"You’ve got no corner on being a fool," Luke said calmly. "Seems like all I do lately is chase stubborn cows and eat bad food." He yawned and stretched his arms over his head, flattening his palms on the ceiling in order to fully stretch his body.

"Get a cook," Carla said, walking past Luke to the kitchen.

As he lowered his arms, his fingertips accidentally brushed over her arm and her glossy, shoulder-length hair. The short-sleeved blouse she wore couldn’t conceal the sudden ripple of goose bumps, helpless response to his touch.

"I’ve had six cooks in the past twenty months," Luke said. "Not a one of them could hold a candle to you. I’ve missed all those dinners when you and Cash and I would sit and talk about everything and nothing, and then Cash and I would fight over who got the biggest piece of whatever pie you’d made that day. Those were good times, sunshine."

Carla’s hands gripped the pizza box too tightly. She slapped the box onto the counter and began transferring slices to a baking sheet.

"Bet you don’t miss doing the dishes afterward."she said.

"The conversation was worth it," Luke said simply.

"Oh, no you don’t," Cash said.

"I don’t what?" Luke asked.

"You don’t come sniffing around looking to make Carla your cook for the summer, leaving me with a can opener for company."

Luke smiled slowly. "Hell of an idea, Cash. Sunshine, would you – "

"Nope," Carla said quickly, interrupting.

"Why not?"

Ignoring him, Carla bent over the open stove and positioned the limp pizza as though it were a gear in a Swiss watch.

"Why not?" Luke pressed.

"Cash would starve, that’s why," she muttered.

"Slander! I can cook as well as the next man," Cash said.

"Sure," she retorted, "as long as the next man is Luke MacKenzie."

Before either man could speak, Carla spotted the brown-and-white mess at the end of the counter. Cautiously she dipped her finger in a thin white puddle that had formed on the tile next to the battered cake. Luke’s eyes followed the tip of her tongue as she tasted the goo on her finger.

"Too sweet for gravy or paint," she said after a moment, giving Cash a teasing sideways glance. She stirred the puddle with her fingertip, noted that the white stuck to everything except the brown mound it had been poured over, and smiled. "I do believe my brother has invented a fairly tasty form of library paste."

Luke snickered.

"Slander," Cash said, trying not to smile. "Is that why you turned down my kind offer to cook and insisted on bringing pizza instead?"

"Bingo," Carla said.

"Which reminds me, how much do I owe you for the pizza?"

"A hundred dollars."

Carla’s tone was so casual that it took a few instants for the amount to sink in.

Cash did a double take and asked, "What’s on that pizza – beluga caviar?"

"Pepperoni and mushrooms. I included the birthday present I knew you’d be too busy chasing rocks to get for me."

"Oh. What did I get you?"

"A few more weeks with Fred."

"Fred?" Luke said before he could stop himself. "Who the hell is Fred?"

2

"Fred’s a what," Carla said.

"Huh?"

"Now you’re getting the idea," she murmured.

Luke’s eyes narrowed.

"Fred’s her baby," Cash added unhelpfully.

"Do tell," Luke retorted. "And soon, I hope."

Carla fought against the smile she felt stealing over her lips, but couldn’t stifle it any more than she could prevent the helpless yearning that went through her when Luke smiled approvingly at her in return. He hadn’t changed. He was still tall, powerful, intense. His very dark brown hair set off his amber eyes, making them look gold in certain kinds of light. The trace of beard shadow beneath his high cheekbones perfectly suited his hard-jawed Slavic features.

For a moment it felt as though time had turned back upon itself, touching again the years before she had mistaken Luke’s affectionate tolerance for a very different kind of love. Longing swept through her, a futile wish that she had been different three years ago, or he had been; but she hadn’t, and he hadn’t, and the memories still shook her. She saw Luke as she had seen him that night, a huge, looming presence, his eyes a golden blaze of reflected firelight The width of his shoulders had blocked out the world when he bent down and swept her up in an embrace.

The first instants had been pure bliss, the culmination of years and years of dreaming; and then his arms had tightened and tightened and tightened until she couldn’t breathe. His mouth had become rough and demanding, forcing hers to open, giving her a kiss that was as hard and adult as the male body grinding intimately against hers. She had been confused, completely at a loss, and finally a little frightened. It wasn’t how she had envisioned Luke’s response to her declaration of love – where was the tenderness, the joy, the sweetness of knowing you loved and were loved in return?

