Kentucky Home (3 page)

“Nice to meet you.”

Then he turned on his heel and walked back into the kitchen.

Mal looked around the tiny bedroom she'd been, as Luke said, assigned. The plaid bedspread was more shabby than chic, but it looked warm and she was desperate to climb under the covers. She had started changing when she realized that she had nothing appropriate to change into—in addition to no dressy fall weather clothes, she also had no pajamas. Katie was going to lend her some sweats to sleep in, although Mal was dubious about how far over her hips they would go. Katie was tall, but she was thin as a reed. And she still managed to look like a pipsqueak next to her brothers. No wonder Luke was so protective. At one time, that would have driven her crazy. Now Mal was grateful for the protective interference of Luke Carson.

He had told her that was what the men in his family did, looked out for the women. Mal thought that was a pretty unenlightened attitude, but she was in no position to turn it down. She had known Luke for less than a year, and even though their friendship had been slow to develop—he was just the charming bartender she sometimes saw at charity events when she was on Michael's arm—now she didn't know what she would do without him. She knew he had a wild, restless streak, and he was getting ready to leave DC anyway. But for him to pick up and come
home
, a home he only talked about as a punch line, a place she knew he did not feel, well, at home, that was big, and it was all for her. She had no one else—no family, no real friends beyond Luke. But he made her feel like this was the easiest, most natural thing in the world, to put a fake ring on a friend's finger and take her home.

She had a hard time imagining the other men in the Carson family being as sweet about it. Probably as high-handed (and Luke was high-handed—she was here, wasn't she? And without any pajamas?). There was nothing sweet about Cal and Keith Carson, although Mal had to admit that Keith didn't have the same hardness that Cal did. Maybe that would come with time. For now, Keith seemed happy to wear floral oven mitts and hold out Libby's chair for her. Oh, manners. Manners were very sexy. Maybe he had a mommy complex, she thought, fingering the fraying corner of the comforter. She shook her head. This was Kentucky, not
Oedipus
.

Besides, she was engaged to Luke. So even if she did find her gaze lingering on Keith's sad eyes or his strong forearms, it didn't matter. She was here for however much time it took Michael to forget about her, and for her to make a plan for what she was going to do for the rest of her life.

No big deal.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Luke snuck in before she could answer. “Luke! You're not supposed to be in here!”

“Can't I sneak in to say good night to my best girl?”

She didn't really mind, and if they really were engaged, she would have welcomed it. But Miss Libby had told her that she knew it was old-fashioned, but in this house, two people did not share a bed unless they were married. She said it with a smile, which seemed to be the only way Miss Libby said anything. But still.

Luke came over to put his arms around her, but she pushed at his chest. “Luke, get out. I don't want to face the wrath of Miss Libby if we get caught.”

“Miss Libby won't care. She likes you, she told me.”

“She likes me until she catches me taking your virtue under her roof when she expressly said it was forbidden.”

“Darlin', if I ever had virtue, it was gone a long time ago.”

“Well, then if she catches you taking my virtue.”

Luke just raised an eyebrow at her. “Katie gave me these for you.”

He handed her a pair of sweatpants and a very old, ratty-looking T-shirt. At least it looked big. She immediately started to slip the sweats on under her skirt. Ah, warmth. She sighed to herself.

“Come here, sit down,” Luke said, indicating the bed. It was her turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “I'm not going to do anything unvirtuous. I just want to talk to you.” When she sat, he said, “How are you doing?” and started rubbing her shoulders.

She moaned, letting her head roll forward. “Fine. A little awkward. I know you insist I'm not, but I still feel like I'm imposing.”

Luke tsked at her and rubbed up her neck to the bottom of her skull.

It took a Herculean effort to turn and take his hands in hers. “Luke, please be serious. I can find another—”

“Mal, we're in the middle of nowhere—”

“But if Michael—”

“And we're country people. We have guns.” He smiled and gently stroked the skin under her right eye where the bruise had faded to nothing. “You just needed to lay low for a while. Well, you ain't gonna find anyplace lower than Hollow Bend,” he said, his Kentucky accent exaggerated. When she started to protest, he reached up and grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Trust me. You're safe here. You can take all the time you need.”

Her eyes moistened, and she shivered. Not from cold, really—although a little from the cold.

