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A Soldier's Heart
Marta Perry


Wounded army officer Luke Marino was sent home, his career, his spirit shattered. Now he wanted only to be left alone, refusing even the physical therapy he needed.But Mary Kate Flanagan Donnelly, a widow with two children to raise on her own, needed Luke's case to prove herself as a capable therapist. Despite the revival of feelings she thought dormant since their high school romance, she was determined to help the stubborn hero and keep matters strictly business….









Did she dare to hope…?


Yell all you want, she told him silently. I’m not giving up on you, Luke Marino. I’m going to help you whether you want it or not.



“Hey, M.K., catch.”



Hearing her brother Gabe’s voice, Mary Kate turned to see a bright blue exercise ball heading toward her. Off-balance, she grabbed for it, missing and stumbling toward the wheelchair. Before she could hit it, Luke grabbed her, his strong hands steadying her.



“Sorry,” she muttered, straightening herself. “My brother’s an idiot at times. I didn’t mean to run into you.”



“It’s okay.” His hand still encircled her wrist, his fingers warm and strong. She glanced at him, aware of how close they were, of how dark those smoky eyes of his were. That emotion seemed to dance between them, and she felt sixteen again.


MARTA PERRY

has written everything, including Sunday school curriculum, travel articles and magazine stories in her twenty years of writing, but she feels she’s found her home in the stories she writes for the Love Inspired Line.

Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania, but she and her husband spend part of each year at their second home in South Carolina. When she’s not writing, she’s probably visiting her children and her beautiful grandchildren, traveling or relaxing with a good book.

Marta loves hearing from readers, and she’ll write back with a signed bookplate or bookmark. Write to her c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279; e-mail her at marta@martaperry.com or visit her on the Web at www.martaperry.com.




A Soldier’s Heart

Marta Perry








The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach good tidings to the poor; He has sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound; to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn, to console those who mourn in Zion, to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.

—Isaiah 61:1–3


This story is dedicated to my granddaughter,

Georgia Lynn Stewart, with much love

from Grammy. And, as always, to Brian.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion




Chapter One


She was keeping an appointment with a new client, not revisiting a high school crush. Mary Kate Donnelly opened her car door, grabbed the bag that held the physical therapy assessment forms and tried to still the butterflies that seemed to be doing the polka in her midsection.

What were the odds that her first client for the Suffolk Physical Therapy Clinic would be Luke Marino, newly released from the army hospital where he’d been treated since his injury in Iraq? And would the fact of their short-lived romance in the misty past make this easier or harder? She didn’t know.

She smoothed down her navy pants and straightened the white polo shirt that bore the SPTC letters on the pocket. As warm as this spring had been, she hadn’t worn the matching navy cardigan. The outfit looked new because it was new—just as new as she was.

Nonsense. She lectured herself as she walked toward the front stoop of the Craftsman-style bungalow. She was a fully qualified physical therapist and just because she’d chosen to concentrate on marriage and children instead of a career didn’t make her less ready to help patients.

The truth was, her dwindling bank balance didn’t allow her any second thoughts. She had two children to support. She couldn’t let them down.

The grief that was never far from her brushed her mind. Neither she nor Kenny had imagined a situation in which she’d be raising Shawna and Michael by herself. Life was far more unpredictable than she’d ever pictured.

For Luke, too. He probably hadn’t expected to return to his mother’s house with his legs shattered from a shell and nerve damage so severe it was questionable whether he’d walk normally again.

Ruth Marino’s magnolia tree flourished in the corner of the yard, perfuming the air, even though Ruth herself had been gone for nearly a year. Luke had flown from Iraq for the funeral. Mary Kate had seen him standing tall and severe in his dress uniform at the church. They hadn’t talked—just a quick murmur of sympathy, the touch of a handshake—that was all.

Now Luke was back, living in the house alone. She pressed the button beside the red front door. Ruth had always planted pots of flowers on either side of the door, pansies in early spring, geraniums once the danger of frost was past. The pots stood empty and forlorn now.

There was no sound from inside. She pressed the button again, hearing the bell chime echoing. Still nothing.

A faint uneasiness touched her. It was hardly likely that Luke would have gone out. Rumor had it he hadn’t left the house since he’d arrived, fresh from the army hospital. That was one reason she was here.

“You went to high school with him.” Carl Dickson, the P.T. center’s director, had frowned at the file in front of him before giving Mary Kate a doubtful look. “Maybe you can get him in here for an assessment. He’s refused every therapist we’ve sent. You certainly can’t do any worse.”

She had read between the lines on that. She was new and part-time, so her hours were less valuable. Dickson didn’t want to waste staff on a patient who wouldn’t cooperate, but he also didn’t want to lose the contract from the U.S. Army if he could help it.

She pressed the bell again and then rapped on the door, her uneasiness deepening to apprehension. What if Luke had fallen? His determination to reject every professional approach, even simple acts of kindness, left him vulnerable.

She grabbed the knob, but it refused to turn under her hand. Kicking the door wouldn’t get her inside, tempting as it was, and if Luke lay helpless, he couldn’t answer.

She stepped from the stoop and hurried around the side of the house toward the back door. She’d grown up less than two blocks away, in the house where her parents still lived. Luke had been at their place constantly in those days, shooting hoops on the improvised driveway court. A frayed basketball hoop still hung from the Marino garage, mute testimony to Luke’s passion for sports.

The back porch had the usual accumulation—a forgotten rake, a trash can, a couple of lawn chairs leaning against the wall. She hurried to the door and peered through the glass at the kitchen.

At first she thought the figure in the wheelchair was asleep, but Luke roused at her movement, fastening a dark glare on her. He spun the wheels of the chair, but she didn’t think he was planning to welcome her in. She opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind her.

“Don’t you wait to be invited?” The words came out in a rough baritone snarl. Luke spun the chair away from her, as if he didn’t want to look at her.

Or, more likely, he didn’t want her to look at him.

Her throat muscles convulsed, and she knew she couldn’t speak in a normal way until she’d gotten control of herself. But Luke—

The Luke she remembered, as a high school football hero, as a police officer, as a soldier when his reserve unit was called up, had been all strength and muscle, with the athletic grace and speed of a cheetah and a relaxed, easy smile. Not this pale, unshaven creature with so much anger radiating from him that it was almost palpable.

She set her bag carefully on the Formica-and-chrome table, buying a few more seconds. She glanced around the kitchen. White-painted cabinets, linoleum on the floor, Cape Cod curtains on the windows—Ruth hadn’t changed anything in years.

“I didn’t think I had to stand on ceremony with an old friend,” she managed to say, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. “Besides, I thought you might not let me in if I waited for an invitation.”

He didn’t answer the smile she attempted, sparing her only a quick glance before averting his face. “I don’t want company, Mary Kate. You must have heard by now that I’ve made enemies of half the old ladies at church by rejecting their casseroles.”

“Mom wouldn’t appreciate being called an old lady, so you’d better not repeat that in her hearing.”

Her mother had tried, and failed, in her quest to see that Luke had a home-cooked meal delivered by the church every night. Luke had apparently slammed the door in the face of the first volunteer and then refused to answer the bell for anyone else. After a week of refusals, her volunteers had given up.

“I didn’t mean—” he began, and then stopped, but for just an instant she’d seen a glimmer of the old Luke before his face tightened. “I don’t want visitors.”

“Fine.” She had to make her voice brisk, or else the pain and pity she felt might come through. She knew instinctively that would only make things worse. “I’m not a visitor. I’m your physical therapist.”

He stared for a moment at the crest on her shirt pocket, swiveling the chair toward her. His legs, in navy sweatpants, were lax against the support of the chair.

“Doesn’t your clinic have rules against you barging in without an invitation?” Once again the old Luke peeked through in a glimpse of humor.

“Probably.” Definitely, and as the newest member of the staff, she couldn’t afford to break any of the rules. On the other hand, she couldn’t go back and admit failure, either. “Are you going to report me, Luke?”

