Raine rolled her eyes before giving Madelyn a "gotta love 'em" look. "I think it's time I admit defeat and call a plumber," she said, stepping back to let them enter.
The entryway was small but bright. Ahead was an ornate staircase fashioned of some dark gleaming wood and a colorful cotton runner protecting the hardwood floor. To the left was an antique umbrella stand festooned with a collection of hats, one of which bore the logo of the much respected TV news magazine produced and hosted by—
"Morgan Paxton lives here?" The shock in her voice had both Raine and Luke grinning at her.
"Most of the time, yes," Raine said with a laugh. "Surprising, isn't it?"
Madelyn felt herself flushing. She'd seen the charismatic journalist countless times on the nightly news, reporting from some international hot spot or other, sometimes with starbursts of high-tech weaponry filling the night sky behind him, his tawny hair ruffling in the breeze and his eyes intense as he personalized the impersonal.
"I have to admit to being a fan," she said. "And forgive me if I sounded rude, Mrs. Paxton. Your house is lovely."
"Not to worry. We're used to people who don't know us well wondering why we don't live in a huge mansion in Lake Oswego. Or Westchester County for that matter." She smiled warmly. "And, please, call me Raine."
"Where is Pax, anyway? Hiding out in the den?" Luke asked, shifting the toddler to his other arm.
Raine laughed. "No, but I suspect he would be if he were here. At this precise moment my darling husband's in Mexico filming a story. He's due back Tuesday morning, thank goodness."
Madelyn smiled at the stir it would cause in Whiskey Bend when her mama spread the word that the girl they'd scorned before she'd clawed her way back to respectability was living next door to a world-famous journalist. If she took the house, Madelyn cautioned herself firmly. Nothing was settled.
"Prue dropped off Harriet's key on her way to work this morning," Raine explained, leading them to the left through a living room filled with flourishing plants, little-boy toys and comfortable-looking furniture. A fascinating collection of artwork and artifacts from all over the world were displayed on the walls. A huge bouquet of those marvelous lavender blooms sat on a carved chest under the window, dew still glistening on the velvet petals.
"What a magnificent dollhouse," she marveled, her gaze lovingly tracing the outlines of a miniature replica of this house sitting on its own stand in one corner. Obviously made with meticulous attention to detail by loving hands, it was as much a work of art as a child's delight.
"Morgan made that for our daughter Morgana," Raine explained with visible pride. "She's Lebanese by birth and was nearly three when we adopted her last year.
"She's visiting with my father at his cabin down near Diamond Lake for the next two weeks. He's teaching her how to fish."
"Is Stace around?" asked Luke. "She sent word with Boyd that Tory had another drawing for my wall."
Raine shook her head. "Case had to go in to work this morning, so Stacy took Chloe and Lily and her girls to Story Hour at my shop," Raine explained as she led the way to the kitchen. "With any luck they'll be back before you leave."
"Unca Luke!" Another little boy came barreling into the kitchen from a door opposite the one they'd used, his chubby arms already reaching upward. He, too, was barefoot and wearing only a diaper. His hair wasn't quite as curly as his brother's, Madelyn realized. And he was slightly larger. Otherwise they were identical.
Luke hesitated, then reached down and scooped him up with his free arm. Madelyn thought he winced as he straightened. But his eyes were crinkling with affection as he accepted the toddler's exuberant kiss.
"Hey, Alex, big guy, I hear you're in trouble."
"Uh-uh. It's Matt's fault."
"Is not!" The twins glared at each other, identical chins jutting and little fists waving.
"Whoa, partners. Time out here." At the low note of warning in Luke's voice, both boys blinked. Raine glanced Madelyn's way and winked.
"How come you're here today?" Alex demanded, the dispute forgotten.
"I brought someone special to meet you guys." When he glanced Madelyn's way, she felt a warmth spread. "This is Madelyn."
Identical pairs of brown eyes studied her. "You're pretty, like my mommy," Matt chirped, grinning.
And you're going to make some special lady very happy some day, Madelyn thought as she tweaked one bare foot. "Thank you, sir."
