A Soldier's Heart Read online

“Actually it bit me.”

  He sputtered on his coffee, unable to resist a laugh and surprised at how good that felt. “Are you comparing me to a hurt squirrel?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Her lips stayed firm, but laughter danced in those blue eyes.

  “I suppose your brothers and Brendan carted you home.” He remembered how they’d stuck together in trouble, even if Gabe and Brendan and Seth sometimes complained about the girls, or about little brother Ryan.

  “It gave Seth a chance to practice his fireman’s carry.” She grinned. “Not exactly comfortable, as I remember. And Ryan ran screaming into the house to alert Mom. The Flanagan family at our noisy worst, I suppose.”

  “You guys weren’t so bad.” He loaded strawberry jam onto the toast, wondering where it had come from. This was obviously not the store-bought stuff. “I used to envy all the chaos at your house. It always seemed…welcoming.”

  His mother’s house, with its moody silences and spotless cleanliness, had been the exact opposite of the random, cheerful routine at the Flanagans’. His mother had acted as if an inspector were about to arrive to check things out.

  “Believe me, it hasn’t changed when we get together. It’s even louder, with all the kids now.”

  He could imagine. “Doesn’t it drive your parents crazy?”

  “You’d think so, but it must not, since they still try to get us all together for dinner every Sunday. And everyone is still welcome.” Her gaze fixed on his face. “Why don’t you join us on Sunday? They’d love it.”

  “No.” He wouldn’t make an excuse for the abrupt answer. Maybe Mary Kate could make him eat and make him exercise and even make him smile, but she couldn’t make him go anywhere.

  “Well, that’s too bad. Maybe another time.” She rose, carrying dishes to the sink. “By the way, I have things arranged at the clinic pool for tomorrow night.”

  It took a moment for the words to register. He turned the wheelchair slowly, resisting the impulse to slam it around. “Then you can un-arrange them. I told you I wouldn’t go.”

  “Wrong.” She swung around, bracing her hands against the counter behind her. “You told me you wouldn’t go unless I could guarantee you wouldn’t see anyone. You won’t.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” He could feel the tension curl inside him at the thought of getting into a car, driving to the clinic, going into a strange place—“You can’t possibly guarantee that. I’m not going.”

  He started to turn away. Mary Kate swooped toward him, grabbing both arms of the chair, her face inches from his, blue eyes blazing.

  “No way, Luke Marino. You promised, and I’ve jumped through more hoops than you could believe to be sure we’ll have that area of the clinic totally to ourselves tomorrow night. If you think you can back out now, you’d better think again.”

  He was too aware of how close she was—close enough that he could catch the faint floral aroma that clung to her, close enough that he could count the dusting of freckles on her smooth cheeks. His heart was pumping, and he didn’t think it was just at the prospect of going out in public.

  “I don’t want to.” He suspected he sounded like a sulky kid.

  “Too bad.” She seemed to become aware of how near they were—he saw it in the faintly startled darkening of her eyes. She straightened, folding her arms across her protectively. “Get used to it. You’re going.”

  She hadn’t been particularly sympathetic to Luke. But maybe tough love was the only thing that was going to get him out of his cocoon and into the world again. Mary Kate pushed a strand of wet hair away from her face and caught the damp towel Michael had been using before it hit the tile floor of the bathroom.

  “Towels belong on towel racks, not on the floor.” Maybe her kids could use a little of that, too.

  Michael shrugged, pouting a bit as if on the verge of talking back, but then he hung up the towel, more or less neatly.

  Michael probably realized her supply of patience was dwindling. She handed him his pajamas, resisting the urge to help him put them on. Michael had long since outgrown the need for her help in getting dressed, but sometimes she longed to go back to those baby days, when all the problems were ones she knew how to handle.

  She didn’t feel confident that she was handling Luke in the right way, although at least he’d stopped arguing and given his grudging consent to the pool idea. And she definitely wasn’t sure how to handle this most recent issue with Michael.

