by Macy Beckett
Rolling his eyes, the kid let the doors slide shut, and Luke pulled off his baseball cap and used it to press the up button. Hundreds of people pushed that switch every hour, and he knew it was crawling with flu viruses, or worse. Normally he didn’t fret about that stuff, but he couldn’t afford to get sick—not now.
When Luke stepped onto the fourth floor, he immediately flinched back. The odor of bleach and vomit slammed his nostrils with the force of a freight train. “God damn,” he whispered. Holding his breath again, and not out of respect for the dead this time, he rushed to Trey’s room. After one quick knock that sounded more like a body slam, he tugged open the door and bolted inside.
“Hell, buddy,” Trey said with one lifted brow and a sardonic grin, “come on in.”
Luke immediately shut the door to block out the smell. Stepping forward, he collapsed into the chair farthest from Trey’s bed, but he stiffened and grasped the armrests when a woman’s form rose from her chair on the opposite side of the room.
He recognized the perfectly styled, silver hair that curled in a bob and rested atop the lady’s rigid shoulders. She glanced down and picked a bit of lint off her designer blouse, then smoothed a set of nonexistent wrinkles from her tan slacks.
Luke stood from his seat. “Sorry, Mrs. Lewis. Didn’t know you were here.”
“Hello, Private Gallagher.” Trey’s mom tipped her head in a greeting, polite, but still colder than Hitler’s grave. Her eyes, bright blue, just like Trey’s, turned to slits, somehow managing to look down at him, despite the fact that he towered two feet over her. He’d only met her once before, after the discharge, and she didn’t seem to like him any more now than she did back then.
“It’s just Luke these days, ma’am.” He wished he’d stopped at Pru’s for a quick shower before coming here. Normally, Luke didn’t give a damn what anyone thought, but this woman had a way of making him feel like trash, and he hated looking the part.
“Oh, yes. I’m well aware.” Translation: I know your name, asshole, but I love reminding you of the disgrace you and my son brought upon our family. Her eyes raked over him, no doubt taking in the sweaty hair plastered to his face, his dirt-streaked T-shirt, faded, torn jeans, and steel-toed work boots. “Thank you for calling me after the accident.”
“No problem. I knew you’d want to be here.” He glanced around the room for Trey’s old man. “Is, uh, Mr. Lewis…” Trailing off, he noticed his buddy’s fist clench around a handful of white blankets.
“Colonel Lewis,” she corrected smoothly, “is at home.” She didn’t offer further explanation.
“Oh.” Seemed the old bastard still hadn’t forgiven Trey for all the shit that went down in Heidelberg. For the love of God, it had been five years. How much longer was the sanctimonious fucker going to punish his only son? “How long are you in town?”
“My flight leaves first thing in the morning.” She lifted her shiny black handbag from the bedside table and sashayed to the door, wrinkling her nose in disgust when she skirted around him. “I’ll get something to eat from the cafeteria while you boys visit.” And then she left without saying good-bye.
Trey exhaled, puffing out his cheeks. “That went better than I expected.”
“Sorry, man. Why didn’t you tell me she was here?” Had he known, he would’ve skipped this visit and driven straight to Pru’s to fix June’s clunker, then swung by the hardware store before it closed.
“She didn’t call—just showed up a few hours ago.”
With a groan, Luke lowered into his chair. “I hate this place, you know that?”
“Cry me a river, you douche.” Trey used both hands to fire “pistols” at his leg, trapped from hip-to-toe in thick plaster and hanging from a line in the ceiling. Though his left eye was barely visible beneath its swollen lid, the expression behind it seemed clearer than yesterday. Alert and teasing, just like the old Trey. “I’m feeling better, thanks for askin’.”
Scooting his chair closer to the air conditioner, Luke let the frigid breeze stir the damp hair at the back of his neck. He nodded at the traction line keeping his buddy’s lower half immobile. “How do you go to the bathroom in that thing?”
“Trust me,” Trey’s mouth drooped into a frown, tugging one dimple to the surface of his cheek, “you don’t wanna know.”
