Luke's Daughters. Lynnette Kent

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СКАЧАТЬ through the curtained doorway. “He’s got you there, Chuck. When is the last time you bought a new extinguisher?”

      “At least I bought one.” He brushed past her in the narrow space behind the counter. “If this place had been left to your absentee management, it would have fallen apart years ago!” The curtain swished behind him.

      Sarah looked at Luke. “That’s my business partner. He doesn’t—” She registered the despair on his face. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

      He drew a deep breath that shook. “Sure. I’m…great.”

      “You went to see your daughters, right? Did something happen?”

      His hands went into his back pockets. “No bloodshed, anyway.”

      Sarah didn’t insist on an explanation—he’d obviously been through enough today. “Come into the back. I’ve made some tea. We can look at the pictures.”

      She lifted the hinged portion of the counter, then pulled the curtain aside as Luke stepped into the back room. In contrast to this morning, he seemed almost unsteady, as if he had to concentrate to keep from falling over.

      “So you got the pictures developed?” His deep voice sounded weary.

      “I did.” Chuck had disappeared behind the closed door of his office. She and Luke downed the iced tea she poured in a thirsty silence. Then she took his glass away. “Now, come tell me what you think.”

      A step into the darkroom, he stopped dead. “Wow.”

      Sarah smiled in satisfaction. His reaction was exactly what she’d hoped for.

      He moved forward to stand in front of the largest print—an eighteen-by-twenty of Erin and Jennifer bent over the bait bucket. The balance of the shot was perfect, the light on those green-and-rose dresses like something out of a storybook illustration. And just as she’d hit the shutter button, a small breeze had fluffed out the girls’ lacy petticoats.

      “This is…amazing. You’re really good.”

      “Just lucky to be there when the three of you came out. All I had to do was snap pictures.”

      “I don’t know enough about it to argue with you. But…wow.” He moved down the line, studying each print in turn. “I really like that one,” he said, pointing to a shot of the three of them laughing in the wind. “Could I have a copy?”

      “I’ll copy them all for you. And for your family.”

      “Nah.” He glanced at the photos of himself. “Don’t worry about any of those. Just the ones with the girls in them for the family. And a copy of the one with the three of us for me.” Under the white light, his cheeks looked a little red.

      “But your parents—”

      Luke shook his head. “Nope.” He went back to the first picture. “I can’t believe how great these are.”

      Sarah propped her hip on a stool, letting him have the time he wanted. That gave her a chance to appreciate once again how solid his body was, how balanced. She’d seen models in art classes with less physique to recommend them. She’d certainly never sighed over any of them the way she wanted to sigh over Luke Brennan.

      He turned around before she could. “I’m thinking I should pay you for these. Talent like yours doesn’t come cheap.”

      “You’re right.” Sarah slipped to her feet. “So I’ll let you buy dinner. Deal?”

      He grinned for the first time since he’d come into the shop. “Deal. Let’s go.”

      LUKE HAD PARKED the Harley next to Sarah’s Jeep. “Do you want to take yours? You’d be more comfortable. I’ll even let you drive, in case my mind wanders again.”

      She laughed. “That’s a good thought. But…” Stepping up to the bike, she ran her fingertips over the leather seat, the handlebar, the dash. “This is a really fine machine.”

      He let out a relieved breath. Kristin had never liked his fascination with motorcycles. “Do you ride?”

      Sarah nodded. “I used to. Went all the way to California from D.C. on Interstate 40 when I was eighteen.”

      “I took a trip like that, on I-10. There was an incredible rainstorm outside New Orleans—I thought I was going to drown.”

      “That happened to James and me, too. In Oklahoma City.”

      Luke wondered if that meant a more personal relationship than he’d realized. But Sarah continued with her story. “We waited underneath an overpass while the water climbed up our ankles. I was pretty scared. But I got some great lightning shots.”

      “I wasn’t exactly calm, myself.”

      “Well, there’s no rain in today’s forecast.” She wasn’t wincing as much when she gave him a smile now, even a really wide one. “Could we take your bike?”

      Luke pulled the extra helmet out of the saddlebag. “Be my guest.”

      In seconds she had her hair tucked neatly into the helmet. He straddled the seat and then Sarah climbed on behind him, easily and smoothly as if she’d done it every day for years. She settled like a feather, barely affecting the weight or tilt of the bike.

      Luke wished he could say she didn’t affect his equilibrium. But he felt every inch of her at his back. Her hands—free of bandages, though still scraped up—came to rest at his waist, and the light pressure heated his skin through his shirt like the sun at midday. He wasn’t used to being so close to any woman besides Kristin.

      But he could get used to having Sarah on the bike behind him. The engine purred as he pumped the gas and released the brake. “Hang on!”

      They wove slowly along the main drag of Myrtle Beach restaurants, through traffic snarled with thousands of tourists out for dinner and maybe a night of playing miniature golf at one of a hundred different parks. Luke pulled in at his favorite sandwich shop to buy dinner, which he stowed with another bag of cookies in a knapsack inside the bike’s right saddlebag.

      Then at last they were on the long straightaway of Highway 17. The pure ecstasy of the ride—summer wind roaring around them, sight and sound blended into a blur of colorful noise—filled every need. He hadn’t felt so free, so unconfined, so…so young in months.

      Hell, it had been a year and a half since he’d enjoyed anything this much. The year and a half since Matt had come back.

      They passed Murrell’s Inlet, going south, and Pawley’s Island, a tourist favorite. Finally, he downshifted and made a swooping turn beside the huge statue of rearing horses at the entrance to Brookgreen Sculpture Gardens.

      Sarah’s hands tightened on his waist. She leaned forward, and he felt her slenderness press against his spine. “The gardens are open at night now?” He could just barely hear her above the quiet roar of the engine.

      “It’s a fairly new program.” Luke pulled out a membership card at the ticket gate and the attendant waved them through. “I thought this would be a great place for a picnic dinner.”

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