The Other Soldier

Macfarland looked at Parker. “You on a timeline?”

She spoke through lips that felt like hardening concrete. “Store closes at eight.”

“Then we’d better get a move on. We’ll start with my Jeep.” He turned to face the room and raised his voice. “Anyone here with an SUV or a closed-bed truck willing to help us transport some greenery? Parker Dean here’s got a truck out of commission and a delivery due to—” he looked at her and she mumbled a response “—Cherry Point by eight o’clock. We can meet back here afterward and the next two rounds are on me. Any takers?”

A swell of chatter. Joe held up a hand. “Let’s rephrase that. Any takers who are reasonably sober?”

A few customers stood and the despair holding Parker hostage gave way to hope. At the same time she wished the person responsible for that hope had been anybody, anybody other than Corporal Reid Macfarland.

Noble Johnson pushed to his feet and hitched up his pants. “I know where we can get hold of a minivan,” he said. Everyone turned to stare and he flushed bright red. “What? Not like it’s mine.”

* * *

REID COULD SEE IT WAS killing her, having to accept his help. Which didn’t bode well for what he had in mind over the next several weeks. He got the impression, though, that it wasn’t just him. Parker didn’t want to be indebted to anyone, just as Briggs had said. And she sure has hell wished she’d never set foot inside the bar. But if they could save her delivery she’d see that getting help didn’t always have to suck.

Two hours and one sprawling, mismatched caravan later, Parker, Briggs, Gallahan, Noble, a gray-haired man in a black polo shirt who smelled like French fries, a skinny kid who looked barely twenty-one and favored light beer, and Reid all stood in the parking lot of the supermarket that, despite its ultimatum, had allowed Castle Creek Growers to make a late delivery. Parker stood in the middle of the cart-strewn parking lot, arms crossed against the night chill, and thanked her hastily assembled league of laborers.

“I don’t know what to say. You all have been so generous with your time. And your gas.”

“That was Noble,” someone called out. “He had the chili.”

Laughter, and a few choice words from Noble himself. Parker thanked everyone again, and only the tension in her jaw betrayed what her indebtedness cost her.

“Don’t forget the beer,” the same voice pleaded.

Reid assured them he’d honor his promise, then hunted down Briggs. “What about the truck?”

“I already arranged a tow. But I’m not sure why we’re botherin’.”

“I can take a look at it tomorrow.”

“You know engines?”

Reid shrugged. “I know moving parts. I’m a machinist.”

Briggs grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “I knew you’d come in handy.” Parker walked up and Briggs stopped grinning. “I know, I know. You want me to go home and tuck myself in. Maybe I’ll heat myself some milk before I change my diaper and go night-night.” He stomped off. Reid expected Parker to take off after him but she hesitated. In the dim glow cast by the light post he could see the conflicting expressions on her face. She wanted to thank him, and at the same time she wanted to tell him to go to hell.

What else did he expect? Yeah, the Army had decided not to court-martial him, or charge him with homicide, since he’d believed he was firing at enemy soldiers. He still felt like a criminal.

So he couldn’t blame her for thinking he was one.

Which meant he really didn’t want to hear her stumble through a thank-you.

“I’m heading back to Snoozy’s,” he said, and dug in his pocket for his keys.

She moved a few steps back, toward her Camry. “I, uh, I need to get home.”

She’d asked a neighbor to stay with her daughter while they finished the delivery. He didn’t know Parker well, but he did know she’d want to keep that favor short.

“Thank you.” She licked her lips. “For—”

“No big deal.” She looked surprised that he’d cut her off, and annoyed, but mostly relieved. He hadn’t done it for her. Damned if he’d stand there and listen to her tone waver between courteous and contemptuous.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said. She looked as excited as a soldier tapped for patrol after a whopping two hours’ sleep. He couldn’t help watching the determined rhythm of her stride as she walked away.

Reid gritted his teeth. What the hell have you gotten yourself into, soldier?

CHAPTER FIVE

THE SAUSAGE-AND-EGG biscuit Reid had eaten for breakfast never quite managed to make friends with his stomach. He parked the Jeep—this time in the weed-infested gravel lot on the far side of the third Quonset hut—and took a swig of ginger ale. He’d have to start eating better, and make sure he took advantage of Gallahan’s gym, or else he’d be in a world of hurt when he got back to his unit.

