Читать книгу The Other Soldier - Kathy Altman - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

BACKING UP SLOWLY TO THE EDGE of the sidewalk, Eugenia Blue tipped her head and stared with satisfaction at the window display she’d spent most of the afternoon rearranging. Two mannequins wearing flowery summer dresses and wide-brimmed hats sat in an English garden complete with trellises, fake ivy and climbing roses. The plastic ladies leaned toward each other over a small round table, as if sharing a delicious secret. A porcelain tea set completed the picture.

Not bad. Not bad at all. Less than a year ago she’d been holed up in a ridiculously lavish condo in New York, licking her wounds after a brutal divorce. Now she’d established not only a home but a business in small-town heaven, where no one expected her to host parties for lecherous business associates or threatened to withhold sex if she gained five pounds.

She loved having her own shop. The hours were long but the freedom of being her own boss more than made up for it. Eventually she’d have to hire some help, but not until business picked up. Six sales a day wouldn’t pay the bills.

Especially if she continued to raid her own stock. She looked down at her sweater set and gave a mental shrug. Who could resist cashmere? And in lavender, no less? Besides, creating such an eye-catching window display deserved a reward.

“You’re looking pleased with yourself.”

She turned. Joe Gallahan sauntered toward her, zipping up his light jacket against the late-morning chill. Her lips curved automatically as they always did whenever she saw Joe. With his slow, sexy smile and construction worker muscles, Joe could make any woman brighten. Though every now and then she did catch a hint of something dark in his eyes. Something more than sadness. Something that made her wonder how he’d ended up in Castle Creek.

Something that was none of her business.

“Hello, Joe. What brings you into town?”

“The usual.” His smile turned wry and he nodded across the street at the hardware store. “Seems I spend more time at Cooper’s than at the motel these days.” He gestured at her window. “Looks great.”

“Thank you.”

“Still on your own here?”

In more ways than one. “For now.”

“Guess that means you don’t have a lot of spare time. I know how it is, trying to run your own business. But I’ll ask anyway. How about dinner some night?”

Eugenia’s eyebrows went up and her jaw went down. According to the dressing room gossip she couldn’t help but overhear, Joe didn’t date much. Didn’t do much at all, besides work on that motel and play whatever sport was in season.

With all the women in town dying to snag his attention, why ask her?

He had to be twenty years younger than she was. If she had to guess, she’d say thirty-five. Flattering, to say the least. But though she liked Joe, and admired him for tackling a project like resuscitating the motel from hell, she had her sights set on someone else. Someone who refused to stand still in the crosshairs, but that was beside the point.

“Are you asking me out?”

An instant’s hesitation, followed by a warm smile. “Yeah. I am. You choose the restaurant.”

It was a quick recovery. And a smooth one. But still a recovery.

“Okay, so not a date. I don’t know what I was thinking, considering I’m old enough to be your mother. What did you really have in mind?”

“Hey.” Joe moved in, rested his palms lightly on her upper arms. “I may not have come up with the idea, but I think it’s a damned good one. And no way you’re old enough to be my mother.”

His chivalry would have made her feel worse if she hadn’t seen the sincerity in his eyes.

“I appreciate that.” She backed up a step. “But I’d have to say no, anyway. I’m…interested in someone.”

He lifted broad shoulders in a good-natured shrug. “If it doesn’t work out, maybe you’ll reconsider.”

“Maybe I will.”

A boisterous laugh on the other side of the street. They turned to see Harris Briggs shaking hands with an elderly man who’d obviously just come out of the hardware store, the plastic bag he gripped practically brushing the sidewalk, making him lopsided. She watched the genial exchange, watched as Harris made the other man laugh. Belatedly she turned back to Joe. And felt mortification heat her cheeks.

“It’s no use,” she said, in response to his gotcha smile. “He refuses to forgive me.”

“What’d you do?” He winced and held up a hand. “Strike that. None of my business.”

“It’s all right. I bought him something, and he didn’t appreciate it.”

“He didn’t like it?”

“He claimed I insulted him. I think I offended his manhood.”

“The gift didn’t happen to be blue, did it?”

She frowned. “How did you know?”

“Tiny, and in the shape of a diamond?”

She gasped, and slapped him on the arm. “Not that. Don’t you need a prescription for—” He was laughing and she flapped a hand. “Never you mind. Point is, I blew it.”

“You apologize?”

“For all the good it did. I plan on trying again after closing today.”

“No time like the present.” He looked back across the street. Eugenia grabbed for his arm but wasn’t fast enough.

