Читать книгу The Cattleman's Bride - Joan Kilby - Страница 10

HE LED THE WAY to the other side of the house, through the biggest country kitchen Sarah had ever seen. She just caught sight of a stone fireplace you could stand up in enclosing a modern stainless-steel stove before Luke pushed open the sliding doors to the back veranda.

This section of the veranda was enclosed with fly screen and clearly used as an extension of the living space. At one end stood a child’s school desk and bookshelves, while at the other end wicker chairs padded with cushions were grouped around an outdoor table.

She gazed eagerly through the screen, past the sheds and the clothesline and the tall trees whose spreading boughs shaded the yard to—Huh? Where the lake should have been was nothing but a broad dent in the dry red earth. Tufts of salt grass grew here and there.

“That’s it?” Although he’d warned her, seeing the empty lake bed made her feel like crying. Anticipation of Lake Burrinbilli had sustained her through the long hours of the journey and now…It simply didn’t exist. “When did it last have water in it?”

“Three, maybe four years ago. It’s not really a lake, just a depression that holds water when it floods. It’s been six years since it was deep enough to paddle in.”

Sarah pressed two fingers to her closed eyelids and felt moisture seep beneath her lashes. Fatigue was sending her emotions up and down like a yo-yo. She was dying for a coffee, but even more than that she wanted to be alone with her disappointment. “I think I’ll take a shower and lie down.”

“It’s a different world when the rains come,” Luke said, as if he hadn’t heard her. “Green shooting up over the Downs, thousands of wildflowers. Frogs seem to spring right out of the mud. Flocks of birds so large they darken the sky.”

Sarah opened her eyes. He was gazing across the dry lake bed, looking into the past. Or maybe it was the future.

“I wish I could see that,” she said, blinking at the sun-bleached landscape. Faced with reality, she numbly realized that even her mother’s memories failed her.

“Life will flourish here again.” His eyes, locked briefly with hers, seemed to add, For those who stay.

He led her back through the kitchen and down a long hall. “This is my room. Becka’s room.” He gestured to closed doors. “Loungeroom’s out the front. Bathroom’s in there. And this—” he pushed open a door and stood aside “—is your room.”

Sarah stepped past him into a square room with faded floral wallpaper. The matching curtains were clean but frayed around the edges. A white coverlet lay across the iron single bed. On the opposite wall sat a dresser made of distressed pine that her antique-collecting friends in Seattle would pay big money for. In one corner stood a matching old-fashioned wardrobe. Overhead a ceiling fan whirred quietly.

Luke set her bags down beside the bed and returned to the doorway. “I was going to move out of the main bedroom while you’re here, but—”

“I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

“I reckon this was your mother’s room.”

“My mother’s room?” she said, glancing around with new interest. “What makes you think so?”

He nodded toward the dresser and a notebook lying on top. “I found her diary tucked under a loose floorboard beside the bed. Must have been there for years. I told your father about it, but he didn’t mention returning it. Don’t know why, but I kept it instead of throwing it out.”

Sarah moved across the room to pick up the notebook. Scrawled in a loopy, slanted hand on the front of the faded red cover were the words Anne’s Diary. Private. Keep Out. This means you!

Sarah smiled. The handwriting was more rounded and immature than nowadays, but it was definitely Anne’s. “Did you read it?”

Luke looked offended she would even ask. “Says right on the cover that it’s private. Anyway, I don’t have time to read girls’ diaries.”

Sarah flipped through the closely written pages and found herself tempted. Don’t even think it. She returned the diary to the dresser. “I’ll take it to her. She might find it amusing after all these years.”

“Right. Well, I’ll let you get settled.” He backed out of the room and shut the door.

Sarah put her clothes away, then flopped on the bed with her cell phone. She replaced the old batteries with the spares from her suitcase and dialed her mother’s number.

“Hi, Mom,” she said, disappointed when she got the answering machine. “I’m here. My God, what a trip! It’s so hot. How come you never mentioned the flies? And the lake that’s not a lake. But the homestead is beautiful. By the way, Luke found your old diary. Oh, and I’ve already met Len. What’s the deal with him? I’m going to rest now, but I’ll call you later. Love you. Bye.”

LUKE PACED the front veranda, his frowning gaze on the dirt track that cut across the Downs toward Murrum. The wide western sky was bloodred with the setting sun, yet still no cloud of dust heralded Abby and Becka’s arrival.

“Where do you suppose they are, Wal?”

The dog, who was never far from Luke’s side, pressed his cold nose against his master’s palm.

