Solution: Marriage. Barbara Benedict
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“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