Читать книгу A Soldier's Prayer - Jenna Mindel - Страница 16

Monica felt a soft touch and looked down into the pleading eyes of Owen. “What is it?”

He pulled on her hand.

“He wants to show you something,” Ethan offered.

No kidding. Monica bit her tongue and played along, following the little boy.

Owen led her to the TV, which had gone blank even though the satellite box dials glowed blue, showing it was still active. The TV was old and the picture sometimes grayed out, needing to be reset. It usually came back on after someone turned the whole thing off for bit, but maybe this time it had burned out for good.

“You know what, how about we turn off the TV for now? I imagine you didn’t come here with your uncle Cash to watch TV.” Monica looked down at the boy. Why were they here? She’d never known Cash to hang around little kids before.

“The burgers are done and not too burned.” Cash entered with the plate.

“The TV’s out, so we might as well eat at the table,” Monica said. “Owen, would you like to help me?”

The boy nodded.

“He sure likes you.” Cash leaned close and whispered teasingly, “He probably thinks you really are a princess. Storks can look regal, you know.”

Monica laughed when she considered her just-over-six-foot frame. “There’s more giant than princess about me.”

“A more beautiful giant there never was, right, Owen?” Cash grinned when his nephew agreed with wide eyes.

Monica soaked in the compliment, but shook her head at Cash’s nonsense. He’d have the poor boy wondering if she really were a giant. If she remembered correctly, giants were to be feared in storybooks. In a few months, she’d look pretty scary from chemo.

With a sigh, she handed Owen a glass of milk, with directions to place it on the table. She did the same with Ethan, who complied, but that’s as far as his help went. He slid into a chair at the table as if he expected to be waited on.

Monica ignored that idea and helped Owen fix his plate as Cash pulled the cookie sheet of french fries from the oven. They were burned a little on the ends, but to her they looked perfect.

Cash started to make a plate for Ethan, but Monica stalled him. “Ethan, if you’d like dinner you’re going to have to come get it.”

Cash stared at her as if she’d called the kid a bad name.

“Really, there’s no need to wait on them. We fixed the food. They can come get it.” Monica was the sixth of ten kids. Growing up with three younger brothers and one younger sister, she’d learned early on to follow her mother’s example. Helen Zelinsky did not believe in babying anyone.

Ethan looked at Cash for support.

Thankfully, he backed her up. “You heard her.”

Ethan glared at Monica, but stayed put, arms folded.

“Now you’ve done it,” Cash muttered under his breath.

So much for Cash’s alliance, but Monica wasn’t about to give in. “Does their mom wait on them?”

Cash nodded. “Hand and foot.”

“No wonder she needed a break,” Monica muttered as she dished salad onto her plate, then offered a spoonful to Owen.

Once both their plates were filled, she handed Owen his and followed his slow steps to the table. The tyke didn’t drop a single fry, so praise was definitely in order. “Good job.”

He beamed at her.

Monica waited for Cash to sit down. Ethan’s scowl deepened. “Can we say grace?”

Cash bowed his head. “You do it.”

Owen folded his hands.

Ethan looked at the ceiling.

Monica bowed her head and recited the dinnertime prayer she’d known her whole life. “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen.” Cash made a show of digging into his food noisily. “This is really good, Ethan. You better get yours.”

“I’m not hungry.” He slumped a little lower.

“That’s a shame.” Monica bit into her hamburger.

After a few minutes, Ethan sighed and finally dragged himself to the island, where his plate holding a hamburger waited to be filled with fries and salad. He grabbed a handful of salad and plopped it on his plate, then squirted ranch dressing all over it before grabbing a handful of fries.

When he slipped back into his chair, Monica gave him a beaming smile. “Thank you.”

Ethan didn’t say anything, but she thought a whisper of a smile tugged at his mouth.

She caught Cash’s gaze from across the table and he tipped his head to her. Another round won.

