The Maverick

Of course it hadn’t been Sophie. He was a jackass for doubting her on that count. He’d been so blinded by jealousy over reports of Sophie’s swift recovery from their love affair that he’d believed without proof the gossip that claimed she’d served up the Mustangs to the authorities.

He cursed. Even if she had cracked under interrogation, could he blame her? She’d been seventeen, alone and abandoned—by him. The fault had been his, no other’s.

Face it, man. He stared at the lacy upper branches of a tall cottonwood tree, the only thing he could see from the window besides the sky. The leaves shook like coins in the gilding rays of the setting sun. You acted like a first-class heel. A selfish hothead. A coward.

It was no big surprise, then, that Sophie wanted nothing to do with him aside from his arrest.

Deputy Boone Barzinski was absently studying the uneaten dessert on Luke’s tray. “Sophie Ryan…” he mulled in response to Luke’s request. The redheaded deputy scooped up a dollop of bread pudding with his forefinger.

Luke made fists around the iron bars of his cage. “How long has she been a deputy?” He was beginning to wonder how much of Heath’s secondhand information was accurate.

“Oh, well, now…” Boone licked his finger. He seemed good-natured, but not the sharpest tack in the hardware store. “Maybe four years. No, five. Or six?”

“She’s unmarried?”

“Yep. I mean, nope. She’s not married.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “Boyfriend?”

Boone colored; Luke discerned that the deputy had a crush on Sophie. “Uhh, I think she’s…unattached,” he mumbled.

“She’s got a son.”

“Well, you know.” Boone’s glance skipped across the congealed contents of the supper tray. He lowered his voice. “An unwed mother. Nowadays these things happen even to good girls, am I right?”

“Good girls?” Heath—Luke’s main contact in Treetop for more than a decade—had said that Sophie’s inclinations had leaned rather drastically in the opposite direction.

“Saint Sophie—that’s what some of the guys in the department call her. Because she doesn’t…you know. Uh, share her favors. She hardly even dates.” Boone’s brows arched up a high forehead bisected by a horizontal tan line. “They say she’s practically a nun, even though there’s, well, her son and all as evidence of, uh, whatever. I dunno. I was hired only last year, so I couldn’t actually say…”

Luke stared—hard. His knuckles were stark white. “How old is Sophie’s son?”

Boone blinked nervously under the scrutiny. He waggled his head back and forth, as if silently counting with each nod. “Junior high age, I guess. Joe’s a good boy. Plays guard on the basketball team. Sophie’s awful proud of him.”

“Twelve?” Luke asked sharply. “Thirteen? That old?”

“Maybe.”

“And what about the father?”

Remembering his professional capacity, Boone drew back, squaring his sloping shoulders in the taupe deputy’s uniform. “Uh, say, what do you care anyhow?” His color deepened, turning even the pale half of his forehead pink. “Sophie doesn’t put up with loose talk. She’d have my hide if she knew I’d gone and blabbed—”

“No harm done.” Luke stepped back from the bars. “Sophie and I used to be friends. I was wondering how she’s been doing, that’s all.”

“Oh. Right.” Recognition—and something more—flared in the deputy’s eyes. “You’re the one who—” Boone slammed shut his mouth. “Er, uh, okay. You set for the night? Sure you don’t want to make a phone call? We got lights out at ten.”

You’re the one who— The unfinished statement was jangling in Luke’s head like a fire alarm, but he nodded and drew further back into his cell. When Deputy Barzinski returned an hour later to put out the lights Luke was still standing in the same place, silent but alert, his eyes on the narrow rectangle of indigo sky.

Sophie, he repeated to himself. Sophie…

He was the one who—what?

JUDGE HARRIET ENTWHISTLE prided herself on being eccentric and independent, as well as tough. She ran her court her way and hang what the judicial review board had to say. There were cases where a woman’s good sense had to overrule the guidelines thought up by city folk who, when it came right down to it, knew beans about country-style justice.

The particulars of the bail hearing of Mr. Lucas Salinger—fugitive, notorious hometown boy, grandson of the judge’s favorite canasta partner—had convinced Harriet that this was such a case. Her quandary was how to adequately satisfy what was one of the participants’ most unusual need for personal justice with what the law demanded.

