by Shirley Wine
‘I hope they never get a chance to work with animals again.’
‘Matt ensured that—they left here in the back of a police car. He has zero tolerance for anything that even smacks of animal cruelty. He insisted that they be charged with causing an animal undue pain and suffering.’
‘It’s no more than they deserve.’ In her distress, her hand on his shoulder tightened.
Luke reached up, caught her around the waist and pulled her down onto his lap, holding her hard against his muscular chest. The movement caught her by surprise. For long, fraught moments they looked into each other’s eyes.
Her pulse hammered in a hectic tattoo.
His blue, blue eyes glittered in his bronzed face. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.
This is madness. I need to stop this now.
The hazy thought faded when his callused hand curled around the back of her neck, warm and slightly abrasive. He pulled her even closer, his lips gentle and languorous.
Brooke melted against him, titling her face upwards as he deepened the kiss.
Oh yes, this is what I’ve craved …
He tasted of whisky and dark smoky desire.
His passion overwhelmed her and every coherent thought faded. Her senses clouded as she succumbed to sensation.
Brooke forgot why kissing Luke was such a bad idea.
His hands were everywhere, delving beneath the thin layer of her cotton shirt until he found bare skin, curving upwards and caressing the curve of her breast.
Filled with the urgent need to feel his skin, she fumbled the buttons of his shirt undone and splayed her hands across his chest. The feel of his heart pounding beneath her palms was so erotic.
He nibbled at her earlobe, the tender skin beneath, and she arched her neck at the tender assault. Soft, guttural groans bubbled up her throat. He pressed her even closer until the hard, rigid length of his arousal pressed into her thigh.
‘You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this,’ Luke murmured, his lips firm against the hollow where her neck joined her shoulder.
The husky words jerked Brooke back into awareness. This is madness!
She struggled free from his iron hold and pushed against him, her hands on his chest.
It has to stop—now; I can’t let this go any further.
‘I don’t want this,’ she murmured.
Luke relaxed his hold. ‘Don’t you? It sure didn’t seem that way to me.’
The husky words sent heat surging through her entire body. She jerked upright, putting space between them, and one swift glance at him did little to calm her hectic pulse.
Have my wits gone begging?
‘This is such a bad idea.’ She scrambled off his knee, tugging at her clothes to straighten them and tucking her shirt back into her jeans.
Luke leaned back in the chair, uncaring that his open shirt displayed a large amount of bare chest, a sexy half-smile curling his lips.
Did I unbutton his shirt?
‘Why?’ he asked, his lazy drawl edged with a darker tone. ‘We’re two consenting adults. What harm is there in scratching a mutual itch.’
Scratch an itch?
Fury scorched Brooke. How dare he? ‘I’m not some wanton who gives in to my base instincts merely to scratch an itch.’
‘Is that so?’
A long, shrill wail rang through the house.
‘That’s Rose!’ Luke bolted from his chair.
Chapter Eleven
Brooke hurried down the hall after Luke, filled with conflicting emotions. Worry. Confusion. Lust. Anger. Indignation. Relief. She stopped in the doorway of Rose’s room. Luke was already sitting on the edge of Rose’s bed cradling the sobbing girl in his arms, his deep voice a reassuring, rumbling murmur.
He looked up and saw Brooke in the doorway. Over Rose’s head their eyes met and held in a gaze that singed her from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. She sucked in a shaky breath that did little to quench the white-hot desire sizzling through her system.
It was those shared moments of intimacy, whispered an inner voice, that’s all it was. Quit lying to yourself, Brooke.
Protest had not entered her head when Luke was kissing her—rather than protest, she’d sunk into his arms and relished his kiss like a starving woman.
So what does that make me—a fool?
From their very first encounter in Cherry’s Cafe, she’d known he was one potent male, but those kisses, man oh man—Luke Calloway was more like dynamite—explosive—or a storm gust topping the Beaufort scale.
‘Rose?’
Otto’s quavering voice broke into Brooke’s turbulent thoughts. She flicked on the hall light and walked into the boy’s room, crossing to his bedside.
