Carolina Man

by Virginia Kantra

  His gaze never left her face. “The Simpsons are her family, too. First time we talked, you thought she should be with them.”

  Her flush deepened as she recalled that first, awkward phone conversation. “That was before I knew . . .” You. “The full situation,” she said. “If you hadn’t been willing or able to care for her, it would have made sense for Taylor to stay with Dawn’s family.”

  “Uh-huh.” He moved in, threatening her personal space, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “And now that you know . . . the situation better, how do you feel?”

  She felt hot, overwhelmed by his nearness, mesmerized by that touch of stubble under his jaw where he’d missed shaving. She was excruciatingly aware of him, of his body, close and honed and dangerous as a knife. So close, he must see everything, too. The blush she struggled to suppress. Her scar.

  She drew a shaky breath, fighting to regain her emotional footing. “I feel you and Taylor deserve a chance. It’s what Dawn wanted. And that’s what I told Jolene.”

  “Wait.” He pulled back. “You told Jolene? You talked to Dawn’s parents?”

  She nodded, swallowing her regret over the loss of his heat. “After your mother’s accident, the Simpsons asked if I would file the motion to amend the custody agreement.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  She glared. “Conflict of interest.”

  Except it hadn’t been, not really, she admitted to herself. The truth was, she hadn’t wanted to take their case.

  “Because of Dawn,” he said.

  Because of you, she thought. And Taylor.

  Because by the time Dawn’s parents asked Kate to represent them, she’d already met Luke. The contrast between his tight-lipped determination to do the right thing and Ernie and Jolene’s teary-eyed, grasping affection had forever tipped the balance in his favor.

  “The reasons don’t matter,” Kate said, wanting desperately to believe it. Because lust was not a good reason, and trust was too often misplaced. “The point is, I told them to get another lawyer.”

  Luke crossed his arms, making the hard curve of his biceps bulge. Really, it ought to be illegal for a man to have muscles like that. “You told my brother and sister the same thing.”

  “I recommended Vernon to them, yes.” The recommendation had been her gift to Taylor and the Fletchers. Old-school lawyer Vernon Long had over twenty years in the North Carolina courts. He was as wily and aggressive as a bull shark, perfectly suited to surviving in his environment, his bow ties and folksy charm hiding a tenacious intelligence and a crushing bite. Kate admired him tremendously. “He’s good,” she said.

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Luke looked at his daughter, currently engaged in a tug-of-war with the puppy over a red rubber ball. “He says Taylor doesn’t need to come to court this time.”

  Was that a request for reassurance, under the tough guy tone?

  She yearned to comfort him. But she didn’t know how. It had taken her years to learn to accept, to respect, her own feelings. But she was still uncomfortable talking about them. And she was no good at all at offering emotional support.

  So she gave him legal advice instead. “Not unless she’s subpoenaed. Which she won’t be. Not after she told the judge last time that she wanted to stay with you. The Simpsons are probably counting on the social services investigation to support their case.”

  “Great.” Luke’s jaw bunched in a way she was beginning to recognize.

  “It is great.” She risked a touch on his arm. “Their strategy could easily backfire. Assuming Alisha concludes her investigation before your hearing date—which she will—this could all go away by Christmas.”

  “Right.” He met her eyes. He didn’t smile, but the warmth in his eyes was as good as a kiss. Almost. “Thanks.”

  Her heart thrummed. “You’re welcome.”

  Squeak squeak squeak went the ball.

  Luke thrust his hands into his back pockets. “What about you?”

  Kate blinked. “What about me?”

  “Any special plans for the holiday?”

  “Oh. No.” She pulled herself together. “I have to work.”

  He raised one blond eyebrow. “At Christmas?”

  “Holidays are a stressful time even for families that don’t have problems.” Even to her own ears, she sounded dull. Stiff. “When people are depressed or angry, they make bad decisions.”

  “And you try to stop them.”

  She tried to save them. She tried to fix them. The way she’d never been able to fix her own family.

  “I try to keep them focused on a positive outcome, yes,” she said lightly.

