“It’s not a party exactly,” Carey replied, unsure of how much she was willing to disclose about her present predicament. “I’m supposed to be getting married today.”
The words just burst out. Maybe just to shock that amused, slightly smug look off his handsome face, she realized.
And she’d succeeded, she noticed.
“Married? Today?” His gaze narrowed, attractive little creases forming at the corners of his eyes.
“Uh-huh,” Carey nodded, pulling hard—but carefully—on the wheel as the truck swerved on a wide stretch of flooded blacktop.
Carey was suddenly conscious of how her passengers held their breath for a second, waiting to see if she had saved them from skidding off the road.
She had. The truck bumped along in a straight path once more.
“Congratulations,” Luke said quietly.
“Thanks.” Carey wasn’t quite sure if he was congratulating her on her driving skills or her upcoming marriage, but she didn’t bother to ask.
He sat silently for a moment, then added, “Can I ask you what you’re doing riding around out here if you’re supposed to be getting married? High-tailing it from the poor groom?”
These last words were spoken lightly. But the underlying bitter note in his accusation was not lost on Carey. Not a man with a very high opinion of women, was he?
“Actually, it’s sort of the opposite,” Carey kept her eyes glued to the road, noticing that they were finally approaching the ranch. “So far, the groom is the no-show. I came out looking for him…and found you.”
She felt him looking at her, and she turned to meet his gaze. She couldn’t say he looked contrite or apologetic for assuming the worst about her, but a bit mollified, perhaps.
“Probably just stuck in the rain,” Luke offered.
“Probably,” Carey agreed. Though she knew Luke couldn’t imagine what this minor delay would cost her.
In most any other case, a delayed groom would be the cause of some inconvenience, some change in plans. But the show would go on. In her case, however, it was a pure and simple catastrophe.
But she didn’t need to explain that to Luke Redstone. Didn’t even want to try. Everything about him, from his worn, wide-brimmed hat to the scuffed toes of his black boots spoke of a practical man, a straightforward man, who would neither understand nor approve of her sham wedding plan. No, she thought, stealing a quick glance in his direction, he wouldn’t understand. Her plan was pure Hollywood, and he was clearly 100 percent all-American cowboy. The stuff legends were made of. And she had to admit that she herself wasn’t entirely proud of this plan: though not illegal, as her attorney assured her, it was certainly a willful misinterpretation of her father’s final wishes.
They drove on in silence, the wipers squeaking against the windshield and the truck’s thick tires making a muffled sound as they sped over the wet road.
She didn’t know why she should care what Luke Redstone thought of her. And quickly brushed the thought aside. She would take these two home, let them dry out and warm up, and as soon as they could get a tow truck out here, she’d never see them again.
Two
“Well, here we are. Almost,” Carey announced as she steered the swerving truck off the main road and into the turnoff that led to the ranch.
“This is where you live?” Luke asked her.
“Used to be my dad’s place. I grew up here but moved to California right after high school. Hardly been back since,” she added.
She glanced over at him, willingly answering his unspoken questions. A man like this, clearly private and guarded himself, would never be pushy about pulling out personal information. But she didn’t mind disclosing a few basic facts.
“Where’s your dad?” he asked. Did his tone imply that it seemed unlikely that a woman alone—especially one rushing around in a thunderstorm, dressed like a “fairy princess”—would be up to the task of running a ranch on her own?
“He passed on.” Carey replied without turning her head
“Sorry for your loss,” Luke replied politely.
Carey nodded. “Thanks.”
It had been over six months since her father’s death. But talking about it aloud was still hard for her.
The long months since Jonah Winslow had passed away had been filled with mixed feelings of regret and resentment. She and her father had never quite settled their differences. Or forgiven each other completely for past hurts. Always the stoic hale-and-hearty rancher, Jonah Winslow never once let on that his health was deteriorating so rapidly, his heart giving out like a burned-out old engine.
Heart failure, the doctors had called it. That was the information she’d finally received upon her return. Medication at that point was only delaying the inevitable and eventually wouldn’t have much effect. Nothing short of a complete transplant could help him, and he was too advanced in age and his body too weak to be a candidate.
She’d planned a visit home in the summer months, anyway, but it was a call from Ophelia that had finally alerted her to the dire situation.
And once Carey had returned home, she’d found a once-intimidating, giant of a man reduced to such a pitiful shell she’d hadn’t the heart or will to take up old grievances with him. Heavens, no. She’d been thankful enough to make it back in time to offer some comfort to him at the end.
Her father had died peacefully in his sleep, less than two weeks after her return. It was a few days after the funeral, while Carey still coped with the first wave of shock and grief, that she learned of the unfortunate—no, make that ridiculous, archaic, moronic—stipulations in her father’s will.
At no small cost she had hired lawyers to break the will, and the document was contested for months. But to no avail. Only a few weeks ago, Carey learned that the court upheld her father’s will and that his requirement for her inheritance would remain as he had decreed.
Just thinking about it made her blood simmer. The gentler, kinder feelings she’d developed for her father during his last days were shadowed by the knowledge that even after death, he would insist on controlling her, forcing her to conform to his standards, his plans for her life.
They drove beneath the arch that bore the words Whispering Oaks and Carey noticed Luke sit and up take notice.
“This is your place?”
“That’s right.” She turned to him, wondering why the news had inspired that look on his face.
He glanced down at his watch and smiled. “Then it looks like I won’t be that late for my interview after all.”
“Your interview?” Now it was Carey’s turn to be surprised. “Here?”
“I have an appointment with a fellow by the name of—” Luke reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper “—here it is, Willie Jackson. I heard you were in need of a foreman, and I called from town this morning. He told me to come right over. In fact, I was on my way when my truck broke down. Some coincidence, huh?”
Carey had to agree. “Yeah, a doozy.”
So maybe these two lost souls weren’t going to disappear as quickly as she had expected after all. The thought of Luke Redstone taking up residence on the ranch as her foreman flashed through her mind—both exciting and frightening at the same time.
If he passed Willie’s interrogation, the final decision would be left up to her, of course. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hire him. Though a man traveling in search of work with a small boy in tow was hard to turn away without a substantial reason.
She wasn’t sure why