Marriage at the Cowboy's Command (3 page)

“I thought I did. These days I don't meet many
women who work outside with animals the way you do. When I left Texas, I dated lots of women. Until I saw you working with Ramblin' Man, I thought I'd put you totally behind me.

“You were so good with him. I respect that. You looked so beautiful and wild. I wish I'd come back, at least once, to check on you. I suddenly realized I never…said goodbye.”

“No…you didn't.” She caught herself. “This isn't happening,” she whispered, feeling shattered by his admission, by the sweetness of his kiss on her poor battered hand.

“Something sure as hell is,” he muttered, sounding angry and lost. “I should have stood my ground and stayed in London.”

“You could always just go.”

“It's too late now. The damage is done.” His eyes devoured hers. He stared straight into her soul, which had always belonged only to him. “I've seen you. I've touched you. And now I'm curious…about a lot of things.”

She didn't understand the stillness that possessed her, held her. Was she in a trance? Clasped tightly against his tall, muscular body, his heat flooding her, she could barely think, barely breathe.

It was as if she were in a dream, as if she was again caught in the vortex of the youthful passion that had nearly destroyed her. For years she'd told herself she'd do it differently if she was ever faced with such temptation again.

Now, here he was.

Time to smarten up, Caitlyn.

But she lifted her head, parted her lips invitingly. Her nipples tightened into pert berries, throbbing where they
brushed his shirt and felt his heat. Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers, nibbling her top lip as he'd done in the past, sucking on it, tasting it. Then she melted against him.

“Oh, God,” he muttered.

Instantly, nerves tingled in her tummy. Where he was concerned, she'd always been easy. Why did he have to make her feel so good, so fast?

Sighing, she wrapped her arms around his neck, threaded her fingers in his silky hair, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him right back. He was simply too delicious to resist.

“I'm going to hate you for this,” she whispered, her voice thick. “Most of all, I'm going to hate me.”

“I hear you, sweetheart.”

Then his tongue invaded her mouth, and sweet, urgent needs made her arch her body into his hardness. Like a mare showing heat, excitement blazed through her. She ached with needs she'd never felt for any other man, not even her husband.

She knew what she was doing was wrong. Luke had hurt her, rejected her, hurt Daniel without even knowing Daniel existed. She hated him for all the lost years since he'd left.

And yet there were other emotions alongside the hate. Kissing him now was like coming home after living for too many years with strangers. She couldn't get enough. She wanted him to tear off her jeans, throw her over his shoulder and carry her into the barn. She wanted to open her legs and lie down in the hay with him again.

She wanted too much. She always had.

For another long second she was alone in the universe with him. Then Ramblin' Man exploded in the trailer and Lisa yelled.

As if he suddenly realized where he was and what he was doing, Luke's hands fell away. He jumped free of her with an abruptness that startled her.

Distantly, she heard Lisa soothing Ramblin' Man in the round pen.

Luke's eyes hardened, and he cursed low under his breath.

In a bewildered daze, she stared at him. More than anything, she had wanted to stay in his arms, to cling to his strength, to enjoy feeling like a woman for the first time in years.

But that was impossible now.

“Take your hands off me! Let me go!” Caitlyn whispered needlessly. The humiliating truth was that Luke had already moved away and was no longer touching her.

He was silent for what seemed an eternity.

What was he thinking? Did he have demons she knew nothing about?

“You kiss like a woman who hasn't had any in six years,” he growled, glaring at her.

She stared down at the scuffed toe of her roper boots. As always, he was uncannily perceptive. The last thing she wanted him to suspect was how she'd longed for him all through the lonely years of her marriage.

“If you want it that bad, we'd better go inside,” he said. “Or do you still prefer the loft? Frankly, it doesn't matter to me. All I want is to get you out of my system—permanently.”

Feeling ashamed of her reaction to him, she lashed out at him, too. “Ditto! I don't want you touching me again—ever! I want you gone! That's what I want.”

“You didn't kiss me like a woman who wants me gone, sweetheart.”

“I don't know what came over me, but believe me, I want you gone.”

