Книга - Solution: Marriage

Solution: Marriage
Barbara Benedict


LUKE PARKER WAS BACK IN TOWN…The news ripped through Main Street like a midsummer tornado. But Callie Magruder didn't need the local gossip mill to tell her so. She'd felt he was coming. After all, she'd always had a sixth sense when it came to Luke–or maybe it was no sense. Luke was the town's Golden Boy, son of her family's nemesis…and her forbidden first love. And now he was returning with a proposition: marriage! Only, Callie had a ten-year-old secret, one that shared his father's devastating smile….









“You once said that if I ever needed a favor, I simply had to ask,”


Luke told Callie.

“Well, you have some nerve, Luke Parker. Calling me in on a long-ago favor!”

“My father is set on me taking over the family business.”

Callie didn’t need to hear the steel in his tone to know his take on that. Years ago, something bad must have happened between father and son, something that left Luke vehemently determined to do nothing to increase his father’s fortune.

“Just how do you expect me to help you?” She wanted to sound aloof and uncaring, but she was curious.

“Way I see it,” Luke said carefully, “I need to make myself so undesirable, he’d never let me run the business. And that, darlin’, is where you come in.”

“Forget it, Luke. I’ve got better things to do than playing your girlfriend again so you can annoy your father.”

“I’m not asking you to play my girlfriend,” he said. “No, Callie, I’m asking you to be my wife.”


Dear Reader,

When Patricia Kay was a child, she could be found hiding somewhere…reading. “Ever since I was old enough to realize someone wrote books and they didn’t just magically appear, I dreamed of writing,” she says. And this month Special Edition is proud to publish Patricia’s twenty-second novel, The Millionaire and the Mom, the next of the STOCKWELLS OF TEXAS series. She admits it isn’t always easy keeping her ideas and her writing fresh. What helps, she says, is “nonwriting” activities, such as singing in her church choir, swimming, taking long walks, going to the movies and traveling. “Staying well-rounded keeps me excited about writing,” she says.

We have plenty of other fresh stories to offer this month. After finding herself in the midst of an armed robbery with a gun to her back in Christie Ridgway’s From This Day Forward, Annie Smith vows to chase her dreams…. In the next of A RANCHING FAMILY series by Victoria Pade, Kate McDermot returns from Vegas unexpectedly married and with a Cowboy’s Baby in her belly! And Sally Tyler Hayes’s Magic in a Jelly Jar is what young Luke Morgan hopes for by saving his teeth in a jelly jar…because he thinks that his dentist is the tooth fairy and can grant him one wish: a mother! Also, don’t miss the surprising twists in Her Mysterious Houseguest by Jane Toombs, and an exciting forbidden love story with Barbara Benedict’s Solution: Marriage.

At Special Edition, fresh, innovative books are our passion. We hope you enjoy them all.

Best,

Karen Taylor Richman

Senior Editor




Solution: Marriage

Barbara Benedict







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For my dad,

who showed me and everyone around him

what love truly means.

We’ll all miss you.




BARBARA BENEDICT


Weaving a story has always been part of Barbara Benedict’s life, from the days when her grandfather would gather the kids around his banjo, to the nights of bedtime tales with her own children. To Barbara, starting a story should be like saying, “Come, enter a special new world with me.”










Contents


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

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen




Chapter One


Lucky Parker was back in town.

The news ripped through Mamie’s Main Street Styling Salon like a midsummer tornado—Tuesdays always drawing the biggest crowd for the cut-and-curl special—but Callianne Magruder didn’t need the buzz of small-town gossips to alert her to that man’s appearance. Long before the ladies of Latour, Louisiana, began their clucking, she’d felt he was coming.

Thing was, she’d always had this sixth sense when it came to Lucky Parker. Or maybe she might better call it no sense, since it invariably led her to trouble.

Trying to appear calm, if not altogether indifferent, she kept working at Mrs. Pendergast’s thinning gray hair, but her gaze had this way of sliding back to the window where she could watch Lucky swing his long legs out of his fancy BMW sedan. Locking the vehicle—no doubt a habit from his many years away in New York City—he pocketed his keys and turned in the direction of the salon.

Callie’s heart skipped a beat. Given their past, he’d have no reason to come anywhere near her, she told herself, but her sixth sense insisted where else? She wanted to look away, needed to actually be indifferent, but she continued to follow his progress with an almost morbid fascination. At half past three on a July afternoon, Main Street shimmered with pavement-buckling waves of heat, but Lucky sauntered with the same cool arrogance he’d displayed when turning his back to it a good ten years ago. Blond hair still slightly long and glinting in the sun, his tall, athletic body honed by years on the football field, he remained Latour’s Golden Boy, the conquering hero returning home.

Looking at him, Callie felt that old familiar stab, piercing her heart.

She turned her back, fixing her focus on pulling the curlers from Mrs. Pendergast’s hair. She might better use her time earning a good tip from her wealthiest customer. As Gramps used to chant, thinking about that boy would only bring heartache.

And how could it ever be otherwise with the bad blood between their families?

Way back when, Gramps had eloped with the woman Ben Parker wanted to marry, setting off a feud lasting nearly forty years. In a town like Latour, the line separating the haves from have-nots was a distinct one and no Magruder could mess with a Parker and hope to emerge unscathed. Callie had learned the hard way that only a fool tempted fate by spinning dreams about Ben’s sole remaining heir. She might have made the mistake once, but she darned well wasn’t about to repeat it.

Yet her traitorous gaze kept returning to the long plate-glass window with a full view of Main Street. She should know heaps better by now, but she couldn’t stop staring at the ghost from her past, half dreading yet half hoping his destination was indeed Mamie’s salon.

And, oh, wouldn’t the tongues start wagging at that.

Acid churned in her stomach as she thought of what she could say to silence the gossips. Or more important, what she’d say to him. Latour being such a small place, she should have known this moment would come eventually—and heck, she’d had ten long years to practice—yet with each step Lucky took closer, she grew more aware of how ill prepared she was to face him. Where was her anger, her righteous indignation? Why, in the name of all justice, must the mere sight of that man turn her resolve to mush?

Not this time, she swore again.

She forced herself to remember how it had once been. It would be just like Lucky to stroll in here, as casual as you please, expecting her to fall all over herself in gratitude. Let him grin once, with that wicked gleam in his eyes, and she’d let him have it with both barrels. Contrary to past performances, Callie Magruder wasn’t anybody’s doormat, and now was as good a time as any to prove it.

Getting herself primed and ready was one thing. Watching him stride past the shop was quite another.

Stunned, she just stood there, staring out the window for a full minute as Lucky continued on down the street. And wasn’t that typical? she thought as a wave of embarrassment swept through her. One way or another the Parkers always managed to get the last laugh. There he went without a care in the world, and here she stood, all angered up with nowhere to release it. Darn her sixth sense for lying to her.

Mrs. Pendergast whimpered a protest, forcing Callie to realize how roughly she must have been brushing the poor woman’s hair. Styling the springy gray curls, she fired off a swift round of hair spray and sent her customer off before she could inflict further damage. As she pocketed her tip, she found herself agreeing with Mrs. Pendergast’s frowning assessment. If she couldn’t keep her mind on the job, Callie Magruder had no business cutting anyone’s hair for a living.

Not that it had been her first choice, mind you. At one time she’d had far grander plans for her future. Bright, lively, ambitious Callianne Magruder had been at the top of her class at Latour Central, a student destined to go somewhere, be somebody.

All, of course, pre-Lucky Parker.

Reaching for the broom, she told herself she should be grateful he didn’t approach her. She had enough on her plate; she didn’t need any more tests of resolve, thank you all the same. Paying off their debts and keeping a roof over her son’s head was her foremost concern; not some youthful, torrid love affair that ended all too quickly.

All too painfully.

Marshaling the remaining gray wisps of hair into a dustpan, she reminded herself of the infinite reasons she had to hate the Parker name. Grief, that’s all they’d ever caused her, both father and son. If she never had to hear of either man again, she could die a happy woman. The past had long since passed; she had to let it go. She had problems enough with the present, not to mention the future, to expend one more ounce of energy on something she could never change.

Let him keep on walking by. Let him stay out of her life forever. She refused to waste one more thought on a ghost from her past.



Luke Parker paused, turning back to stare at Mamie’s salon. Who did he think he was fooling by heading toward the Fare-Thee-Well Tavern? He could call it what he wanted but deep down he knew he was merely stalling, running away from what he had no stomach to face. The story of his life, up to now.

Staring at the shabby storefronts of the town he’d grown up in, he agreed wholeheartedly with the adage that you should never go home again. Some might find comfort in familiar names and landmarks, but all Luke saw was a slew of unpleasant memories. Given the choice, he’d have gone anywhere else but Latour, yet here he nonetheless was, and there was no going back.

Frowning, he turned and marched to Mamie’s, not liking himself much for what he was about to do. Make no mistake, he was a veteran of selfish acts, but none of his prior misdeeds could hold a flaming Roman candle to this.

Couldn’t be helped. He had to go through with it. The end justifying the means and all that. In a clear case of damned if you do, damned if you don’t, you just had to pick the side with the least “damn-age.”

He didn’t like it, though. Using people was something his father excelled at, and lying always made Luke uneasy. Most folks thought him an amoral playboy, but he had his own code of ethics, however jaded, that he tried his best to live by. And what he was aiming to do now went against just about everything he’d ever put on his list.