“Forget I asked.” Poor bugger. Broken bones were painful, but nothing made a man feel lower than losing the ability to take care of his own personal needs. “But at least you’re getting sponge baths, right? Bet your nurse loves to get you reeeal clean.” That’s how it had worked in a Naughty Nightshift Nurse movie he’d watched once or twice…or a dozen times…as a teenager.
“Yeah,” Trey mumbled, glancing away. “He’s very thorough.”
“He?”
“You heard me.”
Luke didn’t want to laugh—really, he didn’t—but the mental image of his buddy gritting his teeth, clenching his eyes, and suffering through a dude-on-dude sponge bath was just too much. “Jesus, man,” he chortled, “and I thought I had it bad.”
“Shut up. It’s not funny.” But Trey joined in the laughter before sucking in a sharp breath and bringing one hand against his ribs. “Stop,” he urged, trying to suppress a snicker. “It hurts.”
“Okay, okay.” Luke turned the subject away from awkward bathing situations. “I checked your mail before I came. Nothing but junk.”
“You water the fern?”
“You mean that brown, crunchy thing by the TV? Yeah.” Hooking one thumb toward the leafy, green potted plants and assorted flowers on the window ledge, he added, “But I think these will complement your classy dé-coor a little better.”
“Totally. Those carnations over there match the wine stains on my sofa.”
“Need anything?”
“Yeah,” Trey nodded emphatically. “To get the hell outta here.”
“Right, but anything I can do?”
Trey considered a moment, sliding his gaze toward the empty space by the bathroom door. “I can think of one thing.”
“What? It better not involve bedpans.” Their friendship wasn’t that strong.
“Take it easy on Joooonbug. You practically tore her a new one the other day. This wasn’t her fault.”
Luke’s spine stiffened against the back of his chair. The last thing he wanted to remember was the way he’d lit into June or how she’d struggled to hold back from crying before driving away. “Don’t worry about June. I already made things right—it’s done.”
“No shit?”
“In fact, I’m heading over there in a few minutes. Had to pick up some parts to repair that heap she’s driving.”
“Mmm-hmm.” A sly, crooked grin curved his friend’s lips. “You know, she wanted to take me up on my offer. Said she’d mix up a few drinks at my place, if I provided the booze.”
Luke’s gut clenched like he’d just taken a sucker punch to the crotch. “What?”
“Yep.” Trey nodded and beamed. He was enjoying this, the deep-dimpled son of a bitch. “But I shot her down. She might want to ply some guy with liquor and have her way with him, but I can tell it’s not me. I don’t wanna be her second choice, even if she does have the sweetest backside I’ve ever seen.” Then he made a wide circle with his palms to mimic June’s ass, causing Luke’s face to blaze.
“That’s enough.” Luke leaned forward, pointing an index finger at Trey. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
“What’s the matter, buddy? Did I strike a nerve?”
“I’ll strike your nerve if you don’t cut that shit out.” Best friend or not, Trey was wandering into dangerous territory, now pretending to smack June’s imaginary bottom. Luke wouldn’t hurt a cripple, but he could sure as hell wait until Trey was strong again to knock some respect into that blond head.
“Quit stonewalling and tell me what’s up between you two. I can tell something happened.”
“Don’t you have enough to worry about without digging into my pr
ivate life?”
“No.” Sweeping a hand to indicate his battered body, he said, “I’m bored as hell, and I’m stuck here at least another week, or however long it takes these sadists to make sure my effing, swollen spleen doesn’t explode. Come on. You never tell me anything.”
“I never tell you anything? Jesus, you sound like my nagging ex-wife.” Luke stood and tugged at the stiff, white comforter draped over Trey’s good leg. “You sure the doctors didn’t put a few girly parts in there when you weren’t looking? I think you grew a vadge, my friend.”
“Yeah? Then eat me.”
“Should I pick up a box of Midol the next time I visit? Tampax? Or you want some of that shit with wings?”
“Ha-ha-ha. Very funny. Why can’t you just answer the question?”
Three quick knocks sounded from the door, saving Luke from a topic he didn’t want to examine. A pretty, young redhead balanced a plastic tray in one hand, gripped a cup of juice in the other, and pushed the door aside with her hip. Luke scrambled to help her, taking the frosty cup and clearing assorted paperwork and crossword puzzles from Trey’s bedside table.