“Let me see if my poor ole brain’s got this straight,” the judge said, glaring from the bench at the assorted players, not out of any actual ire, but just on general principles. “The injured party in this case, Sampson and Devore, Attorneys-at-Law, have been out of business for eight years, and they never wanted to press charges in the first place. Oddly enough.” Lucas money had passed hands there, she’d wager. “Mr. Salinger—” the judge regarded the leather-clad defendant sourly “—skipped town before he could be fully questioned. Our good sheriff seems disinclined to reopen the investigation.” Sheriff Ed Warren bobbed up, smiling like a politician. “For reasons that fail me,” Judge Entwhistle intoned, and the sheriff dropped down again, his smile gone stale as day-old doughnuts. “However, the charges against Mr. Salinger were never officially dropped, leading Deputy Sophie Ryan to make an arrest when Mr. Salinger reappeared in town.”

Judge Entwhistle paused to scan the arrest report, neatly filled in by Deputy Ryan, whom the judge was prepared to favor above the rest of the yahoos standing before her. Sophie Ryan had testified in the circuit court many times. She was always respectful, well-prepared and honest, unlike some of the law enforcement personnel, who were so puffed-up with machismo they thought a starched uniform and a sidearm were enough to persuade even a judge to their point of view. Nevertheless…

Mary Lucas had asked for leniency, and Mary did know how to play a mean game of canasta.

The judge looked up. Every eye in the courtroom was trained on her face, which put her in a better mood. “And finally, we have the prosecutor—” the fresh-out-of-law-school pipsqueak brightened expectantly “—who also is disinclined to prosecute the case, considering the time span and Mr. Salinger’s clean record and gainful employment thereafter. Is that right?”

The prosecutor agreed.

Judge Entwhistle addressed Luke Salinger. “I’m of a mind to see that you get what you have coming to you, young man, fourteen years too late or not.” She scrutinized the defendant, trying to decide if he was as lawless as the case signified or merely temporarily misguided, as according to Mary Lucas.

After a nice, lengthy silence, the judge cleared her throat. “Which leads to my ruling. I’ve decided to continue this case indefinitely. In the meantime, Mr. Salinger, you’re free to go.” The judge tapped her gavel at the sudden rise of chatter. “However,” she said heavily, silencing the courtroom, “I also intend to keep you under close supervision, Mr. Salinger.” She twitched a scolding finger, deciding to take a left turn off the rule book. “As a matter of fact, I do believe it would be wise to appoint a watchdog to see that you behave yourself. By order of this court, I place Mr. Lucas Salinger under the charge of—”

Mary Lucas set her cane and rose from her seat in the first row, a proud, tall, gaunt figure in a Western-cut business suit.

“—Deputy Sophie Ryan,” the judge finished with a flourish.

A collective gasp rose from the crowd. Several mouths dropped open in shock, including Sophie’s. Judge Entwhistle favored the young deputy with a woman-to-avenging-woman smile. “Deputy Ryan will see that you pay for your crimes, Mr. Salinger. I wish you both the best of luck.” A satisfying smash of the gavel. “And that’s all she wrote, people. Court is adjourned.”

CHAPTER FOUR

MARY LUCAS STABBED HER CANE against the marble floor. “Of all the foolish notions!”

A small smile flickered across Luke’s face. He’d completed the paperwork of his official release to find his grandmother waiting for him outside the courtroom doors and Deputy Sophie Ryan set like a guard dog near the exit at the other end of the hall. In between were a surprising number of townspeople, some of them friends, many of them busybodies, all of them loitering to see firsthand what would happen next.

Which was why Luke smiled. One glance at Sophie and he knew what was going to happen next—something he’d been waiting to do for fourteen years.

“I’m certain our lawyer can handle the situation,” Mary continued. She cast her grandson a sharp look. “If you had called, I might have heard about your unfortunate incarceration in time to deal with it properly.”

“I’m sorry, Grandmother. I would have called, but I didn’t want to involve you.” Luke—he’d been named after his mother’s side of the family—bent slightly to kiss the old woman’s cheek. She held herself stiffly and gave an abrupt “Harrumph,” but her stern bluish-gray eyes had suddenly developed a softening sheen.

Luke stroked a hand between her shoulder blades, reassuring himself that she was okay. He’d expected that in her late seventies his grandmother would have become noticeably older, but other than the cockeyed gait that precipitated the cane, she was the same tall, spare, tough old bird that she’d always been. Of course, she was not the type to give in without a fight, not even to old age.