“Hey, Harris!” he called. “Got a minute?”

Eugenia swallowed a tortured moan. Joe lowered his voice. “Tell me I called the right man over. Or is it Mr. Katz you have a crush on?”

“Mr. Katz is ninety years old.”

“Yeah, but I hear he takes vitamins.”

That he could joke so casually about age after her embarrassing assumption made Eugenia feel better. Until Harris stepped up onto the sidewalk, looking like a lumberjack in his heavy boots, jeans and thermal shirt. Eugenia caught her breath and rubbed her suddenly damp palms against the insides of her sweater pockets.

There was something about his size, his solidity, the strength of purpose and kindness in his eyes. He made her feel ultrafeminine. Safe.

And frustrated as all get-out.

He squinted at Joe, then at Eugenia, then back again. “What’s up?”

“Just thought you should see what Eugenia’s done here. About time someone brought some style to State Street.” Joe beamed a roguish smile at Eugenia. “Guess I should get on over to Cooper’s before they sell out of drywall screws. Let me know if you change your mind about dinner. I do have more than tax schedules on my mind.” He turned and jogged across the street, leaving an awkward silence behind him.

Harris cleared his throat. “You did a good job on your window there,” he said at the same time she said, “I owe you an apology.”

He grunted. “Most people say thank you when they get a compliment.”

“Most people say thank you when they get a gift. You, however, responded with, ‘Guess this is our last date.’”

“Most people don’t give the sort of gifts you do.”

“I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted was to insult you. I’m a make-it-happen kind of person. I see a need, and I want to fill it.”

“That’s all well and good, but you can’t just go around buyin’ trucks for folks.”

“But it wasn’t just folks. It was you. I never thought you’d be so ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful?” He scratched his bald head. “Because I was honest about not wanting something I never asked for? Listen, Genie, no man wants to feel like he’s bein’ bought.” Someone drove by in a mud-streaked pickup and honked, and Harris lifted his arm. Eugenia stared.

“Excuse me?”

“If I need a truck I’ll buy it myself. Now I’m done explainin’. Like I said before, you and me, we just wouldn’t work out.”

“You know what your problem is? You’re stubborn and you’re scared.”

He scowled. “There’s no call for insults.”

“I wasn’t trying to insult you, I was trying to enlighten you.”

“Either way I don’t appreciate it. Guess I best be movin’ along.”

“You do that,” Eugenia snapped, and gave herself a mental eye roll. Why could she never come up with anything clever to say?

And did it really matter? His anger over the issue meant they’d been dating on borrowed time, anyway. If he ever found out what else she’d done, he’d…well, at the very least he’d never speak to her again.

Damn the man’s pride.

He swung away, then turned back and jerked his head toward the hardware store. “You datin’ Joe now?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just wonderin’ if you’re planning on buyin’ him a new motel.”

Eugenia sputtered. Harris marched away down the sidewalk, then when he was almost at the corner he turned back. “By the way,” he called. “Heard you turned that pretty truck back in and donated the money to the rescue squad. That was a mighty fine thing to do, Genie.” He gave her a nod, then continued walking.

Eugenia stared after him, feeling as though someone had grabbed her by the ankles and swung her upside down.

* * *

IN, TWO-THREE-FOUR-FIVE-six-seven. Out, two-three-four-five-six-seven.

Her lungs ached. Parker opened her eyes and stared at the door to room six. Then she looked back, toward the sparse traffic that motored past the motel. People ran errands, visited friends, headed home to their families. A squirrel chittered, and she watched it bounce across the parking lot and disappear under a rather sad-looking azalea.

She should call Joe and offer him some pointers. Happier-looking landscaping would be good for business.

She should also stop procrastinating.

She rolled her shoulders back but the tingling in her chest persisted. The deep breathing hadn’t done much for her stress level. Apparently it was effective only for mother-daughter-type challenges.

Raise knuckles. Knock twice. Hold breath. The door handle turned—oh, God she really did have to talk to him—and she released her breath in a head-spinning whoosh.

Corporal MacFarland wore nothing but a towel, a pair of flip-flops and a grim expression. “Mrs. Dean. Sorry, I thought it was—” A harsh exhale. “Stand by.”

When he shut the door, Parker thought, Run. But she stood where she was, rooted to the sidewalk by the image of the left side of his torso, and the faded red ribbons of puckered skin along his rib cage.

He looked like someone had hacked at him with a sword. Her eyes felt wet but she willed the tears away. Darned if she’d let a little sympathy dilute the resentment she had every right to feel.