“Thanks, hon,” she said with an inviting smile. Too bad this wasn’t the woman giving Trey his sponge baths. She lifted the domed lid from Trey’s dinner plate, filling the air with the mouthwatering scents of marinara sauce, spaghetti, and garlic bread. Waving a quick good-bye, the redhead left and pulled the door shut behind her.
Luke’s stomach rumbled loudly, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “That doesn’t look half bad.”
“This right here,” Trey said, pointing a fork at the parmesan cheese sprinkled generously on his pasta, “is the only thing that keeps me from hanging myself on the traction line. So back off, man. I’m not sharing.”
“That’s okay.” Luke checked the clock above the television, figuring it was about time to go. “I’ll have a chicken leg in my mouth in twenty minutes. Pru’s famous biscuits too. Maybe even a slice of pecan pie.”
“Hey,” Trey said with his mouth crammed full, “why don’t you stay the night at Miss Pru’s? Take a rest. You look like shit, no offense.”
“None taken.” Luke knew he’d pushed his body nearly to the limit these past couple days, living on four hours of sleep and chugging enough coffee to power a small town. But it was only temporary, and besides, if he’d survived basic training, then he could manage a couple weeks busting his ass until Trey was back on the job. “There’ll be plenty of time to rest when I’m dead.”
“Keep it up and you will be.” Trey pulled a napkin across his saucy mouth, then held it in the air. “What’s one night? Get some sleep.”
Pushing up from his chair, Luke leaned in and grabbed the edge of Trey’s blanket. Lifting it to peek underneath, he said, “Yep, just as I thought. You’ve grown lady bits.”
A chunk of garlic bread pelted Luke’s ear, and he dodged just in time to avoid a salt packet.
With a chuckle, he made his exit, leaving a smile on his buddy’s face. Mrs. Lewis would surely erase it when she returned from the cafeteria, but she’d be gone the next day, and then Trey’s family-away-from-home—the people of Sultry Springs who’d made this Yankee one of their own—would be here to lift his spirits again.
***
“Oh, praise be!” Pru jumped back and hit the refrigerator, knocking all June’s old cross-county ribbons askew. “Get a shower, Lucas!”
Luke snatched a bite of salty ham from the pot of green beans simmering on the stove, then tossed it into his mouth and sucked in a few breaths to cool his scorched tongue. “I’ll just get dirty again when I go outside to fix June’s car after supper.” When he tried sneaking a biscuit from the counter, Pru advanced and smacked his hand—hard.
“Ouch!” Sometimes he forgot how strong she was. “Aw, come on, Pru. I’ll make a plate and eat on the porch.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” Moving to stand between him and the stove, Pru extended one long, bony finger and poked his chest. “What’s the rule in this house, Lucas Gallagher?”
With sagging shoulders, he sighed and droned the words, feeling twelve years old again. “A clean mouth in want of bread, with a prayer shall be fed.”
“That’s right. Cleanliness is nexta godliness. You get a shower, and we’ll eat at the table together, the way it oughta be.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He trudged upstairs to the hall bathroom and noticed June’s bedroom door open. With one hand on the doorjamb, he leaned his head and shoulders inside and found her resting in bed, reading a Better Homes and Gardens magazine. She’d propped herself up with pillows and stretched out, and she wore a long, black sundress that covered everything but the tips of her pretty little toes. The outfit seemed out of character for her, considering the casual shorts and skimpy tank tops she’d worn since returning to town.
“Feeling Amish today, Sister Augustine?”
She flinched and brought a hand to her heart, dropping the magazine to the floor.
“Nice dress.” He stepped inside, grabbed her magazine, and tossed it onto the bed without getting too close. Judging by Pru’s reaction downstairs, he really needed that shower. “Only two days with the Baptists and you’re already going modest on me?”
“You look filthy,” she said, changing the subject. “And tired.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve already heard it from your grandma. She won’t feed me till I get cleaned up, so I’m gonna hop in the shower.” He started to turn away, but she held her palm forward to halt him.