Luke heard a movement behind him and turned to see Sarah standing in the doorway. She’d put on a sleeveless cotton-knit dress, which hugged her curves and showed plenty of leg. Her damp auburn hair fell in long wispy spikes around her bare shoulders. His dormant libido stirred like a bear after a long winter, ravenous and on the prowl.

“Is something wrong?” She came forward, bringing with her the subtle fruity scent of her shampoo.

“It’s almost seven o’clock. Abby hasn’t brought Becka back yet.” Back in your cave, Sampson.

Sarah stooped to pat Wal. “Maybe she’s on her way.”

“Abby won’t drive out here in the dark. It’s too easy to stray from the track and get lost. She said she’d have Becka back in time for tea.”

“Tea? Oh, you mean dinner.” Sarah glanced down the track and stepped behind the screen of bougainvillea, her fingers brushing the glossy dark green leaves. “Maybe her car broke down or she got caught up in something.”

Luke strode back into the house to ring Abby again, realizing belatedly that he’d just walked off without a word. He wasn’t used to informing others of his movements. First Becka, and now Sarah.

“Hello?” Abby sounded pleasant, unconcerned.

“Why aren’t you here?” he demanded. “Is Becka okay?”

Outside the kitchen window, dozens of snowy white corellas screeched as they flapped home to roost in the river gums.

He listened to Abby’s excuses— “Low on petrol, the station’s closed for the night, tried to call you earlier.” She was unapologetic, unrepentant, plausible. He wanted to rant and rave and tell her how worried he’d been, but that would be overreacting.

“Okay. Okay,” he said, reassuring himself rather than her. “I’ll pick Becka up tomorrow.” He wasn’t taking any chances on more excuses.

He found Sarah on the side veranda, watching the corellas perform acrobatics in the branches, swinging upside down and cracking gum nuts between their strong hooked beaks as they squabbled among themselves. Luke’s attention, though, was drawn to the curve of Sarah’s neck, lengthened by her upturned face and repeated in her wide smile as she turned her delighted gaze upon him. “Aren’t they gorgeous!”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Want something to eat?”

“Yes, please.” She followed him back inside. “Did you get hold of Abby?”

Luke smoothed his face into an expressionless mask. “Becka’s staying overnight. I’ll pick her up tomorrow.”

Sarah’s green eyes probed his. “Are you all right with that?”

No, he was not “all right” with that. He’d barely had his daughter with him a week before she was back at Abby’s. What really rankled was that he’d had no choice but to let Becka stay, unless he wanted to make the long trip back into Murrum. Abby must have known he’d be reluctant to do that on Sarah’s first night. He felt bamboozled by Abby and oddly uneasy about leaving Becka.

“She’ll be okay,” he assured Sarah, but the catchall phrase was meaningless in the present context. “Come and have some tucker. Hope you like steak and potatoes.”

“Steak! I haven’t had a steak since 1989.”

“We eat the odd one around here. You a vegetarian?” He was amused that the owner of a cattle station might not like beef.

“No, I just don’t usually eat big chunks of meat.”

“I reckon we can find you a knife.” But first he opened the bottle of cabernet sauvignon he’d been saving for a special occasion. He twisted the cork off, not even wanting to think about what was prompting him to serve his best wine.

“That’s an interesting corkscrew,” Sarah said, examining the implement. The handle was fashioned out of a cow’s horn, with a large nail driven through and twisted into a tight spiral.

“My grandfather made it. He made or grew just about everything he owned and used. He was so self-sufficient he even made his own coffin and dug his own grave.”

She grinned. “And this is something you aspire to?”

“Self-sufficiency, yes, but I’m not turning the sod just yet.” His answering smile felt rusty through disuse. He hadn’t exactly wanted her to come here, but at least she was taking his mind off Abby and Becka.

After dinner they carried their coffee out to the side veranda. Luke settled into a creaking slung canvas squatter’s chair. Before Sarah’s arrival he’d wondered what kind of a person she would be and what arguments he could use to convince her to sell him her half of the station. It had never occurred to him that he might find himself attracted to her. He propped his booted feet high against the pillar and tried not to dwell on it. She wasn’t even that pretty, he told himself. Her nose had a slight bump and her jaw was a touch strong….

Sarah remained standing, her hands wrapped around her cup. “It sure is quiet.”

“You think so? Sounds pretty noisy to me, what with the cicadas down by the creek and the possums crashing around in the gums….”

“Doesn’t it get lonely out here all by yourselves?”

Only at night, going to a solitary bed.

“There’s a difference between being alone and being lonely,” he said. “Anyway, we get plenty of visitors passing through. I catch up with friends at race meetings or dances.”

