Читать книгу Solution: Marriage - Barbara Benedict, Barbara Benedict - Страница 13

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 have to think his father was Reb, some no account bum who lit out when the going got tough. Nor should he ever have to believe his true father didn’t want to acknowledge him. No one knew better how it felt to grow up unloved and unnoticed by your father, and Luke was determined not to pass that on to his own flesh and blood.

Yet Callie was nothing if not stubborn, and her pride would never let her son be raised as a Parker. Luke could stake his claim, and he’d no doubt win, but the battle between them would be an ugly one, and it would be poor Robbie who would come out the ultimate victim.

Hence, the wedding. A drastic step, but Luke could see no other way to show Callie he was ready, willing and able to be a good father to their boy. His plan was to become such an integral part of his son’s life that Callie would have to see reason. Once she understood all the good he could do for Robbie, she would admit, both publicly and legally, that Luke was her son’s father.

What Luke hadn’t figured into the equation was Robbie’s resistance. In his mind he’d envisioned the warm-and-cuddly reunion of a television commercial, his son more a concept than a person in his own right. Face-to-face with him now, Luke realized Robbie was his mother all over again. His wide, dark gaze was just as all-knowing, just as wary and uncompromising. What would it take, he wondered, to win over this child?

“Him?” Robbie said suddenly, drawing Luke out of his thoughts. Whirling, he found the boy pointing an accusing finger in his direction. “He’s gonna stay here?” Robbie added, his face a picture of shocked disbelief.

“I told you,” Callie said patiently, tucking a stray lock behind the boy’s ear. “Luke and I are now married. Of course he’ll stay with us.”

“But Mom, he’s a Parker.” He said the name as if it were linked to a serial killer.

“Yeah, honey, and by marrying Luke, I’m now one, too.”

The boy frowned; the thought obviously hadn’t occurred to him. “But, Mom, Gramps said the only good Parker is a—”

“Never you mind,” Callie interrupted firmly. “Gramps had a lot of colorful opinions but we needn’t take them all at face value. Do yourself a favor. Get to know Luke and then form your own opinions.” Her gaze slid between them, growing stern as it focused again on her son. “Even Gramps would expect no less from you.”

Robbie looked at Luke as if he were a glass of curdled milk. “If you say so.”

“I do. Most folks have something to offer, if you give them half a chance. For example, did you know Luke was once a professional quarterback? He played in the Pro Bowl eight of his ten seasons in New York.”

He was surprised she’d know that. As he recalled, football had been Callie’s least favorite subject. “I still throw a mean lateral,” he told the boy. “If you want, maybe you and I could toss a ball around. I could show you some tricks of the trade.”

Robbie’s eyes widened before he turned, almost guiltily, to his mother. “Mom doesn’t want me playing football. She says it’s too dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Heck, a boy’s got to be a boy.”

The comment earned him the tiniest grin from Robbie, but Luke got nothing but glares from his mother. “Luke seems to be forgetting his injury,” Callie said tightly, placing a proprietary hand on the boy’s shoulder. “The one that ended his career.”

He backed off, knowing it was too early in the game to be challenging her as to how their child should be raised. Besides, she had a valid point. It made him sick, thinking of his boy laid out on a stretcher, going through the operations and rehabilitation he had endured. “Your mom’s right,” Luke conceded. “I nearly lost the use of my arm playing the game. But you know,” he added on a sudden inspiration, “I used to play soccer, too. I had a coach who showed me all kinds of great tricks. I started out on the bench, but I soon got to play center because I could dribble right up to the goalie and snap the ball right past him.”

“I never scored a goal last year.”

Hearing the yearning in the boy’s voice, Luke nodded behind him out the open window. “I can teach you a few things, I bet,” he offered. “I noticed there’s a park across the road. If you want, we can go over there and kick the ball around a bit.”

“Yeah? You mean right now?”

And suddenly there it was, all the interest and animation he could have hoped for from his son.

Trust Callie to jump in between them. Taking Robbie by the shoulder, she pointed at the door to her right. “You know the rules, young man. No going outside to play until you finish your homework.”

“Aw, Mom.”

Luke’s sentiments exactly.

“Never mind,” Callie said sternly, looking over Robbie’s shoulder to direct the message at Luke. “Our routine has been disrupted enough today. You have your chores and I have mine, and we’d both best get to them.”

Luke knew a cue when he heard it. “Your mom’s right. We can practice when you’re finished. And maybe it won’t be so hot outside then, so we can keep at it longer.”

For an instant Luke thought he’d lost him, but with a reluctant grin and an “I’ll hurry,” Robbie raced to his bedroom.

Shaking her head, Callie turned to Luke. “Sorry about that. Robbie usually has better manners, but he and Gramps were real close. He’s a little touchy whenever the Parker name is mentioned.”

“A lot of that going around.”

She eyed him sharply. “Yeah, well, you and I have a truce at the moment. As long as you keep to your promise to get back our farm.” With a tight smile, she turned and marched into the kitchen.

