Maybe she could catch a ride downtown in the little red wagon.
There’s always Luke, her mind reminded her. Nope, she wasn’t going to call on him for help. Relying on Luke would be opening doors best left shut.
Or…there was his father, the part-time handyman. Maybe his skills included giving CPR to dead Hondas. She slung her laptop over her shoulder, grabbed an umbrella out of the hall closet, left a note for the electrician to go in through the back door—if he wanted to steal some unpacked boxes, more power to him—and then set out for Cherry Street in her sandals and sundress.
Mercy was a small town and within fifteen minutes, Anita had found it. The third house down was a white ranch with a hand-painted sign in the shape of a happy yellow daisy announcing, “The Doles Welcome You.”
She walked up the brick path, hesitating before she rang the bell. She told herself she didn’t care if Luke was the one on the other side of the door.
And yet, if that was true, the voice in the back of her mind asked, then why had she moved within three blocks of the only man she’d ever really trusted? Why did she care so much about the way his shoulders seemed to sag, the dark circles beneath his eyes and the way he looked at his daughter as if he was missing a piece of his soul?
Luke Dole didn’t fit into her plans for the future. Heck, he’d barely fit through her window.
He was the exact kind of man she didn’t need—a workaholic who spent more time at the office than living his life. And Anita wasn’t the kind of woman who relied on other people. Life had taught her that people left her, just when she needed them most. She was just fine on her own, thank you very much.
Nope, she wasn’t about to let Luke Dole in through the front door—of the house or of her heart. Not again.
Chapter Three
The doorbell chimed “Hail, Hail, the Gang’s All Here,” the happy song pealing through the rooms, carrying into the small office space Luke had created in the alcove off the kitchen.
He stopped working on the program he was designing for the newest client Mark had landed for their software business, created last year after Mark’s brilliant brainstorm, and got to his feet. He stretched, feeling the hours in the chair kinking in his back. Working at home for the past year had been nice, and convenient for keeping an eye on Emily, but at the end of the day, Luke missed the comfortable leather chair he’d had in the California office. An early-American maple kitchen chair just didn’t cut it—unless he had the spine of a rhino.
Before he could get to the door, Emily flounced into the kitchen. “I’m going out.” She grabbed her book bag off the counter and slung it over her shoulder. She’d changed into a shirt that said Angel across the front, with a little silver halo. Luke decided it was best not to comment on the irony of her outfit.
“You’re grounded, maybe for the rest of your natural life. Remember?”
“But, Dad.”
The doorbell chimed again. Luke crossed to the door, ignoring the mutiny sparking in Emily’s eyes. “I said no—” he began as he opened the door. The sentence died in his throat.
Anita. Standing on his front porch, looking wet and tired and more beautiful than anything he’d seen in a long time. Luke gulped and, for a minute, forgot where he was.
His gaze traveled over her heart-shaped face, past the delicate earlobes, down the long elegant curve of her neck, over the inviting swell of her breasts, straining against the sunflower-yellow dress.
He stopped when he noticed the visible bulge at her waist.
Anita was pregnant?
His gaze flickered to her left hand. Empty.
And unmarried?
He caught his jaw before it dropped to the floor. But…but…
Try as he might, he couldn’t get his mind around the thought of Anita pregnant and alone.
“I’m not a piece of art, you know,” Anita said, her voice light.
Luke jerked his attention back to Anita’s face. “Sorry. It’s been a tough morning.” He opened the door wider. “Come in.”
She took a step inside, pausing in the entry hall. “Actually, I was looking for your father.”
“My father?”
“My car died. Miss Marchand said your dad was a handyman of sorts, which is just what I need right now. I have no idea what’s wrong with the car. I’m not very engine literate.” She laughed. “Okay, not at all. I don’t think I could tell a dipstick from a piston.”
He chuckled, leaning against the wall. “Remind me never to let you work on my Chevy.”
She held up a palm. “Scouts’ Honor. I’ll stay far away.”
He smirked. “When were you a Girl Scout?”
“Never.” Anita laughed. “Hey, but in a pinch, I can sell you a box of cookies and start a fire with a good set of matches.”
Luke glanced down at her and wanted to ask about the obvious pregnancy, but couldn’t think of a tactful way to do it. So he bumbled along with the only question he could come up with. “There isn’t anyone with you who knows about cars?”
“I live alone.” She didn’t elaborate.
Luke should have realized that last night. There’d been one dish in the sink, one glass on the countertop. “That must be hard,” he said.
“Not really.” She smiled, but it was clear she wasn’t going to talk about the lack of a man in her life. “I do quite well as a hermit. Except when it comes to Home and Auto Maintenance 101. Then I could use a team of experts, especially with that rental house.”
“It didn’t look too bad last night. Well, except for the light in the kitchen.”
She laughed. “It all looks good in the dark. Let’s see,” she began, ticking off the items on her fingers, “my front door is stuck. The roof leaks, the water is the color of coffee, the telephone doesn’t work and oh, there’s this mouse—”
“Whoa!” He held up his hands. “I think you win the Worst Day Award. My dad won’t be back for a few hours, so why don’t you come into the kitchen, have a cup of coffee.” He grinned. “We’ll work on the rest later.” He reached out and took her hand, intending only to lead her into the kitchen. Heat flared between them when he touched her, as if he’d set off a two-alarm fire without meaning to. Luke stepped back, releasing Anita’s palm, and stuffed his hands into his pockets, then led the way down the hall. “I, ah, guess a lot has happened to you since the last time I saw—” he began, but was cut off by his daughter.
“Dad, I need to go to the library. I have a report due on Friday.” Emily was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, toe tapping against the vinyl.
Now she was interested in schoolwork. Luke figured it was more a means of escape than scholarly intent. “No.”
She
