Читать книгу Twice Her Husband - Mary Forbes J. - Страница 11

L uke threw back the blanket and grabbed his chinos. Daybreak painted the living room in sepia. He located his shirt, slipped it on. Bargain trotted in from the kitchen, tail wagging. She plopped her butt on the mat by the front door.

“Gotta go, too, huh?” Luke opened the door a foot. The pup bounded outside.

In the washroom off the mudroom he found five new toothbrushes. If his head wasn’t stuffed with fog, he might have smiled. Ginny hadn’t lost her bent for stocking up on necessities. When they were married, he used to joke about her habit. We expecting Armageddon? he’d tease.

Nope, just opening a store, she’d quip back.

Splashing water over his face and hair, he wondered if she thought of those moments.

If Boone Franklin had teased her.

Or had known she’d fall asleep in minutes if he scratched her scalp with his fingertips.

Luke scowled in the mirror. Live with your choices, man.

Outside, he stood on the porch steps, shoved his hands in his pockets and inhaled deeply. Wilderness, river, earth. Hypnotic scents for peace and calm.

Above the dark stand of fir, birch and alders lay a finger-smear of pink. A robin trilled its love lyrics across the clearing.

He was an urban man. So he told himself. He worked in town, lived in a condo, socialized in restaurants or the homes of friends and relatives. A subdued scale to what he’d had with Ginny, but the same nonetheless. He saw that now.

Twelve years ago he’d returned to Misty River to lick the wounds of his divorce, vowing to change. And he had—in small ways. He no longer craved the prized rung on the law ladder. He no longer vied for the best cases. Nor hungered for a judgeship. Those days had ended when Ginny walked out. Losing her had taught him the essence of the old cliché that happiness couldn’t be bought.

So why hadn’t he married again? Why hadn’t he found a woman, settled down, had the two-point-five kids?

A thousand stones he’d skipped to those questions at the river’s edge just beyond the clearing.

The answer remained steadfast. Ginny. None of those women had been Ginny.

Ginny of the loving heart.

Ginny who’d battered his own heart when she’d left, who now slept in the house behind him. Who he’d finally learned to forget.

So he’d believed.

Guilt rose like a claw. Their divorce had been for the best. While his acclaim for ruthlessness in a courtroom was high, winning cases without effort, his skill as a husband had been dismal. The only lot in his life where his grade notched a D.

A deserving D.

Calling softly to the pup sniffing an overgrown honeysuckle bush, he coaxed the animal up the steps and into the house. “See you tonight, little girl,” he said and closed the door.

Settling into the leather seat of his Mustang, he thought of his brother. Luckily Jon had been up when Luke called at eleven o’clock last night or he might have been hoofing it back to town this morning. Luke’s mouth curved at the thought of his brother driving the car to Ginny’s. His brother hadn’t wanted to leave his warm house, but he’d damn well enjoyed the power behind the wheel of Luke’s car.

Checking the dash clock—6:02—Luke dialed Eva Asher’s number on his cell, hoping she wouldn’t have a cardiac arrest when her phone shrilled beside her bed. Ginny required a helper and he’d find one if it took him all day. In his opinion, Eva was the perfect match. She knew kids, had a kind heart and she’d known his family forever.

He hoped she was available. If not, he’d hunt around until he found someone. Grade D or not, he would not let Ginny down, not in this or anything else. Far past time you do what’s right, Luke.

“H’lo.” The woman’s voice sounded like a gravel crusher.

“Eva, it’s Luke Tucker.”

Silence. And then she replied, “Ah. Gotcha. Head’s a bit muzzy in the morning.”

And a tad deaf, he figured, from all the kiddie yelling over the years. He swung the car onto Franklin’s Road. “Eva, I’m real sorry to call so early, but I need a favor.”

“You realize it’s six o’clock and dawn’s barely broke, boy?”

He grinned. Eva was only fifteen years older than Luke, but she’d once been his babysitter; in her eyes he was still a “boy.” “Yeah,” he said. “But I know you’re always up with the birds.”

“Don’t mean I wanna talk to ’em,” she grumbled, though he heard the underlying affection.

“Sorry. Did I take you away from something?”

“Nah. Just doing some baking for my son’s wife. She had a new baby, y’know?”

