The Maverick's Midnight Proposal

“I can only imagine how excited Bella must have been when you showed up.”

Thick brows drew together over his dark blue eyes. “How’d you know Bella is my sister?” he asked warily.

“I heard Ben Dalton call you Luke,” she confided.

“It’s quite a jump from my first name to my family connections,” he pointed out.

She shrugged. “When someone returns to town after a dozen years, people are bound to talk.”

“No doubt,” he admitted, his tone grim.

“All good stuff,” she told him.

He lifted his mug, swallowed a mouthful of coffee. “It seems that you have me at a disadvantage.”

“How so?”

“You obviously know my name—and apparently a lot more—but I don’t know yours.”

She touched a hand to the bib of her apron. “Oh. I forgot my name tag today,” she realized. “Eva Rose Armstrong.”

He set down his mug and proffered his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eva Rose Armstrong.”

She felt a tingle through her veins as her palm slid against his. His hand was wide and strong, with calluses that attested to a familiarity with manual labor. It was a man’s hand, and every womanly part of her responded to the contact.

“Eva,” she said. “My friends call me Eva.”

“Are we going to be friends, Eva?” he asked, releasing her hand.

“I think so,” she said, not daring to admit that she already hoped friends was only the beginning of what they would be to one another.

“I could probably use a friend,” he admitted, dredging another fry through ketchup. “I don’t think I have any left in this town.”

“You haven’t stayed in touch with anyone here?”

He shook his head and shoved the fry into his mouth.

“I have to admit that piques my curiosity,” she told him.

“You know what they say about curiosity.”

She ignored the warning. “Twelve years is a long time to stay away from your family.”

“I was working.”

The abrupt response and clipped tone cautioned her to back off, but she pressed on anyway. “You didn’t get any time off?”

“Ranching is a full-time job.”

She nodded an acknowledgment of the fact. Though her parents both worked in education, no one who lived in Rust Creek Falls was oblivious to the arduous demands of working the land. “No time to make a phone call?”

“How do you know I didn’t?” he challenged.

“Did you?”

He pushed his now-empty plate aside. “No.”

“Well, you’re here now,” she said. “That’s a start.”

“Maybe,” he allowed, lifting his mug again, only to discover it was empty.

“More coffee?” Eva offered, wanting to give him an excuse to linger at the counter awhile longer.

Although the lunch crowd would soon fill up the tables, she didn’t want to watch Luke Stockton walk out the door because she didn’t know when—or even if—she would see him again. And maybe it was unreasonable and irrational, but she couldn’t help feeling that the man sitting in front of her was going to change her life—but only if she could get him to stick around long enough to do so.

“No, thanks,” he said. “Just the check.”

“How about dessert?” she offered as an alternative. “I made the pies fresh this morning, and the coconut cream is a favorite of many customers.”

“Actually, I’m more of an apple pie kind of guy.”

“We have apple, too.”

He rubbed a hand over his flat belly and shook his head. “That sandwich was more than enough to fill the hole in my stomach.”

She reluctantly wrote up his check and slid it across the counter.

His fingers brushed hers as he reached for the slip of paper, sending little sparks dancing up her arm and making her wonder how she would respond if he ever really touched her.

Unfortunately, he seemed completely unaffected by the brief contact.

“Thanks,” he said. “For the meal and the company.”

“My pleasure,” she told him.

He retrieved his wallet from the inside pocket of his sheepskin-lined leather jacket, then selected some bills and tucked them under the check before he slid off the stool and rose to his feet.

Her heart sighed as her gaze skimmed over him again. She guessed that he was at least four inches taller than her own five-foot-eight-inch frame, with broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist and long legs encased in well-worn denim.

She wanted to tell him that everything was going to be okay, that whatever had caused him to stay away for so long was water under the bridge, that his siblings were all going to welcome him back—because Rust Creek Falls was where he belonged. And she wanted to tell him that she was glad he was home—because she’d been waiting for him her whole life.

But mindful of the brevity of their acquaintance, she wisely kept those thoughts to herself.

Instead, she reached for his check again and impulsively scribbled her cell number on the back of it. “In case you ever need pie...or doughnuts...or...anything.”

* * *

Luke looked at the hastily scrawled digits, then at Eva.