We have cookies!" Alexander exclaimed with rapture in his eyes.
"Yeah, what kind?" Luke asked, his greedy gaze sweeping the sparkling counters with a surprisingly boyish eagerness.
"Peanut butter choc'late chip!"
"Only they're for after," Matthew amplified somberly.
"After what?"
"After pumming, a course." Alexander swiveled his head Madelyn's way, his eyes brimming with curiosity. "Are you and Unca Luke married?"
Her stomach contracted. "No, sweetie. He's my doctor."
He wrinkled his little brow. "Are you sick?"
"No, buddy, she's going to have a baby."
"Like when Auntie Stacy had B.J.?"
"Exactly." Luke started to put Matt down, only to have a vicious pain claw through his back. He froze, then breathed into the spreading agony, willing the spasm to ease.
"Put me down now, Unca Luke," Matt ordered, kicking him in the thigh.
"In a minute, buddy." Luke fought to keep his voice steady. But it cost him, and he clamped his jaw shut against a groan. Raine shot him an anxious look.
"Luke, are you all right?"
"Yeah. Fine. Just stiff."
Disbelief tightened her lips. "It's your back again, isn't it?"
"Don't start," he warned, narrowing his gaze. From the corner of his eye, he saw Maddy frown and wanted to kick something. Since even that was beyond him at the moment, he settled for a scowl.
Freeing her hands, Raine shot him an exasperated look before plucking an impatient Alex from his arms. She set him on his feet, then took Matt. "You idiot," she said before settling the boy on his already moving feet. "You know you're not supposed to lift—"
"We're in a hurry here, Raine." His voice was a whip, lashing shock over Raine's face.
"Luke, there's no call to be so rude!" Madelyn's soft rebuke had him grinding his teeth against the impulse to spill out an explanation that would only sound like a bid for her sympathy.
"Take care of little mother here," he told Raine, jerking his thumb Maddy's way. He knew he was being a jerk, but anything was better than folding up at her feet. "I have work to do."
* * *
Chapter 8
« ^ »
"Harriet moved here after her husband died," Raine said as she plucked a brown frond from an otherwise thriving Boston fern tucked into a corner of Mrs. Finkle's crowded living room. "She couldn't decide what to keep and what to sell, so she decided to keep everything. Eight rooms of furniture crammed into five."
"It does seem a bit overwhelming," Madelyn admitted, looking around for a place to sit. The Victorian fainting couch seemed a safe bet, and she settled gratefully onto the red velvet upholstery.
Because Stacy MacAuley had yet to return, Raine had taken the twins with them when she'd shown the house, corralling them in the fenced backyard with stern admonitions to behave themselves. Ten minutes ago, when Raine had checked on them, the boys had been hunting snails. Madelyn's experience with Emily's brood had taught her not to push for too many details.
As she and Raine had walked through the Victorian's five rooms, Raine had been as efficient as any rental agent, pointing out amenities and answering her questions about shopping and other services in the area. In return, Madelyn had given her a brief rundown on her pregnancy and Doc Morrow's search for a specialist. Raine was immediately supportive, assuring her that Luke was indeed a marvelous doctor. Her sons were proof of that, two little miracles who might never have been born if it hadn't been for Luke's skill and attentive care.
"So
what do you think?" Raine asked, turning and spreading her arms.
"In the profound words of my students, I am truly blown away." Madelyn picked up a crazy-quilt pillow and ran a finger over the year 1886 embroidered in a child's hand on one of the silk patches. "Who would believe it? A darling house completely furnished right down to the salt and pepper shakers and a car to drive. It's almost too good to be true."
Harriet's car was a five-year-old Buick that still had a new-car smell. It was Madelyn's for as long as she occupied the house. Though the rent was higher than she'd budgeted, the money she'd save on a rental car more than made up the difference.
"Once you sign the rental agreement, you can arrange to have the phone and utilities transferred to your name."
Madelyn's gaze swept the tastefully cluttered room. "It's been my experience that every silver lining comes with a dark cloud," she said as much to herself as Raine.
"This one is wrapped in gray fur and goes by the name of Precious, thought heaven knows she's not," Raine said with a grimace.
