by Shirley Wine
Drawn in by her interest, he had returned the favour. She had enticing curves. Her lush, ample breasts he could easily imagine shaping with his hands; her sensuous mouth was made for kissing.
His libido had leaped into pulsating existence.
Then her long lashes swept down and effectively shut him out, and, against all reason, this angered him.
Suspicion and caution reared their ugly heads. While he’d never been one to take heed of gossip, he’d need to live on a desert island not to be aware of the scuttlebutt surrounding this woman. She was the other woman, in a scandal that had alternately captivated and disgusted a nation. Not only was she painted as the woman who’d wrecked a seemingly solid marriage, she was also implicated in an unsavoury cocktail of drugs, money laundering and the suicide of a hardworking fellow cop.
Her reputation had well and truly preceded her.
The image of Marcia Thornton’s grief-ravaged face floated before Luke’s vision, as did the grotesque effigy of Brad’s corpse hanging from the rafters of the old barn behind their family home. Luke had seen the pictures. He had heard the rumours. And he’d read the official version of a fellow officer’s fall from grace. And fair and square in the middle of this scandal stood Brooke Galbraith, a woman accused of luring a good cop to the dark side.
It was a scenario not unfamiliar to Luke.
In the course of a career spent mostly working undercover, he’d encountered too many women who used sex as a weapon to plot a man’s downfall. He’d learned the hard way that animal attraction too often hid danger; Olivia had taught him this. As for that flare of sexual awareness—it had nowhere to go. Something he would do well to remember.
Luke prided himself on being open-minded, but instincts honed by his years as a cop shrieked in warning: this was one woman he could never afford to trust blindly. If he didn’t stand in desperate need of her skills to help Otto and Rose, he knew he would never give a woman like her the time of day.
He thumped a hand against the steering wheel to vent his frustration.
As a result of his hard-nosed attitude, Brooke had point-blank refused to travel out to Whitby Downs and undertake the kids’ therapy there.
Oh yeah, I sure as hell stuffed up, big time.
Now he had to figure out some way to get Rose and Otto into Sweetwater three times a week for their physical therapy, and at the same time hold down the demanding position as foreman of Whitby Downs. If he couldn’t do both, he ran the grave risk of losing custody of his niece and nephew. And this was unthinkable.
Luke took care of his own.
***
Otto watched the big blowfly crawl along the windowsill with a sense of guilty pleasure. He was surprised the thing could still move since he’d pulled off two of its wings and four of its legs. He ignored the voice in his head telling him that what he was doing was wrong. He’d managed to survive for this long without screaming, but he could feel the frustration building and building inside him until he was sure he was about to explode. He could just imagine it, all his guts splattered over the walls.
It was a delightfully gruesome prospect.
He was tired of this room, tired of this dorky wheelchair, and tired of Uncle Luke’s forced cheerfulness. Every time he met his uncle’s eyes, he saw a poor you look. And this made him want to throw up.
‘Otto! What are you doing?’ Rose screeched in horror.
Otto gave a guilty gasp; he slapped a hand on the tortured fly and squashed it flat. ‘Nothing,’ he muttered, heat flooding his face.
‘What’s going on here?’ Uncle Luke walked into the room looking from him to Rose.
‘Otto was pulling the wings and legs off a fly,’ his sister whispered in an appalled voice, ‘and watching as it tried to crawl away.’
‘Was not!’ Another wave of heat coursed through Otto’s entire body and he looked away, unable to meet his uncle’s stern eyes.
‘You were too,’ Rose said, her voice rising as she stamped her foot.
She looked as if she was about to start bawling. Again. Uncle Luke shook his head, his expression sorrowful. Suddenly, the anger inside Otto erupted.
‘I hate you, Rose!’ he screamed, his voice breaking on the words as rage made his head get tight and so hot he thought his skull would burst open. ‘I hate being stuck way out here … I hate this chair … I hate being alive … I wish I’d been killed too.’ The last words came out on a great noisy sobbing breath.
Uncle Luke quickly crossed to his side, pulled him out of the chair and into his arms.