“Yeah, I heard. Congratulations. Listen, Eva. I was wondering if you’d like a job for about six weeks.”

Whatever it took he’d square away some of his wrongs with Ginny. Hiring a nanny was just a start.

Her skin tingling from the warmth and strength of Luke’s arms when he’d carried her downstairs and to the kitchen table moments ago, Ginny eyed the woman making pancakes on her stove.

Eva Asher. A nanny.

He’d hired the kids a nanny and her a housekeeper.

She pinched her lips together. She didn’t need a nanny. Yes, she had a broken leg. Yes, she’d be forced to wear flowing skirts like the green one she had on. But if he’d give her one darn chance, she’d prove the stairs and the children weren’t obstacles. Besides, who wanted a stranger in their house?

Damn the man. Okay. She’d wait until they drove Alexei to school. And Mrs. Asher went home. Then she and Luke would get down to the nitty-gritty of this nanny business.

Joselyn banged her spoon on the tray of her high chair. Ginny picked up the child’s juice mug and held it to the baby’s rosy mouth.

“Daee.” Joselyn pointed her spoon at Luke, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, pouring coffee into two cups at the counter.

“Luke,” Ginny corrected.

“Daee!” Joselyn insisted and dug up a spoonful of cream of wheat. Again, she held the utensil toward Luke. Porridge dripped onto the floor.

Luke set the cups on the table. “Hey, button nose. You’re making a mess.”

“I’ll get it later,” Ginny told him.

He grabbed a paper towel and came around to her side.

“I said I’d get it,” she growled in his ear as he squatted between the two chairs. He looked up, winked. “Uh-huh.”

Alexei and Bargain bounded into the kitchen. “I smell pancakes, Mama.” As if noticing a wall too late, boy and pup slid to a halt. “Who’s that?”

Luke threw the paper toweling into the trash under the sink. Mrs. Asher carried a stacked plate to the table. “Eva. And you’re Alexei, right?”

“Yeah,” he said cautiously.

“Good.” Her face was an atlas for laughter. “I heard blueberry pancakes are your favorite.”

“I could eat a thousand,” he avowed shyly and slid onto a chair.

“A thousand it is, then.” She turned to the stove. Right there, Ginny’s admiration for the woman rose.

“Well, maybe not that many,” Alexei admitted.

“No? Too bad. I was hoping for a spot in the Guinness World Records.”

“Yeah, right,” he muttered, but a smile tugged his mouth.

Luke snatched a pancake off the plate. “Gotta run.”

“Wait,” Ginny called as he strode from the kitchen.

“Daee!” Joselyn banged her spoon and kicked her heels.

He popped his head around the corner.

“You and I,” Ginny said, curbing her frustration at having to push to her feet with a crutch and dealing with Luke in front of her children and a stranger. “We need to talk.”

“Can it wait?” He checked his watch. “I’m due in court in an hour.”

“Now.” Damn it, he might have heavy-handed her with the nanny gig, but he would not run out on her until the issue was settled in her favor.

“Daaa!”

“He’s not Dad!” Alexei snapped. The dog cowered under the table at the pitch of the boy’s voice. “How many times do we have to tell you that?”

The baby began to cry. Tears spilled over her cheeks.

“Hey, now, little princess.” Eva plucked the child from the high chair. “Luke’s gonna come back. Don’t you worry.”

No, he’s not, Ginny thought.

Joselyn held out her arms to Luke.

He shook his head. “I can’t take her with me.”

Ginny almost felt sorry for him. “She wants a kiss.”

“What?”

“Boone used to kiss her goodbye.”

“Daee!” Joselyn still clutched her spoon.

Eva walked toward him with a gentle smile.

“A kiss?” He stared at the baby. Cream of wheat smeared her rose-petal cheeks and lips.

Ginny curbed a laugh. Oh, Luke, if you had a mirror.

A look of utter helplessness lined his mouth. His gaze darted to her, to Eva, to Joselyn, back to Ginny.

He bent his stubbled cheek close to her daughter—and yelped when she grabbed his ear and nose for an open-mouthed smacker just below his eye. A sweet cream-of-wheat kiss.

Ginny giggled.