"A cat with eyes as beautiful as hers has to have a few redeeming qualities."
Harriet's darling was a Russian blue, a breed known for its strength—and bad temper. The instant they'd walked in, Precious had hissed and snarled, then tried to bite Raine on the leg. A quick spritz from the spray bottle Raine had prudently brought with her had sent the cat racing under Harriet's bed, where it continued to snarl.
"When I talked to her accountant earlier to tell him I had a hot prospect, he said he'd be in until noon." Raine glanced at her watch. "If I call him now, you can probably get to his place before he leaves."
* * *
After returning to the hotel from the accountant's office with her copy of the rental agreement tucked in her purse, Madelyn made arrangements to have her rental car picked up, then grabbed a quick lunch in the dining room before checking out. By the time she shoved her empty suitcase under the guest room bed, the Victorian cottage was already beginning to feel like home.
On the way back to Mill Works Ridge, she'd stopped at a discount store to buy some tops and shorts, as well as a supply of paperback novels before heading for the supermarket Raine had recommended. She'd also picked up a couple of cute cat toys.
Deciding that now was as good a time as any to try to make friends with her roommate, she walked down the short hall connecting the two bedrooms. The one she'd chosen for herself faced the street and had the most amazing canopied bed. The last time she'd seen the cat, it'd been crouched under the tall frame.
"Precious, are you under there, sweetie?" she crooned as she bent down to lift the crocheted dust ruffle. The thick pecan-colored carpet smelled faintly of shampoo and felt springy against her fingers as she lightly ran the toy mouse back and forth over the pile. "Aunt Maddy has a special treat for you, pretty girl."
Exotic green eyes glared at her through the gloom, reminding her of the Cheshire cat. Except there was no sign of a grin.
"I know what it's like to miss someone so much you just want to curl up in a ball and sleep. It hurts to know you've been left behind, doesn't it? But you're luckier than I was, darling. The person you love will come back. Mine never did."
She froze, her words echoing in her head. Now why on earth did she say that? Hunkered down in the shadows under the bed the cat blinked back at her, a low growl rumbling in its throat for an instant before it pounced. It was only when she felt those sharp claws raking her hand that she remembered the spray bottle.
"All right, I'll give you that one because I wasn't paying attention, but from now on you are going to start behaving yourself." Ignoring the rumbling growl coming from beneath the bed, she went into the bathroom separating the two bedrooms. The first-aid kit she'd bought was still on the counter, along with the rest of the necessities.
Silently congratulating herself on her foresight and efficiency, she tore the protective plastic from the flat metal box and had just opened the lid when the doorbell rang. After grabbing a tissue, she hurried through the crowded living room, feeling surprisingly light-hearted. Expecting to find Prudy or Raine on the porch, she was already smiling when she opened the door.
It was Luke who stood there on the doorstep, looking windblown, achingly tired and endearingly awkward. He grinned, shifted on those long powerful legs, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops. Beyond her control her breath hissed in, and those annoying ribbons of awareness unfurled inside.
"Looks like you're already settled in," he said, his gaze taking in the cotton T-shirt and baggy shorts with the drawstring top. "Looks real comfortable. At least a twelve."
"A twelve?"
"My staff was almighty impressed with your, uh, style. When I got back to the office after seeing to Mrs. Gregory, Dorie made me promise to ask you where you bought your shoes. She was guessin' Neiman's."
Bemused, Madelyn nodded. "They're right. I have wide feet, so I can't buy shoes just anywhere."
His gaze dipped to her bare feet. To the toes she'd painted fire-engine red to give her courage. Those same toes curled into the thick area rug as he slowly lifted his gaze. Suddenly she was having trouble breathing properly. A part of her hated him for that. A part of her hated him for everything that had gone wrong during the past twenty-two years.
"So, uh, you fixin' to become a Blazers fan?"
"Blazers?"
Her senses scrambled as his grin flashed, creasing one hard cheek into a surprisingly boyish dimple. "Portland Trailblazers? A bunch of tall millionaires?" His gaze dipped to the front of her shirt, then jerked back to her face.