His dark brows drew down like a slash over deep brown eyes. He’d once been the guy most often talked about in the girls’ locker room, mostly because of those eyes. Smoky eyes, with a hint of mystery in them. Combined with the chiseled chin, firm mouth, jet-black hair and the glow of his olive skin, his looks and that faintly dangerous charm had had the girls drooling over him.

And he’d picked her. For a brief time, she’d gone out with the most sought-after guy in school. She hadn’t thought of that in years, until today. Seeing him now brought it all flooding back—those days when you were up in the clouds one minute because that special guy had smiled at you and down in the depths the next because he’d smiled at someone else, too.

It hadn’t lasted, of course. Maybe, in her naive first love, she’d been too clingy. Luke had made excuses, failed to return phone calls and finally had been seen in the back row of the movie theater with Sally Clemens. She’d given him back his class ring, kept her chin up and done her crying in private.

Luke just stared at her. Maybe he was remembering that, too. Finally, he shook his head, the stubble of his beard dark against the pallor of his skin. “No, I won’t turn you in. Just beat it, okay?”

“Sorry, I can’t.” She pulled out one of the chrome kitchen chairs and sat down, reaching for the forms in her bag. “You’re two weeks past due to report to the clinic for your evaluation and therapy. Why?”

His jaw clenched. “I’ve spent the last three months being poked and prodded by army experts. If they couldn’t get me out of this chair, I don’t think your outfit can. Just go back to your boss and tell him I appreciate it, but I don’t need any more therapy.”

His words twisted her heart. What he’d gone through would be horrible for anyone, but for Luke, who’d spent his life relying on his strength and skill on the playing field, then in the military and on the police force—well, this helplessness had to be excruciating.

Showing the pity and compassion that welled up in her was exactly the wrong way to react. To offer him sympathy would be to rub salt into an already agonizing wound.

But she couldn’t walk away. He needed her help, or someone’s help, whether he wanted it or not.

And she needed to make a success of this. A little flicker of the panic that had visited her too often since Kenny’s death touched her. She had to provide financially for her kids, and that meant she had to prove herself at the clinic.

She took a steadying breath. “Sorry, Luke. I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” He shot the words at her, swinging the chair closer to her in one fierce movement. “I don’t need your therapy and I don’t want it. Why can’t you just understand that and leave me alone?”

His anger was like a blow. She stiffened in response. She couldn’t let him chase her off, the way he had everyone else.

“I can’t. And you don’t really have a choice, do you? If you continue refusing to cooperate, the army will slap you back into a military hospital. And I don’t think they’ll let you bully them.”



Bullying? Was that really what he was doing? All Luke knew was that he had to get rid of Mary Kate the way he’d gotten rid of everyone else who’d come to the door since he’d returned home.

And of all the people he didn’t want to meet while sitting in a wheelchair, Mary Kate Flanagan Donnelly had to be somewhere near the top of the list.

He lifted an eyebrow, trying to find the right attitude to chase her away. “Looks like sweet little Mary Kate learned how to play hardball.”

Judging by the annoyed look in those big blue eyes, she didn’t care for that comment, but which part of it she disliked, he wasn’t sure.

“It’s been a long time since anyone’s called me sweet and little, Luke. Welcome to the twenty-first century.”

“Sorry.” Funny to be alone with her now. He’d hardly seen her during the years after high school. She’d gone away to college—he’d enlisted in the service. When he’d come back and taken the job with the Suffolk Police Force, she and Kenny were already married, starting a family and moving in completely different circles. And then his reserve unit had been called up and he was gone again, this time to Iraq.

Once, he and Kenny had played football together. He and Mary Kate had dated. Funny to remember that now. They’d all been a lot more innocent then.

“I heard about Kenny.” He pushed the words out, a reminder that he wasn’t the only person suffering. “I’m sorry.”

She paled under those Flanagan freckles, her lips firming as if to hold something back. When she’d walked in the door, slim and quick as the girl she’d been, he’d thought she hadn’t changed at all.

Now he saw the differences—in the fine lines around her intensely blue eyes, in the determination that tightened her soft mouth. The hair that had once fallen to her shoulders in bright red curls was shorter now, curling against her neck, and it had darkened to an almost mahogany color.

She gave a curt nod in response to the expression of sympathy, as if she’d heard it all too many times. Well, then, she ought to understand how he felt. No help, no pity. Just leave me alone.

“The kids must be getting pretty big by now. Are they doing all right?” He put the question reluctantly, knowing that old friendship demanded it, knowing, also, that the more he treated her as a friend, the harder it would be to get her to leave.

Her face softened at the mention of her children. “Shawna’s eight and Michael is six. Yes, they’re doing fine. Just fine.”

Something, some faint shadow in her blue eyes, put the lie to that repeated assertion. Tough on kids, to lose their father at that age. At least Kenny hadn’t had a choice about leaving, like his father had.

He studied her, drawn out of his own circle of pain for a moment. Mary Kate’s hands gripped the pad of forms a bit too tightly, her knuckles white. She still wore a plain gold band on her left hand.

How are you doing, Mary Kate? Really? How it must have pained Kenny to leave her, especially to let her see him dwindling away from cancer. No doubt Kenny would have preferred to go out in a blaze of glory fighting a fire.

Just as he’d rather have been standing a few feet closer to that bomb—to have died quickly and cleanly instead of coming home mutilated.

He glanced from her hands to her face, seeing there the look he dreaded. “I don’t want your pity.” He ground out the words, because if he didn’t he might scream them.

“I’m not pitying you for your injury. I’m just sorry you’ve come home such a jerk.” She leaned toward him. “Come on, Luke, admit it. You’re not going to get out of this. The U.S. Army won’t release you until they know they’ve done their best for you. You’re lucky they let you come home for the therapy, instead of keeping you in the hospital.”

“Luck is not a word I associate with this.” He slapped his useless legs, getting a stab of pain in return.

“Fine.” Her voice was crisp, as if she’d moved into a professional mode where friendship had nothing to do with them. “We both know I’m right.”

He’d like to deny it, but he couldn’t. If the army wanted him to have this therapy, he’d have it if they had to drag him kicking and screaming. Not that he could do much kicking.

“Okay.” He bit off the word. “When you’re right, you’re right.” At least with Mary Kate, he was over the worst—that moment when she looked at him and saw the ruin he was.

Surprise and relief flooded her face. “That’s great.” She shuffled the forms, picking up a pen. “We’ll send the van for you tomorrow—”

“No.”

She blinked. “But you said—”

“I’ll do the therapy, but I’m not going anywhere. You can come here.” Conviction hardened in him. He wasn’t going out where anyone might see him. “And don’t bother telling me you don’t do that. I know you do in-home therapy.”

“That’s true, but we have equipment at the center that you don’t have here. There’s a therapy pool, exercise bikes, weight machines—all the things you might need.” She dangled them like a lollipop in front of a recalcitrant child.

“So we’ll improvise. That’s the deal, M.K. Only you, only here. How about it?”

If she reacted to the high school nickname, she didn’t let it show. Obviously she’d toughened up over the years. Still, she had to be easier to deal with than those hard-nosed army docs who’d outranked him.

“I can’t authorize something like that.”

“Then go back to your boss and get him to authorize it. Deal?”

She must have seen this was the best she could hope for, because she shuffled the papers together and shoved them back in her bag. Her lips were pressed firmly together, as if to hold back further argument.

“I’ll try. I can’t speak for the director, but I’ll tell him what you said.”

“Good.” Well, not good, but probably the best he was going to get. He watched her hurry to the door, as if afraid he’d change his mind.

He wouldn’t. He’d drag himself through whatever torture she devised, because he couldn’t get out of it, but in the end it would amount to the same thing. Whether he was in a wheelchair or staggering around like an old man with a walker—either way, his life was over.



The butterflies in her stomach had been replaced by the tightness in her throat that said she’d bitten off a lot more than she could chew. Mary Kate drove down Elm Street toward her parents’ house, glancing at her watch. It was too late to catch Mr. Dickson at the clinic. Her revelation of the terms Luke had put on his therapy would have to wait until tomorrow.

