“You don’t know what you’re doing, girl,” he’d warned.
“But I’ve always known how I feel,” she whispered, “ever since I first saw you.”
“You’re too young to know anything. Folks around here think I’m nothing.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to go my whole life wanting you like this … and never having had you.” She moved toward him. “Just once. That’s all I’m asking for.”
“No one can know,” he said.
“Nobody but us,” she’d whispered, sliding into his arms, her soft curves melting against his hard muscles.
She’d felt right, perfect.
“Just us,” he’d murmured, kissing her passionately.
For him, that time with her had been special. No other woman had ever come close to mattering so much. But then, no other woman had used her mother to throw him out like he was nothing. That had been equally hard to forget.
Had she just wanted to scratch an itch? Had she known then she would have to marry Wakefield if she wanted to get her precious ranch back? For years Luke had tormented himself with those questions.
She’d been the first girl he’d loved—and she’d be the last. She’d taught him love held a dark power. She’d taught him there were worse things than having a mean old man for a father. She’d taught him there were worse things than being born poor. She’d taken a hatchet to his heart and soul.
Swearing she loved him, she’d given herself to him on a bed of hay that night in the barn. Then, as soon as she could, she’d married Robert Wakefield, no doubt because he was the son of the banker who’d repossessed her family’s ranch.
But life had a way of being messy, and nothing had worked out as she’d planned. Robert had died. The ranch was in trouble again, and she was a struggling widow with a son.
A son. Funny that he hadn’t seen the kid. Not that he wanted to see Wakefield’s kid, who was living proof that she’d been with another man these past six years.
Some people were good at letting go. Luke envied them. Not that he didn’t go through the motions of a man who’d moved on. He owned a glamorous penthouse in London. Invitations to his parties were sought after. He dated the most beautiful women in Europe. Except for his friend Nico Romano, an Italian prince with an independent wife from Texas, his married male business associates said they envied Luke his carefree life.
Although he didn’t pick up the report again, Luke barely spared a glance out the tinted windows. He didn’t have to. The harsh brown scrubland was deeply engraved into his consciousness.
He’d accomplish this errand for Hassan as quickly as possible. Then he’d figure out once and for all what was behind Hassan’s obsessive interest in Caitlyn.
Not that he hadn’t tried to find out after Hassan had met her at Keeneland. When Luke hadn’t reacted to the Wakefield name, Hassan had pressed, asking him if he’d known Caitlyn Wakefield personally.
“Yes, I worked for her father.”
“And? Did you care for her?”
“It doesn’t matter. Her mother fired me. I left Texas and never saw any of them again. Why do you want to know?”
“You don’t talk about Texas much.”
“I’m not all that proud of who I was in Texas, or of how people treated me. It’s something I’ve tried to put behind me.”
He’d thought that was the end of it. Then Hassan had asked Caitlyn to help him with Sahara and had invited Luke to Deauville without telling him he’d hired Caitlyn as Sahara’s trainer. When Luke had seen her working with the stallion, he’d asked Hassan again why he was so interested in her. It would have been so much easier to use a world-class French trainer instead of bringing Caitlyn from the States.
Again, Hassan had been evasive, saying only that her advice had saved him from making a particularly disastrous purchase.
“Why did you invite me to dine with the two of you?”
Luke had asked. “It’s as if you are determined to get us together.”
“Sometimes we are rash in our youth. Sometimes it’s a mistake to lose touch with old friends.”
“Not in this case.”
“You could be wrong, my son.”
“Well, I won’t come for dinner if you insist on including her.”
“I do insist on her presence tonight.”
“Then I’ll pass.”
“You shall be missed, my son.”
Hassan’s stubborn behavior and fascination with Caitlyn made no sense, but Luke would get to the bottom of it. Then, hopefully, within the week, he’d be home with Teresa.
Luke saw a flash of movement out the window. A handsome blood bay horse, ridden by a small figure, sprang across the road right in front of the limo. The driver honked and hit the brakes too fast and too hard. The bay spooked and started bucking.
Tires squealing, the limo fishtailed in a swirl of gravel, sliding to a standstill in front of a prickly pear cactus. The pages of Steve’s report came loose and flew all over the limo’s plush interior.
The riderless red horse plunged wildly away from the veils of dust near the car, racing across the depopulated landscape. Then he stopped and circled back, staring at something on the ground. When the dust settled, Luke saw a small boy lying still and lifeless on the road.
Luke leaped out of the limo at the same moment as his driver.
“I didn’t see him, sir! Not until it was nearly too late!”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Luke assured the man.
“He came out of nowhere.”
“See to the car.” Luke strode toward the prostrate boy, who’d stirred at the sound of their voices.
A cowboy came running from the pasture. “The boy, he got away from me, señor.”
When the kid moaned, Luke felt some of his tension ease. The car hadn’t hit the boy. He’d just been bucked. Maybe he was okay. At the same age, Luke had ridden just as recklessly and had taken many a hard fall without doing permanent damage. In some ways, kids were tougher than adults.
Careless of the fine wool and silk blend of his custom-made suit, Luke knelt on the ground beside the boy.
The kid groaned and sat up, blinking at him suspiciously. The boy’s red-checked cowboy shirt was torn in two places. He raised a quick, thin hand to shade his tanned brow, squinting at the brilliant afternoon sun coming from behind Luke. The boy’s lips parted in a gap-toothed grin.
“You okay …?” Luke began, feeling a jolt of recognition.
“Sorry, mister. I …”
The kid had jet black hair and green eyes—green eyes that were the exact same shade as his own.
Luke’s gut twisted. Emerald eyes stared straight into his for an endless moment, during which Luke felt something near his heart shift.
Luke didn’t believe in coincidences, and Hassan placed an inordinate value on sons. Was this boy the answer? Did Hassan think …?
Had Hassan seen Caitlyn’s son and noticed the resemblance to Luke? Had Hassan met the boy at Keeneland?
Suddenly Luke couldn’t breathe. It was as if a band had wrapped around his chest and squeezed. In a weird panic—he never panicked—he fought to ignore dozens of questions that bombarded his stunned mind.
“I asked you if you’re okay?”