The Other Soldier

“Oh, Nat. Oh, sweetie.” Parker gathered Natalie onto her lap and into a hug. She squeezed her daughter hard, fighting and losing the battle against her own tears.

Nat pressed her face into Parker’s T. “Did he leave because of me?”

Were they still talking about their visitor? “You mean—”

“Did he leave because I ran away?”

“No. No, honey. He left because of me.” The microwave beeped. Parker ignored it.

“Why?”

“He wanted to stay for a while. And I thought that would be too painful for us.”

Silence. Then, “Did he know Daddy?”

Parker shook her head, realized Nat couldn’t see her, and leaned away. She smoothed the hair out of Nat’s face and shook her head again.

“So why did he come?”

“He’d…heard that Daddy had died.”

“And he wanted to help?” Parker nodded. “That was nice.” Nat sniffled, and dipped her head. Chance abandoned the rug and pressed against her knee. “So you think he might come back?”

“Not unless I ask him to.”

Nat opened her mouth, shut it, frowned. Parker braced herself. “Why?”

“Maybe he’s lonely.”

“What?”

Nat slid back into her own chair, tearstained face suddenly animated. “Maybe he was lonely, and he heard about what happened to Daddy, and he figured we must be lonely, too. So he came to keep us company.”

Blindly Parker stood and groped for the microwave. “I already told you why he came. He isn’t lonely.”

“How do you know? Did you ask?”

“Nat, we can’t invite every lonely person in the world to stay with us. It’s not feasible.”

“But I’m not asking about every lonely person. I’m asking about him.”

“Nat.” Parker stirred the powder into the water and set a mug on the table. “Drink your hot chocolate and go to bed. You have school tomorrow.”

Her daughter frowned down into her mug. “No marshmallows?”

“Natalie.”

“Remember when we took in Chance, Mom?”

Oh, dear Lord.

Nat bent down and hugged the Lab, resting her cheek on top of his head. “You said it was wrong to turn your back on someone in need.”

“Chance is a dog.”

“Yeah, but he’s human like the rest of us.”

Parker wanted to laugh but didn’t have the energy. “What is it about this man? You never even talked to him.”

Nat straightened, and up went the chin she’d inherited from her mother. “What if it was Daddy? What if he didn’t have anyone? Would you want a family like us to turn him away?”

It was like facing a nine-year-old Harris Briggs. Parker’s fingers curled tight and she fought the urge to kick a table leg.

“He’s not your father. And he won’t be staying long. He has to go back overseas.”

“To be a soldier.”

“Yes, to be a soldier.”

“What if he dies like Daddy?” Her eyes filled again. “And he doesn’t think anybody cares?”

It was a conspiracy, that’s what it was. Nat didn’t even know the whole story but just like Harris, she was determined to make Parker out to be the bad guy. Her fingers started to ache, and she frowned down at the dishrag in her hand. She’d squeezed all the water out onto the floor.

“Mom?”

Parker squatted and scrubbed at the linoleum a lot harder than she had to. Then she jerked to her feet and carefully laid the dishrag over the rim of the sink. “I’ll give it some thought. All right? No promises. Now if you don’t want your drink you need to get to bed.”

Nat heaved a put-upon sigh and carried her mug to the sink. She eyed the ruined muffins. “You making another batch?”

Parker nodded. Might as well. No way she’d get any sleep. Not now.

“Could you add some chocolate chips this time?”

That was how Harris preferred them. “You planning to share?”

“We should do something nice for Harris. He works hard.”

Parker’s breath snagged. “Yes, he does. Have you—” she swallowed “—noticed he looks more tired than usual lately?”

Nat nodded slowly. “I didn’t want to ask him about it ’cause I figured he’d just yell.”

Parker gripped the back of the nearest chair. Had she been that blind? She straightened and motioned Nat toward the stairs. “Time for bed, kiddo. And on the way you can tell me all about it.”

* * *

HARRIS OPENED THE DOOR the following morning and Parker thrust the plate of muffins at him. “You’re sick, aren’t you?”

