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“I don’t want it.”
“You have to. Wait a second.” She went to the linen closet in the hall, found a thin washcloth, then wedged it between the bag and Josh’s bare ankle. “Better?”
“Lots.” He nodded, bit into his sandwich and turned his attention to the little black-and-white TV where a batter was sizing up the next pitch. “Good.” She patted him on the head and resisted the urge to over-mother him and kiss his cheek.
By the time she’d returned to the kitchen Luke had settled himself into one of the chairs that surrounded the small table she’d bought at a garage sale three years earlier. His long, jeans-clad legs stretched out at an angle to the middle of the kitchen floor, and he was sliding his finger down the open Yellow Pages of the phone book. “Tow company,” he said to the question she hadn’t yet voiced.
“Oh, right. Good idea.” She hated to think of her disabled car and the hassle of gett
ing it fixed. She couldn’t imagine being without wheels for even a few days and shuddered to think that it might stretch into weeks if the mechanics couldn’t find the problem or get the part. On top of the inconvenience, there was the money to consider—extra money she didn’t have right now. Again she thought of Tiffany’s offer, and she realized it was just a matter of convincing Josh. But whether he liked it or not, they would have to move; it only made sense. She set a platter of sandwiches on the table and then poured Josh a glass of milk. Holding the glass in one hand, she paused to pick up a scrap of turkey left on the cutting board, then headed back to Josh’s room.
By the time she’d handed Josh his milk, thrown Blue the morsel and returned to the kitchen, Luke was on the phone and instructing the towing company as to the location of her car. “We’ll be there in forty-five minutes,” he promised and hung up. “All set,” he said, winking at her.
Stupidly, her heart turned over.
“All-Star Towing to the rescue,” he elaborated.
“Great. Thanks.” She scrounged in a drawer and found a couple of napkins that hadn’t been used for her Independence Day picnic. Emblazoned with red and blue stars, they gave a festive, if slightly out-of-date, splash of color. “I, uh, appreciate all you’ve done for me.”
“All in a day’s work.”
“Only if you’re into the Good Samaritan business.” He smiled, and she felt herself blushing for God-only-knew-what reason. Motioning to the stack of sandwiches on the platter, she added, “Please…help yourself. We believe in self-service in this house.”
“Good.”
“Is there anything else you’d like—something to drink? I’ve got juice, milk and water. Or coffee.”
“Decaf?” he asked, lifting a blond eyebrow. “Isn’t that what you said you needed earlier?”
“Yeah, yeah, but I lied.” She measured grounds into a basket, then poured water into the back of the coffeemaker. With a flick of a switch, the coffee was perking. “I think I need to be turbocharged right now.”
“Aren’t you always?”
The question caught her off guard. “How would you know?”
“Seen you around,” he said.
“Where?” She was surprised he’d noticed. She knew she didn’t exactly meld into the wallpaper, but she didn’t think Luke Gates was the type of man who paid attention to most women. He seemed too aloof; too distant.
She took a seat at the table as the smell of French roast filled the air.
“I’ve seen you over at the apartment house with your sister and a couple of times in town. That convertible of yours is hard to miss.”
“It’s been a good friend,” she admitted. “I hope it isn’t dead for good.”
“I’m sure it can be resurrected, but it might cost you a bit.”
“Doesn’t everything?” she thought aloud and reached for half a sandwich.
“I suppose.”
The phone rang as the coffee brewed, and Katie spent a few minutes explaining to the soccer coach about Josh’s ankle. Gary Miller was concerned, and they decided that Josh should forgo practice and games until he’d received a clean bill of health from the doctor. “Here, I’ll let you speak with him yourself,” Katie offered, and carried the portable phone into the bedroom. Josh talked for a few minutes, handed her the phone again and turned back to his program. By the time she’d returned to the kitchen, the coffee had brewed. She was pouring two cups when the phone jangled again.
“Could you?” she asked as dark liquid splashed into her favorite mug.
“Sure.” Luke snagged the receiver. “Hello?” He waited, then said, “Kinkaid residence… Hello …? Hello?” He paused and his eyebrows drew together. “Is someone there?” He paused again. “Hello? Oh, for the love of Mike.” He hung up and stared at the phone.
“No one?”
