that it was her second time at this. A complete stranger prompting their vows instead of the family minister, someone else’s grandma serving as her maid of honor—it was a far cry from how she’d always imagined her wedding. Under the circumstances, she supposed she could forego the fancy reception and frantic rice throwing, but given that she tried this before, she could have hoped the word love could figure into it somewhere.
Oblivious to her doubts, Mr. Fry turned to smile at Luke as he asked for the ring. Callie’s guilt swiftly slid into trepidation as Luke took her left hand to slide the band onto her finger. Stupid, to have forgotten how it felt to have his hand cover hers. It came rushing back in a flood, how swiftly she’d responded to the dangerous heat they’d generated between them. It was all she could do not to yank her hand free.
It’s just a mockery, she wanted to tell the beaming Mr. Fry, but of course she did no such thing. She had to get a grip. None of this was about her, anyway. She was here for Robbie. This marriage, fake or otherwise, meant they could stop struggling to make ends meet. One short year and she could make sure her son would have all that he needed, all that he deserved. That was what was important here.
Robbie, she thought with a catch in her throat, glad that he was safely tucked away at day camp and unaware of what his mother was now doing. He wouldn’t understand, and how could he? To him Luke was a stranger. Not the man who biologically, at least, happened to be his father.
It wasn’t a new thing for Callie, this wrestling with the moral dilemma. Had Luke been around at the beginning, things might have been different, but he’d gone and left her, and really, wasn’t it a bit late now to be opening that can of worms? For ten long years she’d been virtually alone with her secret, telling no one but Gramps, and through necessity, Reb Jenkins. In all that time her only thought had been to protect the life she and Luke had forged between them, to give their boy the best that life could offer. For Robbie’s sake she would marry Luke and let him take care of her son’s education, but she had no intention of now relaxing her vigil. Technically the boy might be a Parker, but in all ways that counted, Robbie was her son, raised to think, act and breathe like a Magruder. For her son’s sake and future well-being, she had no choice but to continue living her lie.
Busy convincing herself, she was startled out of her thoughts by the words, “I now pronounce you man and wife.” But that particular death knell didn’t frighten her nearly as much as the ensuing “You may now kiss the bride.”
She had to face Luke then, had to face what she’d committed herself to for the one year’s duration. Oh, she might have felt dread before, the same what-on-earth-am-I-doing sensation when saying her vows with Reb Jenkins, but this was far worse. She’d had no history with Reb, no experience of how his lips could turn her bones to mush. Only one man had ever held such power over her—Lucky, always Lucky—and he was leaning down to melt her resolve again.
She fought the urge to run from the room screaming, far too conscious of Mr. Fry and the two old ladies watching them. Of Luke watching her. I can do this, she told herself fiercely. I can touch him and kiss him and feel absolutely nothing.
Half dying inside—and yet, half coming alive—she lifted her face to his.
Luke saw her hesitation and felt a nasty tightening in his gut. Could she actually fear he’d ravish her here on this dusty floor for his own gratification? Did she think so little of him? Gazing down at her uplifted face, he saw the answer in her wide, wary eyes.
Reassure her, a tiny voice coached inside him. Show her how much you’ve changed in the ten years you’ve been gone.
He leaned down and touched her lips with his own. He meant the kiss to be gentle, perhaps even reassuring, but the instant their lips met, his own started tingling. A sensation that resonated downward throughout his body.
Startled and uneasy, he’d pulled back. Despite all his careful planning and good intentions, he’d never bargained on that—how, even after ten long years apart, something hot and demanding could still spark between them.
He didn’t need to see the fear and accusation in Callie’s expression to know how this could mess up his agenda. Sobered, he moved away from her, going with Mr. Fry to finish the paperwork. From now on he had to keep his distance, had to keep things simple, to stir up the minimum fuss and heartache. Clearly, if he hoped to achieve his goal, kissing Callie couldn’t figure into the equation.
Yet as they finished up the details and left the courthouse, he couldn’t seem to take his gaze from her mouth. She tastes like peaches, he now remembered, so sweet and fresh and ready for plucking. And just as it had been ten years ago, he found himself wanting more.
Not that it seemed likely she’d ever again let him near enough to try. Sitting on her side of the BMW, huddled against the door as she clutched the handle, his new wife looked ready to bolt at the slightest provocation. It bothered him that she seemed so afraid of him. It bothered him a lot.
“You don’t have to hug the door because of one little kiss,” he said, noticing how her entire posture stiffened at the mere sound of his voice. “You didn’t feel anything, did you?”
“Of course not.”
Of course not. “So what’s the big deal? I wasn’t putting any moves on you, Cal. The kiss was expected. Didn’t you hear those ladies giggling? If I hadn’t made it look good, they’d have gone home disappointed and who knows what stories they would spread? Don’t worry, I won’t be forcing my attentions on you. I promised to be a monk and I will.”
She didn’t say anything, just nodded, keeping her gaze trained on the road ahead.
Luke hid his impatience with a sigh. “Listen, Callie, I know we have our past, and it’s not easy to get over it, but—”
“I’m not thinking about the past,” she blurted out, panic ringing loud and clear in her words. “I’m more concerned with the future. You rushed me through this so fast, my mind’s in a blur. Here we are heading home, and I haven’t the slightest idea where or what that home will be. Shouldn’t we discuss how we mean to go about conducting day-to-day life? Really, Luke, don’t you think this is all just the slightest bit insane?”
Her voice cracked a little on that last. If she gripped the door handle any tighter, her bone-white knuckles would turn to silver steel.
In his opinion the only insanity was the way she was acting, as if she were the only one with a right to anger. “I said I’d take care of you, and I will.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she went on. “I have a son, remember? Robbie will be coming home from day camp soon, and I’m gonna greet him with the news that I went and married a stranger. And if that’s not enough to rock his sense of security, I have to admit that I haven’t the slightest idea where we and this stranger are going to eat, drink or sleep.”
“The ‘stranger’ has an apartment over on Elm Street,” Luke told her angrily. “Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not completely irresponsible. Granted, my place is a bit sparse on furnishings—needs a woman’s touch maybe—but it will do until I can find us a house.”
“I thought you were going to get me my farmhouse back.”
She put the words out there like an accusation. And perhaps she was justified in this, since he’d momentarily forgotten his promise, but he was no less angry at her for pointing it out. “Until we get the farmhouse, then,” he said through gritted teeth.
“No.”