  “Like you just did with me.”

  “I . . .” She met his gaze. His blue eyes were aware. Appreciative. Something inside her softened and deflated, like a child’s punch clown when the air was let out. “Maybe.”

  “Must make it tough on your family, you working over Christmas.”

  She didn’t want to talk about her family. “Not really. There’s just my mother. She spends the holidays with her sister in Virginia.” Aunt Sharon, who didn’t judge, who had children and grandchildren to satisfy her mother’s desire for the appearance of family.

  “So you’ll be here. Alone?”

  She put her chin up at the suggestion of sympathy. She didn’t need his pity. “Working.”

  “We’ll see you around, then.”

  Just for a moment, she allowed herself to picture it, Luke and Taylor, the puppy and a Christmas tree, bright and shiny as a family on TV or a window display at Nordstrom.

  And about as far removed from her real life, she reminded herself. Like the child she had been, watching the Huxtables for clues to normal behavior, like a homeless woman staring in the shop windows, she could look, but not touch.

  “Not exactly around,” she felt compelled to point out. “You live forty minutes away.”

  “I’ll see you,” he repeated, his gaze steady on hers, and she felt a little thrill run up and down her arms, as if the words were a threat.

  Or a promise.

  Nine

  “LIGHTS OUT NOW. I mean it,” Luke said.

  Taylor and the puppy looked at him from their separate beds with the same huge, abused eyes. “But I always sleep with a light on.”

  He dragged his hand over his face, resisting the urge to bang his head against the door. “Yeah, I know. That’s fine. I meant . . . No more noise. It’s time to go to sleep now, okay?”

  Five more minutes and he’d be begging. How did his mother put up with this? How did Matt?

  “O-kay,” Taylor said in a put-upon voice.

  Luke sighed. “Good night,” he said for the twelfth or maybe the twentieth time that night. Gently, he closed the door. He knew damn well that the brand new dog bed in the corner would be empty as soon as he left the room.

  Sure enough, he was halfway down the hall when he heard a whine from the dog and then a whisper from Taylor. He caught himself grinning, listening to the scratch of puppy paws across the hardwood floor.

  But maybe this time they understood he meant business. Or maybe all that jumping up and down was tiring them, too. Because this time after the initial scrambling there weren’t any sounds he couldn’t pretend to ignore.

  He paced through the empty cottage, as jumpy, as restless in his own way as the dog. He opened the refrigerator and shut it, turned the TV on and off, slipped on to the front porch to grab some air.

  A quarter moon was rising above the roof of the Pirates’ Rest. The chill struck through his long-sleeved shirt. The sky was clear and cold and pulsing with stars, the breeze edged with salt.

  God, he’d missed this. Not the cold. There were nights in Afghanistan, shivering beneath two layers of everything he owned, when he thought he’d never be warm again. But he’d missed the scent and the sound of the sea. The sense of home.

  He tipped back his head. It was a night made for howling at the moon
. All he needed was . . . Something.

  Or someone.

  His mind jumped to Kate Dolan, his body springing to attention like Fezzik spotting a squirrel. Instinct.

  A lot of Marines returning from war sought to replace the adrenaline buzz of combat with some other form of high-risk behavior, booze or brawls or motorcycle racing. Maybe he simply felt more alive when he was with her, his senses heightened, his overactive memories drowned out in the rush of her presence.

  Maybe Kate was his motorcycle. His jockey rocket.

  He grinned. He could just picture her face if he told her that.

  Whatever it was, she did things to him. Stirred him up or settled him down. She was so beautiful, with her bright hair and darkening eyes. He liked her big words and little smile and quick lawyer’s brain. The way she moved quietly behind the scenes to get things done. The fact that she cared so much and tried so damn hard.

  He liked her, the warmth and humor that snuck out from behind the stiffness and polish. He wondered what she looked like without all that makeup. Without all her clothes.