When the door opened again he wore jeans and a Go Army T. He waved her in and shut the door behind her.

She looked around the room, but all she could see was the damage to his muscled body.

“How can I help you?”

She turned to find that he hadn’t moved, gaze wary, fingers still on the handle. He didn’t want her to feel threatened, she realized. But she’d never considered he’d do anything to harm her. Not physically, anyway.

Striving for calm, cool and collected, she settled into one of the two lawn chairs that flanked the scarred round table.

“Well,” she said. “Joe’s really done wonders with the place.”

The left side of Macfarland’s mouth tipped up and Parker found herself staring. She turned away, and noticed the duffel bag atop the neatly made bed.

“You’re packed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He cocked his head. “Are you here to… Will you allow me to apologize, Mrs. Dean?”

She sat back, and the aluminum chair squeaked out a loud complaint. Her hands clutched at the grooved armrests. “We’re not talking about an insult here, or a—a fender bender. You can’t apologize for making someone a widow.”

“I have to try, ma’am.”

“Stop with the ‘ma’am,’” she snapped. “You make me feel like I should start paying attention to…to denture commercials.” Her breath hitched on a sob. He moved away from the door and disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the sound of running water. Seconds later he placed a cup on the table in front of her and stepped back. She nodded her thanks, but kept her hands in her lap. No way she could drink that water without spilling it. She’d humiliated herself enough for one day, thank you very much.

She motioned with her chin at the other chair. “Would you sit, please?” He hesitated, then did as she asked. He sat with both feet on the floor, hands hanging over the ends of the armrests. She raised her eyes to a face she’d hoped never to see again.

“Harris said you don’t have to be back on post for thirty days. Wouldn’t you rather spend that time with your family?” Her gaze dropped to his left hand. His fingers flexed.

“I’m not married,” he said softly. Softly, but not gently. “No family.”

“Friends, then.”

“My friends are overseas.”

A pause. “Where are you from?”

“San Diego.” He angled his head. “I’m here because this is where I’m supposed to be.”

“The last thing I want is to accept your offer. But you have me at a disadvantage.” He waited. She dug her fingers into her thighs. “Harris is sick and…needs to cut back on his hours. I can’t afford to hire someone else. Not yet. This morning I called a supermarket over in the next county. They’d wanted to place a large order with us but I had to turn them down. With help we can manage the order. The extra money will pay the most urgent bills, and allow us to make some repairs. If you could stay that long, I’d—” She faltered. She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t manage the word grateful.

He hadn’t moved, but a new tension gripped his muscles. Her mind flashed another image of his scarred torso. Was he in pain?

“You don’t want me here.”

She fought a laugh. You think?

“You need money,” he continued. He stood and moved to the bed. “I’ve written you a check. I planned to leave it with Gallahan.” He slid an envelope free of a side pocket and held it out.

Her fingers itched to take it. Whatever the amount, it would be a blessing. But she’d promised Harris.

And her forgiveness wasn’t for sale.

She pushed to her feet. “Exactly how much does a dead husband go for these days? Shall I tell you the figure the Army came up with? Or do you already know?”

His fingers tightened around the envelope. “I can’t match the death gratuity. But if you give me time, I can come close.”

She shoved her hands into her pockets to keep them from reaching out. “That money would make my life easier. It’d be easier for you, too, wouldn’t it? If I took it? Which is the very best reason to refuse it.”

Slowly he lowered his arm. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I don’t want anything from you. Not your apology, not your sympathy, not your money. But I owe Harris Briggs everything. And I made him a promise. So, Corporal, it looks like you’re about to get a crash course on being a grower. Tomorrow’s not good so I’ll see you first thing Saturday morning.”

Without a word he opened the door for her. She stepped out onto the sidewalk, then swung back around. “One last thing. I need you to stay away from my daughter.”

His head snapped back, like she’d taken a swing at him. Parker put up a hand. “Not because… Listen, I know you wouldn’t hurt her physically. But you’re a soldier like—” She stuck out her chin. “I don’t want her forming any attachments.”

His jaw looked hard enough to drive nails into concrete. “You don’t need to worry. One look at me and she ran like the boogeyman was after her.” He shut the door.

Parker’s shoulders slumped. Thank heaven he hadn’t asked, because she had no clue to the answer.

How did she know he wouldn’t hurt Nat?

* * *

PARKER SCRUNCHED UP her face and struggled to hear what Liz was saying. Outside the potting shed, Chance was barking loud enough to be heard across Lake Erie. Give it up, dog.