Luke noticed. “Sweetheart, you're freezing. Get under here.” He pulled the covers back while she quickly changed her shirt and pulled off her skirt. She crawled under the covers, and Luke kicked off his shoes and climbed in with her.

“Luke—” she started to protest.

“I'm not going to touch your virtue. I'm just getting you warm is all. Damn, girl, you're an icicle.” His arms wrapped around her; his hands pulled her head to his chest. “Just relax, try to get some sleep. I reckon you haven't had a good night's sleep in a while.”

That was true enough. Before she could only lie stiffly next to Michael, hoping not to alert him to her presence in case she woke him in the middle of the night. There were two possible Michaels who could wake up—the cranky Michael who complained that she was preventing him from getting the sleep he needed to be able to perform in the operating room, or the amorous Michael, who was just as unpleasant. The one time she snuck out of bed to sleep on the couch was a very unpleasant morning for her. “How would it look,” he said, “if people knew they weren't even sleeping in the same bed?” How would they know? she thought, but she never did it again, even after they were separated. Well, at least when he slept at home.

Nothing at all like beautiful Luke, with his sparkling green eyes and his mess of wavy blond hair, his happy-go-lucky attitude that drew people to him, his sweet, sweet heart that wanted to keep her safe. She loved him. She wasn't sure if she would ever be able to fall in love again, not the way she had been with Michael in the beginning, but she did love Luke. She leaned forward and tentatively placed her lips on his. She felt him flinch in surprise, then warm to the idea as her lips moved over his. He put his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” he said, cupping her cheek in his hand.

“Just testing. Seeing how it felt. You know, if it still felt the same.”

“How did it feel?”

Mal sighed. “Like friends.”

Luke's laughing eyes met hers. “And how are we going to stay friends if you keep trying to seduce me every time you feel a little low? That's not good for my self-esteem, darlin'.”

Now Luke stroked her hair and whispered to her to trust him, that she was safe, that he would take care of her.

She fell asleep.

 

 

Mal turned the dark corner, running toward the light at the end of the hallway. She wasn't sure where she was or where she was going, but she heard footsteps behind her and she knew she had to get ahead of them. She ran and ran, her legs pumping, muscles burning, and when she got to the light, her momentum propelled her through the doorway out into empty space. There was no floor beyond the doorway and she was falling . . .

She woke up with a gasp and shot straight up in bed. Where was she? Plaid quilt—hotel room? Slowly the details started to take shape in her sleep-addled brain. Football trophies on the walls. Worn wooden floors. Luke's house. Well, Luke's family's house. Luke had murmured her to sleep. She turned around in the bed; she blearily scanned the room.

Luke was gone.

Keith was up with the roosters the next morning. Since his dad got up that early, he knew Miss Libby would have some breakfast out. No one was in the kitchen when he crossed the yard and went in through the back door, so he wrapped a couple of pieces of bacon in a paper towel and stuffed a biscuit in his mouth. He turned back to stuff another biscuit in his pocket, then headed out to the bunkhouse.

His little house wasn't much to look at, but it was sturdy. The outside needed painting, something he should have done this summer but never got around to. He made a mental note to corral Luke into helping him while he was home. For however long he was home. He noticed Luke's car was gone from the driveway, but he didn't think anything of it. Luke kept the most irregular hours of any man he had ever met. He knew Miss Libby hoped that fiancée of his would straighten him out; didn't seem to be working so far.

Mal. She seemed nice enough. OK, she seemed downright sweet. Not that phony kind of sweet he was used to seeing around town, girls who would bat their eyes and laugh at your jokes until they found out that, no, his no-good brother was not in town and, no, he still was not over his dead wife. At least they were natural blondes, which was something Mal definitely was not. He didn't pretend to know about the ins and outs of women's hair coloring, but when Vanessa dyed her hair (“Frosted,” she corrected in his head), it looked different, but good. Brought out the blue in her eyes. Mal's hair seemed to make her look a little sick. He felt bad for Luke when he broke the bad news to her that there were no hair salons in Hollow Bend, although maybe Jack would be visiting his horse again soon. He was still a hairdresser, right? Keith should store that away to tell Mal. She looked high maintenance.