This certainly wasn’t the weekend she’d envisioned, but a cold motel room didn’t sound any better and she really didn’t want to head back home. Not yet, anyway.

After dinner, they all pitched in to clear the table. Even Ethan helped put stuff away without complaint, while she filled the sink with hot soapy water and Cash banged on the TV until it finally turned on again.

The boys rushed to throw themselves on the couch, pushing each other, giggling.

Cash brought her an empty glass left on one of the end tables. “You’re really good with the boys. You’ll make a good mom one day.”

“Thanks.” Monica’s voice nearly betrayed her, so she focused on her newly manicured nails, painted deep orange, while she got control of her emotions.

She might not ever have kids of her own, if the chemo fried her insides. Then again, she might never marry if she went under the knife to be butchered. What man would find her body acceptable after that?

“I’m glad you’re here.” Cash patted her back. It was a friendly sort of gesture, but awkward.

Monica wanted to know if he meant it. “Are you really?”

His gaze narrowed. “You showing up like you did was an answer to a prayer.”

“Yeah?” She wanted to tell him to keep praying, because she needed it, but the words stuck in her throat.

“Yeah.” Cash nodded.

She didn’t want him to know what she faced, because if she started to unload, she might cry. Monica never cried if she could help it, and Cash would definitely freak out if she did. She smiled at the thought of knocking Cash’s tough-guy exterior askew. It might be worth it just to see what happened, but she didn’t want his worry or his pity.

Monica had to accept that this cancer was her burden to bear. Alone.

* * *

Cash stared at the stack of dishes next to the sink and then glanced at the boys on the couch. “Ethan, Owen, we’re not done yet.”

“Do we have to?” Ethan dropped his head back and groaned.

Owen skipped forward, eager to help.

The little guy rarely disobeyed, and Cash wondered if that was why he seemed to have lost his ability to speak. Was silence his way of showing defiance, or an attempt to regain some kind of control over his young life?

“If you want to roast marshmallows, we have to clean up our lunch and dinner dishes.” He glanced at Monica and smiled.

She smiled back as she stepped toward the sink. “If we all pitch in, it will go faster.”

“Exactly.” Cash took one look at her perfectly painted fingernails and nudged her out of the way. “I’ll wash. You three can dry and put away.”

Monica saluted him. “Aye, aye, sir.”

“That’s ‘First Sergeant, sir.’” He squirted more soap into the already hot and soapy dishpan and swished his hand to make more bubbles.

“Wow, you’re marching right up the ranks, huh?”

Cash shrugged. He’d been at this rank for a while now, leading his team.

“When do you go back?” Monica handed out clean dish towels to the boys for drying.

“I’ve got another full week of leave. I have to report on Labor Day.”

Her eyes clouded over. “Not long then.”

“I took a month, considering the circumstances.” Cash dumped the silverware into the tub with a clatter.

“How many years has it been for you?”

“Since I enlisted?” He grabbed the cups next, scrubbing each one and placing it in the second sink.

Monica nodded.

“Fifteen years.” He had five more to go before he could even think about retiring, not that he would.

He didn’t know what he’d do if he ever retired. He was a soldier, a Raider of the Marine Corps Forces Special Ops. A lifer. It’s who he was. He rinsed the dishes in the full sink, handing over the cups to each boy and Monica for drying.

“I’ll put them away, okay?” She redried the cup Owen had given her, then stashed it in the upper cupboard.

He watched her fluid movements as he waited for Ethan and Owen to catch up on drying the dishes. Monica hadn’t always moved with such grace. When he’d first laid eyes on her, she’d been awkward, with a good-sized nose and a habit of knocking things over. She grew in both height and composure as the years went by. She’d filled out some, her facial features softening. Monica now stood nearly three inches taller than him, still long and lean, but there was nothing awkward about her.

“What?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Quit looking at me like that.”

He laughed. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, like I’ve got mustard on my chin or something.”

