The Reture of Luke McGuire

by Justine Davis

  That made him smile. He couldn't deny he liked the idea of shaking her out of that reserve, just on general principle. Maybe that was why he was so drawn to her.

  Or maybe, more simply, he thought as he dragged himself to the shower, it was that she was one of the few people in town who didn't remember him from before, one of the few he could talk to and not be certain they were always thinking of his rowdy past. Not that she didn't know about it, obvi­ously she did, but she didn't seem to dwell on it. She hadn't seen it firsthand, so it wasn't emblazoned on her memory the way it seemed to be with everyone else around here.

  It wasn't until he got out of the shower and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that another possibility hit him. His gaze strayed, as it often did, to the crooked, white scar that wrapped around the right side of his rib cage. His mother had never known about that one; by the time he'd gotten that slice in a knife fight at David's age, he'd known better than to expect any help from her, even if he was bleeding. He'd disinfected it as best he could, fighting not to make any noise at the pain and wake her up, bandaged it lopsidedly, and the next day had smuggled his bloody shirt out to throw it away in a Dumpster on the other side of town. The wound had been slow to heal, because he kept tearing it open, but eventually it had healed.

  He stared at it now and wondered if Amelia was nervous around him because she was afraid of him.

  Once the idea of people being afraid of him had had great appeal; at least it meant he mattered in some way. Now... Well, now it just made him uncomfortable. Or, at least, the idea of Amelia being afraid of him did. And he hoped he was wrong.

  He tossed the towel over the shower rod and walked out into the room. He was going to have to do laundry soon; he'd only brought three extra shirts and one extra pair of jeans. He pulled out the clean clothes he had left, thinking that there was a Laundromat just off Main Street. True, there was also one just down the street from the motel, but the other one was right around the corner from Blairs' Books. He could start his clothes washing, then head over there. He doubted anybody would make off with his meager wardrobe; that kind of thing just didn't happen in Santiago Beach.

  At least, not since he'd left, anyway, he amended with a grin as he dressed quickly.

  It wasn't a pretend grin. Most of the time he was able to mean it when he thought of his life here. But always un­derneath he knew how lucky he was to have escaped as lightly as he had; he'd been headed for much worse.

  Soon all his clothes were sudsing away, and he was astride his bike and on his way around the corner; his trust of crime-free Santiago Beach didn't run to the Harley.

  He'd never spent so much time in a bookstore, he thought as he set the kickstand and dismounted. He'd loved to read—which would have surprised anybody in town, includ­ing his mother, since he went out of his way to hide the fact from her, afraid she would try to stop that, too—but he hadn't had money to spend on books. So he'd spent lots of time in the library, which had set him up for ribbing from his friends, but he'd bluffed his way out of it, saying it was the perfect place to hide out and not get hassled by anybody.

  Besides, he had a perfectly legitimate reason to be here now; Amelia might have heard something about David.

  She was behind the checkout counter as he neared the door, and for a moment he stopped outside, watching. He knew the door alarm—whoever it might be today—would alert her the minute he opened it, and he wanted a minute to watch her first.

  She was bent over what looked like a magazine, reading intently. She had a pen in one hand, which she was tapping rhythmically against the glass countertop. The other hand came up and pushed a straying lock of hair neatly behind her ear. It was an unconscious move, she never looked up, but it was graceful and somehow extremely feminine. As was the hand that did it, and the delicate ear she tucked the strand behind.

  The haircut suited her, he thought. Sort of pixieish. And, he thought as he finally reached for the door, he'd never realized before how dam sexy the nape of a neck could be,

  He stopped, fingers already curled to grip the handle, as he realized what he'd just thought.

  Sexy?

  He looked up again; now she was biting her lip, as if deep in thought, and damn if that wasn't sexy as hell, too.