Luke rubbed a thumb around the rim of his cup. Compared with town, it was isolated. He was used to it, but Becka wasn’t. If only she were an outdoor sort of kid she might be happier at spending time with him out on the cattle run. Abby had turned her into a townie.

He glanced up to see Sarah sip her coffee and grimace. “Coffee okay?”

“Fine.” She smiled brightly. “Just fine.”

Like hell, he thought, but it was the best he had. Suddenly he wished he had something better to offer. But she was a townie; probably nothing would seem good enough. “What do you do back in Seattle?”

“I’m a computer programmer. I design educational software for a large company. Are you on the Internet?”

Luke snorted. “I’d rather cross the Simpson Desert than venture into cyberspace.”

“Really?” Sarah paced down the veranda. “I don’t know how you stand all this emptiness.”

“It’s not empty. It’s full of life if you know where to look. I’d go off my nut cooped up in a city.”

She wandered back and leaned against a pillar, gazing down at him. “What did you do before you came to Burrinbilli?”

“I was a stockman in far north Queensland on a station owned by a large pastoral company.”

“And before that?”

“Did some traveling. Before that I was a jackaroo on my uncle’s station near Hughenden. That’s where I grew up.” In the deep dusk of the gum trees a kookaburra made its laughing call. Another chimed in, and another. You don’t hear that in the city. “I had a friend as a kid, an aboriginal from the local community. He and I would go out in the desert. His grandfather taught him how to track and find water and hunt. And he taught me.”

Her eyes widened. “Did you, like, eat grubs and things?”

“That’s right.” He couldn’t resist teasing her. “Moreton Bay bugs are my favorite. We’ll have them sometime while you’re here.” He smiled, knowing it was too dark for her to see the twinkle in his eyes.

She shuddered. “Ugh. I guess I’d eat bugs if I were starving, but only then.”

He laughed. Then drained his coffee and got to his feet. “Reckon I’ll turn in. Sunrise comes pretty early.” He paused at the doorway. “You planning on staying up awhile?”

“Well…”

“Because if you go for a stroll at night, mind you take a torch. Brown snakes usually go to sleep at sundown, but death adders and mulgas are out and about.”

“Death adders? Mulgas? Those are poisonous, right?”

“Most snakes in Australia are.”

Sarah scrambled to her feet. “Actually, I’m feeling pretty tired after my long trip.”

“Thought you might be.”

As she went past him into the house the overhead light illuminated her bare freckled shoulder and the scent of her warm skin reached his nostrils, reminding him it had been a long time since he’d held a woman in his arms.

It would be a while longer, he thought, sliding the door shut behind him.

And it wouldn’t be this woman, tempting though she was.

Pity.

LATE THE FOLLOWING afternoon Sarah was in her room, going over the list of items she wanted to buy for the house. Now that she was part owner she ought to do her bit to take care of the place—if Luke let her. Real money needed to go toward machinery or a bull, but fresh paint and new fabric could make a big difference for relatively little expense. She’d found an old sewing machine on the floor of the linen closet and although she was no seamstress she could manage curtains and cushion covers.

She heard the sliding door to the kitchen open and checked her watch. Five o’clock. Luke was in from the cattle run to go and get Becka. He’d asked Sarah this morning if she wanted to go with him and look over the property. Maybe tomorrow, she’d answered, not meeting his eye.

Sarah went down the hall and paused in the kitchen doorway. Luke had stripped off his shirt and was bent over the kitchen sink, sluicing hot soapy water over his head and arms. She’d never been one for westerns, and the popular appeal of cowboys escaped her, but the sheer physicality of his broad shoulders, lean muscled back and strong arms left her blinking like a cursor on a blank screen.

He reached blindly for a towel and blotted the water from his face and hair. Opening his eyes, he saw her and for an instant froze, towel clutched against his chest. “G’day.”

“Hi.” She folded and refolded her list. “Are you going to get Becka?”

He nodded and reached for his shirt, bunching it in his fist. “Want to come?”

“No. Thanks.” She noted the odd, intense light in his eyes and wondered if it was obvious she found him attractive. “I thought I’d make dinner if you would show me how to work the woodstove.”

“Nothing wrong with the electric stove.”

“Let’s just say the woodstove inspires me. Mind if I raid the pantry?”

One corner of his mouth lifted as he slicked back his damp sun-streaked hair. “Go for your life.”

LUKE PULLED INTO Abby’s driveway and jumped out of the car. Doors were never locked in Murrum and friends and family didn’t wait for a formal invitation, so he knocked once on the front door and went in. “Abby? Becka?”

No answer.

He wandered through the kitchen and looked out the window into the backyard. Becka and Abby were on their knees in the vegetable patch, staking up tomatoes. Stepping out the back door, he called, “G’day.”

