The Maverick. Carrie Alexander

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      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.

      Typically, Mary refused to use her temporary infirmity to her advantage, even in Luke’s case. She gestured for him to rejoin Sophie and proceeded along the sidewalk without them.

      Luke turned, disconcertingly good-looking even though he wore the same clothes as yesterday. His dark hair brushed the collar of the leather vest, curling slightly at the ends in a way that made Sophie’s fingertips tingle with a desire to comb it. She was going to have to watch herself as closely as she watched him.

      “Okay, Deputy, what do I have to do?” he asked. “Check in with you like a parole officer?”

      She tucked her traitorous fingertips into fists, not exactly sure of how to handle the unorthodox situation. “You might start by telling me what your intentions are.” One of the possible interpretations of the phrase scrambled her thought processes. “That is, I meant…” She swallowed, her throat still as raw as a slab of fresh-cut beef. It was a funny thing how emotions of the heart manifested themselves in physical symptoms. If she spent an extended time around Maverick she’d likely find herself in the hospital, languishing with an incurable case of lovesickness.

      Lovesickness? Good God.

      “Why have you come back?” she blurted.

      There was a pause before he answered. “Not for any funny business.”

      Hmm. Was his hesitation born of caution, or deception? She shrugged. “Given your record…”

      He grinned. “You have good reason to doubt me.”

      He didn’t have to look so pleased with himself.

      “You’d better keep a very close eye on me,” he said with a sly intonation.

      Sophie tilted her head back to regard the sky. “Am I the only one who’s taking this seriously?” she asked the bountiful cumulus clouds. It was much better not to look at Maverick. The smallest things about him—the flicker of his lashes, the tiny curved line that too many wry, lopsided grins had cut into the side of his cheek—knocked her off center.

      “Seriously?” he said. “I don’t need a baby-sitter, if that’s what you and the judge had in mind.”

      Sophie steadied herself. “That’s fine, because I’m a deputy, remember?”

      “So you’ve said. Repeatedly.”

      “You don’t think I can do my job?”

      He looked her up and down. She felt far too aware of the feminine curves that filled out her uniform. More than her fingertips were tingling by the time he finished. The smile line in his cheek deepened, though he didn’t come right out with a full-fledged, wolf-licking-his-chops grin. “Anything I say now will get me into trouble.”

      Sophie wanted to feel stolid and obdurate, not like a weightless butterfly shimmering in the sky, vulnerable to every turn of breeze. “Try me.” She touched her tongue to her upper lip. “I can take it.”

      “I think…you’ve grown up very nicely.”

      “Grown up being the operative phrase.”

      He slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, rocking slightly on his heels. His face was still, but his eyes danced. “I was emphasizing nicely.”

      She frowned to disguise the pleasure flickering inside her.

      “Don’t be like that,” Luke said. “I was giving you a compliment.”

      “The point is my competence, not my appearance.”

      He shrugged. “You asked, darlin’.”

      “Luke,” called Mary from the open window of her big old Ram pickup truck.

      “Two seconds, Grandmother,” he said without taking his eyes off Sophie. He was only looking at her, but it was the sort of “looking” usually aimed at bikini-clad babes. With the added impact of the old-style Maverick magnetism. Sophie hadn’t experienced anything like it since he’d skipped town, and while she knew she should be demanding to be taken seriously, at heart she exaulted that he hadn’t completely changed.

      Luke was still Maverick—intense, vital, electric Maverick.

      And she could feel herself opening like a sunflower under his brilliant illumination.

      SEEING THE LUCAS RANCH again was like getting slammed in the chest with a sledgehammer. Luke’s heart ached. For the moment, he let himself forget that his place in the family had been purchased at a high price. He believed that he was coming home.

      The ranch looked good—too good. Almost enough to make him wonder why he’d left. The road turned in a wide arc between the gate and the house, sweeping past the stand of quaking aspen, alder and birch where he and Heath used to play Davy Crockett and Jim Bridger. The trees were already decked out in yellow and orange for autumn, whispering of winter with each shake of their leaves. A blue jay squawked and flashed its brilliant wings, scaring a flock of goldfinches up into the branches. The sight spread warm fingers of bone-deep satisfaction СКАЧАТЬ