"Speak for yourself, boss man," Ten drawled, his voice every bit as cool as Luke’s. "If Carla is in the mood to trip me, I’ll fall to the floor any way she wants me."

"I didn’t mean the hug that way," she said unhappily, watching both men, her face pale.

"Hell, I know that, honey," Ten said without looking away from Luke. "It’s the boss who’s a little thick between the ears where you’re concerned."

"Don’t kid yourself, ramrod. She may look as innocent as – "

"If you say any more," Ten interrupted curtly, "you’ll regret it."

"Oh? And I suppose you’re going to make me all regretful?" Luke asked.

"I won’t have to. You’ll look in the mirror and your stomach will turn over."

Ten’s quiet certainty was more effective than a blow. Luke closed his eyes for a long count of three. When his eyes opened again they were no longer a savage, glittering gold. They were nearly opaque, full of shadows, as dull as gold could be. Ten muttered something sad and savage under his breath, but before either man could say anything more, the sound of the ranch hands gathering in the yard came through the open door.

"Find somebody else to give you the beating you think you deserve, Luke," Ten said softly. "I like you too well to enjoy hammering on you." He turned to Carla. "Go wash your face, honey, or you’ll be answering a lot of questions about those tears."

Carla fled without a word.

When she came back, dinner was on the table and Luke was nowhere in sight. Ten looked up and smiled encouragingly at her.

"Told you she was just slicking up to impress us," he drawled to the table at large. "Nice job, honey. You look good enough to eat"

"Then it’s a good thing for me you’re already working on seconds, isn’t it?" she said, smiling in return.

Only Ten noticed that Carla’s smile hovered on the brink of turning upside down, and he wasn’t going to point it out. He stood, pulled out her chair and seated her with easy grace.

"Thank you," Carla said, glancing up into his gray eyes as he bent over her. Quietly she added, "You’re a good man, Ten. I don’t know why some woman hasn’t snaffled you off."

"One did," Ten murmured as he sat down again next to Carla. "It was a lesson to both of us."

"Hey, ramrod," Cosy said, jerking his thumb toward Luke’s place. "The boss came in early today. Should I drag him out of the barn to eat?"

"Depends on how lucky you feel."

Cosy hesitated. "Uh-oh. You mean he’s in the shop?"

"Yeah."

"Turning big hunks of wood into little bitty shavings?"

"Yeah."

"Is the door locked?"

"Yeah."

Cosy settled more deeply into his chair. "You gonna keep those potatoes for yourself or are you gonna share them with the hands what do the real work?"

Smiling thinly, Ten passed the potatoes.

"What are you two talking about?" Carla asked Ten.

The ramrod hesitated, then shrugged. "When things get to grinding too hard on Luke, he goes to his wood shop in the barn and locks the door behind him. You know that bed and dresser and table in your room?"

"I’ve been trying to figure a way to spirit the bedroom set out of the house when I leave," she admitted. "I’ve never seen any furniture one-tenth so beautiful."

"Luke made each piece three years ago. He worked all summer, way into the night, night after night, and then put in long days of ranch work every day, as well. After a few weeks of that he looked like hell, so I decided to talk some sense into him." Ten shook his head ruefully. "That’s a mistake I won’t make twice. I’d as soon take on a cornered cougar with a licorice whip as tackle Luke when he’s holed up in his workshop."

Carla’s uncertain appetite faded entirely as she digested Ten’s words. Three years ago she had offered herself to Luke with unhappy results for both of them: I’ve regretted that night like I’ve never regretted anything in my life. So he had locked himself in his workshop and dealt with his emotions by creating an extraordinary bedroom set and putting it into a room no one used. Three weeks ago she had offered herself to Luke once more…and when it was over, he had whispered, Please don’t do this to me again.

Now Luke had locked himself away once more, and he wasn’t going to come out. Not while Carla was still on the Rocking M. She was sure of it. She was also certain she couldn’t let that happen. She loved Luke too much to walk away and pretend that nothing had occurred between them except a one-night stand that never should have happened.

"Don’t do it, honey," Ten said too softly for anyone but Carla to hear. "Don’t be the one to give Luke the fight he’s looking for. You’ll both regret it."

Carla’s head snapped up. She stared at Ten, startled by his accuracy in reading her thoughts.

"But I love him," she whispered.

"That just makes you more vulnerable."

"Luke came in early today. Maybe he wanted to talk to me. Maybe he…" Carla’s voice frayed over the hope she couldn’t put into words.

Maybe he wanted to ask me to stay.

The rest of the meal was a blur to Carla. She pretended to eat but only rearranged food on her plate. She looked attentive, but her thoughts went frantically around and around, trying to find a way past Luke’s refusal to talk to her.

Afterward, when the table was clean and the kitchen was spotless and Luke still hadn’t come back to the house, Carla went up to her room and began the unhappy task of packing. In the hope of luring him out of the barn, she carried out her luggage and boxes and loaded everything noisily into her little truck. It was a tight fit; because rain threatened, she was stuffing everything into the passenger side of the tiny cab.

No one came out of the barn while Carla arranged and rearranged boxes in the truck’s small space. The men who poked their heads out of the bunkhouse and offered to help her were politely refused. She made many unnecessary trips, taking up as much time as possible, but finally she had no more excuses to linger around the yard and cast hopeful, sideways glances at the barn.

Carla went upstairs and washed her hair during a leisurely shower, hoping if she weren’t downstairs, Luke would feel free to come into the house. The instant she stepped out of the bathroom, she knew that Luke hadn’t come in from the barn. There were no small sounds of someone stirring around the kitchen warming food or pouring coffee or washing up. There was simply silence and darkness and the distant flare of lightning dancing over MacKenzie Ridge.

Luke, don’t send me away like this, not a word, nothing but silence. Talk to me. Give me a chance.

Nothing came in answer to Carla’s plea but summer thunder, a reverberation more felt than heard.

Carla went to the dresser, opened the box Luke had carved for her and picked up the pottery fragment within. It was cool and hard and smooth, as though time itself had condensed in her palm. For long, long minutes she stood motionless, infusing ancient clay with the living warmth of her own body, holding the shard as though it were a talisman against her deepest fears. Finally, gently, she replaced the shard and packed the box into the overnight case that was her only remaining bit of luggage.

The sheets were as cool as the Anasazi fragment had been. Carla lay between them and waited to hear Luke’s footsteps coming up the stairs.

The storm came first, a sudden, sweeping tumult riding on the back of a wild wind. Carla listened to all the voices of the storm, the high keening of the wind and the bass response of thunder, the sudden crackle of lightning and the liquid drumroll of rain. In between she heard the sound of Luke’s footsteps coming up the stairs. He passed her door without a pause. The noise of the bathroom shower blended seamlessly with the falling rain – long and hard and relentless. Both shower and rain stopped with no warning. In the silent spaces between peals of retreating thunder, random creakings of the floorboards told Carla that Luke was prowling the confines of bedroom and bath, bedroom and bath and back again, ceaselessly.