To Wed and Protect Page 2

  “Good night, sweetheart.” Abby kissed Jessica’s forehead, checked on her night-light, then left the room.

  She went into the kitchen where she poured herself a cup of coffee, then headed for the sofa in the living room. Curling up on one end, with a television sitcom making white noise, she tried to make sense of the million things that were playing in her mind.

  School had already begun, and she needed to get the two kids enrolled, Jason in first grade and Jessica in kindergarten. She hoped the school wouldn’t check too deeply into the medical and miscellaneous records needed for enrollment. She’d changed the kids’ last name to adhere to their new identity.

  She’d done everything she could to cover their tracks, hoped that she’d made no mistakes. Coming here had been a risk, but she’d weighed her options and realized they had no place else to go.

  Once the children got settled in school, she’d have to find a job, at least a part-time one. She hoped she could find something that would pay her in cash, where her social security number would not be recorded. She didn’t want to leave a trail that somebody might be able to follow.

  But eventually a job would become a necessity. It wouldn’t be long before their money would be gone, especially with the unforeseen expense of a new porch. It was ironic that there were three trust funds sitting in a bank in Kansas City, each containing enough money to see them living comfortably for the rest of their lives. But she was afraid to access them.

  Finding the television noise distracting, she shut it off then went into the kitchen to pour another cup of coffee. She was about to leave the kitchen when the phone rang.

  “Mrs. Graham?” a smooth, deep voice inquired.

  “Mr. Delaney,” she replied, instantly recognizing his voice.

  “I’ve got some figures for you on building a new porch. Is this a good time?”

  “Yes, it’s fine,” she assured him and set her cup on the counter.

  As he spoke about the figures and dimensions of the deck, she tried to focus on his words and not on the sexy deepness of his voice. The man had a voice that was positively seductive.

  The conversation only took a few minutes. She agreed to the overall price he gave her, and he told her he would have lumber delivered to her home and get started first thing in the morning.

  When they hung up, Abby grabbed her coffee cup and headed through the living room and out the front door. Carefully stepping over the hole in the porch, she moved to sit on the rickety steps.

  Night had fallen, and the silence was profound. The house was just far enough on the outskirts of Inferno that no city noise was audible. And that was good. The quiet would be good for them all. No ambulance or police car sirens screaming urgency, sounds that always thrust the children into their painful past.

  She tilted her head to look at the stars that glittered against the black sky. Instantly she was reminded of Luke Delaney’s eyes. His eyes were gray with just enough of a silvery shine and with sinfully black lashes to make them positively breathtaking.

  She set her coffee mug aside, wondering if it was the hot brew that was making her overly warm—or thoughts of Luke Delaney.

  He’d definitely been a hunk, with his thick, curly black hair and those eyes with their devilish glint. The moment she’d seen him her dormant feminine hormones had whipped into life.

  It wasn’t just his beautiful eyes, rich dark hair or bold, handsome features that had instantly attracted her. It had also been the lean length of his legs in his tight, worn jeans and the tug of his T-shirt across impossibly broad shoulders.

  He’d filled the air with his presence, his scent, his utter masculinity, and he’d reminded her of all the things she’d given up when she’d chosen the path she was on.

  She’d hated lying to him, telling him they were from Chicago, but lying was not only necessary, it was positively vital to survival.

  She had invented a story for herself that she intended to adhere to. The story was that she was a widow from Chicago who had left the windy city because it held too many painful memories of her husband. A husband who, in reality, had never existed.

  Sighing, she wrapped her arms around herself and for just a moment allowed herself the luxury of imagining what it would be like to be held through the night in strong, male arms. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what it felt like to have male lips touching hers in a combustible kiss. Oh, how she used to love to kiss!

  She snapped her eyes open, recognizing that she was indulging in a perverse game of self-torture. Those days and nights of Ken were gone, lost beneath family tragedy, lost because he had turned out to be less than half the man she’d believed him to be.

  Ken was gone from her life, and there would be no more men for her. The most important things in her life were the two children sleeping in the house where she intended to make a home.

  Draining her coffee, she stood and went into the silent house. Although it was still early, she decided to go to bed. Luke had said he’d begin work on the porch early in the morning, and she was exhausted.

  She entered her bedroom and stifled a moan as she saw the chaos. Since arriving here, all the unpacking had been done in the kids’ rooms, the living room and kitchen. Little had been done in this room.

  Boxes were everywhere, and clothes spilled out of an open suitcase on the floor. The only items she’d unpacked were the sheets that were on the bed, her alarm clock that sat on the nightstand and a colorful porcelain hummingbird that was also on the nightstand.

  She sank on the edge of the bed and picked up the hummingbird, the delicate porcelain cool beneath her fingertips. It had been a birthday present two years ago, given to her by her older sister.

  “You always accuse me of flitting around like a hummingbird,” Loretta had said. “So, I figured I’d give this to you and whenever you look at it you can think of me.”

  Abby’s vision blurred with tears as she set the figurine on the nightstand. She couldn’t think of Loretta. She didn’t have time for grief, didn’t have the energy for mourning. The best thing she could do was carry on, remain strong, and that’s exactly what she intended to do.

