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The Return of Luke McGuire
Justine Davis
YOU ALWAYS WANT…Luke McGuire was everything shy Amelia Blair had been fascinated by as a girl but too terrified to go near. And now here she was, the only person in the whole town decent enough to give him the time of day, caring enough to stand up for him…brave enough to get close.WHAT YOU CAN'T HAVELuke didn't need the town's nasty stares to know that Amelia was offlimits. But then, reformed or not, he'd never been one to abide by the rules. He only hoped that the quiet beauty would fall for the man he had become instead of the one he used to be.
She’d never seen anything like the picture that greeted her eyes now.
She barely noticed the motorcycle; all she could do was stare at the man astride the low-slung, snarling beast.
He was dressed like a walking advertisement for some rebel motorcycle gang, and he looked like the personification of everything she’d been fascinated by as a girl, but had been too terrified to go near. That hadn’t changed much, she thought, as she became aware that her heart was racing in her chest.
He didn’t seem to fit in here in Santiago Beach; this was a sun-and-surf town, and he was a splash of the wild side.
The wild side.
Suddenly she knew. With an instinctive certainty she couldn’t question, Amelia knew.
Luke McGuire was back in town.
Dear Reader,
The 20
anniversary excitement continues as we bring you a 2-in-1 collection containing brand-new novellas by two of your favorite authors: Maggie Shayne and Marilyn Pappano. Who Do You Love? It’s an interesting question—made more complicated for these heroes and heroines because they’re not quite what they seem, making the path to happily-ever-after an especially twisty one. Enjoy!
A YEAR OF LOVING DANGEROUSLY continues with Her Secret Weapon by bestselling writer Beverly Barton. This is a great secret-baby story—with a forgotten night of passion thrown in to make things even more exciting. Our in-line 36 HOURS spin-off continues with A Thanksgiving To Remember, by Margaret Watson. Suspenseful and sensual, this story shows off her talents to their fullest. Applaud the return of Justine Davis with The Return of Luke McGuire. There’s something irresistible about a bad boy turned hero, and Justine’s compelling and emotional handling of the theme will win your heart. In The Lawman Meets His Bride, Meagan McKinney brings her MATCHED IN MONTANA miniseries over from Desire with an exciting romance featuring a to-die-for hero. Finally, pick up The Virgin Beauty by Claire King and discover why this relative newcomer already has people talking about her talent.
Share the excitement—and come back next month for more!
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
The Return of Luke McGuire
Justine Davis
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For the girls who, like me, always fell for the bad boy…
and were lucky enough to marry a reformed one.
JUSTINE DAVIS
lives in Kingston, Washington. Her interests outside writing are sailing, doing needlework, horseback riding and driving her restored 1967 Corvette roadster—top down, of course.
A policewoman, Justine says that years ago, a young man she worked with encouraged her to try for a promotion to a position that was, at that time, occupied only by men. “I succeeded, became wrapped up in my new job, and that man moved away, never, I thought, to be heard of again. Ten years later he appeared out of the woods of Washington State, saying he’d never forgotten me and would I please marry him. With that history, how could I write anything but romance?”
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Chapter 1
It wasn’t nearly as tough being a bastard as it used to be.
Luke McGuire knew that, knew that if he’d been born a hundred, or even fifty years ago his life would have been a much bigger nightmare. But the unexpected letter he held made long-buried memories rise again, memories of the nightmare his life had indeed been.
He stared down at the scrawled lines that filled the page of three-hole notebook paper. He glanced again at the envelope, addressed only to his name and the small town of River Park; if Charlie Hanson didn’t know everybody in town, he might never have gotten it.
He wasn’t sure he didn’t wish Charlie had never heard of him.
He shoved a hand through his wind-tangled hair, pushing it back from his forehead. He was going to have to cut it or start tying it back soon; the thick, dark strands were getting in his way. Not that seeing any better changed the plea the letter contained.
He could just toss it, he thought. After all, if River Park had been a little bigger, or Charlie a little less efficient, it could have wound up in some dead letter file, since there was no return address on the envelope. So he could throw it away and go on pretending blissful ignorance.
Except he’d read it. He’d read it, and he didn’t know if he had it in him to ignore the plea it contained.
His little brother was in trouble.
Little Davie. The child who had been the only good thing in his life so long ago, the only person who ever looked at him with pure, honest love shining in his eyes.
Little Davie?
Luke caught himself with a wry chuckle as the math hit home. Eight years. David would be fifteen now. Hardly the wide-eyed, innocent child he remembered.
Especially the innocent part, he thought with a grimace as he read the letter once more.
Guilt rose up, sharp toothed and ugly. He’d known what he was leaving David behind to face. He’d hoped the fact that his brother was the wanted son would make things different for him, that having a father there to defend him would make it all right.
Maybe it had only gone sour in the six months since David’s father had died. That made sense; their mother would never be openly cruel to him while Ed Hiller was alive. Not when he was her meal ticket. But she had a thousand ways to be quietly, subtly cruel, covering it with feigned concern, even wearing the mask of affection to hide the emotional whip.
He felt a flicker of sympathy for the man who had been as much of a father as Luke had ever known. It had been Ed who had lectured Luke—gently—on not living up to his potential, Ed who had told him he was smarter than his grades were showing, Ed who, seeming to sense Luke was on the verge of bolting, pressed him hard to finish school. Ed hadn’t loved him the way he loved his blood son, but he’d been kind, and fair, which meant more to Luke than Ed Hiller could ever have known. He felt a brief flicker of regret that he had never told the man he was grateful.
