"But you were so young! And poker!" Her eyes were filled with dismay and there was a touch of condemnation in her voice.
"I had to be good at something. It was either poker or gunfighting, and I chose poker." He gave her a pointed look across the table. "Not that I'm not good with a gun."
Emma cleared her throat, licked her lips and took the first move when he indicated with a sweep of his hand that she should go first. She asked him carefully, "Why would a boy so young need to be good at poker or gunfighting?"
He slid his wooden piece. "You think I was a boy at twenty?"
They continued to play as they talked. "No, I suppose not." She re-worded her previous question. "Why would a young man need to be good at either?"
"I was an orphan, Emma. Just like you. All I had at the time was my horse, my saddle, and my gun. I lived by my wits and was determined to have more. And I didn't want to have to be a killer to accomplish it. That left gambling. Or mining for gold or silver, and that's only a fool's dream."
"Did you live in an orphanage also?"
"Until I was about eleven and ran away."
Shock tightened her throat. Of course she knew about the boys that ran away from orphanages, thinking that there was something better for them out there. And sometimes girls did it, too. But she'd been too scared to try. She'd been scared when she had attained her majority and had been forced to leave.
"How'd you live? How'd you get a horse?" she asked as she thought of the price of good horseflesh.
His eyes caught and held hers and his brows grew down in a frown. "Fought for it."
"Fought for it?" Emma felt like a mimic, repeating everything he said.
"Well, I fought for the fifty dollar purse the winner of the match walked away with."
"You fought someone in a ring? Physically?" She was horrified and couldn't contain the emotion in her voice.
"Yeah, fisticuffs."
"You put down your opponent? At the age of twenty?"
"Yeah, but I was eighteen at the time."
Emma was floored at the image in her mind. "You put down your opponent in a match of fisticuffs when you were only eighteen? That's just a boy! How'd you manage that?"
Luke heard the horror in her voice and realized that although their start in life had probably been much the same, her experience as an orphan was very much different than his had been. He tried to take his mind off those pearl buttons that ran down the front of her body and to lace humor in his voice as he answered her. "Mostly by ducking a lot, I guess."
Emma's eyes grew even rounder before one side of her mouth tipped up into a small grin. "And then at twenty you won this ranch?"
"About half of it. Since then I've acquired about an equal amount through the government's land management program and from buying up parcels here and there."
"But the gambling? Didn't it make you feel bad? Taking someone's home and land?"
"After he had been stupid enough to gamble it away?" He met her accusing eyes across the table without flinching. "If it makes you feel any better, the man was old and had the consumption. Even a blind man could see he was on his last leg. I let him live out his final months in the house, and I stayed in the bunkhouse with the men."
Emma remained mute as the picture of a twenty year old boy with no family and no one to love him pulled at her heartstrings. The fact that she herself had suffered much the same fate through her own childhood wasn't something she even considered as she pondered a young man with enough goodness in him to let the dying man stay in his home.
"Don't look at me like that. Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm a saint or something, Emma. Trust me, that's the farthest thing from the truth."
Emma lowered her eyes back down to the playing board in front of her, but her mind never quite let go of the picture of that boy alone with nothing but his horse and his wits.
Luke moved his hands over the board and Emma a heard a quick tap, tap, tap, and looked down to see the game was over and she had lost significantly.
"Game over," he said.
"Yes."
"What do I win?" His voice was low, sultry.
Emma's eyes flew to his in a panic. "Can't we play another game?"
"Not tonight. I've got to get an early start in the morning. I've got a full day of branding cattle."
Branding cattle? Emma's curiosity was peaked. "I'd like to see that."
"Maybe day after tomorrow. That ankle needs to rest and there are more cattle than can be gotten to in only one day."
"But, Luke--"
He interrupted her. "Let's get you to bed." He lifted her hand and pulled her from her chair.
"Can you walk?"
"You know I can!" she snapped as she pulled away from him and with only a tiny limp, began to move away from him and down the hallway to her bedroom.
