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  "That is not what I'm talking about." Of course, as soon as he mentions it, I can't not think about it. What the hell is wrong with me?

  But he just laughs and holds out his hand. "Luke Saint," he says. "At your service."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Luke

  She looks at my hand and for a second, I think she's not going to shake it. Damn, this chick is wound tight. She's also hot as hell. I wasn't kidding when I said she was cute when she was angry. Except that "cute" isn't exactly the word for it. She's definitely not cute.

  The fiery red hair that tumbles down her shoulders fits her personality just right. I have the sudden impulse to reach out and run my hands through it, but something tells me she'd probably kick me in the nuts if I did. I think she'd be wild in bed.

  She's not wearing a wedding band – that's the first thing I check, out of instinct. The way she's wound so tight tells me she hasn't been laid in a while either.

  Too bad about the kid. I don't get mixed up with moms, that's for sure. I might think MILFs are hot, but I'm a look and don't touch kind of guy when it comes to them. Single moms have baggage. They're clingers. They'll say they want a fling, but they don't. They want a relationship. And then you're stuck.

  And I'm not a relationship kind of guy. One night is all I need. So this chick is off the table. Which is really too bad, because I bet she's great in the sack.

  "Stop staring at me," she says, huffing.

  "You're awful full of yourself."

  "You're looking at me like someone who just got out of prison and hasn't seen a girl in ten years," she says. "Oh my God, did you just get out of prison?"

  I hold up my hands. "Guilty as charged. I just got released from prison, came straight to West Bend, and put out a fire in your orchard. You're the first woman I've laid eyes on and I must have you right now."

  She narrows her eyes. "Don't be a jackass."

  "Swearing?" I glance over at her kid, who's hanging onto the side of this giant plastic thing with toys all over it. I don't know what the hell it is.

  Or if the kid can understand what we're saying. Do kids understand words at that age? Hell, I don't even know how old the kid is. It's a girl. She has red hair though, like her mom, curly on top. She's kind of cute, I guess. I mean, kids generally seem like a giant pain in the ass, but she seems happy enough, batting around her toys like some kind of cat.

  "Oh, whatever," she says.

  "That's very mature of you."

  "Did you follow me in here just to harass me, or what?"

  "No, I followed you in here to tell you that you need a new foreman," I say. Shit, this girl has a bug up her ass. She needs to mellow the hell out. "Your foreman is a deadbeat. Not because he lit your orchard on fire in the middle of harvest, either."

  She practically bristles at my words. "If you came in here to give me a lecture, you can turn your rear end around and leave now," she says. "I'm not some stupid little city girl who doesn't know anything about running an orchard."

  Irritation rushes through me. "I didn't say you were some stupid little city girl, lady, so don't get your panties ruffled. Hell, obviously, you're not. I can hear the drawl in your voice." Drawl, hell. The girl sounds more southern than fried chicken. I just can't tell what part of the south she's from. But I definitely didn't get the impression that she was some city slicker.

  Her face reddens, like she's embarrassed to be mistaken for a country girl. I don't know what she's has to be embarrassed about, though. That drawl of hers is pure sex. "Well, thanks for your advice," she says. "But I don't need a lecture from some…surfer dude."

  "Surfer dude? What the hell do I –" The knock on the door interrupts me, and she looks at the door and then back at her kid. She obviously doesn't want to answer the door and leave me alone in the same room with her child. "Don't worry about it. I'll get it. And I'll show myself out."

  One of the volunteer firefighters is at the front door. I used to know him in high school, and he raises his eyebrows when he looks at me. "Don't even start," I say, as I push past him.

  "I didn't say a word, Luke," Roger says, putting his hands up as he chuckles.

  "She's not my type."

  "Huh. I thought every girl was your type."

  "Shit." I shake my head. "Definitely not that one, man. Uptight is not my type."

  He clears his throat and I glance behind me to see her with her kid on balanced on her hip, walking up to us, and I know she just overheard me. My cheeks feel red at the thought, but I shake it off.

  Fuck it. What the hell do I care what this chick thinks anyway?

  "Nice work out there, Luke," Roger calls, and I wave him off as I head back toward my truck, yelling for Lucy, my Labrador retriever. She jumps up in the front seat and I drive away from the orchard. It's only after I'm down the road that I realize I never even got the redhead's name.

  ***

  "Come on, Lucy, get off me." I push her over on the bed, and she jumps back on top of me, her paws digging into my chest. "What time is it?" I'm groggy and tired and sore, the product of going out and climbing yesterday for four hours before it got dark. I needed to do something to get the redhead off my mind.

  I get up to let Lucy outside. "Girl, you should be just as tired as I am." Lucy goes out with me when I climb, roams around the mountain trails. It usually exhausts her. Clearly, that's not the case today.

  She's outside for fifteen minutes or so before I start wondering what the hell she's gotten up to. In the mornings, she's usually back pretty quickly, scratching at the door to be let back inside.

  Instead, when I pull the door open, I see Lucy outside with the redhead from yesterday. The dog rubs up on her leg like she's a magic lamp or something.

  Traitor dog.

  The redhead looks at me. "You're not easy to find, you know."

  I take a long sip of my coffee. "You ever think that there's a reason for that?" I ask. "Maybe I don't want to be found. What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Or are you just in the habit of chasing down strange men you just met and following them out to their houses?"

  "Oh, is that what that thing is, then?" she asks, rubbing on Lucy's ears. Lucy is practically melting into a puddle of goo at her feet.

  I glance behind me at my trailer. I don't need a damn house, don't need to put down roots when all I do is travel, contract work chasing fires during the summer, snowboarding and fucking snow bunnies in the winter – not in West Bend, though. I avoid this place like the plague.

  Now I'm back here, on account of what happened to my mother.

  "Did you come here to insult me?" I ask. "This thing is my house, as a matter of fact."

  "I didn't mean to insult you," she says. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's a nice place."

  "Where's your kid?"

  "She's with her nanny," she says.

  The nanny. Well, la-de-fucking-dah. Her kid's too good for a regular babysitter, I guess.

  "Didn't think I should drag her out here with me, chasing down some strange man I just met," she says, smiling.

  "No shit," I say. "I could be a psycho or something. Or you could be. I mean, at least I didn't show up at your house like an obsessed stalker."

  She cocks her head to the side. "You kind of did, actually," she says. "But that's besides the point. I forgive your boorish behavior and –"

  "Wait a fucking second. You forgive me?"

  "Of course," she says. "For yelling at me in front of my child and following me into my house and cursing in front of her and –"

  "Hold up." I put my hand out, ready to stop this conversation. This chick might but hot, but she's obviously a lunatic. "I saved your ass and your damn orchard, despite your best efforts to burn it the hell down. So maybe you want to stop with the holier-than-thou lecture about yelling at you in front of your kid, and just calm your tits down just a smidge."

  "Calm my tits?" she asks, walking toward me. Are her nostrils flaring? I think they are. She looks mad. It's bee