Читать книгу A Family Practice - Gayle Kasper - Страница 8

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 rest. He needed to be moving. If he couldn’t roar off down the highway on his Harley, he’d pace the yard, the road, walk for miles, and then some. He wanted—needed—to escape his pain, the memories. How far would he need to ride to put his life behind him?

“Yeah, I want that walk,” he said.

He pushed to his feet, then saw the small frown of worry that had edged itself between her brows. Mariah was concerned about him, concerned about his injuries—but she needn’t be. He was fine. He’d be fine. Luke was tough—just not tough enough to deal with one little boy’s death.

He strode toward the front door, careful not to show signs of pain, careful not to limp on his leg that had stiffened up on him.

Outside, the night was cool. A breeze tugged at his senses. A perfect counterpoint to the hot, dusty day. For a moment he found himself relaxing, letting go.

Mariah fell into step beside him. Her soft scent wafted over him, and the night tortured him with the temptation to reach for her, to tuck her hand in his, to press her to him and taste her lips that glistened so softly in the moonlight. Jamming his hands into the pockets of his cutoffs, he drew in a deep breath of air.

Dangerous thoughts, he knew.

But he didn’t know how to rid himself of them.

They reached the small copse of trees at the back of Mariah’s property. A stream ran through here, with cool, clear water burbling and purling over the flat stones on its way to lower ground.

“This is my favorite place. I like to come here,” she said. “It’s always refreshing on a hot afternoon.”

And tempting at night with the moonlight slanting through the trees, Luke thought. Mariah’s eyes were luminescent, her lips soft and smooth, and he fought back the urge to taste them.

Just once.

He reached down and plucked a small stone from the streambed, turning it over and over in his hand. “I can see why it’s your favorite spot,” he said. “It’s beautiful here.”

She smiled, apparently pleased he liked it, too.

“Tell me about yourself, Mariah.”

She took a step or two away, then sat down on the grassy bank. Her hair gleamed dark in the moonlight; her skin shimmered like warm bronze.

And her mouth…

Her mouth was made for kissing.

He tore his gaze away and tossed the stone back into the stream, counting the ripples that ebbed away.

“What do you want to know?”

Luke heard her small voice as if it were coming from a distance. “Have you always lived here?”

She plucked a blade of grass and ran it through her fingers, absorbing its damp coolness. “I grew up nearby,” she answered. “On the Reservation. The Rez, as it’s affectionately called. Then two years ago Callie and I moved here.”

When Will had left them. She’d had very little money and a lot of doctor bills. The house had sat empty for years. Ever since her grandfather’s death.

It had been in sorry shape when they’d moved in, but still it had been a godsend to Mariah. She’d fixed it up little by little and she was proud of what she had accomplished.

Will’s leaving, and her subsequent divorce from him six months later, had been hard on Callie. It had been hard on her, as well. But she and Callie had forged a new life for themselves, and it was a good life, a happy one.

“What about you?” she asked. “Where are you from?”

Her question seemed to cause him pain. His eyes darkened and he glanced aside. “A long way from here—Chicago.”

Chicago might as well be a foreign country to Mariah. She’d never been farther away than Phoenix. She wondered about Luke’s life there, tried to picture him with a wife, a family.

Did he have a wife?

A lover?

Was she beautiful?

“Sunrise is a far cry from where you’re from,” she said. “Where are you headed on that big bike of yours?”

And who’s missing you at home? she wanted to add.

Luke was handsome. The women in Chicago would have to be blind not to find him so. She was certain someone had staked a claim to him by now.

He gave a small shrug of his broad shoulders. “As of this afternoon, I’m not headed anywhere, it seems. Not until my bike is operational again.”

“And then?” she probed.

“West.”

“That takes in a lot of territory. Anything more specific?”

He frowned. “Are you always this inquisitive?”

“Only about stray men I rescue from the desert,” she quipped back, which made him smile.

The first smile she’d seen on him in a while.

