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“Not at all. We’ll go to your apartment,” he told her with forced patience. “After we’re done talking to Ben.”
“No!”
Who was this woman? The Callie he remembered had been soft and pliable, more than delighted to go along with all of his suggestions. This more recent version couldn’t be more rigid, more combative and ready to fight him at every excuse. “That’s the whole purpose of this exercise, isn’t it?” he asked, not bothering to hide his exasperation. “Throwing the fait accompli in his face?”
“I meant not yet.” She softened her tone. “Robbie will be coming home soon, expecting me to be there. He’s going to be confused enough by the situation. He’ll need time to adjust before we subject him to anything more. I certainly don’t want him coping with any nonsense from Ben Parker.”
She said the words firmly, but Luke could hear the plea behind them. He turned to glance at her, unsettled to find her studying him. He’d forgotten how deeply that gaze of hers could probe, how it could wriggle all the way in to stir up his conscience. How could he object? was her obvious message. All she wanted was to protect her son.
A perfectly laudable objective. As long as the one she was protecting him from wasn’t himself, the boy’s rightful father.
She didn’t know—nor was he going to tell her just yet—about his little heart-to-heart with her ex-husband.
To say that Luke had been at loose ends that day was an understatement. Having been cut from the team, he’d learned how shallow and temporary his lifestyle in New York had been, how quickly he could lose so much more than a mere job. In what seemed like overnight, he’d gone from superstar to pariah, condemned by the media who once called him their darling, deserted by people he’d thought were friends. Going to New Orleans to lick his wounds, he’d plopped down on a bar stool planning to drown his sorrows. Trust Reb Jenkins to show up at his darkest moment.
Reb had heard all about Luke’s meteoric fall from grace. The media hadn’t been kind, and anybody who even casually followed sports knew the story, but Reb, who hung on to their boyhood rivalry the way old women cling to the family album, had savored the tale more than most.
“Maybe you got the scholarship and life in the big leagues,” he’d gloated, his whiskey-soaked voice slurring over the words, “but look where it got you.”
It was then that Luke learned how Callie had married him so soon after Luke left town. Two shots later and increasingly belligerent, Reb began to gripe about his marriage, how and when it had all gone sour. “A bun in the oven,” Reb had grumbled more to his shot glass than to anyone in the room. “Do the arithmetic, and it’s as clear as air someone got there before me.”
I am that someone, Luke had realized instantly. Even without doing the arithmetic, he knew Callie, knew she hadn’t been with anyone else.
Reb might have ranted on, but all Luke heard, thought or felt were the ramifications of Reb’s pronouncement. He had a kid out there, a kid who didn’t know he existed, an innocent left to believe his dad was this hopeless drunk on the bar stool beside him.
Filled with a rage he never could have imagined, he’d left the bar to roam the street for hours. All too well he could picture Callie’s face the day he’d left her. She must have known, even then. And still she’d said nothing.
The more he’d thought about it, the more it had fueled his anger. Knowing Callie, she probably felt she was protecting the kid. All well and good if she’d given him the chance to sink or swim, but she’d taken the decision right out of his hands. Now, none of them would ever know what Luke might have done with the knowledge. And the one who would suffer most for this was their innocent son.
So don’t talk to him about protecting Robbie.
He took a long moment to swallow his resentment, aware that he would do far more harm than good by giving vent to his anger at this particular moment. Taking the next right, he headed to her apartment, willing to give the inch if it eventually got him the mile. He was by nature the impatient sort, the kind who preferred to have things out in the open, but Callie was nothing if not stubborn, and she’d clung too long to her secret to give it up to the man she felt had abandoned her. Nothing would be gained by forcing her to tell the truth. She had to tell him of her own free will for there to be any real hope for the future.
“Fine, no visit to Ben today,” he told her, trying to keep his tone light. He didn’t really care about facing down his father, anyway. It was just an excuse, the only one he could think of to coax Callie into marrying him. Just for the record, she wasn’t the only one interested in protecting their boy.
“Doesn’t it bother you?” She was still staring at him, a slight frown creasing her face. “Our situation, that ceremony? I mean, Mr. Fry and those ladies seemed so tickled to death for us. But it was just a lie and we kept it going.”
It was one thing to cultivate patience, but he didn’t like being called a liar. “Our marriage is the means to an end,” he said curtly, unable to keep the irritation from his tone. “That’s all there is to it.”
“But it feels wrong to me. Play-acting about love is like…like we’re playing with fate. Gramps always said love was a gift that should never be taken lightly.”
