one of the tables spread with food.
Carly walked up to Jet. “Hey, little brother.” She never missed a chance to greet him with the teasing reminder he was a year younger. “Don’t drink too much of that poison. We’ve got a date for tomorrow, remember? And when I take you on at the arena, I don’t want you claiming a handicap because you’re hungover.”
“Are you kidding? This stuff doesn’t bother me. I’ll tell you what does rile me,” he added loudly enough to make sure Savannah and Lizzie heard him. “Getting stuck with the tough job today.”
“What’s so hard about filling up a beer mug?” Carly asked.
“Filling it isn’t the problem. It’s having to hand it off to somebody else.”
She laughed. “Don’t even try for a sympathy vote from me. You’ve never in your life had to give up something you didn’t want to. I’m sure you’ll get your fill.”
“Don’t waste time worrying over it,” Savannah called to her.
“That’s for sure,” Lizzie said. “He’s already had more than his share.”
“Somebody had to taste test,” Jet protested. “Savannah didn’t want any, and in your delicate condition, Lizzie, you need to stay away from it.”
For just a moment, Carly let herself glance at her sister’s rounded stomach, where the first Baron baby of the next generation waited to make an appearance. When Lizzie caught her eye, she forced a smile. She had so much she wanted to say to Lizzie, so many questions she could never ask.
Do you worry about carrying the baby to term? Did you miss not sharing the news with Mom? Do you hate knowing you can’t turn to her for advice?
After Lizzie’s health scare early on in the pregnancy, Carly had kept those concerns and questions, those reminders of the past, all to herself. Yet they were concerns she had always wondered about, too.
Attempting to swallow the lump in her throat, she forced a smile. She moved past Lizzie’s table and continued to the one filled with plates and plastic utensils set up assembly-line style. Kim now stood talking to one of the cowhands. Carly couldn’t help but glance around the yard, looking for a familiar broad-shouldered cowboy. There were plenty of cute wranglers in the vicinity, but not the one she...wanted to avoid.
Darn Kim, anyway, for bringing up Luke’s name.
As if he hadn’t already been on her mind.
A moment later, Kim hurried up to her. “Well, don’t look now, but you’re about to get your chance to make up for that brief encounter.” Her voice practically vibrated with excitement. “You-know-who’s headed this way.”
“Knock it off, Kim. We’re not kids anymore. Grown women don’t get all excited just because there’s a man around.”
“Then why are you turning as red as you used to in high school?”
“Anger. Irritation. Pique.” She grinned. “Now, there’s a vocabulary word. You make sure and tell Mrs. Blumfeld I didn’t forget her ninth-grade English classes.” Kim’s glance past her told the truth of the matter about Luke. “He’s only headed this way for more of Anna’s barbecued beef, and the table’s almost right behind us.”
“Oh, no, he’s way past that point.”
Luke couldn’t want to talk to her. And she certainly didn’t want to chat with him. Then why did her pulse jump at the thought? Maybe because no one in the family had ever seen them together. As far as the Barons knew...well, as far as she knew they knew...she and Luke had never met each other.
And it would be best to keep it that way.
Kim carried her plate and utensils over to the next table.
“I’ll take one of those.” The deep voice gave her the clue. She didn’t need to see the cowboy’s face to know Luke had come up to stand beside her. He reached for a cup.
Her fingers tightened automatically, crinkling the wrapping.
He eyed the package. “I can skip having something to drink if you’re that attached to the cups.”
“I’m not attached to them. I’m wondering what you’re doing here.” Darn. The truth wasn’t at all what she’d meant to say.
His eyebrows shot up. “It’s a barbecue. I’ll give you three guesses.”
One of the cowboys edged by them to get to the picnic table.
Luke stepped aside, moving closer to her. Her hands clenched. The plastic wrapper from the cups crackled again. She thought about walking away. That ought to show him how little their conversation meant to her. But he stood blocking the pathway between the tables. She couldn’t pass without brushing against him. The immediate shiver of anticipation running up her spine showed just how foolish that move would be.
There was nothing behind her to give her an excuse to go in that direction. Besides, no way would she would let him—or anyone—see her run. Instead, she stood her ground, trying to ignore how awkward she felt. Trying to forget she’d experienced that same feeling the first time she’d met him. “Never mind the three guesses. I just meant you surprised me. I didn’t see you around.”
“Keeping an eye out for me?”
“Not hardly.” What was he doing, anyhow? Flirting with her? “Let me tell you, if you’re trying to act cute, you’re missing it by a country mile. And if you’re hoping to keep up appearances in front of the boss, don’t bother. He’s not looking our way.”
The cowboy who had passed them had gotten what he wanted from the table and moved on. She needed to do the same with Luke. “Oh, and if you have any idea about trying to repeat history, forget it. This time, I’m walking away. Enjoy your barbecue.”
She slipped by him, bumping her hip on the edge of the picnic table. As she had expected, in the tight space, she couldn’t avoid brushing against his arm. The warmth of his skin left hers tingling. For a moment she froze, then she pushed past him, leaving him in the dust.
She hurried to catch up to Kim.
They filled their plates and found an empty picnic bench off to one side of the yard. To her irritation, she discovered Luke hard on her heels.
Kim set her plate down but didn’t take a seat. “I forgot napkins. Be right back.”
“Get some extra,” Carly called after her. She gritted her teeth and scooted onto one of the benches. Luke settled opposite as if she’d invited him to join her. “What’s this? I told you, you don’t need to make nice with the boss’s daughter.”
“I learned that lesson already,” he said in a low tone. “I was nice to you once. You threw that in my face.”
Was he trying to imply she had been the one at fault years ago? “Then I can’t image why you want to sit here. Couldn’t you find a seat anywhere else?”
“Could have. But I’m too polite to walk off in the middle of a conversation.” He paused, as if waiting for her to pounce on the statement. But she’d already made her point about his walking away from her. When she said nothing, he went on, “To tell you the truth, it’s a surprise to me, too, seeing you here, considering you don’t make a habit of attending the barbecue.”
“I try never to do the expected.”
He nodded. “Some things never change. I guess you wouldn’t be here now, either, if not for coming home to take care of your daddy.”
He sat looking at her. She stared back into those eyes that had once fascinated her. Such a unique shade of golden brown. The same amber hue as a jar of dark honey, so warm and sweet and—
Darn.