The Medic's Homecoming. Lynne Marshall

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СКАЧАТЬ it. Where the hell was he? Clutching his chest, heart pounding in his throat, he searched frantically for a clue, but he had to wait for his eyes to adjust to the dark. It was too soft to be in a sleeping bag on the desert floor. Besides, he had a pillow, and he never had a pillow out there.

      Right. He was home, at Whispering Oaks. It was two in the morning on Friday. There were wildfires in the distant hills. He was okay.

      With adrenaline crawling along his arms and legs, he threw back the covers. He needed mindless tinkering. Keeping busy. Distraction. Anything to keep from thinking.

      His pulse slowed a fraction as he headed for the kitchen. He avoided the creak in the hall floor outside of Anne’s bedroom so as not to wake her.

      After he got his drink, when he stepped outside, he came to a halt. Something had changed. The wind had stopped. He glanced across the backyard to a glowing orange ridge in the distance. Maybe now the fire would settle down, too.

      Letting the last of his nervousness drizzle out, he opened the garage door and got to work changing out the headlights on the car.

      Time slipped by and, as had been the early morning routine since he’d been home, Anne eventually showed up. Tonight she had an old high school yearbook in her hand and a melancholy expression in her eyes. She’d tried not to be obvious when she found out about Jack fighting the fire today, but Lucas could tell by the way she bit her nails and twisted her hair all evening that inside she was freaking out. Something big was going on between her and Jack.

      He glanced at his sister, hair every which way, nightgown hanging loose nearly to the floor, looking like some kind of messy angel. She climbed into the Mustang, talking about anything that seemed to pop into her head. It led back to high school and a love triangle between Anne, her best friend at the time and Jack. He’d tried his best to stay out of that drama back then but still recalled the heartache his sister had lived through.

      When she started what he called the remember game, he tried to keep up, knowing she might throw in a curveball pop quiz. So far, the first few questions she’d thrown at him had been slow and down the center.

      “Remember the night before I left for college when I came and sat here and told you that I still loved Jackson Lightfoot but I could never have him?”

      Was he supposed to remember those kinds of conversations? “Uh, kinda.”

      She went dramatic, tossed back her head and groaned. “Damn, Lucas, I break open my heart and spill my guts to you and you don’t remember?”

      “I didn’t say I didn’t remember. I just said it’s a little vague. Why don’t you run it by me again?”

      And she did, boy did she, the whole sordid tale, which went on for at least fifteen minutes. He kept busy with the headlight, eyes nearly glazing over. Finally, things got around to the real reason she couldn’t sleep.

      “The thing is, I never quit loving him …”

      So this was her bombshell? Hell, he could have told her that. Now all she had to do was be practical.

      “Then why not move back here and be with him?”

      For his effort of listening to and supporting his sister by offering a solution, he got the death glare.

      “Ugh. It’s not that easy.”

      “Sure it is,” he said. “What do you have in Portland that you can’t find here?”

      She sighed and, ignoring him, thumbed through the yearbook.

      Several minutes slipped by in silence. He was okay with that. It allowed him to work on the headlight change in peace.

      “Do you believe in people finding the love of their lives, Lucas?”

      “Nope.” He knee-jerked his answer as he used a wrench to tighten a bolt, then thought about Anne and Jack and what she’d just confessed. “But maybe in your case.…”

      Not answering, she closed her eyes and hugged that ancient yearbook to her chest. A moment later she got out of the car. “Thanks for listening, little brother.”

      Lucas loved his sister. He’d probably never said the actual words I love you, Sis, but right now he felt her pain and wanted her to know he cared. He gave her the first genuine smile he’d made since coming home, besides the one for Jocelyn, and it reached all the way inside, warmed him up and felt pretty damn good. He rubbed at a foreign, dull tugging in his chest.

      “And by the way—” Anne said, closing the car door “—when you get ready to find the love of your life, may I suggest that you start by looking next door?”

      He threw the greasy rag he’d wiped his hands on at her as she brushed past him on the way out of the garage. A ridiculous notion. Yet his eyes drifted across the dark yard to the house on the other side of the fence, and in his mind’s eye a long pair of shapely legs came back into focus.

      Chapter Three

      Saturday morning, Lucas showed up for track practice like he told his father he would. It was already sunny at quarter to eight, no wind, mostly blue sky with leftover smoke in the distance along with a lingering sooty scent. He checked his watch. Where were the athletes? More importantly, where was Jocelyn?

      He paced the length of the track, pieces of memories patching through his thoughts. Just focus on the race. Give it your full effort. He would swear his father spoke over his shoulder, though he knew Dad was home in the wheelchair where he’d left him—in the family room watching golf on TV. The poor guy was practically on house arrest.

      How many times had he let dear old Dad down when he raced? How many times could he have won and made Dad proud if he’d just three-stepped between hurdles instead of stuttering? But signing up for track hadn’t been his idea. Anne had talked him into it, just so she could be around Jackson Lightfoot. Speaking of Anne, she’d never come home last night. Last he’d heard, she’d gone looking for Jack at the fire command center.

      More thoughts rushed his mind as he walked the track. Back in high school, Lucas hadn’t yet learned the fine art of total focus, except for when it came to cars. Being the coach’s kid meant having to prove yourself, and it seemed that in his father’s eyes, Lucas never really did. Second place was only a quick flash on Kieran Grady’s track radar; third place didn’t register at all. At least that’s how it’d felt.

      Lucas shook the bitter memories from his head.

      What the hell was he doing here? Jogging on this track was like reliving his slacker days all over again. It felt idiotic. Old insecurities laced through him, quickly followed by anger. He wanted to punch something or kick over a hurdle and storm off, just like he used to.

      Here he was, honorably discharged from the army, a medic, twenty-eight years old, no plans, no job, subbing for his dad for some stinking high school fund-raiser. He squinted into the sun. In some ways he still felt an L was tattooed on his forehead.

      Ambushed by frustration, he burst into a sprint, slowed down a few paces, then sprinted again. Maybe he could run off the negativity.

      “Lucas!” Jocelyn came trotting across the grass wearing running gear and holding her workout bag in one hand, long strides accentuating the tone and muscle of a female athlete. СКАЧАТЬ