two-and-a-half years berating herself for being such a fool.
She’d grieved her husband’s death for many reasons, but not for a love lost. Looking back on their whirlwind courtship, she knew she’d married him for all the wrong reasons. At the young age of nineteen she’d found herself pregnant, and when Bryce insisted that they marry, she’d honestly believed they’d be happy together like her own parents had been before they’d passed away. But she’d soon realized that Bryce Lowe had expected a meek and mild-mannered wife he could manipulate.
Months after the wedding, the conflicts, struggles, and arguments began. There was no compromising in this marriage. Every issue had been resolved Bryce’s way, leaving Eden feeling frustrated, and resentful of her husband’s chauvinistic behavior.
Unfortunately, Bryce’s brother was cut from the same cloth. Allen might be a high-finance city slicker who lived and worked in Houston, but there was no doubt he relished the power and authority he held over Eden.
Which was why she needed Luke’s temporary help. But first, she had to gain his cooperation, which she was determined to do, despite his reluctance.
A quick glance out the window reassured Eden that Luke hadn’t taken off for town, as she’d half expected. His truck was parked in the drive, and the light glowing from the bachelor apartment above the detached garage confirmed that he was home.
Finished cleaning the kitchen and putting the leftovers from their aborted dinner away, Eden retrieved a wicker basket from the pantry and filled it with two small plates and mugs, utensils, napkins, a thermos of fresh brewed coffee, and the French apple pie she’d made for dessert that they hadn’t had the chance to enjoy. Then she headed out the back door and across the lawn toward the unit where Luke lived as part of his room and board compensation.
This time, she wouldn’t give him the chance to refuse her. This time, she’d state her intentions clearly so there would be no mistaking her motives for asking him to marry her.
She climbed the wooden stairs at the side of the garage, and by the time she reached the screen door, Luke was waiting there, as if he’d watched her approach across the yard. He leaned casually against the jamb, his stance lazy, but there was enough caution in his rich brown eyes to give her the impression that he was wary of her visit.
“Hi,” she said, suddenly nervous all over again.
It wasn’t the impending conversation that had her stomach in a sudden jumble, but the man himself. While his single status, work ethic, and lack of ties to any one place declared him an unequivocal candidate for her husband hunt, he was so male, and everything feminine in her appreciated those virile qualities he possessed. Just standing there he exuded a shimmering heat and energy. And then there were his eyes, so deep and dark and potent. She shivered at the thought of him unleashing all that banked intensity, of being the recipient of all that latent sensuality.
He inclined his head, and an unruly lock of black hair fell over his forehead.
Since he didn’t seem inclined to strike up a conversation, she got down to business. “I came to apologize for the way I handled things back at the house.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” he drawled in rich, soothing tones that belied the tension bunching the honed muscles across his chest and biceps. “The incident is already forgotten.”
He lied. His eyes revealed that just like her, he was remembering the lingering way he’d stroked her wrist, and the forbidden kiss that had tempted them both.
“I’d really like a fair chance to explain my proposition.”
His lips pursed in frustration. “Ms. Lowe—”
“It’s Eden,” she insisted, wanting to dispense with all formalities. “And I’m not leaving until you’ve heard me out.” To soften her forceful announcement, she smiled and opened one end of the wicker basket so the fragrant cinnamon streusel aroma wafted his way. “I brought a warm French apple pie and coffee.”
He lifted a brow, but didn’t move. “A bribe?”
“A bribe. A peace offering. The dessert I made that we didn’t get the chance to enjoy.” She shrugged as if the reasons for her bringing the pie were inconsequential. “Call it what you will as long as it gets me into your apartment, and a half hour of your time.”
Seemingly deciding that he’d lost this particular battle, resignation softened his features. He opened the door to let her enter his domain. As she passed, he said, “I never thought you were the pushy type.”
The slightest hint of amusement tinged his voice, giving her hope that she might be able to sway him to her way of thinking.
Setting her basket on the counter separating the tiny living room from the equally small kitchen, she gave the place a cursory glance. Other than the sparse furnishings that came with the apartment, there was nothing personal to indicate he’d made this place a home. No, a man like him would live life day to day, always ready to move on at any given moment.
At the end of a year, that trait would work to both of their advantages.
A startling warmth engulfed her when he came up beside her at the counter. Shaking off her awareness, she glanced his way. “I think persistent and determined are more apt descriptions for my personality type, and much more complimentary.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “And stubborn.”
His tone was serious, but there was a teasing twinkle in his eyes that put her at ease. He might try to be gruff and remote, but he obviously had some charm buried beneath that reserved exterior. Briefly, she wondered what had happened to him to make him such a solitary man, a loner who didn’t seem to need anything or anyone.
Opening the lid of her basket, she withdrew her bribe. “My mother always did say that I inherited my father’s stubborn streak. I’ve always considered it a strength.” Her husband, Bryce, however, hadn’t appreciated her backbone, and spent their six years of marriage trying to stifle her strong-willed personality.
Luke slid onto one of the cushioned bar stools as she served up two generous portions of warmed pie and pushed a plate toward him. “Where are your parents?”
“Both are gone.” She poured him a mug of fresh coffee from the thermos she’d packed, then a cup for herself. “We were traveling through Kansas when they died, on our way to Billings, Montana, where my parents planned to build a ranch and retire on some land that once belonged to my mother’s father. I was seventeen at the time, and my sister, Sarah, was twenty.”
He absorbed that while savoring a bite of pie, then asked, “Do you mind me asking what happened to them?”
“No.” Settling onto the stool next to his, she picked up her fork and recalled the events of that terrifying and life-altering day over eleven years ago. “My sister and I were in a hotel where we were staying for the night, and my mom and dad were on their way back from getting us dinner at a fast-food restaurant when they got caught in a tornado. It killed both of them.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his gaze compassionate.
“Me, too,” she said, scooping up a piece of pie. “We still miss them. They were good, honest, hardworking people, and wonderful parents. And they were all the family my sister and I had.”
Taking
