“Luke.”

Ginny’s eyes searched the man’s face. “Do not get involved.”

“Did I say I would?” Luke asked.

“I know that look.”

“Then let me help.”

“You’ve done enough.” Balancing on one foot, Ginny unlocked the gate. “Which we need to finish here and now. Thank you for everything you’ve done. But your nights on the couch are done.” She gave him a sweet smile. Wrapped her warm hand around his forearm. “We’ll be okay, Luke. I promise.” She lifted on the toes of her good foot to kiss his jaw.

And just like that his head moved.

The corners of their mouths brushed.

Years fell away. All the loneliness of the past decade vanished. She was his wife again. His heart. His home…

Twice Her Husband
Mary J. Forbes

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Chloe, sister beyond borders

MARY J. FORBES

grew up on a farm amidst horses, cattle, crisp hay and broad blue skies. As a child, she drew and wrote of her surroundings, and in sixth grade composed her first story about a little lame pony. Years later, she worked as an accountant, then as a reporter-photographer for a small-town newspaper, before attaining an honors degree in education to become a teacher. She has also written and published short fiction stories.

A romantic by nature, Mary loves walking along the ocean shoreline, sitting by the fire on snowy or rainy evenings and two-stepping around the dance floor to a good country song—all with her own real-life hero, of course. Mary would love to hear from her readers at www.maryjforbes.com.

Dear Reader,

I’ve known Luke since I conceived the “germ” of the Tucker brothers’ trilogy. He was always there, hovering in the background, hoping for his day in court, so to speak. And while I understood the reason behind Luke’s inner struggle, I had no idea how his story would unfold.

Still, I continued to type something each day, looking to discover the key to the final door that would conclude the trilogy of my beloved Tuckers. Finally, it came to me. Luke and his soul mate, Ginny, needed to face a discord—side by side. But what? What would force them to work as a unit?

One day while picking through my junk mail, I saw it: a slip of green paper, a homemade memo announcing the opening of a neighborhood preschool. Staring at that notice, an idea suddenly sprang to the fore like a pop-up on a page.

Would Ginny fulfill her dream? I wasn’t sure. But excitement had me hurrying to my computer as images and events leapt to mind. Oh, yes, Luke and Ginny were in for a grand fight. They were about to face down a long-held community myth, but more significantly they needed to find their way through heartache and loss, secrets and forgiveness together.

Won’t you join me on their healing journey?

Mary J. Forbes

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Prologue

West Virginia

Late April

S he was burying her husband.

Immortalizing him in his beloved Allegheny Mountains of West Virginia, far from where he’d grown up in Oregon. From where he’d known her family but had never known her—until she was divorced and living here in Kanawha County.

Ashes to dust.

Forever goodbye.

Forever goodbye, dear Boone.

God, she wanted to crumple to the ground, bay at the moon, beat her head with stones like the Comanche women of old.

Boone!

Dr. Extraordinaire, saving her when she believed her life done, her soul vanquished. Oh, Boone. I miss you beyond words.

Even though they’d lived in the city of Charleston these past eleven years, he’d arranged for her to move back to the Oregon town where they had spent their childhoods—albeit twenty-three years apart. Now the Misty River house would welcome her. So his will conveyed.

“As you know, I’ve had the house reconstructed.” His voice on the TV monitor, so normal. Alive. And, he, still able to stand strong and true with a mop of salt-and-pepper hair. So real. But not. How had he known it would come to this? How?

“Take our children away from where I no longer am, Ginny. I’ll be there. There, with you.”

His quirky smile had made her cry all over again.

So. With ten-year-old Alexei at her side, she walked the marshy and remote Lumberjack Trail, sheltered by birch, maple and cherry trees, carrying sixteen-month-old Joselyn on her hip and a tote on her shoulder.

Here and there were the quiet signs of deer: a few bark-chewed willows, a flattened patch of grass. At a junction, she headed up the High Meadows Trail, bound for the sweep of Allegheny Mountain to the west and Mount Porte Canyon to the north where windblown rock cropped from the earth, and shale covered dry southern cliffs.

They’d hiked nearly two miles when the song of the creek drew her into the trees and down a small embankment.

“Careful,” she said as Alexei fell in behind her. He carried the precious oak box in his school knapsack. “The underbrush can be tricky.”

The creek had been Boone’s favorite spot when they’d backpacked and hiked these trails and mountains. Several times they’d lunched here, sharing an hour in quiet conversation. He’d loved the outdoors. Now the children needed to share its peace with their dad this final time before the confusion of relocating took shape.

A few yards from the water they found the spreading maple. Ginny knelt and removed a garden trowel from her tote. Holding out the tool to Alexei, she said, “The earth should be moist. Dig down at least ten inches.”

They had arranged their private ceremony at home: Alexei would dig a hole where they would place his father’s ashes along with a clump of lilies of the valley, a perennial shade plant that offered sparkling strings of waxy bell flowers to scent the dank creek air. Ginny would collect the stones.

Within a few minutes hole and stones stood ready.

From Alexei’s knapsack, she carefully extracted the treasured oak box. Her breath caught when she unlatched the wooden lid. Inside, Boone’s ashes nestled in a plastic bag. Mere crumbles of a big man. She bit her lip.

“Da?” Standing between her brother’s strong, young arms, little Joselyn pointed as Ginny removed the bag.

“Yes,” she said, eyes blurry. “Daddy.”

Alexei nuzzled his sister’s small cheek. “It’s all right, Josie,” he murmured. “We’re giving Daddy a nice place to stay. He can listen to the water and the birds here, and he’ll feel the rain and the sun and see the skies all the time. And when we look up at the stars at night, we’ll be able to see him because he told me that’s where he’d be when it got too dark. Don’t worry.”

Joselyn clapped her little hands and stamped her tiny feet on the forest floor. “Gah.”

“Oh, Alexei.” Ginny brushed a harvest-colored wing of hair from his eyes. “You break my heart with your lovely words.”

“I don’t mean to, Mama.”

With one arm, she hugged the children close. “It’s a bittersweet break, honey. The way chocolate sometimes tastes.”

“Oh. Okay.” Reassured, Alexei smoothed the baby’s flyaway curls. “Do you think she understands?”

Ginny opened the ash bag. “Maybe deep in her soul. But we’ll tell her again one day.”

“I’ll tape it for her,” Alexei said, and kissed his sister’s blond head.

“You’re a good and loving brother.” The best son.

“Even when I don’t clean up her toys?”

Ginny smiled. “Let’s not push it.”

“Hear that, Jo? Mama’s backtracking again.”

“Ma-ma-ma-mmm!” Out came the finger, pointing at Ginny, who kissed the wet digit, her eyes filling again.

“Let’s set in the letters,” she said.

Each had written to Boone. Ginny included Joselyn in hers, along with words of grief and love and hope and wishes. I wish you hadn’t died. I wish we could grow old together. I wish I could talk to you, tell you I love you. Just once more.

Alexei laid his letter in the hole and sprinkled on a bit of dirt. Swiping his nose with the back of his hand, he looked away.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Ginny cupped her son’s cheek.

“Why did he have to die?”

“You know why, honey.”

“Yeah, but why him?”

She’d asked the same question endlessly. “Alexei, life is full of fog we don’t understand or have control over. The best we can do is face it square on and plow through to the other side.”