He grinned. “Maybe I’d like mustard on your face.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe you’re crazy.”

Maybe he was. He’d always kept a safe distance from Monica. She could never be called simply pretty. She’d grown up to be gorgeous and even more off-limits. Her brother would skin his hide if Cash ever hurt her. Living the way he did, in harm’s way, he’d do exactly that. There were no guarantees that he wouldn’t lose a limb or worse. No way did he ever want to saddle a woman with the kind of worry that came with his job. He liked the rush of adrenaline too much to ever quit, and he cared for his company far too much to get out.

Once the dishes were done and put away, Cash opened the slider to the back deck. “We’ve got to gather up some kindling to start the fire and green sticks to roast marshmallows.”

“There are long metal forks around here somewhere,” Monica offered.

Cash shook his head. “Sticks are way better.”

“Yeah,” Ethan agreed, again with a note of challenge in his voice. “Way better.”

Monica threw up her hands in surrender. “Okay, sticks it is. Boys, if you have sweatshirts in your room, you’d best grab one. It’s a little chilly outside.”

Cash wasn’t so sure about that, since the sun still felt warm to him, but it wasn’t a bad idea. “You heard the lady. Grab your gear and I’ll meet you outside.”

The boys darted into their room.

“I’ll bring out the stuff for s’mores, but I’m getting a jacket, too.” Monica darted up the loft steps.

Cash grabbed matches and stepped outside. The crisp smell of fall was definitely in the air even though it was just the end of August. He gathered some dry branches and looked up as the back door slid open and Ethan and Owen came running toward him.

Monica was right behind them, carrying a tray loaded with everything needed to make s’mores and then some. He didn’t remember ever putting peanut butter in the mix, but hey, why not? The late evening sunlight set her long blond hair aglow.

“You’re doing it again.” She elbowed him in the gut before setting the tray on a bench.

“What?” But he knew. He couldn’t seem to stop drinking in every detail of her.

“We’re going to need more kindling than that to start a fire.” Monica headed into the woods, just beyond where the grass stopped.

The boys followed her.

Cash looked at the puny sticks he’d collected and chuckled. There were several cords for the fireplace stacked under the overhang at the side of the house, but Monica wanted to hunt for firewood. He dumped what he had in the firepit and joined them in search of better fuel.

* * *

Monica headed back to the firepit with her arms loaded with downed branches. She loved gathering wood for a campfire. Cash’s nephews seemed to get into it, as well. Both Ethan’s and Owen’s arms were full. “Good job, guys.”

“Can I light the fire?” Ethan asked.

Monica scrunched her nose. Not her call. “We’ll have to ask your uncle Cash.”

Uncle Cash.

She’d had no idea that Cassius William Miller would be so good with kids. He’d make a good family man, although as far as she knew, he’d never been close to getting married. He was thirty-four, but to her knowledge, Cash had never had a serious girlfriend. How come? He’d once joked that he was married to the marines, but evidently he’d been serious.

She dropped her wood just beyond the sandy circle surrounding the firepit that had been made from large rocks. “Boys, you can dump your wood here with mine. We have to stack it a certain way in the pit before we can light it.”

“Yeah, we know. Our dad showed us plenty of times,” Ethan said.

Monica bit her lip. She wanted to respond the right way, and ignoring that comment didn’t seem like a good idea, so she probed a bit. “Did you have a lot of campfires with your dad?”

Ethan nodded with pride. “Yup. Even in the wintertime.”

Monica glanced at Owen and her heart broke. His eyes appeared hopeful as he looked around. Did he understand that his father wasn’t ever coming back?

Cash returned from the woods with his strong arms full of fallen branches.

Her attention drawn to the way his muscles bunched and flexed as he broke up the pieces, Monica mumbled, “Well, your dad would be very proud that we’re doing this tonight. Carrying on his tradition.”

“What’s that?” Ethan asked.