Why the hell would Keith be telling her when the hairdresser was coming to town? Probably because of the way her brown eyes shone when she looked at Luke. Keith was ashamed to admit he was a little jealous. Of course, her eyes shone when she looked at the spread at dinner, too, much to Miss Libby's delight. Mal said she hadn't had a home-cooked meal in years. So much for a domestic goddess to straighten Luke out. Well, hopefully she would at least be able to keep up with him.

He opened the side door of the house and was greeted with much tail wagging and barking. Peanut jumped up, almost knocking Keith over with his one front paw as he made a grab for the bacon in Keith's left hand. Keith pushed him down with a stern, “No.” Peanut looked chagrined, and gazed hopefully at the biscuit Keith unwrapped. “Dog, when are you gonna learn?” He laughed this time as Peanut jumped up to snag the crumb Keith threw him. Peanut might have only three legs, but he acted like a four-legged dog. A four-legged lapdog puppy, really. Keith would have been more amused if the ninety pounds of self-deluded canine hadn't just knocked him over, grabbed the bacon out of his hand, and run toward the house.

 

 

Mal was having the weirdest dream. She was a kid, running through the sprinklers at her parents' house in Connecticut, when Michael pulled up in his black convertible and honked the horn. Suddenly she was a teenager, home from college for the summer, running out to meet him in cutoffs and flip-flops. Michael looked her up and down, then reached under the seat and pulled out a pistol and shot her—but it was a water pistol, and she got soaked. He got out of the car and soaked her and soaked her, knocking her down and sitting on her chest, soaking her and licking her face, and he had the most terrible morning breath . . .

Mal opened her eyes and looked at the giant furry face on top of hers only to get a lick in the eye. As her thoughts came into focus, she realized what the heavy weight on her chest was—a giant licking shag rug with terrible morning breath.

Keith ran through the open kitchen door whose screen was now sporting an impromptu doggy hatch. How far could Peanut have gone on three damn legs? He ran through the first floor and was just headed up the stairs when he heard a blood-curdling scream. Mal.

He bolted up the stairs into Mal's room and saw her cowering in the corner of her bed, her legs bent in front of her to fend off Peanut's aggressive friendliness. She was clearly terrified. “Peanut, come!” he shouted. Peanut turned and looked at Keith, gave Mal one last lick on the nose, and ran to Keith.

Katie had come up behind him, rumpled and bleary-eyed. “What the hell is going on?”

“Take Peanut downstairs.”

“Hey, Mal, are you OK? You look a little green.”

Mal was frozen in her defensive position on the bed.

“Take the dog out, Kate.”

Katie turned and obeyed Keith, Peanut limping happily as she led him by the collar. Keith turned to Mal and approached her gently. “Mal? Can you hear me?” She stared blankly at the doorway even though he was fully in the room. She was in a full-blown panic. “Mal, it was a dog. His name is Peanut. He's gone now; Katie took him outside. Mal, the dog is gone.”

She turned slowly and looked up at him and whispered, “I think I'm going to throw up now.”

 

 

She should have been embarrassed that her fiancé's brother was witnessing her morning breath, ill-fitting sweats, and paralyzing fear of dogs, but all Mal knew was that if she didn't get to the bathroom soon, she would have something much grosser to be embarrassed about. Last night's dinner roiled in her stomach, fighting with the aftereffects of her panic. She looked up to Keith, begging for help like he'd helped save her from the dog. “I think I'm going to throw up now.”

Before she knew what was happening, she was gently lifted off the bed and carried into the bathroom. Keith set her down on the rug, lifted the toilet seat, and . . . did not turn away in horror as she retched into the bowl. Instead, he got a glass of water from the sink, then kneeled down next to her, rubbing her back and holding her hair out of the way.

Wasn't that one of the tests to see if your man was worthwhile? Didn't she read that in
Cosmo
? Throw up in front of him, and if he runs away, it was never meant to be, but if he holds your hair and rubs your back, he's yours to keep? Unfortunately, this one was not hers in the first place, but damn, his hands were comforting, warm on her cold neck, gently kneading the tension out of her shoulders.

“I'm sorry about the dog. Peanut hasn't come to terms with his size just yet.”

“S'okay. It's a farm,” Mal answered weakly.

“Still. I shouldn't bring my work home.”

Mal blinked up at him for a second. “That huge thing is named Peanut?”

“Well, yeah,” Keith said self-consciously. “He was little when we found him.”

Mal smiled wanly and reached for her toothbrush. “Sorry for freaking out just there.”