The soda helped. Another hefty swallow and he set off in search of his temporary employer. The one who’d had all night to change her mind. He’d stashed the envelope containing the check in his glove compartment, just in case.

It had rained sometime during the night and his boots squeaked over the damp grass. Over by the tree line a gaggle of frogs chorused their good mornings. In the predawn dimness Reid checked out the first greenhouse, breathed in the smell of flowers, of dirt, the sweet, sharp scent of wet gravel. No Parker Dean.

He found her in the next hut, which looked just like the first. Gently whirring fans hung suspended from the structure’s metal ribs. Racks inside the door held rakes and hoes and shovels. Rows of scarred plastic and metal tables and benches brimmed with container after container of ruffled, rainbow-colored blooms.

He shifted his gaze from the greenery and zeroed in on Parker. She worked at the other end of the shelter, back toward him, head bent in concentration, nimble fingers plucking brown leaves out of the bright pool that rippled along each side of the concrete path.

“Mornin’.”

Reid jumped. Damn, when was the last time he’d let someone sneak up on him like that? He turned, and automatically reached for the mug of coffee Briggs offered. “Good morning. You always up this early?”

“Didn’t want to miss the show.”

Reid’s gaze returned to Parker, who hadn’t acknowledged either of them. Briggs gestured with his own mug.

“She’s got them earbud thingies in. Likes to start off her day with some kind of self-help recordin’.”

Reid took a sip of coffee and it was all he could do not to spit it back out. Briggs chuckled. “You’ll get used to it.” He nodded at Parker, who’d worked her way closer. “This should be interesting.”

“Why’s that?” Reid set his mug on a table. He’d find someplace to dump it later. Like a barrel marked Hazardous Waste.

“She’s not happy you’re here but she’ll want to show you the ropes yourself. Girl’s not good at handin’ over the reins.”

At that moment, Parker turned and spotted Reid. Her backbone snapped straight. He waited, settling his gaze on a face even more hostile than the one he’d seen yesterday at the motel. Still it was a nice face, with smooth, pale skin, light brown freckles and bright hazel eyes. And a pair of nicely shaped lips, currently pressed in an unfriendly line.

He’d bet money at least one of those ropes she’d be showing him came equipped with a noose.

* * *

PARKER HAD A PLAN. A plan to avoid Corporal Macfarland. It involved…well, avoiding Corporal Macfarland.

Which would help keep her from being arrested for assault with a pitchfork.

But as easy as her plan sounded, she’d stayed awake most of the night coming up with it. At least she’d had plenty of practice over the years, operating on little to no sleep—before Tim deployed, during his deployment and after his death.

No way she’d let dealing with the corporal throw her off track.

Except, it already had. Just not in the expected way. Those scars… He could have played them up, used them to gain an advantage. Instead he’d scrambled for a shirt. And what he’d done for her in the bar—without his organizing that caravan, her business would have lost much-needed revenue.

Part of her appreciated his resourcefulness. A very small, tiny, minuscule part. The rest of her nurtured an all-consuming resentment.

Though her conscience kept reminding her that the resentment wasn’t entirely justified. Even her earbuds couldn’t drown out the voice of her conscience. She shoved the useless things into her pocket and forced her legs into motion.

“Morning,” she said stiffly. “Saturdays are busy around here so I don’t have a lot of time to spare. Harris, can you please show the corporal what to do?”

Briggs coughed. “Sorry, but no can do.”

“You all right?”

“Didn’t get much sleep last night.” He paid sudden fierce attention to a rip in his long-sleeved shirt. “I came over to let you know I need a few more hours.”

Uh-huh. She crossed her arms. “You got out of bed, got dressed and drove all the way over here to tell me you’re going back to bed? You could have called.”

“Guess I was hopin’ by the time I got here I’d be feelin’ better.”

He did sound tired. Suspicion gave way to worry and she dropped her arms. “Anything I can do?”

“Not a thing, but thanks for askin’. I’ll just go home and catch a few more winks. Be back after lunch.”

“Call me first. If you’re not feeling better I want you to stay home.”

“What’re you packing for lunch today?”

“Chicken salad and carrot cake.”

He winked at Macfarland. “Then I’ll be back before lunch.” He turned and strolled away, cut himself off midwhistle and ducked out the door.

Parker watched him go, wishing she didn’t feel like she was the only solo guest at a dinner party because her two-timing date had just bailed on her.