  She made a note on a pad of paper beside her, then nipped the magazine closed. Luke knew she would look up any second, and he hastily tried to shove aside his unexpected reaction. He yanked open the door a little quicker than he'd meant to and nearly jumped when the voice of the Enterprise computer welcomed him.

  What is wrong with you? he asked himself sharply.

  And then Amelia looked up and saw him. And the shy smile that curved her mouth drove everything else out of his mind.

  "Hi," she said, in a tone that matched the smile and made his chest tighten oddly.

  "Hi," he returned. So much for witty conversation.

  For a moment he just stood there in awkward silence. So did she, although he didn't know how awkward she might feel.

  "Come back for your change?" she finally asked.

  "No, I had to do some laundry," he finally said, "so I thought I'd come by while it's washing."

  If she realized he'd gone out of his way from the motel to do it, she didn't say so. "You weren't expecting to stay this long, were you?''

  His mouth quirked. "No. But then, things in Santiago Beach never do go quite like I expect."

  Boy, isn't that the truth? he added silently as he noticed again the spiky length of her lashes. They had to be real, he thought; she just wasn't the type for tons of makeup. Some­thing to make them darker, maybe, but that was it. And her nose had this cute little tilt to it.

  Yanking himself back to the matter at hand, he said in a rush, "I thought you might have heard if David turned up at home."

  She frowned then, which made him notice the full softness of her lower lip. With an effort, he focused on what she was saying.

  "—she didn't seem worried. I tried calling the house just a few minutes ago, but I didn't get an answer. Of course, David could be there and just not answering. Maybe if you called..."

  He shook his head. "He's still pretty peeved at me, I'd guess. And I sure don't want to end up with my mother on the phone, if she's back by now."

  "He'll get over it," Amelia said, as if she thought he needed assurance.

  Or comforting. And before his mind darted to all the ways he'd suddenly realized he would like to be comforted by her, he shrugged. "Maybe. Eventually. He's got no reason to really trust me. Just some old memories."

  "But they're mostly good ones," she countered. "And when he's over his anger, he'll realize you coming here at all is a very big reason."

  Luke shook his head. "You're an optimist, Amelia."

  This time she shrugged. "Not really. But I'm not a pes­simist."

  A fine line, but he supposed it was a line. A silent moment spun out between them, and this time it was she who seemed in a hurry to break it. "How's your book?"

  "Good, so far. I was up too late with it, though." He'd been fighting a yawn, and better she think that than the truth, that she'd been a big part of his sleeplessness, he thought.

  "I didn't sleep much, either," she said, and then, as if she'd said something inappropriate, looked quickly away. For an instant Luke wondered if she'd been thinking some­thing inappropriate.

  I can but hope, he thought with an inward grin. And then wondered if he meant it. If she had been, what would he do about it? It wasn't like he planned to stick around here any longer than he had to, and good girls like Amelia didn't indulge in short flings with visiting troublemakers. Not that he wouldn't like to try and change her mind....

  The computer voice sounded again, and they both auto­matically turned to look.

  It was David.

  The boy's head was down, and he was scuffing his shoes as he walked, looking as downcast as it was possible for him to look. He was still wearing what he'd had on last night, so he apparently hadn't been
home. But he was here, and that was a good sign.

  He had nearly reached them when he finally looked up. There was a split second delay while he realized Amelia wasn't alone, and another while he realized who was with her.

  He stopped dead. His eyes narrowed, and he glared at his brother as he started to back away.

  "Still ticked at me, huh?" Luke said.

  "I trusted you, counted on you to get me out of here."

  "Didn't your mother tell you I couldn't be trusted?"

  David stopped backing up, surprise showing on his face.

  Luke sensed Amelia go still, sensed her getting ready to speak, but made a subtle gesture to her to wait.

  "Yeah, but I never listen to her," David said.

  "Guess now you think she's been right all along, then."

  David's brow furrowed. His gaze shifted to Amelia, his expression changing to one that was almost pleading. Luke realized that right then Amelia had a much better chance with David than he did.

