In His Wife's Name. Joyce Sullivan

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ I’ve taken a few months off to scout out possibilities.” Luke expertly finished loosening the nuts and slid off the damaged tire.

      Shannon noticed his face turn serious, his lips pressing into a thin line as he examined the puncture. “What is it?” she asked, coming closer to peer over his shoulder.

      He showed her a four-inch-long slit. “There’s your trouble.”

      Shannon sighed. “And they’re new tires. Maybe I can have it repaired under the warranty.”

      Luke didn’t say anything. He put the damaged tire in the truck bed and hoisted the spare into his arms.

      Shannon tried not to stare at the flexed muscles in his arms. She couldn’t remember ever being fascinated by her ex-husband’s physique. Or was it that ever since Rob had hit her, she was more aware of the threat a man’s physical strength imposed? She pushed the disturbing thought away and focused on what Luke had just told her about his employment situation. An idea took form in her mind. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a part-time job while you’re scouting out those possibilities?” She went on quickly, feeling heat climb into her cheeks. “I’m looking for a woodworker to cut the shapes I need for my crafts. With your experience it sounds like you’re well qualified. I’m not sure I can pay you what you usually make doing construction, but it would be something while you’re trying to decide what to do with your future.”

      His gaze flickered up to meet hers, steady and soothing as the dusky skies of twilight. He didn’t appear the least bit offended by her spontaneous offer. Shannon wondered if those eyes ever ignited into a rage. When she’d fallen in love with Rob, she’d never imagined that he would hurt her, either. An event-planning consultant, Rob had always seemed confident and in control. The type of person corporations and organizations depended on to flawlessly carry off their conferences and special events down to the last detail. But Shannon hadn’t been able to depend on him to cherish her as a husband should cherish his wife.

      Still, she told herself reasonably, she wasn’t asking Luke to share her life—only work for her part-time. Shannon clutched Samantha tightly to her hip and held her breath. Would Luke accept her offer?

      HOOK, LINE AND SINKER, she’d offered him a job. Luke’s mouth pulled into a slow halfhearted grin that made him feel hollow inside as he pretended to mull over her offer. What the hell was the matter with him? He was unofficially working a murder investigation. His wife’s murder investigation. He should feel pleased that the suspect had swallowed his background story and offered him a job. Instead, he felt deeply ill at ease.

      The Mary Tatiana Calder he’d been conversing with for the past fifteen minutes didn’t strike him as being a hardened criminal who’d stolen a woman’s identity to defraud a bank. Not with that fresh face, the pristine eyelet top and those comfortably faded jeans. On the surface she seemed like the kind of frank warmhearted woman the world depended on to raise children, run countless errands and volunteer for good causes, in addition to being loving wives and career women. But even nice women with soft beguiling smiles, legs a model would envy and gently rounded derrieres had secrets. This Mary was a paradox.

      Her truck’s tire had been deliberately punctured—probably with a knife when he was inside the hardware store. She was lucky that she and her daughter hadn’t had an accident.

      Why would someone want to harm her?

      Mary was patiently waiting for his reply. “I just might take you up on your offer,” he said finally as he methodically tightened another nut. “Might be nice to have something to keep me busy until I make some decisions—and I have to admit my hands are aching to hold some tools.” He glanced at her again, letting his eyes tangle with her hazel ones over her baby’s silken head as long as he dared. Those hazel eyes spelled trouble. They were like the surface of a lake—shimmering with sunlight one minute, clouded with some inner torment the next. “I left my toolbelt at home—a definite mistake.”

      “You can borrow my toolbelt if you take the job,” she said with a teasing lilt to her voice. “When would you be willing to start?”

      Luke felt himself erecting an invisible wall to block out the wholesome appeal of her personality. “When would you like me to start?” he countered, matching her tone.

      “Is tomorrow too soon? That would give me a chance to check your references this afternoon.”

      Ah, references. So, she wasn’t as gullible as he’d first assumed. At least he hadn’t been lying about his carpentry experience. He’d spent a few summers in his youth doing construction for a friend’s father’s business, and he’d been renovating the eighty-year-old fixer-upper he and Mary had bought to raise the family they’d hoped to have.

      “I don’t have a résumé,” he admitted. “I’m staying at the Orchard Inn in Oliver, but if you give me your number, I could call you later with the information.”

      The baby’s eyelids drooped heavily as her head fitted snugly against her mother’s shoulder. As Mary lovingly cupped her head, an S-shaped frown settled between Mary’s brows. “How about I call you, instead?” she suggested. “Samantha’s schedule is a little unpredictable. Could you get together at least three references by five tonight?”

      “No problem,” Luke assured her, wondering if her guardedness over her phone number was prompted by plain common sense—or fear. She wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Was she a woman living alone? Maybe her relationship with the baby’s father hadn’t worked out. Luke mulled over the ramifications of this possibility in his mind. She’d listed only the post-office-box address in the ad she’d posted in the hardware store. “You can reach me at the motel.” He told her the room number as he finished tightening the last nut.

      A flush of color touched her lightly freckled cheeks like the blush of sun-ripened apricots, making him aware once again how different she was from his Mary. His wife’s skin had been like milk and honey in the winter, the honey tones darkening to bronze in the sun. And when she was flustered or angry, twin scarlet blossoms stained her cheeks.

      Grief swelled in him.

      “Sounds like we’re close to a deal, then,” she said in a tone that sounded too open and sweetly sensual to be businesslike. Or criminal.

      Luke swore to himself and struggled to maintain an impersonal professional distance. “Y-yes, ma’am.”

      She smiled down at him as he disengaged the jack. “You can call me Mary.”

      Mary.

      “Sure M—” Luke straightened, the jack in his hand, towering above her by a good six inches. His jaw tightened rebelliously, refusing to produce the name he’d said thousands of times. But never like this. Never in a moment of deceit.

      Mary took an unconscious step backward, wariness rising in the dappled-hazel depths of her eyes like plumes of smoke. Luke realized swiftly that he was blowing it. “Sure, Mary,” he said more forcefully than he intended. A dirty feeling coated his insides.

      Mary trembled. And Luke wondered if his distaste for saying her name had shown. Or was she afraid of something or someone else? Had she realized that tire hadn’t slit itself? He pretended to misinterpret her shudder. “Your arms are shaking. Is your daughter growing heavy?” Before she could object, he opened the truck’s passenger door so she could buckle Samantha in her car seat. Luke stepped away from the door and stowed the jack.

      Arms free again, Mary turned to him and offered him her СКАЧАТЬ