And now that man’s son was crying out for Luke’s help. Wanting, of all things, to come and live with him. And Luke had done enough running of his own to realize that David was in full stride.
He got up and walked to the window of his cabin. It was the smallest of the five on the property, but Luke had taken it eagerly. It also had the best view of the river. At night he could hear the rush of the water and pretend he could hear the rough and tumble of the rapids just downstream. It was all he needed. It was all he wanted.
He heard the crumple of paper and realized he was clenching his fist around David’s letter. It wasn’t his problem, he thought. He didn’t have to deal with it. Which was a good thing, since he’d sworn to never set foot in Santiago Beach again, and nothing had happened since he’d left to change his mind.
He would just throw the letter away. Pretend it had never reached him.
He finished crumpling it up, feeling the oddly sharp dig of one of the corners of the envelope against his palm.
Not for anything or anyone would he go back to Santiago Beach. Not even for the boy who had made those last years survivable.
“Hey, McGuire! You comin’ or what?”
The voice of his friend and partner Gary Milhouse was a welcome interruption.
“Yeah,” he called out. “On my way.”
Good idea. Half a pizza and a beer or two, and he would forget all about it. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do anyway.
He stuffed the letter in his pocket and walked right past his wastebasket. He would burn it later, he thought. That way it wouldn’t be lying around to taunt him.
Maybe three beers.
Amelia Blair watched the gangly boy heading toward her bookstore. His hair moved loosely on top of his head, where it was long and bleached a white blond. A darker, medium brown showed beneath, where it was shaved short. A baggy shirt and baggier pants flapped as he crossed the street. He was walking—almost strutting—in that self-conscious way teenage boys had when they were trying to be adult but were still in the imitation stage, before it came from the inside.
She knew she tended toward worry anyway, but she was certain her concern about her young friend was warranted. He’d changed so much from the open, natural boy she’d met when he’d first come into her bookstore four years ago. And the change had not been for the better.
The buzzer on the door announced David’s arrival in the cultured tones of Captain Jean-Luc Picard; she’d adapted the sound effects from Star Trek and rotated them daily. They were a big hit with her younger customers—some of whom stopped in daily to see who would be talking—and even made the older ones smile.
“Hey, Amelia.”
He sounded normal enough this morning, she thought. “Hello, David. How are you?”
He shrugged. “Hangin’ in.”
Amelia nodded, knowing he usually wanted to leave it at that. She couldn’t blame him; the subject of his father’s recent unexpected and sudden death in an accident was still new, and he was still raw and aching.
He made a show of looking at the books in her front display rack, but since his taste ran more to science fiction, she doubted he was really interested in the bestsellers and her own personal choices. She knew it took him a while to work up to really talking to her, and she’d found the best approach was to just welcome him and wait.
After a moment he stopped fiddling with the latest political exposé and stepped over to the counter. He leaned his elbows on it and finally looked at her. “How was kickboxing today?”
She smiled. “Tiring. We’re working on punch-kick combinations, and it’s tough.”
“Bet it’ll take out a bad guy.”
“That’s the idea, anyway,” Amelia said. She’d signed up for the classes three years ago in the hope they would help her feel less…timid. She was at home in her world here, amid her books, but outside, she was never quite sure of herself. She had resigned herself at twenty-five to being forever a mouse, with mousy brown hair to match, but now, at thirty, she was determined to at least be the bravest mouse she could be.
As a side benefit, it had impressed David, who had decided she had to be fairly cool to be taking kickboxing. After that, the relationship had grown rapidly.
“I wish my mother would change her mind and let me take lessons,” David said.
Amelia hesitated. She doubted that was likely. Jackie Hiller seemed to run her son’s life with a heavy hand, allowing him only the extracurricular activities she approved of.
Of course, she also doubted Mrs. Hiller knew about the new friends David had acquired. Loud, obnoxious, frequently nasty and purposely intimidating, the group of about five boys had already gained an unpleasant notoriety in Santiago Beach. From what Amelia had seen they were all hotheaded, which unfortunately made them very attractive to a boy still angry about his father’s death.
“Maybe if you got a part-time job and offered to help pay for the lessons?” she suggested, thinking that something physical, like kickboxing, might be just the thing David needed to release some of that anger. And the part of the program that dealt with mental and emotional control couldn’t hurt.
But David snorted aloud. “It’s not the bucks. Hell, she spends it like crazy. She just wants me to do wussy stuff like piano lessons. And during the summer, too!”
“Well, even Elton John had to start somewhere.”
David looked at her blankly. “Who? Oh…he’s that old guy from England, right?”
She smothered a sigh and nodded, wondering how a boy only fifteen years younger could make her feel ancient. “He’s lasted in the music biz for decades now because he can play the piano.” Well, that was stretching it a bit, but it made her point. And she liked Elton, even if he was more of her parents’ generation.
“Yeah. Well. I still hate it.”
She grinned at him then. “So did I.”
He blinked. “You did?”
“Yep. My mother made me practice for two hours a day, then I had to play for my father when he came home.”
“Bummer,” David said with an eloquent shiver. “But I won’t have to do it much longer.”
“Talk your mother out of it, did you?”
“Not exactly.”