Macfarland cleared his throat. “Mind if I ask a question?” Without looking around she made a don’t-let-me-stop-you gesture. “Can I get in on some of that chicken salad and carrot cake action?”

She resented the heck out of the involuntary pleasure his words sparked. She put on a frown before she turned, and it deepened on its own accord. The man knew how to wear jeans and a sweatshirt.

And why should she care? She slapped her gloves together, impatient with the ridiculous turn of her thoughts. “You work here, you get lunch. Want some coffee before we get started?”

“Not if it’s from the pot Briggs made.”

She supposed she should give him credit for trying. But she didn’t have the time or the energy for banter.

“Follow me,” she snapped, and wondered if he’d salute behind her back. She led him inside the first Quonset hut and made a point of closing the door firmly behind them.

“Always make sure the door is shut tight. If Chance gets in and sees anything move, even if it’s just a leaf, he’ll chase it. Which means something will get broken. Someone’s delivery will be shorted, and I’ll lose money I can’t spare.”

“Understood.”

With a brisk nod, she launched into her spiel. “We have three greenhouses. Hut One for geraniums, Hut Two for petunias and pansies, Hut Three for seed propagation.” He opened his mouth and she held up a hand. “No football jokes.”

“Wouldn’t think of it.” She shot him a look but his expression remained neutral. He followed her inside. “Seed propagation?”

“We save money by collecting seeds from existing plants to grow new ones. Actually, we only use seed propagation for the pansies. For the petunias and geraniums we do what’s called vegetative propagation, which is basically taking cuttings to grow new plants.”

“Kind of like cloning.”

“Exactly like that.”

She walked him up the aisle, breathing in the scent of the geranium leaves. He noticed it, too.

“I smell apples.”

“It’s the foliage. You’ll also notice nutmeg and lemon.” Usually the scents calmed her. This morning she was fighting a headache.

He stopped to finger one of the thin black tubes inserted into the soil in each flower pot. “These deliver water?”

“It’s called drip irrigation. We use recycled water and also rainwater. I’m only using it indoors, though. Sun exposure reduces the life cycle of the rubber.” She pointed at the plants hanging over their heads. “We use it for the hanging baskets, too. We have the assemblies on a timer so it’s all automatic. Hut Three has a different system. For the seedlings we use overhead misters.” An orange glow radiating through the plastic walls of the hut alerted her to the sunrise. Soon she’d have to get back to the house and arrange some breakfast for Nat.

And let out Chance, who was no doubt draped across the foot of Nat’s bed despite orders that he sleep in the laundry room.

“Ready to move on?”

She didn’t bother walking him through Hut Two. He stood at the entrance and stared at the expanse of flowers—on the benches, in midair and even on the floor. Those awaited delivery, Parker told him. His gaze lingered, she noticed, on the section of black pansies. They’d always fascinated her, too. But his question had nothing to do with flowers.

“You’ve already watered this morning?” He was eyeing the floor.

“We keep the concrete damp on purpose. Cuts back on spider mites and powdery mildew.” And in that instant, an idea was born. She bit back a smile and led the way to Hut Three.

“So the buildings aren’t heated?”

“What? Oh. No. When we’re ready to expand we’ll consider it. It’ll take some money to install the convection tubes but obviously it’ll let us grow year-round.”

“What do you do during the winter?”

“Produce seedling plant and rooted plugs for other greenhouses.” She gave a half shrug. “That’s the plan, anyway. We didn’t get many buyers this past winter. We’ll do better this year.”

There wasn’t much to see in the last hut. She walked him around the property and showed him the potting shed/office/coffee mess, the garage and the compost bin. They walked past a grove of lilacs and the heady scent, combined with the cheerful songs of the robins hunting worms in the dew-damp grass around them, cheered her.

Silence. She turned to find him watching her. “You love this place,” he said.

“I do. So you can see why…” She trailed off.

“Why you’d put up with having me around?” He nodded once. “So, what can I do to help?”

“Follow me.”

After leading him to the storage end of Hut Three she selected a bucket, a soft-bristled scrub brush and a container of bleach. She pushed them at him and said, “Garden hose is just outside.”

He accepted the items as though they were a pile of dirty diapers. “What are these for?”

“Remember that mildew I mentioned?” She waved a hand at the nearest wall. “Don’t scrub too hard or you’ll tear the plastic.”

* * *

REID STRAIGHTENED, AND winced as the stiffness in his back reminded him he’d been hunched over for hours. He peeled back a borrowed latex glove and glanced at his watch. Okay, maybe not hours. Still, ninety minutes was a long time to be bent over a bucket of bleach.