“Yeah.” He sniffed. “I guess.”

She kissed his cheek. “Come, let’s finish.”

Tenderly and together, they held the bag as ashes poured over the letters. Joselyn sat quietly in the crook of Ginny’s arm, sucking her thumb. Lastly, they planted the lilies of the valley, then circled the tiny plot with the stones.

She would never come back to this spot. Or to West Virginia.

They were returning to Oregon and her childhood town.

Be at peace, dearest Boone. You’ll be in my heart always.

Carrying Joselyn and holding Alexei’s hand, Ginny climbed back through the trees, to the trail and her old station wagon.

Chapter One

Misty River, Oregon

Ten days later

I n the produce section of Safeway, Luke stared at the woman sizing up a bundle of bananas three bins away.

Ginny?

Blinking, he focused on his ex-wife. It had been over eleven years since he’d seen her last. She had the same pro file. Small, straight nose, concave cheeks, dimple in the one facing him. Hair the color of Belize beach sand, though the style looked as if those chin-length curls had frolicked with a breeze.

His heart boxed his ribs. His palms began to sweat. He took a step forward, her name in his throat.

A blond boy sauntered to her side. “Mama, can we make hamburgers in the backyard tonight?”

Adrenaline scooted across Luke’s skin as she tousled the kid’s hair. “We’re having spaghetti with meatballs, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, right. Hey, Miss Jo.” The kid pulled a miniature thumb from the mouth of the baby sitting in the cart’s basket. “You want rabbit teeth?” Before Miss Jo could whimper, the boy screwed up his face and started gnawing on her neck. “Rawrrr-rawrrr-rawrrr.”

The little girl giggled, a sound light as a musical scale. “Ep-say, no.” She grabbed his hair and pulled.

“Ow.”

“Don’t get her started,” Ginny warned the boy as she set the bananas in the cart and moved to the oranges.

Luke backed away. He was an outsider, looking in on her family—on a life he’d shunned. Bumping into another shopper, he muttered, “Excuse me,” and hurried from the produce section. Near the electronic doors, he dropped his basket on a rack.

She had a family. A husband.

What was she doing in Misty River?

They had to be on vacation. It was almost May, after all. Some families took their vacations early, before school finished. They were simply stopping for a few groceries. Probably had a big Winnebago parked around the corner. Husband was likely reading the paper while she shopped with the kids.

Why that bothered Luke, he couldn’t determine. Virginia Ellen Keegan hadn’t been his wife in damn near a dozen years.

But she could’ve been.

The thought zapped in. Quick, sharp, leaving a ragged tear.

He strode to his silver Mustang convertible parked on a side street. He couldn’t get inside the vehicle fast enough—and when he did, he simply sat staring through the windshield.

Ginny.

Shutting his eyes, he saw her again, heard her voice. A stranger, yet…completely familiar.

He’d never forgotten her.

And if he looked closely, he’d recognize the hole in his heart, where once she had lived and laughed and loved.

At 8:20 Friday morning Ginny pulled in front of Chinook Elementary and turned off the station wagon’s ignition.

“What are you gonna talk to Mrs. Chollas about?” Alexei asked, worry between his eyes.

“I want to make sure she understands about dysgraphia, honey. That’s all.”

“Okay.” He stared at three boys chasing a soccer ball. “I don’t want her to think I’m special.”

“You are special, Alexei. The most special boy in the whole world.” She leaned over and kissed his hair.

“Mo-om! Don’t! People might see.”

“Oops.” She smiled away the tiny prick of hurt; her boy was growing up too fast. “I forgot.”

“Okay.” He opened the door and hopped down. “Bye.”

“Have a good day, ba—” The door slammed. “Baby,” she whispered.

“Ep-say.” Joselyn squirmed in her car seat behind Ginny. “Ep-say, go.”

“That’s right, angel. Alexei’s going to school.” She climbed from the car as her son ran toward the boys chasing the ball. “And we’re having a chat with his teacher.”

She found Mrs. Chollas waiting for her in the fifth-grade classroom. Immediately Ginny liked the woman’s kind eyes and gentle smile.

When they were seated at the teacher’s desk—Joselyn on Ginny’s lap with a notepad and a crayon supplied by the teacher—Mrs. Chollas said, “Alexei is doing quite well in this first week. He’s already made some friends, which really helps ease the transition. He loves math, and is very adept at oral communication in class. But as we discussed on the phone, his writing skills need a great deal of encouragement.”

Ginny understood too well. Offering a smile she didn’t feel, she said, “Have you ever dealt with dysgraphia, Mrs. Chollas?” Few teachers heard of the word, never mind grasped the tangled process that went on in a child’s brain. In Ginny’s experience, they recognized the problem, but many passed it on to a colleague specializing in learning disabilities.

The teacher nodded. “In my twenty years of teaching, I’ve seen almost everything, Mrs. Franklin. Alexei’s case isn’t entirely unusual. We have a laptop he might want to use—”

“He doesn’t want to be labeled,” Ginny interrupted. His past teachers had done exactly that by sending him to resource rooms or modifying his workload. Ginny had tried to boost his confidence by saying that holding a pencil differently, writing in short backward strokes, was okay. “He prefers to handwrite whenever possible.” She looked straight at the teacher. “If you don’t mind deciphering what he’s written.”

Mrs. Chollas smiled. “I’ll have Alexei read his material to me if it’s too illegible. And I’ll work with him after school for a few minutes each day showing him tricks that will make his letters more readable. Would he be willing to do that?”

“Oh,” Ginny said. “He will.” She hoped. Joselyn on her hip, Ginny stood. “Thank you. For putting both Alexei and me at ease. His other teachers… Well. He hated being singled out.”

Mrs. Chollas rose as well. “I understand. Unless it’s a dire situation, my students stay with me in my classroom. Why don’t we start next Monday, say for fifteen minutes or so after school? Does he catch the bus?”

“I drive him.”

“Good. Pick him up at three.” She shook Ginny’s hand. “I promise you my best, Mrs. Franklin.”

Relief washed through Ginny. “Thank you.” She offered a small smile. “By the way, would you know of a trustworthy babysitter?”

“Sure. Hallie Tucker. She’s wonderful with little ones. Loves babies.” The teacher tickled Joselyn under her chin.

“Hallie Tucker?” Ginny watched her baby smile at the older woman.

“She’s the police chief’s niece. Goes to Misty River High. Want me to write down her number?”

Calling the home of her former brother-in-law and speaking to the child who’d once been her niece had Ginny’s belly tailspinning. But she needed a reliable babysitter and Hallie had come with a lofty recommendation.

The delight in the girl’s voice at hearing who was calling chased off Ginny’s apprehension. Most of all, Hallie met her explanation about Boone’s death and the children’s needs with adult grace and understanding. Most importantly, Ginny couldn’t ignore the love-at-first-sight gazes from her children when the young woman stood on their doorstep a half hour after school.

“Be good,” Ginny told Alexei, then kissed Joselyn. Rushing to her green boat of a car—the only vehicle she could find that had cost less than eight hundred dollars—she added, “I should be home by four-thirty, five at the absolute latest.”

Her main stop was the grocery store. Everything else could wait until the weekend. Alexei, her all-day grazer, could not.