Luke stared after her, annoyed that she would be so persistent. As if the most important issue between them was getting her house back. In his mind, four walls and a roof couldn’t possibly compare to making sure their son had a mother and father.

“If you’re looking for something to do,” Callie called from the other room, “I could use some help getting supper.”

Luke followed into the tiny kitchen, finding Callie piling vegetables on the narrow counter. “So soon?” he asked, accustomed to dining later in the evening. “When is it that you folks eat?”

“Gumbo takes a while,” she said distractedly, pulling pots from a cabinet. “But by and large, we keep to farm hours. The others tend to eat early, too.”

“Others?”

“Some of the older folk in the building can’t be counted on to cook for themselves. Every now and then I make extras, to help carry them through the week.”

She said it matter-of-factly, as if it were perfectly natural to worry about the welfare of strangers when she herself barely kept food on the table. “So what do you do?” he asked. “Feed the entire neighborhood?”

“Just Mrs. Boyle in 2C and old Henry down in 1A. And on gumbo night, we can generally count on Sam Wylie, the maintenance man, stopping by for a bowl or two.”

“So you’re running a soup kitchen. And any leftovers, I bet, go to the stray cats and dogs in the area.”

“It’s not a soup kitchen,” she snapped. “Nobody here is looking for a free handout.”

Ah, yes, the Magruder pride. How well he remembered her stiff-necked refusal to take anything that even remotely smacked of charity. “Really. Do any of these friends of yours chip in for expenses?”

She shrugged as she yanked open a drawer to pull out two knives. “Where I come from cash isn’t the only way of doing business. I feed them and they make up for it by looking out for Robbie. Many a night I have to work late.”

“Well, that’s going to stop.”

She whirled around to face him. “Let’s get one thing clear. Our bargain doesn’t give you leave to march in here and change how I do things. These folks are liable to starve if I don’t cook for them. They’ve got no one else. So if you don’t mind, move aside and let me start fixing supper.” Face flushed and eyes flashing, she looked like a vengeful warrior brandishing her knives.

“Relax,” he said, sliding one of them from her grasp. “I was talking about you quitting your job, not your habit of taking in strays.”

“I’m not quitting my job, either.” She reached out and snatched the knife back. “I told you that. All I changed with that ceremony is my name.” She started chopping vegetables, so furiously it was a wonder she didn’t slice off a finger. “And at the end of the year, I’ll be changing even that back to what it was.”

We’ll see about that, Luke thought, reaching for his own knife and pile of vegetables. It went against the grain, but for the time being, he’d hold his peace and bide his time. Before the year was up, though, he’d draw his line in the sand. Robbie was his son, too, and he deserved to bear the name of Parker.

Working in awkward silence, he watched this woman who was his son’s mother, bustling about her kitchen as she prepared enough gumbo to feed an army. He found himself comparing her to the women he’d dated in New York. She had none of their poise and polish yet somehow she seemed more worthy of his admiration. The others dallied with their charities, perhaps, but they’d never have involved themselves in something so hands-on and personal. He couldn’t imagine a single one of his prior dates even knowing the people in their building, much less going out of the way to make sure they had proper nutrition.

Luke kept thinking about Callie, long after he left her kitchen. Taking Robbie outside for soccer practice, hearing the boy’s polite please and thank-yous, Luke acknowledged she’d done a fine job with their boy. He’d always imagined the mother of his children to be much like his own mom, a perfumed cloud of cool elegance, innately prepared with the proper words and image for any occasion. Callie might speak like a hick, and wear cast-offs from bargain basements, but somehow or another, people gravitated in droves to the warmth with which she surrounded them.

He had further proof of this at dinner that night as each of her neighbors dropped by with wedding gifts. Luke’s former acquaintances would have scoffed at the odd assortment of cheap little trinkets, but Callie reacted to each with genuine joy. Each visitor was urged to join them, plates were added, until they sat ten at a table for six.

Luke couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a home-cooked meal, much less enjoyed a family sit-down dinner. As a youth, the other kids had envied his big house, the fancy cars and expensive clothing, but he’d always wondered what it would be like to be surrounded by the warmth and obvious caring he found at her table.

After the meal Sam Wylie regaled them with stories about their landlady, Mrs. Clarke, and her procession of seven husbands. He kept everyone in stitches, even Callie, and Luke couldn’t help but respond to his son’s infectious laughter. I could get used to this, Luke thought with surprise.

On the other side of the table, Callie caught Luke’s contented expression. Watching him smile at her son, she knew a cold, sick dread. If Luke should ever guess the truth…

No, she told herself firmly. As long as she kept quiet and didn’t admit anything, Luke couldn’t do a thing.

So she kept a smile pasted on her face, not letting it slip even as one by one her guests drifted home. Soon it would be time for Robbie to go to bed, and then what would she say to this man who was now her husband?

Certainly not the truth.

