Faith Hope and Love (A Homespun Romance) (4 page)

"This is Hannah who makes us all toe the line at the Diamond Bar," Luke affectionately introduced the woman who had brought him up.  "She helped put you to bed last night."

Rachel touched her throat.  She was in something voluminous and high necked.  Safe.  Her hair was unbraided.  The fingers she ran through it told her someone had brushed it for her.  She would have to find something to tie it back with later.  It was much too long to leave like this.

Turning to Hannah she held her hand out formally, "Thank you so much.  I'm sorry to have been so much trouble."

"No trouble at all, child," the gentle squeeze of Rachel's hand conveyed comfort and unlimited understanding, "Pleasure to have Christina's cousin here.  She told me all about you.  Kept saying how much she hoped you would come for a visit.  Said the summer you were twelve she felt she had the sister she always wanted.  Now don't you tire yourself out talking.  Eat and rest or Luke here will bar me from this room.  He calls me motor mouth as it is.  I'll come back later and sponge you down.  We'll catch up on everything once you're better."  Hannah smiled, fluffed up her pillows and bustled out.

Rachel leaned back.  The urge to burst into tears tightened the muscles in her throat to aching point.  "I'm sorry to have made so much extra work."

Luke hooked his hands in his belt and said.  "It's no trouble.  Hannah loves having people around."

He didn't show any signs of leaving and Rachel slowly slid her legs out from under the white eyelet comforter, "I need to use...."

She never got a chance to finish the sentence.  Strong arms swung her up to a strong chest.  She was carried out the door, across the hall, into the bathroom, set on her feet.  He kept an arm around her, till she found her balance.

"There's everything you might need in the top drawer," his breath stirred her hair, "I'll be right outside the door."

Five minutes later the process was repeated in reverse.  Dazed Rachel wondered if there was some rule about walking in this house, she wasn't aware of.  Maybe they'd just shampooed their carpets and didn't want them dirtied.  The echo of Luke's footsteps informed her of the error of her surmise.  The corridors had wooden flooring.

In the minute it took to reach her room Rachel closed her eyes.  It was the only way to shut him out.  Even so the picture of his firm chin, the slash of his nose, the warmth of his gaze, was branded on her mind.  Three of her other senses ran amok.  He smelled of the outdoors, of smoke, of hard work.  He felt like rock under the softness of a much washed, checked shirt.  He sounded like the rush of water over a gravel bed.  She heard something about the doctor ordering complete rest.

"I can walk," Rachel protested.

It didn't sound like her at all.  Shy, breathless, flustered.  Where was all the self possession of the last few years?  She had worked with and treated men of all ages.  There was no reason for this one to affect her like this.

She tried again, "I'm perfectly all right."

"Not till the doctor says so."  Her words could have just been so much water off a duck's back.  "I'm taking you in to see Dr. Kenton tomorrow, for some tests.  He's the family doctor.  Till then you are to stay in bed."

Placing her on the bed, he gently spread her hair over the pillow.  Tucking her in as if she were an errant child, he anchored her with an oak bed tray, "Eat."

Rachel stared at the tray.  There was enough food to last her three days here.  Oven warm croissants, freshly curled pats of butter, three varieties of jam.  Under a covered dish rested two poached eggs.  A glass of freshly squeezed juice caught her eye.  If this was a light meal she'd need help when dinner time came around.

She sipped at the juice.  As soon as he left she would take the tray back to the kitchen, explain to Hannah she wasn’t hungry.

Luke had no intention of leaving.  He pulled up a chair to the bed, straddled it.  After a while he took the glass of juice out of her hand and repeated
, “Eat."

He wasn't going to mind his own business.  Resignedly she broke off a piece of the croissant, chewed on it.  Immediately her salivary glands came to life, begged for more. 

As Luke watched her a throbbing began in his jaw.  One might think she had reconstituted shoe leather in her mouth.  Reaching forward he picked up a croissant, slathered it with butter, topped it off with peach and apricot jelly and held it out to her.

Her eyes widened but she took it from him.  The fingers that brushed his were icy cold.  Luke's eyes fixed on the stain of color in her cheekbones.  He wanted to pick up the chair, hurl it out of the window.

What was wrong with the woman?  No one could be that self controlled.  He had expected questions, an argument, a protest at the very least.  Not docile acceptance of everything he said and did.  What made Rachel Carstairs wrap herself in lead lined layers of indifference?  The answer would provide him with the key to understanding her.

Halfway through the croissant she gave up.  He didn't push it.