“I thought you wanted a marriage of convenience. If we’re going to make it one of those arranged contracts, like between royal families, love needn’t enter into it at all.”
“I know. It’s just…” She frowned, as if she were groping for the right words and couldn’t quite find them. “I saw how it was with my grandparents…and my folks before they died. They meant everything to each other. Just watching them together made you smile, made you want to be like them. That’s what I want someday, Luke. Not this…this travesty we call a marriage.”
Barely an hour into married life and already she was looking for the exit?
Pulling to a stop in front of her apartment, he told himself it shouldn’t come as a surprise. In his experience it was always this way. Maybe others could find real and enduring emotion, but all his relationships inevitably flat-lined somewhere along the way. Sooner or later the woman admitted that what she’d thought was love actually wasn’t.
Even Callie.
Not that he had let it deter him. He’d come back to Latour for his boy, and he wasn’t about to let any misconceived notions about love—or the lack thereof—stand in his way. “We made a bargain,” he said, turning to face Callie. “Are you going to keep your end of it, or what?”
She blinked, as if startled by the question. “Yes. For the one year I promised.”
“That’s that, then,” he told her. And in his mind, it was.
Getting out of Luke’s car, Callie didn’t feel nearly as settled. Ever since Luke had kissed her, her mind had been whirling out of control. It had been a mere peck, over before it had begun, but the man’s lips had lost none of their power. Even now she could feel the old longing, the same bittersweet acknowledgment of what could never be. Dangerous, that’s how she’d always described Luke Parker. Looked as if she would have to be twice as careful, twice as wary.
She risked a glance at him as they entered the rundown three story building, catching his ill-concealed look of dismay. Climbing the rickety stairs, noticing its threadbare carpet, she viewed her current home through his eyes. He was a Parker, accustomed to the very best money could buy; he couldn’t possibly enjoy learning, firsthand, how the other half existed.
And he’d be even worse inside the apartment. Her nicked and battered furniture, the little messes left behind by the rush to get Robbie to school on time, the overall shabbiness of the place—what a sharp contrast to the slick and glittering world Luke normally strolled though. He’d take one look at the place and want to make changes. The next thing she knew he’d be sweeping her and Robbie into the pampered life he took for granted.
No, she wouldn’t let that happen, she thought, as she led Luke to apartment 2B. She liked her world the way it was and what was more important, so did Robbie. Okay, maybe this hall was a little dingy, but she had neighbors who watched out for her and her boy—good, honest, caring people who stuck around through thick and thin.
She stopped before her door, suddenly realizing that those same good people would wonder about this stranger she’d unexpectedly brought into their midst. Gramps had constantly warned of the many ripples you could cause with a single action. Marrying Luke, it now seemed, had been like setting off a tidal wave in the tiny pond that had once been her life.
“Maybe it’s not such a good idea, your staying here,” she said, thinking out loud as she glanced back at him. “Maybe you should stay at your place tonight. Or even a motel.”
He reached down to take the key from her hand. “What is this, Cal? Cold feet?”
Actually, with her new husband now towering over her, she felt the chill from head to toe. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just thought that if we’re going to do this thing, we should start it off right.”
“Then in that case,” he said, slipping the key in the lock and shoving open the door, “allow me.” Giving her no chance to protest, he slipped one arm under her knees, the other under her back, and in one fluid motion swept her up against his chest.
“What on earth do you think you are doing?” she gasped.
“Starting out right. The groom is supposed to carry the bride over the threshold, I’m told.”
“This is ridiculous, Lucky. You put me down, right this minute.”
“It’s Luke, not Lucky. Remember?”
Held captive in his arms, she could remember far too many things—the stolen moments, the hot, steamy nights they’d shared ten years ago. And as she gazed into his eyes and saw the sudden intensity there, she realized he was remembering, too.
She could feel the pull between them, as if some magnetic force urged their heads closer. Inches away from touching his lips, she heard footsteps through a haze, then the all too clear and startled, “Mom?”
“Ohmigod,” she said, all but leaping out of Luke’s grasp. “It’s Robbie.”
Chapter Five
Setting Callie on her feet in what felt like slow motion, Luke turned to face the boy. His sole reason for coming back home, his main motivation for marrying Callie, stared up at him with a nine-year-old’s suspicion. Frowning, Robbie stepped protectively in front of his mother.
Something sharp and ugly jammed its way into Luke’s chest.
Callie put her arms on the boy’s shoulder. “Robbie, this is Luke,” she said slowly, as if feeling her way. “Luke…Parker.”
Luke extended a hand in greeting, but Robbie had already turned away to go into the apartment. With a what-can-I-do shrug, Callie followed after him.
