A Family Kind of Wedding (12 page)

“That's just the routine stuff. I'm planning to have trail rides that last from eight hours to four days. Some will be the real thing—roughing it up in the mountains complete with pack horses and a mess wagon. But I'll have the more deluxe groups as well, where caterers will be set up along the trail. Food, drink and entertainment provided. The only thing the guests will have to do is ride. Their tents, cots and sleeping bags will be set up for them while they're out riding. When they return, they can relax around a gourmet meal, and I'll even include portable showers to wash the dust off.”

She was impressed. This had obviously been his dream for a large part of his life.

“For the people who want to stay down here on the ranch, we'll not only do the regular work, but we'll have horse races during the day and hayrides at night. They can swim in the river, or raft or canoe if they want to, and in the winter—well, not this year, but hopefully next winter—I'll organize ski trips to Mount Ashland or hunting expeditions up in the hills.”

“So you'll be open year-round.”

“Mmm.” He nodded and eyed her speculatively. “This isn't an ‘official' visit, is it?”

“‘Official'?”

“You're not up here scoutin' up a story for your paper?”

“Not today.” She offered him a smile. “Believe me, when I interview you for the
Review,
you'll know it.”

“Good.”

She glanced away. “I just wanted to thank you again.”
And to find out what happened to Dave Sorenson.
And now she knew—the sad truth. Her heart began to ache again, and she knew she should leave this ranch. There were too many ghosts from her past still wandering through the old house. And of course, there was the other problem that came in the form of a rangy Texan who played havoc with her mind—whether she wanted him to or not. “I'd better be off. Josh has probably driven his grandma crazy by now.”

“How is he—your boy?”

“Better, I think,” she said with a grin. “He's getting a little cranky, and my mom always said that a bad mood is a sure sign that the patient is getting better.”

“Your mother sounds like a wise woman.”

She thought of Brynnie and all her husbands. “Some people might disagree on that one. She seems to get married at the drop of a hat.”

“But you don't.”

“Me?” she said, startled. “Well, no. I, uh, tend to think marriage is more of a commitment than Mom does.”

“Is that why you didn't marry Josh's dad?”

She felt a needle of warning, the way she always did when the subject of Josh's paternity came up. “I told you we were just kids.”

“Even so, most men want to do what's right.”

“Most boys don't,” she replied automatically, then felt a twinge of guilt. “It was complicated.”

“Does he see Josh often?” Luke asked, and Katie's heart hitched painfully.

“No.” She considered telling Luke the truth; after all, he'd known Dave, but what good would come of it? First she had to talk to Josh, then the Sorensons. And then, her family.

Luke, as if sensing the subject was too tender to discuss, asked, “Can't you stick around a few more minutes? Since you're already here, I thought you might want to see the rest of the place.”

“I would. Very much,” she admitted boldly as the offer, softly seductive, hung in the air between them. It was true. Katie was tempted; she'd enjoy nothing better than to get to know Luke Gates with his slow, sexy drawl, bedroom eyes and past that had yet to be unraveled. She thought of their one shared moment of passion, that unguarded instant in time when she'd felt his lips on hers, tasted the salt on his skin, experienced his flesh pressing hot against her own. “But I'd better take a rain check.” Her gaze held his, and she saw in his blue eyes a flicker of something darkly dangerous and ultimately erotic.

“I'll hold ya to it,” he said, and her insides turned to jelly. He was too close, too unclothed, and too damned male. But she couldn't just let sleeping dogs lie.

“I really do have to go pick up Josh right now, but maybe I'll see ya around. At Tiffany's. Or Bliss's wedding reception.”

“I don't think so.” But he hesitated.

“Well, I'll look for you anyway,” she said, surprised that she was intentionally flirting with him. Hadn't she told herself a thousand times over to avoid him, that he was all wrong for her, that there was something about him no sane woman would trust?

“I don't think I'll show.”

