To Wed and Protect

“Well, as long as you’re working here, I’ll be more than happy to provide your lunch.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Together they entered the kitchen, and again Luke smelled the sweet, floral scent of her. The children stood near the table. He greeted them, but neither of them returned the greeting.

“If you’d like to wash up while I get the food on the table, the bathroom is the second door on the right down the hallway.”

He nodded and left the kitchen. As he went down the hallway to the bathroom, his gaze shot into each of the rooms he passed.

The first room on the right obviously belonged to the little girl. It was decorated in shades of pink, and several dolls were on the bed. The first room on the left was the boy’s room, with trucks and cars strewn about and a Kansas City Chiefs bedspread on the bed.

He stepped past the bathroom door to peek at the room at the end of the hallway. A double bed was neatly made up with crisp white sheets, but it was apparent by the stack of boxes that unpacking the children’s things had taken priority over Abigail and her husband’s creature comforts.

Luke liked that. There had been a time in his life when he’d desperately wished he’d been a priority in any adult’s life. It was good and right that parents thought of their children first.

Aware he was out of line peeking into the room, he hurried into the bathroom. The only soap he could find was a bar in the shape of a cartoon character that smelled of bubble gum.

He quickly washed his hands and face, then returned to the kitchen where Abigail was busy pulling things out of the refrigerator and the two kids were setting the table.

His gaze swept around the kitchen. He noted the wooden cabinets looked nearly as weak and rotted as the front porch. The floor was covered with linoleum that was ripped and faded.

“As you can see, we need some work done inside, as well,” she said, apparently noting where his gaze had lingered. “When Jason’s foot went through the porch, getting it fixed was a priority. Sturdy cabinets are next on my list. Please, have a seat.” She gestured him to the table.

“I really appreciate this, Abigail,” he said.

She flashed him one of her gorgeous smiles. “Oh, please call me Abby,” she said as he slid into a chair.

Abby. Yes, it suited her far better than the more formal Abigail. Luke sat at the end of the table, and the two children silently slipped into the chairs on either side of him.

He’d never seen two kids so quiet, nor had he ever seen kids with such shadows in their eyes. He thought of the black eye Abby had sported the day before, a black eye that was less visible today. That, coupled with the unchildlike behavior of the kids, caused a knot to twist in Luke’s stomach.

He knew all about child abuse. His father hadn’t thought twice before backhanding, punching or kicking his kids. The Delaney children had been quiet, too. Quiet and careful, with dark shadows in their eyes.

He frowned and tried to dismiss these thoughts, aware that his own background and experience were probably coloring how he was perceiving things. Besides, thoughts of his father always triggered an unquenchable thirst for a drink of something far stronger than water.

Abby set several more items in the center of the table, then sat across from him. “Please, don’t stand on ceremony. Just help yourself.”

Luke complied, taking a couple slices of bread and building himself a sandwich. He added a squirt of mustard, then turned and smiled at the little girl next to him. “Jessica, you need some mustard on that?”

“She doesn’t talk,” Jason exclaimed. “She doesn’t talk to anyone ’cept me. She won’t talk to you ’cause she doesn’t like you.”

“Jason,” Abby reprimanded softly. Luke looked at the young boy in surprise.

“She probably doesn’t like me because she doesn’t really know me yet. But once she gets to know me, she’ll find out I’m quite lovable.” He winked at Jessica, who quickly stared at her plate.

“You know, I noticed this morning when I was checking out the lumber in the yard that there’s a big old tree in the backyard that looks like it would be perfect for a tire swing,” Luke continued.

“A tire swing?” Jason eyed him with a begrudging curiosity.

“Yeah, you know, a tire on a rope that you can climb in and swing on,” Luke explained.

Jason gazed at him for another long moment then frowned at his plate. “I don’t think we’d like that,” he finally said, but his voice lacked conviction.

“I’ll tell you what, why don’t I bring the stuff to make the swing tomorrow, then if you and Jessica want to swing on it that’s okay, and if you don’t want to, that’s okay, as well.”

“I don’t want you to go to any trouble,” Abby said, her gaze warm on him.

He shrugged. “No trouble. It will just take a few minutes to tie a tire to that tree.” He smiled at her. “I always wanted a tire swing when I was little, but my father wouldn’t let us have one.”

Once again Jason looked at him. “Is your daddy mean?” he asked.

“My daddy was the meanest man on the earth,” Luke replied truthfully.

“No more questions, Jason. Let Mr. Delaney eat his lunch,” Abby said to the child, then turned her gaze once again to Luke. “Would you like some potato salad?”

“Sure. Sounds good.”

She half stood to pass the bowl across the table to him. As she stretched out her arm, her T-shirt sleeve rode up, exposing a livid bruise on her underarm.

That’s why she’d winced when he’d grabbed hold of her earlier, he thought. He took the bowl from her and spooned a portion on his plate, his mind racing.

A black eye, an ugly-looking bruise…was the lovely Abigail Graham being abused by her husband? The bruises, coupled with Jason asking him if his daddy was mean, caused ugly speculation to whirl inside him.

He tried to tell himself it was none of his business. He tried to tell himself to stay out of it. But the thought of some man angrily putting his hands on the delicate, fragile woman before him, or hurting the children beside him, enraged him.

He set his fork down and looked at her. “Uh…could I speak with you for a moment out in the living room?”

She gazed at him curiously, then wiped her mouth with her napkin. “Sure,” she agreed. She stood and looked at the kids. “You guys go ahead and keep eating. We’ll be right back.”

Luke allowed her to precede him into the living room. “Is something wrong?” she asked, a worried frown appearing on her forehead as she turned to face him.

“I don’t know. You tell me.” Luke drew a deep breath, aware that he was about to invade deep into her personal territory. “I know this is really none of my business, but does your husband have a problem?” he finally blurted.

Her eyes widened in obvious surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t help but notice that you have the evidence of a black eye and a big bruise on your arm.” Luke gazed at her intently. “What I really need to know is if you need some help.”

Abby stared at the big, handsome man before her and swallowed hard against the tears that suddenly pressed at her eyes. Help? She needed help in a thousand different ways, but certainly not in the way he meant.

“There is no husband,” she confessed. Shock swept over his features. “There’s no abusive husband, no abusive boyfriend. I’m a widow, and now it’s just the kids and me and I can be incredibly clumsy at times.” The lie tripped smoothly off her tongue but left a bitter taste in her mouth.

She wasn’t sure he believed her, but her heart expanded with warmth that he’d cared enough to ask. She offered him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “This moving business has been far more physical than I anticipated. A box fell off a shelf and hit me in the eye, and I’m not sure how I got the bruise on my arm. But we’re getting settled in enough that bumps and bruises are at an end.”

She reached out and touched his forearm, trying not to notice the hard muscle beneath the warmth of his skin. “But thank you for asking.” Self-consciously she dropped her hand.

“I just had to make sure nobody was hurting you.”

Abby nodded, finding the fact that he cared far too appealing. “Nobody is hurting me, so that’s that. We’d better go finish our lunch.”