Solution: Marriage

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.