Forty-five minutes later, the groceries stored in back of her car, she drove down Main Street checking stores she might want to visit in the near future. A small, old-fashioned facade with Waltzin’ Paper in quaint, lopsided lettering over the little display window caught her eye.

Why not? she thought, pulling to the curb. Her kitchen cried for wallpaper; she’d give the shop a five-minute boo, then head home.

Boone’s chuckle followed her into the store. He’d never been a fan of papering walls. For him nothing compared to the ease and immediacy of paint.

Boone. Today was his birthday. He would have been sixty-three. The more than two decades between them had never been an issue. She’d fallen in love with his kindness. A big gentle man—jogger, kayaker, skier, daddy—who loved children and whose eyes misted when her eleven-day-old baby lost the battle against his tiny underdeveloped lungs.

The baby she’d conceived with her first husband, Luke Tucker.

The baby he’d never known existed.

The night Robby had been conceived, she and Luke were in the throes of divorce proceedings. He’d come to the apartment to plead with her, and she’d cried for all their lost hopes. Because Luke had been afraid of failing. In work, in life and, irony of ironies, in his marriage.

And that night, as icing to an already imploding cake, he’d become a father.

Ginny hadn’t known of her pregnancy until she’d moved across the country to West Virginia—as far as possible from Luke and the memories they’d made together. For seven months she’d debated telling him about their baby. In the end, eight years of marriage hadn’t tempered his ambitions or his fears, and while she understood and absolved all his regrets and excuses, Ginny could not bear hearing them again. Nor could she imagine the guilt her child would shoulder, hearing the reasons for absenteeism or requirement for perfection from a career-driven father.

So she kept her secret—and birthed her son alone.

For almost two agonizing, worrisome weeks, Robby’s doctor had been Boone Franklin, the hospital’s head pediatrician.

Her solace. Her saving grace.

Today, on Boone’s birthday, she would’ve woken him with a kiss and maybe, if the hour was early enough, unhurried lovemaking. She inhaled long and slow. Sex hadn’t happened in a long, long while. Not that she was looking, but someday…when the kids were older, when she had an established income, when there was money in the bank, perhaps then intimacy would be a part of her life again.

The store owner approached. “Anything of interest?”

“These I like.” She pointed out bold, yellow sunflowers.

“I have more catalogs in back,” the woman offered. “The patterns are last year’s, but they include classic sunflower designs that never go out of style.”

“Thank you, maybe I’ll have a peek.” She followed the clerk into a back room which held shelving, a couch and a coffee table.

Fifteen minutes later, she made her purchase. An archetypal country-kitchen border of sunflowers, which she’d hang below the crown molding above her refrigerator, stove and eating area. The walls beneath she’d paint in spring-green.

She wanted her kitchen welcoming and wholesome. The way it had been in West Virginia with Boone. He had loved green. A healing color, he’d said. Although it hadn’t healed him.

Outside on the sidewalk, she blinked against the late-afternoon sun and hefted the roll of wallpaper under her arm.

At the big, sprawling homestead house, a mile and a half from where Ginny stood, Hallie would be tossing a garden salad for her and smearing grape jelly over bread for Alexei and Joselyn. Time to get in her clunker station wagon across the street, go home where her children waited—and where her loneliness for Boone wafted from the corners.

From between two pickups, she dashed across the street.

A sound like raptors escaping Jurassic Park screeched in her ears. She glimpsed a sleek silver nose.

Not raptors. A car!

The wallpaper roll lurched from her arms as if alive. Her body flung of its own volition through the air, banging onto the pavement. Pain clawed up her spine, shot through her skull.

The last thing she saw was the snarling tread of a tire.

Ginny! Oh, God, Ginny!

Luke leaped from his Mustang and rushed to kneel beside the woman lying on the street inches from his front tire. He hadn’t realized he’d shouted until two men materialized at his side.

“Call 911! Oh, jeez. Ginny! I didn’t see you. I didn’t see you!”

Her right leg angled crookedly from her thigh. Her eyes were open, sightless. Crouching down, he pressed a finger to her neck, seeking a pulse. Please.

There. Faint, rapid under the softness of her skin.

Luke curled her hair behind the delicate shell of her ear, ran a shaky finger down her smooth cheek. Please be okay. Let her be okay. Words tumbling into prayer. Oh, God. Hurry!

If he hadn’t been cruising town looking for her car, she wouldn’t be on the pavement. If he hadn’t been so anxious to see her again after those moments in Safeway five days ago, she would be okay. If he’d gone home after work, let bygones be bygones… If, if, if.

A small crowd gathered.

“Is she okay?” someone asked.

“What happened?”

“Did she jaywalk?”

“Who is she?”

My wife, Luke wanted to shout. Get help! She needs a doctor!

A woman spoke. “That’s Ginny Franklin. She was just in my store, buying wallpaper.”

“Franklin?” a man said. “Any relation to Deke?”

“Don’t know. But she’s been living in the old house at Franklin’s mill site for the past week or so.”

“She’d better watch out then,” a gruff-voiced man said. “Place is spooked.”

Another woman piped up. “My Allan redid the roof when they were doing all those renovations this spring. Said two guys wouldn’t hire on because of what’s happened on that land. Likely why the place’s been abandoned forty years.”

“Wouldn’t catch me out there,” a third woman squeaked.

“Me, either,” Gruff Guy said.

“Is she dead?” asked Squeaky Voice.

“No,” Luke snapped. “Did someone call an ambulance?”

“It’s coming, Luke.” This from Kat, owner of Kat’s Kitchen across the street. The granny-aged woman bent on one knee, opposite him. “I called soon as I saw it happen through the window.” Her eyes were kind. “You weren’t at fault, honey. She just stepped out from between those two trucks. Poor dear. Must have had something powerful on her mind to not pay attention.”

Sirens wailed. The crowd shifted as the ambulance arrived. Three paramedics sprang from the vehicle.

Within minutes, Ginny lay on a gurney. The medics hoisted her inside the van, closed the doors.

A hand clapped Luke’s shoulder. It was Jon, his brother and police chief of Misty River.

“She just—just— Jon, it’s Ginny.” Luke ran trembling fingers through his hair.

For a moment the brothers stared at one another. Jon nodded. “Want me to drive you to the hospital?”

The ambulance had left. The crowd dispersed.

“No.” Luke sighed. “I’m okay.” He headed for his car. “If you need a statement…”

Jon waved him off. “Later.”

Later, when she was well again. If she got well again.

Why was an IV hanging from the ceiling? Ginny closed her eyes, then opened them again. A motor. Was she in a camper truck? Beside her sat a man—no, a paramedic. She remembered the car…the silver car…

“Hey,” the medic said. “You’re awake.” He smiled. “You’re going to be fine. Just a little bump, but the doctor needs to check it out at the hospital first.” He fiddled with the IV. “Got a bit of saline to stabilize you.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“Apparently you stepped in front of a car.”

Puzzled, she studied the medical paraphernalia around her. “I wouldn’t… Why would I…?”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Ginny Franklin.”

He held up his hand, fingers spread. “How many?”

“Five.”

“Now?”

“Two.”

“What’s the name of your town?”

“Misty River. Look, all my faculties are in place. I just—” She attempted to rise. Pain bloomed behind her eyes.