“Well, while I figure out your finances and Hassan's motives, I'll figure out our chemistry, as well.”

“No! You're going to forget that stupid kiss and go—now.”

“And if I go, how will you solve your money problems?”

“I'm too upset to think about that.”

“Well, you'd better think about it.”

“I can't work with you.”

“You'd better adjust your attitude, because you don't have a choice.”

Looking every bit as upset as she felt, he shoved a lock of thick black hair back from his brow. “Tell you what. I'll leave…for tonight, so you can adjust to the idea of me being around. But I'll be gone for one night only. Then I'm moving in until we get this mystery solved and your mess figured out. You're fifty miles from town, and, after tonight, I don't want to waste time commuting. You'll need to make up a spare bedroom for me.”

“The hell you say! Do you think I would let you move into my house after what just happened? I don't want you in this state!”

“Do you really want me to tell Hassan you won't work with me?”

Of course not. And Luke knew it.

“Because I will,” he said. “If I tell him to pull the plug on you, he'll do it.”

She shook her head, not wanting to believe that.

“The ranch and your horse operation will be history. I could convince him to sell everything at auction. You know what that means.”

Yes. She knew. There was such a weak market for her horses, that several would be euthanized or sold to meat packers.

“Hassan would never…”

“I think I know him better than you do. He wants to help you, but if you refuse his help you will leave him no choice but to make unpleasant decisions. Do you want to lose the ranch again, like your daddy did?” he continued. “Only, this time there won't be a rich idiot like Robert Wakefield to marry and give it back to you.”

“I haven't lost it yet, thank you very much! You're only rich because of your connections to Hassan. Well, I know the real you, and maybe I don't think you're so great. My mother warned me that you were just like Bubba.”

Her mother had fired Luke because he was a thief. Cait hadn't wanted to believe he'd stolen cash out of her father's truck, but when Luke had never returned or contacted her to contradict her mother's claim, the truth of his betrayal had seemed self-evident.

“So, you believed her?” Something flashed in his eyes. Was it pain? Or rage? “You're wrong,” he said. “You don't know me at all. You never did. And I didn't know you, either, or I would never have been fool enough to mistake you for a sweet, innocent girl and fall in love with you.”

His startling admission flashed through her like lightning. He'd never admitted he loved her, and she wasn't about to believe him now. Believing him would only soften her heart toward him.

Love.
He didn't know the meaning of the word.

“Leave,” she whispered.

Much to her surprise, he nodded. “Like I said…I'm going…for now. I intend to spend the afternoon talking
to your accountant. I had hoped to take you with me, but it seems our new business arrangement is going to take some getting used to.”

He spun on his heel and strode toward the long black limo parked in front of her house.

If only this would be the last she'd ever see of him. But he'd be back tomorrow, and while he was in town there was no telling what people might tell him about Daniel, especially if he asked the right questions. There had been talk at the time of her marriage—talk that had never completely died.

Even if no one talked, if Luke moved in, he'd see Daniel on a daily basis. There was no way she could keep the truth a secret for long.

Better that she control how he found out.

She shut her eyes and sucked in a breath. She had to tell him the truth herself.

“Wait!” She ran after his tall, broad-shouldered figure.

He turned and regarded her so coldly, a chill traced down her spine. How would she ever find the courage to tell him he had a son? But she had to. Period.

“I'll meet you in town…a little later…after I finish working with Ramblin' Man,” she said. “What time's your appointment?”

He told her.

She licked her lips and said she'd be there thirty minutes late. “After we get through talking with Bruce, there's something I need to tell you. Something personal,” she whispered awkwardly, staring anywhere but at him. “It's very important. Maybe we could have coffee at Jean's Butterchurn. We can talk privately there.”

His eyes narrowed. “This isn't going to be good news, is it?”

“I guess that will depend on how you take it,” she said. “It's not altogether bad news, but it's certainly not something I relish telling you.”

Then she shook herself and stood straighter. No matter how much she dreaded her hour of confession, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how afraid she was.

“Well, I've got a stallion to load,” she said briskly.