Yet the old man was right in one thing. Time came in every man’s life when you hit a crossroads and you had to choose one path or the other. After thirty-two self-absorbed years of playing it solo, after an adulthood wasted on boozing, gaming and womanizing, Luke had one last chance to redeem himself. He could seize it or waste the rest of his life with more of the same.

For once he could do something right, make a difference.

Unbidden, the image of Callie Magruder flitted across his mind, looking every bit as young and innocent as the last time he’d seen her—shoulders back and chin up, doing her best to fight the tears misting her eyes as she watched him drive out of town.

Banishing the vision with another determined frown, he yanked open the door to the salon. Over the years Ben Parker had offered little of value when it came to parental guidance, but he had managed to impart one useful piece of advice to his son: if there’s an unpleasant task to be done, it’s best to get instantly to it.

Luke stepped inside the shop. Seven chairs sat between the long mirror and large window fronting Main Street, six of them swiveling as heads snapped in his direction. Ignoring them, his gaze went instantly to Callie at the far end of the line. Some girls were like that, he’d discovered over the years. They had a presence, an aura, that grabbed hold of you right off and kept your attention. Funny, but he’d never before realized that Callie could be one of them.

She was busy sweeping, her spine stiff, straight and aimed right at him. The way she attacked the floor with the broom, you’d think she was beating back an army of invading insects. He could feel the anger coming off her in waves. In such a mood, Luke knew from experience, she would be a force to reckon with. On the flip side, he also knew a softened, smiling Callie could be any man’s dream.

Swallowing his distaste, wishing he had any other way to do this, he went over to Mamie Saunders to cajole her into giving Callie a short break. Luke had never much liked Mamie, with her shrill voice and sharper tongue, but she, like most females in this town, tended to melt like butter in August when he flashed the patented Parker grin. It wasn’t his looks or charm that caused the phenomenon, he knew, but rather his single status, backed up by the obscene heap of cash Ben Parker kept in Tyler Fitzhugh’s First Fidelity Bank.

Though clearly surprised by his request, Mamie proved no obstacle, gesturing grandly to the back of her shop. Luke could hear the whispers behind him as he made his way to Callie, but he’d learned long since to ignore what the ladies of this town had to say about Ben Parker’s sole surviving son. His focus was on the mission before him.

On the woman before him.

He felt like a kid approaching a girl to ask for his first date, knowing he had no guarantee of the outcome. Callie wouldn’t refuse him, he’d taken care to make certain of that, but a good deal of both their futures could hinge upon what was said in the next fifteen minutes. Callie Magruder, he thought with an odd tightening in his throat. The girl he’d left behind.

She’d filled out some in the past ten years, the promise of youth blossoming into all the right curves and softness. Nothing to write home about maybe, not after the movie stars and models he’d dated in New York, yet there was an air about her, a blend of common sense and genuine caring that made a man linger. You could talk to Callie. What was more important, she listened.

“Callie?” he said quietly, trying not to startle her.

No such luck. She went still—no, more like rigid—her knuckles turning white where she gripped the broom. Slowly she turned to face him, her features as pale as if she’d just seen a ghost. He noticed that she still wore her brown hair long and straight. The jeans hugging her slim hips, as threadbare as her sleeveless denim shirt, looked like they might have survived some other era. So much about her was exactly the same, yet something he couldn’t quite put a finger on made Callie seem suddenly a stranger.

An angry stranger.

He told himself that it was no real surprise that she wasn’t overjoyed to see him, but for some reason, her scowl really bugged him. Maybe she felt she had issues with him, but then, don’t forget, he had some of his own with her. He was here on a mission, he told himself sternly, and he had to get to it. By fair means or foul, he’d get her consent. “Got a minute to talk?”

“Leave me be, Lucky Parker,” she said calmly enough, and all too coldly. “Go spread your mischief on your side of town.”

A far-from-auspicious start.

Still, Luke wouldn’t be where he was today if he ever backed down from a challenge. “Luke,” he corrected. “Nowadays, folks have taken to using my given name.”

She gave him a look as if he’d just made the speech in a foreign language.

“I’m thirty-two years old,” he said with a shrug. “Being called Lucky was kid’s stuff. It’s time I grew up, don’t you think?”

Callie wasn’t about to tell him what she was thinking. She held tight to the broom, half to prop herself up but more to hide how her limbs were trembling. All well and good to forget the man when she didn’t have to see him, but here he stood, all six foot two and broad, muscled shoulders of him. Lucky—excuse me, Luke—Parker in the living, breathing flesh. Lord, but she’d let herself forget how truly gorgeous one man could be.

Judge a man not by how he looks, she could hear Gramps chiding, but rather by what he does.

“Besides,” he added, a hard edge creeping into his tone, “I can’t say I’m feeling particularly lucky these days, anyway.”

She tilted her head to the side to study him. “You have your youth, money and health. How much good fortune does one man need?”

“You could say luck is in the eyes of the beholder.” He shrugged, glancing back over his shoulder. “Listen, Callie, can we go somewhere else to talk?”

Following his gaze, she noticed every eye in the shop was on them, each female reduced to speechlessness, their mouths formed in frozen, silent Os. They all knew who Luke was, of course, but few could hazard a guess as to what he could want with Callie. The brief time she’d spent with him that long-ago summer had been as clandestine as it had been idyllic. His approaching her now, right here and like this, must come as a shock to virtually every man, woman and child in the parish.

And make no mistake, it would be all over town in an hour.

“You’ve got nothing to say that I want to hear,” she told him, hoping he’d take the hint and leave before he made matters worse.

But she’d forgotten that this was Luke Parker. Left to run wild as a boy, he’d never quite gotten used to heeding the word no.

“You may want to hear this,” he said, this time with his usual cockiness. “Don’t worry, I talked to Mamie. She said it’s okay for you to take your break now.”

Turning her back to him, Callie busied herself with sweeping imaginary hair. “Yeah, well, no one asked me if it was okay.”

He laughed, a sound she’d once lived for, but which now made her as bristly as the broom in her hands. “Some things never change, Cal. You always did want to do things the hard way.”

“Everything changes,” she told him through gritted teeth as she propped the broom against the wall. “Even silly little Callie Magruder.”

He eyed her speculatively. “Nah, I’ll bet my last nickel you’re still the same good sport you’ve always been.”

Good sport? After so many years of absence, of silence, this was what he came to say? Not wanting him to see her resentment—or worse, her hurt—she busied herself with shoving the combs and brushes into her station drawer. “What do you want, Luke?”

“Ah, that’s my Callie. Right to the point. No time to waste on pleasant social discourse.”

“So that’s what you call this? Pleasant discourse?” She didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm from her tone.

“Why, I imagine it could be just about anything you want it to be. You set the tone, Cal. I’ll take my cue from you.”

Her fingers curled around a brush handle, the urge to fling it at him nearly overwhelming. He had to know what his presence did to her. Heck, danged near every lady in the salon, with their front-row seats to the action, had to know she was fit to bursting with unreleased tension.

Yet there he stood, acting as if the past ten years had never been.

Loosening her grip on the brush, she carefully set it in the drawer. “I’m real busy,” she said in what she hoped was a calm, measured tone as she slid the drawer shut and turned to face him. “Surely there’s some other girl in this town you can bother.”

“Five minutes. I swear it. C’mon Callie, what can be the harm in that?”

Plenty, she knew, yet she found herself staring back at him, even while knowing better. Lounging against the chair, hip propped against it and his arms crossed casually at his chest, he wore his patented grin, that come-on-you-know-you-want-to call to mischief she’d found so hard to resist.

“Why are you badgering me?” she asked abruptly. “What are you up to now?”

He shook his head, his blue gaze clouding. “To find that out, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me.”




Chapter Two


Callie was curious, as he’d no doubt anticipated, but she had no time for his shenanigans. “I’ve got two more customers, then the long trek home and supper to get on the table,” she told him, betraying her exasperation. “I mean it, Luke Parker. You just move on now and leave me be.”

He held up a hand, fingers splayed. “Five minutes?”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you? You’ll just keep at me and at me until you get what you want.”

She’d expected a grin—vintage Lucky Parker at his disarming best—but Luke stared into her eyes, his steady, grim expression startling her into wondering what the ten-year absence might have done to him.

“I can say my piece right here if you want,” he said at last, looking pointedly around them. “That way, I can satisfy everyone’s curiosity.”

Noticing the heads craning in their direction, Callie visibly shuddered. Not knowing what Luke meant to say, could she take the chance of them being overheard? “Why are you doing this?” she hissed at him. “Haven’t you done enough as it is?”

She thought she saw him wince, but his tone was as implacable as ever. “Just hear me out, Callie. Trust me, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Important for whom? she wanted to scream at him, but that would only prolong an already uncomfortable situation. Better to let him say what he wanted and then get rid of him. She hated being at the mercy of gossips, and she sure didn’t think fondly of Luke for putting her in this position, but she couldn’t see how she had much of a choice. “Five minutes,” she snapped as she turned to march of out the salon. “Not one second more.”

She could feel the stunned stares following her progress across the room, as if all twenty eyeballs were glued to her back. She supposed she should be grateful that none of these gossips could relate the scene to Gramps. The late Zeke Magruder wouldn’t have enjoyed hearing she was “consorting” with the Parker boy. Oh no, he wouldn’t have liked it one bit.

It took her ten strides to reach the door, but Luke made it in less, there in plenty of time to hold it open for her. Passing under his arm, she felt that awful ripple in her midsection again, the intense awareness that he was a man and she was a woman.

