The Maverick. Carrie Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ He kept his tone nonchalant. Even so, he could tell by the way she cocked her head that she’d caught the underlying accusation.

      “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, softly menacing.

      “Only that a jail cell’s where you think I belong. Maybe you always did.”

      She didn’t answer. Didn’t speak for a long while. When finally she did, he couldn’t tell if the quaver in her voice indicated guilt or regret or maybe even longing. “Oh, Luke,” she said. “Why’d you come back?”

      “Hey, babe, you don’t sound happy to see me.”

      She slammed the flat of her hand on the steering wheel. “Try to be serious, please. I need to know why you’ve come back after so long. What made you—” A shudder coursed through her. “Why?”

      He hesitated, wondering about the worry in her voice. It was as if she feared him. And that didn’t make sense.

      “Haven’t you heard?” he said mildly, settling on the easiest of his reasons for returning to Wyoming. “The Lucases are having a family reunion at the ranch. A black sheep is just what they need to complete the happy get-together.”

      Watching her face in the mirror, he caught the relief that flashed over her features. It was gone before he could fully weigh it. “And that’s all?” she prodded, her brows beetled.

      He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. The links of the cuffs jingled. “Looks like I’m going to have a date in the courts as well. Thanks to you, Deputy Ryan.”

      “I’m sure the family lawyer will take care of the problem in a snap.” She’d probably meant to sound gruff, unaware that a hint of concern had crept into her voice. “Judge Entwhistle is tough but fair. She’ll take into account your clean record.” Sophie cleared her throat. “As long as it’s completely clean, that is.”

      “You mean, have I been carrying out a lawless rampage for the past fourteen years?” He shrugged. “Nope. I’m squeaky clean. Other than for a recent speeding ticket.”

      She smiled. Then quickly sobered. “So what have you been doing all this time?”

      “A little bit of everything.”

      “In the old days, that meant carousing, disturbing the peace, malicious mischief…”

      “A guy learns to be more discreet when he’s on the lam.”

      “On the lam for fourteen years?” Sophie braked at the highway intersection. “Some life.”

      “Yeah, it’s been real fulfilling,” he growled, taunting her. What did she care? She’d cast him aside, hadn’t she?

      “You always did suit your name,” she said softly. “Apparently you’re still an untamed maverick.” Her chin tilted, showing him her narrowed eyes. “When are you going to grow up, huh?”

      “Like you? Little Sophie Ryan with her uniform and her handcuffs and her big, bad gun?”

      She twisted around in the seat. “At least I’ve stayed in one place and built something good and lasting for myself! I’ve lived up to my responsibilities!”

      Luke was taken aback. “Sophie?” he said quietly, puzzled by her vehemence.

      A truck stacked with hay bales rattled past. She stepped on the gas and pulled out behind it with a spin of the tires—obviously her driving hadn’t improved just because she was now piloting a patrol car. “Forget I said that. I was only blowing off steam.”

      He insisted. “What responsibility have I shirked?”

      She hunched her shoulders. “I expect your family could answer that better than me.”

      “Maybe.” But he didn’t think that was what she’d meant. He went silent for a few minutes, trying to evaluate the situation from Sophie’s viewpoint, with the aid of years of hindsight. If she’d been as angry and mixed-up as he, shouldn’t he be able to find enough compassion to forgive her own lapse—or lapses, according to Heath—of good judgment?

      I don’t know if I can. He’d been Sophie’s first lover; his possessiveness had run strong. The shock of her betrayal had been the only way he’d made the break, and still his unreasoning desire for her had remained—a torturous emotion to live with, driving him to dangerously escalating extremes in his work as a stuntman, all part of the effort to get her out of his mind until he’d finally smartened up and realized that seeing her again was the only way to know for sure.

      “I left you,” he said. “You’re still holding a grudge about that?”

      She gave a short, hard, dismissive laugh. No answer.

      They were passing Punch’s place, nearing the town. In a short while Sophie would turn back into Deputy Ryan and Luke would have missed his chance. He had to speak now—or forever hold his peace.

      “I wanted to take you with me, you know.”

      She went as quiet and watchful as an owl, her rounded eyes reflected in the mirror.

      “My brown-eyed girl,” he whispered, lost in a sudden swirl of bittersweet memory. Slow dancing with Sophie in the gravel parking lot of the Thunderhead since she was too young to go inside, her head flung back, her dark eyes on his. Speeding on his motorcycle, taking the switchback at a reckless speed, her arms wrapped tight around his waist. Hours spent lying together in the long grass of the Boyer’s Rock pasture, the sun-warmed earth their refuge, their cradle. Trading kisses, whispering confessions, studying the stars.

      Sophie blinked. Several times. “Sure you wanted to take me. So much so that you left town without even saying goodbye.” Her voice was clotted with wary resentment.

      Yet hopeful? he wondered, then deliberately reminded himself of why he’d left her behind in the first place. According to Heath—and other walking, talking evidence in the form of her son—she’d not only spilled her guts to the sheriff, she’d quickly found “consolation” with a string of other men.

      Luke refused to let her see how badly that tore at his insides. Ice water in my veins. “Well, jeez, Sophie, I guess I figured that if you were willing to turn me in to the sheriff, keeping me as your boyfriend was not a top priority.”

      She stopped the car in the middle of Granite Street, two blocks from the police station. Luckily there was very little traffic, as was usually the case in Treetop.

      “Luke…” she said, turning to stare at him over the top of the car seat. Slowly she shook her head. “I didn’t.”

      Anguish clawed at his gut. “You didn’t?”

      She was adamant, proud, passionate—his Sophie, his brown-eyed girl. “No, Luke. I most certainly did not turn you in to the sheriff!”

      SOPHIE TURNED THE KEY and sat dully in her thirteen-year-old hatchback—same age as her son—waiting for the engine to stop rattling. A wisp of smoke rose from the tailpipe.

      She sighed. There was no way she could afford a new car this year, not if she intended to heat the house during the long, cold winter, keep Joey СКАЧАТЬ