It was devastatingly seductive, and she forced herself to picture a wife waiting for him back in Chicago. And maybe a passel of kids. Little kids.

And one on the way.

But it didn’t gel. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t place Luke in a domestic scene.

“Are you married?”

Her words had tumbled out—and she felt instantly foolish for them.

His smile broadened. “I was right about that inquisitiveness of yours. But no, I’m not married.”

She didn’t want to admit to herself that she was pleased. Secretly. Didn’t want to admit that she found the man intriguing. That he could make her pulse pound with very little provocation.

She didn’t need to fall for men who rode through town on motorcycles, stopping only long enough to tempt her heart. She’d vowed never to entangle herself with anyone who would leave again, who wouldn’t stick around and be a real husband, who wouldn’t be a father to Callie with all her special needs.

She didn’t want Callie hurt again.

Or herself—by hoping for too much.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that,” she murmured.

“No harm done.”

He held her gaze prisoner a little longer than he should have, and Mariah couldn’t tear her own away. “Maybe I should get back,” she said finally. “I hate to be away too long, in case Callie wakes up.”

He helped her to her feet, and his touch sent a shiver through her, one she knew had nothing to do with the cool night air. His gaze whispered over her lips, and she could almost taste his kiss.

In the space of one restless moment her need meshed with his and she thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he only reached out a hand and brushed her cheek.

“You’re right, we’d better be getting back,” he said.

Was there a hint of regret in his words?

Or had she imagined it?

Whichever, the moment had passed, and Mariah didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. What she felt was a strange mixture of both.

She’d never thought of herself as a needy woman. Or a lonely one. She had Callie. Her daughter was her life. She was happy. Her days were full and filled. So why could this man tempt her so easily in the moonlight?

She tried to shrug away the question as she walked, careful to keep a comfortable distance from him—though she wasn’t sure what that distance might be.

“The cabin is over there, just beyond the rise,” she said. “Come on, I’ll show it to you.”

Luke followed her across the property toward the small rough-hewn structure barely visible in the moonlight.

“It isn’t much, like I said. I hope you don’t mind roughing it a little.”

“I’m sure it’ll beat hard ground with a cactus for a pillow. I didn’t see much else out there on that road I was on.”

She turned and smiled at him. The softest, sweetest smile Luke could recall ever seeing on a woman.

“True enough,” she said softly.

He’d found her so damned appealing back there in the cool grass, the moonlight slanting across her face, her sultry lips.

He wasn’t sure why he didn’t act on the moment, seize the chance to kiss her, taste the sweetness he knew he’d find on her lips.

He tried to shove that thought aside. It could only bring them both trouble. Mariah had a daughter. She wasn’t someone interested in a brief fling. Though he wasn’t at all sure any interlude with her could be brief.

The woman would be damned hard to walk away from when the time came to do so. He’d do well to keep that realization in mind the next time temptation hit him.

“This is it,” Mariah said as they reached the cabin. “It’s probably not what you’re used to back in civilization.”

She drew a lantern from its nail on the wall, found a match and lit the wick. Flickering light flooded the little room and Luke took a look around.

A small cot was pushed against one wall. There was also a chair—a little lumpy in the seat cushion, but usable—and a well-scarred coffee table.

A few toys and a rag doll with one eye missing were scattered about, and he remembered Mariah telling him Callie liked to use the cabin as her playhouse.

He picked up the doll and grinned at its one-eyed countenance, then set it aside. He remembered Dane’s toys had always been scattered about, remembered how he’d hated it when he tripped over them. He wished now he could take back his annoyance over something so minor. But it was too late…

“The place is fine,” he said. “I hope Callie won’t mind my borrowing it for a while.”

She gave him a soft smile. “Callie won’t mind. Besides, I think she’s quite taken with you.”

“And what about her mother?”

