wainscoting on the walls so people would stop staring. Stop whispering about his arrival at the country club. Stop measuring the difficulty with which he walked to his family’s chosen table. Stop speculating about whether his racing days as Renegade Blackstone were permanently over.
Just as he did during the long, dark hours of every night.
Instead, he pretended this was a normal night, a normal dinner with his family. Not his debut before his hometown after having his body broken into more pieces than any man should experience.
His back straight, he vowed to himself that he would beat this with every single step.
“You’re doing so well,” Christina softly encouraged him as he carefully placed each footfall on the way to their table. As their resident nurse and his brother Aiden’s wife, she had been tracking Luke’s progress since his accident earlier this year. “But by the end of the evening, you might be wishing for that wheelchair you refused.”
“No,” he said through teeth he tried not to clench. He didn’t quite succeed.
He would not resort to invalid status. The marble-handled cane he leaned on was his single concession to his still-healing legs. The plonk every time it met the floor sounded loud in his head, even though he knew it hardly made a sound.
“All that macho stoicism will lead to one thing,” she warned as they reached their destination. Then she rolled her eyes when the men all booed. “I’m serious, Luke. Pretending you don’t need help will just make getting out of bed tomorrow more painful.”
“You’re so cute when you’re concerned,” he cooed back, laughing when she stuck out her tongue.
The reality couldn’t always be covered by his teasing mask—but he sure tried. He’d become a close buddy with pain since his car accident. During everyday tasks, during rehabilitation. Sometimes it shot through him under the cloak of a dead sleep. He hated it, but pain could be good. The sharp sting reminded him he was alive. Not just a shell, a body that would never feel again.
Luke lived for high speeds. Recovery at a snail’s pace could only be described as pure torture. Some days, he’d give anything to take his mind off his present state.
“You keep babying him, and he’ll wish he’d never consented to coming home,” Aiden teased his bride.
All the attention aside, Luke knew being back in Black Hills would be good for him. Helping his brothers out at the mill that supported the entire town would surely blunt the aching need to return to his race car. After a year of what they all suspected was sabotage to their business by an inside source, the family needed all hands on deck.
This is only temporary...
To his relief, he managed to seat himself after only a minor skirmish with the long tablecloth. Damn accoutrements. But the formal atmosphere had been the deciding factor in choosing to eat here tonight. Hope against hope it might keep nosy, small-town people in their seats—for a while.
“Stop pulling at your collar, Luke,” his twin brother, Jacob, reprimanded.
But Luke couldn’t help it. He was as ill at ease as his brother was comfortable in a suit. Even now his hand crept back up to tug at the tie around his neck—give him a racing suit any day. “This damn thing is almost as uncomfortable as all the people staring,” he grumped. His comfort zone had always been his car—not polished silver, gold-rimmed china and fresh flower centerpieces.
“Well, most of these people are family friends, but they still love a celebrity. They can’t help the need to watch,” Aiden explained in his tolerant older-brother voice.
“I just enjoyed it more when they were in awe of my good looks.” Instead of speculating about my doom.
Luke’s teasing tone left his brothers and the women laughing, and gratitude added another layer to his self-defense. The maudlin martyr was not his most sought-after role. Only he knew there was a kernel of truth in his humor, and he would keep it that way. So he covered his discomfort as carefully as he draped his cloth napkin over his lap.
After ordering, Luke deemed it safe to let his gaze skim the softly lit room. A lot of faces had aged since he’d been in high school, though they were still familiar. It had been many years since he’d left town to start an incredibly successful racing career but he’d returned for a few events. Some fund-raisers. Anything to make his visits home more bearable. He had spent time with his incapacitated mother and Christina, who was her nurse. After that, his only thought had been getting himself out of the house without running into his domineering grandfather.
Escape. If his life had a theme song, that would be the refrain. Now that the old man had kicked the bucket, Blackstone Manor had transformed into a home—thanks to the people around this table.
About halfway across the crowded space Luke’s gaze snagged on a tawny, upswept head of hair. The woman’s profile was sharper than it had been in high school, more refined. Gone was the softness of a young woman, now honed into a sphinxlike silhouette that immediately captured his eye.
Avery Prescott. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen her on any of his visits home. Which was odd—and from the looks of her, a total shame.
As if feeling his gaze, she glanced his way with pale blue eyes. Despite the distance between them, something jolted through his body. Deeper than an I know you, but not a lightning flash. More a wash of awareness that flooded over all his uncomfortable emotions, muting them to radio silence. When she quickly turned back to her dining companions, he had an urge to stand, to command her attention.
This was a pleasant surprise. Luke had always enjoyed women—the sight, sound and smell of them—but there’d been nothing since his accident. Not even when surrounded by a hospital floor full of pretty nurses. Oh, he’d flirt and play, but it had covered a storm of pain, worry and frustration that he didn’t know how to calm now that his one mode of escape had been snatched from him.
But tonight, watching Avery as she smiled and conversed with her dinner companions sent an electric spark of attraction tingling down his spine. Her frequent glances in his direction made him wonder if she felt it, too, but their eyes never met again.
Avoiding him, huh?
Throughout dinner and conversing with a few brave visitors, his awareness remained. Finally she stood to leave, giving him his first unhindered look at her slender figure. Her sheath dress showcased curves right where he liked them, proportionate to her delicate bone structure.
She made her way through the tables with elegant grace, pausing to smile and speak to several people, but never for long. The candlelight from the centerpieces reflected off her earrings, lending sparkle to her slight glow. Her black sequined dress reminded him of her family’s wealth and the undeniable fact that she belonged in this place. Still she refused to look his way.
He thought she was going to avoid their table altogether, until Christina stood to wave. “Avery, over here,” she called.
Avery’s hesitation was noticeable, at least to Luke. But then again, he’d barely taken his eyes off her to look at his plate. Why didn’t she want to stop and say hi?
His memories were of a gawky girl, shy, always on the fringes. Under direct attention, she would stumble over her words, drop things, trip over her own feet. Tonight she moved with a type of deliberate grace. Head high. Steps secure. This new Avery fascinated him.
Her