Otto fought with all his might, but he couldn’t break his uncle’s iron grip. He buried his face against Uncle Luke’s shoulder, and cried.
***
Luke pushed down his own fear and hurt—to where, he couldn’t have said—as he focused his attention on the boy sobbing in grief-stricken frustration. He glanced at Rose and saw that she too was on the verge of tears; moisture made her eyelashes clump together in thick black spikes and her mouth was drawn in a tremulous line. She looked so much like her mother that a surge of grief welled up in Luke, leaving him broken.
Your niece and nephew will take their cue from you … Brooke’s intrusive words were a tinny echo.
Luke scowled, but much as he wanted to, he couldn’t dismiss her salient observation. He extended his other arm to his niece. Rose looked from him to his outstretched hand, biting down on her lower lip.
Guilt slugged Luke in the gut.
After several long, fraught moments she accepted the silent invitation and stepped into his embrace. He pulled both kids into a tight hug. Tremors wracked Rose’s frail body. Since the accident, the girl had lost all her pre-teen chubbiness, but surely she had never been this insubstantial? This shocked realisation heaped yet one more worry onto Luke’s already overburdened shoulders.
Otto’s noisy, grief-filled sobs faded to shaky hiccups and the boy lay lax against Luke.
‘Feeling better?’ His breath moved the boy’s silky hair.
Otto nodded and pushed himself upright, scrubbing at his wet cheeks. He swiped his runny nose on the sleeve of his shirt. Jenn would have pounced on this action. Luke let it slide. Snot on a shirtsleeve was irrelevant compared to the other much more serious challenges this boy faced.
If only I could turn back the clock … If only … These had to be the most useless of words.
Nothing could magically return all their lives back to the time when Jenn and Ian were still alive. When Otto was a football mad boy who dreamed of playing rugby with the All Blacks; or when Rose held cherished dreams of being a fashion model or an artist.
It was never going to happen.
His beloved sister was dead, her husband too, and Luke knew only too well that life didn’t work that way. The ache in his chest grew. His arms tightened around the last surviving members of his family.
Rose and Otto had learned that the world could be a frightening and bewildering place. In the past, their parents’ love had shielded them from this reality. Now, with their parents’ deaths, all trace of childhood innocence was burned away. In its place was the grim reality that people, no matter how much they loved you, could die and leave you alone.
They now knew a dark and cruel truth: in one single moment, lives could change forever. And this was something that ate at Luke.
Jenn, his older sister, had always been a huge part of his life. Now, the least Luke could do was be there for her children, as Jenn had been there for him.
Tears burned at the back of his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to keep them at bay. These children needed his strength and his calm. Even if I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
In his former career, Luke had faced many frightening situations, but none of them equalled the fear he faced now, fear that was his alone to deal with.
How am I meant to replace these kids’ parents?
The thought was enough to scare the bejesus out of him, and tested his courage and strength in ways he’d never i
magined he could be challenged.
‘I hate that chair,’ Otto mumbled from behind his hand.
‘I know you do.’ Luke tried to inject enthusiasm into his voice. ‘And we need to work on getting you out of it. I’ve made an appointment with a physiotherapist for you both. She assured me that she can help you, Otto, and your leg will grow strong and you can ditch that chair.’
‘In Sweetwater?’ Rose gave him a watery glance.
‘Yeah, you’re both in luck.’ Luke looked into two pairs of identical blue eyes glimmering with hope. ‘Someone else in Sweetwater has grief and trouble. An old guy I know, Frank Galbraith, has had a stroke and his daughter has returned home to Sweetwater to help him regain his mobility. Brooke is a skilled physiotherapist.’
‘True?’ Rose asked, her lower lip trembling on the words. ‘Will she be able to help Otto?’
Luke nodded, touched that Rose was more concerned about Otto than her own recovery from a severe shoulder injury. ‘I met with Brooke earlier today and she’s agreed to work with you both.’
‘I’ll never be able to get out of that thing.’ Otto made a disparaging gesture at his wheelchair.