  He exhaled. There was a time not so long ago when Matt would be the one home with the baby, he thought. When Meg would be studying up in her room, busting her ass to get into Harvard, while Luke went joyriding with his friends and drinking under the pier. Now Matt was over at Allison’s, and Meg was out with Sam. Both of them getting lucky, Luke figured.

  He shifted, restless in his own skin. His body felt heavy. Hot.

  But he needed more than a woman. He wanted . . . Kate.

  A creak carried on the evening breeze.

  His senses went on alert.

  The old inn was never completely quiet. Added to the noise of family and guests were the pops and cracks of any century-old house, the rattle of windows and shutters, the sighing and tapping of trees.

  But this was different, Luke thought. A hushed whisper. A muffled scrape. Like somebody trying not to be heard.

  Or seen.

  Luke’s pulse quickened as he scanned the area. Matt’s cottage was dark except for a light on the porch and another in Josh’s window. Anyway, the sound didn’t come from there.

  Across the yard, the glow of the television and the twinkle of Christmas lights reflected against the inn’s back windows. Their work done, his parents sat at the end of the day in the family room off the kitchen, taking comfort in each other and some old movie. The deep eaves at the side of the house shadowed the wraparound porch and the guest patio, sheltered by a trellis.

  Another furtive sound scraped against his straining ears. There.

  His heart pumped, all his pent up energy pouring out in suspicion and sweat. He was overreacting, he told himself. Edgy from lack of sex and a ten-month tour. The noise would only be caused by a guest or a cat or the wind.

  But . . . It was too late and much too cold for guests to sit out and admire the empty garden.

  It couldn’t hurt to check things out.

  He glanced over his shoulder at Taylor’s window. The glow of her night-light edged the blind. She wouldn’t miss him. He’d only be gone a minute. Silently, he made his way across the back yard and along the side of the inn.

  Shrubs screened the patio. A few camellias still bloomed, white saucers in the dark. Deep in the shadows, something moved. Luke tensed, his gaze sweeping the bare tables and empty chairs, the shrouded lounger in the corner.

  The shroud billowed.

  Luke inhaled sharply.

  And his nephew Josh sat up in the lounger, dragging the blanket with him. “Who . . . Uncle Luke?”

  “Yeah.” Luke released his breath, suppressing a grin. He must have given the kid a heart attack. Fair’s fair. His own pulse still raced. He strolled forward, hands in his pocket. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I, uh . . .”

  The blanket undulated again, revealing the other occupant of the lounger. The young, female occupant, a fresh-faced girl with a tumble of dark red hair and an impressive rack.

  Luke stopped.

  She struggled upright, tugging at her sweater. “Hi,” she said with remarkable self-possession. “We haven’t met. I’m Thalia.”

  “Nice to meet you. Luke,” he introduced himself, working to keep his expression neutral. “Josh’s uncle.”

  “Yes, I know. You just got back from Afghanistan.” She fumbled on a side table for dark-framed glasses and put them on. “Thank you for your service,” she added politely.

  He never knew what to say to that. Ooh-rah? You’re welcome? “Thanks.”

  Luke looked from Josh to the lounger. Hell. The kid was sixteen, only a couple years younger than some of the boots under Luke’s command. He did not want to police his nephew’s sex life. But now that he’d walked in on the boy practically having sex under a blanket, he couldn’t just walk away. “Kind of cold to be outside,” he observed.

  Probably not cold under the blanket, though. Especially not if you were doing what they were doing.

  Josh stood, yanking his untucked shirt down to cover what was undoubtedly an erection. “I’m not supposed to have friends in the house when Dad’s out,” he said.

  Which Luke translated to mean No girls. Obviously Matt was trying to save his son from making the same kind of mistake they’d both made at that age.

  “But the porch is okay,” Luke said.

  Josh grinned sheepishly and refused to meet his gaze.

  “Actually, I was just leaving,” the girl said brightly, rescuing him and the situation. “It’s getting kind of late. See you tomorrow,” she said to Josh.

  “I’ve got that thing after school.”

  That thing. Luke tensed. The social worker’s visit.

  “Then I’ll see you in class,” the girl said equably.