“Later, then.” He turned and headed to his limo.

W
hat the hell did she have to tell him that was so important?

It wasn't the first time she'd fed him that line. On the day he'd left for good, nearly six years ago, she'd told him she had something important to tell him. But when he'd gone to meet her in their secret place, her mother had showed up instead. Her mother had fired him and set him straight about a lot of other things, too. Caitlin planned to marry someone else.

Luke had left, but later when he'd calmed down, he'd called Caitlyn. She'd never answered his calls, so he'd written. She'd never written back. Clearly, she'd wanted him out of her life but had lacked the courage to break up with him in person.

Who cared what she had to say today? Quit thinking about it, he told himself.

As if he could. Her brown eyes had been huge,
fear-filled dark orbs, her shaky tone ominous. He'd wanted to reach out and pull her close. Thank goodness he hadn't acted on that rash impulse. She didn't deserve his kindness, nor his compassion. She never had.

They say you can never go home.

As he'd told Caitlyn, Luke damn sure wouldn't have come here if he'd had a choice. He belonged in London, in his office, sitting at the helm of his many businesses.

But Hassan, to whom he owed everything, had prevailed.

For nearly six years, Luke Kilgore had avoided all things Texan, especially its women. He wanted no one with dark hair or fiery dark eyes that held a hint of vulnerability; he wanted no one with a soft drawl that sounded too much like a cat's purr.

Now, sprawled in the back of his leased stretch limo on this fool's errand, trying to pretend he was relaxed, Luke's fingers clenched, wrinkling the latest of his CEO's reports about Kommstarr's disgruntled employees. Luke thrust it aside impatiently. Steve's figures in defense of his out-of-control expenditures at Kommstarr made no sense. Luke didn't like firing people any better than Steve did, but some cuts had to be made.

Hell, Luke had hardly been able to concentrate since he'd landed in San Antonio last night and felt the warmth, even in winter, of the vast, starlit Texas sky. So different from London's gray, damp chill that all he'd been able to think about was
her.
In his hotel in downtown San Antonio he'd even dreamed of her.

Why was she scared?

Caitlyn Cooper Wakefield.

Now that he'd seen her, touched her, tasted her, she'd
scrambled his brain just like she'd done in the past. How could she still get to him?

Six years ago she'd merely been Caitlyn Cooper. A respected rancher's only daughter. She should have been off-limits to the motherless son of the county's number one drunk, Bubba Kilgore. She would have been—if she'd obeyed her daddy or if Luke had had enough sense to keep his hands off her.

Luke compared the woman she was now to the slim girl she'd been back then. She'd been more cute than beautiful, with a freckled nose and wide, dark, innocent eyes that had sparkled with curiosity and laughter. And she'd laughed a lot. At least, in his company.

She hadn't laughed today.

Back then she'd seemed to find him as exciting as he'd found her. From that first afternoon, when he'd stomped onto her daddy's porch, desperate for a job, and she'd refused to invite him in, there had been vital chemistry between them.

She wasn't nearly as beautiful as the women he dated now, and she didn't dress as fashionably. She'd never cared about those things. Deep down he admired her because she wasn't vain. Her face was narrow and angular, her thick black hair unruly. She hadn't worn any makeup. Did it matter? There was something real, something genuine about her, and she sure as hell knew how to kiss.

He wished he could forget how seductively soft and warm her lips had felt beneath his own, forget how good she'd tasted, forget how hard he'd become even before he'd grabbed her this afternoon. Lacking polish, she was all fire and sass, making him burn.

Her hands had climbed his chest and wrapped around his neck as if she knew she belonged to him and no one
else. When she'd leaned into him and pulled him close, he'd felt the heat of every female curve.

She'd been hotter than ever, maybe because she'd known exactly what she wanted. Or maybe she'd missed him…really missed him, as he'd missed her.

Like the kiss today, the memory of the long-ago evening when he'd made love to her still had the power to sear him. He hadn't gone looking for trouble that evening, but it sure as hell found him.