“Her mother won’t mind, either,” she answered, unaware that wasn’t the question he’d asked her.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” he said, taking a step closer. He reached out a hand and softly traced the margins of the blush that had risen to her cheeks. Her skin beneath his touch was silken. Her eyes were wide and filled with want. Or was it a trick of the flickering lantern light? “I wondered if Callie’s mother was taken, too, just a little.”

Her blush deepened. He could feel its heat beneath his fingertips. Mariah was warm and vibrant—and everything he shouldn’t want in a woman. He was a man on the move. To where, he didn’t know, didn’t know if he’d ever get there, if he’d ever be whole again. One pretty woman with hopes and dreams—and needs—was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

Not now, maybe never.

“I should go and find you some linens,” she said quietly, her voice sounding as if it came from someplace far away.

She wasn’t unaffected by him—any more than he was by her. But, somehow, that knowledge didn’t make Luke feel any better about himself.

When Mariah returned with fresh sheets and towels for him, Luke was out front of the tiny cabin, studying the stars. Strange how he’d never noticed them back in Chicago. Or the moon. He could use the peace this place offered.

At least for a little while.

“Here are the linens,” she said. “I’ll just go and lay them on the cot.”

Luke watched her go. He had no right to want her. He was hurting, and Mariah offered peace, if only a temporary peace. But he had nothing to offer her in return.

She deserved a man who could pluck down the moon for her, those cool, glittery stars. A man who could give her some of himself.

“Will you be comfortable for the night?” she asked, stepping out the cabin’s front door.

Comfortable? More than he had been on the seat of a motorcycle. More than he’d been the last six months—since his son’s death. “I’ll be fine,” he answered, hating the ragged sound to his voice.

“If you need anything, just let me know.”

“I won’t need anything.”

She stepped off the porch slowly, a little unsurely. “I’ll be getting back then,” she said and started to leave.

Luke stopped her.

“Mariah?”

She turned softly to gaze at him, and Luke knew he was lost, lost in those luminous green eyes, that prettily shaped mouth, her haunting femininity.

He’d only wanted to thank her for what she’d done, but she stood so close he could touch her, stroke her hair, smooth back the few rebellious strands that escaped her braid.

“Thank you,” he managed to get out. “For…everything.”

She smiled softly, and it was his undoing.

He brushed the back of his fingers along her cheek, then her lower lip, tracing its silken curve. She didn’t draw away, only gazed up at him with her own soft need.

His resolve melted completely. He had to taste her lips, just once. He leaned down and brushed them lightly with his own, finding something that surely had to be heaven.

His tongue traced them slowly, outlining their shape, memorizing it for the long, lonely night ahead of him. Still she didn’t pull away, and he tasted deeper, wanting what he shouldn’t have.

She kissed him back, thoroughly, sending his soul into the darker regions of hell. Her mouth was sweet and sinful, her breasts soft and full as they pushed gently against him. Mariah was delight and innocence, peace and treasure, all in one dangerous package.

She gave a slow sigh, then drew away. She was trembling and wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I—I…we shouldn’t…”

“I know,” he said, agreeing totally. He didn’t dare touch her again. “I’m sorry, Mariah.”

Her troubled eyes flickered and she met his gaze for one eternal moment, then she turned and fled, back up the path to the house.

Consigning him to a night of tortured want.

What had she done?

Mariah hurried along the path to the house, determined to escape inside and bar the door. Not to keep Luke out, but herself in. Safely in. She had just thrown herself at the man.

A perfect stranger.

Hadn’t she gotten herself in trouble just this way before, with Will? Except that at least Will hadn’t been a stranger. Will had been the first boy she’d known who lived off the Rez. And that had seemed exciting.

She’d seen him often, thought him special, older, though a little wild. She’d liked the wild part. He’d invited her to a party and she had gone. There’d been beer and the music was loud and electrifying; Mariah had felt she’d finally escaped the Rez. She could do what she wanted.

The party had been in an old, abandoned adobe out in the desert. Her new friends, Will’s friends, used the place to party, drink beer, get high on marijuana and sometimes peyote. She’d been afraid of the drinking and drugs, and told Will she’d thought they were going to dance.