  “Aunt Nolie stopped by this afternoon.” She toweled his curls. Gabe’s wife, Nolie, was teaching the first-grade Sunday School class this year, so she had Michael. “She said you got a little upset in class this week.”

  Actually, what she had said was that Michael had acted up during the Bible story, and that she’d finally had to make him change seats. But it didn’t seem fair to either Nolie or Michael to reveal she knew that much.

  He shrugged, his face closed to her. Her heart clenched. His expression reminded her of the one Luke so often wore.

  “Honey, if something’s wrong in church school, you can tell Aunt Nolie. Or you can tell me. You know that, don’t you?”

  She’d asked Nolie what the story was, hoping for a clue. It had been the one about men lowering their sick friend through the roof of the house so that Jesus could heal him. Pain had shot through her at that, and she’d felt a moment of irrational anger at Nolie. Irrational, because Nolie could hardly avoid mentioning healing.

  Michael shrugged. “Nothing’s wrong, Mommy.” He squirmed away from her. “Can I go get my snack?”

  Let me make it better. That was what she wanted to say. Instead she nodded and tried to smile. “Go ahead.”

  He rushed off, and she bent over the tub to let the water out, letting a tear or two go with it. Tired, she was so tired, and she’d begun to feel that she wasn’t doing anything well anymore—with the kids, with her job—

  Lord, why does it have to be so hard? Just when I think I’m coping really well, it hits me, and I feel as if I’m right back where I started, trying to make sense of Kenny’s death, trying to figure out how to go on alone….

  She straightened, wiping her hands on the towel and frowning at her blurred face in the steamy mirror. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It doesn’t become you, and it certainly doesn’t do any good.

  And she wasn’t really alone. Always, no matter how she fumed or wept or doubted, she knew that her Father was there, ready to take her hand. The tightness in her throat dissolved slowly away.

  The peal of the doorbell sent her hurrying out to the living room. It couldn’t be any of the family—they’d have rapped once and then walked in, calling her name. She swung open the door and froze with words of welcome drying on her tongue. It was Luke’s father, Phillip Marino.

  “Mrs. Donnelly.” He smiled, but she could read tension in the way he stood there—shoulders stiff, hands clenched. “May I come in? I’d like to talk with you.”

  Professional rectitude rushed to her aid. “I’m sorry, Mr. Marino, but I can’t discuss a patient with anyone.” That was what had brought him to her door, of course. Luke—his son, her patient.

  “No, no, of course I realize you can’t divulge any medical details, but—” He paused, glancing over his shoulder at the quiet residential street. “May I come in, please? I won’t take much of your time.”

  She could hardly refuse, even though warning bells were going off in her mind. She stepped back, gesturing him in. “Just for a moment, then. I’m getting my children ready for bed.”

  Closing the door behind him, she realized said children were standing in the living room, staring at this unexpected visitor. She shooed them with her hands. Whatever Luke’s father wanted to say, it wasn’t for them to hear.

  “Go to the kitchen and have your snack. Shawna, you pour the milk. No arguing about it, please.”

  They went, jostling each other for position as they hurried through the doorway. She turned to her guest. “Sit down, please. As I said, I
can’t—”

  “Discuss a patient. I know.” He sat. This time he gave her a real smile, and she blinked, seeing Luke in another’s expression. Luke the way he used to be, with the ready smile that melted the girls’ hearts.

  Now that she saw it, she couldn’t help noticing other similarities—that strong jaw, the olive tone to the skin. Mr. Marino’s hair was white, though. Distinguished looking, she supposed.

  “Well, then, if you realize that—”

  He spread his hands wide. “Then this is a foolish trip. I know. I just—” He shook his head. “He won’t talk to me on the phone, did you know that?”

  She nodded reluctantly, hating to admit she knew what should be private between father and son.

  “Yes, of course you knew. You answered the phone one of the times I called.” He got up and paced across the room, as if he couldn’t sit still. “I know my feelings aren’t your concern, but you’re my only hope. Can you at least tell me how he’s doing? Not medical details—just the sort of thing a layman might say.”