  "I've got laundry to finish," he said to her, and the nod she gave him told him she understood he was leaving so she could talk to David, who hopefully would open up to her.

  "Laundry," David said scornfully as Luke walked past him.

  Luke winced inwardly but never faltered. And when he stepped outside he let out a long breath; he never would have thought the scorn of a fifteen-year-old could bum so deep. Maybe he had liked that hero worship idea more than he'd realized.

  Chapter 8

  "He’ll come around, Luke. I know he will."

  Amelia sipped at the soda Luke had brought along with the number five Chinese dinner for two from the Jade Gar­den down the street. He'd shown up just after six, startling her but making her stomach growl; she'd donated her lunch to David, who hadn't eaten since the day before, and now she was starving. She'd been startled, even flattered, when he'd arrived, but then she'd realized he just wanted a report on what had happened with David. Still, it had been thought­ful of him.

  Luke leaned back in the guest chair, his feet propped up on her desk, a small white carton of fried rice with shrimp in one hand, a set of chopsticks he manipulated with sur­prising ease in the other.

  "As long as he went home, so she doesn't call the cops on him," he said.

  There was a world of bitter experience in his voice, and Amelia knew it had happened to him more than once. She set her soda down on her desk blotter. "He said he would."

  She didn't add that David, still disillusioned with his brother, also said it was only because he wasn't ready to bail out just yet, he needed to save up a bit more cash, since Luke had copped out on him and he was going to be on his own. Luke was feeling guilty enough already, he didn't need that added on.

  "So... what now?'' she asked.

  He snagged a shrimp and ate it before saying, almost wea­rily, "I don't know. I should probably just get the hell out of Dodge, as they say. I'm not doing any good and probably just making things worse."

  "I know it seems like that now," Amelia said.

  She picked at the last of her rice—with a fork, she'd never really tried to get the hang of chopsticks—wishing there was something she could say to give him some hope. He'd cared enough to come here, to the town he surely must hate; she hated to see him leave thinking he'd failed, even pushed his brother from miserable over into desperate.

  She hated to see him leave, period.

  She quickly turned to drop her empty carton in the trash, more to hide her suddenly flushed face than anything. What a fool she could be sometimes.

  But she would hate to see him leave. If nothing else, she thought, she never got tired of looking at him. There was something about the barely controlled wildness she sensed, something about the way he moved, the way he sometimes looked off into the distance as if he were used to gazing on horizons much broader than little Santiago Beach, that called to some part of her she'd never known existed. Or that she'd buried so deeply she'd thought it dormant beyond revival.

  And, she admitted, determined to be honest at least with herself, she did feel flattered by his attention, even though she knew full well that his concern over David was the real reason for it.

  Before she could dwell on the foolishness of her own reaction, the Enterprise computer announced a new arrival. Se got to her feet.

  "Be right back," she said, and Luke nodded.

  But when she stepped out into the store, her heart sank. Jim Stavros had just been in the other day, and he usually came only every couple of weeks. Besides, he was in uni­form. He'd never come in like this before, and it made her wonder. Especially with Luke in her office.

  Steadying herself, she managed to say cheerfully enough,

  "Hello, Jim. I hope this isn't an official visit?"

  "No. I'm working nights for a while, but not really."

  Uh-oh. She didn't like the undertone in his voice, as if he were doing something he didn't want to. "Problem with your book?" she asked.

  "No, nothing like that." He fiddled with the key ring on his belt. He was a big man, she'd known that, but somehow, in uniform, with his gun belt on, and inside her store, he seemed even bigger.

  "What, then?" she prodded when he didn't go on.

  He grimaced, took a breath, and Amelia wondered what on earth could have this big, strong, authoritative cop so nervous. Then Jim said in a rush, "Look, I heard you'd been seen a couple of times with Luke McGuire."

  Oh, no, not another one, she thought. And wondered if she'd pulled the office door closed.

