Loving Luke

By Suzanne Barrett

Jo McGuigan's job is on the line. She needs a photographer to teach her rehab class, but the only one available is an angry recluse who wants nothing to do with the hospital or its outreach program. Luke Falconer's photo career ends in a fiery auto crash that leaves him badly burned and crippled. Hating the world, he retreats to his cabin. But when an encounter with the intriguing social worker ends in a night of passion, their lives are changed forever. Jo is a spark to Luke's flame, and where there's smoke, there is often a raging inferno.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Suzanne Barrett
• Release date: Feb 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798201826888

Suzanne Barrett

Following a career in engineering, Suzanne has returned to her first love of writing and literature. Born in Southern California, Suzanne, along with her husband and a loving tuxedo cat, make their home in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Suzanne is also a jewelry designer, and her wirework has been shown at various arts and wine events throughout the county. When she’s not writing, Suzanne loves to garden.Her books have been published by Kensington Books and Turquoise Morning Press. Sierra Bride is Suzanne’s first published historical and is set near the eastern slope of the Sierras where she spent an enjoyable part of her childhood collecting rocks and riding horses. Late Harvest, a story about winemaking, was a two-time Golden Heart finalist for Romance Writers of America. In Love and War is set in Suzanne's favorite part of Ireland, County Cork and tells of the decades-old conflict between Irish Republicans and the Free State. Taming Rowan draws on Suzanne's career in engineering and is set in another favored location, Northern England.

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Loving Luke

by

Suzanne Barrett

Loving Luke

Copyright © 2012, 2023 Suzanne Barrett

Trade Paperback ISBN:

Digital ISBN:

Editor, Karen Block

Cover Art Design by Kim Jacobs

Electronic release, July 2012, February 2023

Trade Paperback release, July 2012

Revised and Re-edited

Suzanne Barrett Enterprises

137 Rustic Lane,

Santa Cruz, CA 95060

Warning: All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden, without the written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author's imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

This edition is published by agreement with Barrett Enterprises, 137 Rustic Lane, Santa Cruz, CA 95060, Santa Cruz, CA 95060.

Dedication

For Jennifer Johansen Barrett

Acknowledgments

Heartfelt acknowledgments to best bud and critique partner Carolyn Woolston and editor extraordinaire Karen Block.

Loving Luke

Jo McGuigan’s job is on the line. She needs a photographer to teach her rehab class, but the only one available is an angry recluse who wants nothing to do with the hospital or its outreach program.

Luke Falconer’s photo career ends in a fiery auto crash that leaves him badly burned and crippled. Hating the world, he retreats to his cabin. But when an encounter with the intriguing social worker ends in a night of passion, their lives are changed forever. Jo is a spark to Luke’s flame, and where there’s smoke, there is often a raging inferno.

Reviews

A wonderful creative writing style…so easy to visualize the settings and characters with such raw intensity. I highly recommend IN LOVE AND WAR to anyone who loves a well-written and thought-provoking story, complex characters, and powerful emotions.

~Carole, The Romance Reviews

TAMING ROWAN

A rich, strong romance to please any true contemporary romance fan.

~MSReads, Martha’s Reviews

A totally sexy read with charming characters that will keep you glued to every page…a great romance that you won’t want to put down. If I have my way, I’ll be reading much, much more from Ms. Barrett!

~Night Owl Reviews

AN IRISH ROGUE

Suzanne Barrett writes a book so good it stays with you long after you’ve finished the final page.

~Lynna Banning, Harlequin Historicals author

GIFT OF THE HEART

I fell in love with her writing style…have added Suzanne Barrett to my must-read authors list for future releases.

~Booked Up Reviews

Chapter One

Luke Falconer propelled his six-foot-two frame through Muir Woods Burn Center’s automatic doors and limped past the reception desk toward the elevators. Pain seared his right leg like a hot knife.

Climb mountains again? Hell, he could barely walk. Crawling out of a tiny North Face tent and strapping on a sixty-five-pound pack would be impossible. His photography career was finished.

He clenched his good hand into a fist. Once he’d been a man who could face a challenge and prevail, who had a purpose in life. Now he was a cripple.

Another two or three surgeries and you’ll be able to move more normally. We’ll tidy that face up too, Dr. Anderson had said at his last visit. He wondered what lie the balding Brit would tell him this time. The last two skin grafts hadn’t taken, and the scarring was as angry as ever.

