this. He peered closer, hardly believing his eyes.
Caroline’s face had been cut out of the photo and a picture of Abby inserted in its place.
Oh, God. He dropped the photo and jumped to his feet. Though the room was stifling, a chill swept over his body. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath.
Unbelievable. Impossible.
He looked again.
It was true. He thought he was going to be sick right here on Abby’s kitchen floor.
Voices at the door. He crammed the photo back in the envelope and slammed the album shut.
Abby came through, smiling, scraping the red earth from her feet. “All done. Time for a cuppa before you go?”
His mouth was dry. He couldn’t say a word. Abby, humming, ran water into the electric kettle. She was so familiar, yet suddenly a stranger.
Becka. His baby. All blond ponytail and coltish legs under her shorts. What lies had Abby told her?
“Becka, get your things. It’s time to go.”
“Relax, Luke,” Abby said. “You’ve got a couple hours of light left.” She hovered over the girl. “Wash your hands, dear. Use the nailbrush. A little more soap. That’s right.”
“Sarah’s making dinner.” He struggled to keep his voice normal, unaffected by the rage building inside. “Becka—now, please.”
She turned away from the sink, wearing her aggrieved-princess look. “Do I have to?”
“Yes.” He waited for her to dry her hands and leave the room. Gave her another five seconds to get to the far end of the house. “Abby—” he began.
“So Sarah Templestowe is making dinner, is she?” Abby’s voice turned coy, her mismatched eyes watching him. “That sounds cozy.”
Luke refused to be sidetracked by Abby’s sly remarks. She was always digging for information, making something out of nothing, then seeming oddly pleased when there really was nothing. Nothing lasting, at any rate.
“I looked at your photo album.”
She smiled pleasantly and reached into the cupboard for cups. “Did you hear Sandy Ronstad had her baby?”
“Abby.” His hands clenched. “Why did you cut out Caroline’s photo and replace it with your own?”
Her body gave a kind of jolt, but she didn’t answer right away. The cups trembled in their saucers as she set them on the table. “Whatever are you talking about?”
He flipped open the album and waved the envelope at her. “Did you show this to Becka?” If she had, so help him, he’d—
“I’m not surprised Sarah Templestowe would move in fast on a handsome bachelor,” Abby continued, her voice wavering but still sounding determined. “Look at her mother. Taking off with that American after only a few weeks. Poor Len. She broke his heart.”
Luke gripped her shoulders, stopping just short of shaking her. “Did you tell Becka you’re her mother?” he demanded in a fierce whisper.
“Of course not.” Abby pressed her fingers to her temples. “That would be crazy.”
“Then why did you put your photo in Caroline’s place?” Abby covered her ears with her hands. “Answer me,” he ordered harshly.
“She’s all I’ve got, Luke. Don’t make me give her up.”
“It’s time, Abby. We agreed after Caroline died that Becka would come to live with me when she turned nine.”
“Nine was just an arbitrary number. She still needs a mother—” she quailed under his fierce scowl “—figure.”
“She needs her father, too,” Luke said, hardening himself to her beseeching gaze. He couldn’t get the image of the defaced photograph out of his mind.
“Dad!” Becka called from her old room. “I need help.”
Luke glared at Abby and strode down the hall to Becka. She was struggling with her overnight bag and two shopping bags full of clothes.
“What’s all this?” he asked.
“Aunt Abby bought me some dresses and stuff.”
Luke pulled out a handful of slippery blue fabric with spaghetti straps. “Is this a nightgown?”
“It’s a party dress. Isn’t it cool?”
“You’re only nine. You’re not going to parties dressed like this. Leave it.”
“Da-a-a-d.”
Abby appeared in the doorway. “Let her have them, Luke. She should have something fun and pretty in her wardrobe.”
He turned on her. “You shouldn’t have done this, Abby. Not without asking me.”
“Rubbish! Men have no idea how to shop for young girls. Do they, Becka?” She stroked Becka’s hair and the girl smiled up at her.
“Take…them…back. She doesn’t need party clothes out at the station. She needs jeans and T-shirts and boots.” Luke tossed the shopping bags on the bed as though they were contaminated.
“I was only trying to help. In case you hadn’t noticed, Luke Sampson, your little girl is growing up.”
Luke had noticed, all right. And he hated it. He’d already missed too much of her life. “You’re making her grow up too soon. These are for a much older girl.”
“You’re out of touch with what children are into these days,” Abby said. “It’s not surprising, living way out on that station. I’ve been caring for her almost all her life. I know what she needs. Anyway, she’s grown out of practically all her old clothes.”
“If she needs new clothes I’ll buy them for her.”
Tears burst from Becka’s eyes. “I hate you!” she screamed at Luke, and ran out of the room, her overnight bag banging against the doorjamb.
Abby gazed at him reproachfully. “I really think you could have handled that better, Luke. But then, you haven’t had much practice being a father, have you?”
His jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “We won’t be seeing you for a while. Becka’s going to be busy out at the station.”
From the front porch, Abby watched them drive off, the wheels of the Land Cruiser spinning in the dirt before hitting the bitumen and squealing away. She gripped the wooden railing till a splinter pierced her skin, raising a bright red drop of blood. She didn’t notice. The pain was nothing compared with the pain in her heart. Becka was all she had and Luke had taken her away. Just as Anne Hafford had taken Len away from her all those years ago.
Don’t worry, Becka, my darling. We’ll be together again soon—somehow.
“OUCH!”
