Twice Her Husband. Mary J. Forbes

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       “Luke.”

      Ginny’s eyes searched the man’s face. “Do not get involved.”

      “Did I say I would?” Luke asked.

      “I know that look.”

      “Then let me help.”

      “You’ve done enough.” Balancing on one foot, Ginny unlocked the gate. “Which we need to finish here and now. Thank you for everything you’ve done. But your nights on the couch are done.” She gave him a sweet smile. Wrapped her warm hand around his forearm. “We’ll be okay, Luke. I promise.” She lifted on the toes of her good foot to kiss his jaw.

      And just like that his head moved.

      The corners of their mouths brushed.

      Years fell away. All the loneliness of the past decade vanished. She was his wife again. His heart. His home…

      Twice Her Husband

       Mary J. Forbes

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For Chloe, sister beyond borders

       MARY J. FORBES

      grew up on a farm amidst horses, cattle, crisp hay and broad blue skies. As a child, she drew and wrote of her surroundings, and in sixth grade composed her first story about a little lame pony. Years later, she worked as an accountant, then as a reporter-photographer for a small-town newspaper, before attaining an honors degree in education to become a teacher. She has also written and published short fiction stories.

      A romantic by nature, Mary loves walking along the ocean shoreline, sitting by the fire on snowy or rainy evenings and two-stepping around the dance floor to a good country song—all with her own real-life hero, of course. Mary would love to hear from her readers at www.maryjforbes.com.

      Dear Reader,

      I’ve known Luke since I conceived the “germ” of the Tucker brothers’ trilogy. He was always there, hovering in the background, hoping for his day in court, so to speak. And while I understood the reason behind Luke’s inner struggle, I had no idea how his story would unfold.

      Still, I continued to type something each day, looking to discover the key to the final door that would conclude the trilogy of my beloved Tuckers. Finally, it came to me. Luke and his soul mate, Ginny, needed to face a discord—side by side. But what? What would force them to work as a unit?

      One day while picking through my junk mail, I saw it: a slip of green paper, a homemade memo announcing the opening of a neighborhood preschool. Staring at that notice, an idea suddenly sprang to the fore like a pop-up on a page.

      Would Ginny fulfill her dream? I wasn’t sure. But excitement had me hurrying to my computer as images and events leapt to mind. Oh, yes, Luke and Ginny were in for a grand fight. They were about to face down a long-held community myth, but more significantly they needed to find their way through heartache and loss, secrets and forgiveness together.

      Won’t you join me on their healing journey?

      Mary J. Forbes

      Contents

      Prologue

      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

       Prologue

      West Virginia

       Late April

       S he was burying her husband.

      Immortalizing him in his beloved Allegheny Mountains of West Virginia, far from where he’d grown up in Oregon. From where he’d known her family but had never known her—until she was divorced and living here in Kanawha County.

      Ashes to dust.

      Forever goodbye.

      Forever goodbye, dear Boone.

      God, she wanted to crumple to the ground, bay at the moon, beat her head with stones like the Comanche women of old.

      Boone!

      Dr. Extraordinaire, saving her when she believed her life done, her soul vanquished. Oh, Boone. I miss you beyond words.

      Even though they’d lived in the city of Charleston these past eleven years, he’d arranged for her to move back to the Oregon town where they had spent their childhoods—albeit twenty-three years apart. Now the Misty River house would welcome her. So his will conveyed.

      “As you know, I’ve had the house reconstructed.” His voice on the TV monitor, so normal. Alive. And, he, still able to stand strong and true with a mop of salt-and-pepper hair. So real. But not. How had he known it would come to this? How?

      “Take our children away from where I no longer am, Ginny. I’ll be there. There, with you.”

      His quirky smile had made her cry all over again.

      So. With ten-year-old Alexei at her side, she walked the marshy and remote Lumberjack Trail, sheltered by birch, maple and cherry trees, carrying sixteen-month-old Joselyn on her hip and a tote on her shoulder.

      Here and there were the quiet signs of deer: a few bark-chewed willows, a flattened patch of grass. At a junction, she headed up the High Meadows Trail, bound for the sweep of Allegheny Mountain to the west and Mount Porte Canyon to the north where windblown rock cropped from the earth, and shale covered dry southern cliffs.

      They’d hiked nearly two miles when the song of the creek drew her into the trees and down a small embankment.

      “Careful,” she said as Alexei fell in behind her. He carried the precious oak box in his school knapsack. “The underbrush can be tricky.”

      The creek had been Boone’s favorite spot when they’d backpacked and hiked these trails and mountains. Several times they’d lunched here, sharing an hour in quiet conversation. He’d loved the outdoors. Now the children needed to share its peace with their dad this final time before the confusion of relocating took shape.

      A few yards from the water they found the spreading maple. Ginny knelt and removed a garden trowel from her tote. Holding out the tool to Alexei, she said, “The earth should be moist. Dig down at least ten inches.”

      They had arranged their private ceremony at home: Alexei would dig a hole where they would place his father’s ashes along with a clump of lilies of the valley, a perennial shade plant that offered sparkling strings of waxy bell flowers to scent the dank creek air. Ginny would collect the stones.

      Within a few minutes hole and stones stood ready.

      From Alexei’s knapsack, she carefully extracted the treasured oak box. Her breath caught when she unlatched the wooden lid. Inside, Boone’s ashes nestled in a plastic bag. Mere crumbles of a big man. She bit her lip.

      “Da?” Standing between her brother’s strong, young arms, little Joselyn pointed as Ginny removed the bag.

      “Yes,” she said, eyes blurry. “Daddy.”

      Alexei nuzzled his sister’s small cheek. “It’s all right, Josie,” he murmured. “We’re giving Daddy a nice place to stay. He can listen to the water and the birds here,