Abby glanced up and pushed a strand of gray hair off her forehead. “Hello, Luke. We’re almost done.”

He glanced eagerly at Becka, ashamed at how much he longed for her to run to him the way she used to. Daddy, Daddy, see what I did.

Now she only glanced up without smiling before going back to the tomatoes. Any encouragement at all and he would have given them a hand. But he might as well not have been there for all the notice they took of him.

“Don’t mind me,” he muttered, and retreated into the house.

He helped himself to a glass of water from the tap and sat at the kitchen table. There was the usual clutter: a stack of paid bills, Becka’s hair ribbons, a half-done crossword puzzle. At the end of the table, above the salt and pepper shakers and the tomato sauce bottle, hung one of Caroline’s watercolors of a desert landscape. A mutual love of the desert had brought them together, but it hadn’t been enough to bind them. Nor had his love.

The painting reminded him that this house had been hers before she’d died. Abby had taken it over, as she’d taken Becka over.

Idly, he flipped open the photo album. There were Caroline and her parents, Caroline and Abby…He turned the page to see old photos of Abby as a young woman. She wasn’t unattractive really, although her one brown eye and one blue eye were disconcerting. Too bad she’d never married and had children of her own since she loved them so much. He seemed to recall Caroline’s saying something about her being in love with Len and never getting over it.

He flipped the pages. Caroline painting. Caroline pregnant. They hadn’t planned to have a baby, but when she’d gotten pregnant he’d thought they would be a family. Turned out she’d wanted to travel, not settle down.

Luke flipped another page, to find an unsealed envelope tucked into the crack. He slipped out the photo that was inside—one taken of Caroline in the hospital after she’d had Becka. He frowned. Something was odd about 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!” Sarah snatched her blistered finger back from the hot cast iron of the wood-fired oven and thrust it under cold water. Wood-fired oven be damned. It didn’t turn out the savory masterpieces the one at Alfredo’s Bistro did. Her pizza was burned around the edges, pale and gloopy in the center. Maybe if she switched on the electric stove and put the pizza under the broiler…

Irritably, she wiped a smudge of flour from her nose and blew the hair off her forehead with an exasperated sigh. Canned tomatoes were no substitute for sun-dried, even drained through a sieve. And the closest she could get to paper-thin parma ham was a thick rasher of bacon complete with rind and little bones.

But the burned dinner was a mere annoyance. The thing that set her teeth on edge and had her jumping out of her skin was the total absence of decent coffee. The instant stuff Luke made last night was okay once or twice, but she needed something more. She needed full flavor and rich aroma. She needed concentrated caffeine and lots of it. It was humiliating to admit, but she was addicted. Throwing down the hand towel, she strode down the hall to her room.

She snatched up her cell phone, jabbed in her mother’s home number, and almost wept with relief when Anne answered the phone. “Mom! Thank goodness you’re still up.”

“Darling, what is it? Is something wrong?”

“I need coffee. Real coffee. Beans, freshly ground, covered with briskly boiling water. Frothy, steaming milk. Espresso, French roast, cinnamon hazelnut, cappuccino, café latte—”

“Sarah, Sarah, are you all right?”

“What was that noise?” Sarah demanded as she paced back to the kitchen. “I heard a slurping sound. Are you drinking something?”

“Just a cup of herbal tea. Really, darl’, get a grip.”

“I can’t. You’ve got to send me some coffee.”

“I know Murrum isn’t exactly the center of the civilized world, but they do have coffee.”

“Instant coffee. At least that’s all Luke has.” Sarah checked the broiler to see if it was hot and slid one of the pizzas under it. “Mother, please.”

“Consider it done.” There was an odd hint of laughter in Anne’s voice. “How is the homestead? I’ve been thinking about you all day. Have you been down to the creek yet?”

“Er, no. There’s so much to do in the house I haven’t had a chance to get out.” Sarah wrapped her free arm around her waist. She wasn’t going to tell her mother she was afraid to go outside the yard. It was too ridiculous.

“So is it very run-down?” Anne sounded wistful.

“A little shabby. Don’t worry, I’ll have it looking fabulous in no time. But Luke may not be as amenable to selling his half as I’d hoped. He’s really dug in here.”

“Well, he’s been there long enough. What’s he like, do you think, as a manager? Would you say he’s trustworthy?”

She pictured Luke—squinting into the sun, bare chested at the sink, grinning in the dark of the veranda at some private joke. “He doesn’t say much, but he looks you in the eye when he says it. I went over the photocopies of the station accounts before I left Seattle. They seem perfectly okay. In fact, I don’t know how the place survived on what they’ve pulled in the past couple of years.”