How would Dickson react to that? She honestly didn’t know her new employer well enough to guess. He might be relieved to have a difficult situation resolved. Or he might think that she had overstepped her bounds and used her friendship with Luke to gain the case for herself instead of persuading him to come to the clinic.

It’s not as if I have a choice. You understand that, don’t You? I have to take care of the children, so I have to do whatever it takes to succeed at this job.

Sometimes she thought these running conversations with God were all that had kept her going throughout the past year. Even when she’d been venting her anger, raging at the injustice of Kenny’s death, she’d been aware of God’s daily presence. She might have been furious with Him, but she’d always known He was there.

I’m sorry—I’m thinking too much of myself. Please, be with Luke. Let me be the instrument of Your healing for him.

She pulled into the driveway. Shawna’s and Michael’s bicycles lay abandoned on the front lawn, but they were nowhere to be seen. She slid out, leaving her bag on the seat, and hurried toward the door. The visit to Luke had taken more time than she’d expected, so her parents had had the children for a longer time after school.

Not that they minded. All the members of her large family were only too eager to help her since Kenny’s death. She appreciated it. She just hated needing it.

She walked into the living room. The chintz furniture always looked a little worn and the coffee table bore the scars of the six children who’d been raised here. And now her own two would be here too much, probably, since she’d started work. Her parents deserved to relax in their retirement, not take care of her children.

“Mom?” She crossed to the kitchen, drawn by the aroma of baking chicken. “I’m here.” She’d almost said I’m home, the phrase the Flanagan kids had always shouted when they rushed in from school or play.

The phrase said that you belonged, that here you were important and valued and sure of your welcome. She thought again of Luke. How must it feel to him to be back in the house where he’d grown up, with his mother gone?

Maybe similar to the way she felt now each time she came here—torn between longing for the reassurance she’d felt as a little girl in this place and feeling as if she ought to be able to handle everything on her own.

“Mary Kate.” Her mother straightened from bending over the oven door, pushing the pan back inside. Her cheeks were rosy from the heat and her dark hair curled around her still-youthful face. “You’re just in time. Supper will be ready in fifteen minutes. I promised Michael biscuits with the chicken.”

Siobhan Flanagan never seemed to look any older—or at least any less beautiful. Why couldn’t she have inherited her mother’s ageless beauty instead of her father’s red hair and freckles?

“You don’t need to feed us. We can go home for supper.” And have frozen pizza again.

“We want you to stay. Your father and I can’t eat all this chicken by ourselves.”

She should take the kids, go home, prove to herself that she could manage the whole working-single-mother thing. Still, it was a family joke that after cooking for so many for so long, her mother couldn’t fix a meal for two. Twenty, maybe, but not two.

“You spoil us.” She’d work on self-reliance tomorrow. “Where are the kids?”

“In the backyard, playing ball. I’ve been keeping an eye on them from the window.”

Shawna and Michael were fine. Of course they were. So what compelled her to step out onto the back porch, just to be sure?

“Hi, Mom.” Shawna waved a bright red plastic bat. “Look at the neat ball set Grandpa got for us.”

“Very nice.”

Michael came running to give her a hug. She held him tightly for an instant, wondering how soon he’d begin to emulate Shawna’s independence, making these embraces a thing of the past.

Michael squirmed out of her arms. Looking at his blue eyes and golden red curls was like looking into a mirror. Everyone had always said the kids had little of their daddy in their appearance. That hadn’t bothered her too much until Kenny was gone.

“Grandpa says the ball set is ours, but we should leave it here to play with when we’re here,” Michael said, with his typical determination to do everything according to the rules. “They’re our Grandpa’s house toys.”

“That’s a good idea.” She ruffled his red curls. “I’m going in the house with Grammy. You two stay right in the yard, okay? If you hit the ball outside, you come and tell me. Don’t go after it yourselves.”

“We know, Mom.” Shawna gave an exaggerated sigh.

Was she being overprotective? Maybe that was inevitable. She’d learned that disaster could strike just when everything seemed fine.

She went back into the kitchen, to find her mother pouring glasses of iced tea. She handed one to Mary Kate. “It’s so warm for the first of May that I thought I’d make iced tea. So, tell me. How did it go with Luke? Did he actually let you in the house?”

“Not exactly let me in. I’m afraid I barged in.”

Her mother’s brow wrinkled. “Brendan thought we should respect his wish to be left alone.”

“Brendan doesn’t know everything, even if he is a minister.” After having been raised with her cousin Brendan, she didn’t have quite the same reverent attitude toward their minister that the rest of the congregation did. “Anyway, this was business.”

“Poor Luke.” Her mother’s fund of sympathy was unending. “How did he take it?”

“Not well.” She still trembled inside when she thought about that encounter. Had she handled it the right way? Someone with more experience might have done it differently, but at least she’d gotten results. “He finally agreed to the therapy. But he put some conditions on it.”

“Conditions?”

She swallowed, trying to ease the tension that tightened her throat. “He’ll go through with the therapy, but he insists on home visits. And he’ll only do it if I’m his therapist.”

Her mother clasped her hand. “That’s fine, Mary Kate. You’re a good therapist. He couldn’t be in better hands.”

“I’m not sure Mr. Dickson will agree with that.” She gave a wry smile.

“Then you’ll just show him how good you are.” Siobhan always had high expectations of her kids, and more often than not, they managed to meet them, maybe feeling they couldn’t let her down.

“I hope so, but—”

The back door flew open to allow Shawna and Michael to surge through. “Is it almost time for supper?” Shawna surprised Mary Kate by diving into her arms, face lighting up with a smile. “We’re starving!”

“In a minute.” Mary Kate hugged her and then opened her arms to include Michael. “Group hug, please.”

The feel of those two warm, squirming bodies against hers chased away the doubt she’d been about to express. Of course she could succeed. Fueled by the fierce love she had for her children, she could do anything.




Chapter Two


The silence stretched in the clinic director’s office when Mary Kate finished describing her visit with Luke—stretched just like her nerves. She fixed her gaze on Carl Dickson’s face, determined not to look at the floor like a kid called into the principal’s office.

Dickson had a smooth, expressionless face, rather like an egg. It was the perfect mask for a bureaucrat, impossible to read. Why would someone go into physical therapy, the essence of hands-on helping, and then choose to be an administrator?

He cleared his throat. “Well, Mary Kate, you’ve brought us to a difficult place.”

Her heart sank. He was reacting negatively, probably thinking that she was trying to use her one-time friendship with Luke to grab extra hours of work.

“I don’t see what else—” she began, but the telephone rang.

Dickson held up his hand in a stop signal. “One moment, Mary Kate. I should take this.”

She subsided. That was another, separate annoyance—Dickson’s use of her first name. It had been made clear that he was Mr. Dickson to her, and the inequality irked. He was probably about her age, but he was already running the clinic.

He’d also shown that he didn’t consider her age an advantage. Most of the other therapists were a good ten years younger than she was. She’d started late, and whether she’d catch up was still up in the air.

She surveyed Dickson’s degrees, framed and hung on the wall behind his desk, trying to ignore his phone conversation. The glowing recommendations from the instructors of the refresher courses she’d taken had made him willing to give her the part-time position. If she did well, he’d implied that she’d be considered for a full-time job opening up in September. If not…

Given his reaction to the way she’d handled Luke Marino, that had begun to look doubtful. Tension tightened her hands on the arms of the chair. She had to provide for the children. Kenny hadn’t carried much life insurance—after all, the only way he’d ever thought he’d go was fighting fire, in which case there was a department policy.

Her family wouldn’t let them be in need, but providing for her children was her job. She couldn’t be a burden to her parents or brothers or sister. As for Kenny’s elderly, ailing parents—they must never imagine that Kenny hadn’t left her well-provided-for.

Dickson hung up and turned back to her, so she focused on him, steeling herself. But he looked ever so slightly more approachable.

“Well, as I was saying, this is not quite the result I expected, but perhaps we can make it work.”