"Want something else?"

"Can I have some coffee?"

"Sorry.  The doctor said no caffeine."  He hadn't, but Luke knew it wouldn't do her any good.  "Would you like some herbal tea?  Hannah swears by it."

"No thank you."

He lifted the tray.  Rachel sank back on the mound of pillows and closed her eyes.  It was as good a dismissal as any she could think of.

Behind the screen of closed lids her thoughts rioted.  Why had Luke Summers brought her here?  The sooner she was out of this bed and back in L.A. the better.

"What has she been living on?"  Hannah asked fiercely as he entered the kitchen with the tray.  "I've seen starving cattle look better."

Hannah knew more about Rachel than he did.  In fact it was she who had filled him in with a few details of Chris' cousin before the case.  Apparently his sister-in-law had talked about Rachel to the rest of the family. 

"It's a long flight from Bangladesh," Luke explained, puzzled by the unusual urge to protect her.  "I talked to Jenks, her lawyer, this morning.  According to him she came straight to the courthouse from the airport.  From the time she left the village she was working in, to the time she got off the plane at LAX she'd been travelling for seventy two hours straight.  Engine trouble in Hong Kong held the flight up twelve hours.  She's been under a terrific strain, not knowing if she would get here on time.  Add jet lag to that and it's going to take her a while to get back to normal."

"Wonder why she wanted Gordie?"  Hannah muttered to herself.  "If she's after the money, I'm the reincarnation of Marilyn Monroe."  There was a silence while she watched Luke eat the poached eggs.  "Did she ask to see Gordie?"

"She's still very tired."  Why was he defending her?  He'd thought it strange himself that she hadn't shown any interest in the child. 

"Hmph."  Hannah wasn't to be fooled.  "Something's very wrong here.  And if you tell me I'm imagining things Luke Summers, I'm going to be mad enough to serve up boiled carrots for dinner."

But Luke had no answer for her.  Snatching Gordie from his playpen he swung him high till the room was filled with childish chuckles.  Setting his nephew on his shoulders, he strode from the room. 

It didn't matter if Rachel Carstairs wasn't interested in getting to know Gordie.  He would never lack for love on the Diamond Bar.  Half the ranch hands had hung around till he had gotten home last night.  Their victory yell at the news he had won had been uproarious.  Quite a few of them had grown up with him and Rob.  They shared his love and pride in Gordie. 

The fact that he had brought the opposition home with him had subdued them.  Interest had been rife as they'd watched him carry the limp form into the house.  But they knew better than to question his actions.

Hannah had barely brought one of her nightdresses to the guest room when Gordon had started crying.  Luke had slipped away to check on him and by the time he'd returned, their involuntary guest had been settled for the night. 

The decision to sleep in her room had been automatic.  Hannah's days were filled with watching the baby.  He couldn't ask her to work a night shift as well.  Neither could he leave Rachel Carstairs alone in the guest wing of the house.  She might wake disoriented and terrified.  He settled matters by taking the baby monitor with him to the guest room.  If Gordie cried he would be in his room before his nephew had drawn his second breath.

She was a restless sleeper.  Her tossing had the quilt on the floor twice.  The first time he retrieved it he had made a discovery.  She slept on her stomach.  Muttered words in a foreign language snapped him back to attention.  Tucking the quilt around her he returned to his sleeping bag.

The short scream, a few minutes later, had him on his feet before he could place it.  "Tim, hurry, please.  The woman.  I can't hold on much longer.  Tim."

She was threshing madly, her unseeing eyes wide open, her arms straining to hold some unknown body.  Her thin wail of despair whipped through him like a northerly.  Luke gathered her to his chest.

"Hush," he scolded.  "You're home now.  There's nothing to worry about."

She stilled so suddenly he thought she had slid back into sleep.  But she hadn't.

"Home?"  The eyes were focusing now.  "I'm home?"

Emotion tore at his throat.  There was a bank of yearning in the grey eyes so close to his own.  A bank of disbelief.  The desire to change that look shook Luke to the core of his being.

"Yes."

She pressed against him.  Her eyelids drooped but her words were crystal clear, "Don't ever let me go."

Her hands came up, followed the lines of his body from his hands to his shoulders, up his cheeks then into his hair.  She brought his head down to hers still searching for the promise he had offered.  Her eyes remained closed in an effort to preserve the mirage.  The lips that touched his were as soft as rose petals.