‘Your sister has just wakened from a bad dream,’ she said, laying a soothing hand on Otto’s shoulder.
In the dim light Otto’s eyes were dark holes in his pale face. ‘Can I go to her?’
‘Sure. Let me get your chair.’ Brooke brought the wheelchair to the edge of the bed and flicked on the brake.
As Otto swung himself from the bed to the chair in a practised move she watched with a professional eye, pleased by his progress. She walked beside him as he wheeled his chair into Rose’s room.
Luke looked up as they entered and indicated for Otto to sit on the bed beside him.
Brooke applied the brake.
Otto leaned forward and gripped Luke’s extended hand and, with his uncle’s help, pulled himself up onto the bed beside his sister. Luke wrapped his free arm around Otto and hauled the boy into a close hug.
‘I thought we were done with these nightmares,’ Luke said, meeting Brooke’s gaze over the boy’s head.
‘Ask Rose to tell you about her dream.’ Brooke ignored his harried expression and silent plea for help.
For all their sakes, Luke needed to help his niece work through these nightmares. Until they did, the healing could not begin.
‘Do you want to share?’ he asked.
Rose shook her head, the movement spreading her sweat-dampened hair against Luke’s chest.
With a tearful girl in one arm and a scared boy in the other, Luke gave Brooke another pleading look, clearly outside his comfort zone.
Moved, she turned Otto’s wheelchair, sat in it and leaned across the space to rub a hand across Rose’s back. ‘I used to have a lot of nightmares when I was young.’
Rose turned her head slightly and looked at Brooke through tear-drenched eyes. ‘You did?’
‘For sure.’ Brooke kept her voice quiet and soothing. ‘My dad always encouraged me to talk about what scared me. He said that a trouble shared was a trouble halved.’
‘Sometimes talking about the bad dreams and the things that scare you in the night can help drive the bogeys away,’ Luke said softly.
‘But talking won’t ever bring back Mum and Dad,’ Rose wailed. ‘I don’t want them to be dead.’
‘No, it won’t bring them back—’ Luke’s heavy sigh ruffled the girl’s hair, ‘—but talking about them helps keep the memories alive and keeps them close in our hearts.’
Brooke sucked in a sharp, hurting breath and her gaze clashed with Luke’s before he screened his eyes with a sweep of dark lashes.
‘Oh sweetie …’ she murmured, massaging a hand over Rose’s shoulder as she desperately sought for words to comfort the stricken teen.
‘I miss my mum and dad, too,’ Otto said, his voice breaking on a hiccupping sob.
‘I miss Jenn; she was my big sister,’ Luke said, the rough undertone of raw grief heavy in his voice. ‘Jenn was like a second mum to me.’
Brooke eased out a sigh; she was no psychologist, but she did know keeping things bottled up inside wasn’t healthy. Talking about their parents was exactly what these kids needed. It was the only thing that would help Rose and Otto. And despite his stoic attitude, she knew that Luke needed this, too.
‘What happened to your mum and dad, Luke?’ Brooke a
sked the question hesitantly as she recalled his scathing rebuff when she’d broached this subject once before.
Luke looked up and she winced at the desolation she saw in his eyes.
‘My mum and my dad were killed in a car crash,’ he said with undisguised bitterness. ‘A drunk driver ran a red light and hit them. They were killed instantly. He walked away unharmed.’
‘True?’ Rose asked, as she and Otto looked up at their uncle, their expressions mirroring their surprise.
‘And you and your sister?’ Brooke asked, determined to keep Luke talking. He needed this and so did these two orphaned kids.
‘That night I was having a sleepover with my best buddy and Jenn was away at university studying law.’
‘What happened to you?’ Otto asked.
Luke looked down at the boy, his face betraying mixed emotions. ‘Jenn left university, came home and set about becoming my guardian. She was determined that we’d stay together and that I would never end up in foster care.’
‘Mum did?’ Rose sat up and scrubbed at her wet cheeks.
‘She did indeed.’ Luke gave a weak chuckle. ‘Not that I was very appreciative of the sacrifices she made at the time.’
