Twice Her Husband

The ambulance had left. The crowd dispersed.

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

Jon waved him off. “Later.”

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

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

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

“What happened?” she asked.

“Apparently you stepped in front of a car.”

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

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Ginny Franklin.”

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

“Five.”

“Now?”

“Two.”

“What’s the name of your town?”

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

“Take it easy.”

“My head—”

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

“My kids…”

“Where are they?”

“With a sitter. Hallie…”

“I’ll call her. Got a number?”

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

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

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

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

Their worst—and final—argument.

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

From what? she’d asked.

From whatever happens.

Premonition? Who knew.

But he hadn’t counted on her jaywalking.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Ginny. How are you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ginny.”

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

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

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

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

He swallowed. “Only. Right.”

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

“Huh.” He surveyed the room.

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

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

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

“Hallie?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It happened three months ago.”

“Sudden?”

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

“We are.”

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

“Just the saline and some painkillers.”

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

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

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

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

Ah, Luke. What haven’t you forgotten?

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

Chapter Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re here for Ginny’s kids.

Because you owe her.

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

It meant acting like a parent.

Sweat streamed from his pores.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, she’s—”

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

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

“You bet,” Hallie confirmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexei scowled. “It’s Joselyn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexei holed up in his room.

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

No answer.

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

“Supper’s ready.”

“Go away.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joselyn toddled after him. “Daee!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay. That’s how.

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

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

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

Hail to home, sour home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life, plodding on.

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

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

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

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

Like Boone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That would be nice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s your car?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

“Where are the sunflowers?” he asked.

“They’re making Mrs. Arken smile.”

He blinked. “You gave them away?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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