Suzanne Brockmann Read online

  For years, Ken Avery, the owner of the Gate's Mountain Inn, had been pressuring the Fultons to sell the back acres of their farm to him, so he could expand the resort.

  Sell the family land.

  For a long time, Luke wouldn't even consider it. But finally, he'd had no other choice.

  It hadn't been easy to throw in the towel. Luke Fulton had been raised a fighter, not a quitter. But in the hard cold light of reality, Luke's choices were clear. Sell the land, or go bankrupt — and have the bank sell the land for him.

  It was a no-win situation, but Luke pushed Avery hard, negotiating a part ownership in the glitzy resort as part of the remuneration for his precious family land. That had been nearly five years ago. Lord, had it really been that long?

  Luke pulled into the parking lot of the resort. The Victorian-style building was lit up like a national monument. The spotlights made the blue-painted inn seem to glow. Long-stemmed flowers, the buds closed up now for the night, moved gently in the evening breeze. The flowers decorated the edges of the parking lot and the walkways that led around the building. It was gracious and elegant, and on top of that, Luke knew that the view during the day was breathtaking.

  * * *

  The restaurant at Gate's Mountain Inn was exactly as Lib had imagined it. Light and airy, the main dining room had big windows that overlooked the valley and the town of Sterling below. In the darkness, the lights of town twinkled charmingly among the trees.

  She looked across the table to find Luke watching her as the waiter cleared away their salad plates. Of course, her current view wasn't so bad, either, she thought with a smile.

  Luke smiled too, studying her through heavily lidded eyes. He looked lazy and relaxed, sprawled back in his chair, but Lib realized his pose was misleading. His gaze was sharp and intense. He glanced up as the waiter took the last of the dishes, then leaned forward slightly, looking at her again.

  "How'd you get a name like Liberty?" he asked.

  Lib drew a line in the moisture that beaded the outside of her water glass. "It's... kind of weird," she said, glanc­ing up at him. "See, my parents weren't exactly conven­tional."

  He was still watching her, with genuine interest in his dark eyes. "Were they big John Wayne fans?" he said. "Or maybe they liked Jimmy Stewart?"

  Lib laughed. "As in 'The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance?' Not exactly. I wasn't named after a movie outlaw. I was named after a town."

  One elegant eyebrow rose. "A... town?"

  "Liberty, Georgia, to be exact. According to legend, that's where I was conceived."

  Luke nodded, taking a careful sip from his glass of beer. He looked up to find Lib's violet eyes dancing with amuse­ment.

  "Thank God my parents didn't decide to stop for the night in Zebulon," Liberty said with a grin.

  Luke narrowed his eyes, studying her carefully. "I don't know, Zebulon suits you almost as well as Liberty does."

  Lib threw a bread stick at him. "Thanks a lot."

  He caught it and took a bite. "You have any brothers or sisters?" he asked.

  She nodded. "Three. Two brothers and a sister."

  "I'm dying to hear their names."

  "California, Rain and Freedom," Lib said.

  "Am I supposed to guess their genders?" Luke asked, finishing the bread stick.

  "Freedom's my sister," Lib said. "Half-sister, really."

  "Younger? Older?"

  "Younger," Lib said. "They're all younger. I'm the oldest."

  Luke was still leaning forward slightly in his seat, as if her family background was the most fascinating subject in the world. "California Jones, huh? Sounds like Indiana's cousin. He must have been teased mercilessly, poor kid."

  "Cal's my favorite brother. He's a park ranger, if you can believe that. These days he's working at a state park, at some kind of wildlife sanctuary in Florida. But he's not a Jones, he's a Rodriguez. I'm the only Jones," Lib said. "Well, me and Drew."

  "Drew?" Once more, the eyebrow rose.

  "My father."

  "So your parents are divorced," Luke said.

  Lib started tracing designs in the side of her water glass again. "Not exactly," she said. She looked up at Luke. He was clearly puzzled and waiting for an explanation. She sighed. "Clarissa — my mother — didn't believe in marriage," she said. "She was kind of, well, a flower child. You know. A hippie. She still is."

