, and then pulled packages of cold cuts out of the cooler and deposited them into the refrigerator.

She watched him stack everything neatly on the second shelf, leaving room for the beer and a quart of milk. She thought about offering to help, but it was much more fun watching the way his shirt stretched across his back as he moved and how the soft faded denim molded his perfect ass.

His legs were long and, even without the inch heels on his cowboy boots, he was tall. Well over six feet for sure, since she was five-seven and only came up to his shoulders.

He kept out two beers. After opening them both, he handed one to her. She took it, even though she wasn’t crazy about beer. Rarely did she drink alcohol, and when she did it was some sweet frothy concoction that the guys at the precinct called a girly drink.

“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Luke asked after taking a long pull.

“Get my car out.”

“Right. First thing.”

“Talk to Chester about repairs.”

Luke pulled out a kitchen chair for her. “Don’t count on him being much help. He’s always had a bum leg and, at his age—” he shook his head “—the guy shouldn’t be doing too much.”

“Yeah, I know.” She sat down, exhaustion suddenly saturating her limbs. Not only was it late, but her body was still on East Coast time.

He took the seat across from her and leaned both elbows on the table. “He can help us figure out where the repairs are most needed and what kind of supplies are stored before we buy anything.”

She’d just paid off a chunk of her credit card so she was good in that department. Of course, she had no idea how much wood and paint and fencing and those sorts of things cost. If she maxed out her credit card, she didn’t care. Even that wouldn’t erase the guilt she felt for accepting the tuition money.

Annie shifted positions trying to get comfortable and bumped his leg. “Sorry.”

They both moved to get out of the way at the same time and bumped legs again.

Luke gave her a lopsided smile. “You keep flirting with me like this, I’ll start calling you darlin’ again.”

“I have a gun and I know how to use it.”

“Now you’re getting me excited.”

She laughed. “You’re one sick puppy.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Deservedly?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said matter-of-factly, and tipped the beer to his lips. Setting the bottle back on the table, he jerked and winced. His sharp intake of breath ended with a mild oath.

“What’s wrong?”

He gingerly rolled his shoulder. “Got a bad bruise.”

“A bruise?”

“From a fall.”

She didn’t say anything, just watched him probe his shoulder. A bruise wouldn’t cause that much pain. Maybe he didn’t want to tell her what had happened. Maybe she should start worrying.

He sighed. “You know what a rodeo is?”

“Of course.”

He started to unbutton his shirt. “Let’s say I met a bull more ornery than me.”

Each unfastened button exposed more smooth golden brown skin. “What are you doing?”

He undid the last button and shrugged the shirt off his left shoulder. “The doc gave me some ointment that helps with the stiffness.” He got a small tube out of the duffel bag beside the cooler and uncapped it. “I’ve dislocated it twice now and tore some ligaments last year, so now it acts up every once in a while.”

“Should you have been carrying all that stuff?” she asked, nudging her chin toward the cooler, but unable to drag her gaze away from his chest.

“It didn’t hurt then.”

“Are you twelve?” Her gaze stalled on his belly where the hair arrowed downward, and then slid to the bulk behind his fly. Definitely not twelve.

Smiling, he squeezed the white goop onto his palm. When he stretched his arm across his chest to reach the back of his shoulder, he grimaced, the pain tightening his features.

“Here.” She scooped the ointment from his palm onto hers and stood behind him. After rubbing her palms together to warm them, she gently slid them across his back.

He tensed.

She withdrew.

“Don’t stop.”

“Tell me if I hurt you.”

“I promise to cry like a baby.”

She smiled and slid her palms over hard muscle and smooth skin. Wow, he was perfect. Too perfect. Her nipples tightened. She bit her lower lip, and slowly worked her fingers around his shoulder blades.

He moaned. Not like he was hurt. More like how she felt: damp between the thighs, her mouth dry as cotton. When her hands started to shake, she stepped back until he was out of reach.

Luke looked over his shoulder at her.

“Good night,” she murmured, and took off down the hall.

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