A stupid woman, it would seem, wherever Luke Parker was concerned.

She scooted past him, wishing the motion didn’t make her seem quite so skittish, yet determined to maintain a healthy distance. Once outside the shield of air-conditioning, the brick wall of heat made it easier. Dense, moist and stagnant, the air hovered between them like a stubborn chaperon. As if she needed to be reminded of the perils in getting too close.

They walked in silence toward the town square, but once out of earshot of the salon, Luke turned his head to study her. “You look great, Callie,” he said, making the words sound like some grand pronouncement. “A real fine sight for these sore eyes.”

Standing there in her worn jeans and shirt, brown hair frizzing in the humidity, she knew she should take his praise with triple the customary grains of salt. The sad fact was, though, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d been paid any compliment. Like a cleansing rain after a long, hard drought, his words soaked into her, revived her. Oh, she knew better than anyone that it was Luke’s way to make a woman feel valued—part of his charm and a skill he practiced shamelessly—but in that moment, he made her feel pretty, and she wanted to relish the sensation a teeny bit longer. What could be the harm in that?

And wasn’t it just such thinking that had gotten her in trouble in the first place?

“Don’t waste your sweet talk on me, Luke Parker,” she told him firmly. “It isn’t nearly as convincing without the drawl, anyway. You sound like a Yankee, you know. Is that what life in the big city does to you?”

He shrugged. “A man’s got to survive the best he can.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Callie could remember newspaper accounts about how much of his surviving had been done in nightclubs with a long string of female celebrities. “From what I heard, you seemed to be managing just fine up there. What I don’t understand is what on earth would bring you back home to Latour?”

He hesitated a second before answering, as if unsure of his answer. “I blew out the shoulder, overstayed my welcome.” He said it glibly enough, but Callie again caught a hard edge behind the words. “Let’s just say I had my five minutes of fame. New York wasn’t nearly as much fun without it.”

At least he got to have fun, she thought. And that was the major difference between them. Spoiled by his money, looks and family position, Luke didn’t know the first thing about responsibility, while for Callie, it might as well be her middle name.

Looking up, she noticed they’d reached the large patch of grass in front of the town hall that served as Latour’s Central Park. Come winter and spring, the area was the town’s oasis, but under the hot summer sun even the Spanish moss was wilting, drooping from the oaks like overcooked pasta. Small wonder the place was all but deserted.

“Fun, huh?” she said, gesturing at the empty square. “You’re not expecting to find any here in Latour, I hope.”

“No, ma’am, that I’m not.” He herded her along the path to a single stone bench in the far corner. “But then, life has this way of rarely living up to expectations. I imagine I’ll have to wait and see what happens.”

He looked at her pointedly, leaving her with the feeling he knew something that she did not—a private joke, maybe, that he was holding out on. Avoiding his gaze, Callie realized that a great deal more than the heat and humidity stood between them—that in truth, the man was a virtual stranger.

She had the sudden, strong urge to be back in Mamie’s shop.

“You said five minutes, Parker,” she said abruptly. “And two of those are already up. Why not just come right out and tell me what you’re after.”

He glanced at his watch as if checking her time assessment. “Actually, er, well, it’s a bit complicated.”

“Then we can do this when you have more time.” Taking the cue for an easy exit, she turned to walk off.

He reached for her wrist, grabbing it gently, stopping them both in the middle of the path. On her part, Callie could scarcely breathe, with his mere touch reviving far too many memories. Time was…

Not that Luke seemed aware of his effect on her. “Just hear me out,” he said, his tone betraying a tension of his own, maybe even impatience. “I’ll make it worth your while, I swear it. What I’m offering is, well, let’s just call it a business proposition.”

She didn’t bother to hide her skepticism. “A Parker, playing fair with a Magruder? Now why do I find that so hard to believe?”

Releasing her wrist, he didn’t answer, letting the silence stretch between them as he ushered her along the path. Stiff and withdrawn, he acted as if he were the one with the right to be angry. As if it were her family that had tormented his.

“What are you doing cutting hair at Mamie’s?” he asked suddenly, the change in subject catching her off guard. “Last I heard, you were aiming to be a nurse practitioner. What happened to going to college?”

“Life happened. Like you said, it rarely lives up to our expectations.” She took in a breath, then let it slowly out, determined not to reveal any more to this man. Not that she felt any compunction about burdening him with her troubles; it was more a matter of salvaging her ego. Pride might be a useless commodity in most respects, but when it came to dealing with the Parkers, it was pretty much all she had left.

“I’ve got a kid now,” she said on a higher note, letting every bit of the proud mother shine through in her tone. “A boy, named Robbie.”

That said, Callie watched him carefully. He still wouldn’t look at her.

“Yeah, I heard you married Reb Jenkins.” His distant gaze implied indifference to the topic, but she nonetheless sensed a continued rigidity about him. “Talk about your spur-of-the-moment decision,” he added with the same studied nonchalance. “You were what, three months out of high school?”

And there it was, the zinger she’d been dreading, hitting too close to the bone. “We were in love.” She meant to sound firm, but her tone bordered on defensive. She tried again, determined to keep it calm and logical and free of buried emotions. “At least, we thought we were. When we realized…well, we tried to make the best of things.”

“You mean, you tried and Reb took advantage.”

Of course he’d view it that way. Luke and Reb had never gotten along. They’d always competed for the same things—girls, grades, football scholarships—with Luke generally walking off with the prize.

“Reb and me, we were the proverbial oil and water,” she said, glossing over the uglier truths. Actually, they’d made each other miserable. “We lasted barely a year before he lit off downriver to New Orleans. That’s where he filed the divorce papers, so I’m supposing that’s where he went.”

“You didn’t nail him for desertion?”

And who are you to pass judgment? she wanted to ask him, but it sounded like a woman scorned, and she sure didn’t want him thinking that. He was watching her far too intently as it was. “You can’t milk a stone,” she said, trying to sound offhand. “Besides, who needs Reb? Me and Robbie are doing fine without him.”

“Oh, yes, Robbie. Your son. He must be what now, nine? Ten?”

Underneath the seemingly casual question lay a good dozen emotional land mines, all waiting to blow up in her face. “Robbie just turned nine,” she said, hoping to defuse them. “Me and Reb had him right off. He didn’t want to wait to start a family.”

“Good old Reb,” he said angrily, his gaze burning into her. “Always great at starting things, never there to finish them.”

Callie had her own edge. “Yeah, well, you know what they say. Only the innocent get to throw stones.”

“Biblical references, Cal?” he said, his tone betraying his annoyance. “Now you sound like my old man.”

“Don’t you ever compare me to Ben Parker.” Callie had reached her limit. She’d never claimed to be perfect, but putting that snake’s name and hers in the same sentence went beyond what she could accept. “Let’s get to the point, shall we? Just why did you drag me out here, Luke?”

He seemed startled by her bluntness, but he recovered quickly, his gaze narrowing considerably. “Okay. You once said that if I ever needed a favor, I simply had to ask.”

“Well, you have some nerve, Luke Parker.” She knew she should keep her mouth shut, but the words came bursting from her like the kernels in a microwave bag of popcorn. “One minute you’re insulting me by likening me to Ben, and in the next breath, as casual as you please, you call me in on a long-ago favor?”

He looked past her, his jaw going tight. “Ben is set on me taking over the family business.”

She didn’t need to hear the steel in his tone to know his take on that. Years ago something bad must have happened between father and son, something Luke never talked about, but which had left him vehemently determined to do nothing to increase Ben’s fortune. Back in high school, spending his father’s money never seemed to pose a problem, but for as long as she’d known him, Luke had refused to lift a finger to keep Parker Industries alive and thriving.

“So you and Ben are banging heads again,” she told him, crossing her arms at her chest. She wanted to sound aloof and uncaring, but her curiosity kept getting in the way. “I don’t get it, Luke. Just how do you expect me to help you?”

His expression eased a bit, as if he’d sensed a crack in her resistance and meant to bulldoze his way through the opening. “Way I see it,” he said carefully, “is that the man will keep wheedling and coaxing and bullying me straight through to doomsday if I don’t soon take action. I need to make myself so undesirable, he’d rather have Bozo the Clown run the business. And that, darlin’, is where you come in.”

“Well, thank you. Do I have to wear the orange wig and oversize shoes?”

“Not exactly.” A tiny grin played at his mouth. “I don’t want a clown. I was thinking more along the line of Jezebel.”

She froze, wary about where he seemed to be going with this. “Forget it, Luke. I’ve got better things to do than play your girlfriend so you can annoy your father.”

“I’m not asking you play my girlfriend,” he said, the grin vanishing. “No indeed, Callie, I’m asking you to be my wife.”




Chapter Three


“No!” Staring at him in absolute astonishment, Callie felt as if he’d knocked the stuffings right out of her. Of all the idiotic things Luke could have suggested, marriage had to top the list.

“It’s the only solution,” he said firmly, as if neither of them had a choice. “It’s the one sure way to get Ben off my back.”

She wanted to make more of a protest, but, reeling from Luke’s unconventional proposal, she could barely process the words. The doctors must have slipped him some hallucinatory drug for his injured arm, she decided. It was the only explanation for such a preposterous suggestion. She and Luke Parker, husband and wife? Oh, granted, there had been a time when she’d have gladly died for this moment, but she’d come a long way from the dewy-eyed schoolgirl she’d been then.

