Kate Bridges - Luke's Runaway Bride

Ten minutes passed, then an hour. Her breathing steadied. Her hands stopped trembling. The wind tugged at her loosened hair and she found herself enjoying the sensation.

The horse swayed, and for the tenth time, her cheek brushed Luke’s leather-covered shoulder. His body heat singed her cheek. His thighs rippled against hers once more, and she quivered. To take her mind off the man between her legs, she thought of Daniel.

Where was he? Did he miss her? How many men had he organized to chase after her? He’d be at the front of the pack, she envisioned, leading everyone. She couldn’t imagine him with a gun, though. Did he carry one? All she ever saw him carry was that silver pocket watch and a cigar. If he never carried a gun, then who had shot Luke in the office yesterday? The guard?

And she couldn’t imagine Daniel on horseback like Luke was now, roaring through the fields, leaping off the edge of a train, and just…well, just taking a woman he wanted. No, Daniel was a gentleman in every sense of the word, and Luke was…a hotheaded cowboy with no thought of tomorrow.

She tipped her face to the sun and let it caress her. It warmed her skin. In Boston, she never got to spend much time outdoors, or feel the wind or sun on her skin. If she were riding in Boston, she’d be forced to wear a bonnet.

Boston had stifled her—being stuck in the house at eighteen, when her grandmother had passed away. Father thought that’s where proper ladies belonged, but Jenny didn’t. What was wrong with getting an education?

After many fruitless arguments, Jenny had in the end cleaned and laundered and mended alongside Olivia, not because she had to but because of boredom. Soon, Jenny had started sneaking a peek at her brothers’ college books on commerce and accounting. Olivia read the ones about American history. As children, Jenny and Olivia had learned to read together, taught by Jenny’s grandmother.

Olivia. She hoped Olivia, who was no doubt galloping behind them, was also enjoying the fresh air, for it would give them the vigor to fight when the opportunity came.

Energized by the sun, Jenny looked up at the wide blue sky, thinking of all her reasons for coming West. Her father had his dreams of expanding the railroad, and her brothers had theirs of mining and working in pharmaceuticals. The men in her family weren’t interested in listening to her, but she would show them all she had a brain and could use it in business as well as they could. Maybe better. It was at times like these, she imagined, that daughters turned to their mothers for guidance. Jenny, at two, had lost her own mother to cholera.

Ah, well. It had happened a long time ago, and Jenny preferred to look at the future. She smiled in the warm wind, reminding herself that more women owned shops in Denver than they did in Boston. More women were allowed to charge out on their own. Although the two Denver bankers she’d secretly approached for a loan had laughed at her ideas for an undergarment shop, she’d have a store yet. What exactly, she wasn’t sure, but with her beloved’s help she’d do it.

All she had to do was get back to him. If it weren’t for this man, robbing her of the very freedom she cherished most…

Jenny reached out and patted the horse’s red coat. The animal’s hooves pounded beneath her in a steady rhythm. She glanced down at the waving grass. Their interlocked shadows, two riders atop a horse, sailed along the ground.

Why couldn’t she hear the hoofbeats of the other horse? Olivia should be close behind. Shifting in the saddle, letting go of Luke’s coat, Jenny craned her neck and glanced back.

She lost her balance. Panicked, she started to slide, and tried to jerk herself in the other direction.

Luke swore. She felt him grab her skirt and yank. “Hang on!”

With a loud rip, her dress tore. She slid off and hit the ground, rolling in the dirt. A rock smacked her temple. It stung. Her vision clouded. Sprawled on her back, she stayed put and tried to catch her breath.

“Whoa, boy, simmer down,” she heard Luke say in the distance. Then he was by her side. “Jenny! Are you hurt?”

She felt the pressure of his hand on her shoulder. She inhaled slowly and her eyesight cleared. He was looking down at her, his dark brows creased in concern. She hadn’t thought he was capable of any tenderness.

She groaned, trying to rise on an elbow. “I think I’m fine, but my head…”

He slid his hand along her back to support her. Much too close. The shadow of a beard made him look like a wild wolf. “You’ve got a little cut.”

He brushed her forehead with gentle fingertips, then his gaze came back to hers. His dark eyes were deep, warm pools and she felt herself submerging. “You don’t know how to ride,” he said.

It all seemed so ridiculous—the ride, her formal gown…. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

His eyes twinkled and he smiled at her. A kind, handsome smile. Her pulse skittered. She tried to fight it. “Are you laughing at me again?”

“No,” he said, ever so softly. “Why are you so stubborn? Why couldn’t you hold on to me, nice and proper?”

There was nothing nice or proper about their positions on the horse. Suddenly, she became aware of how close they were sitting, how firm his arm felt around her shoulders, how fresh and manly the scent of his skin. Underneath his coat, the collar of his crisp shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a thatch of silky black hair, leading down his chest to who knew where.

He seemed to come to his senses first and jerked away. “Stay here, I’ll get something for your cut.”

She tried to sit up, but her right upper arm rocked with pain. She rolled back to one elbow.

Luke returned with a cloth and dabbed at her forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me you can’t ride?”

“I didn’t have time.”

He pushed his hat back. The sweat-dampened hair at his temples glistened in the sunshine. “It’s my fault, I should have asked. I’m sorry.”

Finally, an apology for something. He kept dabbing. “You surprise me. A polished lady from the East, dressed in velvet, wearing imported perfume…yet you sure spit tacks. You don’t complain very much, do you? I mean, about sleeping in a pile of straw or at being thrown onto a horse when you don’t know how to ride.”

She broke their intimate gaze. The words seemed harmless, but the sincerity in his eyes… He was sitting so close she could feel the breeze whisper off his skin. How did a man like him know her perfume was imported?

How did she wind up this near to him? She squirmed away.

“Hey, come back here, it’s almost cleaned up.” He moved closer, poured water from his canteen onto the cloth and wiped her forehead. When he looked into her eyes again, her pulse rushed like a waterfall.

His gaze went lower, down to her quivering lips and then back up. A powerful awareness shot through her. He seemed different than he had last night. Gone was the hardened stranger and in his place was a compassionate man, rugged and appealing.

“Let me help you to your feet.”

“No, it’s all right…” She shouldn’t allow herself to be swayed. He was her captor and she was his prisoner.

It was too late to stop him. Attempting to pull her up, he grasped her upper arms, but squeezed the sore one by mistake. She yelped.

“You’re hurt.” He released her. His face creased with concern as his gaze skimmed over the jacket. “Where?”

“My right arm.”

“Let me check to see if it’s broken.”

“No, please—”

He was unbuttoning the sheepskin jacket before she could stop him, his warm hand grazing her shoulder, trailing down her bare arm. She tried to ignore his touch and the tingling sensations.

“It’s not broken, thank God,” he said. His charcoal-gray eyes, flecked with cinnamon-brown, glistened as he looked at her. A knot tightened in her belly.