"Oh, right, basketball," she blurted, then glanced down at the unfamiliar logo splashed across her breasts. Lord help her, her nipples were as hard as pebbles—and perfectly outlined beneath the stamped-on letters. She went hot from her hairline to her painted toes. Damn him, she thought. "Actually I didn't notice what it said," she said a little primly. "The shirt I mean. Just that it was on sale."
"It would be, bein's they pretty much tanked their year."
"I'm not much for sports actually, although I do go to all the Cougars games of course."
"I'm mostly into fly-fishing myself."
It surprised her that he would have the patience to match wits with anything smaller than a half-wild dogie. "I guess you no longer compete in rodeos?"
"Not for a long time, no." He shifted his weight again, his gaze going toward the cherry tree in the side yard. "So you took the house to get the tree?"
"Something like that, yes." She fought to stop the rest of her poise from unraveling. "I appreciate your help."
"Not much help to it. You and the house just seemed right for each other somehow."
Luke was already regretting the impulse to check on her. Because his hands felt too big and too rough, he shoved them into his back pockets. "Actually I dropped by to see if you needed any help movin' furniture or maybe grocery shopping, but you look like you have things pretty much under control."
She took a breath. "Uh, would you like to come in? I can make coffee, or I have lemonade."
Luke reminded himself of times he'd had coffee with Raine or Prudy or Stacy. Madelyn was a part of their world now. Unless he wanted to avoid the closest thing to family he had these days, he had to find a way to coexist with her. They might even become friends of a sort. "That coffee, is it fresh ground?"
Her eyes smiled as she stepped back. "Is there any other kind?"
"Not in this lifetime."
Harriet Finkle obviously had a thing for antiques, he noted as he circled an upholstered chair with knobby legs and a matching ottoman. Enough chairs and tables and whatnots to fill a house twice the size of this one, by the looks of things.
Careful to keep his hands tucked close as he sidestepped a round table with delicate porcelain doodads skating on the glossy surface, he followed her through the dining room and into a small sunny kitchen done up in yellow and white. There were more antiques here, a big cabinet with a tin front and a smaller one by the back door.
Old kitchen utensils covered the wails. Big as he was, he'd best not make any sudden moves.
"I met Miz Finkle once, at the twins' christening. She was leaving the next day to go bear hunting in Alaska. I was impressed as hell with her grit."
Madelyn tossed him a look over her shoulder. "She included her itinerary with her list of instructions and insurance papers for the car. This week she's in Sri Lanka?
Madelyn had left the bag of Zimbabwe beans on the counter when she'd unpacked the groceries, along with the coffee grinder and coffeemaker she'd bought after discovering that Harriet apparently drank only tea.
When the beans were ground, she opened a new package of filters and set about brewing the first pot in her new state-of-the-art coffeemaker.
The first time she'd tasted coffee had been on Luke's lips.
While the coffee dripped, he walked to the back door, dipped his hands into his back pockets and looked through the window at the backyard. "Pretty maple tree yonder. Not as big as the cottonwoods you have down your way, but sturdy enough for a swing."
She felt her face go soft. "My brother Hal and I had a swing—and a cottonwood. I liked the swing, hated the cottonwood. I sneezed for two solid weeks when the cotton was flying."
"On the ranch we had a jacaranda right next to the porch. My mama used to go crazy trying to keep the yard tidy, but she put up with it because she loved the flowers. The first summer after my stepmother moved in, she talked my daddy into cutting it down."
She remembered him talking a little about his family. From what he'd said, and even more what he hadn't said, she suspected his home hadn't been a happy place after his mother had abandoned him and his father. That summer they'd met, his stepmother had just had a baby. To her surprise he'd had a walletful of pictures to pass around. That had been one of the reasons she'd been so sure he would never abandon a child of his own.
"How's your sister? Shari, right?"
"Yeah." He rubbed his hand over his belly. "She's fixing to get married. My dad is havin' a fit. Glen's a nice enough guy, a mechanic for North Star Trucking in Phoenix. Pop thinks he should go to medical school. Wants me to pay for it."
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