The Maverick

She despises me, Luke thought. Suddenly he knew that his abandonment had been harder on her than he’d imagined, never mind Heath’s party-girl reports. And that in spite of it she’d stood her ground, living out her pain and humiliation under the scrutiny of the local denizens, some of whom had labeled her “trailer trash” before she’d learned how to talk.

She had guts, his Sophie. Whereas he’d taken the easy way out, even though it was becoming apparent that the path he’d traveled had cost him more than he’d known. Sophie had paid a high price too, but gained a new confidence and self-respect in exchange. She had found her place in the community, while he was still a freewheeling vagabond.

The question was: After fourteen years and inestimable miles, had they wound up in the same place? With—considering the thin line between love and hate—equally strong feelings for each other?

Did he still love Sophie Ryan, the feisty little brown-eyed girlfriend of his misspent youth?

She’d never left his heart, hard and shriveled though it was. But he was smart enough to recognize that the woman she’d grown into might turn his memories and fantasies of her as topsy-turvy as a carnival ride.

A ride for which the lady judge had just handed him a ticket. Which was not at all the harsh, swift justice Deputy Ryan had wished for, that was certain.

Luke smiled.

“Don’t smile at me,” Sophie warned, knowing she sounded foolish. It took all of her willpower not to wipe his kiss off her mouth, where it lingered like the warmth of a summer day.

The courthouse doors opened. More of the spectators filed out. They gave Sophie and Luke a wide berth, not out of caution, but out of amusement. She seethed, struggling with her anger and frustration.

Luke had made a laughingstock of her—again.

“Keep an eye on him, Deputy,” someone called, eliciting laughter. “Don’t let him get away this time!”

Snake Carson guffawed. “Handcuff him to your bedpost.”

Sophie gritted her teeth. Ever since their time with the Mustangs, Snake had treated her like a pesky mosquito worthy of a good swat. The several hundred dollars’ worth of traffic citations she’d written him went unpaid, as if she were playing pretend, her badge made of tinfoil, her uniform only a costume. Someday, she vowed, she’d prove herself to Snake, to the Mustangs, and to every single person in Treetop who looked down on her.

For now, she had to settle for jingling the handcuff case clipped to her equipment belt. “Better watch out, Carson. If you don’t pay your fines you’ll be next.”

“G’wan, Soph.” Snake was a large, muscular man in a tight black T-shirt, baggy camo pants and Army boots that had never seen Army duty. He was also the kind of arrogant bully who’d never been properly challenged. She suspected he wasn’t as tough as he liked to imagine.

The biker held up his tattooed arms, fists clenched, biceps bulging. “You can cuff me to your bed any day of the week, sweetheart.” A smattering of uncomfortable laughter accompanied his leer.

Luke turned his steely, unblinking stare on Snake. It curdled the ex-Mustang’s bravado as swiftly as it had Sophie’s, even though Luke didn’t say a word.

Snake did, but only one. A surprisingly high-pitched “Hey” popped out of his mouth as he lowered his arms. His lips clamped shut in embarrassment.

When Luke looked back at her, there was a strong light in his eyes. Possession, Sophie thought. A chorus of breathy exhalations rose from the onlookers as though they’d all reached the same conclusion. It didn’t matter one iota that Luke hadn’t uttered a word, or even raised the mask of his icy non-expression.

Branded. They all know I’m branded.

Her throat was raw, her nerve endings screaming. The injustice of it inflamed her. She was the one with the gun, the handcuffs, the badge, the authority—and she was still the one who was branded. It wasn’t fair.

Life was never fair, she brutally reminded herself. Especially not for women who were all too often at the mercy of their biology.

Sophie thought of Joe—her sacrifice and her reward. Her burden. Her heart. And she thought of the judge’s unconventional ruling, a ruling that pretty much gave Sophie the leeway to handle Luke how she saw fit.

Well, fine. The iniquity of life being what it was, there was still the law. Although men like Luke and Snake and Demon sometimes made the law seem as strong as the paper it was written on, let Luke try anything under her watch and he’d soon find out just how ruthless a woman scorned could be.