“Your loss.” Somehow she managed to turn on her heel and walk to the Jeep without feeling like she was fleeing. But her fingers were shaking and her palms sweating as she jabbed her key into the ignition. “You're an idiot,” she told herself not for the first time, as the engine fired and she twisted the steering wheel. With what she hoped looked like a carefree wave out the window, she was off in a cloud of dust and exhaust. “Stay away from him, Katie! For once in your life, be smart!” She glanced in the rearview mirror and along with a vision of her worried eyes she saw him standing watching her, his feet apart, his long, jeans-clad legs stiff as they met at his slim hips. His arms were folded over his bare chest, and his jeans hung low enough to show off the bend at his waist.

Katie's throat went dry, and she knew right then and there that she was in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.

Every muscle in Luke's body ached. He'd spent ten hours setting fence posts and cleaning out the stables. He smelled bad and probably looked worse, though the woman behind the convenience-store counter hadn't appeared to notice as she'd counted out his change when he'd stopped to buy a six-pack of beer, a bag of chips and a copy of the local paper.

He pulled into the driveway of the carriage house and parked near the garage. As he grabbed his copy of the
Review
and his sack from the store, the Santini family, dressed to the nines, emerged from the back door of the main house.

Tiffany had her purse in one hand and her other was wrapped around Christina's wrist. Wearing a long, shimmering blue dress, she was giving orders to her family, commands Luke heard through the open windows of his pickup. “Now, listen, I don't want any more fights,” Tiffany said, leveling her gaze at her son as her small family gathered on the back porch. “You're a lot older than Christina, and fighting with her is ridiculous.”

The little girl, pleased with the turn of the conversation, smiled broadly, then, behind her mother's back, stuck out her tongue at her brother.

Stephen yanked at his tie, looked about to say something but just rolled his eyes instead.

If Tiffany noticed any part of the exchange she ignored it as J.D. locked the back door. “Now, come on, I just talked to Aunt Katie. She and Josh need a ride.”

“Still no car?” J.D. asked. He seemed every bit the lawyer in what looked to be an expensive suit and neat tie.

“Not for a few more days. If I were her, I'd go out of my mind. The good news is that Josh is off crutches and that the phone calls he was getting have stopped.”

“What phone calls?”

“Oh, some kind of prank, I think. He'd answer, and no one was there.”

“Probably kids.” J.D. shook his head but every overworked muscle in Luke's body tightened. He hadn't seen Katie in a couple of days, not since she'd been out to the ranch.

Tiffany had shepherded the family down the back steps and onto the dry grass of the lawn when she spied Luke climbing out of his truck. “Oh, hi!” The worried knot between her eyebrows disappeared as both kids dashed for J.D.'s Jeep. “It's a madhouse as usual around here. If we make it to the wedding on time it'll be a miracle,” she said with a laugh. Her eyes skated down his dusty, sweat-stained T-shirt and worn jeans. “I thought—I mean, didn't Katie say that you were going to Bliss's…” She blushed, and he figured out the rest for himself.

“I think she expects me to show up at the reception.”

“You should!” Tiffany enthused.

“I told Bliss I'd think about it.”

A horn blared, and Luke spied Stephen behind the steering wheel of J.D.'s rig. A broad smile creased his face.

“Stephen, stop!” Tiffany said, shaking her head at her son. She turned back to Luke. “We really do have to run,” Tiffany said as J.D. managed to get his soon-to-be stepson to move to the back seat as he was still a few years too young to drive.

Luke waved and headed up the stairs. He tried not to think about Katie dressed up and looking for him at the reception, nor did he want to dwell too long on the thought of a couple making vows. He'd been down that road himself and had ended up being burned. Big-time. Good luck to Mason and Bliss. He wanted no part of it.

The carriage house was stuffy and hot, so he cracked the windows, opened a beer and settled into his recliner with the paper. The headline on page one caught his attention: Wells Mystery Deepens. Katie Kinkaid's name was on the story. “Great,” Luke growled, taking a long swallow from his bottle. His eyes skimmed the article, and his jaw hardened. “Damned fool woman.”

There was no doubt about it; she was trying her best to get herself killed.

It's none of your business, Gates. None.

