She dashed her tears with a quick brush of her fingers. “Well”—she smiled—“enough of that.” She sniffed in a totally unladylike way. “You’ll be staying for lunch.” A statement of fact, not a question.
“I’m sorry, ma’am—”
“Enough of this ‘ma’am’ stuff. You’re making me feel like Granny Lejeune—Cole’s grandma, who’s eighty-six and cranky as a wet hen. It’s Olivia—or Liv. And no sorry’s, either. You’ll stay. I’m not much of a cook, but I won’t poison you; Ana and Cole survive it.” She paused and looked off in the distance, as if a thought had just occurred to her. “Then again, maybe they’ve built up a tolerance.” She patted him on the chest. “No matter. We’ve got a good hospital.”
Analise went to her metal studio in the gabled second floor of the carriage house. She needed to work; she had no time to dwell on personal slights. The fountain she was building needed to be done next week and she had a shipment of copper sprinklers that was due to be shipped this Friday. But, as she gathered her materials, she couldn’t keep her mind on either project.
Her insides felt like a film she’d once seen of the inside of a volcano, hot and roiling, toxic vapors and molten rock. It was the same feeling she got every time she thought about her late husband.
She could hear the rise and fall of voices below as Luke and Olivia talked about her husband. That guy had some nerve, treating her like she was no more than a stranger to Calvin.
Quickly, her own conscience admonished her. Luke was probably Calvin’s loyal friend—she, on the other hand, had betrayed her husband, not in deed, but in her thoughts. She couldn’t count how often she’d wished he simply would not come home. Time and again, she’d imagined how much easier her life would be. And now that horrible, horrible wish had been granted. It was too late to take it back.
Why had this man arrived now, just when scabs had begun to form on the wounds in her soul?
Again, her conscience spoke: Because you deserve no peace.
Olivia was right about one thing. She wasn’t much of a cook. However, by the time they sat down to scorched tomato soup and blackened grilled cheese sandwiches, she’d managed to take the uncomfortable edge off of Luke’s mood. She’d chatted and joked and mothered him as she’d worked in her warm, inviting kitchen. He was glad to see she wasn’t a fragile woman made of blown glass; Olivia Lejeune was more like a rubber dog toy, appearing all soft and adorable, but tough and resilient when put to the test of teeth. In fact, Luke had been enjoying himself—until Analise came in from the greenhouse and sat down at the kitchen table across from him.
He simply nodded a greeting and tried not to think of her navel.
She smiled back and picked up her spoon. There was something almost fearful in her smile. Which made no sense. If anything, she should be angry over his earlier dismissal of her.
After that, Luke was careful not to look at her. The bright awkwardness bothering him felt much like the time he and a buddy had peeked into their eighth-grade English teacher, Miss Clark’s, bedroom window one night and seen her naked. It had been her first year teaching, and every guy in school had the hots for her. Only Luke and Josh had seen her naked. It had been an earth-moving experience—especially since she was really stacked and neither he nor Josh had actually ever seen a real live naked woman before. On the way home, feeling like conquering heroes, they’d talked about how they were going to tell everybody—become celebrities in the locker room. But the next day, shame prevented either of them from even bringing it up. From that time forward, they sank low in their chairs during English class and tried not to look at her.
Since then, Luke had never looked at a naked woman who hadn’t specifically invited him to.
Still, those feelings he’d had when he first met Analise brought that same sense of dishonor. He couldn’t wait to be away from here, so he could put it out of his mind.
“Luke,” Analise said, “how long did you serve with Calvin?”
The room seemed hotter than the greenhouse. “We served in the same company for five years, on the same special team for three.” He gave her a brief glance; he could hardly speak to her without looking at her at all.
“I see.” There was something challenging in her eyes.
Luke knew it was time to apologize. “I meant no disrespect earlier. I’m truly sorry for your loss. I . . .” How was he going to explain that he didn’t know she was Calvin’s wife, when she obviously was familiar with his name when he introduced himself?
