Suzanne Brockmann Read online

  Give Me Liberty

  by Suzanne Brockmann (writing as Anne Brock)

  Chapter One

  She roared into town with about as much force and impact as a meteorite — and with damn near as much noise, too.

  The muffler on her fancy foreign sports car had blown out, and as she rolled past Luke Fulton's shop, he heard the racket and looked out of the big plate-glass window.

  She parked directly across Main Street, in front of the grocer's. The car was an ancient Triumph Spitfire, painted an almost-neon shade of blue. The driver was...

  Luke squinted to get a better look at the woman who climbed out of the little car.

  Tall. She was very tall. More than six feet, he guessed, by the length of her legs. Her blue jeans fit her like a second skin. Luke could tell from the way they were faded that they were the original article, worn down from hard work and wear instead of an acid wash. On top, she was wearing a T-shirt, nothing fancy, just plain white, with the sleeves rolled up. It fit her snugly, revealing a body that was trim and well-proportioned to the rest of her.

  Extremely well-proportioned, Luke thought. He knew he was staring, but he couldn't stop himself. Hell, with that racket she'd caused, no doubt half of the town had their faces pressed against their windows, watching her.

  She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked up and down the street, as if searching for something.

  She wore her hair pulled back into a ponytail, with a wispy fringe of bangs framing her face. Her hair was long and straight and a light shade of brown. Although he couldn't see her clearly, her face seemed pretty, kind of heart-shaped and sweet-looking. She was too far away for him to be sure though, or to see what color her eyes were.

  As Luke watched, she crouched down next to her car, looking at the muffler. She opened the trunk and pulled out a tool kit. Then, without regard for her clothes, she lay down on her back and scooted underneath the car.

  Luke pointedly brought his eyes back to the work he'd spread out on the counter. What was going on out on Main Street wouldn't get him any further in preparing these financial statements. But as he looked down at the papers and figures, he couldn't concentrate.

  In exasperation, he finally locked the cash register and went to the door, turning the "Be Right Back" sign to the front. As he stepped outside, the bells on the door rang as if warning him that he was making a mistake. He locked the door behind him.

  He was making a mistake. He had about seven more hours of work, and five hours to do it in, and he was out here in the street for no good reason.

  It was a Tuesday afternoon in July, and the high temperatures had kept most people down at the lake. Not a single car moved on Main Street as Luke crossed the road, heading for the bright blue Spitfire.

  A pair of worn, dusty cowboy boots and two slender legs were sticking out from underneath the little car. Luke crouched down and knocked gently on the hubcap.

  "Hey, you need any help?" He was just being neighborly, he told himself. just being friendly, doing his duty as a member of the Sterling Chamber of Commerce.

  The fact that this stranger had sparked something inside of him that he hadn't felt in a long time had nothing to do with anything. Besides, he gave himself two minutes before she totally turned him off. He'd played the part of the weekend distraction for rich young women before, and, quite frankly, it — and they — bored him.

  "Can you hand me that wrench with the red handle?"

  Her voice was low and musical, and Luke suddenly knew that he wasn't just making a mistake. He was making an enormous mistake. For years now, he'd kept his distance from women like this. Wealthy city women who breezed into town for a short vacation to ski and spend time up at the fancy resort on Gate's Mountain. They were beautiful, loaded with cash, and looking for a thrill, and many seemed to think Luke, with his dark good looks, was just the form of temporary excitement they needed. Although none of them would ever have broken their fingernails on a wrench. This had to be the first time he'd ever seen a rich tourist crawling around underneath her car.

  He hunted for the red-handled wrench, spotting it at the bottom of the tool kit.

  "Find it?" she asked.

  "Yeah," he said. "Sure you don't want me to do that for you?"

  "I've almost got it," she said. "I just need that other wrench."

  A hand appeared from the side of the car and Luke placed the wrench in it. Her fingers were long and slender, the nails short but neat. She wore no rings, at least not on her right hand. He wouldn't know if she were married until he saw her other hand.