“You’re out of your mind,” she told him, shaking her head in disbelief. “Can you truly be so vain, you actually thought I’d jump at your offer?”

If so, she’d apparently yet to convince him otherwise. “Hear me out,” he said, taking her hands in his own. “You might actually find this to your benefit.”

“Right.” She yanked her hands free, remembering only too well what his touch could do to her resolutions. “Me and mine always get the better end of any deal with you Parkers.”

She expected him to argue, but he merely nodded. “No one will be getting the best of anyone. I’m not pretending I’m Santa Claus. I stand to gain from this, too. As I said, it’s a business proposition.”

“Funny way to do business. Taking on a wife and another man’s son—tell me, who’s getting back at who? Wouldn’t it be simpler just to tell your father no?”

“Ben Parker?” He looked disappointed in her. “You, of all people, should know he’ll never take no for an answer.”

“Must be a family trait.”

He shook his head as if exasperated, but he didn’t back down. “Look, I’m in a real bind here. If you can think of another way to make Ben lay off, I’m eager to hear it, but presenting Zeke Magruder’s granddaughter as my wife will do the job clean and quick. No offense intended, but you know how Ben feels about you and your family. If he has to worry about a Magruder whispering in my ear at nights, he won’t let me within fifty miles of his precious company.”

He was right about that much. Ben Parker had no more love for her than she had for him. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder why Luke would so adamantly pursue this course. Marriage was such a major—not to mention permanent—solution.

“Your stint up north must have robbed you of what little good sense you had,” she told him. “We tried a relationship, remember? It barely lasted five weeks.”

He stared at her, his blue eyes probing into her. “We weren’t really trying for a relationship, Callie. I told you up-front that all I wanted was a friend.”

So he had. At least, those were the words coming out of his mouth. The way he’d acted, the way he’d held her and made her feel was another story altogether. “And now all you want is a wife,” she countered, getting angrier by the moment. “I guess what I want never factors into the equation.”

“What do you want, Cal?”

The question caught her so off guard, she nearly blinked. If she were to say the first thing in her head, it would be that she wanted him to stop stirring up all these unwanted memories and emotions.

“I don’t want anything from you, Luke Parker,” she told him defiantly.

He ignored her. “People always want money. Help me out, Cal, and I’ll take care of you financially. You can quit your job—”

“I’m not quitting my job.” Working for Mamie might be a far cry from what she wanted to do in life, but she could take pride in making the ladies of Latour look prettier, and in the fact that she was earning her own way. “And I refuse to take one cent of Ben Parker’s money.”

He looked almost insulted. “We’re in total agreement then. I wasn’t exactly a bum up in New York, Cal. Trust me, I have more than enough money of my own. Money I’ve learned to put to good use, so I know what’s a good investment.” He glanced over his shoulder at the salon. “You don’t belong at Mamie’s, and we both know it. Keep the job, if it’s that important to you, but you belong in college. That’s why, along with the legal documents making sure you and your son will be well provided for, I’m including a trust fund to finance your education.”

She could feel herself bristling. Magruders didn’t take handouts, especially from a Parker. “I can pay my own way through college, thank you all the same.”

“I know that.” The concession, coupled with his solemn nod, unruffled a few of her feathers. “But in a way,” he went on smoothly, “what I’m offering is a job. This will be part of your salary. And I’m not just talking about your schooling. I’m offering to finance your son’s education, as well.”

Trust Luke to find her Achilles’ heel. Robbie meant everything to her; she’d do just about anything to make his life better.

“And as proof of my good faith,” Luke went on, “I’ll talk to the doctors at the hospital, get them to release your grandfather to our care. If we can keep him from badgering my father any further, I’m sure there’s no need to keep him confined in a strange place.”

With a sudden, painful lump in her throat, Callie remembered the desperation in her grandfather’s eyes, his steely grip on her wrist as he pleaded with her to get him out of that awful institution. She’d felt so helpless, uttering hollow reassurances about trying her best. Sad fact was, her best hadn’t been good enough. She’d exhausted what little savings she’d had, filing appeals and hounding the parish welfare system, only to discover that nobody cared about the Zeke Magruders of this world. Money, that’s what did the talking, and having so darned much of it, Ben Parker talked louder than most.

“You’re too late,” she said, swallowing the lump to make sure her voice sounded even. “Gramps died last winter.”

“Ah, Callie, I’m sorry. I know how much he meant to you.”

Yes, he did, and Luke’s sympathy was almost her undoing. All that grief, so close to the surface, had her saying far more than was wise. “They said it was old age, that they couldn’t find a more specific cause, but up until your father had him committed to that terrible place, Gramps stayed as young as you or I. I know it was wrong, the way he kept harassing your father, but those little mischiefs kept him going, helped him hold tight to the belief that he’d one day get our home back. By locking him away, Ben Parker robbed him of far more than his freedom, Luke. He took away my grandfather’s reason for living. I had to watch that proud old man wither away, powerless to save him, knowing your father’s spite was to blame.”

“Wait a minute, I’m not sure you can call it spite—”

“I call it as I see it, Luke.” She cut in before he could utter one more syllable in defense of his father. “Ben hounded him to death. All because my grandmother chose Gramps and Ben couldn’t handle it. You’d think he would be content with owning half this town, but no, he had to go and take away the one thing of value Gramps had left. Don’t tell me you don’t know that he stole the farm out from under us.”

His blank expression told her he didn’t know about the rather nasty battle they’d fought with his father. “I never heard anything about Ben taking your farm.”

“Gramps took out a mortgage years ago and neglected to tell me,” she went on. “Your father knew about it though. He bought out the savings-and-loan that held the deed. Within a month of the takeover, they served our eviction notice, which was what started Gramps on his harassment campaign. Ben threatened to build a factory there, you see, some smoke-belching monstrosity guaranteed to ruin the land. It is, I believe, his version of having the last laugh.”

“I swear, I didn’t know, Cal.”

“But you do now. And I hope you can understand why I might feel indisposed to trust anyone bearing the Parker name.”

“I’m not my father,” he said quietly. He stared at her a long moment, visibly pleading with her to believe him. “Your beef is with Ben, not me. And quite frankly I can’t think of a better way at getting back at him than by agreeing to this marriage.”

In that much, Luke had a point. It would do her battered heart good to see Ben’s face when his son brought Zeke’s granddaughter to his big old fancy house and introduced her as his wife.

Still, she thought in a flash of sanity, it would be remarkably shortsighted to marry for revenge. Marriage to Luke, even in name only, would be like making a pact with the devil. Short-term, she’d get what she wanted, but in the end there’d be a helluva price to pay.

As if he were indeed Lucifer, Luke didn’t leave the tempting at that. “The fall semester starts in a month. We can get you signed up for some classes right away.”

“You’ve given this a lot of thought,” she said slowly, wondering when careless, take-it-as-it-comes Luke Parker had gotten so methodical. “You must really be serious.”

He took her by the arms, forcing her closer. “Never more so. C’mon Callie, what’s left to consider? No matter how you look at it, we both stand to gain.”

Watching him as he talked, her mind flashed back to that long-ago summer when she’d swallowed each and every word his sweet, coaxing lips had uttered. She’d given herself completely to the youth he’d been then—her hopes, her sympathy, her trust. Even now she could feel a softening as the well-remembered yearnings rose up from deep inside her.

She caught herself up short. What was she thinking? Insanity, to even listen to this man.

“Help me out here,” Luke continued, applying gentle pressure to her arms, “and I promise you won’t regret it.”

Something snapped inside her, turning her insides into cold, hard steel. “You’re real glib, Luke Parker. We’ve been down this road, only now I know better than to listen. It’s all just words to you. You use them like water but you give them no meaning, no substance.” She poked a finger into his chest. “Around here, around me, don’t you dare go making promises you don’t mean to keep.”

He grabbed her hand, encircling it with his own and holding it tight against his chest. “We’ve got this past and we can’t hide from it. Neither of us.” He towered over her, his gaze just as heated, seeming more than ever a stranger. “But where’s the sense in letting it mess up our futures? I’m offering you and your son a chance at a better life, Cal. What will it take to get you to say yes?”

What would it take?

Money, schooling, security—no question that these things might tempt her, but if she couldn’t get them herself, she could learn to do without. In truth, there was only one thing she craved, only one thing beyond her reach, and that was the house she’d grown up in. Generations of Magruders, laughing and loving and working together—that was the legacy she wanted so desperately to pass down to her son.

“All I want,” she answered without hesitation, “is my family’s farm.”

He stared at her a long moment, then shook his head. “What you’re asking is close to impossible. There are two things Ben never does. One is to give in to my requests, and the other is to back down from a fight with a Magruder.”

She pulled her hand free. “Then I guess we’ve got nothing more to talk about.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.” This time he took her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. He seemed tense and grim, a far cry from the grinning youth who always used charm to get what he wanted. “Marry me, Callie, and I promise I’ll find some way to get your farm for you.”

For an instant she could almost believe him. He seemed so sure of himself, so sincere, but then, so much of what he’d seemed in the past had proved to be mere illusion. She’d be a fool to trust in his good intentions.

Still, in the long run, did it matter? If she considered this—and insanely enough, she was considering this—Luke’s motives needn’t concern her at all, not as long as she got what she needed out of the bargain, the wherewithal to buy the farm back herself. This would be a business arrangement—nothing less, nothing more. As he’d pointed out, she wouldn’t be taking his money, she’d be earning it. On her terms.

