The Husband She Can't Forget. Patricia Forsythe
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Luke’s eyebrows drew together in a pained expression. “I begged her not to and she stopped for a long time, but she probably figured that since this was the last thing she would write to me, she could call me whatever she wanted.”
“No doubt.” She nodded toward the paper. “Go ahead.”
Luke returned to the letter. “‘Dear Bonbon, be sure you and Carly unpack the trunk together.’”
Carly took her eyes off the road for a second to stare at him. “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
How much more complicated was this going to get? she wondered, but she said, “We should honor her last wishes. We can take care of it this evening.” She glanced at the dashboard clock, wondering if there was time to turn around and take Luke back to his truck. There wasn’t. “I have to make this delivery in Toncaville and I don’t want to be late because this is a new customer, so you’ll still have to come with me.”
“That fits right in with my plans,” he said, facing forward and stretching out his legs. “My uncle was making noises this morning about me helping him build an outdoor play set for Max. The kid’s not even a year old, can’t walk yet. How’s he going to climb the thing?”
“Knowing your knack for free styling on building projects, Tom was probably counting on you to come up with something.”
Luke grinned. “Like a baby elevator to take him to the top of the slide.” He thought about it for a second. “A little chair attached to a pulley would work. Have to have a safety harness and a crank that can be operated easily.”
“Now you’re talking.” Carly took a breath. This wasn’t so hard, and having him along, talking so easily like this, helped her quell her anxiety about the lateness of today’s deliveries. She spent so much time alone, working in her gardens or various refurbishing projects, it felt good to have someone else along—or at least that was what she was telling herself.
Luke gave her a sidelong glance. “So you remember how I like to improvise on building projects, huh?”
“Yes, I do.” She also recalled that when they were first married, they had talked about buying a house—a fixer-upper they could remodel the way they wanted it—or even building one themselves. A home where they could raise their child. Instead they had lived in a high-rise in Dallas, a sharp-angles-and-glass creation owned by his father’s corporation. It had been completely unsuited to Carly’s interests and nature, but she’d thought they wouldn’t be there very long. In fact, it was the only place they’d ever lived together.
Luke was looking out his window, watching the pine trees zip past. He was relaxed, at ease, his hand wrapped around the flip-down handle above the door, fingers drumming on the hard plastic. She needed to try to be the same.
She knew it was silly—a woman of thirty-two, who made a point of seeming happy and carefree, becoming twisted with anxiety about a late delivery. She had worked so long on her own, though, been responsible for every detail of her business, that she found it almost impossible to relax about any part of it. She knew she needed to be calmer, to take things easier.
She spotted a small, dark figure ahead and slammed on the brakes.
“Whoa.” Luke shot his hand out to steady himself against the dashboard. “What is it, Carly?”
She put the truck in Park, hit the hazard lights and vaulted from the cab—or would have if she hadn’t become tangled in her full skirt. With a sound of annoyance, she tugged it out of the way and jumped out.
“I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder as she slammed the door.
* * *
LUKE STEPPED OUT as Carly darted up the road. Several yards in front of the truck, she stooped to pick something up. When she turned, he saw it was a turtle. Holding it with a hand on each side of the shell, she hurried across the road and carefully set the reptile down in the bar ditch. She watched it for a minute, then nodded. She turned back to the truck but stopped suddenly when she saw that he was only a few feet behind her.
He pointed to the turtle, which was slowly climbing out of the ditch to make his way across the field.
“What was that all about?”
“Saving a life,” she answered breezily. “Come on.”
He paused and stared after her, but when it looked like she wasn’t going to offer any further explanation—or wait for him—he hurried after her, swinging into the truck as she started to roll.
Luke fastened his seat belt and was on the verge of asking about the turtle when she stopped again. This time, though, there were two turtles. When she said, “Help me,” he followed, snatching up one of the creatures at the moment a car zipped past, causing him to stumble back. Recovering his balance and giving the driver an annoyed look, he followed her to the bar ditch, but this time to the opposite side from where she’d carried the last one.
The turtle craned its head from one side to another as it opened and closed its mouth. Looking at Carly, Luke asked, “Are you on a one-woman turtle rescue crusade?”
“Yes, but they’re actually tortoises. The one you’re carrying is called a snapping turtle, but it’s a tortoise.”
He set it down hastily. “Can’t they get across the road by themselves? They seemed to be doing okay.”
“Did you see how fast that car was going?” she asked with an indignant wave of her hand. “These tortoises can’t move fast enough to get across the road before being hit by a maniac like that. Every year at this time it’s the same thing—tortoises are moving around, crossing the road, and many of them get run over. It makes me sick. I think some people deliberately aim for them.” She paused and stood, watching the two animals.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Making sure they’re heading away from the road, not back onto it.”
She stood with her hands on her hips, bending slightly to watch the rescues inch out of the ditch and into the field beside it. He suspected that if Carly had more time, and had been wearing something other than a skirt and dressy sandals, she would have climbed through the split-rail cedar fence and carried them much farther away from the asphalt.
That was one thing that hadn’t changed. Carly wanted to see things set right. Her friend Gemma had been the one who had rescued animals, but Carly had helped find them homes and then gone back to check to make sure the animals were well cared for.
He remembered how she would become enraged over some injustice she’d seen on the local news and talk about ways to solve the issue. He also never forgot how she’d turned heads when they were out together. Her striking looks drew other men’s attention like magnets swinging toward true north. He’d felt extremely proud and intensely jealous. His comeuppance had come with a vengeance when they’d split up and he’d been stopped cold any time he’d seen a tall, black-haired woman with a loose-hipped walk striding down the street. He’d almost followed a couple of them, thinking it was Carly, knowing he wouldn’t so much as say hello. Of course, it never had been her. Gemma and Lisa had swept her back home to Reston so she could recover and escape the misery he’d caused. Eventually he’d had to leave Dallas because the memories were so hard and his pining for her so sharp.
Looking at her now, gazing intently at two tortoises who didn’t know how to keep themselves safe, he experienced echoes of that hunger. When they’d met, she had been as clueless about self-protection as those tortoises. At twenty-one, he’d been cocky, chasing adventures and experiences, determined to get what he’d wanted, and as soon as he’d seen Carly, she was what he wanted.
It hadn’t been until years later, working on a construction project in Venezuela, that he’d finally acknowledged that his frenetic thirst for escapades had been nothing more than an attempt to outrun his grief over the unexpected death of his mother when he was eighteen. He’d