Looking away, Monica asked, “What’s what?”

“A tra-di-shun?”

“It’s something so special that you repeat it yearly, or even more, and think of someone or something special while you do. For example, at Christmas, my family always cuts down a fresh pine tree together. It’s our tradition.”

Ethan looked thoughtful. “Mom’s allergic to pine trees so we can’t do that.”

Way to go. Monica looked to Cash for help. “Is there anything you can add about traditions?”

“Hmm, let me think a minute.” He stroked his beard.

Monica made a big show of waiting for his answer by gesturing for him to get on with it.

It made the boys giggle.

Cash cast an aggravated look her way, which made the boys laugh even more, then he crouched down in front of them. “When your dad and I were your ages, we used to see who could spot the first star of the night.”

“And then what?” Ethan asked, with hope shining in his eyes.

Cash looked at Monica. “The winner made a wish, but if he told what it was, it wouldn’t come true. Come on, let’s get this woodpile built up big so we can burn it.”

“Yeah!” Ethan cheered.

Monica shook her head. Once a thrill seeker, always a thrill seeker. Cash did everything in a big way. Like now, turning a simple campfire into a huge bonfire. Growing up, he’d been the one who had often lured her brother Matthew into trouble or injury or both. Cash had always exhibited a need for speed, whether racing bicycles, motorbikes, snowmobiles or even cars. He still drove a muscle car. The black Dodge Challenger parked in front of the cabin might not be new, but it was no doubt fast. All the more reason to steer clear of Cash Miller. She had enough to worry about without the added concern that he’d one day break his neck.

She got busy stacking the gathered pieces of wood, leaning the smaller sticks against each other to form a tepee. She glanced at Owen watching her and stretched out her hand. “Want to help me?”

The boy nodded and inched closer.

“Let’s lean those larger sticks over the smaller ones in the same shape, see?” Monica handed him a broken branch. “You try.”

Owen handed it back to her.

Monica shrugged and anchored it against a larger one, then looked around. Cash and Ethan were hunting for green sticks for roasting the marshmallows.

Owen handed her another branch.

She smiled and searched those big gray eyes of his. Had he truly lost his ability to speak, or was he simply refusing to talk? When she was little, her older sister Cat used to hold her breath to get what she wanted. It rarely worked. Their mom refused to be manipulated. Owen looked much too sweet for such tactics, but then kids worked from a simpler approach than adults.

“Here we go. Four perfect sticks.” Cash started stripping twigs and leaves off one.

Ethan copied his uncle with another stick.

“Owen, it looks like it’s up to us to clean our own.” Monica handed the five-year-old a stick.

He pulled at the leaves.

“Like this, Owen.” Monica snapped off the little branches.

Owen followed suit and smiled.

“Good job.” She looked up and caught Cash watching her.

His gaze softened and he mouthed “Thank you.”

Monica nodded and returned to the task at hand. This might not be what she’d expected when she drove up here, but maybe God had saved her from the inevitable wallowing she would have sunk into had she been here all by herself. Maybe tonight was a good thing, something she needed, because her mind was drifting away from her own issues to why Owen wasn’t talking.

* * *

Cash sat back and watched Monica help both Ethan and Owen roast their marshmallows. The fire had burned down some. The boys had loved the towering flames shooting high into the sky. They’d jumped up and down. Ethan had cheered. Cash had loved it, too, regardless of the indulgent smile Monica had given him, as if he should know better.

Yup, she’d make a good mom. He couldn’t believe she wasn’t already married. Her brother said she’d dated some, but never anything serious. He wondered why. He’d wondered a lot of things about Monica over the years. She’d occasionally slipped into his thoughts at the oddest, least opportune times, like during a lull in gunfire, but he’d firmly pushed her aside. That was a good way to get killed, losing focus on the mission at hand over something as simple as a woman back home.

