Healing Luke

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Healing Luke

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Chapter One

Luke Morgan raised his gaze from the wetsuit zipper he was working to unjam and scanned the long pier. He spotted the woman in question on the deck of her boat, where she soaked in the Florida sun. He sent his brother a smug grin. "Nice, huh? Her name's Kelly."

Aaron turned a startled glance his way. "You've already met her?"

Satisfaction swelled in Luke's chest, and his grin widened. "Yep."

His older brother arched a golden eyebrow. "And what's the scoop?"

Purposely making his brother squirm, Luke turned his attention back to the stuck zipper on the wetsuit. "The scoop is we've got twenty high school seniors who expect to go snorkeling in fifteen minutes, and you still haven't got that damn engine running. Get your ass in gear, man, and stop gawking at the neighbors."

Aaron's boisterous laugh rang through the marina. "I'll be damned! Little brother struck out!"

"I did not strike out!" Luke frowned, irritated by his brother's assumption. He didn't bother explaining that he hadn't struck out because he hadn't made a move on the redheaded dish. Yet. Aaron would only ask why he hadn't, and Luke wasn't sure he knew.

Just because in recent months he'd given up the one-night stands that left him feeling hollow didn't mean he'd sworn offwomen completely. But he was restless. He wanted something more, though for the life of him he couldn't say what that something was. No amount of partying with his brother or recreational sex filled the empty space lurking inside him.

Aaron flashed him a cocky grin. "Uh-huh, if you didn't strike out, then when are you going out with her?"

The warm gulf breeze ruffled his brother's blond hair, and the late April sun glinted off the gold stud earring in Aaron's left lobe.

Luke gritted his teeth. He lost patience with the jammed zipper and tossed the wetsuit aside. "Do we have any more small suits in the shop? We may need 'em for the girls."

"You're avoiding my question."

"You're perceptive." He opened a storage bin under a row of seats, and a strong chemical odor wafted up to him. Luke paused and sniffed the air. "Do you smell gas?"

He bent over and peered under the casement around the engine, searching for the source of the suspicious odor. "Aw, hell. We got a puddle of gas back here. The fuel line must be leaking."

"Are you losing your touch with women?"

He shot Aaron a dirty look. He could get a date with the redhead any time he wanted. Women never turned him or Aaron down. They had perfected the "Morgan charm" and had the family's blond good looks on their side, a fact that his brother exploited to the fullest. "Man, do your womanizing on your own time. We've got a problem over here."

Aaron smirked and sauntered across their thirty-foot pontoon boat, used during the summer season to take Destin tourists snorkeling or fishing in the Gulf of Mexico. The family enterprise had started as a hobby for their father and grown into a profitable summer business.

Luke stepped back, giving Aaron room to take a look at the fuel line. Aaron jiggled a few wires and ran his fingers along the rubber fuel hose. "Here's the leak. Find me a wrench."

"Damn. We've got fifteen minutes to get the engine running before we have twenty very unhappy customers." He retrieved the tool box from another storage bin and fished out the wrench.

"Relax, will ya? I can fix it. I just have to do one thing first."

"What?" Luke folded his arms over his chest and watched Aaron cross the boat and hop onto the pier. "Where you goin'?"

"I'm gonna score myself a date tonight with a certain hot redhead. Sorry, man. You had your chance."

"Aaron, come on. Save it for after hours. We've got work to do now," he called to his brother's retreating back.

Huffing his frustration, he carried the wrench over to the engine. He perched on the railing of the pontoon and observed his brother's well-rehearsed routine. A flash of his knock-'em-dead smile. A few flattering words while admiration lit his eyes. The smoothly delivered invitation to dinner or a movie.

Luke expelled a gust of air through pursed lips in disgust. Why hadn't he asked Kelly out earlier when he had the chance?

He watched the redhead reach over to write her phone number on the back of Aaron's hand. His brother had done it again. The lucky bastard. Now he'd gloat and act smug ...

Grimacing, Luke slammed the wrench down on a steel rod that anchored the engine in place, creating a loud, metallic clang.

And a spark.

The leaking fuel ignited in a bright flash and thunderous boom. The concussion of the explosion knocked Luke backward and over the side of the boat. A searing pain arced through him. A scalding heat gnawed his right eye.

Then merciful darkness sucked him into an unconscious void.

Aaron held his breath as Luke's doctor approached in the hospital corridor. The man wore a grim expression, and Aaron's gut clenched with dread.

Their father, Bart, his own face dark with worry, stepped forward to meet the doctor in the middle of the hall. "Well? How is he?"

"He's actually quite lucky." The doctor tucked a pen into the already-full pocket of his lab coat.

"Lucky?" Aaron gave a derisive snort. "Exactly how do you figure that, doc?"

