He stopped at the nurses’ station at the end of a short hallway. One nurse was at her computer. Another was on the phone. What he guessed was an aide pushed a patient in a wheelchair down the hall as Luke waited for one of the nurses to acknowledge him.
The man in the wheelchair waved and smiled—a dead giveaway it wasn’t Alfred.
Nurse number two, a middle-aged brunette with short hair and extremely red lipstick, hung up her phone and asked if she could help him. Her name tag said she was an RN named Louise.
“I’m Alfred Dawkins’s son. I have an appointment.”
Louise clapped her hands together softly as a smile lit up her face. “You must be Luke. We’ve been hoping a family member would show up.”
“I came as soon as I could and I was assured he was not in critical condition.”
“He’s fine, but he’s a handful to deal with. I’m sure he’ll be much easier to handle now that you’re here.”
“I wouldn’t count on that. I also have an appointment with Carolyn Schultz.”
“Great. I know she’s looking forward to discussing Alfred’s progress with you. She’s not here yet, but your father is in his room, probably watching TV. I’m sure you’re anxious to see him.”
Anxious, but not eager. But he could think of no legitimate excuse to put the visit off.
“Alfred is in Room 109, just around the corner. Now, don’t get upset if he doesn’t recognize you at once. He sometimes gets confused when he has visitors.”
“I understand.”
“Other times he’s clued in and recognizes visitors right away. Either way, he’s slow at getting his words out.”
“I’ll keep my expectations low.” That should be easy enough.
He followed the nurse to Alfred’s room. She entered before him. Alfred was propped up in a hospital bed, wearing a blue shirt only half-buttoned with food stains down the front. He looked frail and years older than Luke remembered him.
He felt a jolt to his gut. The man in the hospital bed was not the father he remembered.
Louise walked over and stood next to Alfred’s bed. “You have a visitor,” she announced in a cheery voice.
Alfred grunted and pulled up his sheet before looking at Luke. For the first few seconds, there was nothing in his facial expression to indicate he recognized Luke. Then his thin lips all but disappeared in a scowl.
Louise stood back so that Luke could step in closer. “Do you know who this is?” she asked.
“Hell, yes. But he’s...too soon. I’m not...not dead yet.”
That was the father he remembered.
Welcome home, Luke Dawkins.
Luke’s emotions had run the gauntlet over the past few hours. His nerves had skidded along for the maddening ride from concern to fuming to disgruntled exasperation. By the time he stopped behind a row of three pickup trucks at the Kavanaugh house, he was slowly inching toward reason.
His dad hadn’t sent for him and clearly didn’t want him around. The easiest and likely the smartest thing Luke could do right now was clear out. Let his dad hire someone to run his own damn ranch any way he liked or let it go to weed and empty pastures if that was the way hardheaded Alfred Dawkins wanted it.
But Luke had never looked for the easy way out or shirked responsibility—which left him stuck neck-deep in the dilemma of where to go from here.
He struggled to rein in his conflicting emotions as he reached Esther’s wide front porch. He put his hand on the doorbell but didn’t push.
Coming here was a mistake. There was no way he’d be decent dinner company tonight. Besides, judging from the trucks parked out front, he was likely late.
Before he could cut and run, the door opened and Rachel Maxwell greeted him with a melodic hello that softened the edges of his lousy mood like magic.
Her voice wasn’t the half of it. She’d been a knockout this morning in her jeans and cotton shirt. All fancied up, she was luscious.
It wasn’t the dress so much as the way she wore it. The soft fabric hugged her perfect breasts and then tightened at her tiny waist before billowing out over her shapely hips.
The skirt stopped a few inches above the knees, highlighting her dynamite calves and the straps on a pair of nosebleed heels that wrapped around her slender ankles.
When she smiled and looked at him with those gold-specked, dusky eyes, he turned away to keep from melting. He had to pull his gaze away from her before he could speak.
“I didn’t know we were playing dress-up. I’d have come with my boots shined and my jeans creased,” he said, determined to keep the tone light.
She laughed and motioned him inside. “You’ll fit in perfectly. Normally I’d be in jeans myself, but I decided to go for the girly look at Grace’s baby shower this afternoon.”
“You aced it.”
“Thank you, I guess.”
“Is this the Grace who’s married to Pierce Lawrence?”
“Yes. Have you met her?”
“Haven’t had the pleasure.”
“You’ll love her, guaranteed. She went home to rest awhile, but she’ll be back for dinner.”
“Then I must be too early. I’m not crashing,” he teased. “I was actually invited by Esther, but she didn’t mention a time.”
“The guys are doing the cooking chores tonight You can never tie them down to a time. They tend to grill for hours.”
“Ranchers need their beef and plenty of it,” Luke said.
“So it seems. I’m a city girl myself. Sushi and a salad are my usual Saturday night splurge.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that.”
“Does that mean you’re a cowboy, too?”
“I am this week.”
“There must be a story there.”
“Not one you’d want to hear before dinner—or after, either, for that matter.”
“Now you’ve really piqued my curiosity. Do you know all three of the Lawrence brothers?”
“We went to school together many years ago.”
“Pierce and Riley are in the backyard slaving over the hot charcoal. They may put you to work if you venture that way, but I’m sure they’d love to see you again and say hello.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
“Then follow me.”
The view was almost as spectacular from the rear. Hard to imagine he could feel anything sensual after the visit he’d had with his father, but maybe it was his survival instincts kicking in. Or perhaps the fact that he hadn’t been with a woman in more months than he could count on his fingers and toes.
More likely it was simply that she was a natural temptress.
They walked through the house, onto the covered back porch and down the few steps to the yard. Mouthwatering odors spilled from a huge barrel-shaped grill.
They walked closer and watched as Riley basted a slab of ribs with one hand. The fingers of the other hand were wrapped around a beer.
Pierce stepped over to greet them. “Glad