Luke's Daughters. Lynnette Kent

stood straight and tall, staring north along the shoreline. His hair blew back, leaving his profile stark against the sky. Sarah snapped the picture, thanking all the saints that she’d brought the zoom lens—and thinking that, for a party guest, he didn’t look much like he was celebrating.

      After a few minutes, he turned and spoke to the girls. The children pranced and danced across the beach, heading back toward the club. But the man lagged behind, head down, hands in his pockets, dragging his bare feet in the sand as if reluctant to return.

      Reluctant or not, he was leaving. Sarah jammed the camera into her bag, dredged up a couple of business cards and a pen, then struggled out of the low sand chair to her feet. By the time she clambered up the opposite bank of the inlet, the girls had nearly reached the rocks. But the man had just come level with Sarah.

      “Excuse me,” she called.

      He stopped and looked over, his dark, straight brows lifted in question.

      Up close, he was bigger than she’d realized, taller. Not thick or brawny. Just…strong. “My name is Sarah Randolph.” She extended a card. “I’m a photographer.”

      “That’s…nice.” He stared, expectantly.

      Suddenly she felt intrusive. She gathered up the remnants of her professional nerve. “You must know—the three of you made an exceptional picture on the beach in your formal clothes.”

      “I didn’t think about it,” he said. The hint of a drawl flavored his voice, like a ribbon of caramel through milk chocolate.

      “I did.” Sarah gathered her thoughts. “And I took pictures.”

      His gray gaze darkened. “And you want me to pay you for them? Sorry.” He lengthened his stride to catch up with the girls. “Not interested.”

      “No!” She jogged after him, reaching for his arm to slow him down. His muscles felt like carved driftwood. “No, I don’t want you to pay me.”

      He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “What do you want, then? I need to get them back inside.”

      Something in his face made her let go of him. Quickly. “Are they your daughters?”

      His mouth tightened. “Yeah. They are.”

      She tried a smile. “You see, I might want to use the pictures in a…in a professional capacity. And for that, I need a release.”

      He started to shake his head. “I don’t think—”

      “No, really, all it says is that you agree to allow the photographs to be used for publication. I may never use them, they might not develop. But if they do, I’d be glad to give you copies, in exchange for the release. Please?”

      For a long moment he watched the girls, now involved in investigating a jagged black rock. Finally, he sighed. “I’d have to see them first. Otherwise, I’m not agreeing to anything.”

      “Sure. No problem.” Sarah held out the extra card and the pen. “Just write down your address and I’ll bring them over as soon as I can. Probably in a day or so.”

      His face was stern as he took the card and wrote quickly across the blank side. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Randolph.” He gave back the card.

      Before she could answer, or even read his name, he strode across the sand to his daughters and swept them before him, over the rocks, up the bank, and back into the club.

      COMING IN from the beach, Luke stopped on the threshold of the country club dining room. The girls ran toward the crowd inside. Given a choice, he wouldn’t have followed. But then, nothing about today was his choice.

      Or maybe everything was. Maybe that was his problem—he’d made the decision and he hated living with the consequences.

      When Erin and Jennifer found their mother at the center of the swirl of people, she turned immediately to give them her full attention. No one could say Kristin wasn’t a great mom—the girls came first, every time. He loved that about her.

      And she made a beautiful bride, in an ivory dress with a lace top and a bell-shaped skirt, holding orchids in the curve of her arm. Under a lace veil, her rich blond hair shone like sunlight. Laughing at something Erin said, she tucked a stray curl behind Jen’s ear, then glanced up at the new husband who stood by her side. The meeting of their eyes came straight out of an old-fashioned romance. The kiss they’d shared at the wedding deserved fireworks, like the end of a fairy tale.

      Luke took a deep breath and pivoted away from the reception. He wasn’t going to stay. He’d done his part, kept up appearances for the sake of the girls and his parents’ friends. No one would miss him, anyway—

      “Luke Brennan! What happened to your hair?”

      He turned to face his mother, resisting the urge to neaten up. “The girls and I went outside for a walk. It’s windy.”

      Elena Brennan raised aristocratic eyebrows. “You took them out on the beach? In those dresses?”

      “We were careful. We left our shoes—”

      “Honestly, I don’t know how you ever came to be so irresponsible!” Her cultured Southern accent always deepened when she got upset. “The photographer is still taking pictures, for heaven’s sake. Just once I’d like to see you think ahead…” She pivoted and stalked toward the girls with her long-legged grace, a contemporary Southern belle in blue silk, severely ticked off.

      “Bad move, son.” His father stepped up on Luke’s other side. “Worse still to tell her what you’d done.”

      Luke jammed his fists in his pockets. “I didn’t do anything. The girls were going crazy trying to act like porcelain dolls. I just let them have a little fun.”

      “You know how important this wedding is to your mother.”

      Luke dragged his thoughts back from freedom of the beach…and the sweet sympathy in a strange woman’s golden eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

      His mom hadn’t gotten a chance to plan his wedding—the bride and groom had eloped in the middle of the night, coming back with the vows taken and a baby on the way. That was not how things happened in the prestigious Charleston social circles where Elena Calhoun Brennan had grown up.

      “We didn’t do anything wrong,” Luke insisted. Now or then.

      His dad’s hand fell on his shoulder and drew him farther into the room. “Well, what’s done is done. Tame that damn hair, put your coat on, then come get a glass of champagne so you can celebrate with the rest of us.” Thirty years in the Army turned every request into an order.

      Luke looked at the man beside him. They were the same height—six-two—but Colonel William Brennan’s military bearing always made him seem taller.

      Beyond his father, he caught sight of Kristin, finishing a slow waltz with her new husband. They ended with a kiss. He took a deep breath. “No, thanks.”

      The Colonel’s gray eyes went steel-cold. “Listen, son, I expect you to cooperate—”

      Luke jerked out from under his dad’s hand. “How much more cooperative can I get? I let him take them away. I stepped aside and gave him my whole life. I even played the part you wrote for me today.”

      He lowered his voice, stepping close enough to guarantee his words would stay between them. “But if you think I’m happy about it, you’re crazy. And if you think I’m going to come in there and toast this marriage—give them my blessing, for God’s sake!—you’re more than crazy. You’re sadistic.”

      “Luke—” Strong fingers gripped his elbow as cheers from the other end of the room drew his attention. Dread tightened his throat, but Luke looked over.

      Kristin stood balanced on one slender leg, her skirt lifted to reveal the other foot in its high-heeled slipper resting on a chair seat. Her groom, wearing Army dress blues, knelt in front of