The contact changed everything.  Suddenly her grip tightened as if she were searching desperately for some sort of proof.  Luke kissed her back as he would a child, wanting to give her the reassurance she so badly needed.  He wasn't sure when passion took over.  Only that he was drowning in the sweetness of her mouth and she was trying to pull him down with her.

"Please," she pleaded in that raspy voice of hers, "Please hold me."

Her tone cut the cord of desire. 

Rachel Carstairs was ill.  She didn't know what was she was doing or saying.  This was as far as her dream could go.

"Hush," he ordered again, hauling air into his lungs, as he held her head against his chest.  "Just go back to sleep."

He rocked her like a baby, waiting for her to calm down.  When he finally laid her back on the pillows, she had a half smile on her face.  For the first time since he had seen her, Rachel Carstairs looked at peace. 

An awesome fierceness welled up in him.  Strong, protective, overwhelming.  He tried to shake it off.  Impulses had no room in a practical man's thoughts.

Checking to see if she had a fever, brushing a stray tendril off her face, tucking her in again, had all been done automatically.  He had returned to his sleeping bag but not to sleep.

Luke looked at Gordie on the rug of his study.  His nephew had managed to haul himself to his feet, holding on to the seat of a chair.  Round navy eyes scanned the area for anything more interesting than mere toys.  Luke handed him a ball.  It was brushed aside.

Rachel Carstairs was an enigma.  He couldn't rest till he knew why she had wanted Gordie.  Why she didn't even want to see the baby now.  Luke had an idea that the answers would be hard to come by.  She wasn't going to help.

He checked on her at dinner time but she was fast asleep.  Tucking the bedclothes around her he paused and placed a hand against her cheek.  Amazingly enough her skin was soft and creamy.  Luke thought of the picture he'd had of a leathery ogre and a corner of his mouth tilted up.  So much for misconceptions.

He remembered Chris mentioning once that her cousin had joined MRA right after high school.  Luke wondered what had motivated Rachel to alienate herself from everything that was familiar. 

CHAPTER 3

Rachel awoke before dawn.  It took a few minutes for her mind to marshal her thoughts into order.  Luke had brought her here Friday night.  She had met Hannah Saturday evening.  Sunday was a vague blur of resting, being sponged down, changed, and having her hair brushed gently.  Every time she opened her eyes she'd been coaxed to eat or drink something.  Once she had woken to find Luke by the window, his back to her.  Maybe drifting in and out of sleep for most of the day had been self-defense.

Someone had thoughtfully placed a clock on her night stand.  Luminescent hands pointed to four a.m.  Monday morning.  It was cold.  So cold.  She needed to use the bathroom.  Quiet as a summer breeze she crept from the room. 

Rachel's gaze passed over the pretty wallpaper, the marble washbasin, the gilt edged mirror, the lush plants, in the enormous bathroom and settled on the tub.  Sunk into the floor the perfect green oval beckoned like an oasis in the desert.  Irresistible.

A quic
k survey showed no other doors in the corridor.  If she didn't turn on the taps full blast she really shouldn't disturb anyone.

It felt so good to slide into the hot water.  Her muscles shivered at first contact with the balmy warmth and then relaxed.  The scent of lavender rose soothingly with the steam.  Hoping fleetingly no one would mind her lavish use of bath oil and crystals, Rachel slid deeper into the water and sighed with satisfaction. 

Heaven should be so nice.

Luke waited a while.  After five minutes the sleeping bag he had used the last two nights on the floor of her room seemed too confining.  What if she had fainted in there?  Dr. Andrews had been very explicit about her condition.  Sliding out of the sleeping bag he got to his feet.

He tapped on the door of the bathroom.  Once, twice.  There was no answer. 

"Rachel?" 

He heard a small splash and realized what he had interrupted.  The faint music he could identify as country stopped as she switched off the little radio in the bathroom.  Luke opened his mouth to apologize and explain.

"Yes?" 

Her voice from just behind the door held anxiety.  Luke wondered what it was about him that produced this reaction.  Could a recollection of what had passed between them her first night here be the reason for her uneasiness around him all day yesterday? 

"I was just checking on you.  I thought maybe you weren't feeling well again."

Guilt laced her next words heavily, "I'm sorry if I woke you.  There were no other doors.....  I thought it would be okay......" 

"Don't stay in there too long," Luke ordered softly, "You might catch cold." 

Resisting the impulse to snatch her up when she came out and carry her back to her bed as if she were Gordie's age, was hard. 

"I'm almost done."

The retreating footsteps told her he had gone back to bed.  Taking her mood with him.  Toweling herself dry, Rachel used a washcloth to clean the sides of the tub. 