“If I agree to this,” she started slowly, “I’d have certain conditions.”

He released her arms, eyeing her warily. “And those would be?”

“Well, for one thing, I want to make it clear that this will be a marriage in name only. No honeymoon, no sharing a bed.”

He raised a brow, but didn’t comment.

“Even so,” she went on, warming to the subject, “I’d still expect you to honor our vows as if they were real. No carousing with the boys and no sleeping around with other women. Not here in town. I won’t have me and my boy being the subject of Monday morning’s gossip.”

“Dammit Callie, you can’t expect me to be a monk for the rest of my life.”

“You’re right. I don’t expect any such thing from you. I’ve read the papers, Luke. And I’ve seen firsthand how you are with the ladies. Actually, what I was thinking is that it would be to both our advantage to set a time limit on this marriage.”

He stiffened. “A time limit?”

She could feel a slight breeze, stirring the warm air around them. It didn’t cool her down any, but it helped steel her resolve. “Yes, I think next August should be more than sufficient time.”

He narrowed his gaze, his expression far from pleased. “A year?”

“Let’s face it, Luke. If you can’t convince Ben to leave you alone by then, you’re not likely to ever convince him.”

“But I had in mind that—”

“Doesn’t really matter what you had in mind, Luke. If we do this, for once we’ll be doing things my way, not yours.”

Overhead Callie could hear the sighs as the Spanish moss stirred in the breeze. Could be a storm brewing, she thought inanely—both in the air and in the stranger glaring back at her. If it were at all physically possible, his eyes looked ready to spit.

She felt a sudden, strong need to stand her ground. “Those are my terms,” she told him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Take them or leave them.”

For a moment she thought he might just do that, take his ridiculous proposal and stomp away, but with disarming abruptness, he shook his head and laughed softly. “You drive a hard bargain, lady.”

“Not at all. I’m just looking out for me and mine.”

He nodded, sobering instantly. “Okay, then, I agree to your terms. Do we have a deal?”

He held out a hand, no doubt expecting her to shake it, but she couldn’t bring herself to reach out and make contact. Some might call it fear, but she preferred to call it practicality. It was such a big step, after all, such a major decision.

“You won’t regret it,” he said softly. “I’ll make certain of that.”

The words set off a rage in her. How like Luke to think he could come back here and wrap her around his little finger. “No, I’ll be the one making certain,” she told him, making it plain that she was no longer the trusting teenager she’d been back then. “Play false with me again, Luke Parker, and this time, you can live with the regrets.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his hand still extended between them. The fact that he didn’t flinch, that he met her gaze and held it, had her tentatively reaching out to meet his grip halfway. It was an unsettling sensation, shaking hands with him. She felt suddenly as if she’d had the rug yanked out from under her feet, the walls containing her life pushed back in all directions. She could make all the vows and stipulations she wanted, but in that instant she knew that where she and Luke were concerned, virtually anything could happen.

“C’mon,” he said, his voice and expression solemn. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Following Luke back to Mamie’s, she was left wondering if she had indeed made a pact with the devil.




Chapter Four


“Till death do us part.”

A dazed Callie repeated the words because it was expected of her, not out of any real conviction. Until one year do we part, she corrected in her mind, as if it could make up for lying to the well-meaning justice of the peace. An elderly version of The Wizard of Oz’s scarecrow, Malcolm Fry beamed down at her, tightening her sense of guilt. You’d think he’d be bored, having conducted this ceremony countless times for countless others, but Mr. Fry actually seemed eager to bind them together. His kindliness, his obvious happiness for them, left Callie feeling an utter fraud.

Standing close beside her, Luke betrayed no such difficulty with mouthing the vows. Then again, hard to imagine a Parker battling any last-minute attacks of conscience.

At least she could be grateful that no one she knew was here to watch them enact this parody of a wedding. The only witnesses were two female clerks, a pair of senior citizens in faded gingham shirtwaists, pressed into service for the brief ten minutes the deception would last. Tittering as if they were the bride instead of Callie, the women seemed perfectly happy to overlook the fact that she carried no flowers, wore no veil or special outfit. Even the ring was a loaner. Luke had taken the friendship ring once sent by a fan off his finger, but she supposed the semigold band was a close enough imitation to prevent any undue eyebrow-raising by the staff here at City Hall. Besides, she kept telling herself, it wasn’t as if this ceremony meant anything to either of them.

Except that it was her second time at this. A complete stranger prompting their vows instead of the family minister, someone else’s grandma serving as her maid of honor—it was a far cry from how she’d always imagined her wedding. Under the circumstances, she supposed she could forego the fancy reception and frantic rice throwing, but given that she tried this before, she could have hoped the word love could figure into it somewhere.

Oblivious to her doubts, Mr. Fry turned to smile at Luke as he asked for the ring. Callie’s guilt swiftly slid into trepidation as Luke took her left hand to slide the band onto her finger. Stupid, to have forgotten how it felt to have his hand cover hers. It came rushing back in a flood, how swiftly she’d responded to the dangerous heat they’d generated between them. It was all she could do not to yank her hand free.

It’s just a mockery, she wanted to tell the beaming Mr. Fry, but of course she did no such thing. She had to get a grip. None of this was about her, anyway. She was here for Robbie. This marriage, fake or otherwise, meant they could stop struggling to make ends meet. One short year and she could make sure her son would have all that he needed, all that he deserved. That was what was important here.

Robbie, she thought with a catch in her throat, glad that he was safely tucked away at day camp and unaware of what his mother was now doing. He wouldn’t understand, and how could he? To him Luke was a stranger. Not the man who biologically, at least, happened to be his father.

It wasn’t a new thing for Callie, this wrestling with the moral dilemma. Had Luke been around at the beginning, things might have been different, but he’d gone and left her, and really, wasn’t it a bit late now to be opening that can of worms? For ten long years she’d been virtually alone with her secret, telling no one but Gramps, and through necessity, Reb Jenkins. In all that time her only thought had been to protect the life she and Luke had forged between them, to give their boy the best that life could offer. For Robbie’s sake she would marry Luke and let him take care of her son’s education, but she had no intention of now relaxing her vigil. Technically the boy might be a Parker, but in all ways that counted, Robbie was her son, raised to think, act and breathe like a Magruder. For her son’s sake and future well-being, she had no choice but to continue living her lie.

Busy convincing herself, she was startled out of her thoughts by the words, “I now pronounce you man and wife.” But that particular death knell didn’t frighten her nearly as much as the ensuing “You may now kiss the bride.”

She had to face Luke then, had to face what she’d committed herself to for the one year’s duration. Oh, she might have felt dread before, the same what-on-earth-am-I-doing sensation when saying her vows with Reb Jenkins, but this was far worse. She’d had no history with Reb, no experience of how his lips could turn her bones to mush. Only one man had ever held such power over her—Lucky, always Lucky—and he was leaning down to melt her resolve again.

She fought the urge to run from the room screaming, far too conscious of Mr. Fry and the two old ladies watching them. Of Luke watching her. I can do this, she told herself fiercely. I can touch him and kiss him and feel absolutely nothing.

Half dying inside—and yet, half coming alive—she lifted her face to his.

Luke saw her hesitation and felt a nasty tightening in his gut. Could she actually fear he’d ravish her here on this dusty floor for his own gratification? Did she think so little of him? Gazing down at her uplifted face, he saw the answer in her wide, wary eyes.

Reassure her, a tiny voice coached inside him. Show her how much you’ve changed in the ten years you’ve been gone.

He leaned down and touched her lips with his own. He meant the kiss to be gentle, perhaps even reassuring, but the instant their lips met, his own started tingling. A sensation that resonated downward throughout his body.

Startled and uneasy, he’d pulled back. Despite all his careful planning and good intentions, he’d never bargained on that—how, even after ten long years apart, something hot and demanding could still spark between them.

He didn’t need to see the fear and accusation in Callie’s expression to know how this could mess up his agenda. Sobered, he moved away from her, going with Mr. Fry to finish the paperwork. From now on he had to keep his distance, had to keep things simple, to stir up the minimum fuss and heartache. Clearly, if he hoped to achieve his goal, kissing Callie couldn’t figure into the equation.

Yet as they finished up the details and left the courthouse, he couldn’t seem to take his gaze from her mouth. She tastes like peaches, he now remembered, so sweet and fresh and ready for plucking. And just as it had been ten years ago, he found himself wanting more.

Not that it seemed likely she’d ever again let him near enough to try. Sitting on her side of the BMW, huddled against the door as she clutched the handle, his new wife looked ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. It bothered him that she seemed so afraid of him. It bothered him a lot.

“You don’t have to hug the door because of one little kiss,” he said, noticing how her entire posture stiffened at the mere sound of his voice. “You didn’t feel anything, did you?”

“Of course not.”

Of course not. “So what’s the big deal? I wasn’t putting any moves on you, Cal. The kiss was expected. Didn’t you hear those ladies giggling? If I hadn’t made it look good, they’d have gone home disappointed and who knows what stories they would spread? Don’t worry, I won’t be forcing my attentions on you. I promised to be a monk and I will.”

She didn’t say anything, just nodded, keeping her gaze trained on the road ahead.