Luke took a slow, deep breath, weighing every word and praying for divine guidance. ‘Look on that chair as a tool, a mere means to an end, Otto. With Brooke’s expert help you will get out of that chair.’
***
Brooke felt decidedly on edge as the time for Luke to bring Rose and Otto to her for their treatment came and went. She glanced at her watch and saw that the hour hand was nearer nine than the eight-thirty she had stipulated. She tapped her toe in a fever of impatience. If the man wanted her help then surely it wasn’t asking too much for him to be on time for appointments.
Even as the uncharitable thought formed, his dusty ute turned the corner into their street. As he pulled up beside the kerb and she caught sight of his grim expression, she stifled the impulse to call him out for being late. He opened the vehicle door, stepped out and closed it with a resounding thwack. He paused a moment before he walked towards her on ground-eating strides.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said in a terse undertone. ‘There was an emergency on the station that I had to deal with before we could leave.’ He slanted a harried look at his vehicle. ‘And I had the devil’s own job getting any sort of co-operation from Rose or Otto.’
Something about the rigid set of his jaw and the bleak expression in his vivid eyes let her know that he was downplaying whatever drama had occurred to make him late.
He looked at her and her heart stuttered in her chest.
‘Otto didn’t want to come,’ he said.
Compassion had Brooke gripping his arm. ‘That’s not unusual. He’ll come around; you need to give him time. And Rose?’
His dark brows lowered in a fierce frown. ‘Her physical injuries weren’t as severe.’
‘Often the psychological injuries take much longer to heal,’ she said keeping her voice soft to ensure she wasn’t overheard. ‘Let’s get them inside.’
Luke hesitated as if he was about to say something, then he turned on his heel, walked to the back of his vehicle and opened the rear of the tray. He lifted out a wheelchair, opened it out and brought it around to the side door.
Brooke watched intently as he leaned into the high vehicle and slid his arms under the boy seated there, lifted him out and set him in the wheelchair as tender as any parent.
Too thin and too pale, Brooke thought, as she mentally catalogued the boy’s movements as he put a hand on Luke’s arm and spoke to his uncle. According to Otto’s orthopaedic specialist, who she’d consulted earlier, the boy should already be up on crutches.
Her heart softened as she watched Luke grip the child’s shoulder and lean close to him, obviously offering him reassurance. It was a telling gesture. Brooke caught the first glimpse of a spark in the boy. She didn’t need to be clairvoyant to know that Otto was beseeching his uncle not to leave him with her, a stranger.
Rose hung back inside the vehicle.
All Brooke could see was a cloud of dark hair that almost obscured the girl’s pallid features. Brooke’s heart and spirits sank as she instinctively knew these two kids would be one tough challenge. She walked over to the boy in the wheelchair and held out a hand, her voice briskly professional. ‘Otto, I’m so pleased to meet you.’
Otto accepted the proffered hand. ‘Same, Ms Galbraith.’
‘It’s Brooke.’ The breath she was holding eased out. ‘Come on in and let’s see what we can do about getting you out of that chair.’
‘What’s the use?’
‘Don’t you want to walk again?’
‘Sure, but my legs will never be strong enough for me to play rugby.’
‘You sure about that? A catastrophic knee injury, an injury any as bad as yours, didn’t stop Michael Jones from playing rugby for the All Blacks.’
Otto gaped at her, so obviously unprepared for the brisk challenge.
‘Of course, if you prefer to give up without even trying, that’s your choice.’
Luke’s head jerked up.
Brooke silenced his protest with a hand gesture. She couldn’t help Otto unless he was prepared to help himself. ‘Jones recovered to become one of New Zealand’s, indeed the world’s, greatest rugby players,’ Brooke went on with unimpaired calm. ‘And plenty of other athletes have excelled at sport after recovering from career-threatening injuries. Of course if you want to wimp-out without even trying …’
The challenge brought a painful colour scudding up the boy’s pale cheeks. He looked from Brooke to his uncle standing beside the open car door.
‘If you want to play rugby again—’ Luke’s mild voice belied his white-knuckled grip on the door frame, ‘—you’ll need to work at it.’