He'd knocked on her door, looking for her daddy. He'd needed an advance against his wages since Bubba had drunk up the rent. She'd come to the door in tight shorts that skimmed her curvy bottom and said, “Maybe he's in the barn.”

Only, she'd known he wasn't when she'd followed Luke out there, closing the big, heavy doors behind her, calling to him across the dark in that raspy purr of hers. Then she'd undone her hair so that it tumbled around her shoulders. When she'd held out her arms and told him she loved him, he'd tried to talk some sense into her, even as his heart thundered.

“You don't know what you're doing, girl,” he'd warned.

“But I've always known how I feel,” she whispered, “ever since I first saw you.”

“You're too young to know anything. Folks around here think I'm nothing.”

“I don't care. I don't want to go my whole life wanting you like this…and never having had you.” She moved toward him. “Just once. That's all I'm asking for.”

“No one can know,” he said.

“Nobody but us,” she'd whispered, sliding into his arms, her soft curves melting against his hard muscles.

She'd felt right, perfect.

“Just us,” he'd murmured, kissing her passionately.

For him, that time with her had been special. No other woman had ever come close to mattering so much. But then, no other woman had used her mother to throw him out like he was nothing. That had been equally hard to forget.

Had she just wanted to scratch an itch? Had she known then she would have to marry Wakefield if she wanted to get her precious ranch back? For years Luke had tormented himself with those questions.

She'd been the first girl he'd loved—and she'd be the last. She'd taught him love held a dark power. She'd taught him there were worse things than having a mean old man for a father. She'd taught him there were worse things than being born poor. She'd taken a hatchet to his heart and soul.

Swearing she loved him, she'd given herself to him on a bed of hay that night in the barn. Then, as soon as she could, she'd married Robert Wakefield, no doubt because he was the son of the banker who'd repossessed her family's ranch.

But life had a way of being messy, and nothing had worked out as she'd planned. Robert had died. The ranch was in trouble again, and she was a struggling widow with a son.

A son. Funny that he hadn't seen the kid. Not that he wanted to see Wakefield's kid, who was living proof that she'd been with another man these past six years.

Some people were good at letting go. Luke envied them. Not that he didn't go through the motions of a man who'd moved on. He owned a glamorous penthouse in London. Invitations to his parties were sought after. He dated the most beautiful women in Europe. Except for his friend Nico Romano, an Italian prince with an
independent wife from Texas, his married male business associates said they envied Luke his carefree life.

Although he didn't pick up the report again, Luke barely spared a glance out the tinted windows. He didn't have to. The harsh brown scrubland was deeply engraved into his consciousness.

He'd accomplish this errand for Hassan as quickly as possible. Then he'd figure out once and for all what was behind Hassan's obsessive interest in Caitlyn.

Not that he hadn't tried to find out after Hassan had met her at Keeneland. When Luke hadn't reacted to the Wakefield name, Hassan had pressed, asking him if he'd known Caitlyn Wakefield personally.

“Yes, I worked for her father.”

“And? Did you care for her?”

“It doesn't matter. Her mother fired me. I left Texas and never saw any of them again. Why do you want to know?”

“You don't talk about Texas much.”

“I'm not all that proud of who I was in Texas, or of how people treated me. It's something I've tried to put behind me.”

He'd thought that was the end of it. Then Hassan had asked Caitlyn to help him with Sahara and had invited Luke to Deauville without telling him he'd hired Caitlyn as Sahara's trainer. When Luke had seen her working with the stallion, he'd asked Hassan again why he was so interested in her. It would have been so much easier to use a world-class French trainer instead of bringing Caitlyn from the States.

Again, Hassan had been evasive, saying only that her advice had saved him from making a particularly disastrous purchase.

“Why did you invite me to dine with the two of you?”
Luke had asked. “It's as if you are determined to get us together.”

“Sometimes we are rash in our youth. Sometimes it's a mistake to lose touch with old friends.”

“Not in this case.”

“You could be wrong, my son.”

“Well, I won't come for dinner if you insist on including her.”

“I do insist on her presence tonight.”

“Then I'll pass.”

“You shall be missed, my son.”