With an effort, Carla banished the agonizing memories and answered Luke’s question. "Fred is my truck."

"Tell him the truth," advised Cash. "Fred is a battered, bewildered, dwarf four-by-four that does its best to play with the big boys. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten a call and had to go and winch Carla out of some damned mud hole. Next time it happens I’ve got half a mind to make you go and get her, Luke. After all, it’s all your fault that she’s barreling all over the Four Corners chasing ancient shadows."

Luke’s intent, golden eyes fixed on Cash. "It is?"

"Damned straight. If you hadn’t given her that shard of Anasazi pottery you found somewhere up in September Canyon, she never would have become interested in archaeology. If she weren’t interested in archaeology, she wouldn’t have been off running after old bones with her professors every summer and most vacations."

"I thought it was boys that girls chased," Luke said, fixing Carla with enigmatic golden eyes.

"I gave up chasing boys right after I graduated from high school," Carla said flatly. "And stop trying to change the subject," she continued, turning to Cash, changing the subject herself. "You owe me fourteen bucks for the pizza."

"And eighty-six bucks for truck repairs?"

She smiled slightly and shook her head. "No, but I wouldn’t turn down a hug."

Cash engulfed Carla in a hug. Though she was five foot seven, the top of her head barely brushed Cash’s chin. He lifted her and swung her around. When he set her down again, she was almost on Luke’s feet. There was barely room for her to breathe. Luke was the same height as her brother, six foot three, and weighed within a pound or two of Cash’s one ninety-six. That was probably one of the reasons the two men got along so well – they were built on the same scale. Big.

Without warning, Luke’s long fingers tilted Car-la’s chin, forcing her to meet his eye.

"Are you really all grown-up now, sunshine?"

The old nickname and the searching intensity of Luke’s eyes took Carla’s breath away, making speech impossible.

"Hey, that reminds me," Cash said. "It’s been months since I’ve played killer poker."

"Not surprising," Luke retorted, releasing Carla with the speed of a man passing a hot potato on to its final destination. "It’s been months since you’ve found an out-of-state sucker who doesn’t know why Alexander McQueen is called ‘Cash.’"

"Lucky at cards, unlucky at love."

Luke snorted. "I’ll shuffle. Carla can deal. You open the champagne I brought."

"Champagne?" Carla asked, stunned.

She looked up into Luke’s eyes. He was still standing close to her, so close that she could sense the heat of his big body. She hadn’t sensed anyone’s presence so acutely in years.

Three years, to be exact.

Luke’s slow smile as he looked down at Carla made something stir and shimmer to life deep within her.

"Champagne," he confirmed, his voice deep. "You only turn twenty-one once. It should be special."

By the time the cards were shuffled, cut and dealt, Carla was sipping from a glass of golden champagne, which fizzed and sizzled softly over her lips and tongue. She hardly noticed the alcohol, for her blood was already sparkling from the memory of Luke’s fingers on her skin.

Are you really all grown-up now?

The implications of that question scattered Carla’s attention, making her lose at cards more rapidly than usual. Before Luke poured her a second glass of champagne, she had lost her original stake – six dollars. She handed over the last of her nickels without rancor, for it had been Cash rather than Luke who had won the lion’s share of the pots. Long ago, Carla had decided that Cash must have made a deal with the devil in exchange for luck at cards.

By the time Luke poured Carla a third glass of champagne, the pizza was reduced to grease spots on the paper plates, and it had become clear to everyone that Cash’s luck was running as high as ever. Luke was down to three dollars from his original six, and Carla had traded seven days’ worth of home-cooked meals for fifty cents each and promptly had lost every penny.

Normally Carla would have stopped drinking halfway through her second glass of champagne, but nothing about her twenty-first birthday was normal – especially the presence of Luke MacKenzie. The champagne was a dancing delight that smelled as yeasty as the bread she loved to bake. Cash and Luke were in fine form, trading insults and laughter equally. When Luke poured a third glass of champagne for Carla, she was into Cash for a summer’s worth of meals and Luke was down to seventy-five cents.