“All right, everyone,” Sophie said in her brusque deputy voice. “The show’s over.” For now. “Let’s clear the steps.” She made shooing motions as if the townspeople were a bunch of sheep who needed to be herded in the right direction.

She turned when Luke gingerly took his grandmother’s arm. “Just a moment, Mr. Salinger. I’d like to speak with you.”

Mary Lucas nodded. “Good day, Deputy Ryan.”

Sophie touched her brim. “Ma’am.” The frankness of the older woman’s cool-eyed regard was as discomfiting as ever. “I—um, I’m sorry I had to arrest Luke on his first day back, but…”

“It was your job.” Mary waved a hand that had retained its elegance despite being roughened by work and gnarled by age. “Yes, yes, of course. I understand.”

Sophie drew herself up. “I intend to follow Judge Entwhistle’s instructions. Luke won’t be getting into any trouble while he’s under my watch.”

Although Mary was not normally one to bow to outside authority, she did not seem perturbed by Sophie’s pronouncement. “Indeed. My grandson needs to be kept on a short leash.”

One corner of Luke’s mouth quirked, but he didn’t protest, either. It seemed that he’d learned the value of holding his tongue. Even so, Sophie rather missed the way he’d once jumped into every conversation with all guns firing, so fervent about his beliefs that he couldn’t understand how anyone’s view could possibly differ from his own.

Despite the guardedness, she doubted he’d changed all that much. If he was like the other Mustangs, he was taking her as seriously as a tiny Chihuahua nipping at his heels, unworthy of too great a defense.

Sophie huffed. “Indeed he does need a keeper. Don’t worry. I’ll see to him.”

Mary Lucas brushed away her grandson’s helping hand. “Between us, I expect we’ll manage, Deputy Ryan.” Setting her cane with a careful precision, she started down the steps, her head held high.

Sophie had the funny feeling a deal had just been struck. Only she didn’t know the terms.

She followed Luke, who was following his grandmother, ready to help in case she should falter. In the way of small towns, Sophie knew that Mary Lucas had badly bruised her hip in a recent fall from a green horse someone of her advanced age shouldn’t have been riding in the first place, but that the prognosis was good for a full recovery.

Typically, Mary refused to use her temporary infirmity to her advantage, even in Luke’s case. She gestured for him to rejoin Sophie and proceeded along the sidewalk without them.

Luke turned, disconcertingly good-looking even though he wore the same clothes as yesterday. His dark hair brushed the collar of the leather vest, curling slightly at the ends in a way that made Sophie’s fingertips tingle with a desire to comb it. She was going to have to watch herself as closely as she watched him.

“Okay, Deputy, what do I have to do?” he asked. “Check in with you like a parole officer?”

She tucked her traitorous fingertips into fists, not exactly sure of how to handle the unorthodox situation. “You might start by telling me what your intentions are.” One of the possible interpretations of the phrase scrambled her thought processes. “That is, I meant…” She swallowed, her throat still as raw as a slab of fresh-cut beef. It was a funny thing how emotions of the heart manifested themselves in physical symptoms. If she spent an extended time around Maverick she’d likely find herself in the hospital, languishing with an incurable case of lovesickness.

Lovesickness? Good God.

“Why have you come back?” she blurted.

There was a pause before he answered. “Not for any funny business.”

Hmm. Was his hesitation born of caution, or deception? She shrugged. “Given your record…”

He grinned. “You have good reason to doubt me.”

He didn’t have to look so pleased with himself.

“You’d better keep a very close eye on me,” he said with a sly intonation.

Sophie tilted her head back to regard the sky. “Am I the only one who’s taking this seriously?” she asked the bountiful cumulus clouds. It was much better not to look at Maverick. The smallest things about him—the flicker of his lashes, the tiny curved line that too many wry, lopsided grins had cut into the side of his cheek—knocked her off center.

“Seriously?” he said. “I don’t need a baby-sitter, if that’s what you and the judge had in mind.”