  This was shaky territory, but the plea in his voice was hard to resist. The casual observer might look at the expensive car parked in her driveway, the designer watch on his wrist, and say that here was a man who had everything. But he didn’t. He didn’t have a relationship with his only son.

  She nodded, trying to choose her words carefully. “Well, he’s stronger than you might expect after months in the hospital.” She tried to think of something else positive she might say. There didn’t seem to be much. “He—um, he’s seen a few people.” Only because she forced the issue.

  “Has he? That’s good. I’d heard he wasn’t seeing anyone. He needs to get out and see people.” Regret touched his face. “Even if he won’t see me.”

  “I’m sorry.” She was. No matter how bitter the divorce may have been, this separation between father and son had to cause pain.

  His face twisted slightly. “He blames me, you see. For the divorce, for his mother’s unhappiness. Maybe he’s right, maybe I am to blame. But don’t I deserve a chance to make it up to him?”

  That wasn’t a question she could answer. If people always got exactly what they deserved, Shawna and Michael wouldn’t have lost their father.

  Phillip Marino shook his head. “Never mind. I shouldn’t put you on the spot. Just…if there’s anything he needs, anything at all, let me know.”

  She was sorry for him, but this was yet another thing she couldn’t make better, and she wasn’t going to make any promises that could cause trouble with Luke. “If there’s anything I think of, I’ll mention it to my boss.”

  “Fair enough.” He paused for a moment and then came toward her, holding out his hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Donnelly. It was good of you to say anything to me. And I know you’re good for Luke. Just keep trying, will you?”

  “I plan to.” She shook hands briefly and opened the door for him, wanting him to go and take with him the hint of any impropriety in talking with a patient’s father. “Good night, Mr. Marino.”

  For an instant he looked haggard. Then he straightened, pasted a confident look on his face and walked quickly out of her house.

  At least she’d actually succeeded in getting Luke out in the car, even though he didn’t seem to be enjoying it much. She glanced across at him, noting the stress in his hands, in the line of his jaw. Not good. Had she made a mistake, pushing him into this?

  If so, it was too late to back out now. She was taking so much responsibility for Luke’s future on her shoulders, but there didn’t seem to be any other choice. At least Mr. Dickson had been enthusiastic about this expedition, willing to ensure that no one would walk in on their session.

  “I thought there’d be less traffic taking the bypass this time of the evening, instead of going through town.” She was babbling, she suspected, letting her response to his stress fuel hers.

  “I suppose.”

  They approached an overpass, and Luke’s hands tightened so that his knuckles were white. Something twisted inside her at the pattern. Certain things triggered a response in him—a car parked by the side of the road, an overpass. Did they remind him of danger points in the battle zone?

  “The new bypass has made it a lot easier to get to the hospital. My sister, Terry, claims the paramedic units have cut a good fifteen minutes off their runs.” Babbling again. He didn’t care about Terry.

  But he surprised her by actually glancing her way. “Little Terry’s a paramedic?”

  “Little Terry’s all grown up now—a firefighter and a paramedic. Her fiancé is head of emergency services at the hospital.”

  “Hard to believe.” He went back to staring at the road ahead, as if only his vigilance would get them to the clinic safely.

  She was doing the right thing. She had to believe that. The longer Luke hid inside that house, the harder it would be to get out. Her thoughts flickered to Frank, and his stories about coming back from World War II. Had his wife had to use tough love to keep him going when his mind was playing tricks on him?

  Not that it was love, tough or otherwise, that she felt for Luke. Just the affection she’d have for any old friend and the natural concern for a fellow creature who was hurting. That was all.

  She flicked on the turn signal and headed for the exit ramp. “Almost there.” Her voice sounded as artificially cheerful as it had when she’d driven Kenny to the hospital for the chemo treatments.

  She pulled into the clinic parking lot. The long, low building seemed to crouch next to the massive bulk of Providence Hospital behind it. She passed the lighted main entrance and pulled up at the side door nearest the therapy pool.

