In His Wife's Name. Joyce Sullivan
eyelet top and those comfortably faded jeans. On the surface she seemed like the kind of frank warmhearted woman the world depended on to raise children, run countless errands and volunteer for good causes, in addition to being loving wives and career women. But even nice women with soft beguiling smiles, legs a model would envy and gently rounded derrieres had secrets. This Mary was a paradox.
Her truck’s tire had been deliberately punctured—probably with a knife when he was inside the hardware store. She was lucky that she and her daughter hadn’t had an accident.
Why would someone want to harm her?
Mary was patiently waiting for his reply. “I just might take you up on your offer,” he said finally as he methodically tightened another nut. “Might be nice to have something to keep me busy until I make some decisions—and I have to admit my hands are aching to hold some tools.” He glanced at her again, letting his eyes tangle with her hazel ones over her baby’s silken head as long as he dared. Those hazel eyes spelled trouble. They were like the surface of a lake—shimmering with sunlight one minute, clouded with some inner torment the next. “I left my toolbelt at home—a definite mistake.”
“You can borrow my toolbelt if you take the job,” she said with a teasing lilt to her voice. “When would you be willing to start?”
Luke felt himself erecting an invisible wall to block out the wholesome appeal of her personality. “When would you like me to start?” he countered, matching her tone.
“Is tomorrow too soon? That would give me a chance to check your references this afternoon.”
Ah, references. So, she wasn’t as gullible as he’d first assumed. At least he hadn’t been lying about his carpentry experience. He’d spent a few summers in his youth doing construction for a friend’s father’s business, and he’d been renovating the eighty-year-old fixer-upper he and Mary had bought to raise the family they’d hoped to have.
“I don’t have a résumé,” he admitted. “I’m staying at the Orchard Inn in Oliver, but if you give me your number, I could call you later with the information.”
The baby’s eyelids drooped heavily as her head fitted snugly against her mother’s shoulder. As Mary lovingly cupped her head, an S-shaped frown settled between Mary’s brows. “How about I call you, instead?” she suggested. “Samantha’s schedule is a little unpredictable. Could you get together at least three references by five tonight?”
“No problem,” Luke assured her, wondering if her guardedness over her phone number was prompted by plain common sense—or fear. She wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Was she a woman living alone? Maybe her relationship with the baby’s father hadn’t worked out. Luke mulled over the ramifications of this possibility in his mind. She’d listed only the post-office-box address in the ad she’d posted in the hardware store. “You can reach me at the motel.” He told her the room number as he finished tightening the last nut.
A flush of color touched her lightly freckled cheeks like the blush of sun-ripened apricots, making him aware once again how different she was from his Mary. His wife’s skin had been like milk and honey in the winter, the honey tones darkening to bronze in the sun. And when she was flustered or angry, twin scarlet blossoms stained her cheeks.
Grief swelled in him.
“Sounds like we’re close to a deal, then,” she said in a tone that sounded too open and sweetly sensual to be businesslike. Or criminal.
Luke swore to himself and struggled to maintain an impersonal professional distance. “Y-yes, ma’am.”
She smiled down at him as he disengaged the jack. “You can call me Mary.”
Mary.
“Sure M—” Luke straightened, the jack in his hand, towering above her by a good six inches. His jaw tightened rebelliously, refusing to produce the name he’d said thousands of times. But never like this. Never in a moment of deceit.
Mary took an unconscious step backward, wariness rising in the dappled-hazel depths of her eyes like plumes of smoke. Luke realized swiftly that he was blowing it. “Sure, Mary,” he said more forcefully than he intended. A dirty feeling coated his insides.
Mary trembled. And Luke wondered if his distaste for saying her name had shown. Or was she afraid of something or someone else? Had she realized that tire hadn’t slit itself? He pretended to misinterpret her shudder. “Your arms are shaking. Is your daughter growing heavy?” Before she could object, he opened the truck’s passenger door so she could buckle Samantha in her car seat. Luke stepped away from the door and stowed the jack.
Arms free again, Mary turned to him and offered him her hand and a smile of gratitude. Neither of which Luke felt comfortable about accepting.
“Thank you, Luke. This probably sounds like a cliché, but you rescued me today in more ways than one. I’ll give you a call about five at your motel, okay?”
“I’ll be expecting it.” For several seconds Luke’s thoughts scattered at the sensation Mary’s hand created in his. Soft. Her hand felt so soft and delicately feminine. So…
Misleading.
That was the only term Luke would allow himself to describe his intense reaction to her touch. He released her fingers quickly, feeling as if his response betrayed his wife in some fundamental way.
As Mary climbed into her truck and drove off with a smile and a wave, Luke couldn’t help wondering what he was walking into and how it might be connected to his wife’s murder. The truck’s punctured tire had his gut instinct shrieking warnings that something wasn’t right. Luke was afraid for Mary and her daughter.
Imposter or not, this Mary Calder, whoever she was, had an enemy.
Chapter Two
Shannon was deeply relieved when Luke’s references all checked out. Even though the southern Okanagan wasn’t exactly teeming with crime, it had been risky to allow a stranger to change her truck’s flat tire. Even riskier to offer him a job out of the blue. But she’d taken all the right precautions by not giving Luke her phone number or home address until after she’d verified his references. She just hoped he would work out until she could find a more permanent replacement.
Luke’s brother-in-law hadn’t sounded pleased that Luke was taking on a part-time job. But the two clients who’d returned her calls last night had raved about his reliability and his finish work.
And Luke had been willing to start this morning. Surely it was the prospect of getting some work done this afternoon that made her heart race with anticipation when she heard his sedan pull into her drive right on time, wasn’t it?
LUKE SHOWED UP for his first day on the job determined to make substantial headway into solving the mystery of Mary Calder. Yesterday after he’d made arrangements for his phony references, he’d checked her phone number and discovered she only had a business line listed under her company’s name, not a residential one under her own name. Then he’d spent a half hour combing the listings for Calder in the phone book for Blossom Valley and the nearby towns, but none of the three Calders he’d dialed had acknowledged being related to Mary. However, one elderly gent had offered the information that Luke wasn’t the only one who’d called seeking a woman by the same name.
Luke eyed dispassionately the tidy white cottage with crisp blue trim on the porch rails and the gray weatherbeaten detached garage, which were set back in a stand of trees. Two oak-barrel halves overflowing with salmon geraniums and mounds of white flowers marked the beginning of a stepping-stone path that wended its way to the cottage’s front door. A patchy lawn, bare in spots, stretched down to the cattail-fringed shore of Kettle Lake.
Luke felt his body tense as he climbed out of the sedan. Somehow the prospect of seeing Mary again made him feel as if he was entering a war zone populated with more enemy troops than allies.
Mary emerged from the cottage as he reached