He said, “Heard you’re living on the old Franklin property.”
“We are.”
“Why?”
Because Boone wanted me there. “Because it’s my husband’s land—was his land.”
“I meant why did you come back to Misty River?”
“Boone wanted our kids to know their heritage.” At least that was what he’d told her. “Both of us have roots here. Why are you here and not in Seattle?” Where rewards had knocked on his office door more than on the door of their marriage.
He stroked a finger along the petals of a sunflower. “I left Seattle after we divorced. Things weren’t… Well.” He dropped his hand. “They feed you yet?”
“Just the saline and some painkillers.”
He turned for the door. “I’ll get you something from Kat’s Kitchen. She’s got the best food in town. Anything in particular?”
Ginny couldn’t help but laugh. Luke was still Luke, ready to rudder the barge of discomfort toward happy land. He’d been an excellent lawyer because of the trait. “Would she have a spinach salad with focaccia bread?”
He gave her a thumbs-up. “Still your favorite lunch, huh?” Then he was gone.
Ginny leaned back against the pillows, her eyes settling on the bouquet. She hadn’t thanked him for brightening her room. A dozen years, and still he remembered—remembered her favorite flower, her favorite lunch.
Ah, Luke. What haven’t you forgotten?
Recalling the expression on his face when he first walked into the room, she was afraid to contemplate the answer.
Chapter Two
L uke pulled Ginny’s rattling old station wagon off Franklin Road onto a single-track dirt lane that wound through a thicket of birch and Douglas fir. The track was worn smooth from the crews he’d seen coming and going throughout the spring.
“I suppose six months of cancer is sudden by some standards.” No doubt the diagnosis prompted Boone Franklin to renovate his parents’ homestead. The work had begun four months ago, in January.
He’d heard a family named Franklin was reopening the sprawling house and wondered which of the far-flung kin decided to return. He never would have guessed Ginny.
Breaking through the trees, he saw the aged house—or what used to be an aged house. Now it sported vinyl siding that sparkled like snow in sunshine. He noted other changes: windows, fascia and door painted in burgundy; a new cedar-shake roof; the reconstructed surrounding porch.
Only a coat of paint was required on the replaced pillar posts and railings. Were the tins of mint-green paint in back of her station wagon meant for the job?
Luke swung in front of the porch steps and stopped beside his youngest brother’s ’92 blue Honda hatchback. Hard to believe Seth’s daughter, Hallie, was old enough to drive.
Hands gripping the wheel, he stared at the house. Now what?
You’re here for Ginny’s kids.
Because you owe her.
And he’d promised to help Hallie with them, which meant meals, baths, story time—everything that set worry in Ginny’s eyes. It meant him helping with the jobs she’d outlined. It meant staying the night if she wasn’t released.
It meant acting like a parent.
Sweat streamed from his pores.
God, why had he volunteered? Why hadn’t he told her he’d hire a dependable woman to replace Hallie when his niece went home for the night? He wasn’t cut out to play nursemaid or daddy or babysitter, or whatever else looking after kids entailed. Hell, Ginny divorced him for the very reason he now sat in front of her home. Well, not exactly for that reason, but close.
The bottom line was he hadn’t wanted kids. And she was the mothering kind.
The door of the house opened. A boy stood gawking at him. Her son. What was his name? Allan? Alex? Yeah, like Alex, but more…Russian. Wasn’t there a hockey player with the name? Alexei. Yeah, that was it. Except she’d pronounced it Ah-lek-say.
Luke stepped from the car. He raised a hand in greeting. “Hey, Alexei.”
The kid walked to the top of the steps. A big-pawed, black Lab-cross pup bounded through the door and plopped beside him. “Who’re you? Why are you driving my mom’s car?”
Because the thought of driving the Mustang right after it had crashed into Ginny sat like a dirty stone in Luke’s gut. “Your mom asked me to bring home her groceries and to talk with you— Hey, Hallie.”
Luke’s sixteen-year-old niece came through the door, carrying the same curly-haired toddler he’d seen in Ginny’s cart at Safeway last Saturday. “Hi, Uncle Luke. How’s Ginny?”
He came around the hood of the car. “Doing pretty good. She’ll be home in a few hours.” If she convinced the doctor.
“Why can’t she come home now?” Alexei grumbled.
“Well, she’s—”
Hallie set a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We talked about that, buddy,” she said easily. “Your mom had a little bump on the head and the doctor wants to make sure she’s okay.”
“She will be, right?” Alexei’s eyes rounded on Hallie and for a second Luke tasted the kid’s fear.
“You bet,” Hallie confirmed.
“No doubt about it,” Luke added, hoping on top of hope.
The boy swung around. Accusation sharpened his eyes. “Then why didn’t you leave her car at the hospital?”
“She can’t drive,” Luke said amiably. “And her groceries need a refrigerator. Want to help carry them in?”
“Daee?” The baby pointed a wet finger at Luke.
“No.” Alexei grabbed her hand. “That is not Daddy.”
The toddler squirmed in Hallie’s arms, reaching for Luke. “Daee!”
“No, Josie,” Alexei repeated. “No-ot Daddy.”
Joselyn’s face scrunched. “Daee,” she cried. “Daaeee!” Her little legs kicked as she held her arms toward Luke, almost unbalancing Hallie. Fat tears plumped in the baby’s eyes.
Luke’s heart beat behind his tongue. The kid’s going to fall. Before he could think, he lifted her from Hallie’s straining arms. “Hey, there,” he said.
Joselyn latched on to him, a tenacious koala cub. Tiny hands gripped the first part they touched: his hair and neck.
“Easy does it.” Her sharp little nails would leave their mark. She was heavier than
