A Family Practice. Gayle Kasper

hers.

      “Are you sure you want that walk? You look like you’re right where you should be—resting that leg.”

      Luke didn’t need rest. He needed to be moving. If he couldn’t roar off down the highway on his Harley, he’d pace the yard, the road, walk for miles, and then some. He wanted—needed—to escape his pain, the memories. How far would he need to ride to put his life behind him?

      “Yeah, I want that walk,” he said.

      He pushed to his feet, then saw the small frown of worry that had edged itself between her brows. Mariah was concerned about him, concerned about his injuries—but she needn’t be. He was fine. He’d be fine. Luke was tough—just not tough enough to deal with one little boy’s death.

      He strode toward the front door, careful not to show signs of pain, careful not to limp on his leg that had stiffened up on him.

      Outside, the night was cool. A breeze tugged at his senses. A perfect counterpoint to the hot, dusty day. For a moment he found himself relaxing, letting go.

      Mariah fell into step beside him. Her soft scent wafted over him, and the night tortured him with the temptation to reach for her, to tuck her hand in his, to press her to him and taste her lips that glistened so softly in the moonlight. Jamming his hands into the pockets of his cutoffs, he drew in a deep breath of air.

      Dangerous thoughts, he knew.

      But he didn’t know how to rid himself of them.

      They reached the small copse of trees at the back of Mariah’s property. A stream ran through here, with cool, clear water burbling and purling over the flat stones on its way to lower ground.

      “This is my favorite place. I like to come here,” she said. “It’s always refreshing on a hot afternoon.”

      And tempting at night with the moonlight slanting through the trees, Luke thought. Mariah’s eyes were luminescent, her lips soft and smooth, and he fought back the urge to taste them.

      Just once.

      He reached down and plucked a small stone from the streambed, turning it over and over in his hand. “I can see why it’s your favorite spot,” he said. “It’s beautiful here.”

      She smiled, apparently pleased he liked it, too.

      “Tell me about yourself, Mariah.”

      She took a step or two away, then sat down on the grassy bank. Her hair gleamed dark in the moonlight; her skin shimmered like warm bronze.

      And her mouth…

      Her mouth was made for kissing.

      He tore his gaze away and tossed the stone back into the stream, counting the ripples that ebbed away.

      “What do you want to know?”

      Luke heard her small voice as if it were coming from a distance. “Have you always lived here?”

      She plucked a blade of grass and ran it through her fingers, absorbing its damp coolness. “I grew up nearby,” she answered. “On the Reservation. The Rez, as it’s affectionately called. Then two years ago Callie and I moved here.”

      When Will had left them. She’d had very little money and a lot of doctor bills. The house had sat empty for years. Ever since her grandfather’s death.

      It had been in sorry shape when they’d moved in, but still it had been a godsend to Mariah. She’d fixed it up little by little and she was proud of what she had accomplished.

      Will’s leaving, and her subsequent divorce from him six months later, had been hard on Callie. It had been hard on her, as well. But she and Callie had forged a new life for themselves, and it was a good life, a happy one.

      “What about you?” she asked. “Where are you from?”

      Her question seemed to cause him pain. His eyes darkened and he glanced aside. “A long way from here—Chicago.”

      Chicago might as well be a foreign country to Mariah. She’d never been farther away than Phoenix. She wondered about Luke’s life there, tried to picture him with a wife, a family.

      Did he have a wife?

      A lover?

      Was she beautiful?

      “Sunrise is a far cry from where you’re from,” she said. “Where are you headed on that big bike of yours?”

      And who’s missing you at home? she wanted to add.

      Luke was handsome. The women in Chicago would have to be blind not to find him so. She was certain someone had staked a claim to him by now.

      He gave a small shrug of his broad shoulders. “As of this afternoon, I’m not headed anywhere, it seems. Not until my bike is operational again.”

      “And then?” she probed.

      “West.”

      “That takes in a lot of territory. Anything more specific?”

      He frowned. “Are you always this inquisitive?”

      “Only about stray men I rescue from the desert,” she quipped back, which made him smile.

      The first smile she’d seen on him in a while.

      It was devastatingly seductive, and she forced herself to picture a wife waiting for him back in Chicago. And maybe a passel of kids. Little kids.

      And one on the way.

      But it didn’t gel. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t place Luke in a domestic scene.

      “Are you married?”

      Her words had tumbled out—and she felt instantly foolish for them.

      His smile broadened. “I was right about that inquisitiveness of yours. But no, I’m not married.”

      She didn’t want to admit to herself that she was pleased. Secretly. Didn’t want to admit that she found the man intriguing. That he could make her pulse pound with very little provocation.

      She didn’t need to fall for men who rode through town on motorcycles, stopping only long enough to tempt her heart. She’d vowed never to entangle herself with anyone who would leave again, who wouldn’t stick around and be a real husband, who wouldn’t be a father to Callie with all her special needs.

      She didn’t want Callie hurt again.

      Or herself—by hoping for too much.

      “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that,” she murmured.

      “No harm done.”

      He held her gaze prisoner a little longer than he should have, and Mariah couldn’t tear her own away. “Maybe I should get back,” she said finally. “I hate to be away too long, in case Callie wakes up.”

      He helped her to her feet, and his touch sent a shiver through her, one she knew had nothing to do with the cool night air. His gaze whispered over her lips, and she could almost taste his kiss.

      In the space of one restless moment her need meshed with his and she thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he only reached out a hand and brushed her cheek.

      “You’re right, we’d better be getting back,” he said.

      Was there a hint of regret in his words?

      Or had she imagined it?

      Whichever, the moment had passed, and Mariah didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. What she felt was a strange mixture of both.

      She’d never thought of herself as a needy woman. Or a lonely one. She had Callie. Her daughter was her life. She was happy. Her days were full and filled. So why could this man tempt her so easily in the moonlight?

      She tried to shrug away the question as she walked, careful