‘I want to play rugby more than anything,’ Otto said in a rush.
‘Then you have to be prepared to work with Brooke,’ Luke said evenly.
‘I can’t promise you miracles, but I have learned that nothing is impossible.’ Brooke crouched and looked directly into Otto’s eyes. ‘How much you recover depends entirely on you, and how hard you’re prepared to work.’
‘Will I be able to play rugby again, or are you joshing me?’
‘I talked to your orthopaedic specialist earlier and neither he nor I can see any reason why you shouldn’t be able to play rugby again,’ she said briskly as she stood up. ‘It will take time and hard work, so let’s get started. Can you navigate the ramps? My dad had them installed so he can get in and out of the house more easily.’
‘I can manage.’ Otto’s spine stiffened and his chin lifted to a determined angle. ‘What about Rose?’
Brooke glanced towards the vehicle where Luke was crouched beside the open door in earnest conversation with the girl. ‘Leave your uncle to talk with your sister.’
The boy still hesitated, looking torn, and Brooke gave him a reassuring smile. When Luke reappeared at her side, she made a decision. ‘You go on in, Otto, and have a good look around. Use the ramp and the side door.’
The boy nodded and expertly tooled his wheelchair up the ramp while she assessed his progress with a professional eye. Once he was out of sight she turned to the silent man beside her. ‘Does Otto have crutches or is he still depending exclusively on his wheelchair?’
Luke’s grim expression turned flint hard. ‘He’s not supposed to use his leg, yet.’
Brooke bit down on a sharp retort, saying instead, ‘Not totally, no, but according to his orthopaedic specialist, Otto should have been up on crutches weeks ago. Continued reliance on that wheelchair will not only encourage him to keep favouring his injury, but as you’ve just witnessed, it’s affecting his mental attitude.’
When Luke’s eyes narrowed with a dangerous glint, Brooke knew he’d taken exception to her comments. She refused to back down. The man had hired her for her expertise. She was the professional. It was her duty to remove any barriers likely to impede her client’s progress.
‘
So—’
‘While you lift him in and out of a vehicle and he relies on a wheelchair, Otto isn’t going to make any progress, Mr Calloway,’ she said evenly. ‘His lack of mobility is affecting his psychological recovery.’
‘It’s Luke.’ His voice was testy with impatience. ‘Do you think I don’t know this? It’s the only reason why I’m employing you.’
Brooke sucked in a slow, deep breath and fought down a bitter anger as that barb hit home.
Luke knows about my past?
She’d love to tell him to shove the job where the sun didn’t shine, but circumstances forced her to swallow the caustic comment. And she’d bet her bottom dollar that Luke was well aware of this, too.
‘I haven’t seen any crutches,’ she said through her teeth, her voice sharper than she intended. ‘Otto does have them, doesn’t he?’
‘He does.’ Luke scowled as he reached into the vehicle and brought out a shiny pair of elbow crutches. ‘Satisfied?’
‘I’m doing what you’re paying me for.’ Her lips tightened as she accepted the crutches from him and his fingers brushed hers. She suppressed a shiver at the brief exchange and hugged the offending bits of steel, wishing for a more tangible barrier between them. The gleam in his vivid eyes assured her that he was aware of her discomfort.
‘Otto says that he still hurts too much to use them.’
‘Getting him up on crutches will hurt, but there is no easy way around it. If Otto is to regain full mobility it’s a necessary step.’ Brooke held Luke’s gaze, refusing to break eye contact although she could get a serious crick in her neck craning to look up at him. On this issue, she was the expert.
‘Even when he’s in pain?’
‘The longer he puts it off, the more it’s going to hurt.’
Black brows descended over glittering blue eyes. ‘How can hurting progress his recovery?’
‘Rest assured, Luke, rehabilitation is a painful process.’ Brooke’s lips tightened. ‘There will be times when it’s far from pleasant, but unless Otto works through the pain, he will never regain full mobility. Besides, I think you’re greatly underestimating that boy’s determination.’