Lois Dyer – Luke's Proposal (страница 2)

His gaze moved back to Harlan Kerrigan’s niece. Lonnie’s cousin Rachel was young, not more than ten or eleven, her thin, childish body wrapped in a black wool coat against the cold April rain. Her bare legs were long and slender. His glance slid impersonally over the girl, marking and filing away in his memory the thick mane of dark hair and black-lashed gold eyes that watched him with solemn compassion.

She has eyes like Lonnie, he thought briefly, as she stared back at him, unblinking. No, not quite, he realized. Lonnie wouldn’t have the nerve to face any of us now. It didn’t matter how much courage she had. Her last name was Kerrigan, that alone was enough to earn his hatred.

“Our Father, Who art in Heaven…”

Margaret’s tear-clogged voice lifted to join the minister’s. Luke bowed his head, the girl’s golden eyes forgotten as his lips formed the familiar words. His mother’s voice faltered, catching on a sob before it steadied, her fingers tightening their hold on his father’s overcoat. Jessie’s small, cold hand slipped into Luke’s and clung, and he clenched his teeth against the tremors that shook him. He didn’t trust his voice not to break so he prayed silently, staring at the ground.

On the far side of the grave, Rachel Kerrigan bowed her head for the Lord’s Prayer, but she couldn’t resist watching Luke McCloud from behind the shield of her lashes. His features were devoid of expression, his gaze lowered, but she’d caught him looking at Laura moments before. And when that ice blue gaze had left her great-aunt and met hers, she’d been frozen by the fierce anger that leaped to life for a brief moment before he narrowed his eyes and they were once again unreadable.

The crowd around her stirred, shifting and murmuring, and Rachel realized the prayer had ended. She glanced quickly at her great-aunt, but Laura stood motionless, her head bowed in silent prayer. Behind them, two women whispered, their voices growing louder and more distinct.

“Such a shame. Poor John and Margaret.”

“They must be heartbroken to lose Angus so soon after that awful business with their son.”

Rachel stiffened. Her gaze flew to Laura but she seemed oblivious to the women, lost in her grief.

“Hmph.” A third voice joined the first two. “If you ask me, it was Angus that had the broken heart. He was a proud man. It had to be hard on him when his grandson was sent to prison for murder.”

Rachel spun to face the three older women. “It wasn’t murder,” she whispered fiercely. “It was manslaughter. And the car crash was an accident.”

“An accident?” The heavyset woman who’d used the M-word pursed her lips and frowned. “That’s certainly not what the judge decided. And clearly not what the Harper family believes, since there’s not a single one of them here today. Why are you defending young McCloud? He swore your cousin caused the accident. If the judge had believed him, Lonnie would have gone to jail instead of the McCloud boy.”

Rachel couldn’t tell the gossip that it was possible Lonnie had lied about what happened when Chase McCloud’s pickup truck rolled, leaving a third teenager, Mike Harper, dead. In her experience, Lonnie never told the truth if a lie would make his life easier. But her uncle and great-aunt stood within hearing distance and they both doted on Lonnie, stubbornly refusing to admit he was anything less than perfect.

Stymied, Rachel settled for giving the three women a withering glare and turning her back on them.

Luke echoed his mother and father’s murmured amens before he steeled himself as the minister and his wife headed the line of mourners approaching his family. His parents accepted their neighbors’ condolences with dignity as they filed past.

He gritted his teeth and met each curious, accusing glance without expression, silently daring them to say anything about his brother. If they say one word out of line, I swear, I’ll hit someone.

Lonnie Kerrigan’s reckless driving had caused the car accident that killed Mike Harper—but Chase was the one in jail. And six months after Lonnie testified under oath that Chase was driving the truck that caused the accident, Angus McCloud suffered a massive heart attack followed by pneumonia. The accident, the teenager’s death and the trial resulting in Chase’s being sent to a Montana youth correctional facility had devastated the McCloud family.

Luke ignored the passing mourners, his gaze drifting beyond them, locking onto the only five figures that hadn’t joined the line shuffling past his parents.

Harlan Kerrigan was shaking off his sister-in-law’s hand, clearly growling a refusal at her as he took his aunt Laura’s arm and turned his back on the graveside. Zach’s unreadable gaze met Luke’s before he walked away. The girl hesitated, looking back over her shoulder. Her gaze collided with Luke’s, a silent apology in their gold depths, before she turned and hurried after her family.