  With any luck, she'd be married. Not that that fact would necessarily matter to her, but it sure as hell mattered to him. If she were married, she'd be off limits. No exception to that rule.

  "Is it one million degrees out today or two?" she asked.

  Luke laughed despite his resolve. "Sign on the bank says only ninety-four."

  "Only? I didn't think you guys allowed it to get this hot in Vermont," she said. "Of course, I shouldn't be complaining. At least I'm in the shade."

  Luke heard the sound of the wrench slipping.

  "Ouch," she said, swearing colorfully under her breath. She caught herself. "Sorry, I probably shouldn't say things like that until we've been properly introduced. For all I know, you're the pastor of the Congregational Church."

  "Relax," Luke said with another laugh. "I'm not."

  "You know what I really need?" she said.

  "What?"

  "I just can't get leverage," she said. He heard her moving around underneath the car, changing her position. "I could really use a cold soda and a place to change out of these jeans."

  Do not offer to let her use the back room of the shop, Luke told himself firmly. Do not do it. "There's a ladies' room two blocks down at Bob's Bar and Grill," he said. That wasn't so hard, was it? "Of course you could always use the back room in my store. I don't have any soda, but it's right across the street."

  What was wrong with him?

  He liked her, that was what was wrong with him. He hadn't even looked into her eyes, but he already liked her.

  "Have you got a name?" she was asking him. "Or should I just call you Sir Galahad, you know, because you go around rescuing damsels in distress all the time?"

  "Handing you a wrench isn't much of a rescue," Luke said.

  "Got it," she said triumphantly.

  She shoved the muffler out. "Careful, it's still hot," she said.

  Luke grabbed it by the edges of the rag she'd used to hold it. There was a ragged hole in one end of the muffler. No wonder the car had made so much noise. He set it down on the ground as he pushed himself to his feet, watching the young woman inch her way out from under the car.

  Her T-shirt was riding up, exposing her smooth, tanned stomach. Luke's mouth went dry. He couldn't remember the last time the sight of a woman's bare skin made him feel this way. Her white shirt was streaked with dirt and drenched with sweat, clinging to her full breasts. Her greasy hands grabbed the bumper, and she pulled herself the rest of the way out.

  Lord help him, she was pretty. Not beautiful, not gor­geous, but most definitely pretty. Her eyes were an amazing shade of violet, surrounded by thick, dark lashes. Her nose was straight, about the right size for her face, and dotted with freckles. Her mouth was maybe a little too wide, but her lips were full and lush.

  And then she smiled. Her smile transformed her face, changing her into drop-dead gorgeous.

  He never should have left the store.

  "Luke Fulton," she said, still smiling up at him from the ground. "Wow, I didn't know you still lived in Sterling."

  She knew him. He didn't remember her. Was it possible that they'd been love
rs? No, it had been years since he'd had a casual affair, and she looked way too young.

  No ring. Her left hand was without a ring. She wasn't married. Could it get much worse?

  She started to push herself to her feet, and he belatedly remembered his manners, holding out a hand to help pull her up.

  She wiped her hand on her jeans before taking his. "I'm Lib Jones, Harriet's niece. You don't remember me, do you?"

  Harriet? He didn't know any Harriets. Luke pulled much too hard, and wound up catching gorgeous Lib Jones in his arms.

  Up close, nose to nose, she was even more beautiful. Luke stared at her, hoping to find some kind of flaw, hoping to see the edge of contact lenses that would prove the amazing color of her eyes was a sham.

  "No," he said. Her body felt so soft. He searched his mind almost desperately, but didn't come up with anything. No Lib Jones's, no Harriets. Nothing. "I'm sorry, but I don't."

  "That's okay," she said breathlessly. "Last time I was in Sterling, I was just a kid. I wouldn't expect you to recognize me." She looked at him for several moments, then smiled again. "Are you going to let me go, or do you have something else in mind?"