He flared her a look. “Somebody needs to cut that child’s nails,” he groused, and stalked from the house.

Ginny couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. “You’re too funny, pookie.”

Not until the door closed behind Luke did she remember she’d wanted to inform him his services as protector were done and his debt for hitting her with his car was paid.

“It isn’t necessary for you to be here, Eva.”

Braced on her crutches, Ginny stood beside the woman and dried the few breakfast dishes. Eva had driven Alexei to school, then returned to find Ginny busy at the sink and Joselyn playing peekaboo on the floor with Bargain and several small packing boxes. Squeals, laughter and happy growls. The essence of her day. “I can handle things on my own.”

“I’m sure you can, Ms. Franklin, but Luke hired me for six weeks, and six weeks is what I’m giving you.”

“It’s Ginny. Please.” She set a plate in the cupboard. “I understand what he’s trying to do. Except I’m not bedridden. I can climb the stairs, as you saw, and for most of the day until Alexei gets home, I’ll be on the main floor, quite capable of watching Josie.”

“I’m sure. But who’s going to do the laundry? Strip the beds upstairs? Vacuum upstairs? Take the trash to the roadside? Change the baby’s diapers? Take her for a walk in the sunshine? Chase after her if she runs down the road? Ah.” The older woman patted Ginny’s hand. “See, there is a point to my being here.”

“But I…” Don’t want to be obligated to Luke. She laid the second crutch on the kitchen’s island, out of reach of tiny fingers, and hobbled to a chair. “Okay. Fine. But I want you to go to your own home at night.”

Eva wiped down the counter. “Impossible. Night can be difficult if there’s an emergency.”

The woman and Luke had a one-track mind-set. “If there’s a true emergency, I’ll call 911.”

“Luke’s paid me—”

“You can reimburse him. Look. I do appreciate your help, Eva. Don’t get me wrong, but I’ll be okay. Honest.”

The older woman rinsed the last two glasses before pulling the drain plug. “How do you propose to make a living here?”

Ginny sighed. Okay, her business was her own. She wasn’t about to discuss her plans—or finances—with a stranger. Even a kind stranger. “What’s that got to do with your employment here?”

Eva leaned against the counter. She folded the damp dishcloth over the sink’s tap. “Once your leg heals, are you planning to get a job in Misty River? If so, you’ll need a babysitter for the little one. I’d be happy to be that sitter.”

“I wasn’t… I mean, what I’m planning…” She pressed a finger to her temple where a headache tingled. “I’d like to open a preschool.” I need an income and can’t afford a sitter.

Eva’s brows lifted. A great grin broke. “A preschool? Oh, honey, you’re talking right up my alley.”

“I am?”

“You bet. I operated Misty River’s only preschool for twenty years. When I retired two years ago, people had to transport their kids to Clatskanie, eight miles up the road. You’re going to hit a jackpot.”

Ginny stared at the woman across the kitchen, then let out a half laugh. “Guess I will.”

While Ginny strapped on a fanny pack containing a flashlight, Eva bundled Joselyn in her little yellow wool-lined jacket, tied on her yellow cap and set her wee feet into diminutive white sneakers. “There you go, princess. All ready.”

In a lopsided puppy gallop, Bargain rushed forward.

“Go!” Joselyn toddled to the door. “Bug. Go!”

“Yes, pooch,” Ginny said. “All of us are going for a walk.”

Holding Joselyn’s hand, Eva walked onto the porch. She closed the door behind Ginny. Slowly, they maneuvered the steps, Ginny hobbling one to the other in much the same manner as her daughter; Bargain taking a nosedive off the last step. Her long black pointer’s ears swept the dirt.

“Uh-oh.” Joselyn gestured. “Bug, uh-oh.”

“Yes, angel.” Ginny watched as the pup romped after a wily crow. “Bargain bit the dust for a second, didn’t she?”

Eva let go of the child’s hand once they were on solid ground. The toddler ran after dog and bird.

“Not so fast, little girl.” Eva trotted after the baby.

“Ma, go!”

Ginny laughed. The sun warmed the air. Clouds feathered an azure sky. A sweet two-pitched whistle announced a song sparrow in the nearby trees.