‘You gave Jenn a hard time?’ Brooke smiled, shaking her head. Luke’s expression was so much like that of a guilty schoolboy.
‘Sure. I challenged Jenn at every turn and was as difficult as I knew how to be.’ Luke dug Otto in the ribs. ‘So be warned, kiddo, you’re dealing with a pro.’
Otto giggled as he wriggled away from his uncle’s marauding fingers. ‘How old was Mum?’
‘Jenn was twenty and I was twelve.’
‘Going on thirty?’ Brooke didn’t even try to mask her amusement.
‘Yeah, more or less.’ Luke rubbed at his chin, the glitter of tears evident in his vivid eyes. ‘One day I pushed Jenn a little too hard and I was brought home by the cops for shoplifting some sweets from the local dairy.’
‘Uncle Luke,’ Otto whispered appalled, ‘You didn’t?’
‘I did, and boy did Jenn let me have it. God, I can still see her standing there in the kitchen of our old home, hands on her hips as she let rip, telling me I was an ungrateful, snot-nosed little jerk and it was about time I grew up or she’d go back to university and leave me to manage as best I could.’
Rose muffled a giggle with her fist. ‘That sounds like Mum.’
‘Yeah.’ Luke leaned his chin on Rose’s head, his voice husky. ‘Your mum never changed. She was always blunt and straight to the point and sometimes this meant she was at loggerheads with your dad.’
‘Yeah, I remember,’ Rose said in a shaky whisper.
Luke closed his eyes, his expression one of exquisite pain, and Brooke felt like a voyeur listening in to a very private conversation.
‘Did your mum ever tell you how she met your dad?’ Luke murmured huskily.
Moving slowly, Brooke eased out of Otto’s chair.
The trio on the bed continued talking as she crept from the room, not wanting to disrupt their conversation. Luke needed this, and so did Rose and Otto. The children had lost the parents they loved; Luke had lost a dearly loved sister, and here in the shadows of the night it was right that they share their memories and grieve together.
For long moments she lingered beyond the doorway, leaning against the wall and allowing the tears to fall. So much pain. Luke had to feel battered—life had handed him a double whammy … small wonder he’d felt blind-sided and had struggled to cope.
Back in her own bedroom, Brooke leaned back against the door and closed her eyes.
My parents were killed by a drunk driver … Luke’s soft, sad words haunted her. No wonder he empathised with Otto and Rose. He had once stood in their shoes, a similar age to Otto—and suffered the same wrenching heartache. He understood their pain and loss in a way their grandparents never could.
Luke had survived and learned to live through the grief.
And Brooke understood his determination to retain guardianship of Rose and Otto.
***
Something heavy, scrabbling and clawing its way across the iron roof of the homestead, woke Brooke. The sky, that unearthly shade between grey and pink, lightened the eastern rim of the hills heralding the beginning of a new day. Despite the early hour she heard someone moving in the kitchen and smelled the distinctive aroma of coffee.
She slid out of bed and, after belting on a lightweight summer robe, pushed her feet into fluffy mules and made her way to the kitchen.
Luke was standing at the sink, his back to her, staring out through the big window at the rapidly lightening landscape. He wore a pair of snug-fitting jeans; the expanse of his well-muscled torso as bare as his feet.
The sun’s rays silently sneaked above the hilltops, down through the trees and across the river valley below the farmhouse. They rested for a few moments on the roof of the big barn and stable complex, before layering outwards in a broad all-encompassing sweep like paint spilling from a can. They crept upwards past the big copper beech tree standing sentinel in the corner of the garden before finding the house and spreading buttery light through the wide kitchen windows.
Brooke was mesmerised by the play of light across Luke’s bronze skin as he poured coffee from the carafe into a large stainless-steel thermos mug. She never made a sound, but he turned at her approach. The man had to possess the hearing of a cat.
‘You’re up early.’ Luke leaned back against the bench and ran a hand through his hair.
The sun’s brilliance illuminated his bloodshot eyes and the lines that grief and fatigue had scored on his face.
Brooke suppressed a wince.
He looked worse than a hundred miles of bad road and a man very much at the end of his rope.