  “Thanks. I mean, yeah. See you.”

  “He can walk you home,” Luke said. Maybe the cold air would do them both some good. Maybe Josh would make out with the girl on her porch, and her father would come out and beat some sense into him. He wouldn’t be Luke’s responsibility then.

  “No, it’s all right. I drove my parents’ car,” she explained. “So I’ll be fine. Good night.”

  “Good night,” they both echoed.

  Luke watched as she slipped down the long side of the inn to the front, negotiating easily in the dark. Like she’d done this before. Like she knew where she was going. The car was parked by the curb, out of sight of the house and the inn’s back windows.

  Shit. He was going to have to say something.

  He thrust his hands into his pockets. “Nice girl.”

  “Thalia?” Josh asked, elaborately casual, like there were other girls.

  Maybe there were.

  Jesus, he felt old. Luke dropped into a chair—See? Nonthreatening—while he figured out his next move. He cleared his throat. What would Matt say? “Do we need to have a talk?”

  “No,” Josh said.

  Luke kept silent, a trick he’d learned worked with the Marines under his command.

  Apparently it worked with Josh, too, because he swallowed and volunteered, “It’s not like that, honest, Uncle Luke. We’re just friends.”

  Luke raised his brows. “So you were shaking hands under that blanket?”

  “Yeah. No. I mean . . .” Josh flopped onto another chair, set at an angle so he could avoid eye contact. “We were fooling around, that’s all.” A pause. “Thalia’s really smart.”

  Smart enough to avoid getting knocked up at sixteen?

  “So are you,” Luke said. “Even smart kids can screw up.”

  “She wants to go to Chapel Hill,” Josh said.

  The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Luke didn’t get the connection. “And you don’t,” he said, testing.

  “Hell, no,” Josh said. “Mom’s there. She teaches in the psych department.”

  Josh’s mother left him and Matt when Josh was three months old. As best as Luke could recall, Josh hadn’t spent any real time with her since. Maybe a week, eight years
ago, after she’d remarried? Luke had been in Fallujah at the time. But he seemed to remember the visit had not gone well.

  “You don’t get along?”

  Josh grinned. “Sure, we do. Every once in a while she reads something about parent-child attachment and calls me. Or sends a really nice check in the next birthday card.”

  Luke didn’t know what to say. “Sorry. That sucks.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Josh said. “We’re good. I’ve got Dad. I’m glad she leaves us alone.”

  Like stones in a well, the words sent up echoes inside Luke. What had Dawn written? We’ve never needed anybody, Taylor and me.

  “What about now?” Luke asked.

  Josh’s forehead wrinkled.

  “Allison,” Luke said. “Your dad’s getting married again.”

  “Allison’s cool. For a teacher.”

  “You taking any shit at school?” It had been ten years, but Luke remembered that the island was like a military post, with everybody into everybody’s business. And the smaller high school grapevine fed on and intensified the gossip.

  “You mean, because Dad’s marrying my English teacher?” Josh shook his head. “Well, I had to pound some on Ethan Wilson for calling her a MILF.”

  “A MILF.” Luke laughed. Winced. “Jesus. She’s what, my age?”

  “Younger.” Josh grinned. “You’re getting old, Unc Luke.”

  “I can still take you, wiseass.”

  “Because you’re a Ninja.”

  A Marine. Close enough.

  “When Grandma was in the hospital,” Josh said and stopped.

  Luke waited.

  “It was right after the accident. Dad, everybody was at the hospital except for me and Taylor. And Allison came. To be with us, you know?” Josh looked up from his sneakers, his face young and raw. “She was there.”

  Luke nodded to show his understanding. “She shows up.”

  Josh met his gaze. “She sticks,” he said simply. His mother had not stuck. “And she’s good for Dad.”

  Pride and affection closed Luke’s throat. Whatever Josh’s mother had or hadn’t done, Matt had done a great job raising the boy on his own. He was a good kid. Kind. Responsible. And almost a man.

  He cleared his throat. “You sound awfully well adjusted. For a punk.”