Mary looked him up and down. “I certainly hope that this is the last of it, young man. Now that you’re back where you belong, I’ll stand for no more of your ma-lingering. Unless you’ve changed your mind about our business dealings—” Luke’s shrug conceded that he hadn’t “—you’ll take your place at the ranch.” She tapped her cane for emphasis. “Yes, yes. That’ll do. Running the ranch was never Heath’s strong suit. But you’ll be fine at the job, Luke. Just fine.”

“If I choose to stay, we can discuss it.”

The imperious angle of her head drew his attention to her feathery cap of white-as-snow hair. One sign that she’d grown older; when he’d left, it had been dark gray. “You’ll stay,” she insisted.

“I’ll consider it.”

Mary looked deliberately to the other end of the hallway, where Sophie stood by the double doors that led outside. “Oh, I think you’ll definitely be staying.”

Suspicion rankled. Luke’s gaze skipped across the curious faces of those loitering in the long hallway. Every muscle in his stomach clenched. Did they all know something that he didn’t?

“You heard Harriet’s ruling. You’re to stay under court supervision.” Mary nodded with a good amount of satisfaction, apparently realizing that the judgment hadn’t been so foolish after all.

“Oh, right. That.” He doubted that the ruling was legally enforceable, but for now he saw no reason to protest. It might be enjoyable, having Sophie as his watchdog.

“You will stay. I’m an old woman now, Luke. I’ve had all of your rebellion I can take. I need to see that my family is safe and settled, capable of carrying on to the next generation…” Again, Mary glanced toward Sophie.

A second shot of suspicion darkened Luke’s thoughts. “Don’t get any ideas in that regard, Grandmother.”

Mary’s thin lips curled in what passed for a smile. Her gaze shifted. “It’s not ideas that should concern you,” she insinuated.

Luke cocked his head. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that it’s time we had a serious talk, young man.”

After fourteen years apart, he could see the sense in that. Unfortunately, Mary Lucas’s “serious talks” usually entailed him buckling to her will. There was no listening or back and forth; only orders. She’d wanted him to study mining, mineralogy and business at Wyoming State. When that failed, he’d been instructed to focus on ranch work, then to surrender his motorcycle for the reward of a brand-new Chevy Blazer just like his brother’s. Although Luke had tried to explain to Mary and his frequently absent father that he wasn’t suited to the life they expected him to lead, not even his skirmishes with the law had seemed to convince them. His father put Luke’s troubles down to a bad reaction to his mother’s death, sure he’d get over it in time.

It had been more complicated than that. But explaining would hurt his father, and Luke couldn’t do that. Mary Lucas knew the truth, but she admitted only what suited her. She put his maverick ways down to grief and the sowing of wild oats, too bullheaded to believe that she couldn’t domesticate him to her purposes.

During those days, Sophie had been Luke’s only comfort. His eyes sought her out as surely as a compass points north. He moved toward her without conscious intent, brushing past the curious onlookers. Snake Carson stepped into Luke’s path, tattooed and muscled, grinning and calling him Maverick, saying something about Mustangs sticking up for each other. With a friendly slap on the shoulder, Luke made his way past the diehard member of his old motorcycle gang. Plenty of time for that later.

Someone pushed a door open to enter the courthouse. A slanting ray of bright September sunshine washed over Sophie. She turned away, squinting, tugging on her hat brim, the girlish curve of her cheek as firm and downy as a golden-pink apricot.

Luke put his arms around her. Struck with resurgent emotions, he wanted to sweep her up and carry her down the broad concrete steps. Only the years of misunderstanding that stood between them restrained the impulse.

She let out a squeak at his unexpected touch. He said, “Come outside with me,” giving no time for objection as he led her out the double doors. They clanged shut, cutting off the rising babble of voices. With only seconds to spare, he pulled Sophie off to the side. In the cool shadow of the portico, his lips covered hers. Sweet bounty. Her mouth was open, soft, caught by surprise. And warm, so warm…like liquid sunshine. His arms curved around her narrow back, drawing her closer.

The kiss was full, but too brief. By the time Sophie’s instinctive response had deepened into womanly knowledge, she’d regained herself. Luke felt her struggle against his embrace. Her head snapped back. She gave him a push that he allowed to propel him back a few steps.

Flushed, fuming, she said, “How dare you!” and swung at him wildly. Luke stood his ground. Her open palm cracked against his cheek.