She blinked, sure that was not at all what he’d intended to say. “I tried to convince Mr. Marino that the equipment here would be far better than anything I could provide for home therapy.”

“Let’s not worry about that. We’ll arrange for rental of any necessary equipment and we can spare you to work with him at home as much as needed.”

Granted, she was the most expendable of the staff, but still—“Will the army cover the cost of rented equipment?”

“Perhaps, but under the circumstances we don’t have to rely totally on the army.” He nodded toward the telephone. “That was Marino’s father on the line. We’ve been talking about the situation for several days. He’s offered to pick up the tab for anything his son needs that the army won’t cover.”

That startled her into silence. Certainly Phillip Marino could afford it. Several businesses in Suffolk carried the Marino name, including the largest auto dealership. But his estrangement from his former wife and the son of that marriage was almost as well-known as his car ads.

“I don’t know that Luke would agree to that,” she said slowly. “He and his father—well, they’ve never seen much of each other.”

“That’s hardly our concern.” Dickson’s voice sharpened. “Our focus must be on what’s best for the patient, not on the source of our payment.”

He was only too pleased at the prospect of collecting from both the army contract and Phillip Marino. She closed her lips firmly. It was not her place to criticize his decisions. At least this meant that she had a job to do and a chance to prove herself.

Dickson rose, signaling the end of the conversation. “Meet with the senior therapist and draw up a treatment program and a list of the necessary equipment. You have my authorization to put in whatever extra hours are needed. All right?”

She stood, as well. “Of course.”

What else could she say? But she was uneasily aware that she was being manipulated from both sides.

Dickson thought he could use her to collect from both the army and Luke’s father. And Luke thought he could use her to skate through the mandated therapy with as little effort as possible.

She wasn’t sure which she disliked more.



“That’s as far as it will go.” Luke managed the words through gritted teeth, trying not to sound like a wimp.

Mary Kate, kneeling on the living-room floor next to his mat, just shook her head and continued to press his leg up with both hands. Those small hands of hers were a lot stronger than he’d have expected. The dead weight of his leg had to be a strain, but she hadn’t lost that serene expression throughout the whole torturous hour.

He clenched his fists against the mat. “I can’t do it.”

“Sure you can.” Her tone was as gentle and reassuring as if he were a preschooler learning how to tie his shoes. “Just try a little more. We have to do better than yesterday.”

“We?” He grunted the word. “I’m the one doing all the work.”

That wasn’t true. He knew it, but he wasn’t about to admit that she’d been struggling as hard as he was to shove him through the exercises, with him arguing all the way.

Well, he had a right to complain. He hadn’t asked for this. He didn’t want it. Mary Kate would have to accept the bad temper that went with forcing a man to do something he didn’t want to do.

Something that hurt. His leg, protesting, stretched a bit farther and he couldn’t control the groan that escaped.

“Very good.” Mary Kate eased off immediately, bringing his leg back down and massaging it with long, smooth strokes that soothed away the pain. “You went a good half inch farther today than yesterday.”

He lay back on the mat Mary Kate had brought with her. Three times they’d done this, and three times she’d pushed him more than he’d have thought possible. Maybe he’d been wrong about Mary Kate being easier to manipulate than the staff at the army hospital. She was quieter, but there was iron beneath her soft exterior. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected of a grown-up Mary Kate, but she certainly wasn’t the gentle girl she’d been.

He turned his head far enough to look at the waiting wheelchair. It might as well be forty feet high, for the effort it would take to get back into it.

“Quite a climb,” she said, guessing his thoughts with uncanny accuracy.

He grunted in agreement. “Hard to believe I used to climb mountains for fun.”

He’d loved the adrenaline rush of pushing his body to the utmost as he scaled a sheer rock face, the euphoria of reaching the top and knowing he’d conquered it. Now he couldn’t even get himself into a chair.

“Just rest a few minutes.” Mary Kate sat back on her heels as if she could use the rest, too. Her hair clung in damp ringlets to her neck, and while he watched she stretched her arms overhead as if trying to relieve taut muscles.

Her willingness to wait for him made him perversely eager to get back into the chair. “Let’s do it.” He shoved himself up onto his elbows. “No sense in wasting the day lying around.”

“Eager to get back to daytime television?” She maneuvered the chair into position and locked the brake before squatting down next to him.

“Not much else to do.” He’d been mildly embarrassed when she’d come in and found him watching reruns of sixties comedies.

“Let your friends come by and see you,” she said promptly. “Check some books out of the library. Take up a hobby.”

“Stamp collecting?” He let her pull his arm across her shoulders. Once he’d have enjoyed being that close to her. Now it just reminded him of his own helplessness.

“You still have a woodworking shop in the room behind the kitchen. I notice your mother never cleared that out.”

“No, thanks.”

It had been his father’s shop originally, not his. He’d hung around, watching, until his father finally saw his interest and showed him how to cut a curve and sand down an edge. After his dad left, he’d kept up with it for a while, maybe out of some stupid belief that his dad would come back and be proud of what he’d made. He’d learned, eventually. He hadn’t bothered with it in years.

Mary Kate double-checked the chair’s position, and he felt her muscles tighten. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

Together they managed to haul his useless body into the chair, but by the time he was settled they were both breathless.

“Good work,” she said.

He shoved her hands away, hating that he had to rely on her strength instead of his own. “Don’t patronize me. I’m not one of your kids.”

A flicker of anger touched her eyes and was gone. “I don’t patronize my kids.”

So he could hurt her. Disgust filled him. What kind of a man was he? He didn’t want her pity, but he also didn’t like feeling that she was unaffected. So he sniped at her. Not very pretty, was it?

Mary Kate straightened, seeming to throw off her reactions. “Let’s talk about where we’re going to put all the equipment that’s coming on Saturday.”

He shrugged. “I don’t care. You decide.”

She walked through the archway to the dining room. “I was thinking we might use this room. All we’d have to move out are the chairs and table. The sideboard wouldn’t be in the way.”

He wheeled after her into the room, his attention caught in spite of himself. “I guess that would work. I’m not likely to be hosting any dinners for eight.”

“Or even one, judging by the condition of your refrigerator.”

“Just stay out of my refrigerator,” he said, knowing she was right. He was subsisting on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, for the most part.

“Where do you plan to put the table and chairs?” He wouldn’t sell the dining-room furniture his mother had kept polished and shining.

Mary Kate touched the smooth surface. “I think it’ll be okay in the garage.”

“How do you plan to get it there?” He slapped the arms of the wheelchair. “I’m not exactly in shape to move furniture.”

“My brothers offered to—”

“No.” He cut her off before she could finish the offer of charity. “Hire someone to do it. I’ll pay.”

He felt her gaze on him, but refused to return it. He wasn’t going to have guys he’d played football and basketball with coming in here, trying to make polite conversation and avoid looking at his wheelchair. Or worse, telling him how sorry they were while they stood there on two good feet.

“Fine.” She gave in quickly.

He glanced around the room, picturing it filled with exercise equipment. “Are you sure this equipment rental is going to be covered? I don’t want to be presented with a big bill for stuff I didn’t want to begin with.”

She turned away, seeming to mentally measure the room for the equipment. “It’ll be covered,” she said shortly. “One thing—we might have to let your car sit out once we put the furniture in the garage.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I ought to sell it, anyway. I won’t be driving again.”

“You don’t know that.” She swung toward him, her eyes darkening with concern. “Luke, you can’t just give up on things. Nobody can tell how much you’re going to recover.”

“Nobody?” Anger surged through him suddenly—at her, at God, at himself for surviving. “I can, Mary Kate. I can tell you exactly how much I’m going to recover. Do you want to know?”

She took a step back, as if alarmed by his anger. He should stop, but he couldn’t.

“I’m going to be in this chair forever, and nothing you or anyone else does is going to change that.”



What was she going to do about Luke? The question revolved in Mary Kate’s mind like a hamster on a wheel as she cleaned up the kitchen that evening after supper. The children’s voices rose and fell from the living room, where they were engaged in a board game. A game that seemed to involve argument, by the sound of things.

