Possibilities and yearnings rose within his heart.
He’d known, since he was thirteen, what he wanted.
A home. A family.
Now he was thirty-five and staring at middle age, still single. And he was holding the sore ankle of a woman who was slowly, unwittingly, shifting into the emptiness of his life.
He pulled the wrapping snug and tacked the end of the bandage down. “That might not feel so good, but it will help,” Luke said, standing up. “So. Supper. Guess I’ll have to see what I can throw together.”
“I should stay here,” Janie sputtered. “I should supervise the kids.”
“You should relax.” Luke ignored her objections.
“But, Luke. The mess…” Janie’s protest died as Luke shot her a warning look.
“I’ll clean up,” he said.
“Just make sure you do,” she warned.
He saluted. “I’m a man of my word.”
“Then you’re a rare man indeed.”
CAROLYNE AARSEN
and her husband, Richard, live on a small ranch in Northern Alberta, where they have raised four children and numerous foster children, and are still raising cattle. Carolyne crafts her stories in her office with a large west-facing window, through which she can watch the changing seasons while struggling to make her words obey.
A Family for Luke
Carolyne Aarsen
For if you forgive men when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.
—Matthew 6:14
To my brothers and sisters.
Thanks for the memories.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
“I don’t want to talk to her.” Luke moved his cell phone to his other ear as he stopped his truck in front of the derelict house. “Just transfer the money into her account like you always do.”
Through the open window of his truck, he heard the sounds of saws screaming from inside the house, his most recent investment, hammers pounding and money being made.
“She really wants to see you.” Uncle Chuck, his account manager, could be persistent when he thought Luke should do what he wanted. But Luke had lived around Uncle Chuck and his foster father, Al, long enough to pick up some of their quirks.
“You know, Uncle Chuck, when you see a dog and each time you try to pet it, it bites you, how quick are you going to be to pet it again?”
“But she says she’s changed.”
“Like all the other times she’s changed. Sorry, Uncle Chuck. Not happening and that topic is now closed.” Luke reached across the cab of the truck and pulled over a new cost estimate he had gotten from the foreman of the crew. “I’m gonna need more money in the building account. Push a few thousand in there, as well.”
“Moving it as we speak. Are things going okay at the house?”
“I’ve had to move my trailer here until the job is done. So up to now, no, not going so good.”
One of the construction workers sauntered down the ramp out the front door, his yellow hard hat askew on his head, a cigarette dangling from indifferent lips. He paused as he took a few more puffs before flicking the cigarette onto the lawn. He snagged a couple of two-by-fours, laid them on his shoulder and carted them back in. He could have easily brought in triple that.
“Efficiency is a problem. I’m sure I can get things going back on track if I’m physically here,” Luke said, pulling out his metal clipboard. Then he jumped as a cold, wet nose was shoved in the back of his neck.
Cooper, his golden lab, heaved a canine sigh and laid his head on Luke’s shoulder, expressing his frustration with the current level of inactivity. He’d been cooped up in the back of Luke’s truck for the five-hour drive from Calgary north to the town of Riverbend.
At first Luke had toyed with the idea of putting Cooper in the holiday trailer he was pulling behind the truck, his temporary office and residence while he was supervising this house reno, but Cooper would get bored, and when he was bored he chewed. Anything. Pillows. Telephones. Cushions. Curtains. Any of the dozens of books Luke always took with him. If Cooper could get his mouth around it, he would chew it. So Cooper had spent the entire drive with his head hanging over the seat with expectant optimism.
“I really don’t think you need to worry. You’ll do okay,” Chuck assured him, his voice turning crackly as the reception grew worse. “Have you thought of keeping this one for yourself? From the pictures you sent me, it has lots of potential.”
Luke gave a short laugh as he got out of the truck to improve the reception. “This house is way too big for a bachelor. And the yard would take too much upkeep.”
As he spoke, his gaze shifted to the yard next door. Grass so green it made his eyes hurt, a veranda holding chairs with fat, welcoming cushions.
And pots of flowers everywhere. Hanging from the sagging veranda roof, lined up on the crooked steps and at the end of a cracked and broken sidewalk.
The flowers seemed a valiant effort at hiding the broken-down condition of the house.
When he bought his current project a couple weeks ago, the Realtor had helpfully told him that the widow next door was young and had three children. As if this was all the information he needed to seal the deal.
“One of these days you’re going to find someone,” Gary had said in that avuncular way that could either set Luke’s teeth on edge or make him smile.
Today he was feeling out of sorts. When he was done with this house it would be the fifth house he had rehabbed in the past three years. It would be the fifth time he put all his energy, imagination and personality into a house, only to turn around and let someone else settle into the home he had worked so hard to create. Truth be told, he was getting tired of the work. Getting tired of his life. Sure he wanted to settle down, and once upon a time, in a rosy and perfect past, he would have.
But Jocelyn kept putting off the wedding date, and after the fourth time, Luke gave her an ultimatum.
The next day he sold the house they had bought and since then, he had owned lots of houses but never had a home.
“You’re my account manager, Chuck, not my personal adviser,” Luke grumbled, shoving his hand through his hair. He needed a haircut. It seemed he always needed a haircut.