Temptation Ridge (Virgin River #6)(91)

She told him it was a boy and it seemed like seconds after he learned the news, he got the call. Somalia. But it wasn’t supposed to be long—it was a peacekeeping mission. They’d make a presence there with the Marine Corps and he’d be back quickly. He felt he could do anything because waiting for him were his woman, his son. That euphoria stayed with him for so long, he assumed that was the way all men felt when they struck oil.

But it was ugly in Somalia; lives were lost in Mogadishu and it was in many ways a miracle there hadn’t been more casualties. When he got home the first thing he could fill his eyes with was his wife—she was huge. He should’ve looked at her eyes first, but he couldn’t help himself.

“It’s not yours,” she said. He wasn’t sure, but he thought she said that before she even said hello. “I didn’t want to tell you while you were on a mission, but you’re back safe now. We’re over. I’m leaving. I’m going with the father. I’m sorry it happened this way. You shouldn’t have been bragging about it. I told you not to.”

In a flash he wondered how that came to be his fault—being proud? At first he thought she was joking, some really sick joke. Then he thought there was a mistake; when had she had time for another man? He’d been making love to her constantly. Next he thought she couldn’t have done that to him—not while he poured every cell of his body into adoring her.

He wanted to kill someone. Her, maybe. Or the father, who turned out to be an officer in his command, a man whose orders he was obligated to follow. A man who’d been with them in Somalia, knowing every day that he had a baby coming with another man’s wife.

The months that followed blurred as he drank too much, avoided people, got in random fights, buried himself in a dark, black loneliness and wished he was dead. Before he got to remembering the scandal, the shame of having been made to look like a complete fool, the sympathy and pity, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “How about that, huh?” Jack said to him, bringing him back. “When have you seen anything as sweet as that?”

Luke pushed it all back down again. Thirteen years had made him very adept at that—shoving it underwater where it should all just drown. He smiled. “Lotta black hair on that little head,” he said.

He briefly remembered how the happiest day of his life had been when his transfer orders finally came and he could get away from Felicia and her new partner. By that time he was lucky he had a career left in the army. He’d been completely out of control there for a while and had been disciplined more than once. Given that he’d performed heroically in Somalia and came home to a wife, nine months pregnant and leaving him, his commanders cut him a little slack. Moving gave him a second chance, helped him pull it together.

He wanted to leave the Valenzuela house; he was exhausted. But there was that bold press of men, converging on him, catching him up in their celebration. While he’d been drowning in the past, Muriel St. Claire had arrived and was now gathered with the men. There was food to eat, gossip to pass around. He was eventually pushed out on the porch where cigars were clipped and lit. Rather than going with the women, Muriel stayed with the men, accepting her cigar and drink, making them chuckle. If they were a batch of women, the childbirth stories would start, but there were only a few such comments; Jack had delivered his own children, Preacher had almost fainted when Paige gave birth. Dr. John Stone joined them for a cigar, and talk went back to all the work left to be done to get Luke’s cabins ready for the Sheridan and Valenzuela clans to hit town for the holidays.

Luke had no idea if he’d been unusually quiet. He glanced at his watch and was stunned to see it was almost midnight—that was a little scary. Hours had passed and he’d been in the past, not real conscious of what had been going on around him. Then Shelby was beside him, looking up at him. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

He put an arm around her shoulders and laughed. “Shelby, babies are like puppies, there’s no such thing as an ugly one.” He put his cigar in the ash can. “I’m going to head home.”

“I’m not needed here anymore. Want some company?” she asked him.

He gave her shoulders a squeeze. That was exactly what he needed—someone soft, warm and safe. This young woman had an uncanny ability to make everything in his life feel right. Good. “You bet I do,” he said.

Fifteen

Jack Sheridan must have been more serious about needing room for his family than Luke realized. The day after Brie’s childbirth, he showed up in the morning with Paul and six men in three pickups. It was the sound of the trucks arriving that brought Luke out of cabin two. As the men clambered out, he grinned. “Looks like a barn raising.”

“Might as well get it done. Show us what and where,” Jack said.

First Luke showed them Art’s cabin, which was finished. Luke was no decorator, but it had all new furnishings, appliances and fresh paint. Art had a new queen-size bed, a table with four chairs and a large chair with ottoman and reading lamp. There was a new stove and microwave, a small refrigerator that slipped under the kitchen counter. It boasted wooden blinds on the windows and a patterned area rug. Art was all stocked with dishes, glasses, sheets and towels; in the large bathroom were a small washer, dryer and closets. All the men walked through, poking around, nodding.

“Luke, this came out real nice,” Jack said. “You did a fine job here.”