Lynnette Kent - Luke's Daughters

His mouth tightened. “Yeah. They are.”

She tried a smile. “You see, I might want to use the pictures in a…in a professional capacity. And for that, I need a release.”

He started to shake his head. “I don’t think—”

“No, really, all it says is that you agree to allow the photographs to be used for publication. I may never use them, they might not develop. But if they do, I’d be glad to give you copies, in exchange for the release. Please?”

For a long moment he watched the girls, now involved in investigating a jagged black rock. Finally, he sighed. “I’d have to see them first. Otherwise, I’m not agreeing to anything.”

“Sure. No problem.” Sarah held out the extra card and the pen. “Just write down your address and I’ll bring them over as soon as I can. Probably in a day or so.”

His face was stern as he took the card and wrote quickly across the blank side. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Randolph.” He gave back the card.

Before she could answer, or even read his name, he strode across the sand to his daughters and swept them before him, over the rocks, up the bank, and back into the club.

COMING IN from the beach, Luke stopped on the threshold of the country club dining room. The girls ran toward the crowd inside. Given a choice, he wouldn’t have followed. But then, nothing about today was his choice.

Or maybe everything was. Maybe that was his problem—he’d made the decision and he hated living with the consequences.

When Erin and Jennifer found their mother at the center of the swirl of people, she turned immediately to give them her full attention. No one could say Kristin wasn’t a great mom—the girls came first, every time. He loved that about her.

And she made a beautiful bride, in an ivory dress with a lace top and a bell-shaped skirt, holding orchids in the curve of her arm. Under a lace veil, her rich blond hair shone like sunlight. Laughing at something Erin said, she tucked a stray curl behind Jen’s ear, then glanced up at the new husband who stood by her side. The meeting of their eyes came straight out of an old-fashioned romance. The kiss they’d shared at the wedding deserved fireworks, like the end of a fairy tale.

Luke took a deep breath and pivoted away from the reception. He wasn’t going to stay. He’d done his part, kept up appearances for the sake of the girls and his parents’ friends. No one would miss him, anyway—

“Luke Brennan! What happened to your hair?”

He turned to face his mother, resisting the urge to neaten up. “The girls and I went outside for a walk. It’s windy.”

Elena Brennan raised aristocratic eyebrows. “You took them out on the beach? In those dresses?”

“We were careful. We left our shoes—”

“Honestly, I don’t know how you ever came to be so irresponsible!” Her cultured Southern accent always deepened when she got upset. “The photographer is still taking pictures, for heaven’s sake. Just once I’d like to see you think ahead…” She pivoted and stalked toward the girls with her long-legged grace, a contemporary Southern belle in blue silk, severely ticked off.

“Bad move, son.” His father stepped up on Luke’s other side. “Worse still to tell her what you’d done.”

Luke jammed his fists in his pockets. “I didn’t do anything. The girls were going crazy trying to act like porcelain dolls. I just let them have a little fun.”

“You know how important this wedding is to your mother.”

Luke dragged his thoughts back from freedom of the beach…and the sweet sympathy in a strange woman’s golden eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

His mom hadn’t gotten a chance to plan his wedding—the bride and groom had eloped in the middle of the night, coming back with the vows taken and a baby on the way. That was not how things happened in the prestigious Charleston social circles where Elena Calhoun Brennan had grown up.

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Luke insisted. Now or then.

His dad’s hand fell on his shoulder and drew him farther into the room. “Well, what’s done is done. Tame that damn hair, put your coat on, then come get a glass of champagne so you can celebrate with the rest of us.” Thirty years in the Army turned every request into an order.

Luke looked at the man beside him. They were the same height—six-two—but Colonel William Brennan’s military bearing always made him seem taller.

Beyond his father, he caught sight of Kristin, finishing a slow waltz with her new husband. They ended with a kiss. He took a deep breath. “No, thanks.”

The Colonel’s gray eyes went steel-cold. “Listen, son, I expect you to cooperate—”

Luke jerked out from under his dad’s hand. “How much more cooperative can I get? I let him take them away. I stepped aside and gave him my whole life. I even played the part you wrote for me today.”

He lowered his voice, stepping close enough to guarantee his words would stay between them. “But if you think I’m happy about it, you’re crazy. And if you think I’m going to come in there and toast this marriage—give them my blessing, for God’s sake!—you’re more than crazy. You’re sadistic.”

“Luke—” Strong fingers gripped his elbow as cheers from the other end of the room drew his attention. Dread tightened his throat, but Luke looked over.

Kristin stood balanced on one slender leg, her skirt lifted to reveal the other foot in its high-heeled slipper resting on a chair seat. Her groom, wearing Army dress blues, knelt in front of her. As she laughed, he slipped a lacy blue-and-white garter down her thigh and over her smooth calf. Applause broke out as he stood and flourished the scrap of fabric.

“All single men to the front, now!” He grinned widely. “This lady’s mine and I’m not sharing, but if you catch her garter, you’re guaranteed to find your own!”

As he looked around the room, the groom’s gaze came to rest on Luke. Even from a distance, the antagonism in his face was clear to see. The crowd chuckled, murmured, and finally ebbed into silence.

Luke broke away from that stare and glanced at his father. “There is a limit to brotherly sacrifice.” He turned on his heel, heading toward the club exit. “Your other son,” he said over his shoulder, “just crossed the boundary line.”

Then, as if chased by demons, he ran for his life.

ERIN COULD HARDLY stand still long enough to let her grandmother unbutton the back of her hot, scratchy dress. “Are you done yet, Grandmom?”

“I’ll never be done if you don’t stand still, young lady.” Grandmother Brennan was pretty strict. You didn’t go to her house and put your feet in the chairs or eat with your elbows on the table—not if you were almost seven years old. Babies who were only four—like Jenny—could still get away with just about anything.

Such as whining when she didn’t want to change clothes. “I want this dress,” she told Grandma Jennings. “I want to see Mickey Mouse like this!”

“Well, you can’t.” Erin turned toward Jenny, and was pushed back in place by a firm pair of hands. “We’re goin’ on a plane, Jenny. You can’t wear that dress on a airplane.”

Jenny started to cry. “I want Mommy!”

Erin felt the last button on her dress give way. “Oh, boy.” She pulled away, dragged the dress over her head and let it drop. “That feels so good!” She whirled in the middle of the room, her arms spread out like wings. “I hate dresses!”

Grandmother Brennan picked up the stupid pink-and-green dress and put it on a hanger. “Get your shorts on, Erin, dear. You’ll be leaving soon.”

“Disney World!” Erin ran to the chair with her clothes and stepped into her favorite blue shorts. The itchy flowers in her hair got caught in her T-shirt, so she pulled them out. That pulled out some of the braid, too, which was okay, because braids hurt. She tugged the rest of her hair free. “Where are my shoes?”