“Hell.” He attempted to read the rest of the paper, but his mind kept straying back to Katie and her stubborn fixation on becoming some kind of hotshot ace reporter. In Bittersweet, Oregon. Fat chance. No wonder she wanted to jump feet first into this Isaac Wells mystery.

He drained his bottle, then slammed it down on a nearby table. Try as he might, Luke couldn't forget the fact that she was getting crank calls and weird letters.

Dog-tired and irritated as all get-out, Luke slapped the copy of the
Rogue River Review
on to the table and shoved himself to his feet. Knowing he was about to make a huge mistake, he kicked off his boots and stormed into the bathroom.

He yanked off his T-shirt and dropped it on to the floor. What the devil was Katie thinking? Why did she insist upon stirring up trouble? Muttering under his breath about hardheaded career women who had more guts than brains, he twisted on the shower faucet and stripped out of his jeans.

In the past two days he'd half expected her to show up at his ranch again, half wanted it. Anytime he'd heard a rig slow at the end of the lane, he'd felt an unlikely rush of adrenaline, experienced a clenching in his gut, only to end up disappointed when she didn't appear.

Whether he wanted to admit it or not, there was something about that little spitfire of a woman that got under a man's skin—well, at least his skin.

“Man, you've got it bad, Gates.” Disgusted with that particular thought, he stepped under the shower spray and sucked in his breath. Hot water splashed against his chest and ran down his torso. As he scrubbed the dirt, sweat and smell of horse dung from his body, he told himself that Katie Kinkaid was off-limits. Way off-limits. She was the kind of woman who could turn a man's head around, and he needed no part of that. None. And yet…

Annoyed, he scrubbed until the dirt under his fingernails had washed away, and all the lather that swirled down the drain was white. Why did he care what Ms. Kinkaid did? It wasn't as if she was someone special in his life. As a matter of fact, she wasn't in his life at all. Heretofore he'd helped her out of a jam with her car and her kid, and had made the mistake of kissing her. She'd shown up on his doorstep asking about Dave. That was it. So what if she wrote articles about hermits who disappeared? Who cared that the man had decided to contact her? It wasn't any of his business.

Oh, yeah? What if she's the mother of Dave Sorenson's kid? What then? It sure as hell
is
your business.

And he was bothered by Katie's involvement in this Isaac Wells mess. The situation bordered on the bizarre. What if the old man was involved in something criminal or sinister? The police had been questioning Ray Dean, a local hoodlum who'd been in and out of prison for years. Though no connection had been made, there was speculation in town that the two men had known each other.

A lot of people had thought Isaac Wells was dead. Maybe even murdered.

Yeah, then who wrote Katie the letter?

That was what bothered him. Was the letter the real thing or some kind of grand hoax? Either way, he was worried.

Angrily he dried his hair with a towel, stepped in front of the foggy mirror and swiped at the glassy surface until he could see his reflection well enough to scrape off his five-o'clock shadow and run a comb through his hair. He'd suspected from the moment Katie had invited him that he would attend the wedding reception, but it galled him to think that he had no will where that woman was concerned. One curve of her lips, a tiny sparkle in her eye, a mocking lift of her eyebrow, and he found himself doing things he'd sworn to avoid.

“Damn.” He dressed in a white shirt and black slacks, then fingered a bolo tie only to discard it and slide into his best pair of boots. By the time he walked outside it was dusk, and the filmy clouds gathering over the moon were beginning to thicken. The air was hot and sultry without the slightest hint of a breeze, and yet he sensed a storm was brewing.

As he walked to his truck, he eyed the old Victorian house. It seemed strangely empty. No lights glowed in the windows, no kids ran in the yard, no angry guitar chords wailed from one of the upstairs rooms. Boxes were stacked on the porch—evidence that the Santini clan was moving out.

And Katie Kinkaid would be moving in. That thought made him edgy and restless. Living less than a hundred feet away from her was much too close. Though she probably needed a man to look out for her, he wasn't a candidate. As he climbed into his truck he tried to take solace in the fact that he wouldn't be here long. As soon as the electricity and phones were connected, he'd set up housekeeping at the ranch.