He glanced toward where the sun had set, leaving behind a sky that glowed orange and pink through a clearing in the trees. It was only eight forty, less than an hour before bedtime for the boys.

That would put him alone with Monica—

“There’s the first star, Uncle Cash.” Ethan pointed to the darkening sky just above the clearing.

“That’s Venus, buddy. Not a star at all, but a planet.”

The kid’s eyes narrowed as if he didn’t quite believe him. “Can I still make a wish?”

Cash chuckled. “Sure. Or you can wait a little bit longer for the stars to pop out. Then it’s off to bed.”

Ethan groaned. “Do we have to?”

Cash looked over at Owen, slouching low in the camp chair. His eyelids drooped. “Afraid so, buddy. Big day tomorrow.”

“What about Dogman? Will he come out after we’re in bed?”

Owen’s eyes flew open, wide as half-dollars.

“No, Ethan. There’s no such thing as Dogman. He’s make-believe, only a pretend character in an old story. Stop trying to scare your brother.”

Ethan folded his arms and pouted.

Owen slipped out of the camp chair and climbed onto Monica’s lap.

She welcomed him, wrapping her arms around his waist, then resting her chin on the top of his head. “Owen, did you want to make a wish?”

He shook his head.

“Why not, little dude?” Cash asked, hoping Owen might answer with spoken words. It was why he’d brought the boys to this cabin, hoping a change of scenery and lots of activity might reopen the floodgates of his speech.

He shrugged instead, leaning deeper into Monica’s arms.

“I’ll wish for us, okay, Owen?” Ethan whispered.

Cash battled against the knot that formed in his throat. Why had he told the boys that stupid tradition of wishing on stars? He knew what they wished for—something that couldn’t come true. They wanted their dad back.

Cash wished for the same thing. He’d never had the chance to tell Cole how much he admired him or how much he loved him. There hadn’t been a proper goodbye the last time he’d seen him. They’d slapped each other’s backs, saying they’d see each other later, but later never came. He caught Monica’s watery-eyed gaze across the crackling campfire and nearly lost it.

Why did his brother have to die? He had a wife and two boys to look after. Cash had been the one dancing with death for as long as he could remember. All those deployments and risky missions into enemy territories had left him whole, without critical injury. Why?

Why was life so unfair?

They sat silently by the fire and Cash stared into the flames. When he finally checked his watch, it was well past nine. He glanced at Monica, still holding Owen, who’d fallen asleep.

He stood and reached for the boy. “Time for bed.”

Ethan got up without argument.

Cash shifted Owen to his shoulder and followed Ethan inside.

Monica stayed put by the fire.

“Go to the bathroom, Ethan.” Cash didn’t bother with orders to brush teeth. This was camp and normal grooming habits were pretty much ignored. It’s what made it camp.

He entered the bedroom the boys shared and laid Owen on the bottom bunk. He didn’t want to wake him, so Cash just slipped off the boy’s shoes and socks before lifting the covers over his motionless form, still dressed in his sweatshirt and jeans.

Ethan came in, changed into his pajamas, and climbed up to the top bunk. “Uncle Cash?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“Is she staying the whole time?”

“Monica? I don’t know. If she does, is that okay with you?”

“Yeah.” Ethan nodded. “Owen likes her, and then Mom and Grandma can meet her, too.”

“She’s easy to like.” Cash ruffled the kid’s hair.

No matter how much Ethan teased his little brother, he still looked out for him. He was a lot like his father in that respect. “Your dad would be proud of how you’re taking care of your little brother.”

Ethan looked at him hard. “I wish he was here.”

That knot deep in Cash’s throat tightened up again, but he swallowed through it. “Me, too, buddy. Good night, Ethan. I love you.”

Ethan looked at him, appearing wiser than his tender years. “I love you, too.”

Cash closed the door only halfway, leaving the bathroom light on. He padded into the kitchen, opened the fridge and grabbed a couple cold beverages before heading back out to the fire.

