"Amelia?"
She couldn't look at him. "It's all right." It wasn't. It would never be all right.
He grabbed her shoulders, turned her to face him. When she still wouldn't lift her gaze, he tilted her head back with one hand, gentle but insistent. She looked at him finally, surprised to see he looked a little disturbed himself.
"Is Santiago Beach that important to you?" he asked. Amelia drew back slightly, puzzled. Luke let out a weary breath. "I know you've lived there for a few years, and it's your parents' house, and you've got the store, I know all that, but... it's not like you were born there, is it?"
For a moment she just stood there, barefoot, dressed in her jeans and his shirt, looking at him. "What," she said slowly, "does where I was born have to do with anything?"
Luke released her then, grimacing disgustedly. "God, I knew I'd screw this up."
He seemed to abruptly realize she was dressed and he was not. He grabbed his jeans and yanked them on, still with that jerky, nervous motion that was so unlike him. At least now she knew why, she thought painfully.
"Screw what up?" she finally asked.
He straightened and raked a hand through his tousled hair. Tousled by her eager, clutching hands. She fought down a wave of now unwanted heat as she waited for him to answer. It took him what seemed like forever.
"I guess I should have thought more about where to start. I was going to tell you about all the people who use River Park as a starting place for backpacking or camping trips. The experienced rafters or kayakers who head out on the river on their own, because they like the solitude over a group."
He was sounding like he had with David, instructional, explaining the differences between a paddle raft and an oar raft, a hard-shell kayak and an inflatable. Or, she thought rather more grimly, like he had when warning his brother not to get cocky, that in one El Nino-driven year thirteen people had died from lack of judgment, tackling rapids they'd had no training for, or with inferior equipment. That was about how she felt right now, adrift in a raft she had no idea how to steer.
"And you were going to tell me this because...?" she prompted when he didn't go on.
"I just... I mean, these people, they're pretty much roughing it. Not the ones in the big RVs, I mean the real campers. They might have a radio, but no TV, and after a long day of hiking, they're ready to unwind and relax. And most of them do it with a book."
Amelia went still. The point of this had something to do with her, obviously, but she couldn't for the life of her see what it was.
"Thing is, a lot of them forget about that until the last minute. They're always asking us if there's anywhere around they could get a book or two. And there's only a little rack in the grocery store up in town, and most of what's there is as old as Davie."
Her breath caught. "Luke—" she began, but now that he was rolling, there seemed to be no stopping him.
"There's a little storefront that's vacant, right next to the grocery, where most people go before they start out. And rent's pretty cheap here. You could move your stock, couldn't you?"
She stared at him as it finally got through to her. He swallowed tightly and finished in a rush.
"I talked to Gary first thing when I got back yesterday. He said he'd sell me the plot the cabin's on, and I could expand it, add plenty of space, whatever you wanted. It'd take a while, but—''
"Luke McGuire!" she nearly shouted. He shut up, startled. "What, exactly, are you asking me?"
He let out an exasperated breath. "Cut me some slack, will you? I'm no good at this, anyway, and I've never asked anybody to marry me before."
All the tightness in her chest, all the emotions, all the tears that had built in her in the past few minutes, were released at once. Her eyes filled, and she sat down suddenly on the edge of the bed.
Looking worried, Luke knelt beside her to look up into her face. "Amelia? Are you crying? I know I come with a lot of history but I didn't think that mattered to you."
She looked at him, a slow, brimming joy welled up inside her. The adventurous spirit he had called up in her burst free of the last restraint. There were, she realized suddenly, more ways to settle down than her parents' quiet, sedate way. She knew there would be difficult times, but they would tackle them like Luke tackled difficult rapids.
She smiled at him through her tears. "Does this mean I can keep the shirt?"
He gaped at her, sitting there in his Whitewater West shirt. Then a slow, lazy grin curved his mouth. "Only if you say yes."
"I like your blue one, too," she said thoughtfully.
Luke burst out laughing. "Honey, you can have any shirt of mine you want."
"All of them," she decided, looking at his bare chest. "That way you won't have any to wear."
It became a deep, joyous belly laugh, and Amelia thought it was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard. "I'm going to take that as a yes," Luke said.
"Oh, please do."
She leaned forward then, and kissed that spot she particularly liked, where the taut, fit muscles of his abdomen met. She felt him suck in his breath, then let it out again on a gasp as she moved upward and flicked her tongue over his nipple.
It was much, much later, as she lay sleepily snuggled next to him, that she knew they'd both found the right kind of paradise.
Epilogue
Amelia McGuire tapped the big envelope with her name scrawled on the front in a bold, looping hand against her fingers thoughtfully. When Charlie had dropped it off at the store this morning, while Luke was out on a one-day run with some return Whitewater West customers, he'd commented on the postmark, which had set her heart to thrumming.
When? she wondered. When should she tell him? He was due back any minute. Should she do it now?
She lifted the flap and pulled out the letter once more. She didn't need to read it again; she already had most of it committed to memory, anyway. Instead she pulled out the photograph and stared at it. And as had happened every time since she'd first seen it, her eyes brimmed with tears.
It had to be special, she thought. As special as this was. And she hastily began to plan.
When Luke arrived back late in the afternoon, he was startled to find their little table set up out on the porch, with tablecloth, dishes and candles.
"I thought we could enjoy the sunset," she told him.