Luke hid his impatience with a sigh. “Listen, Callie, I know we have our past, and it’s not easy to get over it, but—”

“I’m not thinking about the past,” she blurted out, panic ringing loud and clear in her words. “I’m more concerned with the future. You rushed me through this so fast, my mind’s in a blur. Here we are heading home, and I haven’t the slightest idea where or what that home will be. Shouldn’t we discuss how we mean to go about conducting day-to-day life? Really, Luke, don’t you think this is all just the slightest bit insane?”

Her voice cracked a little on that last. If she gripped the door handle any tighter, her bone-white knuckles would turn to silver steel.

In his opinion the only insanity was the way she was acting, as if she were the only one with a right to anger. “I said I’d take care of you, and I will.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she went on. “I have a son, remember? Robbie will be coming home from day camp soon, and I’m gonna greet him with the news that I went and married a stranger. And if that’s not enough to rock his sense of security, I have to admit that I haven’t the slightest idea where we and this stranger are going to eat, drink or sleep.”

“The ‘stranger’ has an apartment over on Elm Street,” Luke told her angrily. “Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not completely irresponsible. Granted, my place is a bit sparse on furnishings—needs a woman’s touch maybe—but it will do until I can find us a house.”

“I thought you were going to get me my farmhouse back.”

She put the words out there like an accusation. And perhaps she was justified in this, since he’d momentarily forgotten his promise, but he was no less angry at her for pointing it out. “Until we get the farmhouse, then,” he said through gritted teeth.

“No.”

Startled by her adamant tone, he glanced over at her. She’d relinquished the grip on the handle and now clasped her arms across her chest instead. “No, what?”

“No bachelor apartment,” she said with a steely edge to her tone. “Robbie and I have a place over on Park Street. The two bedrooms may be small and a far cry from what you’re used to, but my boy has already lost one home. I’m not going to make him give up another. The only disruption he’s going to face is our move back to the farmhouse.”

“Okay. But if there are only two bedrooms, where the heck am I supposed to sleep?”

“The couch. You said yourself you have a lot of business trips planned. You’ll be out of town as much as you’re in it for the next few months.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have confided his plans to sell his restaurant in New York and open a new one in New Orleans. “Fine,” he told her, not really caring where they stayed. “The couch it is, then. You do intend to allow me a pillow?”

She ignored his sarcasm. “You’re headed the wrong way for my apartment,” she said, gesturing ahead. “You need to take the next right.”

When he drove past the street she’d suggested, she turned to face him with a huff. “Are you ignoring me?”

“Not at all. We’ll go to your apartment,” he told her with forced patience. “After we’re done talking to Ben.”

“No!”

Who was this woman? The Callie he remembered had been soft and pliable, more than delighted to go along with all of his suggestions. This more recent version couldn’t be more rigid, more combative and ready to fight him at every excuse. “That’s the whole purpose of this exercise, isn’t it?” he asked, not bothering to hide his exasperation. “Throwing the fait accompli in his face?”

“I meant not yet.” She softened her tone. “Robbie will be coming home soon, expecting me to be there. He’s going to be confused enough by the situation. He’ll need time to adjust before we subject him to anything more. I certainly don’t want him coping with any nonsense from Ben Parker.”

She said the words firmly, but Luke could hear the plea behind them. He turned to glance at her, unsettled to find her studying him. He’d forgotten how deeply that gaze of hers could probe, how it could wriggle all the way in to stir up his conscience. How could he object? was her obvious message. All she wanted was to protect her son.

A perfectly laudable objective. As long as the one she was protecting him from wasn’t himself, the boy’s rightful father.

She didn’t know—nor was he going to tell her just yet—about his little heart-to-heart with her ex-husband.

To say that Luke had been at loose ends that day was an understatement. Having been cut from the team, he’d learned how shallow and temporary his lifestyle in New York had been, how quickly he could lose so much more than a mere job. In what seemed like overnight, he’d gone from superstar to pariah, condemned by the media who once called him their darling, deserted by people he’d thought were friends. Going to New Orleans to lick his wounds, he’d plopped down on a bar stool planning to drown his sorrows. Trust Reb Jenkins to show up at his darkest moment.

Reb had heard all about Luke’s meteoric fall from grace. The media hadn’t been kind, and anybody who even casually followed sports knew the story, but Reb, who hung on to their boyhood rivalry the way old women cling to the family album, had savored the tale more than most.

“Maybe you got the scholarship and life in the big leagues,” he’d gloated, his whiskey-soaked voice slurring over the words, “but look where it got you.”

It was then that Luke learned how Callie had married him so soon after Luke left town. Two shots later and increasingly belligerent, Reb began to gripe about his marriage, how and when it had all gone sour. “A bun in the oven,” Reb had grumbled more to his shot glass than to anyone in the room. “Do the arithmetic, and it’s as clear as air someone got there before me.”

I am that someone, Luke had realized instantly. Even without doing the arithmetic, he knew Callie, knew she hadn’t been with anyone else.

Reb might have ranted on, but all Luke heard, thought or felt were the ramifications of Reb’s pronouncement. He had a kid out there, a kid who didn’t know he existed, an innocent left to believe his dad was this hopeless drunk on the bar stool beside him.

Filled with a rage he never could have imagined, he’d left the bar to roam the street for hours. All too well he could picture Callie’s face the day he’d left her. She must have known, even then. And still she’d said nothing.

The more he’d thought about it, the more it had fueled his anger. Knowing Callie, she probably felt she was protecting the kid. All well and good if she’d given him the chance to sink or swim, but she’d taken the decision right out of his hands. Now, none of them would ever know what Luke might have done with the knowledge. And the one who would suffer most for this was their innocent son.

So don’t talk to him about protecting Robbie.

He took a long moment to swallow his resentment, aware that he would do far more harm than good by giving vent to his anger at this particular moment. Taking the next right, he headed to her apartment, willing to give the inch if it eventually got him the mile. He was by nature the impatient sort, the kind who preferred to have things out in the open, but Callie was nothing if not stubborn, and she’d clung too long to her secret to give it up to the man she felt had abandoned her. Nothing would be gained by forcing her to tell the truth. She had to tell him of her own free will for there to be any real hope for the future.

“Fine, no visit to Ben today,” he told her, trying to keep his tone light. He didn’t really care about facing down his father, anyway. It was just an excuse, the only one he could think of to coax Callie into marrying him. Just for the record, she wasn’t the only one interested in protecting their boy.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” She was still staring at him, a slight frown creasing her face. “Our situation, that ceremony? I mean, Mr. Fry and those ladies seemed so tickled to death for us. But it was just a lie and we kept it going.”

It was one thing to cultivate patience, but he didn’t like being called a liar. “Our marriage is the means to an end,” he said curtly, unable to keep the irritation from his tone. “That’s all there is to it.”

“But it feels wrong to me. Play-acting about love is like…like we’re playing with fate. Gramps always said love was a gift that should never be taken lightly.”

“I thought you wanted a marriage of convenience. If we’re going to make it one of those arranged contracts, like between royal families, love needn’t enter into it at all.”

“I know. It’s just…” She frowned, as if she were groping for the right words and couldn’t quite find them. “I saw how it was with my grandparents…and my folks before they died. They meant everything to each other. Just watching them together made you smile, made you want to be like them. That’s what I want someday, Luke. Not this…this travesty we call a marriage.”

Barely an hour into married life and already she was looking for the exit?

Pulling to a stop in front of her apartment, he told himself it shouldn’t come as a surprise. In his experience it was always this way. Maybe others could find real and enduring emotion, but all his relationships inevitably flat-lined somewhere along the way. Sooner or later the woman admitted that what she’d thought was love actually wasn’t.

Even Callie.

Not that he had let it deter him. He’d come back to Latour for his boy, and he wasn’t about to let any misconceived notions about love—or the lack thereof—stand in his way. “We made a bargain,” he said, turning to face Callie. “Are you going to keep your end of it, or what?”

She blinked, as if startled by the question. “Yes. For the one year I promised.”

“That’s that, then,” he told her. And in his mind, it was.



Getting out of Luke’s car, Callie didn’t feel nearly as settled. Ever since Luke had kissed her, her mind had been whirling out of control. It had been a mere peck, over before it had begun, but the man’s lips had lost none of their power. Even now she could feel the old longing, the same bittersweet acknowledgment of what could never be. Dangerous, that’s how she’d always described Luke Parker. Looked as if she would have to be twice as careful, twice as wary.

She risked a glance at him as they entered the rundown three story building, catching his ill-concealed look of dismay. Climbing the rickety stairs, noticing its threadbare carpet, she viewed her current home through his eyes. He was a Parker, accustomed to the very best money could buy; he couldn’t possibly enjoy learning, firsthand, how the other half existed.

And he’d be even worse inside the apartment. Her nicked and battered furniture, the little messes left behind by the rush to get Robbie to school on time, the overall shabbiness of the place—what a sharp contrast to the slick and glittering world Luke normally strolled though. He’d take one look at the place and want to make changes. The next thing she knew he’d be sweeping her and Robbie into the pampered life he took for granted.

No, she wouldn’t let that happen, she thought, as she led Luke to apartment 2B. She liked her world the way it was and what was more important, so did Robbie. Okay, maybe this hall was a little dingy, but she had neighbors who watched out for her and her boy—good, honest, caring people who stuck around through thick and thin.

She stopped before her door, suddenly realizing that those same good people would wonder about this stranger she’d unexpectedly brought into their midst. Gramps had constantly warned of the many ripples you could cause with a single action. Marrying Luke, it now seemed, had been like setting off a tidal wave in the tiny pond that had once been her life.