Mariah loved to dance; she’d wanted to dance with Will. But he insisted she smoke the marijuana, then he’d dance with her. The stuff had made her nauseous, light-headed, but she’d wanted to fit in, wanted Will to like her. She’d gone along that night with anything Will had wanted—and her life had changed.

But Mariah was no longer a teenager. And that kiss she’d just shared with Luke had been the kiss of a man, not a young, still-wet-behind-the-ears boy.

And that made it twice as dangerous.

She’d felt Luke’s need, and her own, as if lightning had struck, searing her to the spot and her body to his. She could still feel the smoldering kiss, his mouth enticing, hauntingly sensual. She’d felt comfort in his arms, as if sheltered for the moment from all things bad.

Something she certainly had never felt with Will.

But Luke was temporary, fleeting. He’d be leaving as soon as his motorcycle was repaired, and her life would once again go back to the routine she was used to.

She needed to find her composure that had scattered like the wind with that kiss. She needed to find her sanity, too. She could not afford to lose herself around a man like Luke, a man who was headed out as soon as he could, a man with a painful past she shouldn’t be curious about. A man who didn’t belong here, didn’t understand this way of life.

Her life.

She leaned her shoulder against the door frame, willing the calm back into her body, forcing her mind to return to reality.

She didn’t know how long she’d stood there, how many minutes had passed, how many waves of temptation washed over her before she finally pushed away and embraced the reality of her world again.

A noisy raven had awakened Luke with its annoying call. It had been 3:35 the last time he’d pressed the lighted dial of his watch to note the time, and now it was 5:30—which meant he’d had only a couple hours of sleep.

And a fitful sleep at that.

Thoughts of Mariah had kept him tossing and turning, hoping for even the briefest respite from his troubled thoughts and perfect recall of her body.

Just holding her, touching her, had been madness, awakening every hormone he had, and weakening his defenses. He’d tasted those lips and was certain heaven couldn’t be any sweeter.

His hands had traced the column of her spine, feeling its curve, its strength and power. Mariah was a woman tough enough to take on whatever came her way, yet malleable to the needs of others, to bend down and help a child.

Or to meld against him.

He’d wanted to go on holding her, kissing her, but he knew the danger in that. He couldn’t take from her goodness, no matter how badly he wanted to.

He stared at the rough-planked ceiling over his bed, knowing sleep was hopeless now. The beginning shadows of daylight were already seeping into the cabin, through the tiny windows, through the chinks between the half logs that made up the cabin’s walls.

And then there was the raven.

The damn pesky bird had to be sitting on the pitch of the roof directly over his head, caterwauling like mad. He thought he remembered that the feathered creatures were considered sacred or something in this part of the country—and that it was bad luck to harm one of them.

But Luke had had enough.

If the bird didn’t stop with the crowing shrieks, reverberating through his brain like a fire bell on steroids, he might just forget about that sacredness and bad luck.

Especially if it gave him a few more minutes of shuteye.

Silence. There were three whole minutes of blessed silence. Luke hollowed out a spot for his head on the pillow and closed his eyes, hoping the noisy raven had developed a bad case of laryngitis.

Sleep. He needed sleep. He closed his eyes and attempted to shut down his mind, as well, shut out the crazy bird, shut out his haunting thoughts of Mariah and the glory of her kiss, her slender body pressed so innocently against his.

He rolled onto his stomach, hoping for even ten minutes of rest. The cot, though small, was amazingly comfortable, and the sheets Mariah had brought him carried her mesmerizing scent.

Luke had barely been able to make up the bed last night with the soft scent teasing at him, reminding him of her freshness, of the sunshine that seemed to surround her and her little corner of the world.

Sleep, Luke thought. Then he’d get up and start in on his cycle. Once it was repaired he’d be on his way again.

And Mariah’s kiss would be only a fond memory.