  Luke had been watching her mouth as if he were hypnotized. Lib felt his arms tighten around her for a fraction of a second, right before he let her go.

  "I'm sorry," he said again, backing away several steps. "I'm usually not so... rude."

  He was looking at her with fire in his dark eyes. Only in her wildest dreams had she imagined Luke Fulton would ever look at her like he wanted to kiss her.

  He'd changed quite a bit since the last time Lib had been in Sterling. Oh, he still had that wavy hair. It was still thick and as black as coal, although these days it was cut shorter around his ears and in the front. He was still as tall as he'd ever been, about a good four inches taller than her own six feet, and he still had the muscular build of a college basketball player.

  His long face was still lean, with wide cheekbones and a firm, strong chin. When she was a kid, Lib had always thought Luke Fulton looked as if he could have posed for the glossy pictures in her book on the French and Indian War. Of course, it was no secret that he had both French and Native American blood running through his veins, which made it all so much more appropriate and romantic.

  His eyes were still a deep shade of chocolate brown, so dark they seemed black, framed by thick lashes and elegantly shaped eyebrows. The color of his eyes hadn't changed, but Lib knew just from looking into those eyes that this man had done quite a bit of hard living since she'd seen him last.

  As if he realized she could see too much in his eyes, he looked away.

  "What kind of store?" she asked, turning to haul her tool kit into the trunk of the car. "Have you been working there long?"

  It took him a few seconds to answer her, but Lib waited patiently, opening the suitcase that also sat in the trunk. She rummaged around until she found cut-off shorts and a pair of sneakers.

  "Video," he said. "Video tape rental, you know, movies? And I don't work there. I own the place, but the kid who works afternoons had a tennis match to go to." He shrugged.

  "Wow, you're a nice boss," Lib smiled, tucking the shorts under her arm and closing the trunk.

  Luke shrugged again. "It's only a summer job," he said. His voice was low, a rich baritone. Lib wondered if he could sing. "It's not like the kid has any kind of a future working for me at the video store, you know what I mean?"

  Lib considered his words, wiping the sweat that trickled from her forehead with the grubby sleeve of her T-shirt. "I don't know," she said. "Business must be pretty good for you when the skiers hit town." She smiled at him. "So. You gonna show me to your back room, or am I gonna strip right here in the street?"

  Her smile had turned to a grin, as if she knew the effect her words would have on his system. It had been so long since he'd flirted with a beautiful woman, he'd almost forgotten how.

  But he didn't want to flirt with Lib Jones, niece of Harriet — whoever Harriet was. He wanted to show her to the store, let her change her clothes and then say good-bye. The end.

  He gestured with his head. "I'm just across the street."

  Luke could feel the dozens of eyes that were watching him cross the dusty road with this gorgeous woman who was nearly as tall as he was. There goes our Luke, he could hear them saying, back to his old tricks.

  "I heard that you had to sell your farm," Lib said, as he unlocked the door.

  Luke kept his face expressionless. "Yeah, I did," he said. "Nearly five years ago."

  The video store was air conditioned, and Lib found a vent and stood directly underneath the stream of cool air. She closed her eyes. "This feels great," she said. "I may never leave." Her eyes opened. "Is there still an auto parts store in town?"

  "Down the street, across from the bar and grill." Luke moved behind the safety of the counter and began shuffling his papers around. Anything, anything to keep himself from staring at her. "You know the guy who owns the service station on the corner does really good work. He's basically trustworthy, won't charge you too much. You might be better off going to him—"

  "I do really good work," she said, "I'm absolutely trustworthy, and I won't charge myself a cent. Can't beat that deal."

  Luke glanced up at her. "No, I guess you can't."

  "Are you married?" She asked it point-blank, looking him dead in the eye. There was no question as to why she wanted to know. She was attracted to him. He could see it in her eyes, in the way she was standing, in her smile.

