Luke’s Runaway Bride by Kate Bridges Read Free Book Online Page B

craned her neck and glanced back.
    She lost her balance. Panicked, she started to slide, and tried to jerk herself in the other direction.
    Luke swore. She felt him grab her skirt and yank. “Hang on!”
    With a loud rip, her dress tore. She slid off and hit the ground, rolling in the dirt. A rock smacked her temple. It stung. Her vision clouded. Sprawled on her back, she stayed put and tried to catch her breath.
    “Whoa, boy, simmer down,” she heard Luke say in the distance. Then he was by her side. “Jenny! Are you hurt?”
    She felt the pressure of his hand on her shoulder. She inhaled slowly and her eyesight cleared. He was looking down at her, his dark brows creased in concern. She hadn’t thought he was capable of any tenderness.
    She groaned, trying to rise on an elbow. “I think I’m fine, but my head…”
    He slid his hand along her back to support her. Much too close. The shadow of a beard made him look like a wild wolf. “You’ve got a little cut.”
    He brushed her forehead with gentle fingertips, then his gaze came back to hers. His dark eyes were deep, warm pools and she felt herself submerging. “You don’t know how to ride,” he said.
    It all seemed so ridiculous—the ride, her formal gown…. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
    His eyes twinkled and he smiled at her. A kind, handsome smile. Her pulse skittered. She tried to fight it. “Are you laughing at me again?”
    “No,” he said, ever so softly. “Why are you so stubborn? Why couldn’t you hold on to me, nice and proper?”
    There was nothing nice or proper about their positions on the horse. Suddenly, she became aware of how close they were sitting, how firm his arm felt around her shoulders, how fresh and manly the scent of his skin. Underneath his coat, the collar of his crisp shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a thatch of silky black hair, leading down his chest to who knew where.
    He seemed to come to his senses first and jerked away. “Stay here, I’ll get something for your cut.”
    She tried to sit up, but her right upper arm rocked with pain. She rolled back to one elbow.
    Luke returned with a cloth and dabbed at her forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me you can’t ride?”
    “I didn’t have time.”
    He pushed his hat back. The sweat-dampened hair at his temples glistened in the sunshine. “It’s my fault, I should have asked. I’m sorry.”
    Finally, an apology for something. He kept dabbing. “You surprise me. A polished lady from the East, dressed in velvet, wearing imported perfume…yet you sure spit tacks. You don’t complain very much, do you? I mean, about sleeping in a pile of straw or at being thrown onto a horse when you don’t know how to ride.”
    She broke their intimate gaze. The words seemed harmless, but the sincerity in his eyes… He was sitting so close she could feel the breeze whisper off his skin. How did a man like him know her perfume was imported?
    How did she wind up this near to him? She squirmed away.
    “Hey, come back here, it’s almost cleaned up.” He moved closer, poured water from his canteen onto the cloth and wiped her forehead. When he looked into her eyes again, her pulse rushed like a waterfall.
    His gaze went lower, down to her quivering lips and then back up. A powerful awareness shot through her. He seemed different than he had last night. Gone was the hardened stranger and in his place was a compassionate man, rugged and appealing.
    “Let me help you to your feet.”
    “No, it’s all right…” She shouldn’t allow herself to be swayed. He was her captor and she was his prisoner.
    It was too late to stop him. Attempting to pull her up, he grasped her upper arms, but squeezed the sore one by mistake. She yelped.
    “You’re hurt.” He released her. His face creased with concern as his gaze skimmed over the jacket. “Where?”
    “My right arm.”
    “Let me check to see if it’s broken.”
    “No, please—”
    He was unbuttoning the sheepskin jacket before she