Sophie’s eyes widened. For an instant she looked appalled, but then her face closed down. Without a word she turned on her heel and charged down the steps, stopping only when the doors opened and the others began pouring out.

Luke leaned against a pillar, his arms folded across his chest as he watched her inner struggle. He supposed he’d been wrong to kiss her without warning. But there were some temptations a man could resist for only so long. Sophie had always been his weak point.

The crowd was milling around, reluctant to leave when it was obvious there was much unfinished business between Sophie and Luke.

Ignoring them, Sophie stomped back up the steps. “Don’t you ever do that again,” she said to Luke in a low, sharp voice. Her brown eyes snapped with indignation.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, yes I do.” Her rigid control was new to him. They’d both learned their lessons, perhaps.

“I’m a sheriff’s deputy now, Luke, whether you like it or not. Sworn to uphold the law. Which means I have authority over you—”

“Not when it comes to kissing.”

Her narrowed eyes warned him to hush. “Kissing,” she hissed, leaning closer, “doesn’t come into it. What we have is a professional relationship. That’s it.” Her expression was not as confident as her words. “That is it,” she repeated for emphasis.

Yeah, sure. He was convinced.

“I don’t appreciate you trying to undermine my reputation—my authority, I mean—with adolescent stunts like…like…”

“Kissing?”

“I can’t believe you did that. Someone might have seen!”

Luke spread his hands, as if he were blameless. “Sorry. It dawned on me that I’d forgotten to give you a proper hello.”

She tamped her trooper hat back in place, eyeing him belligerently from beneath the brim. “After so many years, a handshake would have sufficed.”

“Not for Deputy Sophie.” He gave her a lazy, two-finger salute. “Apparently only handcuffs do it for you, ma’am.”

“Well, gosh, Luke, what did you expect?” She was baffled. “A big Welcome Home party? Was I supposed to be stuck here in Treetop, unchanged, waiting breathlessly for the day you’d return for—” She swallowed the next word, but he thought it might have been me.

His pulse raced. Maybe it wasn’t too late to right an old wrong.

Sophie wasn’t as hopeful. With an effort, she reassumed her distant, objective detachment. “Too bad Judge Entwhistle chose today to go soft. You’d be sentenced to ten years of hard labor if it had been up to me.”

“Exactly what crime would you be punishing me for?” he asked softly.

She sucked in another breath, her unschooled response apparent in the glitter of her eyes and the high color flaming in her cheeks. After a moment, she looked away. Too late.

She despises me, Luke thought. Suddenly he knew that his abandonment had been harder on her than he’d imagined, never mind Heath’s party-girl reports. And that in spite of it she’d stood her ground, living out her pain and humiliation under the scrutiny of the local denizens, some of whom had labeled her “trailer trash” before she’d learned how to talk.

She had guts, his Sophie. Whereas he’d taken the easy way out, even though it was becoming apparent that the path he’d traveled had cost him more than he’d known. Sophie had paid a high price too, but gained a new confidence and self-respect in exchange. She had found her place in the community, while he was still a freewheeling vagabond.

The question was: After fourteen years and inestimable miles, had they wound up in the same place? With—considering the thin line between love and hate—equally strong feelings for each other?

Did he still love Sophie Ryan, the feisty little brown-eyed girlfriend of his misspent youth?

She’d never left his heart, hard and shriveled though it was. But he was smart enough to recognize that the woman she’d grown into might turn his memories and fantasies of her as topsy-turvy as a carnival ride.

A ride for which the lady judge had just handed him a ticket. Which was not at all the harsh, swift justice Deputy Ryan had wished for, that was certain.

Luke smiled.

“Don’t smile at me,” Sophie warned, knowing she sounded foolish. It took all of her willpower not to wipe his kiss off her mouth, where it lingered like the warmth of a summer day.

The courthouse doors opened. More of the spectators filed out. They gave Sophie and Luke a wide berth, not out of caution, but out of amusement. She seethed, struggling with her anger and frustration.

Luke had made a laughingstock of her—again.

“Keep an eye on him, Deputy,” someone called, eliciting laughter. “Don’t let him get away this time!”

Snake Carson guffawed. “Handcuff him to your bedpost.”