‘I like the early morning,’ she murmured, giving him an oblique glance through the screen of her lashes. She reached up for a mug from an overhead cupboard and poured herself a coffee, unable to shake the memory of that explosive kiss and shared confidences.
‘Was there something you wanted?’ He looked at her from beneath scrunched brows; his forbidding expression didn’t invite any mention of last night’s intimacy.
She hesitated then, unable to mask her concern, asked, ‘Did you get any rest?’
‘Enough.’
‘Rose and Otto?’
‘They kept talking until the wee small hours.’
‘That’s great,’ she said, crossing to his side and holding his arm, ‘but a bit rough for you.’
‘Yeah.’ He rubbed a hand across his eyes, the gesture betraying his weariness. ‘But the kids needed to talk about their parents.’
‘And you needed to talk about your sister,’ she murmured, knowing that this was of equal importance. ‘The children?’
‘They’re both still sleeping. Otto spent the rest of the night in Rose’s bed.’
‘How are they?’
Luke sipped his coffee, giving her another of those scowling, almost unfriendly, glances and Brooke began to wonder if he was regretting those moments of shared intimacy.
‘Better for talking about their parents.’
‘And your parents, Luke. What happened to the drunk driver?’
‘He got slapped on the hand with a wet bus ticket,’ he growled, turning away and pacing across to the window.
‘He got off?’
‘Near enough: two hundred hours of community service and a fine—’
‘And your parents were still dead.’
‘Yeah.’ There was a wealth of anguish in that terse word and Brooke wondered if he realised just how much he’d revealed.
Brooke’s heart ached for the grieving boy who still lived inside the skin of this career-hardened man. ‘Was this when you decided to become a cop?’
Luke turned to face her, his expression hard and cynical. ‘Pop psychology, Brooke?’
She cursed the blush she felt heating her cheeks. ‘It’s an easy connection to make.’
‘Well in this insta
nce, you’ve jumped to the wrong conclusion.’ He crossed the space to stand in front of her. ‘Jenn used her contacts to enrol me with the Big Brother scheme, and my mentor was a retired detective.’
‘Did he encourage you to join the Force?’
Luke rubbed at the back of his neck and avoided meeting her eyes. ‘Not exactly.’
His discomfort was enough for her to know this was a touchy subject but, curious, she decided to push anyway. ‘So why did you join the police force?’
‘Ian pushed me into it.’ Luke sipped his coffee before looking up at her. ‘I was a real snot-nosed little punk headed for a life on the wrong side of the law. It was my lucky day when Jenn approached Ian McLellan to represent me on charges of petty larceny. Ian managed to get me granted diversion with no criminal conviction.’
She was surprised by his raw honesty. ‘Did you deserve this?’
‘Hell no!’ He gave a sharp bark of laughter. ‘I wasn’t impressed when the judge let me off on the proviso I kept my nose clean, ordered that I re-enrol at school and live under Ian’s strict supervision for a year.’
‘And Ian, how did he react?’
Luke grinned, rubbing his chin. ‘He wasn’t impressed either, even less impressed when I challenged him in the cells, insisting I’d sooner go to jail.’
‘And did you want to go to jail?’ Brooke watched changing expressions chase across his face.
‘Hell no, I was shit scared and acting out of bravado. Ian was a big man, six foot six with shoulders that would do a rugby lock proud, scary-quiet and as intimidating as all get-out. He just sat there and looked at me for long moments before he outlined, in graphic detail, just what I should expect of life in the pen as a pretty newbie. After he finished, I was willing to lick his boots if he’d asked me to.’
‘So you lived with him?’
‘Yeah.’ Luke drained his mug and walked to the sink where he rinsed it and stacked it in the dishwasher. ‘Ian shifted Jenn and me into the unoccupied flat downstairs in his house and ensured I was enrolled in the correspondence school.’
‘And your sister, she went along with this?’
‘By this time Jenn would have accepted help from the devil himself.’ Luke grinned and shook his head. ‘She looked up to Ian and as far as she was concerned, he was manna from heaven, more so when he gave her a well-paid position as a clerk and researcher in his law office.’