He winced at the pain stabbing his groin, still raw from the last skin graft. Luke came to a stop and leaned against the hallway wall. He squeezed his eyes shut. Nothing would ever be easy again.

He shouldn’t have come back to the hospital. All the surgeries in the world wouldn’t get his life back. If he wanted to work, he’d have to figure out how to get his scarred legs up a mountain.

Face facts, Falconer. You’re washed up.

Even fixing his face wouldn’t change anything. If he wanted a woman, one he could look at without scaring the bejesus out of her, he’d have to buy one.

***

Jo knew what was coming. Even before she got the note, before she maneuvered herself into the elevator, then down the long grey corridor to the burn center’s fifth floor administrative office, she knew she was going to be pilloried over last night.

Dr. Aubrey’s waiting for you. The receptionist turned back to her computer screen before Jo made her way past the antiseptic white workstation. The bell at St. Anne’s across the street tolled as it did every day at noon. Today the tone sounded hollow. Funereal.

Don’t think about it.

She wiped her moist palms on her split-side denim skirt, rapped twice on the office door, then pushed it open and stepped inside. Straightening to her full five foot four, she stared across the mahogany desk where Edith Aubrey stood holding her glasses between her bony forefinger and thumb.

The lantern-jawed director of Pediatrics gazed down at her from her formidable height. A tight smile formed a network of creases on her papery skin. It reminded Jo of her mother’s mended Wedgewood vase. The older woman ran the pediatrics department with an iron hand, and the department was as rigid and austere as Edith herself. Since Jo had begun working at the burn center three years ago, she had never seen Edith smile.

Jo, do you know why I called you in? The director’s voice rasped like a rusty gate hinge.

She met Edith’s icy blue eyes and forced herself to hold her gaze. I suspect you disagree with how I handled Tommy Matthews’ death last night.

The director placed both palms on the desktop and leaned forward. I’ve warned you before about getting involved with the clients. You don’t listen, Jo. You cannot fall apart at every unfortunate occurrence. Losing a patient goes with the territory.

A suffocating weight settled in Jo’s chest. Tommy was Bob and Mary Matthews’ only child. I thought offering them comfort was appropriate behavior.

People are going to die, and you must deal with it. Last night’s emotional outburst was completely out of order. Edith shook her head and gave an exasperated sigh. I demand control in my staff. You knew that when you came aboard.

I know, but I cared about Tommy. Jo worked to keep her voice steady. I cared a lot.

Edith tapped her pen on the desk. Staff must be supportive and in control. I need not remind you that it doesn’t look good when the caseworker breaks down.

Jo swallowed. "It doesn’t look good to show that you care?"

Personnel in this department must maintain an air of calm composure at all times. The director continued speaking as if she hadn’t heard Jo’s objection.

Jo fastened her gaze on the poppy red slash that was Edith’s mouth. "I can’t help caring about my patients, and it’s hard to feel calm and composed. After a burn trauma, people need support. They need caring, and children need it most of all. It’s important, Edith."

Edith laid her glasses on the polished desktop. There’s support, and there’s over-involvement. Your behavior yesterday does not reflect my philosophy. I can’t allow you to remain in this department.

Why couldn’t Edith accept basic human compassion? Every parent who hovered beside a burned child, hoping, praying for a miracle, and drowning in guilt for not preventing an accident needed understanding and comfort. If a few tears were shed by a caring staff member, so what? Jo could never dismiss these incidents as unfortunate occurrences. They were tragedies and the worst loss a parent could experience.

The director’s face remained impassive. You’re a hard worker, Jo. That’s why I’ve recommended you for another position.

What position? Jo asked.

Activities director in the outpatient rehabilitation program. Edith stepped around to the front of her desk, stopping inches from Jo’s nose. Her face looked pinched. This is your last chance. If you can’t avoid getting over-involved with your clients, there’s no place for you at Muir Woods.

The intercom buzzed. You’re wanted in the conference room for your one o’clock, the receptionist’s voice intoned.

I’m on my way, Edith answered, gathering a half-dozen manila folders in her hands. She tapped them on her desk and turned to Jo. Do you want the position?