  Solemnly, she watched Luke digest that information. He didn't say anything. He just gazed at her, without smiling. Lib shifted in her seat. "Well?"

  Luke blinked. "Well, what?"

  "Do you still want to be seen with me in public?"

  She was joking, but there was more than a trace of seriousness in her eyes. She really wanted to know.

  "Why wouldn't I?" He reached across the table and took her hand. Her smile faded as she looked down at their intertwined fingers, and when she glanced backup, he was shocked at the sudden vulnerability in her eyes. For the first time since they'd met — had it really only been that afternoon — Lib Jones actually looked her age. She looked young and afraid. Afraid of what?

  Of him, Luke realized suddenly. She was afraid of him, afraid he was actually going to think less of her because of what she had just told him. She was afraid he was going to judge her and condemn her based on the way her parents had chosen to live.

  Luke didn't let her go until he felt her hand relax in his.

  Her fingers were slender and long, almost as long as his own, but the size of his palm dwarfed hers.."You can't choose your parents, Lib," he said softly. "That's for damn sure."

  "But—" Lib started to protest.

  "They chose their path," Luke said, "and you'll choose your own. That's all I'm trying to say."

  He was lightly tracing the back of her hand with his thumb, and he looked up to see that Lib's eyes were filled with tears.

  She pulled her hand free to brusquely swipe at her eyes. "This is only a pity date," she said, with a ghost of a smile. "You're supposed to be politely charming, not make me—" Confused, she wrenched her gaze away from him.

  "What?" Luke asked.

  Looking down at the linen napkin that was spread across her lap, Lib shook her head and laughed. No way. No way was she going to let herself fall in love with Luke Fulton. It was out of the question, not an option, not possible.

  But why not?

  Lib glanced up at the man sitting across from her. He met her gaze steadily, waiting for her to answer his question. A lock of his thick, black hair fell down across his forehead, and he raked it back with his fingers. He was almost too handsome for words. He was kind and generous and he made her feel special, the way he hung on her every word, the way he really listened, not just to the things she said, but to the things she didn't say.

  So why shouldn't she fall in love with him?

  Because despite his kind words, he'd never take her seriously. Because he was older than she was. Because he as much as warned her that he loved his land above all else in the world. Because he had a reputation for being a Don Juan.

  "Make you what?" he asked again.

  "You're not supposed to make me want to see you again," Lib said softly.

  The waiter arrived with their dinners, and Luke was grateful for the interruption. He really didn't have the time to see her again. And if and when he did...

  As Luke watched Lib across the table, it occurred to him that time was not on his side. If he waited until these two months were up, until the work he had to do was completed, it would be too late. Lib would be long gone.

  He stared down at the grilled chicken on his plate and set his fork down. "You know, Lib, I've been thinking about Miss Harlowe's house — your house, I mean."

  Lib was silent, waiting for him to go on. His eyes were serious, and he smiled, as if to soften his expression.

  "I've got some money," he said, "and I'm willing to invest it. If the house were fixed up, we could make a decent profit from the sale of your property. We could be partners, a
nd..." As he talked, he could see the reservation forming in her eyes. "You hate the idea."

  Liberty shook her head. "You're very generous," she said.

  "But?"

  "I don't want to sell the place."

  He still didn't believe her. Lib could see skepticism in his dark eyes. She smiled. One of these days, he'd realize she was telling the truth.

  "Will you lend me the money?" she asked. "I'll be able to pay you back — with interest — when I get the insurance company to cover the damages."

  Luke did some quick math in his head. With the impending sale of the video store, and the return on several of his investments... He would have a fifty thousand dollar cushion, fifty thousand dollars to play around with. "I can lend you thirty," he said.

  Lib choked on a sip of water. "Thousand?" she said. "As is dollars?" She shook her head. "The insurance com­pany isn't going to give me more than ten. Fifteen, if I'm really lucky. I won't be able to pay you back the rest. At least not right away."

