that he had let it deter him. He’d come back to Latour for his boy, and he wasn’t about to let any misconceived notions about love—or the lack thereof—stand in his way. “We made a bargain,” he said, turning to face Callie. “Are you going to keep your end of it, or what?”
She blinked, as if startled by the question. “Yes. For the one year I promised.”
“That’s that, then,” he told her. And in his mind, it was.
Getting out of Luke’s car, Callie didn’t feel nearly as settled. Ever since Luke had kissed her, her mind had been whirling out of control. It had been a mere peck, over before it had begun, but the man’s lips had lost none of their power. Even now she could feel the old longing, the same bittersweet acknowledgment of what could never be. Dangerous, that’s how she’d always described Luke Parker. Looked as if she would have to be twice as careful, twice as wary.
She risked a glance at him as they entered the rundown three story building, catching his ill-concealed look of dismay. Climbing the rickety stairs, noticing its threadbare carpet, she viewed her current home through his eyes. He was a Parker, accustomed to the very best money could buy; he couldn’t possibly enjoy learning, firsthand, how the other half existed.
And he’d be even worse inside the apartment. Her nicked and battered furniture, the little messes left behind by the rush to get Robbie to school on time, the overall shabbiness of the place—what a sharp contrast to the slick and glittering world Luke normally strolled though. He’d take one look at the place and want to make changes. The next thing she knew he’d be sweeping her and Robbie into the pampered life he took for granted.
No, she wouldn’t let that happen, she thought, as she led Luke to apartment 2B. She liked her world the way it was and what was more important, so did Robbie. Okay, maybe this hall was a little dingy, but she had neighbors who watched out for her and her boy—good, honest, caring people who stuck around through thick and thin.
She stopped before her door, suddenly realizing that those same good people would wonder about this stranger she’d unexpectedly brought into their midst. Gramps had constantly warned of the many ripples you could cause with a single action. Marrying Luke, it now seemed, had been like setting off a tidal wave in the tiny pond that had once been her life.
“Maybe it’s not such a good idea, your staying here,” she said, thinking out loud as she glanced back at him. “Maybe you should stay at your place tonight. Or even a motel.”
He reached down to take the key from her hand. “What is this, Cal? Cold feet?”
Actually, with her new husband now towering over her, she felt the chill from head to toe. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just thought that if we’re going to do this thing, we should start it off right.”
“Then in that case,” he said, slipping the key in the lock and shoving open the door, “allow me.” Giving her no chance to protest, he slipped one arm under her knees, the other under her back, and in one fluid motion swept her up against his chest.
“What on earth do you think you are doing?” she gasped.
“Starting out right. The groom is supposed to carry the bride over the threshold, I’m told.”
“This is ridiculous, Lucky. You put me down, right this minute.”
“It’s Luke, not Lucky. Remember?”
Held captive in his arms, she could remember far too many things—the stolen moments, the hot, steamy nights they’d shared ten years ago. And as she gazed into his eyes and saw the sudden intensity there, she realized he was remembering, too.
She could feel the pull between them, as if some magnetic force urged their heads closer. Inches away from touching his lips, she heard footsteps through a haze, then the all too clear and startled, “Mom?”
“Ohmigod,” she said, all but leaping out of Luke’s grasp. “It’s Robbie.”
Chapter Five
Setting Callie on her feet in what felt like slow motion, Luke turned to face the boy. His sole reason for coming back home, his main motivation for marrying Callie, stared up at him with a nine-year-old’s suspicion. Frowning, Robbie stepped protectively in front of his mother.
Something sharp and ugly jammed its way into Luke’s chest.
Callie put her arms on the boy’s shoulder. “Robbie, this is Luke,” she said slowly, as if feeling her way. “Luke…Parker.”
Luke extended a hand in greeting, but Robbie had already turned away to go into the apartment. With a what-can-I-do shrug, Callie followed after him.
Luke let his hand drop to his side. He’d been picturing this moment for some time, but nothing in his imagination could have conjured up anything so awkward or unsettling. Clearly the boy didn’t want him there. Robbie couldn’t have made it any plainer.
Determined to change his son’s mind, Luke followed them into the apartment. As he closed the door behind him, he heard Callie asking questions while Robbie chattered on about his day. Luke felt oddly uncomfortable, as if he were eavesdropping on a private conversation. Most parents did this after-school ritual every day, he realized. Callie and Robbie, all these years, sharing the little moments that added up to so much, little moments Luke himself had never known.
Robbie plopped his backpack on the dining table in the corner of the living room and began to unload it to show his mother his artwork. From a distance Luke hungrily watched his boy, taking in every detail—the tousled blond hair, the scraped elbows and grass-stained knees, the untied shoelaces. Luke knew a sudden strong urge to lean down and tie those scuffed sneakers, but knew his son wasn’t ready for such a gesture. As hard as the concept might be to him, he would have to bide his time and patiently wait for the boy to adjust to having a stranger in the house before he could hope that Robbie would warm toward him.
Backing off, Luke surveyed his surroundings, feeling more than ever like an intruder. Between the dining set, the overstuffed sofa and two matching chairs, the various stands cluttered with knickknacks and the countless photos on the walls, Callie had crammed so much into such a confined space, he couldn’t help feeling claustrophobic. And of course the place wouldn’t have air-conditioning.
Crossing the room to open a window, he stopped before a row of photographs, his attention snagged by a photo of a young, pregnant Callie, her dark eyes wide with fear. Yet how serene she looked, how happy, in the next picture as she held her new baby in her arms.
It was all there on that wall—his son’s life from the start of Callie’s pregnancy to the present day, a freckled, happy nine-year-old in the shorts and long socks of a soccer player. Luke couldn’t tear his gaze from that last picture. Callie’s eyes might stare out at him from the photo, but it was Luke’s own mouth grinning back at him.
He turned away, going to the window, swallowing the sudden tightness in his throat. Gazing at those snapshots brought into painful focus how much he’d missed by not being part of it. And how much he might have kept on missing had he not happened upon Reb Jenkins in that dreary French Quarter tavern.
He took a moment to lean on the sill, looking out at the park. Behind him, he could hear Robbie talking excitedly to his mother. Given the circumstances, Luke supposed he could grasp why someone like Callie would choose to exclude him. It still wasn’t right, though, keeping the truth from the boy. Robbie shouldn’t