Jet lag.  That was it.  It did strange things to people.  It accounted for why she felt so jumpy whenever Luke Summers was around.

Rinsing the washcloth she spread it on a rack to dry. 

Dropping the towel Rachel looked around for her nightdress.  Her reflection in the mirror above the washbasin claimed her attention.  Wiping the steam away, Rachel looked at her body with a kind of detached curiosity.  The last time she had seen herself full length had been in a river.  The murkiness had been kind.  This clear glass wasn't.  She examined the hollows of her neck,
the skinny body, detachedly. 

Nothing there to write home about. 

Hesitating a moment, she reached for the talc.  Might as well go the whole bit.  Where she was going, it would be a while before she could indulge herself like this again.

Sheer surprise halted her in the doorway of her room.  The lamp beside her bed threw a golden glow on the sleeping bag on the floor, the man in it.  Rachel gaped at the picture he presented.  Tousled hair, sleep laden eyes and a wickedly delicious chest.  Luke Summers was playing Florence Nightingale. 

"You don't have to sleep in here," she said stiffly, "I'm fine."  He must be uncomfortable sleeping in his jeans.

The quivers running up and down her spine had to be malaria.  It had been a rotten idea to bathe at this hour.  Rachel's gaze got tangled up in the nest of hair on Luke's chest.  Speech got tangled up somewhere deep inside.

"That's okay."  The way he dismissed sleeping on the ground reminded her of the scene in court.  He had minimized everything he'd done for Gordie as well.  "I'm perfectly fine now, so you don't have to sleep here anymore."

In her line of work she had seen plenty of naked
torsos.  Of every size, shape and color.  None of them had made her want to sink out of sight or wish for the vital statistics of a beauty pageant contestant.

"
Its four thirty now," his tone held calm quiet reason.  "Hannah's a very light sleeper.  Going back to my room now will wake her and she won't be able to go back to sleep."

There was nothing more to say.  Rachel got into bed quietly, hoping he didn't have the same problem as Hannah.

"Would you like some warm milk?"

Her eyes landed on the tray on the nightstand.  A mug and two pieces of toast nestled on a white embroidered cloth.

"Please."  The tears weren't far away.  "You don't have to do all this."  No one ever had before.  A starved heart was likely to blow it out of all proportion. 

"Try the milk.  It will help you sleep." 

She mightn't have spoken at all.  He was doing his bulldozer bit again.

Rachel tried to get through to him again.  "I'm fine.  One hundred percent fit.  Tomorrow when we go into town I'll catch a bus back to L.A.  I have to let someone at MRA know where I am."

That was it?  She was just going to up and leave?  Shock made him sit up, speak his thoughts aloud, "What about Gordie?"

For a while she was so quiet he thought she hadn't heard.  But she had.  Her voice when she answered him wasn't quite even.  It held the raspy edge he'd heard before.  "I'm sure you and the Diamond Bar are
what are best for him."

"Don't you even want to see him?"

Rachel struggled with herself.  The negative trembled on her lips, but she didn't let it out.  Always sensitive to emotion she could almost put her hand out and touch Luke's leashed anger now.  He had every right to be exasperated.  First she took him to court for the child, and then she acted as if she didn't even want to see Chris' son. 

Rachel bit her lip, "I'll see him in the morning."

Something didn't add up right.  Luke asked himself why Rachel Carstairs was no longer interested in Gordie.  It was too quick a switch to make sense.  Hauling a deep breath of air into his lungs he let it out slowly.  Trying to understand her was like trying to gather a fistful of cobwebs.

In the few seconds she had stood in the doorway he was reminded of a child play acting again.  The scent of lavender had teased his nostrils and her ey
es had looked like tar pits.  He hadn't missed the quiver of her lips or the way she had sidled past the sleeping bag.  Hannah's baggy gown was much too large for her, which wasn't surprising since the housekeeper was at least a hundred pounds heavier.  The scrubbed shiny look brought to mind the littlest angel in a recent television show.  With a halo that was definitely askew.

"Don't you want to spend a while here, get to know Gordie?" 

Hannah's oft spoken, stern reminder to him and Rob all through their teens, came to mind.  A gentleman didn't pester a lady.  Only he wasn't ready to be gentlemanly about this.  There was something unreal about Rachel Carstairs.  Something that got past his veneer of civilization and touched a primitive core he hadn't known existed.

"No."  The treble intensified, the knuckles showed white against the mug.