Hassan's stubborn behavior and fascination with Caitlyn made no sense, but Luke would get to the bottom of it. Then, hopefully, within the week, he'd be home with Teresa.

Luke saw a flash of movement out the window. A handsome blood bay horse, ridden by a small figure, sprang across the road right in front of the limo. The driver honked and hit the brakes too fast and too hard. The bay spooked and started bucking.

Tires squealing, the limo fishtailed in a swirl of gravel, sliding to a standstill in front of a prickly pear cactus. The pages of Steve's report came loose and flew all over the limo's plush interior.

The riderless red horse plunged wildly away from the veils of dust near the car, racing across the depopulated landscape. Then he stopped and circled back, staring at something on the ground. When the dust settled, Luke saw a small boy lying still and lifeless on the road.

Luke leaped out of the limo at the same moment as his driver.

“I didn't see him, sir! Not until it was nearly too late!”

“It wasn't your fault,” Luke assured the man.

“He came out of nowhere.”

“See to the car.” Luke strode toward the prostrate boy, who'd stirred at the sound of their voices.

A cowboy came running from the pasture. “The boy, he got away from me, señor.”

When the kid moaned, Luke felt some of his tension ease. The car hadn't hit the boy. He'd just been bucked. Maybe he was okay. At the same age, Luke had ridden just as recklessly and had taken many a hard fall without doing permanent damage. In some ways, kids were tougher than adults.

Careless of the fine wool and silk blend of his custom-made suit, Luke knelt on the ground beside the boy.

The kid groaned and sat up, blinking at him suspiciously. The boy's red-checked cowboy shirt was torn in two places. He raised a quick, thin hand to shade his tanned brow, squinting at the brilliant afternoon sun coming from behind Luke. The boy's lips parted in a gap-toothed grin.

“You okay…?” Luke began, feeling a jolt of recognition.

“Sorry, mister. I…”

The kid had jet black hair and green eyes—green eyes that were the exact same shade as his own.

Luke's gut twisted. Emerald eyes stared straight into his for an endless moment, during which Luke felt something near his heart shift.

Luke didn't believe in coincidences, and Hassan placed an inordinate value on sons. Was this boy the answer? Did Hassan think…?

Had Hassan seen Caitlyn's son and noticed the resemblance to Luke? Had Hassan met the boy at Keeneland?

Suddenly Luke couldn't breathe. It was as if a band had wrapped around his chest and squeezed. In a weird panic—he never panicked—he fought to ignore dozens of questions that bombarded his stunned mind.

“I asked you if you're okay?” Luke's voice was hard and strange, unrecognizable. “Anything hurt? Broken? Are you dizzy?”

The kid felt real. The rest of his life—London, Teresa, his businesses, his unstoppable ambition, even Hassan—belonged to a dream that had nothing to do with his life, which was here.

“I'm fine, but I've got to catch that damn Demon before he bolts for the barn and I have to walk all the way back.”

“Don't cuss.”

“Sorry!”

The kid didn't look the least bit sorry as he sat up and got ready to spring to his feet.

Luke put a hand on his shoulder. “Not so fast. Why don't you sit here a minute or two, catch your breath.”

“I said I'm okay,” the boy protested impatiently, looking defiant.

Just as Luke would have done at the same age.

“Right. And I say it's too soon to be so sure. What's your name?”

“Daniel.” His bottom lip curling, the kid stared at the ground.

“You got a last name?”

“'Course I do! Wakefield.” There was fierce pride in his low tone, the kind of pride Luke had never felt for his biological father. When the kid tried unsuccessfully to shake loose from Luke's iron grip, his bottom lip grew even more prominent.

“My name's Luke Kilgore.”

“Glad to meet you, Mr. Kilgore,” Daniel said automatically.

“Glad to meet you, too.”

The boy on the ground didn't look a thing like the blond, blue-eyed Wakefield bunch. Luke's mind raced backward.

“How old are you, Daniel?” Luke asked slowly, as unwanted pressure pounded in his temples.

This couldn't be happening. But it was. The angry kid looked just like
he'd
looked at the same age.