The Maverick. Carrie Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ The burly Italian calmed down some when Luke asked him to look after the motorcycle, but he continued to glower at Sophie, muttering under his breath. She unconcernedly went about her job, slamming shut the back door and climbing behind the wheel. She swept off her hat, started the car and reached for the radio all at the same time, and was soon reporting her progress to the dispatcher as she spun the steering wheel one-handed. The tires squealed. She trod on the gas, aiming the car straight down the mountain.

      Luke watched the scenery for a while, silent as a stone while he tried to work out the ramifications of his arrest on his unsuspecting family. Tough to concentrate on what would be a replay of the same old recriminations and accusations when Sophie was sitting a few feet away. His gaze kept straying to the curve of her fragile neck, framed by a crisp collar and the wild corkscrew curls that had come loose from her hair clip. She held her shoulders and head with a stiff military precision—no more broody teenage slouch. And she’d filled out some, was stronger and more substantial than the reed of a girl she’d been the last time he’d seen her. She’d become physically confident, he decided. Brisk and competent, certain enough of herself to handle a job that called for a typically male brand of aggression.

      Little Sophie Ryan had truly become a cop, just as Heath had claimed. Luke shook his head in amazement, even though it might not be such a strange career choice when he considered her final gesture toward him.

      He wasn’t especially worried about the old charges she’d arrested him for. In fact, he’d assumed that his grandmother had smoothed that over years ago. Not out of a particular concern for him, but to protect the precious family name. For all the affection between them, he’d never been as valuable to Mary Lucas as the family’s history, longevity and status, which she’d preserve at all costs.

      Roughly fourteen years ago, he and a few of the Mustangs had broken into a lawyer’s office in Treetop. For Luke, the mission had justified the means. He’d been too narrowly focused to foresee how quickly the break-in would escalate into a free-for-all, particularly when his liquored-up friends were involved. Demon and Snake had started trashing the place—supposedly to cover their tracks. Luke had grabbed what he’d come for and hustled them out as quickly as he could. Too quickly, it had turned out, because he’d overlooked the lighted lamp that had fallen off the desk onto a sheaf of upended files. They’d been long gone before the fire had started.

      Being young and stupid was no defense. He was guilty. No one would believe it now, but back then, as rebellious as he’d been, he’d intended to turn himself in after learning about the fire. All he’d wanted was to see Sophie first. To tell her that it would be okay, that she should stay strong and wait for him even if he was sent to jail.

      He remembered driving to her dad’s dumpy trailer on what had turned out to be his last night in town. The crisp autumn air had been tinged with the scent of snow, and there had been a wildly romantic notion of inviting Sophie to run away with him floating around inside his head. The patrol car parked in the Ryan’s weed-choked driveway had stopped him like a brick wall.

      First he thought that Sophie was merely being questioned. But the snatches of conversation he’d caught through the thin aluminum sides of the trailer seemed to tell a different tale. By all appearances, Luke’s girlfriend—loyal little Sophie—was ratting him out.

      He’d let impulse take over, leaving Treetop in a fury so hot it had shriveled his breaking heart into a coal. That had always been his way—covering pain with burning anger. Learning the art of icy detachment had taken years.

      In his early days on the road, when he had no idea where to go or what to do, a small part of him had clung to the hope that the situation wasn’t what it seemed. Sophie had been put into a no-win position—his fault all the way. But when he’d called the ranch, his older brother Heath had reported the ugly truth of Sophie’s actions. The word had spread throughout Treetop. To save her hide, Sophie Ryan had told Deputy Ed Warren everything she knew. As a result, charges were being brought against the Mustangs.

      Given Luke’s culpability, he might have forgiven her that…if she hadn’t done worse. Again, Heath had been the reluctant messenger. It seemed that Sophie had not only betrayed Luke in spirit, she’d betrayed him in body.

      The end.

      To this day, Luke didn’t know which hurt more—leaving Sophie or loving Sophie.

      But what if he’d been wrong about her? What if he’d been wrong to believe in secondhand gossip instead of the heart-and-guts proof of their actual relationship?

      No. There was evidence, the kind she couldn’t hide.

      Luke coughed. “I hear you’ve got a kid.”

      Sophie’s alarmed eyes met his in the rearview mirror; the car shot dangerously fast around one of the switchback curves. She slammed her foot on the brake, sending the back end fishtailing into a soft sandy spot on the shoulder of the road.

      “Take it easy,” Luke said, just before he was flung across the seat as she bumped back onto the road. By the time he’d awkwardly righted himself, pushing himself up with his hands cuffed behind his back, she’d gotten the car under control and was proceeding as if he hadn’t spoken, her lips tightly pursed. He sought her eyes in the mirror, but she wouldn’t look at him.

      “A boy,” he said.

      Her fingers clenched on the wheel. “Let’s keep this strictly business.”

      “Not possible.”

      Her head jerked sideways and he caught a glimpse of her pale face and stormy eyes, brimmed by thick brown lashes. “What did you say?”

      “You and I will never be strictly business.”

      “Fourteen years without contact certainly indicates otherwise.”

      “Nope. Fourteen years without contact only means that we both went cold turkey. Now that I’m back…” He let the smoldering heat inside him flow into his intense stare. It was amazing how physical desire could blot out one’s doubts. “Things are bound to be different. There’s a wicked temptation in proximity.” If she hadn’t cuffed him, he could have run his finger along her exposed nape to remind her of the sparks that flew between them. It was obvious that maturity had only deepened the attraction.

      His fingers flexed. Was her skin still as smooth as satin? He’d always been astonished by how soft she was beneath her rough cotton blouses and cheap denim jeans. His sweet little Sophie had been a pink rose bristling with thorns.

      She caught her breath. “Don’t—” She exhaled noisily. “Don’t you even think of starting up with me again, Luke Salinger. I’m not interested.”

      “Well, well. Little Sophie’s learned to stand up for herself.”

      “I finally figured out that no one else would do it for me.”

      “Yeah.” He remembered the patrol car parked in her driveway on that fateful night. With all her defiance, why hadn’t she stood up for him? Although he’d never have dreamed of asking her to lie, it had turned out that he’d wanted her unflinching support. Had counted on it. Discovering that not even Sophie was prepared to back him up had seemed like the final cruel blow.

      Years later, he understood that the situation hadn’t been so black-and-white. He’d made mistakes himself. Bad ones. Perhaps even irreparable.

      “Life sure is a bitch, huh, Little Soph?” he said coaxingly.

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