  "No." He answered abruptly.

  "Seeing anyone?"

  He couldn't lie. "No." She was going to be disappointed, but he wasn't going to ask her out. He couldn't. He wouldn't

  "Then will you have dinner with me tonight?"

  Luke looked up in surprise. This was a new twist to the game. She had asked him out.

  As he watched, she leaned against the counter, resting her chin in the palm of her hand, smiling up into his eyes. Lord, she was pretty, and so utterly self-confident.

  "What time?" he heard himself say. He caught himself, and shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. I can't."

  She smiled, undaunted. "Sure you can."

  "I'm busy." He turned away.

  Lib's laughter was as musical as her voice. Luke had to grit his teeth.

  "What, you gotta wash your hair?" she asked, amuse­ment in her voice.

  Luke laughed despite himself. "You want me to be hon­est?" he said, looking back at her.

  She still had her chin propped in her hand and she was still gazing at him. "Why is it that people feel they have to ask before they can be honest?" she mused. "Don't they realize that that implies they're lying the rest of the time?"

  "Was that a yes?"

  She smiled. "A hearty one."

  "You're up here on vacation, right?" he asked.

  Lib straightened up. "Actually, I'm — Well... yeah. You might call it a vacation." A lifetime vacation, she thought with another smile.

  "I have a strict policy never to date women who come into town on vacation." He softened his words with a slight smile. "So, see? I can't have dinner with you."

  "Oh, but, having a policy — especially a strict one — is no good unless you allow some room to make exceptions," she said.

  "Sorry," he said, and for a moment, as he met her big violet eyes, he really, truly was. "No exceptions."

  She was studying him, from the top of his dark hair down to the lightweight cotton button-down shirt that was tucked into his khaki Bermuda shorts, all the way to his scuffed high-topped basketball sneakers. Her gaze returned to his eyes. Luke forced himself to look steadily back at her, praying that his expression didn't betray him by revealing the desire that was churning inside of him.

  "Well," she said. "Then I guess we'll just have to skip the dating and get right down to the important stuff."

  His eyebrow lifted. "Like... what?"

  Lib grinned. "Like, will you marry me?"

  He
laughed. He hadn't laughed so much in years.

  Lib smiled, enjoying the sound of his laughter. The Luke Fulton she'd known of in her childhood had a reputation for having a great sense of humor and a happy-go-lucky attitude. The happy-go-lucky part was clearly gone, but she was glad to see his sense of humor had survived whatever had made his eyes look so serious.

  "Or," she continued, "as an alternative, you could simply help me install a new muffler in my car. Although, in some countries, if an unwed man and a woman install a muffler together, it's considered scandalous."

  Luke shook his head. "Why don't you go change," he said, "and then, yes, I'll help you install that new muffler."

  She leaned toward him slightly, across the counter. "It might be a lot easier just to get married."

  Luke found himself staring into her incredible violet eyes. Lib Jones was flirting with him shamelessly, making it very clear that she was interested in him. For one brief moment, he let himself remember how it had felt, holding her in his arms. It didn't take much imagination to picture her in his house, in his bed

  No, he wasn't going to let that happen. He didn't have time.

  "That bathroom's in the back. It's the only door," he said, turning away, dismissing her.

  Lib watched his broad back for several seconds before she took her shorts and sneakers into the back room to change. She knew a rejection when she saw one, but Luke Fulton's rejection had been the strangest she'd ever encountered. One minute he'd been flirting with her, with heat in his eyes that assured her that the attraction was mutual. The next, he'd shut down and turned off, giving her a textbook example of a cold shoulder.

  Lib Jones had only been alive for twenty-three years, but she'd traveled far and met a lot of people along the way. And if there was one thing she'd learned, it was to listen to the message being spoken by a person's eyes. Words might lie, but most people didn't have the ability to totally disguise the truth, and Lib had learned to search out that truth in a person's eyes.