Luke's Daughters. Lynnette Kent
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run the shop alone.”
“But Sarah Randolph develops her photographs here, right?”
The smile on the man’s face faded. “Yes.”
“Is she around?”
“No. She had…an accident last week and is recuperating at home.” Charles’s tone didn’t drip with sympathy. “Do you need some photography done? I’d be glad to assist you.”
“No, thanks. I’m Luke Brennan, the cop who took her to the ER last weekend to get patched up. I just wondered how she’s doing.”
Sawyer’s eyes narrowed. “A cop?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. No, not at all. But as I said, I haven’t seen her all week.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“No.”
“Aren’t you worried about her?”
“Not really.” Sawyer chuckled. “Sarah’s a photo-journalist, you know—one tough lady.” He paused, lips pursed. “Or she was, anyway. She worked for Events magazine until a few months ago, when she collapsed in the middle of a job and had to be shipped home. She hasn’t worked since coming back to the States. Or even taken any meaningful photographs.”
Oh, yes, she has. “Well, thanks. I guess I’ll track her down somewhere else.”
“If I do see her, I’ll be sure to tell her you were here.”
“I’d appreciate it.” The bell on the door clanked again as Luke pulled it open. “Have a good day.” A final glance at the chubby man behind the counter registered outright hostility.
For whatever reasons, Sawyer obviously had problems with Sarah. Big enough problems that he’d attack her? The guy seemed like a jerk, but was he a criminal, too?
A background check wouldn’t hurt, Luke decided. Most victims of assault knew the perpetrator. Why not Sarah Rose?
Meantime, he still hadn’t found her. If she didn’t call tonight, he would forget his reservations about pestering her. With friends like Charles Sawyer, Sarah definitely needed a cop on her side.
SARAH SPENT the week secluded in her condo.
If asked, she could have pointed out that she needed to be there when the locksmith came. That the doctor had suggested staying out of the sun while she was taking the antibiotic. Even that the bruises on her face had gone from bad to worse, from red and blue to a horrible mottled purple, and she didn’t want to scare children and animals.
Sarah recognized those reasons as excuses. Good ones, but still rationalizations. Going out would take too much effort. She simply didn’t have the energy.
And so she stayed in, wearing her pajamas. Several good movies showed up on television, several times a day. She slept when she wanted, many hours at a time. Food didn’t seem very important—she survived on ice cream, popcorn and buttered toast. She’d eaten much worse in Africa.
The manager sent up a locksmith to change the door locks, so she felt safer. She could check on the Jeep from her window, but those locks would have to be changed at the dealership. That would require going out.
As if cooperating with her agenda, the phone didn’t ring. Her agent didn’t check in—there were no deals to talk about. Her editor at Events only needed her if she could work. A photojournalist who refused to leave the house didn’t get many job offers.
And Luke Brennan didn’t call.
Not that she should expect him to. She was supposed to contact him, to bring the pictures to his house—pictures she hadn’t yet developed. But going to the darkroom at the photo shop meant seeing Chuck, taking his jibes, trying not to mind his mockery. Sarah couldn’t face that prospect, either, even though it meant she wouldn’t see Luke.
Eventually, though, the ice cream and popcorn and bread ran out. Sarah realized she could either stay in and starve to death…or get herself together and go shopping. Saturday morning, she dredged up the will to try.
She gasped as the brightness of the day sliced at her eyes, even behind dark lenses, even under a wide-brimmed hat. The humidity was high, especially after five days in constant air-conditioning. All the usual outdoor noises—traffic, lawn mowers, sirens, birds—beat on her ears like a rock concert. Maybe she should just go back in—
“Sarah?” She wondered if she’d imagined that deep voice, that Southern accent, until she heard it again. “Sarah?”
Opening her eyes, she discovered Luke Brennan sitting astride a big Harley-Davidson parked next to the Jeep.
“What are you doing here?” She winced—her social graces had definitely deteriorated over the week alone. “I see you’ve had a haircut,” she added lamely. “Nice.”
“Thanks. I hadn’t heard from you about those pictures, so I came by to see if…if you’d printed them yet.”
Her photographer’s eye appreciated the aesthetic potential of a gorgeous guy in a white T-shirt, worn jeans and boots on a big, black bike. Short hair only emphasized the beauty of his face, revealing his well-shaped head and the strong column of his throat. He’d make a great pinup. Or maybe without the shirt…
She halted that thought in its tracks. “No. No, I haven’t. I’ve stayed in this week.”
“You deserved a break. Your voice sounds better.”
“Thanks. I guess not talking much helped.”
“That’s what the doctor said.” He crossed his arms, and her knees went weak. “So when do you think you’ll have the pictures?”
“Well…”
He looked embarrassed. “I don’t mean to hassle you or anything. I’m kind of anxious to see them, that’s all.”
“No, it’s not a hassle.” She was glad of a good reason to stay out of the house. “I could go down and print them now, actually. If you wanted to come with me and wait.”
“I would, but Jen and Erin are getting back from Florida this afternoon.”
Disappointment weighed her down. “I’ll call you, then.”
“Or…” He snapped his fingers. “Or we could meet a little later. I’ll go see the girls, then ride over to the shop. We can get something to eat, afterward. How does that sound?”
Tempted and yet troubled, Sarah hesitated. Luke’s smile turned coaxing, a little bit teasing, and completely irresistible. “Come on, Sarah Rose, say yes.”
He held out his hands, palms up, in an open, generous gesture. “How could a little dinner between friends possibly hurt?”
DADDY MATT TURNED OUT to be more fun than Erin expected.
He bought her a Goofy hat and a Minnie Mouse nightgown and cotton candy. When they went to Sea World, he let her have a Shamu cup with a curly straw, filled with strawberry punch. And he never ran out of money for the games in the kid’s club room at the hotel.
Sometimes Mommy went out with Daddy Matt by herself, which was okay, because the hotel had good baby-sitters with lots of videos and snacks. Even Jenny didn’t mind going to the baby-sitter’s room—she got to watch Cinderella as many times as she wanted.
Erin knew she didn’t have a real reason to be sad. She could have just about anything she wanted. What more could a kid ask for?
Like now—here she sat in the fanciest restaurant in the world, wearing a dress that she’d picked out all by herself and which didn’t scratch, and she’d just eaten a whole plate of really good spaghetti. They were going to have dessert in a few minutes, just as soon as Daddy Matt and Mommy came back from dancing.
“Mommy’s