  She undressed and got into her nightgown, then turned off the light and slid beneath the sheets. The moonlight poured through the window and painted silvery streaks on the bedroom walls.

  The moon seemed much bigger, much brighter here in Inferno, Arizona, like a giant benign night-light chasing away the deepest darkness of the night. She hoped it would keep the bogeyman away.

  As always, just before she closed her eyes, she prayed. “Please…please don’t let him find us,” she whispered fervently. “Please don’t let Justin find us.”

  Justin.

  Her personal bogeyman.

  The man they’d been running from for the past eleven months. If he found them, then he would destroy them. If he found them, then all would be lost.

  Chapter 2

  For the thirty-sixth day in a row, Luke woke up stone-cold sober. He opened his eyes and waited for the familiar banging in his head to begin, anticipated the nasty stale taste in his mouth.

  Then he remembered. He didn’t drink anymore.

  He sat on the edge of his bed and looked around. There was no denying it, without the hazy, rosy glow of an alcoholic buzz, the room where he lived in the back of the Honky Tonk looked grim.

  The room was tiny and held the battle scars of a thousand previous occupants. It boasted only a single bed, a rickety nightstand and chest of drawers and its own bathroom.

  He’d taken the room because he’d wanted to be off the family ranch and because most nights he worked at the Honky Tonk, playing his guitar and singing and, until a little over a month ago, drinking too much.

  Until a little over a month ago he’d thought he’d had a perfect life. He’d had his music and he’d had his booze and there had been nights when he hadn’t been sure what was more important to him.

  It had taken a crazy deputy trying to kill his sister, Johnna,
to change Luke’s life.

  Luke had stumbled into the scene of the almost crime and, had he not immediately beforehand downed a couple of beers, he might have realized Johnna was in trouble. But, with reflexes too slow and a slightly foggy brain, Luke had become a victim, as well. He’d been knocked unconscious, and it had been up to somebody else to save not only Johnna, but Luke, as well.

  He’d awakened in the hospital with a concussion and a firm commitment to change his life. He was twenty-nine years old, and it was time to get his life together. And part of that new commitment included no more drinking, and working hard at his carpentry business, buying time until he could leave Inferno behind forever.

  But making the choice to change his life and actually doing it were two different things. There wasn’t a moment of the day that went by that he didn’t want a drink, had to consciously fight the seductive call of a bottle of Scotch or whiskey.

  He gazed at the clock on the scarred nightstand. After seven. He’d shower, dress and get right out to the Graham place to start work. Old Walt Macullough, who owned the lumberyard, liked to get his deliveries done early, before the infamous Inferno heat peaked midday.

  It wasn’t until he was standing beneath a hot spray of water that he remembered the dreams he’d had the night before. Crazy dreams…erotic dreams of a dark-haired woman with sexy spring-green eyes.

  He adjusted the temperature of the water to a cooler spray as his memories of the dream hiked his body temperature higher. In the dream he and Abigail had been splendidly naked and locked in an intimate embrace.

  His fingers tingled with the imaginary pleasure of stroking her silky skin, tangling in her length of rich, thick hair. And in his dream her sexy, husky voice had cried out with pleasure as he’d taken complete and total possession of her.

  Crazy. He shut off the water and grabbed a towel, shoving away the sensual imaginings. All the crazy dreams proved only that he’d been incredibly physically attracted to Mrs. Abigail Graham, but he certainly didn’t intend to follow through on his attraction. After all, she was a married lady, and Luke had never and would never mess with any woman who was married.

  But one thing was certain. Luke loved women. Maybe it was because his mother had died when giving birth to Luke’s sister, Johnna. Luke had only been a year old.

  He’d been raised by a parade of housekeepers, most of whom had stayed only for a month or two before being driven away by Luke’s father. Adam Delaney had been a son of a bitch, and keeping household help had been a real problem.

  The result was that women entranced Luke. He liked the way they smelled, the feel of their soft skin. He was fascinated by the way their minds worked, but that didn’t mean he wanted to bind himself to any woman for anything remotely resembling forever.

  Within minutes he was in his truck and headed for the Graham place, pleased to have a big job to keep him busy even though he would have to divide his time between the Graham house and the ranch.

  Still, there was nothing Luke liked better than working with his hands. At the family ranch he was in charge of maintenance, mending fences and outbuildings. But what he loved the most was cabinetry work, taking a piece of wood and transforming it into a piece of furniture.

  Macullough had already been there, Luke discovered as he parked in front of the ramshackle Graham place. A large pile of supplies had been unloaded by one side of the house.

  Before letting Abigail know he’d arrived, Luke walked to the supplies and did a mental checklist, making sure everything he needed had been delivered. In the back of his truck he’d loaded the power tools he knew he would need.

  When he was finished with the inventory, he grabbed his bulky toolbox from the truck bed, then approached the front door and knocked. Abigail answered the knock wearing a pink T-shirt and jeans and a warm, inviting smile.

  “Mr. Delaney.”