“We were married for eight.” The statement hovered over the table between them for a moment, then crashed in the silence like a lead balloon.
What in the hell was he supposed to say to that? He waited for Olivia to save him, but she continued to take quiet sips of soup from her spoon as if alone in the room.
During the following uneasy minutes, both Luke and Analise concentrated over their soup as if it held the answer to world peace in its depths.
Then, out of the blue, Olivia said, “Luke brought Jimmy’s Purple Heart home. I suppose Calvin will be getting one, too.”
When Luke’s gaze snapped to her face, she had a look of calculation deep in her eyes. He forced a crusty bite of sandwich down his throat before it had been sufficiently chewed, then wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Actually, ma’am—”
“Olivia,” she corrected.
“Olivia.” He blew out a quiet breath and dared a glance at Analise. Her sharp green gaze was riveted on him, her spoon stalled halfway to her lips. “The Purple Heart is only awarded to those wounded or killed in combat—at the hands of a declared enemy.”
“Humm.” Olivia held Luke helpless with her gaze for another moment, then resumed her lunch.
He sensed she was testing him, probing for reaction. By the way her gaze sharpened, he was certain she’d noticed his addition of the word “declared” to the regulations for the Purple Heart. It was as much as he’d be able to give her in confirmation. Any mother of a soldier involved in covert operations would have similar suspicions—and in this case, Olivia Lejeune’s were valid. Calvin most definitely deserved the Purple Heart, and probably a couple of other commendations. But often the clandestine work of the Rangers precluded such decorations. Those awards either weren’t given, especially posthumously to the next of kin, or were flashed briefly in front of the soldier and then stored away in some vault, never to see the light of day again.
Analise broke the ensuing silence. “It was very thoughtful of you to deliver it in person. That medal was very special to Calvin.”
Luke looked at her and offered a nod of thanks. How could Abbott have treated a medal with more regard than this sparkling, devoted wife? Luke’s mind did a quick double take. Where had he gotten the idea that Analise was devoted? He knew plenty of long-distance military marriages were “open,” where both parties fooled around at will. Abbott had sure had his share of flings.
When Analise smiled oddly and lowered her gaze, he realized he’d been staring at her as he’d tried to decipher what was impossible to know—and certainly none of his business.
Olivia said, “I think Luke was a good friend to our Calvin.” She nodded in satisfaction. “It’s good to have a military man in the house again.”
For a moment Luke thought of her statement. Were he and Abbott friends? Luke had been as close to Abbott as anyone in their team. They’d protected each other like brothers, shared drinks like fraternity boys, crawled through swamps elbow to elbow; he’d always assumed they were friends. But finding Abbott had a wife tucked away all of these years—well, it made him wonder if anyone really knew Calvin Abbott.
Finally, he said, “Soon to be ex-military, ma’am.”
She looked at him thoughtfully. “So, if not for the . . . accident, you’d be career army?”
Her question made him think in a way he hadn’t since the “accident.” “I really hadn’t made a conscious decision—before. I think every Ranger takes each day, each assignment, as it comes. I supp
ose I would have stuck with it as long as physically possible. Then . . . I guess I’m not sure where I would have chosen to go from there.” He absently rubbed his knee. “As for the moment, I’m—uncommitted.”
“Do you still have military options?”
“I’ve been offered a few. I’m officially on extended medical leave, so I guess nothing is certain yet.”
“I’m sure you’ll make the right choice, when the time comes.” She stood and picked up her empty soup bowl. “More soup, either of you?”
“None for me, thank you,” Luke said, not having eaten half of what was in front of him already. He noticed Analise had finished hers. The flavor combination of tomato and ash was obviously something of an acquired taste.
“Thanks, Liv.” Analise gathered her dirty dishes and got up. “It was great, as usual. I need to get back to my workshop. I have a shipment that has to go out tomorrow and the fountain for the park is only half-finished.”