Jo let out the breath she’d been holding. So she was being transferred. Seconds ticked by as she listened to the muffled hospital sounds in the corridor outside Edith’s office and weighed her options.

She had no options. It was activities director, or she was out.

She met Edith’s steely eyes and squared her shoulders. Yes, I want it.

Could she keep from getting over-involved with patients on the road to recovery? She could sure try.

She closed Edith’s office door behind her and moved toward the bank of elevators and her own office two floors below. Her feet felt like lead weights welding her to the grey vinyl. One last chance. She’d make it work. She’d be as emotionally detached as a vase of flowers.

Jo punched the elevator button, examined her filed-down-to-nothing fingernails, and waited. The door slid open and without looking up she started forward.

Hey, watch it. The hard-edged voice set her heart pounding. A lean hand gripped her shoulder, and she lifted her head to stare into eyes like grey-green storm clouds in a chiseled masculine face.

He released her. His gaze moved slowly over her features.

Sorry. She steadied her wobbly legs. A reddened scar cut a vertical path from his left cheekbone to his chin. Two rectangular skin grafts gave his jaw a pinkish patchwork look that contrasted with his tan. Clearly, he’d been severely burned, and he hadn’t protected the new grafts.

She looked away, focused instead on the blue flannel shirt and black trousers that fit loosely over his rangy frame. Scar or not, his face was arresting, with its regular features, high cheekbones, and deeply cleft chin. He gripped a brown leather satchel. More scarring covered the back of his hand, the skin shiny and taut.

She turned away and punched the third-floor button.

He positioned himself as far away from her as he could, his back stiff, his mouth set. She pressed the main floor button, and they waited in awkward silence.

The elevator lurched downward, shuddered, and jerked to a stop.

What the hell? he muttered.

The lights went out.

Something thunked to the floor. His satchel, she guessed. She groped for the handrail that ran around the interior wall and collided with him. The faint scent of pine and meadow sage clung to his clothing.

This happen often?

Once yesterday, and again this morning. They’re installing a new electrical system.

She felt for the alarm button and pressed it.

An anemic emergency light blinked on. He rubbed his shoulder and scowled. For a split second their gazes locked and after a moment’s pause, he shifted his focus to her shoes, her skirt, the baggy blue cardigan she always wore. She stole a glance at him, caught the lift of straight eyebrows and an unmistakable look of anger tinged with sadness. She edged out of the corner into the middle of the elevator. If he was going to attack her, there was no need to make it easy for him to trap her against a wall.

She punched the button again.

Call security, he ordered.

She reached for the phone, but he lifted it off the hook before she could move. Never mind. I’ll do it.

Not only was he angry, but he was also rude. Asshole.

He held the phone to his ear, and an instant later jammed the instrument back on its cradle. It’s dead. He rocked back on his heels and ran his long fingers through his unkempt blond hair. I hope to God they get this thing moving soon.

Jo sucked in a deep breath. She’d never been stuck in an elevator before. Especially not with a man acting like a caged animal. The back of her neck prickled.

He stared at her, his predatory gaze making her nerves quiver. Worried about falling?

No.

You’re worried about something, he growled. Your pupils are dilated.

I told you, I’m not afraid.

Like hell. Maybe it’s me you’re afraid of? He gave a coarse laugh.

She stiffened and shrank against the rail.

Don’t flatter yourself. I can barely walk. Ravishing pretty women is low on my list of priorities.

It’s not you. I just don’t like confined places. He thought she was pretty.

The emergency light flickered and went out again. Blackness engulfed them and Jo’s breath hissed in. Suddenly the elevator dropped out from underneath her. She grabbed for the rail, but her hands found his arm instead. The conveyance banged to a shaky stop. She stumbled forward, and he caught her. His fingers splayed across her back, pulled her forward against his chest. The erratic beat of his heart thumped in her ear.

Take it easy. Crates like these have five sets of brakes. His calm voice did little to allay her concern.

She should move away, but oddly she didn’t want to. It had been so long since she had been held by a man. Felt safe. Protected. She pressed her nose into the soft fabric of his shirt and drank in his sharp sagey-pine scent. For a long moment he held her without moving a muscle, then with one hand he lifted her chin. His fingers burned her skin.

Don’t scream, he said, his voice quiet. I’m going to kiss you.

Her mouth went dry.

