The Maverick. Carrie Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ of scrambled eggs and a slab of ham so big it hung off the edge of the plate and sashayed out of the kitchen, her flat behind swinging like a cow bell. “Miss Fancypants,” she shot over her shoulder.

      Theresa sputtered.

      “Which direction did they take?” Sophie asked hastily, not wanting to be caught up in kitchen politics. “Punch and Mav—er, this other guy?”

      Biting her lip as she began carefully flipping the flapjacks, Theresa could do no more than bob her head in a vaguely easterly direction. When one of her perfect creations landed on another in a gloppy mess, Sophie slipped out of the kitchen before she took the blame.

      Ellen waylaid her near the door. “Maverick’s back, you know, Soph.” She squeezed the deputy’s arm. “I thought I should warn you.”

      “I know.” Sophie felt the need to blink. “I already saw him.”

      “He still looks good. Real good.”

      Sophie blinked again. Must be something in her eye. “He was going too fast for me to tell.”

      Ellen peered beneath the brim of Sophie’s taupe trooper hat. They’d once worked together, sharing bad tips, sore feet and tales of woe. “You’re not carrying a torch, are you, hon?”

      “Of course not!”

      “You can admit it if you are.” Ellen rested the tray on her hip and patted the younger woman’s arm. “We’ve all been there. Even when a man’s no good, it’s awful hard to let go.”

      No matter how many times Sophie blinked, moisture continued to well in her eyes. Damn that Maverick, she thought, trying to use the biker-gang nickname as a sobering slap in the face. She had to stay tough and mean, not surrender to misbegotten sentimentality. Think of Joey. Think of what sort of trouble Luke’s return could cause for your son.

      “It’s been fourteen years, Ellie. My relationship with Luke was over long ago.” Sophie closed her eyes and swallowed. “Frankly, I’d hoped never to see him again.”

      “If it were me, I might be sorta—” Ellen gave her shoulders a little wiggle “—excited that he was back. I reckon that man’s brand lasts a long time. Even longer than fourteen years.”

      “I wouldn’t know,” Sophie said, although she knew very well that some brands were permanent. Defiantly she thrust up her naked ring finger. “I’ve never been branded, so to speak.”

      “I wasn’t necessarily speaking of wedding rings.” Ignoring a customer’s call for more coffee, Ellen bent slightly to search Sophie’s eyes. The waitress must have seen something Sophie hadn’t wanted to reveal, because she nodded knowingly and said, “Yep, there are brands that last a whole lot longer than church vows.” She snorted. “And since I’ve been divorced twice, who’d know better ’n me? All the same, if my first love came around to visit, I believe I might give it another try. First love goes the deepest, doesn’t it?”

      Sophie averted her gaze. Branded. By God, she was not branded. It wasn’t as if she’d been pining after Luke like some wimpy dishrag of a woman. She’d dated plenty of other men. Or enough, anyway. Only once had she come close to marriage—and that had been ten years ago when she’d been feeling guilty for depriving her son of a father figure.

      So, yeah, she’d admit to a certain reluctance to trust men. Which was normal, given her reality. They’d been hard, the lessons that Luke—and others—had taught her. She’d struggled. She’d fought. And she’d survived.

      She certainly did not need a man to complete her. Luke Salinger least of all.

      Almost entirely on her own, she’d worked her way up from a string of low-paying jobs to a two-year stint as one of the Thunderhead’s waitresses, then on to her law enforcement training and the job with the Treetop Sheriff’s Department. She’d also raised a fine son—no thanks to anyone named Salinger.

      At that, speculation on how Luke’s brother, Heath, would react to Luke’s return made a shudder run through her body. Trouble was brewing, sure as shootin’.

      At least she was dry-eyed now. Dry-eyed and loaded for bear, as her father would say. She gave Ellen a tight smile and swept out of the restaurant, jamming her sunglasses back in place. Within the day, Luke would be locked up where he belonged and the whole town could gossip to their heart’s content about the welcome that Sophie Ryan had given him.

      Reluctantly, self-consciously, she touched her backside before climbing into the car. Branded? Branded, her…her…her foot!

      Demon Bradshaw’s business, a grungy motorcycle shop, was Sophie’s next stop, half a mile farther down the state highway that bypassed the small but bustling town of Treetop. She didn’t even have to get out of the car. One turn around the swaybacked shack that housed the shop and the sorry excuse for a log cabin out back was enough to see that neither Demon nor his old lady had stirred. Demon’s Harley was parked near the porch, the only thing at the Bradshaw place that was well cared for. Earlier that morning one of Sophie’s fellow deputies had passed the word that there’d been a major kegger at the Jackpine Lake campground last night. It was safe to assume that Treetop’s diehard partyers were still in bed, sleeping another one off.

      Sophie knew where to go next. If Maverick and Punch were on an “auld lang syne” bike ride, they’d surely take the switchback, a blacktop county road that snaked upward in a series of sweet curves, rising in elevation until it reached a summit that offered one of the best views in the state. From an altitude of eight thousand feet, the town of Treetop would be a doll’s village nestled in the valley below, most of it screened by the brushy evergreens that crowded the hillsides. Luke would get a grand overview of the valley, the river, and, in the far distance, the rangelands of the family ranch he’d chosen to abandon.

      If he cared enough to revisit what he’d abandoned, that was.

      Sophie blinked again behind her dark lenses. It was natural to get a little emotional about Luke’s return. He’d been her first love. Her greatest love, to be completely honest. That didn’t mean she had to forgive and forget.

      She’d tried to forgive him for leaving her, especially once she’d matured enough to understand that he’d been nearly as young, reckless and shortsighted as she. But she’d never been able to forget—not what he’d meant to her, nor what he’d done to her.

      “And I won’t forget,” she whispered, going on automatic as she steered the car around the curves of a road she still knew better than the back of Luke’s hand.

      Luke’s hand. A vivid memory flared—the day that Luke, then only eighteen, had first let her drive his motorcycle, his hands covering hers on the grips as their bodies pressed close, the bike’s speed and power vibrating through every inch of her as they climbed the scenic switchback.

      She’d been sixteen and fresh out of a foster home, living with her neglectful father again, acting out her anger and rebellion, although deep inside what she’d really craved was to find a place for herself that felt safe. Luke had seemed like a god to her then—smart, handsome, filled with the kind of heat and energy and passion that lit up everything and everyone near him. He’d illuminated her drab life, chased away the shadows.

      Hovering at the fringes of the ragtag band of rowdy young men who’d formed the Mustangs, she’d begun to crave Luke even more than safety. And eventually he’d regarded her with something other than СКАЧАТЬ