His wince graduated to a grimace. Normally he wasn’t much of a complainer. This morning he had two good reasons. One, he never did get a decent cup of coffee. And two, he’d spent way too much time last night worrying when he should have been sleeping.

Worrying about whether he’d be able to make a difference. And if Parker would break her promise to Briggs. Seemed she planned to keep it after all. But for how long?

The breeze was back, and it carried the scent of spring through the greenhouse. He drew in an approving breath. All in all he’d rather smell flowers than a platoon of sweaty men any day. Not to mention bleach. He peeled off the gloves, pushed his hands into the small of his back and stretched. Time to see if he could get away with making his own pot of coffee.

A clearing of a throat. A young, female-type throat.

Aw, hell. Reid squeezed his eyes shut and slowly lowered his hands to his sides. He hadn’t expected to have to deal with her so soon. Even as he opened his eyes and turned, he told himself he should just ignore her. Show her he was someone she didn’t want to be around.

Green eyes watched him warily. At least he assumed they were both green. One was nearly swollen shut. Damn. All that black and blue had to smart.

After a few awkward seconds he managed to find his voice. “Something I can do for you?”

She shook her head. Silence. He sighed, and gestured with his chin. “What’s with the eye?”

She shrugged. Still not a word. Reid knew he’d lost his charm a long time ago but this was ridiculous. Had she come just to stare? He was tempted to turn around but something in her one-eyed gaze stopped him.

“Name’s Reid. I’m helping out.”

“Why?”

Aha. Not his favorite word in the world, but at least it was a word. “I’m on leave for a month. Needed something to do.”

Her mouth twisted and she eyed the plastic he’d scrubbed.

“You haven’t gotten very far. You spend that much time on every section and as soon as you’re done you’ll have to start all over again.”

Okay, why had he wanted her to speak to him? He gave a lazy shrug, and he could tell by the breathy, indignant noise she made that she didn’t appreciate his response.

“Do you even know what a chrysanthemum looks like?”

He tried not to laugh. She sounded like a teenager. “All right, kid, I admit it. I know squat about plants.” Except what Noble Johnson had tried to teach him. And he didn’t remember much of that, since the more beer the big man drank, the more Latin he spouted. “But that’s what Google’s for.”

“Whatever. You got a girlfriend?”

Now why was that question a kick to his gut? “No.” Then before he could stop himself he added, “Not anymore.” Damn, soldier. Shut up.

“What happened to her?”

“We just…didn’t get along anymore.” Not that he blamed her. There was a time he could barely get along with himself.

“’Cause you’re grumpy?”

Takes grumpy to know grumpy, kid. “Maybe.”

She fiddled with the bracelets on her wrist. “My mom said you came to help ’cause my dad died.”

He didn’t say anything. There was nothing he could say.

“And you didn’t even know him.” She tucked her hands into the back pockets of her bright pink jeans. “I could tell you about him, if you want. Whenever he came home from being deployed he always had to have my mom’s banana muffins. And her meat loaf. He’d ask her to make tons of it and we’d have it with mashed potatoes and peas. I never ate the peas. If she tried to make me I’d feed ’em to Chance. Anyways she’d make him meat loaf sandwiches with ketchup and cheese for when he went fishing. Sometimes she’d put hard-boiled eggs inside to surprise him. Daddy didn’t like to fish with worms, he used these squiggly, feathery, funny-looking things called flies and—”

Reid closed his eyes. He was in hell. Forget the searing flames and writhing bodies and agonized screaming. This was true damnation, having to listen to a lonely little girl chatter on and on about the father she’d worshipped.

“—and when I’d forget to shut it he’d get reeeeally annoyed and—”

“I’m a little busy here, kid,” he said, and barely recognized his own voice. “Maybe you could tell me some other time.” He braced himself for the tears. But her eyes filled with annoyance instead.

“That was rude,” she said. “And my name is Natalie.” She turned and marched away with her nose in the air.

Reid blinked. Guilt pressed down on him like a hundred-pound weight. Now he really needed a coffee. In fact he’d make it a double.

He headed for the potting shed. No sense in pretending he’d only been following her mother’s orders. Truth was, it hurt too much to talk to her. Besides, that kid had more attitude than the desert had scorpions. No way Parker needed to worry about her bonding with Reid.

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