Those dark, sad days are long gone, Prudence. For heaven’s sake, you’re at a wedding reception. Can’t you at least pretend to be happy?
Pushing the annoying voice out of her head, she smiled up at him. “I’ll be sure to watch my step.”
“I see a spot over there beneath that tree.” He inclined his head toward a large cottonwood not far from the rope barrier that separated the guests from the working ranch yard. “That is, if you don’t mind sitting on a hay bale.”
“Not at all. It’s covered with a blanket.”
As they began to work their way through the crowd, Prudence was acutely aware of his hand resting lightly against the small of her back and the faint scent of sage and evergreen drifting from his jacket. Compared to her five foot three inches, he towered over her, and she guessed him to be at least six foot one, or perhaps even more. And she didn’t have to see him without his clothing to know that he was all long, lean muscle. But then, she’d probably never see Luke Crawford without clothing. Not in her lifetime.
Once they reached the tree, the guests were few and far between and the band was somewhat muted.
“Ahh. This is a little nicer for talking,” he said. “I love music, but a lower decibel would make it better.”
Nodding, she said, “There was a time Mom or Dad would come to the bedroom I shared with my sister and order us to turn down the volume on the radio. But that was years ago. And anyway, I don’t think teenagers listen to a regular radio nowadays.”
He laughed and Prudence decided the raspy tone was just as pleasant as his voice.
“I still listen to a regular radio,” he admitted. “In the morning, that is, when I’m cooking my breakfast. To hear the ag market report. Ranchers like to hear what’s happening in the market with livestock and crops. Especially hay and grain prices.”
With an empty ring finger and no mention of a wife or children, it was fairly obvious the man wasn’t married. She couldn’t gauge his age exactly, but she’d guess it was several years younger than her. He was certainly at the age where most men were getting married and starting families. The notion had her wondering if he had a special lady tucked away somewhere, or even several ladies.
Damn it, Pru, why do you think all men are serial cheaters? Take the Hollister brothers, for example. None of them would ever cheat on their wives. Just because your ex was a no-account adulterer doesn’t mean Luke Crawford is a womanizer.
Attending a wedding always affected Prudence in the worst kind of way. For days afterward, she’d be tormented with the nagging voice in her head, along with memories of her failed marriage. Images of Gavin’s guilty face would flash through her mind. Along with all his whispered lies of how he’d love her forever.
Shoving mightily at the dark thoughts, she took a seat on the hay bale and waited for Luke to join her before she spoke.
“You sound much older than you look.”
He chuckled. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
She smiled. “You can take it that way if you’d like. I only meant you seem wise for your age.”
“I’m thirty-one. Not that young. I’m really not that wise, either,” he added with a wry grin. “I just try to sound that way when I’m in the company of a pretty woman.”
She bit back a sigh. “I’m thirty-nine.”
The brow over his left eye arched upward. “You make it sound like a curse.”
She very nearly laughed. “Did I? Well, I was trying to imagine how it would feel to be thirty-one again.”
The smile on his face deepened and Prudence noticed that a faint dimple dented his right cheek. No doubt plenty of women had kissed that charming little crease.
Shocked that such a silly thought had entered her head, she quickly tilted the stemmed glass to her lips. The champagne was cold and fruity and fizzed on her tongue.
Maybe after a few more sips, she’d quit behaving like a fool and tell Mr. Crawford good-night. But why would she want to do that when he was being a gentleman and she was...? Well, just looking at him was like eating rich chocolate. A woman couldn’t stop with just one piece.
“If you were my age you’d feel good—just like I do,” he teased.
Smiling wanly, she said, “I get the impression you like working for the Hollisters.”
He crossed his ankles out in front of him and Prudence found her gaze drawn to his long legs and how the fabric of his trousers molded to his thighs. No doubt spending long hours in the saddle kept them hard and lean. Unlike the bulky muscled athletic coaches at St. Francis.
“It’s long hours and lots of work,” he replied. “But it’s a dream job. I couldn’t be happier to be here at Three Rivers.”
“Where were you working before you moved here?” she asked curiously, then shook her head. “I’m getting too personal.”
He shrugged. “Not at all. For the past seven years I worked for the T Bar T. That’s a ranch near Clovis, New Mexico. Before that I lived in Deaf Smith County in Texas. That’s where I’m from originally.”
She sipped more of the champagne and tried not to notice that his knee was only an inch or two from hers. “Oh, so you’re originally a Texan migrating west.”
“Trust me, this is as far west as I’m going,” he replied. “To be honest, I took the job without knowing what this area of Arizona was really like. I was thrilled when it turned out to be beautiful.”
When Prudence had first moved to Wickenburg, it had taken her a long time