Logically she understood that it was wrong to keep silent. Luke probably had a right to know and what was more important, so did Robbie. But in her heart, the place where she had to face life on an everyday basis, she couldn’t bear the consequences of relieving her conscience. If it came down to a custody battle, she knew only too well that she hadn’t the resources to ensure her victory. And since the Parkers had taken just about everything from her except her boy, she simply couldn’t risk losing him, too.

Robbie was her son. She’d raised him, and she wasn’t about to let all that Parker money screw him up.

Only here was Luke, so up close and personal, charming the socks off their son. She was beginning to suffer very strong, and very real, doubts that she could pull this off. How would she ever get through the next twelve months, living a lie, always fearing she might let something slip?

A little late to be thinking of that now, the voice of logic insisted. Not after living that same lie for the past ten years.

Glancing at Robbie, noticing his enthusiasm as he described his practice session with Luke, she swallowed the tightness in her throat. Robbie was the issue here, she had to remember. Her personal fears and anxieties didn’t matter. She’d do whatever it took, however it had to be done, if it meant protecting her son.

Suddenly restless, she stood up. “Look at how late it is,” she said abruptly as she stacked the plates. “Robbie, you’d better go brush your teeth and hop into bed. I’ll come tuck you in when I’m done with the dishes.”

“Aw, Mom, it’s too early to go to bed.”

“Your mom’s right,” Luke said beside her. “You’ve had a long day. Run along to bed, and I’ll help in the kitchen so she can get there that much sooner to tuck you in.”

To Callie’s surprise—and dismay—Robbie didn’t argue with Luke. And to add to her consternation, Luke kept true to his word by standing up next to her and helping to clear the table.

“No, sit,” she snapped, appalled at the thought of him joining her in that tiny kitchen. “Please,” she added, trying for a more reasonable tone, “you’re our guest.”

Luke merely continued stacking dishes. “Actually, what I am is your husband. And after such an incredible feast, the least any husband can do is help to clean up.”

She tried to protest, but he followed her into the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves and insisting in that butter-would-melt-in-his-mouth way of his that he’d dry the dishes while she washed them. Never had she been so conscious of how confined her kitchen was, or how close to the sink the dish drain sat. Standing shoulder to shoulder as they performed the domestic task together, they seemed more like a happily settled couple than the uninvolved groom and edgy bride they were in truth underneath.

“Not much of a honeymoon, is it?” Luke asked, again seeming to pick up on her thoughts as he reached for a glass and dried it.

“What do you expect?” Annoyed, she made great business out of rinsing a plate and setting it in the dish drain. “It isn’t much of a marriage.”

“Yeah.” Going for the plate, he brushed against her arm, seeming completely unaware that he’d touched her. “Ever think that maybe you wouldn’t feel like such a fraud if we’d made more of an occasion out of it?”

She gave him a disbelieving stare. “What do you suggest?” she heard herself asking sharply. “That we have music? French champagne? This is a business arrangement, remember.”

He blinked, tilting his head to study her.

Realizing how harsh she must have sounded, she hastened to remind him—and herself—where her priorities lay. “I can’t see any sense in making a big deal out of a date that won’t ever be repeated. We might better start out the way we mean to go on.”

“Doing dishes?”

“Among other things. I told you at the start, this marriage isn’t about me, or even you. I’m only going through this for my boy.”

He paused, dish in one hand, towel in the other as he studied her. “He’s lucky to have you,” he said at last, reaching for another plate. “Nice touch, giving him the extended family. Not many people can pull it off. My folks couldn’t deal with even the three of us spending time together. I can’t remember ever sitting down to a meal with my parents.”

He got real busy with the plate, continuing to rub it long after it was dry. “C’mon,” Callie said, realizing that it was now her, studying him. “All families eat together. At least once in a while.”

He shook his head. “Not us. After Matt died, my parents pretty much gave up on the family thing. Life in the Parker household wasn’t the same without him. He was…well, let’s just say my big brother was a hard act to follow.”

His tone was even, his face expressionless, but Callie nonetheless sensed the pain behind his words. She was reminded of her first view of Luke Parker, back when she’d started kindergarten. Flanked by her mom and dad, she’d assumed the other kids would also be accompanied by doting parents. Most were, but unlike the other third graders, Luke had stood by himself in the corner, completely alone, completely aloof. That was when she’d first started dreaming about him, she supposed. It had been a potent combination, his loneliness and proud determination not to show it.

As if he, too, was lost in thoughts of the past, Luke fell silent then, and she was content to let him. She might have probed once, being intensely curious about anything connected to Luke Parker. But he’d always been reluctant to talk about his brother, and only a fool would tread into personal matters now. Not when she had so much to hide.

She had 364 more days of this, she mustn’t forget. Twelve months of living on the surface, keeping it cool and casual, and protecting her son from heartache.

Whatever she did, she mustn’t let Luke get anywhere near her far-too-soft heart. That, she’d learned from experience, was the sure path to disaster.