  “Good morning, and please make it Luke. I just thought I’d tell you that I was here.” He tried not to focus on the sweet scent of her that seemed to waft in the air all around him.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said the lumberyard would probably be here early,” she said as she stepped across the hole in the porch and pulled the door closed behind her. “The truck pulled up at six-thirty this morning. How about a cup of coffee before you get started?”

  “No, thanks,” Luke replied. “I’d like to get most of this porch torn down before the heat of the day gets too intense. Are your kids still in bed?”

  She smiled. “Not hardly. For the most part they’re on the same schedule as the sun…up at dawn and in bed at dusk. I’ve got them unloading boxes in their rooms.”

  Pink was definitely her color, he silently observed. The T-shirt put the hint of roses in her cheeks and made the green of her eyes appear more intense. He couldn’t help but notice the firm thrust of her breasts against the cotton material.

  He wondered where her husband was, if he’d already left for work or if it was possible he hadn’t yet joined his family in their new home. None of my business, he reminded himself firmly.

  “I think probably the best thing to do is once I get this all torn down, I’ll nail your front door shut so your children don’t forget and try to exit the house this way,” he said in an attempt to focus his thoughts on the task at hand. “You said you have a back door you can use to exit and enter the house?”

  “Yes, a door in the kitchen, and I think nailing this door shut is a terrific idea. As much as I like to think I’m always in control of the children, sometimes they escape my radar.” She flashed him a gorgeous smile that shot an arrow of heat directly into the pit of his stomach. “Do you have children?”

  “Nope. No children, no wife. I’m just footloose and fancy-free.”

  She nodded. “Well, I guess I’ll just go inside and let you get to work. Don’t hesitate to come on in if you need anything.” She took a step backward and instantly teetered on the edge of the hole in the wood.

  “Whoa,” Luke exclaimed. He reached out and grabbed her by the upper arms to steady her. Instantly she winced, and he quickly released her. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” he asked, wondering if he’d used more force than he’d intended in grabbing her.

  “No…no, I’m fine.” She carefully stepped over the hole and flashed him a quick smile that did nothing to reassure him. “I’ll just be inside if you need anything.” With those words she disappeared into the house.

  Luke expelled a deep breath, trying not to think about the fact that her skin had been as soft, as silky, as he’d imagined in his crazy dreams the night before.

  And, in that moment when his hands were on her, he’d felt an unexpected quickening of his pulse, an instantaneous surge of heat rising inside him.

  She was definitely a sweet temptation, but Luke had fought against temptation before. Besides, he was certain it was because he’d dreamed about her so intimately the night before that he was slightly unsettled around her this morning. Of course, that didn’t explain what on earth had prompted him to dream about the woman.

  He pulled a sledgehammer from his truck bed. A little hard physical labor, that’s all he needed. With grim determination, he set about pulling down the rotting old porch.

  For the next couple of hours, Luke worked nonstop. The sun rose higher in the sky, relentless in intensity. It was just before noon when he decided he needed a tall glass of iced water before doing another lick of work.

  He walked around the house and nearly ran into Abigail, who was coming out the back door. “I wondered if I could get a glass of iced water,” he said.

  “Of course. I was just coming around to ask you if you’d like to eat lunch with us,” she replied. “I can’t offer you anything extravagant, but if you like ham and cheese sandwiches, you’re welcome to eat lunch here.”

  “Sounds good,” he agreed. “Normally, I just take a quick break and drive through someplace for a burger.”

  “Well, as long as you’re working here, I’ll be more than happy to
provide your lunch.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  Together they entered the kitchen, and again Luke smelled the sweet, floral scent of her. The children stood near the table. He greeted them, but neither of them returned the greeting.

  “If you’d like to wash up while I get the food on the table, the bathroom is the second door on the right down the hallway.”

  He nodded and left the kitchen. As he went down the hallway to the bathroom, his gaze shot into each of the rooms he passed.

  The first room on the right obviously belonged to the little girl. It was decorated in shades of pink, and several dolls were on the bed. The first room on the left was the boy’s room, with trucks and cars strewn about and a Kansas City Chiefs bedspread on the bed.

  He stepped past the bathroom door to peek at the room at the end of the hallway. A double bed was neatly made up with crisp white sheets, but it was apparent by the stack of boxes that unpacking the children’s things had taken priority over Abigail and her husband’s creature comforts.

  Luke liked that. There had been a time in his life when he’d desperately wished he’d been a priority in any adult’s life. It was good and right that parents thought of their children first.

  Aware he was out of line peeking into the room, he hurried into the bathroom. The only soap he could find was a bar in the shape of a cartoon character that smelled of bubble gum.

  He quickly washed his hands and face, then returned to the kitchen where Abigail was busy pulling things out of the refrigerator and the two kids were setting the table.

  His gaze swept around the kitchen. He noted the wooden cabinets looked nearly as weak and rotted as the front porch. The floor was covered with linoleum that was ripped and faded.

  “As you can see, we need some work done inside, as well,” she said, apparently noting where his gaze had lingered. “When Jason’s foot went through the porch, getting it fixed was a priority. Sturdy cabinets are next on my list. Please, have a seat.” She gestured him to the table.