“Wait.” She went silent a minute, and then those brown eyes swept his body from head to toe with such intensity he almost felt her warm, gentle touch all over. He recognized that glazed look. He’d seen it before, her first day—hell, her only day—working at the Jenkins place. He had a pretty good feeling she wasn’t criticizing the mud on his jeans when her eyes fell there, and when her tongue darted out to wet her lips, he had to grasp the doorway to keep from closing the distance between them and finishing what they’d started the other morning. He scraped together enough willpower to tease, “Like what you see, Junebug? I can take a picture—make one of those wall calendars for you, even tape it to the ceiling above your bed.”
She wrinkled her ivory forehead and pushed up straighter. “I was going to offer to wash your clothes while you’re in the shower, but since you’re being such an—”
“I accept. Thanks.” When she started to object, he cut her off. “Especially since I’m here to fix your car. For free.”
“Fine. Leave them in a pile outside the bathroom.”
“That means I’ll be naked when I open the door. You gonna try to sneak a look?”
“You wish.”
With a smirk, he left her to grab some clean clothes from his room and then get washed for supper.
While in the shower, his mind conjured naughty images of June. Cranking up the cold water didn’t help, and neither did shampooing his hair extra rough, scrubbing with his fingernails hard enough to make his scalp burn. He couldn’t stop picturing himself hooking one finger beneath the hem of that long, black dress and sliding it up the length of her smooth legs, then slipping her panties down, down, all the way down past her ankles…Damn it. If he didn’t quit this madness right now, his soldier would come to attention, and he couldn’t very well relieve it of duty knowing he’d have to hold Pru’s hand for grace in ten minutes. Turning off the hot water completely, Luke doused himself in the icy spray, closed his eyes, and recited the Texas Rangers’ starting lineup.
***
“What’s this thing?” Wedging herself between Luke and the car, June braced on her elbows and bent over the hood, poking at engine parts and bringing her firm, round behind to the front of his hips, where it brushed his fly. Sweet Jesus. He needed to finish this repair and get the hell out of here before he died of chronic blue balls.
“Hmm?” she pressed.
“That’s where your windshield wiper fluid goes, Junebug. You couldn’t f
igure that one out yourself?”
The cool evening breeze picked up, swirling June’s chestnut curls around the back of her neck, while the setting sun cast pinks and reds over her skin. “Well, what do I know about cars?”
“At the very least, you need to know how to check your oil, especially when you drive something this old.” Girls. How did they manage to survive? “Come out of there. I’m gonna teach you real quick.”
She stood and turned to face him. “What does age have to do with it?”
“The older a car gets, the more oil it loses. Nobody ever told you this?”
“No.” When she shook her head and stirred those curls, he inhaled the familiar, spicy-sweet scent of her orange shampoo. Did other women smell this good? Had he simply failed to notice all these years?
“Okay.” Focusing on the task at hand, Luke pulled a clean rag from his back pocket. “The first thing you gotta do is clean your dipstick.”
“Oh, is that what you’re calling it now?” she said with a giggle. “I bet you’re an expert at that.”
“Concentrate, Junebug. This could save your engine.” Actually, he’d be surprised if the thing made it another thousand miles. “See this loop?” He slipped one finger into the dipstick pull. “You take it out, like this…” When he turned to make sure June was paying attention—which she wasn’t—the wind kicked up again and swirled her black dress up around her calves, drawing his attention to patches of raised welts on her skin. He shoved the dipstick back into place and wiped his greasy fingers on the rag.
“What happened to your legs?” he asked, kneeling at her feet.
“Nothing!” She scurried backward, right over an empty drip pan, and her arms flailed wildly in the air for a few seconds as she tried to right herself. Luke launched forward to steady her, but he wasn’t quick enough, and she went down hard on her backside onto the lawn.
He crawled forward with a grin tugging his lips. “You okay?”
Rolling to the side, June rubbed her palm against her fleshy bottom, while her lips formed the word Ouch. “Yeah.”
“Good thing you had—” Luke bit short his reply. Probably not a good idea to say plenty of cushion on that big, gorgeous ass. Instead, he finished, “the thick grass to break your fall.”