The emergency light flickered on. Had she thought him ugly before? In the dim light his torn skin looked less fearsome. A bolt of recklessness arced through her.

Tension hardened his jaw, made his frame rigid. But the gleam she’d seen earlier was gradually replaced by something else, an emotion that both drew and frightened her. She could not define it, and she could not look away. She tilted her head up and stared at him.

He ran his forefinger across her chin, brushing her lower lip. Still watching her with sea-green eyes gone suddenly dark, he lowered his head.

Her body swayed. He was going to kiss her. She wanted him to, wanted to feel his lips against hers, and wondered why. To spite her mother? Perhaps, but there was more to it than that.

She rose on her tiptoes. His indrawn breath rasped in her ear, and she felt his body shudder. The only sound in the elevator was their breathing.

His lips grazed hers. She clutched his shirt, pressed her body against him.

He groaned and gathered her so close she could scarcely breathe. A hot current sizzled through her chest straight into her belly. She wrapped her arms around his lean body, let his mouth and tongue and hands devour her. He was like a famished man.

The elevator shuddered. The telephone rang.

He held her with one arm, grabbed the handset with the other. Yeah. He glanced at her, rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Two of us.

Jo didn’t move. She watched his lips form words, speak them into the mouthpiece. Her reaction to him shocked her down to her shoes. Her confrontation with Edith obviously had implications that altered her normal state of being.

We’re both okay. She noticed his hand was shaking. She didn’t feel okay. Her head felt as if it was stuffed with cotton and her backbone had lost its starch. Wow. Super-wow! Never in her whole life had a kiss done that to her.

Right. He banged the receiver down. Damn.

What is it?

We’re stuck between floors. His voice sounded hoarse.

She swallowed. How long until they can get us out?

Two hours.

What are we going to do?

A brief smile flickered. I can’t believe you asked that question.

Jo’s face burned. I can’t either. Sorry.

I’m not. He released her and scanned the beige padded ceiling panels. Maybe we could get out through the top. There are two firemen on the fourth floor. You can climb up, and they can pull you out.

Me? I’m not climbing up there. What about you?

He pointed to his thigh. Lady, I couldn’t climb out of a paper bag with this leg. You’re going to climb out, and then they’re going to lower a rope for me.

Her chest heaved. But how do I do that? Climbing out of a metal box was even scarier than waiting for help.

I’ll lift you up to the rail, from there you can step onto my shoulders. You’ll be high enough to shove the top panels aside and shin yourself up to the firemen. He glanced at her skirt. You’ll find it easier if you take that skirt off.

My skirt?

Yeah, take it off.

Jo stared at him. Are you serious?

Dead serious.

Before she could reply, the elevator lurched violently, and began to descend. Seconds later the doors slid open.

My floor. Jo leapt out and impulsively looked back.

Their eyes met. The ordinary hospital noises faded away and she found herself unable to move. He wasn’t handsome. Instead, he had a rugged, lived-in look, a compelling face with eyes that probed beneath the surface as if they could see into her soul. She thought about what they’d see, and she blushed.

The doors banged shut.

***

Luke limped toward the parking lot. What in God’s name had come over him? If the lights hadn’t come on, he’d have had her on the floor.

He gazed beyond the parked cars where a stand of lodgepole pines marched up the mountainside, their spindly tops pale in the early October sun. A red-tailed hawk soared, its wings like black fingers against the blue sky. Suddenly it dived to snatch its prey, a band-tailed pigeon.

His gut knotted. He’d felt like that hawk once, powerful and free. Now he felt like his wings had been torn off. His leg ached like a bad tooth, and he could scarcely make it to his car at the far edge of the asphalt. And he’d thought a pretty woman wouldn’t look at him.

Until an hour ago. Even so, that girl in the elevator had a hard time looking at his face. He could still smell the lavender scent of her hair, taste her lips, feel her breasts pressed against him. He’d been hard in three seconds flat.

He started the Range Rover, spun out of the parking lot, and headed for the foothills and his cabin. He needed to be in the woods. God, he missed the challenge of the high peaks. Chimbo. Annapurna. Since the accident, he’d had to settle for the solace provided by the stream that burbled behind his place, the clean, pine-scented air, and the blue jays. At least there weren’t any people around to pity him.

His mind drifted back to the girl. There was