  "If you change your mind, and decide to sell the house," Luke said, "then you can give me a percentage of your profit."

  "I know you don't believe me," Lib said seriously, "but I'm not going to sell the house."

  Luke smiled. "Then we can set up some kind of extended low interest payback schedule," he said.

  "Low interest?" Lib said. "I don't want to take advantage of you. This deal doesn't seem to be in your favor."

  He pushed his plate back from the edge of the table. "Sure it is," he said. "If you sell the house and leave, I stand to make some money. Even if you don't leave, I'll still make more interest loaning the money to you than I'd make by leaving it in my savings account."

  A voice interrupted them. "Well, well. Luke Fulton. It's been a long time."

  The first thing Lib noticed about the owner of the voice was diamonds. The petite blonde woman wore diamonds dangling from her ears, diamonds draped around her neck, and diamonds hanging from her wrist. Her fingers, however, were noticeably bare.

  Lib glanced at Luke. His expression was closed, shuttered. He met her eyes briefly before looking back at all the diamonds.

  "Stacey," he said, about to rise to his feet.

  "No, no," the woman said, putting a perfectly manicured hand on Luke's shoulder and pressing him back into his seat. "Don't stand up. How are you?"

  The hand lingered, and as Lib watched, Luke shifted in his seat, forcing the diamond lady's hand to fall away from him.

  "I'm fine," Luke said evenly. He looked across the table at Lib. He introduced the two women, apologizing when he couldn't remember Stacey's last name.

  There was a flash of anger in the blonde's eyes, but Luke wasn't fazed. "It's been at least five years," he said with a shrug.

  "I'm not sure you ever knew my last name," Stacey pouted.

  "Possibly not," Luke agreed.

  Lib took the opportunity to study Stacey. She was poised and confident, with carefully made up blue eyes. Her blonde hair was cut fashionably short, and she wore an elegant black dress over her lush curves.

  Stacey, however, only glanced at Lib briefly before dismissing her. The older woman turned back to Luke.

  "I arrived in town this morning," she said. "I was going to call you, to see if you're back in circulation yet. Obviously you are."

  Luke reached across the table and took Lib's hand. "I'm afraid I'm not."

  The implication was clear, and Stacey turned her porcelain blue eyes on Lib, really looking at her for the first time.

  Please play along, Luke silently asked Lib. She smiled back at him serenely.

  And it wasn't long before Stacey — and her diamonds — were gone.

  She was startled out of her reverie by the sensation of Luke's lips against her knuckles as he kissed the back of her hand. Stacey was gone.

  "Thanks for letting me, um, you know," he said. "Hold your hand. Make it look like we're involved."

  "You saved my life this evening," Lib said, her violet eyes dancing with amusement. "The least I could do in return was save your butt."

  Lib loved the sound of Luke's laughter. It was rich and full and very genuine. She liked making him laugh, making him look at her with his pleasure evident in his eyes. She looked down at her hand, still firmly clasped by his strong fingers.

  "How about our business deal?" he asked. "Should we shake on your low interest loan?"

  Lib hesitated, then gently pulled her hand free. There was something about borrowing money from a man that she wanted to become involved with that rubbed her the wrong way.

  "Can I think about it?" she asked.

  He seemed surprised, but he quickly hid it under a smile. "Of course," he said. "But I don't think you're going to find a better offer anywhere else."

  Lib looked at him and smiled. "You think I'm crazy not to jump at this, don't you?"

  "It's not crazy to be cautious," Luke said. "You don't really know me. I can tell you there's no catch to this deal until I'm blue in the face, but you have no real reason to trust me. So let's sit down with a lawyer, and draw some­thing up. If you've got it in writing, you won't need to trust me."

  Lib nodded. She already trusted him anyway. She just didn't trust herself.

  * * *

  The moon was out when Luke walked Lib up onto the creaking wood porch of the Harlowe house. She pulled her key from her pocket and unlocked the door before turning to face him.