Luke let his hand drop to his side. He’d been picturing this moment for some time, but nothing in his imagination could have conjured up anything so awkward or unsettling. Clearly the boy didn’t want him there. Robbie couldn’t have made it any plainer.
Determined to change his son’s mind, Luke followed them into the apartment. As he closed the door behind him, he heard Callie asking questions while Robbie chattered on about his day. Luke felt oddly uncomfortable, as if he were eavesdropping on a private conversation. Most parents did this after-school ritual every day, he realized. Callie and Robbie, all these years, sharing the little moments that added up to so much, little moments Luke himself had never known.
Robbie plopped his backpack on the dining table in the corner of the living room and began to unload it to show his mother his artwork. From a distance Luke hungrily watched his boy, taking in every detail—the tousled blond hair, the scraped elbows and grass-stained knees, the untied shoelaces. Luke knew a sudden strong urge to lean down and tie those scuffed sneakers, but knew his son wasn’t ready for such a gesture. As hard as the concept might be to him, he would have to bide his time and patiently wait for the boy to adjust to having a stranger in the house before he could hope that Robbie would warm toward him.
Backing off, Luke surveyed his surroundings, feeling more than ever like an intruder. Between the dining set, the overstuffed sofa and two matching chairs, the various stands cluttered with knickknacks and the countless photos on the walls, Callie had crammed so much into such a confined space, he couldn’t help feeling claustrophobic. And of course the place wouldn’t have air-conditioning.
Crossing the room to open a window, he stopped before a row of photographs, his attention snagged by a photo of a young, pregnant Callie, her dark eyes wide with fear. Yet how serene she looked, how happy, in the next picture as she held her new baby in her arms.
It was all there on that wall—his son’s life from the start of Callie’s pregnancy to the present day, a freckled, happy nine-year-old in the shorts and long socks of a soccer player. Luke couldn’t tear his gaze from that last picture. Callie’s eyes might stare out at him from the photo, but it was Luke’s own mouth grinning back at him.
He turned away, going to the window, swallowing the sudden tightness in his throat. Gazing at those snapshots brought into painful focus how much he’d missed by not being part of it. And how much he might have kept on missing had he not happened upon Reb Jenkins in that dreary French Quarter tavern.
He took a moment to lean on the sill, looking out at the park. Behind him, he could hear Robbie talking excitedly to his mother. Given the circumstances, Luke supposed he could grasp why someone like Callie would choose to exclude him. It still wasn’t right, though, keeping the truth from the boy. Robbie shouldn’t have to think his father was Reb, some no account bum who lit out when the going got tough. Nor should he ever have to believe his true father didn’t want to acknowledge him. No one knew better how it felt to grow up unloved and unnoticed by your father, and Luke was determined not to pass that on to his own flesh and blood.
Yet Callie was nothing if not stubborn, and her pride would never let her son be raised as a Parker. Luke could stake his claim, and he’d no doubt win, but the battle between them would be an ugly one, and it would be poor Robbie who would come out the ultimate victim.
Hence, the wedding. A drastic step, but Luke could see no other way to show Callie he was ready, willing and able to be a good father to their boy. His plan was to become such an integral part of his son’s life that Callie would have to see reason. Once she understood all the good he could do for Robbie, she would admit, both publicly and legally, that Luke was her son’s father.
What Luke hadn’t figured into the equation was Robbie’s resistance. In his mind he’d envisioned the warm-and-cuddly reunion of a television commercial, his son more a concept than a person in his own right. Face-to-face with him now, Luke realized Robbie was his mother all over again. His wide, dark gaze was just as all-knowing, just as wary and uncompromising. What would it take, he wondered, to win over this child?
“Him?” Robbie said suddenly, drawing Luke out of his thoughts. Whirling, he found the boy pointing an accusing finger in his direction. “He’s gonna stay here?” Robbie added, his face a picture of shocked disbelief.
“I told you,” Callie said patiently, tucking a stray lock behind the boy’s ear. “Luke and I are now married. Of course he’ll stay with us.”
“But Mom, he’s a Parker.” He said the name as if it were linked to a serial killer.
“Yeah, honey, and by marrying Luke, I’m now one, too.”
The boy frowned; the thought obviously hadn’t occurred to him. “But, Mom, Gramps said the only good Parker is a—”
“Never you mind,” Callie interrupted firmly. “Gramps had a lot of colorful opinions but we needn’t take them all at face value. Do yourself a favor. Get to know Luke and then form your own opinions.” Her gaze slid between them, growing stern as it focused again on her son. “Even Gramps would expect no less from you.”