“Take it easy.”

“My head—”

“I know.” He checked her pupils with a small light. “We’re almost there. Doc’s waiting.”

“My kids…”

“Where are they?”

“With a sitter. Hallie…”

“I’ll call her. Got a number?”

She gave it. The ambulance rolled up to the hospital’s emergency doors.

“Really,” she said, “I’m fine. Can’t I just go home?”

“Not yet, Mrs. Franklin. You might have a broken leg.”

Because of her concussion, the doctor wanted to keep her for the evening, possibly overnight. She couldn’t afford to stay overnight. At First National, her bank account had dwindled to a mere ten thousand. Boone’s first wife had drained his savings with her illness just as Boone’s cancer had marked every dollar of his health insurance and most of Ginny’s account. In the last months, when he’d known he would not return home, she’d sold the house to pay off the remaining debts and moved into a rental duplex. Ironically Boone had the Oregon house repaired—unbeknownst to her—with a fund they’d saved for Alexei’s college.

Their worst—and final—argument.

I want you safe and secure, he’d said.

From what? she’d asked.

From whatever happens.

Premonition? Who knew.

But he hadn’t counted on her jaywalking.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Tonight her kids could be alone for the first time in their lives, without mother or father. Sure, they’d have Hallie. But they’d just met, and she wasn’t mommy. Ginny imagined Joselyn’s cries, saw her rosy mouth pucker, the tiny tears.

And Alexei. Would he hide in his bedroom with his music, the way he had while cancer ate Boone’s brain?

She studied the cast on her right foot, tractioned and swinging above the bed to keep the blood from pooling the first hours. A nice, clean break, the doctor had told her. How are broken bones nice or clean? Was it the same as having a nice, clean brain tumor? Nice and clean didn’t warrant painkillers. Didn’t warrant a young boy’s horror.

The door to her room opened. A bouquet entered—an immense fireworks-like display of deep gold sunflowers. Then the door closed and a face peered around the ribboned, blue vase.

Her heart jolted. “Luke,” she whispered as if she saw a phantom instead of the man who had once been her husband.

“Hey, Ginny. How are you?”

“I’m…” Amazed. Her mouth worked without words. “What—what are you doing here?”

“Seeing you.” He walked to the window where a high-rolling table stood, and placed his summer bouquet upon it before scooting the table near her bed.

As he moved about, she stared openly. If possible, his shoulders had grown broader under the cloth of his expensive teal shirt, and at his temples silver reeled into his clipped, pecan-brown hair.

Tucking his hands into the pockets of tailored black slacks, he looked down at her with the same somber gray eyes she had fallen in love with at seventeen.

She struggled past the fumble of her brain. “How did you know I was here?” she managed.

He studied her leg. “I live in Misty River. Have a law office just down the street from where you…from where I… Ginny, it was my car.”

That had struck her. That she’d walked into, mindlessly.

They hadn’t told her who, and she hadn’t asked.

She closed her eyes against the grim lines around his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” His warm hand covered her cool one on the lightweight blue blanket. “It was my fault. I should’ve been paying attention.”

A laugh escaped, short and bitter. She slipped her hand free, curling it into the palm of its twin. “Okay, so we agree to disagree. Like always.”

“Ginny.”

She opened her eyes, studied him while he studied the casted leg. His Adam’s apple worked. His hand found its pocket again.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “That wasn’t called for. I’m being a shrew.”

“You have the right.” For the first time his mouth shifted and she caught a half smile before it vanished.

She said, “The doctor figures it’ll be healed in six weeks. Only a hairline fracture in the tibia, just above the ankle.”

He swallowed. “Only. Right.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks, Luke.” She forced a smile. “I’m not dying.”

“Huh.” He surveyed the room.

“I’ll be released tonight,” she said, aspiring toward the positive.

His eyes wove to her. “Who’s with your kids?”

He knew she had children? “They’re with a sitter. Your niece, actually.”

“Hallie?”

“Yes.”

Relief loosened his shoulders. “Good kid. You won’t find anyone more responsible. I’ll check on her. Or…where’s your husband? Shouldn’t he be here? I asked at the desk, but no one’s come to see you. It’s like no one knows you in this town.”

Her chest hurt at his offhand remark. “We moved here eleven days ago. Hard to make friends when you’re uncrating boxes and setting up a home.”

Those gray eyes remained sober. “Is there a Mr. Franklin?” he repeated.

She glanced at the flowers, lustrous and cheerful in the window’s light. “My husband passed away.”

Luke tugged at his thick, short hair. “I’m sorry. I mean… Hell, I don’t know what I mean.”

“It happened three months ago.”

“Sudden?”

“I suppose six months of cancer is sudden by some standards.”

His eyes held hers. Seconds ticked away. “I won’t say a bunch of banal words for something I don’t understand and never experienced. But I will say you and your family have my deepest sympathy. If there’s anything I can do…”

“Thank you.”

Silence. A food trolley rattled past her door. He said, “Heard you’re living on the old Franklin property.”

“We are.”

“Why?”

Because Boone wanted me there. “Because it’s my husband’s land—was his land.”

“I meant why did you come back to Misty River?”

“Boone wanted our kids to know their heritage.” At least that was what he’d told her. “Both of us have roots here. Why are you here and not in Seattle?” Where rewards had knocked on his office door more than on the door of their marriage.

He stroked a finger along the petals of a sunflower. “I left Seattle after we divorced. Things weren’t… Well.” He dropped his hand. “They feed you yet?”

“Just the saline and some painkillers.”

He turned for the door. “I’ll get you something from Kat’s Kitchen. She’s got the best food in town. Anything in particular?”

Ginny couldn’t help but laugh. Luke was still Luke, ready to rudder the barge of discomfort toward happy land. He’d been an excellent lawyer because of the trait. “Would she have a spinach salad with focaccia bread?”

He gave her a thumbs-up. “Still your favorite lunch, huh?” Then he was gone.

Ginny leaned back against the pillows, her eyes settling on the bouquet. She hadn’t thanked him for brightening her room. A dozen years, and still he remembered—remembered her favorite flower, her favorite lunch.

Ah, Luke. What haven’t you forgotten?

Recalling the expression on his face when he first walked into the room, she was afraid to contemplate the answer.

Chapter Two

L uke pulled Ginny’s rattling old station wagon off Franklin Road onto a single-track dirt lane that wound through a thicket of birch and Douglas fir. The track was worn smooth from the crews he’d seen coming and going throughout the spring.

“I suppose six months of cancer is sudden by some standards.” No doubt the diagnosis prompted Boone Franklin to renovate his parents’ homestead. The work had begun four months ago, in January.

He’d heard a family named Franklin was reopening the sprawling house and wondered which of the far-flung kin decided to return. He never would have guessed Ginny.

Breaking through the trees, he saw the aged house—or what used to be an aged house. Now it sported vinyl siding that sparkled like snow in sunshine. He noted other changes: windows, fascia and door painted in burgundy; a new cedar-shake roof; the reconstructed surrounding porch.

Only a coat of paint was required on the replaced pillar posts and railings. Were the tins of mint-green paint in back of her station wagon meant for the job?

Luke swung in front of the porch steps and stopped beside his youngest brother’s ’92 blue Honda hatchback. Hard to believe Seth’s daughter, Hallie, was old enough to drive.

