“Jack,” Mel said from across the room. “Not again!”
He ignored her while Paul chuckled. “She thinks we torture the deer,” Jack explained, his voice normal again. “She loves to see the boys, but hates that we hunt. Why don’t you buy yourself a deer tag and license. Join us.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Luke said.
“Luke, I had high hopes for you,” Mel shot across the room.
“Run by the bank and make a withdrawal,” Paul advised. “There will be poker.”
Luke grinned. “Deal me in.”
An old woman with muddy rubber boots, wiry white hair and big black-framed glasses came into the bar and jumped onto a stool beside Doc. Jack said, “Luke, meet Hope McCrea, town busybody.”
“Mrs. McCrea,” he said politely.
“Another jarhead?” she asked Jack.
“No, Hope. We’re letting some army in here, as long as there aren’t too many of them.”
“You do anything special?” she asked him point-blank.
“Special?” Luke returned, tilting his head.
“I’m looking for a teacher and a preacher for the town,” she answered. “Bad hours, low pay.” She lifted her finger to Jack, who set up her drink. “Dream jobs.”
He laughed at her. “I sure can’t fill either of those slots.”
Then she came in. The girl. Luke gulped. He felt a shimmer all the way to his knees. She wore her hair unbound and he saw that it was full and springy, something a man could get his hands all tangled up in. He had a mental image of his large hands on her slim hips. She had a fresh face. Except for something shiny on her lips, she appeared to wear no makeup, but she didn’t need any. When she saw him, she lowered her lashes briefly, but smiled. Demure. Vulnerable and in need of a strong man. Oh, crap.
Then stepping into the bar right behind Shelby was a tall, broad-shouldered, silver-haired man of about sixty. Not exactly Daddy, but close enough. It hit Luke in the pit of his stomach. He came instantly to his feet—force of habit. He knew a general when he saw one—in or out of uniform.
With one hand on Shelby’s shoulder, Walt extended the other toward Luke. “This must be the new guy. Walt Booth. How you doing, son?”
“Sir,” Luke said, taking the hand. “Luke Riordan. Pleasure to meet you.”
“At ease,” he said with a quick smile. “Welcome. Jack, how about a beer?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, fixing one right up.
Shelby gently tugged Paul out of the way so she could have the stool next to Luke, causing Paul to lift his eyebrows curiously. But Luke wasn’t sitting. At least not until the general did. He hadn’t been out of the army quite long enough to relax about things like rank. He did glance at her, however, and she smiled at him, her eyes glittering slightly, maybe enjoying his obvious tension around her uncle. What he noticed was how rich and sultry her hazel eyes were. And he thought, oh God, I have to get beyond this. There were fifty things about the stirring he felt every time he saw her that were all wrong. He didn’t get into things like protective, high-ranking uncles and innocent young women who were clearly looking for true love.
Luke didn’t fall in love. He’d been in love once, when he was much, much younger, and it had left a hole in his heart big enough to drive a tank through. The experience left him a man who couldn’t form attachments; he was a dabbler, a player, not the kind of man who settled down. He never stayed in one place, nor with one woman for long.
This young Shelby was so transparent, she left little doubt as to what she wanted. Needed. She’d like to wrap her emotions around a man and tether him right up against her heart, breaking him in half. Then, in making his getaway, he’d hurt her bad. Annihilate her. Leave her young, tender heart in shreds and spoil everything for the guy who might come along later to do right by her.
The general finally sat and made army small talk. They went over their various commands and combat tours, and all the while he spoke with the general, he could smell Shelby’s sweet fragrance. It was swirling around his head, confusing him, addling his mind.
When Walt finally turned his attention to Doc and Hope, Luke felt Shelby’s breath soft on his cheek as she leaned toward him and asked, “Have you made much progress on the house and cabins?”
He wanted to be hardened toward her, oblivious to her, even cruel and indifferent would work, but when he turned to look at her, his eyes warmed because she melted him into soup. “As much as possible. I have a place to live that’s not on wheels. It’s going to be a bigger job than I thought. What have you been doing?”