Twice Her Husband

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.

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