Hands gripping the wheel, he stared at the house. Now what?

You’re here for Ginny’s kids.

Because you owe her.

And he’d promised to help Hallie with them, which meant meals, baths, story time—everything that set worry in Ginny’s eyes. It meant him helping with the jobs she’d outlined. It meant staying the night if she wasn’t released.

It meant acting like a parent.

Sweat streamed from his pores.

God, why had he volunteered? Why hadn’t he told her he’d hire a dependable woman to replace Hallie when his niece went home for the night? He wasn’t cut out to play nursemaid or daddy or babysitter, or whatever else looking after kids entailed. Hell, Ginny divorced him for the very reason he now sat in front of her home. Well, not exactly for that reason, but close.

The bottom line was he hadn’t wanted kids. And she was the mothering kind.

The door of the house opened. A boy stood gawking at him. Her son. What was his name? Allan? Alex? Yeah, like Alex, but more…Russian. Wasn’t there a hockey player with the name? Alexei. Yeah, that was it. Except she’d pronounced it Ah-lek-say.

Luke stepped from the car. He raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, Alexei.”

The kid walked to the top of the steps. A big-pawed, black Lab-cross pup bounded through the door and plopped beside him. “Who’re you? Why are you driving my mom’s car?”

Because the thought of driving the Mustang right after it had crashed into Ginny sat like a dirty stone in Luke’s gut. “Your mom asked me to bring home her groceries and to talk with you— Hey, Hallie.”

Luke’s sixteen-year-old niece came through the door, carrying the same curly-haired toddler he’d seen in Ginny’s cart at Safeway last Saturday. “Hi, Uncle Luke. How’s Ginny?”

He came around the hood of the car. “Doing pretty good. She’ll be home in a few hours.” If she convinced the doctor.

“Why can’t she come home now?” Alexei grumbled.

“Well, she’s—”

Hallie set a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We talked about that, buddy,” she said easily. “Your mom had a little bump on the head and the doctor wants to make sure she’s okay.”

“She will be, right?” Alexei’s eyes rounded on Hallie and for a second Luke tasted the kid’s fear.

“You bet,” Hallie confirmed.

“No doubt about it,” Luke added, hoping on top of hope.

The boy swung around. Accusation sharpened his eyes. “Then why didn’t you leave her car at the hospital?”

“She can’t drive,” Luke said amiably. “And her groceries need a refrigerator. Want to help carry them in?”

“Daee?” The baby pointed a wet finger at Luke.

“No.” Alexei grabbed her hand. “That is not Daddy.”

The toddler squirmed in Hallie’s arms, reaching for Luke. “Daee!”

“No, Josie,” Alexei repeated. “No-ot Daddy.”

Joselyn’s face scrunched. “Daee,” she cried. “Daaeee!” Her little legs kicked as she held her arms toward Luke, almost unbalancing Hallie. Fat tears plumped in the baby’s eyes.

Luke’s heart beat behind his tongue. The kid’s going to fall. Before he could think, he lifted her from Hallie’s straining arms. “Hey, there,” he said.

Joselyn latched on to him, a tenacious koala cub. Tiny hands gripped the first part they touched: his hair and neck.

“Easy does it.” Her sharp little nails would leave their mark. She was heavier than he’d expected. A warm, sweaty bundle. “I’m not your daddy, Josie-Lyn,” he soothed, patting her back awkwardly, “but if you’ll be quiet now, I’ll hold you, okay?”

Alexei scowled. “It’s Joselyn.”

“Oh.” Luke felt like a fifth-grader unable to wrap his tongue around aluminum.

The child cuddled her head on his shoulder. Her fingers eased on his flesh and scalp.

She smelled of sweetness, of innocence. God, what if he dropped her? Or squeezed too hard? He knew zilch about babies. Had never wanted to find out. Ah, Ginny.

Hallie laughed. “Relax, Uncle Luke.” She stroked Joselyn’s soft curls and smiled up at him. “Looks like you’ve got a friend for life.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Alexei’s eyes dared defiance. He stomped into the house, the pup galloping behind. Seconds later an inside door slammed.

“What’s got into him?” Luke asked as he jiggled Joselyn in his arms.

“Oh, don’t mind Alexei. He’s worried about his mom. Guess I would be, too, if my dad just died.”

Luke and Hallie carried ten bags of groceries into Ginny’s kitchen. The melted ice cream had to be tossed down the sink. The milk and yogurt still smelled and tasted okay, but a frozen chicken had partially thawed: tomorrow’s supper. If he had time tonight, he’d buy her several new packs of frozen vegetables.

Joselyn dogged Luke. She clung to his legs when he stood still, and toddled after him with tears in her eyes when he moved around the kitchen island helping Hallie store the groceries. He was terrified he would step on the baby.

Alexei holed up in his room.

After setting the table, Luke walked down the hall, Joselyn at his heels. Nerves tight—what did he know about ten-year-old boys?—he knocked on the door Hallie had pointed out. “Alexei?”

No answer.

Luke cracked open the door. The kid sat at a computer. Under his chair lay the pup, gnawing on an old shoe.

“Supper’s ready.”

“Go away.”

Joselyn pushed past Luke’s legs. “Ep-say. Um!”

Alexei swiveled in his chair. “Who asked you, huh?”

Halfway across the floor, the little girl stopped. She looked back at Luke. Her bottom lip poked out. His heart took a slow revolution.

“I don’t care if you dislike me, boy,” he said mildly. “Just don’t take it out on your sister.”

The kid scowled. “Leave me alone. You’re not my father.”

The words struck. Hard. If he and Ginny hadn’t… “No,” Luke said and inhaled an unfamiliar regret. “Nor am I trying to be. But I’m sure your father taught you some manners. You forgot them already?”

Alexei blinked. His cheeks flushed. He faced the computer screen. “I’m busy.”

Sometimes it was easier to simply do, rather than discuss. That much he’d learned from watching his brothers with their kids. Luke walked to the computer and punched Power.

“Hey! That’s not how you shut off a computer.”

“Pretend an electrical storm hit a line. Now, come to supper. It’s not polite to let Hallie wait.” He strode out of the room.

Joselyn toddled after him. “Daee!”

Damn. How could he convince this tyke he wasn’t her father, didn’t want to be her father, or anyone else’s father?

Waiting in the hallway, he watched her rush toward him in a waddling run, arms upheld. Resigned, he picked her up and headed to the kitchen. “There, there.” He patted her little spine. “No one’s going to leave you behind.”

“Alexei coming?” Hallie asked. She had prepared a quick meal of ravioli, toasted garlic bread, salad and corn on the cob.

“Dunno.” At the moment, Luke didn’t much care. Well, he did, but he had no clue on how to handle a prepubescent’s attitude. Thing was, Alexei reminded Luke of himself at that age—lugging a monstrous chip on his shoulder and a snarl on his lips.

A thread of kinship with the boy tugged Luke’s heart.

He lowered Joselyn to the floor as he sat down at the table. The baby immediately climbed his knees, wanting his lap. Lifting her, Luke let her settle, her dumpling weight suddenly welcome.

Hallie mashed the ravioli for the baby, then spooned a few kernels of corn onto her plate. “Mix those in.” His niece handed Luke a minuscule, round-tined fork.