"That ankle is getting better already. You just need to stay off it for a few more days and it'll heal completely. Then I'll show you the ranch."
Emma paused at the threshold of her bedroom. Her limp was better because her foot didn't hurt anymore from the rock she'd stepped on in the garden. That was no doubt the improvement he was seeing. A shiver of guilt coursed through her as she turned to face him. "Goodnight. Thank you for the game of checkers," she said politely as she turned to leave him.
"Not so fast." He lifted one arm and put his hand above her head on the doorframe and wrapped his other hand around her face and lifted it up to him. "I believe I won that game." His eyes clung to hers and then dropped to her lips and stayed there. "My prize, I think."
He dropped his head and his mouth settled on hers, and his tongue parted her lips and dipped into her mouth. His tongue was hot and seeking, delving deeply into her mouth to find the sweetness within.
Emma's entire body was pierced through with the same hot arousal she'd felt the first time he'd kissed her. Her hands landed on his chest and crept up slowly until they fastened themselves over his shoulders. His hand dropped from her face and wrapped around her middle and he tugged on her until she was flush against him, her legs under her long skirts tangling with his.
Her heartbeat quickened as she tried to adjust her breathing to his. His mouth was hard and firm, it knew exactly what he wanted from her and his tongue was a bold foray in her mouth as he took from her.
Emma quivered, pleasure running down her spine in a hot slide that ended at the secret place between her thighs.
With shock, she felt his leg push between hers, and his knee came up and lifted her skirts as he pressed her intimately against the hardness of his thigh. She gasped and he lifted his head. His eyes were dark slits when they opened and glittered down into hers.
"You know what I want from you." His voice was deep, rumbling, as a hot tide of passion ran between them and with a raw act of possession, he pressed her against his steely thigh and kept her there, while his hand ran up her side and landed on her breast.
Electricity arced between them, and Emma was torn between a hot wave of lust and the shock of a virgin feeling it for the first time.
She whimpered and tried to move back from him, but it was impossible until he chose to release her.
Luke felt her withdrawal and the skin tightened over his cheekbones as he ruthlessly tried to rein in control of his rampaging lust. He'd never been so hot, so aroused, so ready to take a woman as he was now with Emma in his arms. Her bed was just a few short feet behind them, he knew all he had to do was push her in and close the door and with a few heated words and caresses, he could seduce her into dropping her clothes and laying down for him.
He wanted that so badly he could taste it. But at the same time, he knew she wasn't a loose woman. The only thing allowing him the opportunity to seduce her in the first place was the fact that she was a widow, not a virtuous young girl. At the same time he thanked whatever entity was listening that she was fair game, he gritted his teeth at the thought of the man who had gone before him. The man who had taken her virginity, the man who had touched her first.
He felt the need to take that memory from her; erase it from her mind with his possession of her body. He wanted to kiss her silken skin from her forehead to her little feet, and every satin place in between.
But she wasn't ready yet.
She may be a widow, but he couldn't forget she wasn't all that experienced. There was an air of innocence about her, an innocence that compelled him to let her go now, alone to her own bed, at least for one more night.
He lowered his leg and let her slide down until she was standing on her own two feet. She swayed and he placed his hands on her waist to steady her.
When he thought she could stand well enough on her own, he released her and stood back away from her. He glanced inside the room, and saw her luggage and female fripperies that graced the top of the dresser.
Satisfaction from seeing her occupation in his house filled him. "Don't get too used to this room, Emma." His eyes raked over her. "You'll be in mine soon enough."
When Emma woke the next morning, she was filled with memories from the night before. The game of checkers they had played at the kitchen table and the manner of the prize he had taken from her for winning. Her face heated and her stomach tightened with butterflies just from the memory. The man was potent, indeed.
And then she remembered the dismal story of his youth, and even thinking of it now, she knew he had toned it down for her benefit, left the harder and murkier parts unsaid.