Sophie gritted her teeth. Ever since their time with the Mustangs, Snake had treated her like a pesky mosquito worthy of a good swat. The several hundred dollars’ worth of traffic citations she’d written him went unpaid, as if she were playing pretend, her badge made of tinfoil, her uniform only a costume. Someday, she vowed, she’d prove herself to Snake, to the Mustangs, and to every single person in Treetop who looked down on her.

For now, she had to settle for jingling the handcuff case clipped to her equipment belt. “Better watch out, Carson. If you don’t pay your fines you’ll be next.”

“G’wan, Soph.” Snake was a large, muscular man in a tight black T-shirt, baggy camo pants and Army boots that had never seen Army duty. He was also the kind of arrogant bully who’d never been properly challenged. She suspected he wasn’t as tough as he liked to imagine.

The biker held up his tattooed arms, fists clenched, biceps bulging. “You can cuff me to your bed any day of the week, sweetheart.” A smattering of uncomfortable laughter accompanied his leer.

Luke turned his steely, unblinking stare on Snake. It curdled the ex-Mustang’s bravado as swiftly as it had Sophie’s, even though Luke didn’t say a word.

Snake did, but only one. A surprisingly high-pitched “Hey” popped out of his mouth as he lowered his arms. His lips clamped shut in embarrassment.

When Luke looked back at her, there was a strong light in his eyes. Possession, Sophie thought. A chorus of breathy exhalations rose from the onlookers as though they’d all reached the same conclusion. It didn’t matter one iota that Luke hadn’t uttered a word, or even raised the mask of his icy non-expression.

Branded. They all know I’m branded.

Her throat was raw, her nerve endings screaming. The injustice of it inflamed her. She was the one with the gun, the handcuffs, the badge, the authority—and she was still the one who was branded. It wasn’t fair.

Life was never fair, she brutally reminded herself. Especially not for women who were all too often at the mercy of their biology.

Sophie thought of Joe—her sacrifice and her reward. Her burden. Her heart. And she thought of the judge’s unconventional ruling, a ruling that pretty much gave Sophie the leeway to handle Luke how she saw fit.

Well, fine. The iniquity of life being what it was, there was still the law. Although men like Luke and Snake and Demon sometimes made the law seem as strong as the paper it was written on, let Luke try anything under her watch and he’d soon find out just how ruthless a woman scorned could be.

“All right, everyone,” Sophie said in her brusque deputy voice. “The show’s over.” For now. “Let’s clear the steps.” She made shooing motions as if the townspeople were a bunch of sheep who needed to be herded in the right direction.

She turned when Luke gingerly took his grandmother’s arm. “Just a moment, Mr. Salinger. I’d like to speak with you.”

Mary Lucas nodded. “Good day, Deputy Ryan.”

Sophie touched her brim. “Ma’am.” The frankness of the older woman’s cool-eyed regard was as discomfiting as ever. “I—um, I’m sorry I had to arrest Luke on his first day back, but…”

“It was your job.” Mary waved a hand that had retained its elegance despite being roughened by work and gnarled by age. “Yes, yes, of course. I understand.”

Sophie drew herself up. “I intend to follow Judge Entwhistle’s instructions. Luke won’t be getting into any trouble while he’s under my watch.”

Although Mary was not normally one to bow to outside authority, she did not seem perturbed by Sophie’s pronouncement. “Indeed. My grandson needs to be kept on a short leash.”

One corner of Luke’s mouth quirked, but he didn’t protest, either. It seemed that he’d learned the value of holding his tongue. Even so, Sophie rather missed the way he’d once jumped into every conversation with all guns firing, so fervent about his beliefs that he couldn’t understand how anyone’s view could possibly differ from his own.

Despite the guardedness, she doubted he’d changed all that much. If he was like the other Mustangs, he was taking her as seriously as a tiny Chihuahua nipping at his heels, unworthy of too great a defense.

Sophie huffed. “Indeed he does need a keeper. Don’t worry. I’ll see to him.”

Mary Lucas brushed away her grandson’s helping hand. “Between us, I expect we’ll manage, Deputy Ryan.” Setting her cane with a careful precision, she started down the steps, her head held high.

Sophie had the funny feeling a deal had just been struck. Only she didn’t know the terms.

She followed Luke, who was following his grandmother, ready to help in case she should falter. In the way of small towns, Sophie knew that Mary Lucas had badly bruised her hip in a recent fall from a green horse someone of her advanced age shouldn’t have been riding in the first place, but that the prognosis was good for a full recovery.