A perfect day to inspect the small cottage butting the forest between the house and the old mill site. Boone’s great-grandfather had built the house and the mill, in hopes of beginning a lucrative logging business. The venture petered out with the approach of the Depression years.

As they walked, Eva said, “I remember when Deke Franklin built those cabins along the river’s edge.” She nodded to where the trees secreted away three small buildings. “They were hoping to begin a small resort. But then…”

Ginny knew the story. Tragedy had taken a life as well as his parents’ dreams.

“Did anyone ever live in the cottage?” Ginny pointed with her chin to the fourth building—a small Cape Cod—which she hoped to change into her preschool. The dwelling stood a short distance west of the house and three hundred yards from the water. According to Boone, it was to have housed the resort’s caretaker…or Boone, had he elected to shoulder the business once his father retired.

Eva shook her head. “Probably transients. When the Franklins built it in the sixties, they had this grand opening for what they called a ‘getaway on the water.’ The whole town showed up. People danced and laughed and had a great old time. I was thirteen then, but went with the older teens to swim in the river. Franklin’s swimming hole was a well-known hangout in those days.” She sighed audibly. “Never expected tragedy that day.”

Ginny navigated the crutches past a bump in the path. “Maggie Stuart’s drowning.” In the Misty River not twenty feet from the resort cabins. Her body had never been found.

“For days police dragged the river.” Eva fixed Joselyn’s little cap so it shaded the child’s face. “Then three weeks later the hauntings began. Someone saw Maggie kneeling on the riverbank, sobbing. Crazy if you ask me.”

Ginny agreed. As the tale went, spectral sightings sprang up every other month for almost two years, before the novelty wore thin and the story turned legend.

And while the Franklin’s resort dream floundered in a haze of tragedy and ghostly gossip, Boone’s father committed suicide. A year later, Boone moved to Boston to study medicine. He never returned to Misty River.

As a child Ginny heard the stories from her own family—and later, in the privacy of their marriage, from Boone.

While she limped toward the cottage to inspect it as a possible place for her own dream, a sadness hung in the air. Forty-five years ago, Boone had loved Maggie Stuart’s twin sister, Maxine.

Luke’s mother.

The door of the cottage was locked, the windows boarded.

“It needs a ton of work,” Ginny told Eva. “I’m not sure if it’s even hygienically safe. Probably got mice and bugs.”

“Maybe.” Carrying Joselyn, Eva walked along the outside of the house. “Foundation is cement. Must have a basement.”

“That’s what—” Boone said in his will. “I figured.”

Eva returned to the stoop where Ginny stood. “No structural damage to the outside. Been inside yet?”

“Nope.” Ginny set aside her left crutch and removed the flashlight from her fanny pack. “First time for everything.” She took the key from her pocket and turned the lock. The door stuck. Shoving a shoulder to the wood, she pried the door open on a chord of squeaks. A rustling noise sounded in the shadows. Flicking on the flashlight, she stepped across the threshold.

Joselyn pulled her thumb from her mouth. “Ma?”

“Mom’s right here, hon. Stay with Eva, okay?”

Ginny shone the light around what appeared to be a surprisingly spacious living room for such a small house. Faded posy wallpaper dragged in long curly strips from the ceiling’s crown molding. A corner harbored a kitchenette, all inclusive with sink, L-shaped counter and cupboards.

Had it not been boarded, a tall, broad window would have looked south, across the meadow to the river. Behind her, near the door, a staircase descended into the basement. Dust and dirt overlaid all surfaces. Cobwebs stitched corners and angles.

Her crutches thumped the wood as she hobbled across the room to the first of two doors. Smaller than the main area, but still expansive, the second room was a bedroom; the third a bathroom—toilet, sink, claw-foot tub. And a tiger-eyed tabby cat hissing from a nest of moth-eaten cloths.

“Now, where did you come from?”

The cat hissed again, before streaking past Ginny and out the front door. Bargain let out an awrrr, awrrr! and took off on a gangly gallop across the grassy clearing. The cat scurried up a thick-limbed poplar; the befuddled pup plunked her fanny in the dirt, looked back at the trio then set to howling.

“Kee,” Joselyn cried from Eva’s arms. “Ma, kee! Bug! Kee!”