She frowned at the raspberry jelly that had dried on the bottom rung of one of the pine kitchen chairs. It was beyond her understanding how the three of them could make such a mess in the house when they were gone most of the day. It would be summer vacation in a month, and how she’d manage then, she couldn’t imagine.

Just like she couldn’t see what to do about Luke. The depth of his bitterness continued to shock her. She knew as well as anyone the important role played by the patient’s attitude in healing. Luke’s anger and isolation would poison any chance of wholeness if someone didn’t do something to change it.

And, it seemed, either through chance or perhaps through God’s working, that she was the one who was in a position to change that.

Did You put me in this situation? You must have a reason, but I don’t see it. Seems to me I’m that last person who can help him deal with loss. I’m still struggling with that myself.

She wouldn’t change Luke by encouraging him with words. His irritation when he felt she spoke to him as she’d speak to her children was proof of that.

And speaking of her children, the noise level in the other room had risen dramatically, followed by the clatter of a game board being upset. She tossed the dishcloth into the sink and stalked into the living room, trying to get a handle on her impatience.

“Hey, what’s going on in here? Who threw the checkerboard?”

She knew the answer to that without asking. Shawna, who never lost control, looked smug, while Michael’s eyes were suspiciously bright. He folded his arms across his chest, his lower lip jutting out.

This didn’t look like the right time for scolding. In fact, this wasn’t usually her time at all. Kenny had always taken the evening chores with the kids when he’d been off duty. This had been his time to play with them, roughhousing on the carpet despite her protests and supervising baths and bedtime.

She’d scolded him once, when the roughhousing had led to a broken lamp and Michael was in tears over her reaction.

“Let it go.” She could almost hear Kenny’s voice, soft and steady. “A broken heart is worth crying about, M.K. Not a broken lamp.”

Now she had the broken heart, too, but she wouldn’t cry. Not in front of the children. Their world had been torn apart by their father’s death. She didn’t want to make them afraid by letting them see fear or grief in her.

She sat down on the rug, pulling them close to her. “Forget about the game. Tell me about school today. How was it?”

She happened to be looking at Shawna’s face when she asked the question, and she saw the quick flicker of hurt in her eyes. She blinked, and it was gone. She stroked the red curls away from her daughter’s heart-shaped face.

“Shawnie? Is anything wrong?”

“Everything’s okay, Mom.”

Michael wiggled, as if he’d say something, but Shawna shot him a look and he stopped.

“Are you sure?” She didn’t want to give her children the third degree, but something had dimmed Shawna’s brightness for a moment.

“I’m sure.” She smiled. “I got a perfect score on my spelling test.”

“That’s great.” She hugged her, storing away the sense of something wrong to think about later. “What did you do at Grammy and Grandpa’s?”

“We had a snack,” Michael said. “And then we played outside, and Grandpa played ball with us for a while and then we practiced riding our bikes.”

“Did you stay right where Grandpa told you to?”

“Yes, Mommy.” That was accompanied by a huge sigh. “We always do.”

Ridiculous, to worry about them when they were in Mom and Dad’s care. And that neighborhood was certainly safe enough—still the kind of place where everyone knew everyone else and looked out for them. Even so, she couldn’t seem to stop.

Don’t worry. Pray. Mom had a small plaque with those words hanging in her bedroom. With six kids to raise, she’d probably done plenty of both.

“Well, shall we read a couple of chapters in our book?” They’d been working their way through some of the children’s classics, and even Shawna, already reading well, seemed to enjoy being read to.

“Not now, Mommy. Now we want to hear about the soldier.” Michael snuggled against her.

“Soldier?” she repeated blankly. “Do we have a book about a soldier?”

“Lieutenant Marino,” Shawna corrected. “We want to hear about him. Did you know that he’s on our bulletin board at school? And that he got medals?”

She should have realized. The children’s elementary school had taken on a project of supporting local people who were serving in the military. Naturally Luke would be included.

Her heart clutched as she thought about Luke now, in a wheelchair. How did you tell children about the terrible cost of war?

“He wrote a letter to me,” Michael said.

“He did not!” Shawna, who’d been leaning against Mary Kate, shot upright. “That’s a big fib.”

“It is not. He did write to me. He wrote a letter and it said ‘To Ms. Sumter’s boys and girls.’ And I’m one of Ms. Sumter’s boys, so he wrote to me.” His face was very red.

“Of course,” she soothed. “He meant his letter for each one of you.”

“Well, I don’t think—” Shawna began, but subsided at a glance from her mother. “We want to know about him. Is he very hurt?”

She’d always tried to tell them the truth, even when she had to simplify it for them. “He was hurt when a bomb went off near where he was working. It hurt his legs badly.”

“Did they have to cut them off?” Michael asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

She squeezed him, wondering where some of his ideas came from. “No, they didn’t, but his legs don’t work very well yet. That’s why I have to help him, to teach his legs how to work again.”

“But what if they don’t get better?” His little face puckered up.

“They will.” She said it with all the sureness she could muster. If I can help it, they will.

Maybe it was time for a distraction. She tickled Michael’s chin, and he giggled. “You didn’t tell me what you did in school today.”

He shrugged, turning away, the laughter vanishing. “We worked on the model town today, that’s all.”

“I see.”

She saw only too well. The model of the city of Suffolk was a tradition for the first-grade classes and the children worked on it all year. When Shawna had been in first grade, Kenny had helped her make a model car for the display. Michael had been so excited about it that Kenny had started one with him. Shortly after that, Kenny was diagnosed.

Two months later he’d been gone. How could it happen that fast? Somehow one always thought of cancer as a long, slow battle. Not this time. They’d never finished the car.

She hugged him. “Listen, would you like me to help you make something for the display?” Her carpentry talents were limited, but maybe she could get a kit.

“No, thank you, Mommy.” His politeness was heartbreaking. “Do you think we could go with you someday and meet the soldier?”

“I’m afraid not, honey. He’s been sick and he doesn’t want any company.”

“Maybe when he’s better,” he said.

“Maybe.” She could just imagine Luke’s reaction if she turned up one day with her children in tow.

Still, seeing someone besides her might be a good idea. Not the children—that was too chancy. But if the idea that was flickering at the back of her mind worked out, maybe she could push Luke into seeing a couple of his old friends, whether he thought he wanted to or not.




Chapter Three


Luke shoved the pillow out of the way and levered himself onto his elbows to look at the bedside clock. Nearly nine. He had to get up. Today the exercise equipment was arriving, along with Mary Kate and some helpers to move the dining-room furniture. It would be the busiest time this place had seen since he’d come home, thanks to Mary Kate’s persistence.

Of course, he could try hiding in his bedroom until they’d been and gone. Let M.K. take care of all of it. But if he did, it would be like her to barge into his bedroom and find him in his pajamas, unshaven. He hadn’t let her catch him looking that bad since the first day. He had a little pride, after all. He’d get up.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, helping them with his hands, and pulled the wheelchair closer. Mary Kate probably wouldn’t be fazed at all by finding him in bed. After all, her specialty had always been helping every lame duck who crossed her path.

And now he was the lame duck, wasn’t he? Gritting his teeth, he maneuvered the switch from bed to chair, faintly surprised that it seemed a little easier than it had a few days ago.

That warm, nurturing spirit of Mary Kate’s had probably been come by naturally. From what he remembered, her mother was exactly the same. And Mary Kate, the oldest of the Flanagan brood, had mothered the rest of them unmercifully.

His mind drifted through those growing-up years as he got ready to face the day. He’d been buddies with Gabe, a year younger than he and Mary Kate, and to some extent with the next younger brother, Seth. Sports had done it. The three of them had been involved in every athletic activity Suffolk High offered.

Even his brief romance with Mary Kate and their breakup hadn’t interfered with that friendship. Obviously Mary Kate hadn’t bad-mouthed him to her brothers, or that would have meant the end. The Flanagan boys were notorious for protecting their sisters.

