Chapter 5

Monica took a sip of her coffee and grimaced. It had gone cold while she’d been staring out the kitchen window, watching the freshly fallen snow being whipped into a frenzy by the wind coming off the lake.

It had started snowing just as she returned home from the hospital and had kept it up most of the following day. Luke had called the next morning to say he was working at home and would keep the boys with him. While she fully understood the desire of a parent to keep his children close after narrowly escaping harm, a part of her worried he was still angry with her for taking Derrick to the hospital. She tried to convince herself she was being overly sensitive to his reaction, but he’d been brusque and distant on the phone.

Monica poured the stale coffee into the sink. She’d spent her unexpected free day curled up on the sofa reading, venturing outside only to feed the George and his friends. Today, however, she needed to dig her little car out of the snowbank and clear the laneway. It was Saturday, so she couldn’t count on help from the Donovan kids. She was on her own.

She shivered as a mighty gust rattled the window pane. With the end of the snow came a sudden drop in temperature. The radio said it wasn’t going to climb above freezing for the next few days and Monica was totally unprepared. After seven years in temperate Monterey she’d forgotten how quickly winter could arrive in Havenport. It was the middle of November.

If she’d been smart, she would have bought some winter clothes when she’d taken Jennifer and Stephanie shopping in Syracuse. But that trip had been about spoiling the girls, not practical clothes shopping for herself.

She mentally ran through her current wardrobe. Although she’d brought her warmest clothes from California, there was nothing that was up to the current weather conditions. Her mother’s winter coat and boots were at the convalescent center where outdoor walking was part of Terry’s rehabilitation.

Monica stood on tip-toes, rummaging around the top shelf of the closet. Surely there had to be something. Her hands brushed against a soft fabric, and she pulled it forward, grinning as she recognized the pink faux-fur and leather mitten. She jumped to try to claim its mate, succeeding after several attempts. Along with the second mitten came a boldly striped orange, yellow, and fuchsia wool scarf.

She knew her mother was a pack rat, but this was crazy. Monica had worn these mittens and scarf in college more than twenty years ago. They couldn’t have been on that shelf since then. Terry must have retrieved them from storage more recently. Maybe there was more up in the attic?

Mom might be a pack rat, but at least she was a well-organized pack rat. Monica scanned the neatly arranged attic. Clearly labeled boxes were stacked along three of the walls, while old furniture was arranged along the fourth.

She walked over to what was obviously her section, removed the lid from one of the boxes, and squealed when she saw what it contained. She opened the box beside it and shook her head in disbelief. Had her mother kept her entire high school wardrobe?

She picked up the acid-wash denim mini-skirt—it was a wonder Terry let her out of the house wearing that—and tossed it aside when she saw the hot pink parachute-fabric jacket with its enormous shoulder pads. And her black lace fingerless gloves! Oh, how she’d loved those things.

As she plowed through the boxes, each garment brought back memories. The stretch-stirrup pants, the oversized tops, the gel shoes, the neon-colored leg warmers.

“Wow, you could try out for the New York Giants with those shoulders.”

She leaped to her feet and turned toward the attic’s staircase. Luke’s eyes widened as he took in Monica’s 1980s attire. “I did ring the b-b-bell. Kn-nocked. And I c-c-c-alled for—” He took a deep breath and tried to rein in his laughter. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your trip down memory lane. Did you really used to dress like that?”

She glanced down at her outfit. Her body wasn’t quite the same as it had been in high school, but everything still fit for the most part. The black stirrup pants were a little tighter around the belly and looser in the hips, but the overly large red sweater covered that nicely. “I think the striped leg warmers are a nice touch, don’t you?” she said, striking a pose and grinning. “I really miss leg warmers.”

“You must have had all the boys chasing you in high school,” he said, moving to stand in the center of the room.

“Oh, hardly,” she scoffed. “I didn’t date in high school. I didn’t even have a proper date for prom. It was just a big group of us.”

“I find that difficult to believe.”

Monica shrugged. “Don’t get me wrong. I had a great time in high school—lots of friends. Just no boy-friends.”

“I guess I just assumed you and Jeff dated in high school, since you’re both from here and lived here after you married.”

She shouldn’t have been surprised Luke knew about her and Jeff. Havenport was a small town and gossip was its lifeblood. How many times had she returned from school with information for Terry only to learn that her mother already knew it?

“No. He never gave me a second glance in high school. As the star running back of the football team he only dated girls from the in-crowd. We didn’t start dating until we met, again, in college. By then he’d given up his dream of a football career and wanted to move home, start a family, and take over his parent’s store.” She stopped. That made her sound bitter, and she wasn’t. She was just being realistic about the situation. “That didn’t come out right.”

“I didn’t have much luck dating in high school, either.”

“Oh come on,” she said. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“No, it’s true. Red hair, pimply face, scrawny body. It was not a pretty picture.”

Monica tried to reconcile the tall, broad-shouldered, athletic man in front of her with his description of his younger self. “I guess we were just a couple of ugly ducklings.”

“It’s too bad we didn’t know each other in high school. We could have kept each other company while we waited to turn into the swans we’ve become.” He reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone.

“Checking on the kids?”

“No,” he said, not raising his head. He fumbled with the phone for a few moments more then looked up and grinned.