Luke stood.
“It was nice to meet you, Luke. Thank you for your concern for our family.”
“Good-bye, Analise.” He wondered if she would stay, now that she was a widow, or return to Jackson. He got the feeling that she was at home here: Five months had passed and he didn’t see any moving boxes. There was also something in her voice when she spoke of Olivia and Cole as her family that said that she wasn’t distancing herself from them just because Calvin was gone.
She deposited her dishes in the sink and left by the kitchen door.
Olivia returned to the table with a half-bowl of soup. “I know I look like a pig, but I’m supposed to bump up my vitamins. I prefer tomato soup to pills.”
He sat back down. “Makes sense to me.”
Between spoons of soup, she asked him a little more about himself. It felt just like when he was in high school and over at a buddy’s house, the mom gently coaxing conversation in the hopes of gathering a single crumb of information about what was going on with her own kid.
He shared a few lighthearted remembrances that included Calvin, wishing he could answer the unasked question: What really happened to my son?
Finally, he slid his chair back and said, “I can’t thank you enough for lunch. I should be going.”
“Oh, no, you won’t. I’m not finished and you can’t leave an old woman to eat alone. Sit tight there, I’ll get some cookies.” She got up and pulled open a drawer.
“I really don’t need—”
“Shush.” She set a Tupperware container in front of him and peeled off the lid. “Relax, Ana made these, not me.”
He was about to argue further when the aroma of the cookies reached him. He hadn’t eaten breakfast, and lunch . . . he looked at the half-eaten sandwich and near-full bowl of soup. What wafted from the plastic box was rich enough that it could be used to tempt a man on a hunger strike.
Olivia sat back down. “Don’t feel bad, Ana’s cookies do that to all men.”
Her comment made him realize he’d closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He reached for the biggest cookie, then took a bite. Oh, sweet Jesus, how could something so simple taste so good?
Olivia chuckled. “She won’t tell what’s in the recipe—I’m starting to think it’s an illegal substance of some sort.”
“I might be inclined to agree.” He finished that one and reached for another.
“Maybe you should stick around for supper. Ana cooks.” She gave him a wry grin. “She’s a little more in tune with the finer details of the culinary arts than I am.”
“That’s a tempting offer, especially after these cookies, but I have to be getting on the road.”
Her shoulders slumped slightly. “Cole will be so disappointed he didn’t get to meet you.”
“You’ll have to tell him I’m sorry. Calvin thought a lot of his little brother.” Apparently more than he thought of his wife.
Olivia wrapped her hand around her coffee cup and smiled wistfully. “Cole worshiped the ground Calvin trod upon.” She sighed and looked into the depths of her coffee. “This has been particularly hard on him.”
Luke didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry was no more than an empty phrase said by everyone who opened their mouth around a grieving family. Instead of talking, he stood and put a hand on her shoulder and gave a warm squeeze.
He was surprised when her hand covered his and she said, “Sometimes, life’s a bitch.”
“Amen.”
He went to the kitchen door. The rain had stopped, leaving the burgeoning greening of the landscape seeming to glow with new life. The chill wind still blew, the clouds scuttling quickly across the gray sky.
Olivia insisted on walking him to his car, her arms folded across her chest against the cold. They picked their way around mud puddles in silence. Just before he opened the door, she gave him a quick hug. “Thank you for accepting all of my misplaced mama hugs—kids may outgrow them, but a woman never outgrows the need to give them.”
On impulse, he pulled out a scrap of paper and scribbled a number on it. “I’m not sure where I’m going to be, but this is my cell phone number. If you need anything, give me a call.” He was fairly certain an obviously self-sufficient person like Olivia wouldn’t be calling anyone for help, least of all a man she’d met only once. Still, offering made him feel better.
A shameful thought skittered across his mind. Maybe that was what this trip was all about—making him feel better. It was a thought he didn’t want to examine too closely.