Harlan helped the widow into the passenger seat and stalked around the heavy green sedan to climb behind the wheel, leaving Zach to open the back door for Judith. The girl scrambled into the back with her mother and brother, barely getting the door closed before the vehicle was moving.

Luke marked the passage of the luxury vehicle as it pulled out onto the graveled county road, following it until it disappeared over the rise of a small hill. Behind him, the officer stepped forward, pulling his attention away from the departing Kerrigans.

“It’s time, son.” The officer’s voice was apologetic but firm as his hand settled on Chase’s shoulder.

Resistance roared through Luke, and he tensed, his fingers curling into fists.

Margaret’s hand tightened over Chase’s forearm, her eyes tortured.

“I have to go, Mom.”

“I know.” Margaret’s voice trembled and caught on a sob. She threw her arms around him and hugged him fiercely. “We’ll come see you soon.”

“No.” Chase returned her tight hug and stepped back. “I don’t want you to see me there.”

“Chase,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. “You’ll be in prison for two years. Don’t ask me to spend two years without seeing you.”

Luke couldn’t imagine having to endure that long without Chase. His brother was only eighteen months older, and they’d been inseparable all their lives. He held his breath, waiting for him to answer.

“I’m not asking you to never visit, Mom. Just—wait awhile, okay?”

Luke drew a deep breath, struggling for control. Clearly torn by Chase’s request, Margaret met his gaze for a long moment before she sighed and gave in. “All right, but don’t forget to write.”

“I won’t.”

He bent closer and kissed her soft cheek. Luke saw Chase’s eyes close and knew he was dragging in a deep breath, storing away in his memory the smell of her perfume.

Chase held his mother close one last time before he turned to his father and held out his hand. John McCloud pulled him into a tight hug. “Take care, son.”

“Yes, sir.” He gripped his father, then stepped back and turned to Jessie. “Be good while I’m gone.”

“I will,” Jessie echoed. Her deep blue eyes were brilliant with the tears that overflowed and slipped down her pale cheeks. She sobbed and flung herself at Chase, wrapping her arms around him, her tight grip desperate.

Chase hugged her, smoothing a hand over the silky crown of auburn hair before he pried her little fists free of his shirt.

Jessie didn’t make a sound, but her tears coursed down her face and dripped slowly from the soft, rounded curve of her chin.

Chase’s gaze met Luke’s, their exchange wordless before they shared a short, hard hug.

Then Chase turned to the officer and held out his wrists. Luke couldn’t suppress a growl of protest when the officer snapped the handcuffs in place.

“This is standard procedure, Luke.” Chase’s look warned him not to interfere. Luke clenched his hands until the short nails bit into his palm as he struggled to contain his rage. The last glimpse Luke had of his brother was a shared glance as the patrol car drove away, leaving the four of them standing by the open grave in the rain.

Fifteen Years Later

Early Spring

The bar was a dive. A man could search high and low through all the cowboy bars in Billings, Montana, and not find a rougher place.

Which was precisely why Luke McCloud had chosen the Bull ’n Bash. He couldn’t think of anywhere less likely to be frequented by anyone he knew. Most of his neighbors from Wolf Creek were in Billings for the livestock auctions and he’d rather avoid them, especially Lonnie Kerrigan. He wasn’t in the mood for a fight, and a brawl was the usual result when Lonnie was drinking.

Luke sat alone at a round table for four. He’d tilted one of the battered wooden chairs against the rough-cut lumber of the wall at his back and stretched out his legs to prop his boots on the seat of an empty chair. He drank from the longneck bottle of beer in his hand and swept the crowded, dim interior of the tavern with an experienced, assessing eye.

A Dwight Yoakam tune blared from the jukebox near the door, and in the back of the low-ceilinged room, the crack of cue sticks against pool balls was accompanied by grunts of satisfaction or groans of disgust from the players. A haze of cigarette and cigar smoke curled around the cheap hanging lanterns that gave the bar its dim light. Shadows lurked in the corners and partially concealed the doorway leading to a back hall. The Bull ’n Bash was doing a fair amount of business for nine o’clock on a Wednesday night. The bartender was a blonde who’d seen better days, but she smiled and laughed at the jokes from the three old cowboys occupying the worn red vinyl stools at the bar.