She faintly heard the chorus of Culture Club’s “Karma Chameleon.” Luke turned up the volume and then placed the phone down on a box.

“Gotta love the Internet. There’s a music stream for every situation.” He took a step toward her and held out his hand. “Wanna dance?”

Monica allowed the music to move through her as she and Luke danced through Culture Club, Olivia Newton-John’s “Physical,” and Hall and Oates’ “Maneater.” She hadn’t heard this music in years and it brought back feelings of being young and free, and a sense of the wild abandon she’d experienced on the high school dance floor.

The mood shifted as the attic filled with the first strains of “Sailing” by Christopher Cross. That, too, brought back high school memories of those awkward moments when you didn’t know if the boy you were dancing with was willing to slow dance with you or if he was going to abandon you on the dance floor.

Luke didn’t hesitate. He wrapped both arms around her waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She reached up to encircle his neck, and rested her head against his chest. She could hear his heart beating, steady and firm. He was steady and firm. He smelled wonderful, a mixture of his woodsy aftershave with the softly sweet scent of the soap used by both him and his children.

He was a good dancer, his moves confident and clear. It was obviously something he’d done a lot of. Jeff hadn’t liked to dance—typical jock—and she’d missed it during their time together—and after. How long since she’d been held on a dance floor? Or not on the dance floor, for that matter?

A good dancer. A good husband. A good father. Why couldn’t she have met Luke, or someone like him, twenty years ago?

“Sailing” morphed into another slow song. He stopped moving, but didn’t release her. She looked up and gazed into his clear blue eyes. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw his pupils expand with growing desire. His head had barely started to lower when she raised hers to meet him.

She’d anticipated the kiss, but not the scorching volt of electricity that swept through her when their lips touched. This was unlike any first kiss she’d experienced. It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t gentle. Luke’s lips seared hers with an intense, demanding heat, and she hungrily responded. When his tongue claimed entry she eagerly took it, tasting his flavors of peppermint and coffee.

Wanting more, she wound his red curls around her fingers and pulled his head closer.

His hands had lowered to her hips, massaging them and grinding against her to the beat of Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart.” He was slowly pushing her backwards until she felt the wall of boxes against her legs. She arched toward him and he lifted her onto the waist-high pile.

It happened so quickly. Her lips were torn away from Luke’s, and she felt herself falling. Her arms windmilled as she tried to grab onto something… anything. She jolted to a hard stop, her bottom securely lodged in a box with her legs sticking up in the air.

“Jeez, Monica. Are you all right?” He grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. “I’m sorry.”

She looked down at the collapsed boxes and then back up at Luke. His face was red as if from exertion, and he was breathing heavily. She was breathing pretty heavily herself. What just happened? And she wasn’t thinking about her fall into the box. “I’m fine,” she lied.

She didn’t know what to do next. A moment ago they’d been sharing a passionate kiss that had the potential to…to what? She looked away. Would she really have had sex in her mother’s attic with a man she’d know for less than a month?

“I hope we didn’t break anything valuable,” he said.

“Nah.” Breaking what was in the box was the least of her worries. If Luke could have such a devastating effect on her physically, what could he do to her emotionally? Already she felt herself grow weak-kneed every time she saw him with his kids, or thought about how he had loved his wife so much he’d agreed to adopt their family.

She looked back at him. He looked so serious, so worried. “Besides,” she said, pointing to the bold black letters written on the boxes in the tumble-down pile, “this is Cathy’s stuff.”

****

That was unexpected.

Luke turned the snow blower around and headed back up the driveway. He’d come to the Stevens’ house to apologize for getting upset with her in the hospital parking lot. He’d calmed down and come to the realization she hadn’t really made things worse. He couldn’t have avoided Lydia Burkholder much longer, anyway. He’d also brought over some winter clothes and boots that had belonged to Beth. He didn’t know what Monica had in the way of winter wear, but he suspected her California wardrobe wasn’t up to western New York’s current weather. They were supposed to be a peace offering.

He’d offered to clear the lane as an excuse to get out into the cool air and think. Unfortunately, Monica had insisted on helping. So with each return trip up the driveway, he watched her clearing the paths between the house, the garage, and the bird barn, and remembered the taste of her delicious lips and the impression of her sweet body pressed against him.

He breathed a sigh of relief, the band around his chest releasing as she disappeared around the corner of the bird barn.

He hadn’t meant to kiss her. He had no business kissing her. But there was something about their dancing that had made him forget, for a short while, that he was a father to six children, that he was in danger of losing his family. Hell, she’d even made him forget about Beth. He couldn’t remember a time since her death when he’d done anything and not thought about the last time he had done it with his wife.

He couldn’t get romantically involved with her. Monica had made it very clear she was anxious to return to her financial career, back in Monterey, just as soon as Terry was well enough to come home and run the daycare.

A short-term fling was out of the question, too. As much as he’d love to make love to her, explore every inch of the lush body he’d barely tasted, he’d sworn he’d never parade a series of women through his children’s lives.

Monica reappeared, and he sharply turned the snow blower around, not that she could see his erection from this distance, but it made him feel like a school boy caught fantasizing about the girl next door.

In any event, he had no idea how Monica felt about the kiss. Oh, she’d enjoyed it, that much was certain. But as to whether she’d be game for anything more? He shook his head at his foolishness. No point even going there.

Unless she decided to stay.