“It’s a tough life.” Anne paused. “You said you met Len.”

“He remembered you right away, but when I told him I’d give you his regards, he clammed up.”

“Oh, well, it was all a very long time ago. No point in dredging up ancient history.”

Sarah listened for disappointment, but Anne’s voice was neutral—too neutral. “I’ll bet he was a babe and a half in his day.”

“I believe he’s married, darl’. Er, about that old notebook of mine…tuck it away somewhere safe, will you? There’s nothing of interest in it. Just the typical angsty ramblings of a teenage girl—”

“Don’t worry, Mom. I won’t read it.” Sarah paused to check the broiler. Yikes! The pizza was done, all right. The surface looked as though it had been charred with a blowtorch. On the plus side, the tomatoes were definitely dry.

“I’d better go,” she said. “Dinner’s…uh, ready. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Sarah heard the Land Cruiser drive up and put the pizza on the table, trying in vain to hide it behind the salad and the garlic bread. Surely it didn’t look too bad.

A stony-faced Luke strode into the kitchen, trailed by a sullen young girl with blond braids who dragged her overnight bag on the floor.

“Sarah, this is Becka. Say hello, Becka.”

“H’llo.”

“Hi, Becka. Nice to meet you.” Sarah smiled, hiding her shock at the girl’s swollen, red-rimmed eyes and the tears staining her freckled cheeks. There was an awkward pause before Sarah said brightly, “Dinner’s ready.”

Luke sat down. After a second, so did Becka with a loud scrape of her chair on the slate floor. Her face was set mutinously and she wouldn’t look at her father.

Sarah took her seat and tried to keep the conversation rolling as she dished up the pizza. “It’s not exactly a gourmet delight, but there’s salad, too. And with the leftover dough I made garlic bread.”

Luke took a big bite of burned pizza. He chewed and swallowed without seeming to notice what he was eating.

“How is it?” she asked.

“Good.”

Now she knew he hadn’t tasted it. She turned to Becka. “What do you think?”

Becka shrugged and picked off the tomatoes.

Sarah ate salad and wished she could show Luke there were things she could do really well. Why, she could work the bugs out of a software program in the blink of an eye. She was a good manager, too. She organized a team of six and oversaw all technical aspects of their designs—

She stabbed a piece of red pepper and crunched it down. What was she thinking? The things she was good at meant nothing to a man like Luke. Why should she care what he thought, anyway?

“Did you have a good time at your aunt’s house?” she asked Becka.

Tears flooded from the girl’s eyes. Instead of answering Sarah’s question, she turned to Luke and shouted, “Why can’t I see Aunt Abby again? Why? You hate me, don’t you?”

“Becka, you know that’s not true—” Luke began.

“It is true! You said I can’t go back to Aunt Abby’s, but you won’t even tell me why.” Blinking ferociously, Becka pushed away from the table and went through the sliding doors onto the veranda.

Sarah turned to Luke. “Oh, dear. What happened?”

“Kids,” he said with a dark scowl, and took another bite of charred pizza.

Sarah put down her fork. Clearly, more was going on than he was prepared to tell her. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t mention Becka’s aunt to her?”

Luke’s forearm flexed as he gripped his water glass in his fist. “Don’t mention her to me.”

“Okay,” Sarah said carefully. “You’re angry with the aunt but don’t want to talk about it. Becka is upset about whatever it was that happened and can’t talk about it. I’m completely in the dark but should mind my own business because I’m a stranger here. Have I got it right?”

Frowning, Luke nodded. “Nothing personal.”

She glanced out at Becka, who was leaning morosely against a pillar. Wal came up and tried to lick her face, but the girl pushed him away. “You are going to talk to your daughter, I hope?”

His scowl deepened. “I’ve said all I’m going to say.”

He got up and stalked out of the room instead of going out to comfort his child. Or explain what was obviously incomprehensible to her, too.

Sarah watched him go, shocked and saddened. It really was none of her business. But she’d had a father who’d never been there for her as a child or as an adult. And now he was dead and there was no possibility of reconciliation.

Sarah knew she shouldn’t project her feelings of rejection onto the little girl who was crying on the veranda, but her heart ached for Becka. Although Sarah didn’t know a lot about kids, she remembered how much it hurt to think her father didn’t care about her. She’d seen the worry on Luke’s face last night when his daughter hadn’t been brought home on time. He loved Becka, but for some reason he couldn’t express it. Whether it was any of her business or not, Sarah knew she wouldn’t rest until she discovered what was wrong between Luke and his daughter.

And fixed it.