“No, don't apologize, it's not—I mean, I should have been more careful.”

Mal tried to talk while brushing her teeth. “Mmmm-hmmmmmm-mm-mm-mmm.”

Keith looked at her patiently. She spit into the sink. She was still shaky, but the mint of the toothpaste tasted good. “I don't usually get sick. Usually I just stand there paralyzed while people tell me how nice their dog is.”

“Well, I've seen how serious fear of animals can be, even if it seems unwarranted.”

“I just, well, ah, I don't know. I've just been afraid for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, my neighbor had a really old mutt. He was mean, but I was little so I tried to pet him. He bit my chin.” She pointed to a miniscule scar on the edge of her chin. “It scared me, and it hurt. And, obviously, I'm scarred for life.” She managed a weak laugh.

“Shh, it's OK,” Keith said, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. They were covered in goose bumps, and she realized that she had begun shivering as she told the story.

“Peanut really is a very nice dog. One day, when you're ready, you can meet him properly. See if you guys get along.”

She turned around and looked at Keith, this sweet, sexy man who held her hair when she threw up and didn't laugh at her fear of dogs. “Thank you,” she said, and took his hand.

That's where Miss Libby found them as she climbed up the stairs with a mug of tea. “You poor thing,” she said, elbowing Keith out of the way and handing the mug to Mal. “Drink this; it'll settle your stomach.” She put a protective arm around Mal's waist and led her back into the bedroom.

“See you,” Keith practically grunted as he brushed past them in the bathroom doorway.

“That boy and his dog,” Miss Libby said, watching him go.

Mal smiled, then laughed, and put her head down. Miss Libby brought her arms up and began to rock back and forth, rubbing Mal's back. It felt good and comforting, but not nearly as good as Keith's arms had, her voice not nearly as soothing as Keith's. Mal's laughter suddenly choked her and turned into tears.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, none of that,” said Miss Libby, lifting her chin up and wiping her tears with her thumb. “What's this about?”

Mal tried to explain; she wasn't entirely sure herself. Every time she tried to articulate why she was crying, it just got worse. She didn't like lying and it was stressing her out, she was angry that she was such a chicken around dogs, she was sad that she couldn't have a normal fiancé whose family would take her in because they were engaged for real, but mostly she was frustrated that while she was engaged to one handsome Carson brother, she was thinking about another one entirely.

She decided to keep that last part to herself.

Maybe all of it, but especially that last part.

“I'm sorry. I'm causing such a fuss.”

“None of that,” Miss Libby clucked. “It's nice to have someone new to fuss over. It's my bread and butter, sweetie. Besides, you make me feel appreciated.” She smiled. “Now, I have some bad news about Luke,” Miss Libby said kindly.

Mal's eyes widened in panic. “What happened to Luke? Is he OK?”

“Oh, he's fine. But did you know that I don't sleep well? I have a tendency to putter around the house in the middle of the night.” Mal nodded, not understanding. “So I saw him leave your room at three o'clock this morning.”

Mal blushed.

“That's right, you should look chagrined. But Luke told me nothing untoward happened, and I believe him. Not that it would do much good. Anyway, he told me he had to leave town for a few days.”

“What? Why?”

“You might as well get used to it if you're not already. That boy cannot sit still. He's always out, chasing his next big thing. He told me he had a few things to take care of and he'll be back in a few days, and in the meantime, I'm to take good care of you.” She pulled a piece of notebook paper out of her robe pocket. “And he gave me this for you.”

“Did you read this?” she asked Miss Libby.

“Is it addressed to me?” she responded. Mal looked down at the note, her eyes watering. “Oh, now don't you start that again. He'll be back. He wouldn't have left you here with us if he wasn't coming back.”

“Just residual effects of the shock, I guess,” Mal lied, wiping her eyes. “And the kindness.”

Miss Libby looked like she didn't believe her for a second, but she took her hand. “I am sorry for the shock, and we'll see what we can do about keeping that dog out of here—”

“Oh, no, don't do anything to Peanut on my account. I'm just a guest. And Keith really likes that dog, I don't want to cause any trouble.”

“If you saw the mess that Peanut left on my floors, you would know that your trouble is nothing compared to his. But all right, I'll let him off the hook. But, sweetheart, you're going to have to get used to it.”

“The dog?”

“The kindness.”