Robbie looked at Luke as if he were a glass of curdled milk. “If you say so.”
“I do. Most folks have something to offer, if you give them half a chance. For example, did you know Luke was once a professional quarterback? He played in the Pro Bowl eight of his ten seasons in New York.”
He was surprised she’d know that. As he recalled, football had been Callie’s least favorite subject. “I still throw a mean lateral,” he told the boy. “If you want, maybe you and I could toss a ball around. I could show you some tricks of the trade.”
Robbie’s eyes widened before he turned, almost guiltily, to his mother. “Mom doesn’t want me playing football. She says it’s too dangerous.”
“Dangerous? Heck, a boy’s got to be a boy.”
The comment earned him the tiniest grin from Robbie, but Luke got nothing but glares from his mother. “Luke seems to be forgetting his injury,” Callie said tightly, placing a proprietary hand on the boy’s shoulder. “The one that ended his career.”
He backed off, knowing it was too early in the game to be challenging her as to how their child should be raised. Besides, she had a valid point. It made him sick, thinking of his boy laid out on a stretcher, going through the operations and rehabilitation he had endured. “Your mom’s right,” Luke conceded. “I nearly lost the use of my arm playing the game. But you know,” he added on a sudden inspiration, “I used to play soccer, too. I had a coach who showed me all kinds of great tricks. I started out on the bench, but I soon got to play center because I could dribble right up to the goalie and snap the ball right past him.”
“I never scored a goal last year.”
Hearing the yearning in the boy’s voice, Luke nodded behind him out the open window. “I can teach you a few things, I bet,” he offered. “I noticed there’s a park across the road. If you want, we can go over there and kick the ball around a bit.”
“Yeah? You mean right now?”
And suddenly there it was, all the interest and animation he could have hoped for from his son.
Trust Callie to jump in between them. Taking Robbie by the shoulder, she pointed at the door to her right. “You know the rules, young man. No going outside to play until you finish your homework.”
“Aw, Mom.”
Luke’s sentiments exactly.
“Never mind,” Callie said sternly, looking over Robbie’s shoulder to direct the message at Luke. “Our routine has been disrupted enough today. You have your chores and I have mine, and we’d both best get to them.”
Luke knew a cue when he heard it. “Your mom’s right. We can practice when you’re finished. And maybe it won’t be so hot outside then, so we can keep at it longer.”
For an instant Luke thought he’d lost him, but with a reluctant grin and an “I’ll hurry,” Robbie raced to his bedroom.
Shaking her head, Callie turned to Luke. “Sorry about that. Robbie usually has better manners, but he and Gramps were real close. He’s a little touchy whenever the Parker name is mentioned.”
“A lot of that going around.”
She eyed him sharply. “Yeah, well, you and I have a truce at the moment. As long as you keep to your promise to get back our farm.” With a tight smile, she turned and marched into the kitchen.
Luke stared after her, annoyed that she would be so persistent. As if the most important issue between them was getting her house back. In his mind, four walls and a roof couldn’t possibly compare to making sure their son had a mother and father.
“If you’re looking for something to do,” Callie called from the other room, “I could use some help getting supper.”
Luke followed into the tiny kitchen, finding Callie piling vegetables on the narrow counter. “So soon?” he asked, accustomed to dining later in the evening. “When is it that you folks eat?”
“Gumbo takes a while,” she said distractedly, pulling pots from a cabinet. “But by and large, we keep to farm hours. The others tend to eat early, too.”
“Others?”
“Some of the older folk in the building can’t be counted on to cook for themselves. Every now and then I make extras, to help carry them through the week.”
She said it matter-of-factly, as if it were perfectly natural to worry about the welfare of strangers when she herself barely kept food on the table. “So what do you do?” he asked. “Feed the entire neighborhood?”
“Just Mrs. Boyle in 2C and old Henry down in 1A. And on gumbo night, we can generally count on Sam Wylie, the maintenance man, stopping by for a bowl or two.”
“So you’re running a soup kitchen. And any leftovers, I bet, go to the stray cats and dogs in the area.”
“It’s not a soup kitchen,” she snapped. “Nobody here is looking for a free handout.”
Ah, yes, the Magruder pride. How well he remembered her stiff-necked refusal to take anything that even remotely smacked of charity. “Really. Do any of these friends of yours chip in for expenses?”
She shrugged as she yanked open a drawer to pull out two knives. “Where I come from cash isn’t the only way of doing business. I feed them and they make up for it by looking out for Robbie. Many a night I have to work late.”
“Well, that’s going to stop.”