He stared at the foreign utensil between his big, clumsy fingers. How the hell did you feed a sixteen-month-old baby with something so ridiculously dwarf-sized?

Before he could maneuver the instrument, Joselyn grabbed it from his hand and stabbed the mixture on her plate.

Okay. That’s how.

Luke watched the child feed herself. A corn kernel plopped onto her bib and she carefully picked it off with elfin fingers. The scent of the simple meal made his stomach growl. He looked around. Toys were scattered across the floor. A pair of women’s ice-blue shoes waited near the back door. This is how a home should be, he thought and sat in stunned awe.

Minutes ago, the idea would have been lost on him. Growing up under the rule of Maxine Tucker’s sharp tongue, he’d learned early that family did not mean Mayberry reruns. Going to bed at night didn’t ensure tuck-ins or children’s Bible stories. If his toys had ventured more than ten feet from their toy box on a day his father wasn’t home, Maxine might have slapped him upside the head while she railed all his inadequacies in her drunken slur.

And she damn well never let him sit on her lap—not that he could recall.

Hail to home, sour home.

Then he’d met Ginny. Sweet, loving Ginny, who would have given her right arm to have a family.

Luke surveyed the clutter on the floor. Looks like you got your wish, Gin.

But not with him. No, he’d been too set on beating Maxine’s taunts out of his head. “You’ll never amount to a hill of beans.” Ha. He’d proven her wrong, hadn’t he? Not that she even knew. Hell, seeing each other across the street every five years was about as much of a family reunion as it would get between them.

Alexei shuffled into the kitchen. The pup gamboled at his heels. The boy slid onto the chair a table length from Luke, and looked only at his plate.

Something about the kid’s sullen face annoyed Luke. He might have been looking at himself at ten. Hold your head up, he wanted to demand. Don’t take a backseat to anyone.

But he said nothing. Alexei wasn’t his responsibility.

Except for Joselyn sucking her tiny forefinger with each bite and humming her food away, they ate in silence.

That evening, a nurse helped Ginny gather her belongings, and pull on the blue skirt Luke had brought in a bag from home. The jeans she’d worn into town would not fit over her cast.

Dr. Stearns had been reluctant to release her unless another adult stayed at home with her throughout the night. She’d had a mild concussion, after all. Ginny promised the good man there would be someone. Who, she wasn’t sure. She’d find an off-duty nurse, anyone, just so she could be with her children.

Outside the room’s window, a heliotrope sunset animated the landscape. A robin sought worms in the patch of grass between the twenty-bed hospital and its parking lot. On the topmost branch of a walnut tree, two crows squabbled.

Life, plodding on.

She’d phoned the children; their excitement wet her eyes.

She’d called a cab—and argued with Luke over her decision.

Two hours ago he’d slipped into her room carrying a bag stuffed with French onion soup and a sumptuous vegetarian concoction that tasted of Mexico—again from Kat’s Kitchen. Afterward, the nurse had shooed him out with the excuse Ginny needed an hour’s sleep. She’d lain awake wondering what on earth he’d wanted. To assuage his guilt over hitting her with his car? To talk over old times? Be friends? Once he’d been her closest friend, her soul mate.

Since then she’d come to realize that in a world of billions, a soul mate wasn’t necessarily your one true love. Soul mates could be sisters, mothers, friends or a husband you loved simply because he was who he was.

Like Boone.

The nurse pushed a wheelchair to the side of the bed, checking Ginny’s train of thought. “Let’s get you in this.”

“It’s okay. I can walk. I just need my purse and crutches.”

“Hospital policy, honey. We don’t want you fainting before you get out of here.”

Ginny laughed and it felt good. “I’m not the fainting type.”

Determined, the older woman nodded to the chair. “Indulge us and enjoy the ride.”

Ginny sighed. The nurse helped her into the wheelchair, arranged her purse and crutches then lifted the sunflowers from the windowsill.

“Oh,” Ginny said with a twinge of regret. “Could you leave them at the nurses’ station?”

The woman’s eyes widened. “You don’t like them?”

I do. But I’m not comfortable accepting a gift from my ex-husband. “Let them brighten the hospital.” She softened her objection with a smile.

“All right.” Reluctantly, the woman replaced the vase. “Do you mind if I give them to Mrs. Arken instead? She’ll be in here for another couple of weeks.”

“That would be nice.”

They wheeled from the room and down the Lysol-scrubbed corridor.

“Looks like your ride’s waiting.” The nurse chuckled. “Got another batch of flowers for you.”

Ginny could see that. Luke stood waiting in the hospital’s admittance center, a wicker basket of ferns, ivy and African violets balanced on one big palm. Her pulse leaped—though she couldn’t determine if it was due to the cut and shape of his chinos and green polo shirt, or her irritation that she’d need to cancel her taxi.

“Don’t you have some files to review?” she grumbled.

His grin faltered as he fell in beside her. “All caught up.”

They broke through the electronic doors and he pointed to Hallie’s hatchback parked twenty feet down the sidewalk.

“Where’s your car?” she asked.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to ride in the Mustang after… Well, you know.”

Her prickliness evaporated. He’d always been sensitive to her needs. Except one.

“Luke, your car doesn’t scare me.” You do.

He opened the door, folded back the seat, set in the planter basket and her purse, and arranged her crutches on the floor.

“Where are the sunflowers?” he asked.

“They’re making Mrs. Arken smile.”

He blinked. “You gave them away?”

She should have considered her actions. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. “Luke, I’m sorry. I thought it would be nice—”

“Forget it.” Gently, he lifted her from the chair into the passenger seat and helped her with the seat belt. When he finally slid behind the wheel, he asked, “Straight home?”

Ginny clasped her hands in her lap. “Yes.”

Luke started the ignition, pulled toward the exit. “It’s okay, you know. About the flowers.”

“It’s not okay. I should’ve given your gift more thought.”

He shrugged. “You’re right. They’ll make Mrs. Arken happy.”

They rode in silence until they reached the road out of town. Ginny asked, “How are the kids?” How had he reacted to them and they to him?

“Fine. The boy’s a bit of a handful. Baby looks like you.”

Suddenly she wanted to know. “Do you have children?”

“Nope.”

So in twelve years his mind hadn’t changed. Relief, disappointment, regret. Each emotion struck her separately and made her heart ache harder. “Married?” She hadn’t seen a ring.

“Double nope.” A grin flashed strong white teeth. “And no significant other, in case you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t.” Of course she was.

She stared out the side window. They passed a small farm with lambs hopscotching at their mothers’ sides.

Her property lay south of town. The ride was quick, quiet. Luke signaled and turned into the fir-shaded lane leading to the clearing and the house Orville Franklin had constructed for his family almost eighty-five years ago.

As Luke pulled up beside Ginny’s car in front of the welcoming arms of the porch, Alexei stood in the doorway with Bargain, the six-month-old Lab-pointer cross she’d found at the SPCA before their move to Oregon. Ginny waved.

And just like that boy and dog bounded across the deck and down the steps. He hauled open her door, great grin on his face. “Mama! You’re back! Are you okay? How’s your leg? Where’s it broken? Can I write on your cast?”

