He moved away for a moment, and she knew he was protecting her. Stop, she wanted to say. Having your baby would be a joy. It would leave me with a part of you forever.
But she knew better than to speak the words. Luke was a responsible man. He would never allow such a thing to happen. Not even if she begged him for it.
He returned to her in the bed. She opened to him, her arms, her moisture-slicked thighs, all wanting, all welcoming. His fingers stroked her, preparing her, parting the delicate layers. “Yes . . .” she murmured. “Now . . .”
He shifted between her legs. Her little cry as his hard length slid inside her changed to a murmur of bliss as he began to move. Swimming in new sensations, she moved with him, letting him carry her to a climax that was like ten thousand flowers all bursting into bloom.
Afterward, warm and contented, she lay in his arms. She was his woman now, and he was her man—and for this moment, everything was as it was meant to be.
Before the first stirrings of dawn, they made bittersweet love again. Then it was time for Erin to leave. Knowing she mustn’t be seen with him, she gave him a last, lingering kiss, slipped out of bed, and found her shirt and slippers. By unspoken agreement, neither of them had mentioned what lay ahead. There were too many fears, too many unanswered questions. She simply paused at the door, whispered, “I love you, Luke,” and stole out into the darkness.
The house was blessedly quiet. Crossing the parlor and tiptoeing down the hall, Erin made it all the way to her own bedroom before the tears spilled over.
* * *
It was midmorning when the sheriff’s tan SUV drove into the ranch yard and pulled up to the house. Luke, who’d been working since dawn, willed himself to ignore the new arrival. But the sick feeling in his gut told him that his worst fears had come to pass. And there was nothing he could do about it.
Erin and Will’s brother, Beau, had come out on the porch. They waited as the sheriff and a deputy climbed out of the vehicle and mounted the steps. Now they were talking. Beau turned and pointed across the yard, toward the pen where Luke was preparing to shoe his third horse of the day.
If Luke hadn’t known for sure why the sheriff had come, he knew it now.
Erin was standing back, letting her uncle do the talking. That was as it should be. Any reaction on her part—any effort to defend him—would only make matters worse.
A memory flashed in his mind—Erin in his arms, giving him her love and her sweet, virginal body. Maybe it had been unfair of him to take what she’d so willingly offered. But he wasn’t sorry. Whatever happened, he would carry the memory like a secret treasure.
He could only hope she felt the same. If she had regrets, he would never forgive himself.
The sheriff and the deputy climbed back into the SUV, drove across the yard, and stopped next to the barn. The two of them, both armed, got out and walked toward the shaded pen where Luke was bent over the shoe he was shaping on the anvil. The sheriff unlatched the gate, swung it partway open, and stepped through with the deputy behind him.
When Luke could no longer ignore the pair, he straightened and turned around. He was nearly a head taller than the burly, middle-aged sheriff, and he was holding a hammer, but he knew better than to resist what was about to happen.
“Put down your weapon, Maddox,” the sheriff said, drawing his pistol.
Weapon? Luke dropped the hammer to the ground.
“Turn around and put your hands behind your back. Deputy—” He nodded toward the other man.
Luke did as he was told, but the feel of the steel cuffs clamping around his wrists sent a jolt of panic through him. He wanted to fight. He wanted to run. Anything but to submit to this humiliation.
“Luke Maddox,” the sheriff said, “you are under arrest for the murder of Will Tyler. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. . . .”
The sheriff rattled off the Miranda rights in an expressionless voice. When he’d finished, he motioned to the deputy to put Luke in the back of the vehicle. The skinny, taciturn deputy gave Luke a shove—something he might not have done if Luke hadn’t been under restraint.
As the door was about to close, Luke leaned toward the sheriff, who was still standing outside. “One question, if you don’t mind, Sheriff Harger,” he said.
Harger scowled. “You can ask it, but I don’t have to answer.”
“Just this,” Luke said. “You let me go once, in part because you had no solid evidence. What changed your mind? Why are you arresting me now?”
The sheriff’s scowl deepened. Luke knew he had no right to ask the question. But he needed to understand what had happened and what he was facing. A city cop would know better than to share information. But this small-town sheriff liked to talk. He might enjoy revealing more just to watch his prisoner squirm.
“All right, I’ll tell you,” Harger said. “We had an eyewitness come forward—a witness who claims he saw you unloading that big tire from the back of your trailer and leaving it in the road.”
Luke swore silently to keep up his courage. But inside, he’d gone cold with fear. It was as if he could feel the jaws of a trap, closing around him. “Whoever your witness is, he’s either mistaken or lying,” he said. “As I’ve told you, I wasn’t there.”
“Well, the witness recognized your rig. With that trailer behind the truck, it’s pretty hard to mistake.”
Which would suggest that the claim is a lie, Luke thought. “How reliable is your witness?” he asked.