In the year since she'd left her old life behind and started a new one with him, she'd done this periodically, both because she herself enjoyed it and to show him that she had no regrets, that she was coming to love this place as much as he did. She even made river runs with him every couple of weeks, learning from him on the water, unceasingly amazed at the depth of his knowledge and skill. And proud of him for the way he had continued to see his brother, until his mother had resigned herself to visits every few months.
And while sunsets weren't quite as spectacular here as they were on the coast—in fact, sunrises were much more amazing—they still enjoyed unwinding at day's end together like this. Soon, when the construction was finished, they would have a deck on the river to do this on, but for now, this would do nicely.
He gave her that crooked smile that never failed to make her blood heat and hurried in to clean up. Minutes later, showered, his hair wet and slicked back—she'd talked him out of cutting it, although, since he seemed to enjoy the way she played with it, it hadn't taken much convincing—he sat down at the table.
They ate the spaghetti she'd prepared in honor of the first meal they'd ever had together. He told her about the run, a breeze with all old hands; she told him about the customers she'd had, including the precocious six-year-old already reading stories way beyond his age level. But all the while she was watching the light, knowing she had to do this before it got too dark to see. She wanted to do it out here, in the place he loved. It just seemed right.
When she got out the bottle of champagne and two glasses she'd been chilling, Luke eyed first them, then her. "What is it?"
&nb
sp; "Just open it, please?"
He did, still eyeing her warily. He filled both glasses and set the bottle down.
"Amelia..."
She took a deep breath. She took out the photograph, set aside the letter for the moment. "I have something for you."
"What?"
"Your family." She reached over and set the photo down in front of him.
"My...?"
His query died unspoken as his gaze went to the picture. She knew what he was seeing: a gathering of six people, ranging from teenagers to a gray-haired couple looking to be in their seventies. Clearly a family, the resemblance in the features of the men, the coloring, even the smiles, was unmistakable. And in the center, the one who had made her gasp. The handsome, rakish-looking man in his forties who was the living image of the man holding the photograph.
His son.
She saw Luke's eyes widen in shock, saw his lips part for breath, as if air was suddenly hard to find. His gaze went unfocused for a moment; then he lifted it to her face.
"I... what...?"
She picked up the letter. "He didn't know about you, Luke. Your mother had one of those morning-after fits of hysteria and told him to go away and never come back. He was only eighteen at the time—irresponsible, he admits—so he left, figuring he'd escaped easily enough, after a one-night stand he wasn't sure why he'd pursued in the first place."
He focused suddenly. "He... said that? That—" he indicated the letter she held "—is from him?"
She nodded.
"How?" Luke asked, sounding stunned.
"Jim helped me find him. He even pried some details out of your mother. I didn't ask how. It took until last month, since he had so little to go on. But he got me a family address in Ireland, and I wrote. I sent a picture of you. This came today."
"But... you never said a thing."
"I wanted to be sure it was really him first. And that he would... want to be found."
Luke looked at the photograph again, at the faces that so resembled his own, and the man who was showing him his own future. Then he looked at his wife again.
"And... he didn't mind?"
"They," she corrected, "are delighted." She handed him the letter. "Your father says—" she had to smother a smile at the look on Luke's face as she said it "—he was the family black sheep, but finally grew up, went home and settled down. Married a local girl, had two kids and, to be honest, never again thought of your mother."
"Well, that'd fry her," Luke said with a wobbly grin; he was starting to take it all in, Amelia thought.
"You can read it yourself, of course, but the upshot is that we're invited to Ireland to meet the whole family as soon as we can."
"Ireland..."
"I looked up where they are, near Dublin, it would be easy to get to."
For a moment Luke just sat there, looking at her. Then he looked at the photo again, then back at her. Then he shook his head. "I'm a little... overwhelmed."
Amelia reached out and covered his hand with hers. "I know. But there's even a note from his wife, assuring you that she doesn't hold any ill feeling toward a son her husband sired long before he married her. And that she'd welcome a big brother to her two girls, and Patrick will be doing right by you, or he'll answer to her."
"I..." He was still sounding a bit dazed.
"How soon can we go?"
Luke couldn't seem to speak. But he got up then, hauled her into his arms and held her so tightly she could barely breathe. And she wouldn't have moved for the world.
"I've got a father," he whispered when he finally let her go.
She grinned up at him. "And a stepmom who sounds like she's a match for him. And grandparents. And sisters, two of them. Oh, those girls are going to just die when they get a look at you!"
To her very great pleasure, Luke blushed. It seemed like a good time to add what she'd been thinking about.
"And maybe, in a couple of years, we can go back and take your sisters a little niece or nephew to spoil."
Luke went very still.
"A wanted child," Amelia said pointedly. "One with a real family now, one that will love it, treasure it, the way a child should be treasured."
Luke swallowed tightly. And hugged her again. "I... I'll have to get used to that idea."
"I know." Amelia leaned back to look at him. She gave him the decidedly wicked grin he'd said he never would have thought her capable of a year ago. "But keep in mind the joy of making your mother a grandmother while she's still trying to convince the world she's only thirty-five."
Luke burst out laughing.
He kissed her.
They toasted the sunset.
He kissed her again.
This time he didn't let go.
The rest of the champagne could wait, Amelia thought. Her husband's touch was much more intoxicating.
She was ready for another visit to paradise.
The Reture of Luke McGuire Page 22