"Quiet, Aaron," Bart warned in a sterner tone than Aaron had heard his father use in years. "Go on, doctor."

"Well, if he hadn't landed in the water after the explosion, the burns almost certainly would have been more extensive, more serious. As it is, many are only first degree burns that will heal quickly. The second degree burns are what is called mid-dermal partial thickness burns and are concentrated on his hand and chest."

"How bad is a mid-partial whatever-you-said burn?" Aaron asked, a sick feeling roiling in his gut. "Will he be scarred? Can he get those skin grafts they talk about?"

"I won't lie. Any second degree burn is serious and poses a number of challenges. The mid-dermal second degree burns Luke has generally heal well and leave less scarring than those that affect deeper tissue levels. But he'll still need debridement and an aggressive treatment to prevent infection. He'll have some scarring, but we have ways to minimize scars."

Aaron's mind reeled as the doctor continued. He caught terms like silver sulfadiazine cream, and occlusive dressing, and compression garment, which all meant little to him. Except that Luke had a hell of a road ahead of him.

As the doctor continued, Aaron vacillated in wild mood swings between relief and guilt that he hadn't been the one who'd been injured.

Damn it, no one should have been injured! If he'd fixed the leak when Luke found it ...

"Yes, I'm afraid it's extremely painful." The doctor's remark pulled Aaron's attention back to the debriefing. He shuddered when the doctor described how the dead tissue of Luke's burns would be scraped away with a stiff brush and high-powered water in debridement therapy.

Aaron swallowed a groan. Painful indeed.

"How much of his vision did he lose?" Bart asked, furrowing his brow.

"The jury's still out on what he'll be able to see from his left eye. Most to all of his vision should return as the swelling heals. However, it appears some debris hit him in the right eye. He's lost that eye completely."

"Shit," Aaron snarled under his breath, turning to rest his forehead against the wall and squeeze his eyes shut. Acid gnawed his gut, and concern for his brother, his best friend, weighted his heart like lead.

Luke didn't deserve this ...

"Right now my primary concern is the damage to his right hand."

The doctor's dire-sounding comment brought Aaron's attention back to the physician's report.

Bart's face had grown white, despite his year-round tan. "What about his hand?"

"We'll probably have to amputate his thumb. Most of it was severed and repairing the damage isn't likely to be successful. His other fingers have nerve damage, but he should be able to regain full use of them in time. We'll talk later about getting him set up with an occupational the rapist."

"Was there any internal damage? To his organs, I mean?" Bart asked, concern darkening his gray eyes.

"No. Not that we've found so far, but we're monitoring him closely."

"Thank God for that much." Bart sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"That's about it. We'll have to talk more later about what you'll need to do for him once he leaves the hospital. Someone will have to change his bandages daily for a while, that sort of thing. For now ... any questions?"

"No, no questions." Aaron crossed his arms over his chest and heaved a deep breath of despair.

Bart shook his head, an expression of shock and anguish making him look years older.

"Then I'll go make arrangements for his amputation surgery."

"Thanks, doctor." Bart shook the physician's hand as he left.

Poor Luke. Damn it, it wasn't fair!

For a horrible moment, when Aaron had pulled his brother out of the water, he'd feared Luke was dead. And he'd wanted to die himself.

Guilt and grief consumed him. He could have prevented this if only ...

Aaron followed his father into Luke's room and winced at the sight of his brother's bandaged face and arm. His gut tightened, but he forced a smile to his lips when Luke opened his unbandaged left eye. Luke's blue eye, so similar to his own, was bloodshot, and the lid swollen half-closed. His brother's dark-blond hair had been singed in a few spots, and Aaron nervously combed his fingers through his own hair as he took a seat beside the bed. "Hey, Dummy," he said, using the playful nickname he'd given his brother years ago.

"Hey, Stupid," his brother returned, using Aaron's moniker. A tiny grin tugged the corner of Luke's mouth briefly, then he closed his eye again with a deeply inhaled breath.

"How do you feel?" Aaron asked tentatively.

"Not bad, really. I've got some pretty wicked pain-killers pumpin' through me right now. All right here, whenever I click this little button." Luke held up the device in his hand that allowed him to dispense more of the drug in measured and regulated doses from a computerized pump. Luke demonstrated with a flourish. "Ahhh, that's better."

Aaron gave a short huff-like laugh at his brother's drug-muddled antics, then stared down at his feet, uncertain what to say.

"We've just talked to the doctor, Luke," Bart said softly.

"Mm."

Their father sighed. "There's good news and bad."

"Mm."

"You're gonna need surgery on your hand. Do you want to hear it now or rest some more?" Bart paused but got no response. "Luke?"

He glanced at Aaron, then back to his injured son. Deep lines of worry creased Bart's brow, and he bent closer to his son. "Luke?"