Had Mary Kate needed protecting from him? She wouldn’t have thought so. In her eyes, she was the one who took care of everybody else. Still, he’d hurt her. He knew it and she knew it, even if she’d never told anyone else.

A lifetime ago. He tossed a damp towel in the general direction of the rack and wheeled his way out toward the kitchen. Mary Kate probably never thought of those days. Her life was too full for trips down memory lane, with a job and two kids to take care of.

As for him—he was just a job to her, and that was for the best. Even friendship required more than he had to offer now.

The doorbell rang, followed by the sound of the door opening. Mary Kate, obviously. She’d insisted on having a key in case of emergency, and he hadn’t had the energy to argue with her about it.

He swiveled into the living room and stopped dead. It was Mary Kate all right, but the two men with her weren’t the anonymous hired strangers he’d expected. Seth and Gabe Flanagan seemed to fill the room, and at Gabe’s heels was a big yellow Lab.

Anger at Mary Kate surged through him. He glared at her, and she looked back with a coolly confrontational stare that dared him to make a scene.

Dared him, and won. He’d felt free to vent his anger on Mary Kate when she’d come in uninvited, but he couldn’t seem to do the same to Gabe and Seth. Did that say something about him, or about their relationship?

For a moment no one moved, and then Gabe came forward with his hand extended. “Luke, it’s good to see you again.”

“Gabe. Seth.” At least his handshake was as strong as ever. “I’m surprised to see you. I thought Mary Kate was hiring someone to do this chore.”

Seth grinned. “You know our sister. Never pay somebody else to do something if you can talk a brother into handling it.”

“We’re glad to do it.” Gabe ruffled the dog’s ears absently as he spoke. “How are you doing?”

His throat tightened, but he forced himself to speak normally. He patted the arm of the chair. “I guess you can see. And you guys? Either of you make captain yet?” Flanagans went into the fire service, everyone knew that.

“Seth’s a brigade chief.” Gabe nudged his brother with his elbow. “To say nothing of a husband and father—one little boy and another one on the way.”

“Congratulations.” Hard to picture steady, easygoing Seth being in charge. He’d always been the quiet one among the Flanagan boys. “What about you?” He glanced at Gabe. “You letting your brother boss you around now on the job?”

Gabe smiled slightly, shaking his head. “I got pretty broken up fighting fire. I guess it was after your reserve unit was called up, so maybe you didn’t hear. Left me with seizures, so I wasn’t much good on the fire line.” He stroked the dog’s head. “Max here is a seizure-alert dog.”

For a moment he couldn’t say anything. Mary Kate might have told him before she brought her brothers in here.

“Sorry.” He should say more, but he couldn’t seem to think of anything.

Gabe shrugged. “There’s more to life than firefighting, but don’t tell my dad I said so.” He turned to Mary Kate. “Okay, let’s get at it. Show us this furniture we’re supposed to be moving.”

They trooped off to the dining room, and he heard the scrape of chairs. In a moment Seth and Gabe came back, carrying the table between them, with Mary Kate rushing ahead to open the door. He could hear Seth ribbing Gabe about holding up his end as they went.

Mary Kate came back in. He planted his hands on the chair arms, so annoyed with her he didn’t know where to start. “I told you to hire someone.”

She shrugged, looking ridiculously like the girl she’d been at sixteen in faded jeans and a navy T-shirt emblazoned with the Suffolk YMCA logo. “You heard Seth. I hate paying for something I can get free.”

“This wasn’t about money. You just wanted to get them in here. I suppose that business about Gabe was meant to be a lesson to me.” Even through his annoyance, he had a sneaking suspicion that sounded petty.

Mary Kate held his gaze for a long moment. “Only if you need one,” she said, and walked out.

He sat staring at the kitchen door. Through its window he could see her cross the yard to her brothers, apparently giving them directions about the table. All three disappeared into the garage.

Maybe that was just as well. She’d left him with nothing to say.

A sound had him turning back toward the front door. Two kids stood there staring at him, and with that curly red hair, blue eyes and freckles, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that they must be Mary Kate’s.

He froze, hands gripping the chair, fresh anger welling. Bad enough that she’d brought her brothers here—it was worse that she’d brought her kids to stare at him.

He tried to moderate the scowl he knew he must be wearing. He might be annoyed, but he wasn’t about to scare little children if he could help it. “Are you two looking for your mother? She’s out back.”

Please, just go out there and find her and stop staring at me.

The girl shook her head and took a step backward. The little boy walked right up to him and put his hand on Luke’s arm. “Are you the soldier?”

Are you the soldier? The words echoed loudly in his head, pounding against his skull.

Not anymore. He fought back the urge to say the words out loud. Not when I’m here, helpless, while the men I’m responsible for are still in the line of fire.



Mary Kate stepped into the kitchen and stopped dead, looking through the archway to the living room—at her kids, standing there next to Luke’s wheelchair. Talking to him, with Michael leaning against his knee as if they were old friends.

She fairly flew across the kitchen and into the living room. “Shawna and Michael Donnelly! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at Grammy and Grandpa’s house.”

Shawna pressed her lips together, looking guilty. Michael turned an expression of blue-eyed innocence on her.

“We were, Mommy.”

“You’re not now.” She couldn’t look at Luke, and she was sure her cheeks were bright with embarrassment. “Who told you that you could come here?”

“Grammy said we could walk to Timmy Nelson’s house to play on the swings.” Shawna found her voice. “We do that lots of times. We stay right on the sidewalk and walk around the block and we don’t cross any streets.”

True, they were allowed to walk to the Nelson place. Mary Kate frowned. “This is not Timmy’s house.”

“Timmy wasn’t home,” Michael said. “And you said you were going to come here and it was only a little bit farther to walk and we wanted to meet the soldier.”

“Lieutenant Marino,” Shawna corrected.

She sent a quick glance toward Luke. He didn’t look happy, but neither did he look outraged, which he had every right to be.

“And you’re here, Mommy,” Michael added.

“You were not invited.” Neither were Gabe and Seth, of course, but that was beside the point.

“Lieutenant Marino doesn’t care,” Michael said. “I was telling him about the letter we got. How everybody liked it. He said that was good.”

At least Luke hadn’t let the children know how he felt about this influx of company. He was undoubtedly saving that for her.

“You should not have come here if Grammy thinks you’re at Timmy’s. What if she goes there and no one’s home? She’ll be worried.” She snatched the cell phone from her pocket and handed it to Shawna. “Go out to the kitchen, both of you, and wait there for me. Shawna, call Grammy and let her know where you are. Tell her you’ll come back with me.”

“Yes, Mommy.” Shawna turned to Luke. “I’m sorry we came when we weren’t invited.”

Luke’s face wore an interesting expression—he was obviously not used to dealing with children. “That’s all right,” he mumbled.

“Goodbye.” Michael patted his arm. “I hope you feel better soon.”

“Thank you.” Luke’s lips actually twitched, she was sure, before he got them under control.

Once the kids were more or less out of sight, she turned to Luke. “I’m sorry—” she began, but the rumble of a truck pulling into the driveway interrupted her. “The equipment is here,” she said quickly. “I’ll go and tell them where to put it.”

She hurried outside, relieved to have the inevitable confrontation with Luke put off at least for a few more minutes.

Actually, the interruption stretched even longer as her brothers carried out the rest of the chairs and then helped haul the exercise equipment in. The house seemed to rattle with the tread of heavy feet and the good-humored banter of men moving equipment.

She looked around for Luke, to find him sitting in the archway where he could see what was going on. That was encouraging. At least he wasn’t hiding himself away.

Gabe paused to say something to him, and Luke replied almost easily, as if they’d been talking together every day. Max pressed close to Gabe’s side, as always, and Luke reached out to stroke the golden fur. Something that had been very tense inside her started to relax. Did she dare to hope that this encounter might ease the isolation he seemed determined upon?

She crossed toward them. “Gabe, can you help get the parallel bars in place? I think they should go here, and you’ll have to fasten them in place.”

She gestured to a spot in the center of the floor. Fortunately there were good solid hardwood floors in here, not carpets for Luke to trip on.

