Twice Her Husband. Mary J. Forbes
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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?”