Taking the paper, she pressed her lips together, looking like she wanted to say something more.
“What is it?” he asked.
She gave her head a little shake. “It’s too much.”
Closing the door without getting in, he said, “Probably not. Just ask.”
She sighed quietly and the words left her mouth with apparent reluctance. “Cole’s father died when he was eight. And, well, you know how he adored his brother. Even though they rarely saw each other—well, maybe a little bit because of that—Calvin took a larger-than-life image in Cole’s mind.”
Luke braced himself. He’d asked for it, after all.
“If you could just stick around until he gets home from school—spend a few minutes with him. It’d mean so much.” Even as she finished, she waved the thought away. “I know you need to go. I just was hoping . . .”
He had been antsy to drive away from this place since the moment he’d learned that Analise was Abbott’s wife. In that second he could actually see himself tearing down the stone lane with a billow of dust in his wake, just like a Roadrunner cartoon. But where he was going once he reached the safety of the highway—that was another matter. Eventually he knew he’d end up in Glens Crossing, but planned on taking his time getting there, spending several days on the winding old highways, sorting out his thoughts.
There was no denying he could easily afford a half-day. But no way was he hanging around Analise until the kid came home. “I have a few things to do this afternoon,” he lied. “What time does Cole get home?”
Her posture visibly relaxed. “You’re a good boy.” She reached up and patted his cheek. He couldn’t remember the last time someone patted his cheek like that. The simple gesture reached deep and touched his soul. His own mother had abandoned the family when he’d been in grade school. Maternal affection had left with her.
Olivia pulled her hand back and put it over her own heart. “He has soccer practice until six. So you might as well plan on being here for dinner.” Before he could protest she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.” She hurried back to the house, as if trying to outrun the returning rain—or his refusal.
Luke drove away from Magnolia Mile feeling like he was stuck in quicksand. He wanted to be free of these women, not to have to look the fallout of his mistake in the eye again. But the more he tried to extricate himself, the deeper he’d been sucked in, that guilt he’d been trying to assuage dragging him down like an anchor.
Now he had to face the kid.
&nb
sp; So, buck up, buddy. It’s no more than you deserve.
If he could sit through six weeks of English after spying on Miss Clark, he could eat one more meal with Analise, a woman who tempted him to break his own moral code.
He’d see the brother. Then he’d be gone.
Chapter 3
Analise took her metal shears to a fresh piece of copper sheeting, hacking and cutting with furious determination. The rain had returned, drumming on the roof of the carriage house. The sound, normally soothing, only served as an irritant this afternoon.
Olivia certainly seemed smitten with Mr. Boudreau. Analise grudgingly admitted that she, too, might find him attractive—if she could get beyond the fact that just looking at him made her blush with shame. She couldn’t help but wonder why, after insisting on discussing Calvin with only Olivia, he made an attempt to apologize to her at lunch.
Well, none of that mattered, she insisted to herself. The man was gone, she’d heard his car start a few minutes earlier.
She’d started to work without her gloves and now noticed her fingers were bleeding in several places. Dropping the metal and cutters onto the workbench with a clatter, she raised her face to look out the window and realized she’d been crying.
“Miz Abbott?”
She swiped the tears from her cheeks and turned toward the stairs. She hadn’t even heard the newly hired man come up the steps. He’d stopped on the tread before the top, making his towering bulk less imposing. His pale moon-face made an eerie contrast to the dim light of the stairwell. “Yes, Roy?”
“I done finished unloading them bags of peat.” He laid both of his arms on the railing that separated the loft from the stairwell, putting one hand on top of the other, then settling his chin onto them.
“Oh, good. I guess that’s all we have for you today, then.”
He straightened. A shadow of disappointment crossed his face, quickly transforming his rounded features from bovine to forbidding.
“Tomorrow,” she added, hoping to take the edge off his displeasure, “if this rain clears up, we’ll need you to shuttle the new nursery stock out to the display area.”
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