His brows drew down thoughtfully. That left money. The lady certainly appeared to have more than enough of that, and there was always someone who figured he was entitled to a share—without doing any work for it, of course.
It was a hell of a thing to have to tell someone, someone special, that her only child had been kidnapped. He’d rather face down all four of the Daltons than have to do this.
Maybe someone else found him.
After two days? Sure. And maybe cows could fly.
He clenched his jaw so hard the pain radiated down his neck. Well, there was nothing for it but to go in there.
Inside the entryway, he hung his water-stained hat and damp slicker on the hall tree. Water puddled on the polished plank floor, and he would have cleaned it up, but where the hell would a person find a cleaning rag around this place? He tossed his saddlebags down with a thud—caused by his spare .45—and dropped his bedroll and rifle right beside them. He’d take them upstairs later.
The house was quiet, still and lifeless. Any fleeting hope that someone else had found the boy disappeared in the funereal silence.
He saw Rebecca step through the double doorway of the dining room. Her hair was down, all golden silk, tied back at her neck with a blue ribbon in a way that made her look young, that made him remember her that way.
She’d changed into dry clothes since he’d left. She was wearing a high-necked long-sleeved blouse that was pale blue, with enough starch to effectively hide the gentle swell of her breasts, and at least a hundred tiny buttons that would take a man an hour to get undone. Her skirt was straight and black, and it drew flat across her belly, provocatively outlining her hips in a way that Luke couldn’t help appreciating.
She was head-turning beautiful, even in this tragic time.
She didn’t speak, just stared at him with those haunting blue eyes of hers. The ones he’d seen every night in his dreams—only then they’d been filled with excitement and passion. Now they were filled with so much sadness he had to look away from the intensity of it.
He tried to say something, something encouraging, something promising. God, he wished he had come home with the boy. He saw her straighten, as though bracing for a blow, and he delivered it with the barest shake of his head.
For a full ten seconds, she stood there motionless, and he wondered if perhaps she needed him to tell her.
“I—” The words wouldn’t come.
His hands drew up in a fist against the rage that filled him, that made his breathing a little harsh and his muscles tense. At that moment, he felt the loss as surely as if it were his child, and, without thinking, he crossed to her.
“Becky. Honey.”
Rebecca jumped, not having realized he was so close. “I’m all right.” It was a lie. Luke was her last hope, her certain hope. “All day, as the search parties returned...nothing. I kept thinking that you would—” She closed her eyes and turned away.
“I know,” he said softly. “Becky, answer me one question. Is there anyone who would have something against you? Anyone who would want to hurt you?”
Her eyes flew open, sparked with astonishment. “No. No one.”
“You’re certain?”
She shook her head. “No one. Why?”
“Then, since the boy hasn’t been found, all my experience is telling me that he’s been kidnapped.”
She didn’t move. Deep down, she’d known all along that was the truth; she’d simply refused to acknowledge it until now. She rubbed her eyes against the tears that threatened. “Why?” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “Why is this happening?”
“I don’t know, darlin’.” His tone was soft and easy.
Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks. Dear God, hadn’t she cried enough? Rage and fear mixed and mingled until she started to shake, and the tears continued.
“I can’t—” Tears clogged her throat.
Wanting privacy, she started past Luke, but he blocked her way. He caught her face in his work-roughened hands and looked at her in that way that was uniquely Luke’s, and much too familiar.
He had the softest eyes she’d ever seen, and a way of looking at her that made the world spin away. She could drown in those eyes and not care. She felt her defenses dissolving, releasing the pain and fear she’d stored there since Andrew’s disappearance.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” His voice caressed her like the summer sun. “You need someone. You’re trying to carry the weight of the world on those slender shoulders of yours.” His hands traced the line of her shoulders. Her skin warmed to his touch. “Everyone needs someone. I’m here for you.” She didn’t resist when he pulled her into the fold of his arms and kissed the top of her head, resting his cheek there. “Tell me your fear.” He kissed the top of her head again. “It isn’t half so bad when you put a little light to it.”
That fear that had been circling in her mind grew fiercer, more intense. She slipped her arms around his narrow waist and pressed her cheek against the hard wall of his chest. He smelled like rain and leather. He felt like sanctuary.
Luke.
He was here, and she needed him.
“I—”
“Yes, honey?”
“I’m afraid Andrew is dead.”
With the words came a great sob, and all the horror she’d held in check came rushing forth, threatening to carry her away if not for Luke’s strong arms around her. Desperately she clung to him, her hands splayed against the soft cotton of his shirt, feeling the work-hardened muscles beneath.
“It’s all right, honey. You go on and cry. You cry all you want.”
And she did cry. Tears washed down her cheeks and stained the front of his shirt. She sobbed and cried, and he let her. Never once did he try to stop her.
“I’m here, honey. I won’t let you go.” He tightened his grip with one hand and rubbed her back with the other.
It felt so good to cry. It felt so good to be in his arms. When at last her crying slowed, she looked up at him.
“I shouldn’t—”
He covered her lips with the tips of two fingers. “Shh. Don’t.” He leaned back and brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “Of course you should. Aren’t you allowed to have feelings? Aren’t you allowed to break down sometimes?” He cupped her face in his hands. “Hold on to me.”
And she did. Standing there in the entryway, she continued to cling to him, letting the strength of his touch and the slow, steady rhythm of his heart soothe her raw, aching nerves. All her earlier threats to send him packing were forgotten as she held on to him for dear life.
They stood like that for a moment or an eternity, she wasn’t certain. It didn’t matter. All she knew was that she felt safe and warm and protected. For the first time in two days, she felt good, and the fact that Luke Scanlin was the one who gave her that— Well, so be it.
He angled backward, and she craned her neck to look up at him.
“Luke, I can’t...” She started to pull away. He tenderly tightened his hold and smiled down at her. There was a lazy lifting of his mouth, a gentleness in his eyes that made her sigh. She made a halfhearted attempt to return the smile, grateful for his comfort and his concern.
He surprised her when he reached up with the pad of one finger and traced her bottom lip, then pulled the ribbon from her hair, arranging it over her shoulders. A shiver of anticipation fluttered through her. Her heart rate moved up ever so slightly.