  “Here we are.” Sliding out, she glanced at her watch. They were right on time, and this wing of the building should be deserted. After opening the trunk, she pulled the wheelchair out.

  This had better work. Please, Lord, let it work.

  She took a deep breath and pushed the chair toward the passenger door. Luke was ready, and he managed the transfer from car to chair with relative ease. Working with weights was increasing the upper-body strength he needed if he were to begin getting out of that chair.

  She closed and locked the car, then turned back to find Luke frowning at her.

  “You’d better be right about this, Mary Kate. If I go in there and find one person gawking at me—”

  “You won’t,” she said crisply. Even if he did, this was the one place where no one would gawk. Everyone here either had troubles of their own or had seen it all before. Still, she didn’t think she’d tell him that.

  She pushed the chair up the ramp, breathing a silent prayer.

  Fifteen minutes later, she’d moved from terrified that she was pushing him too hard to cautiously optimistic. Luke had handled getting into the building and changing clothes with more ease than she’d expected—and probably than he had expected, too. Surely he wouldn’t back out now that he could see the tempting azure water.

  “You really are getting stronger, you know. And the water will help your flexibility and balance.”

  She maneuvered the chair across the tile floor toward the small therapeutic pool. Her hair was already kinking into curls from the moisture, and the aroma of chlorine reminded her of the children’s swim classes at the Y. And, further back, high school swim team. Luke had excelled at that, as he had at anything athletic.

  Luke stopped the chair at the head of the ramp. “Will it make me the way I was?” Bitterness threaded his voice.

  It hurt her, but she wouldn’t show that. “Was I sounding like Pollyanna again? Sorry.” She picked up a flotation belt and held it out to him.

  He shook his head. “I can swim.”

  “I remember. But the rules are strict.” She smiled. “Besides, I can grab you by it if you start to swim away.”

  He grunted his disapproval, but fastened the belt over the T-shirt he wore with cutoff sweatpants. She wore a T-shirt, too, over her tank suit. She wouldn’t have thought twice about pulling it off with one
of her elderly stroke patients, but she couldn’t help feeling more reticent with Luke.

  When he was ready, she grabbed the chair handles. “We’ll take the chair right down the ramp into the water. Some of my stroke patients find this scary, but I guess you can take it.”

  “I can take it. That doesn’t mean I like it.”

  “You really have to stop being so pleasant and cooperative,” she teased. “I might get the idea you’re enjoying this.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  The words cut off abruptly when he hit the warm water. Almost before she’d stopped the chair, he launched himself from it, reaching the opposite side of the pool in a few strong strokes, and giving her no opportunity to grab the belt and stop him.

  “Hey, no fair. How am I supposed to catch you when you’re that fast?” She shoved the wheelchair into place and turned back to him.

  He submerged, swimming underwater and surfacing next to her with a splash that drenched her T-shirt. He grabbed the bar and righted himself, water streaming from his dark hair. His face—her breath caught.

  This wasn’t the withdrawn, bitter face she’d almost become used to. This was Luke the way he used to be—strong, laughing, in his element. It wrenched her heart with its reminder of things past. She struggled to regain control, to be again the competent professional who thought only of him as a patient, not a man.

  He caught her wrist in a wet, warm grip. “I know I fought you every step of the way. You were right. This—” his nod took in the pool “—this is worth getting out of the house for.”

  She would not let him see that his words touched her. And she certainly wouldn’t let him guess at the waves of attraction that went through her at his touch. But she couldn’t kid herself about its power.

  “Good.” Her voice sounded a bit shaky, and she cleared her throat. “But we didn’t just come here to play. Hold the bar and put your feet down. It’s time to get some work done.”

  Chapter Six

  He’d slept better last night than he had in months, without a single disturbing dream to wake him up. The effect of exercising in the pool, probably. Luke had to admit that Mary Kate had been right about that, although confessing that to her wouldn’t be a good idea. She was already too convinced that she knew what was best for him.