She laughed. “Hey, sweetie. Hold the questions until we’re inside. Help your mom out, will you?”

“Hold on a sec.” Luke strode around the hood. “I’ll help your mother.”

Her son’s grin curled into a frown. “I can do it.”

“You don’t have the strength. Watch it, little dog,” he said to Bargain, nosing her way between Ginny and the door. Catching Ginny under the arms, Luke eased her from the seat until she stood gripping the open door of the car.

Alexei glared at Luke. Mouth tight, he ran up the steps and into the house. Whining, Bargain clambered after him.

“Alexei,” Ginny called. To Luke she said, “You should’ve allowed him to help.”

“I couldn’t take the chance you’d fall.” At her stern look, he said, “I’ll apologize to him.”

“Fine. But Luke, Alexei is my son. He takes precedence over anything or anyone outside of our family.” A family that did not include him.

His mouth thinned and he reached inside the car for her crutches. “Right.”

She had hurt him again, she saw. Guilt nudged her heart until she remembered the choice of having no family had been his alone.

“Ma-ma-ma!”

Ginny swung toward her daughter’s voice. Hallie carried the baby down the steps, then set her on the ground. Arms outstretched, Joselyn waddled as fast as her tiny legs would allow toward the car.

“Hey, pookie.” Holding the door, favoring her bulky casted leg, Ginny bent toward her daughter—and found herself dizzy. She set a hand to her forehead.

Luke was instantly at her side. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Hallie lifted the baby out of the way.

“Mam. Daee. Hoe.” Joselyn waved at Ginny and Luke.

“Yes, pooch, Mom’s home.”

Luke slipped an arm around her waist. His warmth nudged aside her vertigo.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Heedful of the porch steps, he slowly guided her toward the lighted doorway where her son had disappeared.

She wanted to see Alexei first. A crutch under each arm, she hobbled down the hallway to her “office” where she’d hooked up a computer within two days of their move. Her boy was a computer nut, pure and simple. She knocked on the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

He sat staring at some homework assignment on the screen. A small banker’s lamp chased off shadows. Bargain, tail windmilling, rose to sniff her cast. “Hey, girl,” she said softly to the dog. Stepping beside Alexei, she stroked his gangly arm braced on the chair. “Luke didn’t mean you couldn’t help me, honey. He was afraid I might be too heavy for you to support.”

Her son’s regard of the screen didn’t waver. “Yeah, I heard.”

Alexei’s snooty tone distressed her. Luke might not have wanted children while he was married to her, but his motives had evolved out of an obsession to overcome failure, not a dislike of kids. In all their years together, she’d never seen him treat a child unkindly. Not his niece, not the children of friends.

She strove for another tactic. “Luke isn’t used to children, Alexei.”

“Figures. He didn’t know how to carry Joselyn when she wanted him to pick her up. He held her like she was a wet, smelly dog or something.”

“Maybe she was—wet and smelly, that is.”

A small smile threatened. “Would’ve served him right.”

Ginny toyed with her wedding ring and decided to go with honesty. “A long time ago I was married to him.”

Eyes round as CDs, Alexei stared. “You were?”

“We used to live on the same street when I was growing up.” And I fell in love with him then. “But we didn’t really get to know each other until my sophomore year. Then we started dating and when we were in college we…got married.”

Puzzlement rushed her son’s brow. “How come you got a divorce?”

“A lot of reasons.” She traced his hairline with her thumb. “Which I will not go into, so don’t ask.”

She shifted her crutches to leave. Alexei scrambled out of the chair to assist. “Does that mean you still…you know, like him?”

Already he stood taller than her five-five. The moment she’d seen Alexei she’d loved his classic Russian features: thin, straight nose, high cheekbones, delft-blue eyes. And long dark eyelashes that paid homage to the sky.

“Yes,” she said cautiously. “I like Luke. But as a friend, no more.” Which was as truthful as she’d allow. Luke held a sorrow in her heart no one could touch. “Now, come read Joselyn a story before she goes to bed.” She hobbled toward the door.

Alexei rushed forward and stamped a hand against the wood. The pup barked excitedly. “Shush, Bargain,” the boy whispered. He looked at Ginny. “Is he, you know, gonna be around a lot?”

She considered. Between her and Luke lay an expanse of unresolved history, most of which Alexei had no inkling of, however, it was something she was ethically obligated to disclose if she meant to make Misty River home.

And her lost baby, Luke’s child, was not her son’s affair. Or even Boone’s, when he lived.

She tried another angle. “Son, we’ve barely been here two weeks. And then I break my leg by running into Luke’s car. Right now, he’s feeling very guilty about that.” And so am I.

“He should’ve watched where he was driving.”

“Honey, I shouldn’t have jaywalked.”

“He thinks he knows everything and everybody.”

She pushed the hair out of her son’s eyes. “In a town the size of Misty River, it’s not unusual for everyone to know everyone else. Most have grown up together. Some families have lived here for several generations.”

“Great, now they’ll all know our business. I don’t want people knowing our business.”

People, as in Luke. She studied Alexei’s frown. “When we lived in Charleston, our whole block knew each other, son. Remember the parties we used to have at Thanksgiving and Christmas?”

“That was different. People were friendly there.”

More so than Luke, she imagined, usurping Alexei’s right to assist her into the house. “Give him time,” she said gently. “He’s not a bad man.” She glanced at her casted leg. “So far, he’s the only one who’s come to our aid, driving the car home with the groceries and helping Hallie. And—” she gave Alexei a stern eye “—helping you and Joselyn.”

The boy’s mouth turned down. “I don’t like him. Or this town or the school. Stinks.”

Ginny’s internal antennae rose. “What’s going on at school, honey?” Was he being teased about his handwriting? It had happened in Charleston. Another reason she’d been glad to leave.

“Nuthin’.”

“Kids not friendly?”

“Some are. Some are snots. Why’d Dad want us to live here, anyway? Why can’t we move back to Charleston?”

“Are you saying we should let folks scare us off?”

As she anticipated, his eyes flinted. “No way.”

Leaning in, she kissed his ear. “Thought so.”

On Ginny’s porch, Luke stared up at the night and its spangle of ten trillion stars.

He’d survived bath time with Miss Josie-Lyn.

Large wet spots mottled his shirt and chinos, soap had caught in his eye and his hands smelled of baby. She’d damned near drowned him, and scared the bejesus out of him with her water-wing fish antics in that slick tub.

When he’d left the bathroom thirty minutes later—a giggling Joselyn running naked ahead of him, the pup ahead of her—he’d nearly slipped and cracked his nose on the door. Next time, dumb ass, don’t forget to mop up the floor with the bathmat after drying the squirming, shrieking mite.

Next time. Right.

It hadn’t endeared him to Alexei when he’d growled at the boy to do the mopping while Luke chased the kid’s streaking sister through the house.

Huh. And Ginny figured she could care for the kids alone, on crutches. Hell, with two legs—which endured a daily six-mile run—he’d discovered a man had to exert ten times the effort bathing a slippery, squiggly baby over catching a greased piglet at the local August fair.

Tomorrow he’d find Ginny a nanny. No way was he going through another of Miss Jo’s waterworks.

He looked back at the living room window. The drapes hung open. A small reading lamp beside the cushiony sofa called to him. He pictured himself seated there, looking over files. Ginny beside him, head on his shoulder. Like years ago.