  "I just wanted to..."

  "Warn me?" she said when he faltered.

  "Yeah. I like you, Amelia, and I'd hate to see you get in trouble, or hurt, or worse."

  It was hard to be angry with him when he put it that way. But he was just the latest in a long line of well-meaning advice givers today, and she'd had about enough. Especially with the taste of the meal Luke had brought still in her mouth.

  "Look, I appreciate your concern, Jim. But whatever Luke did or didn't do in the past, he's been nice to me since he got here."

  "That may be true, but don't kid yourself," Jim said om­inously. "It's not very likely that he's changed much."

  "But it's not impossible."

  "Maybe. Do you even know what he's doing now?"

  "No," she said, only now realizing they'd been so wrapped up in David's troubles that she'd never asked. "Do you?"

  "No," he admitted, "but I can guess."

  "And you'd convict him on a guess?"

  "An educated guess," Jim amended. "Look, just be care­ful. I know you and his brother are tight, and that that's probably all it is, but Joann wanted me to talk to you just in case."

  Great, Amelia thought, a double-barreled warning.

  "Thank her for her concern."

  After Jim had left, Amelia returned slowly to her office. And found she'd left the door wide open.

  She stepped inside. Luke was finishing his own soda, the white carton he'd been working on empty and stacked with hers.

  "Thanks again for dinner," she said brightly. "It's nice not to have to think about fixing something when I get home."

  "You're welcome."

  "I'll just clear this up. Let me get the bag, and I'll toss it in the Dumpster out back." Lord, she was chattering now.

  There was a long moment where the only sound was the rustling of paper and the click of her plastic fork against the chopsticks as she gathered them up.

  "He's right, you know."

  She looked at him then. And saw in his face that he'd heard every word.

  "Luke—"

  "You really should be more careful. You don't know any­thing about me."

  She straightened up, tightening her fingers around the chopsticks because she was afraid they would shake. But she had to say it.

  "I know that you care about your brother, that you had reason enough to be a little wild, and have every right to hate your mother. And it's true, you have been nice to me since you got here."

 
She watched him as she blurted it all out, making herself meet his gaze, and she saw his expression change from something almost defiant to something much, much softer. And when he spoke, his voice was almost unbearably gentle.

  "Is this really the amenable, quiet Amelia Blair I've heard about?"

  "Maybe I've had enough of being amenable," she said snappishly.

  "Digging in your heels?"

  "Just ignoring unwanted advice."

  He smiled, a slow curving of his mouth that did strange things to her pulse rate. And then he stood up, moving much like she would guess a wild creature would move, smooth, graceful, seemingly without effort.

  Stop it, she ordered herself. The man just stood up, that's all.

  "Been getting a lot of advice lately?"

  He said it as if he knew others beside Jim had been of­fering their blunt opinions. And as if he knew exactly what those opinions were.

  "Too much of it," she said, reining in the uncharacteristic flare of temper. It wasn't she who had to live with it, after all, it was Luke who had to walk around knowing everybody thought he was a hairbreadth away from doing something villainous.

  "Didn't take them long," Luke said, in a level, undis­turbed tone that sounded oddly as if it were all about some­one else, not him.

  "That's because most of them are apparently stuck in time a decade ago."

  He walked around the desk and stopped in front of her. Too closely in front of her. She could feel his heat, could smell the faint scent of soap, and suddenly she could barely breathe. And then he reached out and cupped her face in his hands, and she forgot about breathing altogether.

  "Nobody in this town ever stood up for me the way you just did."

  He leaned forward and planted a light kiss on her fore­head. Her blush returned twofold; she wasn't sure if it was because he was kissing her like a child or a sister, or because even this slight touch of his lips sent a rush of heat through her.

  Before she could decide on that, he leaned forward again and this time gently kissed the end of her nose. Definitely sister, she thought, but again heat rippled through her.