“Parallel bars?” Luke’s brows lifted. “Are you planning to turn me into a gymnast?”

“No, I’m planning to help you walk again.” She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

It didn’t come. The black look told her, though, that he was probably just delaying it until they were alone.

Yell all you want, she told him silently. I’m not giving up on you, Luke Marino. I’m going to help you whether you want it or not.

“Hey, M.K., catch.”

Mary Kate turned to see a bright blue exercise ball heading toward her from Seth. Off balance, she grabbed for it, missing and stumbling toward the chair. Before she could land, Luke grabbed her, his strong hands steadying her.

“Sorry,” she muttered, straightening herself. “My brother’s an idiot sometimes. I didn’t mean to run into you.”

“It’s okay.” His hand still encircled her wrist, his fingers warm and strong.

She glanced at him, aware of how close they were, of how dark his smoky eyes were. Awareness seemed to dance between them, and she felt sixteen again. She tried to find something to say, and she couldn’t think of a single thing.



Mary Kate looked around the long table at her parents’ house, savoring the moment. Sunday dinners were a tradition in the Flanagan family, and at first, after Kenny’s death, she’d found it hard to come alone with the children. Now that the sharpest pain had faded, she was back to enjoying these times, with their reminder of the strength of family bonds. They were fortunate, more so than many families, that life had settled all of them in this area.

She especially loved this moment, when the meal was over. The children had run out into the backyard to play and the adults lingered over their coffee cups, reluctant to break the low rumble of conversation and the precious circle of fellowship.

Gabe’s wife, Nolie, leaned forward to pour a little more coffee. “If this nice weather keeps up, we can start doing Sunday picnics out at the farm again.”

Gabe held his cup out for a refill. “That means I’ll have to paint the porch and put up the swing.” He turned toward Mary Kate. “Do you think there’s any chance we could get Luke out for one of our picnics? It might do him good.”

“There are a lot of things that would help him. Getting him past wanting to hide is the tough part.” That occupied her mind whenever she wasn’t busy with something else—what could she do to give Luke an interest in life again?

“Poor boy.” Her mother’s warmhearted sympathy flowed out like a never-failing spring. “If only he wouldn’t shut people out. Everyone wants to help.”

“Luke always had that independent streak.” Gabe seemed to look back through the years. “Even on the football field, he wouldn’t wait for anyone to cover him. He’d just charge in and rely on himself. And he was strong enough that nine times out of ten, it worked.”

That was Luke, all right. If only she could find a way to turn that tenacity and strength to her advantage in helping him heal—“What happened the tenth time?”

Gabe smiled. “He got pounded into the turf, of course. He always shook it off and jumped up again, grinning like it was fun.”

“That’s where he is right now. But this time he’s not shaking it off.”

The other end of the table had gotten into a noisy conversation about baseball, so she lowered her voice to continue with Gabe and Nolie. They were the two people in the family who could most understand what Luke was going through. Gabe, because of his own injury, and Nolie, because she’d helped him accept and overcome.

“It’s tough, believe me.” Gabe’s hand dropped to stroke Max’s head. The seizures came very seldom now, but often enough that he still needed Max beside him. “Luke’s always relied on his physical strength, and now that’s let him down. It takes some getting used to.”

“And we don’t know what happened to him over there.” Nolie was the quiet one in the noisy Flanagan gatherings, but when she spoke, she invariably had something helpful to say. “There could be other things complicating the situation. When it comes to a previously able-bodied person accepting a disability, the emotional is always as important as the physical.”

“If you—” she began, but the clinking of a glass distracted her. She glanced to the other end of the table, where her cousin Brendan tapped a spoon against his coffee cup.

“Attention, please.” Brendan had shed the clerical garb he’d worn this morning, and his eyes were bright with suppressed excitement. “Claire and I have an announcement to make.” He glanced toward his wife, sitting beside him, and Claire’s face glowed with love.

In the sudden silence, Mary Kate could hear the quick intake of breath from her mother. Was it the thing they’d all hoped and prayed for?

Brendan reached over to clasp his wife’s hand. “We’re expecting a baby in November.”

The table erupted in joyful celebration, and Mary Kate shoved her worries about Luke to the back of her mind. Her throat went tight with tears as she hurried around the table to hug both of them. Everyone knew they’d been trying to get pregnant for well over a year without success, but now it was finally happening.

She hugged and kissed them, heart full, surprised to find that her joy was tinged with a little sorrow. Self-pity? She hoped not. Still, even though she and Kenny hadn’t intended to have more children, she couldn’t stem the wave of regret for what would never be.

She glanced at her watch. “Goodness, look at the time.” She dashed away a single tear, hoping it would be interpreted as joy for Brendan and Claire. “I’d better check on the kids.”

Before she could betray any other emotion, she went quickly through the kitchen. She didn’t want anyone to feel they had to mute their celebration because of her loss. Pushing open the back door, she glanced around the fenced-in yard, counting heads.

Shawna played ring-around-the-rosy with the smaller ones: Gabe and Nolie’s little Siobhan, Seth and Julie’s Davy, Ryan and Laura’s Amanda. Michael—

“Shawnie, where’s Michael?”

Shawna looked up from the tangle of little bodies on the ground. “I don’t know, Mom. He was here a minute ago.”

Her heart seemed to skip a beat. “Michael? Michael!” From the bottom of the steps, the whole yard was in view. No Michael.

The door behind her opened and her mother came out, carrying Mary Kate’s bag. “Your cell phone is ringing.”

She grabbed the bag, yanking the phone out. Michael—

“Mary Kate?” Luke’s deep voice grated in her ear. “Your boy is over here. You want to come and get him?”




Chapter Four


Mary Kate realized she was shaking inside as she started the car, and she took a deep breath, trying to still the rush of panic. Michael was all right. Luke would keep him safe until she got there. It was okay.

No, it wasn’t. If Kenny were here, he’d have found something to make her laugh in this situation, and his steady, even calm would convince her this wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened.

But Kenny wasn’t here, and Michael had done the unthinkable, leaving his grandparents’ yard without a word to anyone. What on earth had made him do that?

Lord, thank You for keeping him safe. Maybe I’m overreacting—I don’t know. I just know that I’m scared and I need guidance. Please, show me the right way to respond to this situation, with both Michael and Luke.

The short drive around the block to Luke’s house wasn’t long enough to settle her entirely, but then, she probably wouldn’t calm down until she had her son in her arms again. She parked in the driveway and ran to the front door, tapping and then hurrying inside.

“Michael Donnelly.” She grabbed him, pulling him against her with an urgent need to know he was in one piece. “Are you okay?”

“Sure, Mommy.” He squirmed free. “I’m sorry. I guess you’re mad at me, huh?” He gave her the angelic look that said he couldn’t possibly have done anything wrong.

She hardened her heart. “Sorry doesn’t quite cover it, young man. And don’t bother looking at me that way, because you’re still going to be punished.”

“Your mom’s one tough lady, Michael. She doesn’t let me get away with anything, either.” Luke actually sounded as if he found this amusing—probably because it put her in the position of having to apologize for her children. Again.

She looked at him, praying she wasn’t blushing. That was the trouble with fair skin and freckles—every emotion showed. “I’m very sorry Michael bothered you. That shouldn’t have happened.”

And it won’t, ever again, she vowed.

A rare smile crossed Luke’s face, chasing away the lines of pain and anger. “He’s not a bother. But I knew you’d be worried.”

“That’s nice of you to say.”

And yet she was sure he’d been fit to be tied when he’d called her. Apparently Michael had been exercising his charm during the time it had taken her to drive over.

“I’m sorry if I was a pest,” Michael told him. “I didn’t mean to be. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Why? She wanted to ask the question out loud, but not here, not in front of Luke. She’d have to wait until they were alone for that.

“You weren’t a pest,” Luke said. He reached out to ruffle the red curls. “But you should never come here without your mom’s permission. You know that, don’t you?”

“Can I come if she gives permission?” he said promptly.

