Luke's Runaway Bride. Kate Bridges
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saying those words more often.
They turned the corner, passing massive stone-and-cedar houses. Petticoats swished around their ankles. Tomorrow, Jenny would rise early. Her crate of bridal fabrics had finally arrived from the East, and she was itching to cut her wedding corset. In Boston, her late grandmother had taught her how to sew the finest undergarments—“lingerie,” the French called it—and it still gave Jenny such pleasure.
Too bad she wasn’t able to convince Daniel a lingerie store would be appropriate for a woman of her stature, even though it had been her dream since she was fourteen. When would he decide on the type of store he did consider appropriate?
Her father and brothers hadn’t needed anyone’s permission to plan their dreams when they’d decided as a family to move West. Why did she? Even Denver bankers had refused her loan requests, because she was a woman on her own. She still knew that newspaper clipping by heart—“Store owners needed in Denver. Plenty of opportunities for men and women”—and she ached for the challenge.
A train rumbled through the foothills, scattering her thoughts. As Olivia chattered on, Jenny glanced up through the trees.
She spotted him again and lightning bolted through her.
The same tall stranger. Wide shoulders and a massive frame, leaning on Daniel’s porch. What did he want?
He wasn’t looking at them. instead he pressed a bulky hand to his shoulder, and his suede jacket fell open. His white shirt was soaked with a spreading stain of blood.
Her heart jumped madly. Instinctively, she stepped toward him. He needed help.
But if she had a lick of sense, she’d turn around and run. As her footsteps slowed, his head came up. She heard a jingle of spurs. He gazed at her, level and bold, as if he had every right to be here. Her muscles quaked.
Apparently, Olivia hadn’t noticed him. “…And so I answered, ‘Oui, monsieur,’ and he was sure surprised to hear me speaking French. Couldn’t imagine, he said, my folks being runaway slaves. My, it’s cool—”
“Olivia,” Jenny whispered, “look at the porch.”
Her friend came to a stop and grimaced in dismay. “Sweet stars above! Let’s get out of here.”
She tugged at Jenny’s sleeve, jiggling the feathers, but Jenny stayed put. If the man had wanted to attack them, he could have done it already. “He’s injured. He needs help.”
“Are you out of your mind? He looks dangerous! And you don’t always have to be the one—”
“He must know Daniel. He must be a friend. Why else would he be on the porch?”
“Maybe he’s the robber!”
Jenny swallowed, trying to control her fear, wishing Daniel had given her more details about the robbery instead of worrying he’d frighten her. “The sheriff’s looking for the culprit, and the guilty man wouldn’t be so foolish to stand right on Daniel’s porch.”
“We ought to run in the other direction. Bad things always come in threes, and this is the third thing today.”
Jenny’s gloved fingers tightened around her shawl. “That’s an old wives’ tale.”
“You know you believe it. Ever since your shoelace broke this morning, you’ve had a run of bad luck. First the robbery, then your button. Poppin’ off right in front of the entire church committee, I might add, exposin’ more flesh than any of ’em has seen in the last decade. Now this.” She motioned to the stranger. “Let’s not get attacked by a lunatic!”
Jenny drew a clipped breath. He was much bigger than they were. “You’re right, let’s go back and get the men.”
The stranger slumped forward, apparently in pain.
Compassion surged through her. “Are you…are you all right?” she called out.
Olivia gasped. “Jenny, don’t talk to him.”
He stood up, a tall dark figure in the shadows, swaying on his feet. “I’ll be fine. I was…hoping for someone else. Looks like he’s not coming.”
Her voice wavered. “You need a doctor. Who are you?”
He staggered toward the side of the house, to the iron rings that studded the twisted cottonwood where he’d tied his horse. “I’ll be heading out,” he said, not bothering to give his name.
“Are you waiting for Daniel Kincaid?”
The stranger spun in her direction. He peered at her in potent silence. “Who’s asking?”
Her stomach rose and fell. “I’m—I’m his fiancée. I could tell you where he is, but you really should see a doctor. Most of them are at the charity ball. You can see the lights through the trees.” She pointed. “We’ll show you the way.”
“We will not,” Olivia squeaked.
Jenny scowled. “He might be bleeding to death.”
“His fiancée,” the man repeated, stumbling to his horse. In the streaky moonlight, Jenny caught the look of disgust that rippled across his face.
A tremble ran down her spine. Who in blazes was this man? Why was he snarling at the fact that Daniel had a fiancée? Daniel—her beloved, her protector. And hadn’t she just decided, five minutes ago, she should learn to say no? Someone else could help this man. She inched back and signaled Olivia it was time to run.
She was about to spin away when the stranger placed his foot in the stirrup. Instead of swinging up, he staggered back and fell into the dirt. A moan escaped his lips.
Jenny’s breath caught. The man was truly injured.
As still as a boulder, he didn’t rise.
She couldn’t abandon a wounded man. She flung the gate open and dashed to his side.
Her friend shrieked. “We’ll get beaten!”
“Hush, Olivia, he’s unconscious. Come here and help me.”
Jenny knelt at his side. His hat had fallen off. A breeze billowed between them, lifting black hair off the handsome curves of his face. Light glimmered from the lamppost and caught his chin. A threadlike scar ran from his left ear to beneath his jaw, as if someone had once tried to slit his throat. Jenny gasped. Controlling her shaking fingers, she lifted his shirt. The bandage around his ribs oozed fresh blood. How much pain was he in? Could she help him without endangering herself or Olivia? Living alone as he did, Daniel only required the services of one hired man, and he was at the ball. The house was empty.
Olivia’s cloth boots crunched in the dirt beside her.
Jenny clawed her hands underneath his shoulders, groaning under the weight. “Help me get him into the house.”
“What if he tries to have his way with us?”
“He’s in no condition to attack us.”
Olivia picked up a chunky rock. “Should I hit him over the head to keep him that way?”
“No. Grab his legs and help me drag him in.”
In a back recess of his mind, Luke McLintock registered the faint scent of perfume. He stirred.
Regaining consciousness, but still dazed from pain, Luke slowly opened his heavy lids. Where was he? His blurry vision focused. A woman was leaning over him. One cameo button—the top one—was missing from her gown, and for a blissful, groggy moment, Luke was sure he’d died and entered the pearly gates of male heaven.
Intrigued, he stared at the glorious vision of creamy cleavage. The stickpin she’d apparently tried to fix it with still pierced one side of the gaping blue velvet, and beneath it all, her lavender lace corset—a color he’d never seen before in a corset—strained to contain her curves. He held his breath, anticipating, hoping, her cups