Slow Hand Luke. Debbi Rawlins

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      His fingers were long and lean, his nails clean and nicely squared off. Easy to imagine them roaming over a woman’s body. Her body. She cleared her throat.

      At the sound, the doe started. Then she leaped to her feet and darted into the trees.

      Luke got up just as suddenly, and Annie didn’t have time to step out of his way. To keep them from colliding, she put a hand on his shoulder. As he straightened, her palm slid down his forearm. Firm rounded muscles lay beneath the blue Western-cut shirt. The man was definitely athletic. She let go, hoping her reluctance didn’t show too much.

      He dusted his jeans and stared after the deer even though she’d disappeared. “She’s bruised a little, but stunned more than anything else. She’ll be okay.” He lifted his hat and swept a hand through his longish sun-streaked hair before setting the hat back on his head. “If she stays off the road, that is.”

      Annie followed him back to the truck. “That was amazing how she calmed down for you.”

      “She knew I was no threat.”

      “How?”

      He put the truck back in drive. “Around these parts, I’m known as the deer whisperer.”

      “Really?”

      After a brief silence, he burst out laughing. “Where are you from?”

      Heat rushed to her cheeks. Damn it. She was a good cop because of her good instincts. No one would ever dare consider her gullible. “And here I was just starting to think you were a nice guy.”

      “Don’t make that mistake.” He stretched his neck from side to side, grimacing with the effort, and then tipped his hat back slightly. “We’ll be hitting town in a couple of minutes. Guess you want to go straight to your aunt’s place.”

      “If you don’t mind.”

      “Nope. You got any folks there that can give you a ride in to town tomorrow?”

      Annie rested her aching head back against the seat. Today had been only her third time on a plane. She hated it. Way too stressful. After today, if she never left New York again that would be fine with her. “I don’t think so. Maybe Chester.”

      Luke let out a laugh. “That old buzzard’s still kicking, huh?”

      Annie snorted. “What a nice way to put it.”

      He shrugged his good shoulder. “I’ve known the old guy since I was knee high to a mule. He and my granddad used to play cards every Saturday night. Made me fetch their beer and chewing tobacco when they ran out.”

      “Is that where you’re going? To visit your grandfather?”

      His mouth tightened. “He passed almost a year ago.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      Luke gave an abrupt nod, then made it clear he didn’t want to talk anymore by rolling down his window and staring hard off into the darkness. “I’m gonna make a quick detour. Won’t take but a minute.”

      She should have been scared, or at least concerned. She didn’t know this man. But her gut told her it was okay and she always trusted her gut. Except when it came to men and it was personal—then her instincts sucked. The fiasco with Steve Witherspoon was proof enough.

      They turned down a dark side road, mostly gravel judging by the crunching of the tires. But they’d only driven a few feet when Luke stopped the truck and muttered a soft curse.

      “What’s wrong?”

      Shaking his head, he squinted hard toward the glow of a faint light filtering through the trees. Without a word, he threw the truck into Reverse and sped backward all the way to the main road.

      She clutched the armrest and held her breath. It was so dark. Only a sliver of moon was visible. He couldn’t possibly see where he was going. He swung backward onto the highway and her stomach lurched. And tourists complained about NewYork cabbies.

      “What is going on?”

      “Nothing.”

      “Yeah, I could tell.” After nearly sliding off the seat, she straightened. He ignored her, keeping his eyes steady on the road, his mind obviously preoccupied.

      She respected his apparent need for silence, but another careless move like that and she’d get out and walk. And then he could have all the silence he wanted.

      As soon as her heart-rate returned to normal, she focused on the task ahead of her. Halfway through the small town she realized where they were. It was easy to miss without any lights on. In fact, there wasn’t even a single streetlight.

      “Man, the place hasn’t changed a bit,” Luke murmured with a hint of disdain.

      “How long has it been since you’ve been back?”

      “A while.”

      Annie didn’t push. God knew she understood if he didn’t want to talk about his family. Now that she was older, it didn’t smart as much but, as a child, when the subject of parents came up, all she wanted to do was crawl into a dark corner and hide. How did you tell other kids or their parents that your dad was a drunk and spent more time in jail than out? Or have to confess that your mother hadn’t wanted to be a mother after all, and had run off to Hollywood to seek the fame that she never found?

      “You’re quiet,” Luke said finally.

      “I didn’t think you wanted to talk.”

      “Doesn’t matter. We’re here.”

      She sat up straighter and peered into the darkness. A red reflector on the mailbox pole caught her eye. Other than that, there was no indication this was her aunt’s place, or that any house existed nearby. But catching sight of a funny shaped tree that was briefly illuminated by the headlights helped her recognize the place.

      The first summer she’d visited the ranch she’d gotten in trouble for swinging on its lower branches. She’d fallen and sprained her right ankle, and scared Aunt Marjorie senseless.

      The truck hit a pothole and Annie’s teeth came down hard on her lower lip. She bit back an oath and then kept her teeth clamped shut. In less than a minute they got to the gate, which seemed pointless since the fencing had come down in at least three places, but that’s all Annie could see.

      A floodlight coming from the eaves of the barn cast a dim light on the gravel road that led to the house. Everything looked horribly dingy, and Annie prayed it was because of the poor lighting. It had to be. Aunt Marjorie had money. She’d paid for Annie’s college tuition. Her books. The dorm. She’d paid for everything.

      The closer they got to the house, the deeper Annie’s heart sank. The place was a mess. Lighting had nothing to do with the sagging front porch or the chipped white paint that had once made the railings and picket fence seem like part of a fairy tale to Annie’s bruised young heart.

      “How long has she been in the hospital?” Luke asked as he stopped the truck in front of the cracked walk.

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