Monica looked up as he approached.

He handed her a can. “Want one?”

“Sure.” She snapped open the tab top and took a sip. “So, what’s the story with your nephews?”

“My sister-in-law was at her wit’s end with Owen not speaking. Since I had the time, I figured I’d try to help. Ruth had some legal stuff with the tree business, so I asked to bring the boys here. The timing worked well.”

“He’ll talk eventually, won’t he?”

“I hope so. I think it’s the stress of losing his dad. I’ve seen soldiers psychologically lose their eyesight, even their hearing, after combat, with nothing physically wrong with them. If Owen is purposefully keeping quiet, I imagine he’ll give up eventually. I’m hoping some activity away from home will flip the talking switch back on.”

Monica’s eyes shone with approval. “It’s good of you to try.”

Cash shrugged and looked away. “They’re my brother’s boys. I have to do something.”

Monica nodded. “How’s your mom?”

His mother had told him that he was all she had left now, and that comment stuck with him, haunting him. He shrugged. “Upset. She moved in with Cole a while back, after she sold the house.”

“That’s good.” Monica shivered and pulled her chair closer to the fire.

“I can throw on a couple more logs.”

“No. It’s fine. I’m going to turn in soon.”

He watched her stare at the flames, admiring her profile. She still had a long nose, but it was straight. He’d thought for sure that he’d broken it once during a snowball fight when he’d hit her dead-on, but she’d kept a stiff upper lip.

She’d always come back with a sharp retort to his teasing. He liked that about Monica. She’d never been a wimp. She had a stubborn streak and didn’t like to show any weakness. More tomboy than princess, her choice of swanky clothes and makeup seemed at odds with the girl he’d grown up with. But then again, maybe he held onto his youthful memories of Monica too tightly because he didn’t want to notice how beautiful she’d become nor accept how attractive he found her.

Tipping his head, he asked, “Why’d you come up here alone?”

“Just needed to get away for a few days.” She took another sip, but didn’t glance up from the fire.

“Everything okay back home?”

“Everyone’s fine.”

“But not you?”

She looked at him with those expressive blue eyes of hers reflecting anguish. “I’ve got some decisions to make.”

“Ahh. Is there a guy involved?”

She uttered a short bark of laughter. “Not anymore. He broke it off. We weren’t serious or anything.”

It was Cash’s turn to chuckle at the cavalier tone in her voice. “Monica, Monica, Monica. What’d you do?”

Her face turned grim. “Absolutely nothing.”

“And yet he broke it off—”

“It’s fine,” she interrupted. “I’m not in a good place for a relationship, anyway.”

He leaned forward, curious. “Why not?”

She finished her drink and crumpled the can, then stood. “Not something I really want to talk about, either.”

Warning bells went off inside his brain. Monica wasn’t one to hide anything. Worse, where was that sharp tongue of hers? She looked defeated and that wasn’t at all like her.

Cash tried again. “If you do want to talk about it, I can listen.”

She patted his shoulder. “I know you can. Thanks.”

He grabbed her hand and gave it a friendly squeeze.

She surprised him by hanging on tight. “Good night, Cash.”

“See you in the morning. I hope you stick around for breakfast. I make pretty mean pancakes.”

She let go of his hand. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good.” He listened as she made her way inside the cabin, closing the slider door with a whoosh.

He stayed by the fire, watching the low flames awhile longer. He’d do what he could to convince Monica to stay on for a bit. Cash needed her help, and maybe she needed them, to give her mind a rest from whatever decisions she faced.

He wouldn’t pry into her situation, but he’d pray for her. He’d been praying a lot lately when he wasn’t yelling at God for taking yet another person he cared about from him. As for Monica, he shouldn’t know too much and it’d be better if she didn’t tell him. He was leaving soon, so he didn’t want any entanglements with a woman back home. Getting too close wouldn’t work for him. It might cost him his edge.