by Rachel Lee
He gave her that crooked smile that never failed to make her blood heat and hurried in to clean up. Minutes later, showered, his hair wet and slicked back—she’d talked him out of cutting it, although, since he seemed to enjoy the way she played with it, it hadn’t taken much convincing—he sat down at the table.
They ate the spaghetti she’d prepared in honor of the first meal they’d ever had together. He told her about the run, a breeze with all old hands; she told him about the customers she’d had, including the precocious six-year-old already reading stories way beyond his age level. But all the while she was watching the light, knowing she had to do this before it got too dark to see. She wanted to do it out here, in the place he loved. It just seemed right.
When she got out the bottle of champagne and two glasses she’d been chilling, Luke eyed first them, then her. “What is it?”
“Just open it, please?”
He did, still eyeing her warily. He filled both glasses and set the bottle down.
“Amelia…”
She took a deep breath. She took out the photograph, set aside the letter for the moment. “I have something for you.”
“What?”
“Your family.” She reached over and set the photo down in front of him.
“My…?”
His query died unspoken as his gaze went to the picture. She knew what he was seeing: a gathering of six people, ranging from teenagers to a gray-haired couple looking to be in their seventies. Clearly a family, the resemblance in the features of the men, the coloring, even the smiles, was unmistakable. And in the center, the one who had made her gasp. The handsome, rakish-looking man in his forties who was the living image of the man holding the photograph.
His son.
She saw Luke’s eyes widen in shock, saw his lips part for breath, as if air was suddenly hard to find. His gaze went unfocused for a moment; then he lifted it to her face.
“I…what…?”
She picked up the letter. “He didn’t know about you, Luke. Your mother had one of those morning-after fits of hysteria and told him to go away and never come back. He was only eighteen at the time—irresponsible, he admits—so he left, figuring he’d escaped easily enough, after a one-night stand he wasn’t sure why he’d pursued in the first place.”
He focused suddenly. “He…said that? That—” he indicated the letter she held “—is from him?”
She nodded.
“How?” Luke asked, sounding stunned.
“Jim helped me find him. He even pried some details out of your mother. I didn’t ask how. It took until last month, since he had so little to go on. But he got me a family address in Ireland, and I wrote. I sent a picture of you. This came today.”
“But…you never said a thing.”
“I wanted to be sure it was really him first. And that he would…want to be found.”
Luke looked at the photograph again, at the faces that so resembled his own, and the man who was showing him his own future. Then he looked at his wife again.
“And…he didn’t mind?”
“They,” she corrected, “are delighted.” She handed him the letter. “Your father says—” she had to smother a smile at the look on Luke’s face as she said it “—he was the family black sheep, but finally grew up, went home and settled down. Married a local girl, had two kids and, to be honest, never again thought of your mother.”
“Well, that’d fry her,” Luke said with a wobbly grin; he was starting to take it all in, Amelia thought.
“You can read it yourself, of course, but the upshot is that we’re invited to Ireland to meet the whole family as soon as we can.”
“Ireland…”
“I looked up where they are, near Dublin, it would be easy to get to.”
For a moment Luke just sat there, looking at her. Then he looked at the photo again, then back at her. Then he shook his head. “I’m a little…overwhelmed.”
Amelia reached out and covered his hand with hers. “I know. But there’s even a note from his wife, assuring you that she doesn’t hold any ill feeling toward a son her husband sired long before he married her. And that she’d welcome a big brother to her two girls, and Patrick will be doing right by you, or he’ll answer to her.”
“I…” He was still sounding a bit dazed.
“How soon can we go?”
Luke couldn’t seem to speak. But he got up then, hauled her into his arms and held her so tightly she could barely breathe. And she wouldn’t have moved for the world.
“I’ve got a father,” he whispered when he finally let her go.
She grinned up at him. “And a stepmom who sounds like she’s a match for him. And grandparents. And sisters, two of them. Oh, those girls are going to just die when they get a look at you!”
To her very great pleasure, Luke blushed. It seemed like a good time to add what she’d been thinking about.
“And maybe, in a couple of years, we can go back and take your sisters a little niece or nephew to spoil.”
Luke went very still.
“A wanted child,” Amelia said pointedly. “One with a real family now, one that will love it, treasure it, the way a child should be treasured.”
Luke swallowed tightly. And hugged her again. “I…I’ll have to get used to that idea.”
“I know.” Amelia leaned back to look at him. She gave him the decidedly wicked grin he’d said he never would have thought her capable of a year ago. “But keep in mind the joy of making your mother a grandmother while she’s still trying to convince the world she’s only thirty-five.”
Luke burst out laughing.
He kissed her.
They toasted the sunset.
He kissed her again.
This time he didn’t let go.
The rest of the champagne could wait, Amelia thought. Her husband’s touch was much more intoxicating.
She was ready for another visit to paradise.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-0263-4
NIGHTHAWK & THE RETURN OF LUKE McGUIRE
Copyright © 2011 by Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
NIGHTHAWK
Copyright © 1997 by Susan Civil-Brown
THE RETURN OF LUKE McGUIRE
Copyright © 2000 by Janice Davis Smith
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