“Maybe it’s not such a good idea, your staying here,” she said, thinking out loud as she glanced back at him. “Maybe you should stay at your place tonight. Or even a motel.”

He reached down to take the key from her hand. “What is this, Cal? Cold feet?”

Actually, with her new husband now towering over her, she felt the chill from head to toe. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just thought that if we’re going to do this thing, we should start it off right.”

“Then in that case,” he said, slipping the key in the lock and shoving open the door, “allow me.” Giving her no chance to protest, he slipped one arm under her knees, the other under her back, and in one fluid motion swept her up against his chest.

“What on earth do you think you are doing?” she gasped.

“Starting out right. The groom is supposed to carry the bride over the threshold, I’m told.”

“This is ridiculous, Lucky. You put me down, right this minute.”

“It’s Luke, not Lucky. Remember?”

Held captive in his arms, she could remember far too many things—the stolen moments, the hot, steamy nights they’d shared ten years ago. And as she gazed into his eyes and saw the sudden intensity there, she realized he was remembering, too.

She could feel the pull between them, as if some magnetic force urged their heads closer. Inches away from touching his lips, she heard footsteps through a haze, then the all too clear and startled, “Mom?”

“Ohmigod,” she said, all but leaping out of Luke’s grasp. “It’s Robbie.”




Chapter Five


Setting Callie on her feet in what felt like slow motion, Luke turned to face the boy. His sole reason for coming back home, his main motivation for marrying Callie, stared up at him with a nine-year-old’s suspicion. Frowning, Robbie stepped protectively in front of his mother.

Something sharp and ugly jammed its way into Luke’s chest.

Callie put her arms on the boy’s shoulder. “Robbie, this is Luke,” she said slowly, as if feeling her way. “Luke…Parker.”

Luke extended a hand in greeting, but Robbie had already turned away to go into the apartment. With a what-can-I-do shrug, Callie followed after him.

Luke let his hand drop to his side. He’d been picturing this moment for some time, but nothing in his imagination could have conjured up anything so awkward or unsettling. Clearly the boy didn’t want him there. Robbie couldn’t have made it any plainer.

Determined to change his son’s mind, Luke followed them into the apartment. As he closed the door behind him, he heard Callie asking questions while Robbie chattered on about his day. Luke felt oddly uncomfortable, as if he were eavesdropping on a private conversation. Most parents did this after-school ritual every day, he realized. Callie and Robbie, all these years, sharing the little moments that added up to so much, little moments Luke himself had never known.

Robbie plopped his backpack on the dining table in the corner of the living room and began to unload it to show his mother his artwork. From a distance Luke hungrily watched his boy, taking in every detail—the tousled blond hair, the scraped elbows and grass-stained knees, the untied shoelaces. Luke knew a sudden strong urge to lean down and tie those scuffed sneakers, but knew his son wasn’t ready for such a gesture. As hard as the concept might be to him, he would have to bide his time and patiently wait for the boy to adjust to having a stranger in the house before he could hope that Robbie would warm toward him.

Backing off, Luke surveyed his surroundings, feeling more than ever like an intruder. Between the dining set, the overstuffed sofa and two matching chairs, the various stands cluttered with knickknacks and the countless photos on the walls, Callie had crammed so much into such a confined space, he couldn’t help feeling claustrophobic. And of course the place wouldn’t have air-conditioning.

Crossing the room to open a window, he stopped before a row of photographs, his attention snagged by a photo of a young, pregnant Callie, her dark eyes wide with fear. Yet how serene she looked, how happy, in the next picture as she held her new baby in her arms.

It was all there on that wall—his son’s life from the start of Callie’s pregnancy to the present day, a freckled, happy nine-year-old in the shorts and long socks of a soccer player. Luke couldn’t tear his gaze from that last picture. Callie’s eyes might stare out at him from the photo, but it was Luke’s own mouth grinning back at him.

He turned away, going to the window, swallowing the sudden tightness in his throat. Gazing at those snapshots brought into painful focus how much he’d missed by not being part of it. And how much he might have kept on missing had he not happened upon Reb Jenkins in that dreary French Quarter tavern.

He took a moment to lean on the sill, looking out at the park. Behind him, he could hear Robbie talking excitedly to his mother. Given the circumstances, Luke supposed he could grasp why someone like Callie would choose to exclude him. It still wasn’t right, though, keeping the truth from the boy. Robbie shouldn’t have to think his father was Reb, some no account bum who lit out when the going got tough. Nor should he ever have to believe his true father didn’t want to acknowledge him. No one knew better how it felt to grow up unloved and unnoticed by your father, and Luke was determined not to pass that on to his own flesh and blood.

Yet Callie was nothing if not stubborn, and her pride would never let her son be raised as a Parker. Luke could stake his claim, and he’d no doubt win, but the battle between them would be an ugly one, and it would be poor Robbie who would come out the ultimate victim.

Hence, the wedding. A drastic step, but Luke could see no other way to show Callie he was ready, willing and able to be a good father to their boy. His plan was to become such an integral part of his son’s life that Callie would have to see reason. Once she understood all the good he could do for Robbie, she would admit, both publicly and legally, that Luke was her son’s father.

What Luke hadn’t figured into the equation was Robbie’s resistance. In his mind he’d envisioned the warm-and-cuddly reunion of a television commercial, his son more a concept than a person in his own right. Face-to-face with him now, Luke realized Robbie was his mother all over again. His wide, dark gaze was just as all-knowing, just as wary and uncompromising. What would it take, he wondered, to win over this child?

“Him?” Robbie said suddenly, drawing Luke out of his thoughts. Whirling, he found the boy pointing an accusing finger in his direction. “He’s gonna stay here?” Robbie added, his face a picture of shocked disbelief.

“I told you,” Callie said patiently, tucking a stray lock behind the boy’s ear. “Luke and I are now married. Of course he’ll stay with us.”

“But Mom, he’s a Parker.” He said the name as if it were linked to a serial killer.

“Yeah, honey, and by marrying Luke, I’m now one, too.”

The boy frowned; the thought obviously hadn’t occurred to him. “But, Mom, Gramps said the only good Parker is a—”

“Never you mind,” Callie interrupted firmly. “Gramps had a lot of colorful opinions but we needn’t take them all at face value. Do yourself a favor. Get to know Luke and then form your own opinions.” Her gaze slid between them, growing stern as it focused again on her son. “Even Gramps would expect no less from you.”

Robbie looked at Luke as if he were a glass of curdled milk. “If you say so.”

“I do. Most folks have something to offer, if you give them half a chance. For example, did you know Luke was once a professional quarterback? He played in the Pro Bowl eight of his ten seasons in New York.”

He was surprised she’d know that. As he recalled, football had been Callie’s least favorite subject. “I still throw a mean lateral,” he told the boy. “If you want, maybe you and I could toss a ball around. I could show you some tricks of the trade.”

Robbie’s eyes widened before he turned, almost guiltily, to his mother. “Mom doesn’t want me playing football. She says it’s too dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Heck, a boy’s got to be a boy.”

The comment earned him the tiniest grin from Robbie, but Luke got nothing but glares from his mother. “Luke seems to be forgetting his injury,” Callie said tightly, placing a proprietary hand on the boy’s shoulder. “The one that ended his career.”

He backed off, knowing it was too early in the game to be challenging her as to how their child should be raised. Besides, she had a valid point. It made him sick, thinking of his boy laid out on a stretcher, going through the operations and rehabilitation he had endured. “Your mom’s right,” Luke conceded. “I nearly lost the use of my arm playing the game. But you know,” he added on a sudden inspiration, “I used to play soccer, too. I had a coach who showed me all kinds of great tricks. I started out on the bench, but I soon got to play center because I could dribble right up to the goalie and snap the ball right past him.”

“I never scored a goal last year.”

Hearing the yearning in the boy’s voice, Luke nodded behind him out the open window. “I can teach you a few things, I bet,” he offered. “I noticed there’s a park across the road. If you want, we can go over there and kick the ball around a bit.”

“Yeah? You mean right now?”

And suddenly there it was, all the interest and animation he could have hoped for from his son.

Trust Callie to jump in between them. Taking Robbie by the shoulder, she pointed at the door to her right. “You know the rules, young man. No going outside to play until you finish your homework.”

“Aw, Mom.”

Luke’s sentiments exactly.

“Never mind,” Callie said sternly, looking over Robbie’s shoulder to direct the message at Luke. “Our routine has been disrupted enough today. You have your chores and I have mine, and we’d both best get to them.”

Luke knew a cue when he heard it. “Your mom’s right. We can practice when you’re finished. And maybe it won’t be so hot outside then, so we can keep at it longer.”

For an instant Luke thought he’d lost him, but with a reluctant grin and an “I’ll hurry,” Robbie raced to his bedroom.

Shaking her head, Callie turned to Luke. “Sorry about that. Robbie usually has better manners, but he and Gramps were real close. He’s a little touchy whenever the Parker name is mentioned.”

“A lot of that going around.”

She eyed him sharply. “Yeah, well, you and I have a truce at the moment. As long as you keep to your promise to get back our farm.” With a tight smile, she turned and marched into the kitchen.

Luke stared after her, annoyed that she would be so persistent. As if the most important issue between them was getting her house back. In his mind, four walls and a roof couldn’t possibly compare to making sure their son had a mother and father.

“If you’re looking for something to do,” Callie called from the other room, “I could use some help getting supper.”