“Hold that thought, all right?” Parker pressed the phone to her shoulder and stomped outside. The Lab was fussing at a pine tree, undoubtedly seeing a squirrel in its branches. “Chance!” she scolded. “Quiet, please!”

He looked at her over his shoulder and plopped down onto his belly. “Good boy.” She put the phone back to her ear. “Okay, I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, Parker. I know I said I could learn about plants and stuff but I’m getting plenty of hours here. The tips are tight. And I need the cashola. I’m saving up for a car.”

“I understand, Liz.” No tips earned at a greenhouse, tight or otherwise. Parker dropped her head into her hand. “Thanks anyway.”

“Hold on a sec.” Over the country music playing in the background, Parker heard Liz talking to Snoozy, the owner of Castle Creek’s most popular bar. The only bar, really, if you didn’t include the lunch counter at Hunan’s. “No, I’m not quitting. And yes, I see him. Jeez, dude, don’t blow a gasket.” She came back on the line. “I have to go. Wish I could help.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll see you around.” Parker disconnected the call and tapped the phone against her chin. It was either that or heave it against the wall. She didn’t have much left to sell. But the set of Desert Rose china she’d advertised for months had finally reaped a buyer. With the money from that, she could afford part-time help. Hence the call to Liz Early. Which had followed calls to six other people who had at one time or another expressed interest in working for her. She’d hoped to bring one of them on board because it would mean not having to put up with Corporal Reid Macfarland for long.

But it seemed she was stuck with him after all.

She set the phone aside, propped her elbows on the slab of wood that served as a desk and lowered her face into her hands. The biggest risk was to Nat.

“God,” she muttered. “What if she ever found out?”

“What if who found out what?” Parker snapped her head up. Nat stood in the doorway of the potting shed, one hand on the doorjamb, the other clutching her backpack. Parker waved her in while scrambling to think of something, anything, to distract her.

“Hi, sweetie. I didn’t hear the bus. What sounds good for dinner tonight?”

Totally lame. Nat would see right through—

Her daughter stepped into the shed and Chance scrambled in after her. Parker gasped.

“Natalie! What happened?”

Fresh tears dampened the streaks on Nat’s face as Parker rushed forward and tipped up her chin. “We were playing basketball during gym,” Nat whispered miserably. “I ran into a pole.”

“Oh, baby.” Parker winced at the magenta-colored splotches surrounding Nat’s right eye. Carefully she smoothed the hair out of her daughter’s face. “Why didn’t anyone call me?”

“The bell was about to ring. Nurse Brewington put some ice on it, then I had to catch the bus.”

Parker frowned. The school should have called. She’d have to look into that. She clucked her tongue and took charge of Nat’s backpack. “Come on up to the house. We’ll get you an icepack.” Once they were on the gravel path she put an arm around Nat’s shoulders and drew her in close. Chance seemed to sense something was wrong and pressed against Nat’s legs.

“What exactly did the nurse say? Do we need to worry about a concussion?”

Nat wrenched away. “They checked me out for all that. I told you. I didn’t hit my head, just my face.” She walked faster, tennis shoes digging into the gravel. Each breath she took got thicker and thicker. “I’m never going back to gym class again,” she choked out. “They can’t make me.”

Now was not the time to tell her she was wrong. Parker felt a hot swell of sympathy and pressed her lips together to keep from saying the wrong thing. Kids could be so cruel. And Nat’s lack of athletic ability, painfully spotlighted every day in PE, gave them plenty of reason to tease.

Parker had tried to work with her. Harris had tried to work with her. But Nat couldn’t contain her frustration long enough to practice whatever game she needed help with. Unfortunately, Parker remembered those days all too well.

She transferred the heavy backpack to her other hand and jogged to catch up. “Can we talk about it? How about I make us some pancakes and—”

“I don’t want any dinner.” Nat’s pace quickened to a near-run, the Lab jogging along beside her. “Just leave me alone!”

She dashed the rest of the way to the house, thundered up the porch steps and banged through the front door. Parker trailed along in her wake. More than a year later and Nat still hadn’t come to terms with her father’s death. The resulting lack of sleep was ruining her ability to focus. Which explained today’s accident. On top of her usual sports-related challenges at school, Nat would never live this down.

And now Reid Macfarland was determined to insinuate himself into their lives.

Another soldier. Another deployment to a war zone.

Another possible heartbreak for Nat.

Parker drew in a quivering breath. How much more could one little girl take?