Jeez, what was he thinking? Shaking his head, he turned back to the stars. Night air chilled his skin under the damp fabric of his clothes. He enjoyed his life. He enjoyed the liberty it allowed, when he wanted, with whom he wanted.

Right. And what had it gotten him? An empty house, empty friends and a lot of empty years.

Again, he glanced over his shoulder at the window.

You owe Ginny, man.

Busting up her leg like that.

Busting up their marriage.

Yeah, he’d been a real big-shot lawyer then, hadn’t he? Gotten exactly what he’d wanted. Big name, big firm, big partnership. All for what? To prove his drunk of a mother wrong? That he had brains, had guts, had what it took to be somebody?

Ah, hell.

He should call his brother and ask if Hallie could return, stay the night with Ginny. She’d never manage those stairs.

Not fair to the teenager. Tomorrow was a school day.

Okay. So he’d stay. For tonight. In case of…of…in case of fire. Not because he wanted to see Ginny in her nightie.

Not because he wanted to see her in the morning with those sleepy eyes and grumpy smile and mussed hair….

Idiot. That was then. She’s a mother now.

Who said mothers couldn’t be sexy?

She’s got a broken leg, for Pete’s sake!

Behind him the door opened.

“Thought I’d find you out here.” Her soft voice geared his heart rate into fifth.

A silhouette in the muted light, she stood with one crutch positioned under her left arm.

“Where’s the other crutch?” he asked, coming forward.

“It’s easier to maneuver around the furniture with one.” She limped toward the railing, the crutch’s rubber tip thudding softly on the wood.

He felt helpless in the face of her pain. Pain he’d caused. He wanted to pick her up, hold her close to his heart.

She wasn’t his to protect anymore.

Stepping beside her with a cool distance of a foot between them, he asked, “How’re you feeling? Did you take your meds?”

She turned, leaned against the wood. “I’m feeling fine and yes, Doctor, the meds are digesting. Scout’s honor.”

He grunted.

“Seems Joselyn got more water on you than herself. If you want, I can dig out a shirt for you.”

Luke had no intention of wearing her dead husband’s clothes. Truth be told, he didn’t want to think about her with Boone Franklin’s wardrobe hanging in her closet.

“Nah, these will dry, but thanks.”

They were silent for several long seconds.

She said, “I love Oregon nights. It’s so quiet here you could hear a butterfly’s wings. I remember how we used to…”

“Try counting the stars,” he finished for her.

She scanned the night. Venus courted the treetops. Somewhere near the water, three hundred yards hence, a mosquito hawk cried. Closer by, bullfrogs blew tuba notes to their lovers.

She said, “We’d count to eighty then get confused and have to start again. I haven’t tried since…”

The divorce.

His heart pounded. “Me, either. Ginny—”

A sigh. “You need to go home, Luke.”

“No.” He turned his head and looked directly into her green eyes. “I’m sleeping on the couch.”

She shook her head. “That isn’t necessary—”

From his mental hat, he pulled the worst scenario. “What if there’s a fire?”

“A fire?” she asked, amused.

“This is an old house. Everyone in this town knows the Franklin place was built in 1921. Sure, you got a new roof and siding, but the structure is old.”

“The structure is sound,” she argued. “Boone had four inspectors in here before he decided to renovate. They listed everything that needed work. They also said the foundation is as good as when it was built.” She held up a hand to stop his protest. “It has new insulation, wiring, plumbing, furnace and a forty-gallon water tank.” Her fingers ticked off the additions. “As well as new fire barriers and smoke and carbon monoxide alarms. This house is probably safer than yours.”

He blew a long breath. “Even new ones can burn to the ground,” he said quietly. “I’m staying, Virginia. What if one of the kids gets sick in the night? Starts throwing up all over the bed or something?”

He had no idea if kids did that sort of thing. Kids weren’t part of his life, unless they came as a package in a family dispute before a court of law or because of an accident or some other traumatic legalese, and he might see them in his office while he talked to their parents or guardians.

His condo wasn’t kid-centered.

His home with Ginny hadn’t been kid-centered.

He pressed on. “What if you get sick or dizzy?”

Suddenly she ran a palm across her forehead. “All right.” A weary sigh. “Come inside. I’ll get you some blankets.”

He held open the door. “Show me where they are and I’ll get them myself.”

Her eyes were cool as moonlight. “This will stop. Tomorrow.”

This. His desire to be with her. She knew him well—even with all the years between. Focus on your responsibilities, Luke.

He simply nodded and followed her inside.

Deep in the night, he awoke to voices murmuring and little feet pattering above him.

Ginny. Sick.

The thought drove him from the blankets. A chilly moon in the window outlined his pants draped over the coffee table. He struggled into them. The pup growled softly from the kitchen.

“Go back to sleep,” he mumbled to the dog. “It’s just me.” As he stumbled his way in the dark, his bare foot crushed a sharp object, and he grunted in pain. “Son of a—”

A toy, no doubt. That Alexei hadn’t picked up. The kid needed a lesson in organization, as well as personality.

His arch throbbing like a piston, Luke headed for the stairs, checking the time on his illuminated wristwatch en route: 3:43. Lucky him. He’d gotten about three hours sleep. Too many memories. The worst, no, the sweetest, happened when he’d carried Ginny up these stairs to bed six hours ago.

She’d argued—stubborn woman—then finally agreed to let him pick her up, do his duty.

See, he’d told her. I do have a reason for staying over.

Hmph was all she’d replied. But her arms had been around his neck, her mouth inches away, her scent in his nostrils.

Upstairs in Alexei’s room a lamp glowed on the night table. Bedsheets tossed aside. Boy gone.

Except for a Mickey Mouse night-light, the baby’s room remained dark. Luke crept to her crib. She slept on her back, face turned his way. Little mouth agape, thumb tipped to her tiny bottom lip.

Something bittersweet—regret?—streamed over his heart.

Shoving it aside, he turned for the hallway.

Ginny’s door stood open; filtered moonlight shrouded the room. Two lumps under the quilt.

Luke walked to her side. Alexei lay curled in a fetal position away from her, snuffling little snores.

Like her daughter, Ginny lay on her back. Staring up at him.

“What are you doing?” she whispered. Her eyes scanned his torso, and he realized he stood there without a shirt.

“Somebody have a bad dream?” he whispered back.

“Yes. We’re okay now.”

When he continued to look down at her—God, she was lovely—she said, “Go back to bed.”

He would. In a minute. Bending on one knee, he hunkered on the floor. “Ginny…” I’m sorry for breaking your heart. But I couldn’t resist the lure of status in the firm.

God help me, it meant everything.

More than you.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For breaking your leg. Upsetting your life.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It’s all my fault.”

The night rang with silence.

“Luke,” she warned quietly. “It’s been more than a decade.”

“I never forgot.”

“Yeah, well.” Voice flat, she sliced him with her cat eyes. “I haven’t either. I remember every second of every day Boone lived. Now please. Go back to bed.”

Bowing his head, he rose. “I’ll make things right between us, Ginny,” he said softly. “I promise.”

“So you said twelve years ago and look what happened. Now go,” she said.

He did. But on the sofa below, he lay awake wishing back the years until dawn licked the window.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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