Luke followed into the tiny kitchen, finding Callie piling vegetables on the narrow counter. “So soon?” he asked, accustomed to dining later in the evening. “When is it that you folks eat?”

“Gumbo takes a while,” she said distractedly, pulling pots from a cabinet. “But by and large, we keep to farm hours. The others tend to eat early, too.”

“Others?”

“Some of the older folk in the building can’t be counted on to cook for themselves. Every now and then I make extras, to help carry them through the week.”

She said it matter-of-factly, as if it were perfectly natural to worry about the welfare of strangers when she herself barely kept food on the table. “So what do you do?” he asked. “Feed the entire neighborhood?”

“Just Mrs. Boyle in 2C and old Henry down in 1A. And on gumbo night, we can generally count on Sam Wylie, the maintenance man, stopping by for a bowl or two.”

“So you’re running a soup kitchen. And any leftovers, I bet, go to the stray cats and dogs in the area.”

“It’s not a soup kitchen,” she snapped. “Nobody here is looking for a free handout.”

Ah, yes, the Magruder pride. How well he remembered her stiff-necked refusal to take anything that even remotely smacked of charity. “Really. Do any of these friends of yours chip in for expenses?”

She shrugged as she yanked open a drawer to pull out two knives. “Where I come from cash isn’t the only way of doing business. I feed them and they make up for it by looking out for Robbie. Many a night I have to work late.”

“Well, that’s going to stop.”

She whirled around to face him. “Let’s get one thing clear. Our bargain doesn’t give you leave to march in here and change how I do things. These folks are liable to starve if I don’t cook for them. They’ve got no one else. So if you don’t mind, move aside and let me start fixing supper.” Face flushed and eyes flashing, she looked like a vengeful warrior brandishing her knives.

“Relax,” he said, sliding one of them from her grasp. “I was talking about you quitting your job, not your habit of taking in strays.”

“I’m not quitting my job, either.” She reached out and snatched the knife back. “I told you that. All I changed with that ceremony is my name.” She started chopping vegetables, so furiously it was a wonder she didn’t slice off a finger. “And at the end of the year, I’ll be changing even that back to what it was.”

We’ll see about that, Luke thought, reaching for his own knife and pile of vegetables. It went against the grain, but for the time being, he’d hold his peace and bide his time. Before the year was up, though, he’d draw his line in the sand. Robbie was his son, too, and he deserved to bear the name of Parker.

Working in awkward silence, he watched this woman who was his son’s mother, bustling about her kitchen as she prepared enough gumbo to feed an army. He found himself comparing her to the women he’d dated in New York. She had none of their poise and polish yet somehow she seemed more worthy of his admiration. The others dallied with their charities, perhaps, but they’d never have involved themselves in something so hands-on and personal. He couldn’t imagine a single one of his prior dates even knowing the people in their building, much less going out of the way to make sure they had proper nutrition.

Luke kept thinking about Callie, long after he left her kitchen. Taking Robbie outside for soccer practice, hearing the boy’s polite please and thank-yous, Luke acknowledged she’d done a fine job with their boy. He’d always imagined the mother of his children to be much like his own mom, a perfumed cloud of cool elegance, innately prepared with the proper words and image for any occasion. Callie might speak like a hick, and wear cast-offs from bargain basements, but somehow or another, people gravitated in droves to the warmth with which she surrounded them.

He had further proof of this at dinner that night as each of her neighbors dropped by with wedding gifts. Luke’s former acquaintances would have scoffed at the odd assortment of cheap little trinkets, but Callie reacted to each with genuine joy. Each visitor was urged to join them, plates were added, until they sat ten at a table for six.

Luke couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a home-cooked meal, much less enjoyed a family sit-down dinner. As a youth, the other kids had envied his big house, the fancy cars and expensive clothing, but he’d always wondered what it would be like to be surrounded by the warmth and obvious caring he found at her table.

After the meal Sam Wylie regaled them with stories about their landlady, Mrs. Clarke, and her procession of seven husbands. He kept everyone in stitches, even Callie, and Luke couldn’t help but respond to his son’s infectious laughter. I could get used to this, Luke thought with surprise.

On the other side of the table, Callie caught Luke’s contented expression. Watching him smile at her son, she knew a cold, sick dread. If Luke should ever guess the truth…

No, she told herself firmly. As long as she kept quiet and didn’t admit anything, Luke couldn’t do a thing.

So she kept a smile pasted on her face, not letting it slip even as one by one her guests drifted home. Soon it would be time for Robbie to go to bed, and then what would she say to this man who was now her husband?

Certainly not the truth.

Logically she understood that it was wrong to keep silent. Luke probably had a right to know and what was more important, so did Robbie. But in her heart, the place where she had to face life on an everyday basis, she couldn’t bear the consequences of relieving her conscience. If it came down to a custody battle, she knew only too well that she hadn’t the resources to ensure her victory. And since the Parkers had taken just about everything from her except her boy, she simply couldn’t risk losing him, too.

Robbie was her son. She’d raised him, and she wasn’t about to let all that Parker money screw him up.

Only here was Luke, so up close and personal, charming the socks off their son. She was beginning to suffer very strong, and very real, doubts that she could pull this off. How would she ever get through the next twelve months, living a lie, always fearing she might let something slip?

A little late to be thinking of that now, the voice of logic insisted. Not after living that same lie for the past ten years.

Glancing at Robbie, noticing his enthusiasm as he described his practice session with Luke, she swallowed the tightness in her throat. Robbie was the issue here, she had to remember. Her personal fears and anxieties didn’t matter. She’d do whatever it took, however it had to be done, if it meant protecting her son.

Suddenly restless, she stood up. “Look at how late it is,” she said abruptly as she stacked the plates. “Robbie, you’d better go brush your teeth and hop into bed. I’ll come tuck you in when I’m done with the dishes.”

“Aw, Mom, it’s too early to go to bed.”

“Your mom’s right,” Luke said beside her. “You’ve had a long day. Run along to bed, and I’ll help in the kitchen so she can get there that much sooner to tuck you in.”

To Callie’s surprise—and dismay—Robbie didn’t argue with Luke. And to add to her consternation, Luke kept true to his word by standing up next to her and helping to clear the table.

“No, sit,” she snapped, appalled at the thought of him joining her in that tiny kitchen. “Please,” she added, trying for a more reasonable tone, “you’re our guest.”

Luke merely continued stacking dishes. “Actually, what I am is your husband. And after such an incredible feast, the least any husband can do is help to clean up.”

She tried to protest, but he followed her into the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves and insisting in that butter-would-melt-in-his-mouth way of his that he’d dry the dishes while she washed them. Never had she been so conscious of how confined her kitchen was, or how close to the sink the dish drain sat. Standing shoulder to shoulder as they performed the domestic task together, they seemed more like a happily settled couple than the uninvolved groom and edgy bride they were in truth underneath.

“Not much of a honeymoon, is it?” Luke asked, again seeming to pick up on her thoughts as he reached for a glass and dried it.

“What do you expect?” Annoyed, she made great business out of rinsing a plate and setting it in the dish drain. “It isn’t much of a marriage.”

“Yeah.” Going for the plate, he brushed against her arm, seeming completely unaware that he’d touched her. “Ever think that maybe you wouldn’t feel like such a fraud if we’d made more of an occasion out of it?”

She gave him a disbelieving stare. “What do you suggest?” she heard herself asking sharply. “That we have music? French champagne? This is a business arrangement, remember.”

He blinked, tilting his head to study her.

Realizing how harsh she must have sounded, she hastened to remind him—and herself—where her priorities lay. “I can’t see any sense in making a big deal out of a date that won’t ever be repeated. We might better start out the way we mean to go on.”

“Doing dishes?”

“Among other things. I told you at the start, this marriage isn’t about me, or even you. I’m only going through this for my boy.”

He paused, dish in one hand, towel in the other as he studied her. “He’s lucky to have you,” he said at last, reaching for another plate. “Nice touch, giving him the extended family. Not many people can pull it off. My folks couldn’t deal with even the three of us spending time together. I can’t remember ever sitting down to a meal with my parents.”

He got real busy with the plate, continuing to rub it long after it was dry. “C’mon,” Callie said, realizing that it was now her, studying him. “All families eat together. At least once in a while.”

He shook his head. “Not us. After Matt died, my parents pretty much gave up on the family thing. Life in the Parker household wasn’t the same without him. He was…well, let’s just say my big brother was a hard act to follow.”

His tone was even, his face expressionless, but Callie nonetheless sensed the pain behind his words. She was reminded of her first view of Luke Parker, back when she’d started kindergarten. Flanked by her mom and dad, she’d assumed the other kids would also be accompanied by doting parents. Most were, but unlike the other third graders, Luke had stood by himself in the corner, completely alone, completely aloof. That was when she’d first started dreaming about him, she supposed. It had been a potent combination, his loneliness and proud determination not to show it.

As if he, too, was lost in thoughts of the past, Luke fell silent then, and she was content to let him. She might have probed once, being intensely curious about anything connected to Luke Parker. But he’d always been reluctant to talk about his brother, and only a fool would tread into personal matters now. Not when she had so much to hide.

She had 364 more days of this, she mustn’t forget. Twelve months of living on the surface, keeping it cool and casual, and protecting her son from heartache.

Whatever she did, she mustn’t let Luke get anywhere near her far-too-soft heart. That, she’d learned from experience, was the sure path to disaster.





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