he have children?
He seemed so capable, so at ease around Callie.
What was his life? she wondered. And what was the cause of the pain she saw in his storm-blue eyes? She admitted she was curious, though she had no right to be.
All she’d done was rescue him in the desert and treat his wounds.
As soon as he had transportation again, he’d be leaving.
She stood and began to gather up the supper dishes.
“You’ve done enough for one day, Una. I’ll clean up in here.”
“I’ll help,” Luke offered.
“Good,” Una said. “I promised Callie a story before I go home.”
The pair retreated to the front porch swing, Callie’s favorite spot for hearing Una’s Hopi tales, leaving Mariah alone with Luke in the big kitchen that suddenly seemed a whole lot smaller.
Chapter Three
With both of them working together it didn’t take long to finish the dishes. Luke enjoyed the task—or maybe it was just being alone with Mariah.
He couldn’t remember having been stuck with KP duty growing up. Nor could he remember having helped his wife, Sylvie, during their ill-fated marriage. He’d been the golden doctor then—slated to take his place in the hierarchy of the hospital where his father and grandfather had practiced before him.
Luke had never considered himself special—he’d just been treated like he was. It had been a given that he would do great things.
He hadn’t helped Sylvie raise their son, Dane, either. At least not as much as he should have. He’d been at the hospital night and day, doing what he loved. Doing what was important. All other work he’d relegated to Sylvie.
No doubt the reason she’d left him for someone else.
He wished he could go back, do things differently, be a real father to his son. But life didn’t work that way. Life wouldn’t let a man turn back the clock.
Life took—and didn’t give back.
One failed marriage, his failure as a father—and as a doctor who couldn’t save his son—had taken its toll on Luke’s ability to believe the world could be a happy place.
Yet tonight he’d glimpsed something akin to that in this small family that had included him in their life however briefly. Tonight he’d been able to forget, just a little.
Tossing the dish towel onto the countertop, he turned to Mariah. “Consider that payment for tonight’s dinner. Now, about your medical fee…”
Mariah gave a soft laugh, a sensual sound that could curl a man’s toes. “You don’t owe me anything,” she said. “But I do think you need to get off that leg for a while.”
“I was thinking more like a short walk to loosen it up.”
“Elevating your leg is sound medical advice,” she said, arms folded resolutely over her chest.
“I’d rather take that walk. Join me?” he asked.
He hoped she would say yes. He wanted to be with her. He liked her, liked this little family—and he felt like walking, absorbing the night and its dark peace.
She seemed to hesitate. “I—I need to get Callie tucked into bed.”
Of course, he thought. Callie would require an early bedtime. Proper rest would be an important part of treatment for a child with this disease, Luke knew. And Mariah would be a stickler for what was best for her daughter.
“I understand,” he said.
“If you want to wait, I could go in a little while,” she added, and Luke’s head came up.
He read something indefinable in her eyes, and suspected she didn’t often take time for herself. Time away from Callie. She had her priorities and they were in the right place.
Her daughter came first.
He wished now that he’d put Dane ahead of other things in his life. Why had his medical career, the hospital, seemed so damned important, anyway? He’d have made it to the top—it just would have taken him a little longer.
And in the end, none of it had mattered.
“I can wait,” he answered. “I’ll even prop up my leg.”
She smiled at that, then turned to leave. “I won’t be long.”
Luke nodded. “Take your time.”
Mariah’s living room was warm and inviting. The walls were a soft cream, uncluttered by pictures or other bric-a-brac. There was an old stone fireplace at one end for cool evenings, with two blue overstuffed chairs flanking it, a red-plaid sofa facing it.
Luke decided on one of the chairs and pulled up a small footstool to prop his leg on. The damned thing had begun to throb again. So had his shoulder.
Not that he intended to let Mariah know that.
On the table beside him was a picture of her with Callie, a soft mother-daughter pose that stirred him. Mariah’s dark hair was worn loose, cascading over her shoulder, as she gazed down at a laughing Callie.
Visions of the woman treating his wounds, the memory of her sensual touch, would torment him half the night, he was certain. He was equally certain he needed to keep a tight rein on his emotions. Mariah was tempting, a beautiful woman, one who’d be hard to resist for long.
He’d better just hope he could put his Harley in working order again—and fast. He was in no position to involve himself with this small family, with Mariah. He had nothing to offer her.
He had nothing to offer anyone.
His life was in sorry shape and going nowhere. He no longer knew up from down, right from left. He’d spun out of control after Dane’s death, hating himself, hating medicine, hating life itself.
From the other room he could hear Mariah’s lilting voice, sometimes Callie’s sweet laugh. The sound of his son’s laughter echoed through his memory—laughter Luke would never hear again.
The accident had happened on his son’s eighth birthday. The car had come racing around the corner and struck him, leaving his small battered body for Luke to salvage. He closed his eyes against the damning memories.
Don’t think about it, he cautioned himself.
Don’t think about anything.
It seemed a long while later when Mariah returned to the living room, but he knew it hadn’t been. She glanced at his leg, propped on the footstool, and offered that soft smile of hers.
“Are you sure you want that walk? You look like you’re right where you should be—resting that leg.”
Luke didn’t need