  "Thanks for dinner," she said. "And thanks for offering to lend me that money—"

  "Are you sure you're going to be all right tonight?" Luke asked, frowning slightly. "You've got no furniture. You don't even have a bed to sleep in."

  His face was shadowy in the moonlight, the dimness exaggerating the planes and angles of his cheekbones and strong jaw line.

  "I've got a sleeping bag in the car," she said. "I'll be fine."

  He was silent, just watching her.

  Luke was wrestling with himself. He wanted to tell her to stay with him, to ask her to share his bed. Was he crazy? They'd only met earlier today. He'd known her, what? Maybe eight hours. This was definitely insane.

  He had to go. He had to leave, to walk away, to go inside his own house and lock the door behind him.

  But her skin seemed almost translucent in the moon-light, and her hair gleamed, and her eyes — He'd never seen such beautiful eyes in his entire life.

  "I'll see you tomorrow," she said, opening the screen door.

  Good. She was going inside. That was smart, that was safest, that was —

  "Lib." He couldn't stop himself. He wanted to kiss her good night. He wanted to pull her toward him and — He cleared his throat. "Will you have dinner with me tomorrow?" he found himself asking her.

  If the question surprised Lib as much as it did Luke, she didn't let it show. She smiled, dazzling him. "Absolutely," she said. "See you in the morning."

  Chapter Four

  "So what exactly do you do to relax?" Lib asked from her perch atop the old farmhouse's roof.

  They'd spread a weighted tarp over the hole, and now Luke looked rather longingly down at the ground, wishing he weren't standing on a ladder, three stories up. "You mean, besides risking my life as part of the Fulton and Jones tarp hanging team?"

  Lib's musical laughter floated out on the fresh morning air. Yesterday's heat had been blown away by the cool night, breezes, but the morning sun was hot, and getting hotter every minute. It was going to be another scorcher.

  "Isn't this relaxing? Look around," she said, spreading her arms wide, gesturing to the surrounding meadows cov­ered with colorful wildflowers. "It's amazingly beautiful."

  "I appreciate beauty more when I'm not clinging to the side of a house by my fingernails," Luke said. He started down the ladder, his dark hair moving in the wind. "I don't know," he added. "Maybe part of me knows that I've already taken too many risks."

  "Do you still ski?" she said, peering over the edge of the roof at him.

  She laughed at the disbelieving loo
k he sent her.

  "What kind of question is that?" he asked. He shook his head in disgust. "Of course I still ski. But I prefer to do it on snow-covered slopes. Not rotten old roofs."

  "So in the winter, you ski to relax. What about the summer?"

  Luke reached the ground and held the ladder as Lib swung herself over the side of the roof. "Softball," he said. "Sterling has a league. I play on one of the teams."

  "Co-ed?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

  Luke tried not to be obvious about watching her rear end as she climbed down the ladder toward him. She was wearing her faded cut-off jeans, and the denim was stretched snugly across her posterior. "Uh, yeah," he said. "Co-ed. Yeah. The team's co-ed."

  "What position do you play?"

  "Pitcher."

  "Got any room on the team for an extra player?" Lib asked. She wiped her hands on her shorts, then pushed her hair back from her face.

  "If you're any good," Luke said with a grin.

  "You ever see the movie, 'A League of Their Own'?" Lib asked.

  "Another silly question," Luke said. "I own a video store, remember? That's another thing I do to relax. I watch movies."

  "Good," she said happily. "I like movies, too."

  They were standing practically nose to nose. The wind ruffled Liberty's hair, and Luke reached out to brush one strand away from her check.

  He wanted to kiss her. It was all he could think about up on the roof. Hell, it was all he could think about all night long. He'd slept fitfully, waking up before dawn, unable to sleep. He kept seeing a smile that could outshine the sun.

  He had a crush on Liberty Jones.

  But that's all it was, he kept telling himself. He was infatuated, that's all.

  He'd had crushes before. They'd last for about a week, making his head spin, leaving him dizzy with wanting, but then the feelings vanished, as if they'd never existed. Luke forced himself to take a step backward, away from her.