The light sound of Luke's snore answered him. Bart cast a weary grin to Aaron, then jerked his head toward the door. "Come on. Let's let him sleep. I still need to call your mother and let her know what's happened."

"Like she'll care." Aaron gritted his teeth and slumped back in the chair.

Bart raised his chin a notch and squared his shoulders. Even before his father spoke, Aaron knew that he'd defend his ex-wife.

Rather than argue the point, Aaron shrugged. "You go on. I'll stay here for now. You know, just in case ..." He didn't bother to finish.

Just in case what? He didn't know. In all his life, he'd never felt so helpless, so damn useless.

Bart nodded and turned to leave. As soon as the door clicked shut, Aaron gave in to the emotions that had built inside him since he'd watched the ball of fire knock his brother into the Gulf. For only the second time in his adult life, he cried.

Luke was suffocating.

After more than three weeks confined in his house, he needed air. Figuring he could brood over the injustice of his accident as well outside as in, he stepped onto the front porch and glowered at the sky. The sun seemed obscenely bright, and he tugged the rim of his baseball cap down to shield more of his face from the afternoon light.

Taking a seat in a resin chair, he carefully stretched his legs in front of him and propped his feet on a second chair. With a sigh, he leaned back until his chair propped against the front wall of the beach-front house and closed his eyes.

According to his doctors, his burns were healing exceptionally well and showed no signs of infection. At this rate, he could resume normal activities as he felt up to it.

Normal activities.

Luke scoffed at the term as he sucked in the gulf breeze. Nothing about him or his life was normal anymore. He looked like some kind of sideshow freak. The explosion had left him with one eye, a missing thumb, and the certainty that his days of competing with Aaron for women were over.

He'd just gotten semi-comfortable, prepared to settle into a good sulk, when a female voice roused him from his musings.

"Excuse me."

Luke tapped the bill of his cap up a fraction with a flick of his good hand. He peered out at the petite brunette standing at the foot of the stairs, looking at him.

"What?" His tone fell short of polite, but he didn't care. He was in no mood for company.

"Do you know where Gulfside Snorkeling Excursions is?"

He hesitated a beat. "Yeah."

Something in the lilt of her voice or the graceful movement of her body triggered an instinctive awareness inside him. Being in the presence of a pretty woman caused a strange prickle on the back of his neck. No one except his family and the hospital staff had seen him since the accident. He'd made sure of it. Friends had stopped by to commiserate, but he'd had Aaron send them away. He wasn't ready for people to see his disfigurements, and he certainly didn't want their pity.

"Well, could you tell me where it is? I can't seem to find the place." The young woman climbed a couple of steps, moving closer to him.

She was definitely attractive. His stomach clenched. For the first time in his post-pubescent life, he faced the fact that a woman would not like what she saw of Luke Morgan.

He tucked his bandaged, thumbless right hand with the ugly compression glove in the pocket of his sweat pants and reassured himself that his long-sleeved T-shirt covered his burned arm. But the awful black patch over his blind eye made him feel like a ridiculous Blackbeard wanna-be.

"Sir? Did you hear me?" The brunette tipped her head, peeking under the low bill of his cap with her large, lovely eyes.

He searched for a way to get rid of her, to eliminate the source of his discomfort. Angling his face away from her, he feigned interest in the car that rolled by on the street. "You've found it."

"You mean, this is it?" Wrinkling her nose, she pointed to the house behind him.

"No, that's our house. As in, private property." His churlish tone sawed at his conscience.

Clearly the brunette wasn't going away until he gave her what she wanted. Despite the qualms swimming through him, he let the legs of his chair touch the floor. Tender, injured tissue pulled on his chest and sore muscles protested as he sat straighter in the chair. He braced himself for the woman's reaction and reached up to tug his cap back from his face. Raising his chin, he gave her a good view of his face-eye patch, red scars, and all.

To her credit, she hid her repulsion well. In fact, other than a quick flick of her eyes to the patch, and a slight adjustment of her stance, she had no reaction. He admired her for that. The chick obviously had a strong stomach. Or else some fine acting skills.

Tucking a wisp of her pixie-cut behind an ear, the brunette wrinkled her brow in query. "Then where is the snorkeling office?"

Why couldn't she take a hint? He thought his evasive answers said clearly enough that he wanted to be left alone. He sighed heavily.

"The snorkeling office is downstairs. Go down those steps over there." His tone begrudged her the information, but he directed her to the beach access with a lazy hitch of his left thumb. "You enter from the marina."

She took a deep breath and nodded. Sliding her sunglasses from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose, she turned, calling cheerfully, "Thanks. Sorry to bother you."

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Healing Luke by Beth Cornelison Copyright © 2009 by Beth Cornelison. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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