"Why not?"

She had to say something to shut him up.  Once and for all.  Truth popped out.  "It'll be easier this way."

So, that was it.  Rachel Carstairs didn't want to risk getting attached to Gordie.  But why?  The judge's decision had freed her to pursue the work she loved and visit Gordie as often as she liked.  Unless...Luke wondered if she had decided half a loaf was no good.  If she couldn't have it all she wanted nothing.  He frowned.  No, he didn't think that was it.  There had been that odd rasp in her voice again that he was beginning to recognize as a sign of stress.  The only other explanation was that Rachel was afraid of getting involved with the child now.  Afraid of loving.

She put her mug back on the tray wiped her milk moustache off with the back of her hand, slipped back into bed, and switched off the light.  Luke lay back and laced his fingers under his head. 

In half an hour the house would come to life.  Gordie always woke at six.  It was usually his chirrups that started Luke's day.  They shared the first half hour of the day together.  Right after his first bottle Gordie was at his best. 

If anyone had told Luke six months ago that a baby's gurgling and cooing could make such a difference to a day he would have thought them insane.  Now it was the only way to start the day.

No vice presidency could ever take precedence over his soon-to-be son in deed.  The child represented his brother's dreams.  A sacred trust.  Anything else came second.  The ranch was the best place for the boy to grow up.  A child needed fresh air, open spaces.  There had been no regret, no futile reluctance.  Making decisions had always been easy for him. 

Until now.  Until Rachel Carstairs.

He could let her go like she wanted to.  But inside him was this deep powerful tide of feeling that told him he wasn't going to. 

Luke sighed and looked over in her direction.  She was a mere slice in that big bed.  He could barely make her out.  As usual her stillness bothered him.  It was as if she felt that by being quiet the world would pass her by instead of picking on her.  Somewhere along the line, Rachel had to have suffered badly.  He intended to do something about it.

"Penny for them?"

He knew she was awake.  Never any good at pretense, Rachel cleared her throat.  Dawn offered gentle encouragement, lighting outlines not details.  What she had to say needed that camouflage.  Her face was always a dead giveaway.

"I'll leave an address where you can reach me.  If ever anything happens to change your mind about Gordie, let me know."  She was proud of her voice.  Impersonal, cool, brisk.  "In town tomorrow I'll open a joint account in all three of our names and transfer my money into it.  It's not much but please don't hesitate to use it for Gordie.  From time to time I'll send more."  She could have done without that betraying wobble at the end, but at least it was said. 

`What on earth?' thought Luke.

She was talking as if she never expected to see any of them again.  As if it didn't matter to her.  Was her other life so important?  Was this Tim fellow waiting for her back there?

"Tell me about your work."

Relief he wasn't going to argue her decision washed over Rachel.  "I'm part of a medical relief team that just goes wherever we're needed."

"How many people are there in this team?"

"Two doctors, two nurses, two aides." 

"How many countries have you worked in?"

"I've spent all my time in Bangladesh, in different villages."

"What kind of work do you do there?"

"We have a field clinic that's open twenty four hours more or less.  In addition we try to teach the people a few basic facts about family planning, health and hygiene."

She didn't tell him that at times they were all doctors.  Rachel had incised sores, stitched wounds, even pulled out teeth.  When you were all there was between life and suffering, you did anything and everything.

"You must like your work very much.  You've been with MRA five years now.  Most people do what?  A two year stint?"

"One year.  I've only been there four and a half years, not five.  Dr. Tim Atwell, my boss, has been with MRA since
its inception in the early seventies."

Her boss.  Not her lover.  Rachel's tone would have told him if he was.

"Don't you ever want to come home for good?"

Home?  There had never been a place that fitted that word.  Not in her entire life.  In the barren emptiness of her life from ten to eighteen, there had been one bright spot.  The summer she had spent with her father's sister in Wisconsin.  Mary Jennings had wanted to adopt her, but her father had refused angrily.  During that one summer on the dairy farm Rachel had known love.  Aunt Mary's daughter, Christina, a year older than her had offe
red her both friendship and affection, and a starved Rachel had collected every crumb and stored it, to make up for all the years she had gone without. 

Christina had been generous.  She had shared her parents, her pets, her clothes, without any reservations.  In the sunshine of her easy going nature, Rachel had blossomed, learned to laugh, even put on a little weight.  They had sworn to be sisters forever. 

They had never met again.  Letters had been their only link.  Her father had refused to let her go to her aunt’s again saying she had been too much trouble.