“Michael.” Her mother could always put a wealth of meaning into just saying one of her kids’ names. Mary Kate could only hope she’d mastered the trick.

Luke shot her a glance, and then he nodded gravely. “If your mother gives you permission, you can come and see me again. But never go anywhere without permission from the person who’s in charge. A soldier who did that would be going AWOL.”

Michael nodded, looking impressed. “I promise.”

“Good.” Luke turned the chair, moving toward the small cherry writing desk in the corner. He opened the top drawer and took something out. “I have something for you.”

“You don’t have to—” she began, but Luke silenced her with the slight shake of his head.

“This is between Michael and me,” he said. He held out a small box. “Here.”

Michael fumbled with it for a moment and then managed to pop the lid up. “Wow,” he said reverently.

She moved so that she could see the contents of the box, and shock zigzagged through her. She took the box from Michael’s hands.

“He can’t accept this. You can’t give these away.” She thrust the box toward Luke, but he clutched the arms of the chair, refusing to take it.

“They’re mine. I can do what I want with them.” There was a dark undertone to the words, and she wasn’t sure what emotion it expressed. Bitterness? Grief?

She looked down. Against a background of black velvet lay three things. Two she recognized immediately—the Purple Heart and the Bronze Star. It took a moment to identify the third as the Iraq Campaign Medal, with its relief in bronze of the country.

She was at a loss to know how to handle this, and it didn’t help that Michael was tugging at her arm. She frowned at him. “Stop, Michael.”

“But he said—”

“I know what he said, but these are too valuable to give away.”

“I can do what I want with them,” Luke repeated, his face set.

A wave of anger took her by surprise. How dare he use her son to precipitate a situation like this?

“It’s not appropriate for Michael to keep them,” she said firmly. “However, if you’d like to lend them for him to take to school for their display about the military, that would be all right.”

Luke’s dark eyes lifted to her face, and she thought she saw the faintest regret there. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “Do that, then.”

She nodded and closed the box, handing it to Michael. “Go out to the car and wait for me. And don’t open that.”

He took it reverently in both hands and scurried for the door, apparently realizing now was not the time for further argument. Her kids seemed to know exactly how far to push her.

When he was gone, she turned back to Luke. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Sorry.” He evaded her gaze. “I didn’t think about the value. I just thought he might enjoy them.”

She shook her head impatiently. “Of course he couldn’t keep them. But I meant you. You shouldn’t give away something that important. And don’t bother telling me they’re yours to do what you like with, because I don’t buy that.”

“They are.”

“Of course they’re yours, awarded because you served your country honorably and were injured doing it.” She thought of the Bronze Star. “And probably did something heroic in the process, if the Bronze Star means what I think it does.”

His face tightened again. “I shouldn’t have them.”

“Why not?” She wanted to shake the stubbornness out of him. “You earned them.”

His glare pinned her to the spot with its ferocity. “Because I don’t want medals when I’m here, safe, and my guys are still over there in the line of fire. That’s why.”



“I hear you’re working with that young fellow who’s just back from Iraq.”

Frank Morgan, one of Mary Kate’s favorite patients, slowed the pedals of his exercise bike, looking at her with inquiry in his bright blue eyes. With the fresh pink color of his cheeks and those clear eyes, no one would believe Frank was the eighty-three she knew he was.

“Keep pedaling,” she said, tapping the handlebars. She glanced around the nearly empty room at the clinic. No one else was working at the exercise bikes and treadmills this early in the morning. “How did you hear that?”

He smiled, smoothing back his ruffle of white hair with one hand while he increased the rotation speed. “Ha, makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Truth is, I’m around this place so much, some of those young things act like I’m part of the furniture. Say anything in front of me, they would.”

“Well, if you wouldn’t insist on trying to take your own storm windows off, you wouldn’t have to come in so often. How does your back feel?” She checked her watch. “Can you go another minute?”

“Sure thing. So, how’s that boy doing?”

That was the question that kept her awake at night. How was Luke doing? The incident with his medals had made her feel out of her depth. Maybe he needed to be working with a psychologist, not her. She’d seriously considered admitting to her boss that she felt unprepared to deal with Luke’s problems. But she could hardly say that to Frank.

“He’s coming along.”

He nodded. “Can’t talk about a patient. I know. I guess I wouldn’t want you talking about me to someone else. Still, I have an interest. It’s been a long time, but I remember what it was like when I came home from the war.”

“Really? Which war?” She signaled him to slow down gradually.

“Which war, she says.” He snorted. “The big war, young lady. World War II.”

“I didn’t realize.” She helped him off the bike. “You must have lied about your age to get in, because you’re way too young for that. Ready to work on the resistance bands, or do you want to rest a minute?”

“Lied about my age? No such thing, but I thought I’d never turn eighteen. I was mad to get out there with my buddies.” He picked up the resistance bands.

One thing she could say about Frank—he never balked at anything she asked him to do, taking each new task as a fresh challenge. Luke could benefit from a little of his attitude.

“Was it difficult when you came back?” she asked casually. Maybe she couldn’t talk about Luke to him, but there was no reason she couldn’t try to gain some insight.

He grunted. “I’ll say it was hard. Mind, I wasn’t injured, like your young fellow, but I’d been in a POW camp for nine months—seemed more like nine years, so I wasn’t in great shape. Funny how that is. You come back, and it’s just what you dreamed about all that time, but it’s strange, as well.”

“Strange how?” She adjusted his stance, making sure he was using his back correctly.

He frowned, as if trying to find the right words. “I guess it seemed to me nothing should have changed, but when I came back, life had moved on without me. The worst part was just getting out around people again.” He chuckled. “Couldn’t remember names to save me, even folks like my brother-in-law and my old boss at the gas station.”

Luke seemed to remember names, but he had that same reluctance to be around people. No, reluctance wasn’t a strong enough word. Aversion, maybe. “How did you get over it?”

“My wife, bless her.” His eyes filled with tears suddenly, but he was smiling. “She went everywhere with me, holding on to my arm like walking with me was the proudest thing she’d ever done. She figured out about the names without me telling her and she’d always say the name if we ran into somebody. And cover for me if I jumped at a backfire or something like that. The good Lord knows I couldn’t have done it without her.”

She patted his shoulder. “She loved you. She loved doing it.”

He nodded. “That’s what your young man needs, too. Folks that love him and will help him along, even if he doesn’t act like he wants their help.”

His words echoed in her heart as she took the bands from his hands. “Good job. That’s it for today. Don’t go moving any more storm windows, all right?”

He smiled, his cheeks as pink and round as a baby’s. “If a man can’t do the things he’s always done, he feels like less of a man.”

“I guess so.” Once again, his words resounded. That was what Luke was feeling, knowing he couldn’t do the things he’d always done, maybe even afraid to figure out what he could do now. “But I don’t want to see you in here with a broken leg next.”

“I’ll behave. I promise.”

“See that you do.” Impulsively she gave him a hug. “I wish I could get the two of you together. You’d be good for him.”

He nodded, obviously knowing who they’d been talking about the whole time. “You figure out a way to do it, and I’ll be there. It’s the least I can do, you know?”

She nodded, her throat tight. It was the least she could do, as well, and she wouldn’t give up on Luke, no matter what.



If Luke hadn’t felt so guilty for putting Mary Kate on the spot with her kid with those medals, he wouldn’t allow her to wheel him down a new ramp into his backyard. Come to think of it, maybe this was her idea of payback. He blinked as she pushed him into the May sunshine.

“Okay, I’ve been out. I’m ready to go back in now.”

Mary Kate set the chair’s brake. “You try it, and I’ll put a stick in your wheel. If you stay in that house any longer, you’re going to turn into a mole.”

He frowned at the ramp that led from the back porch to ground level. “Are you sure this ramp is covered?”

“It’s taken care of,” she said shortly, crossing the grass to look at the flower bed his mother had planted along the porch.

He glanced across the yard, feeling as if he were really seeing it for the first time in a long time. The old apple tree still stood in the corner. He’d had a swing hung from a low branch once, and then later a tree house that had probably damaged a limb or two.




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