He backed away from the doorway, rubbing his stomach where she’d shoved the plate. “A moment ago I felt fine. But that was before the bruised rib.”

“Stop it. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“You tell me.”

She pushed past him into the living room. “I thought you were scamming me. When you said you were tired. I thought you were trying to play on my sympathies so I’d let Macfarland stay. Then Nat said something and—” She shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her overalls. “It’s true, isn’t it? You’re sick.”

“You make it sound like I have TB or cancer or schizophrenia. Something that’ll put me in slippers and a hospital gown, eating baby food and watching game shows for the rest of my life.”

“You don’t have cancer.” Thank God. Her knees went weak and she sank down onto the seen-better-days sofa. It went so well with the battered pine coffee table and the over-the-hill leather recliner. “How long will that be?”

“What’s that?”

“The rest of your life.”

She watched him struggle with a smart-aleck response. Finally he shrugged. “Ten years. Ten days. Same could be said for us all.” He set the plate on a side table. Denim shushed against leather as he settled into the recliner.

“What is it?”

“Viral cardiomyopathy. Affects the heart muscle.”

Parker curled her toes inside her work boots, fighting tears he didn’t need to see. First they’d lost Tim and now— “What can they do for it?”

“They got me on some medications. Beta-blockers, they call ’em. And the usual no-sodium bull—uh, crap. Maybe someday a pacemaker.”

“Is that where you were last Tuesday? At the doctor’s?” He gave her a sheepish nod. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You have enough on your plate, my girl.”

“My God, Harris, how do you think I would have felt if something had happened to you? You’ve been loading the truck and hauling compost and dragging around hoses. And all this time, any one of those things could have killed you.”

“Now don’t go mixin’ pickles with your peppers. Workin’ won’t kill me. It’s not workin’ that would take me out. I just have to know my limits.”

“And when were you going to let me know about these ‘limits’?”

“I’m lettin’ you know now.”

“Harris Briggs,” she whispered, and swiped a palm across her cheek. “How long have you known?”

He slapped his hands to his knees and pushed himself upright. “Coffee?”

“Is this why you’re so determined about Macfarland?”

“Partly.”

A lengthy pause. “How long is his leave?”

“Thirty days. Give or take.”

One month. How would she manage, even for one day, to be civil to the man who’d brought the worst kind of tragedy into her life?

She moved to the front window of Harris’s small brick house and shifted the drapes aside. But she couldn’t see anything other than Tim’s face.

She had a right to her anger. Just as she had a right to her grief. No one was going to tell her how she should feel.

But Nat had come downstairs that morning looking more rested than she had in months. Before sitting down to her cereal she’d handed Parker a list of strategies to keep the corporal from feeling lonely. At the top of the list she’d written “spend time with him.” Which Parker took to mean that Nat herself was feeling lonely. And no wonder, since Parker spent most of her time in the greenhouses or tending to greenhouse affairs.

But there was no money for extra help. And now Harris had admitted to a heart condition. They should both be spending more time with him.

Slowly she turned from the window. “After thirty days, then what? He’ll be gone and we’ll still be short-staffed.”

“Let me tell you somethin’, Parker Anne.” Harris stood behind his recliner, his hands gripping the padded back. “I love you like a daughter. Best thing that happened to me in a good long time was the day you moved up here. I realize it was all arranged before your husband died, but you could’ve changed your mind. And I thank God every day that you didn’t. You’re my family now, you and Nat. Don’t make me spend the time I have left doin’ nothing else but worryin’ about you.”

Her chest went tight. She smiled, but had a hard time keeping it in place. “You’d worry no matter what.”

“I know, I know, and there ain’t no use puttin’ up an umbrella till it rains.” He pushed away from the chair. “How about this. How about we take it one day at a time. With an extra pair of hands around you might actually make payroll.”

“Low blow, Briggs.” But an accurate one. She rubbed her forehead. She wanted to kick and scream and cry and pack up Nat and spend the next month camping out in the mountains.

Harris had been right to scold her for being selfish. Natalie had suffered enough. Did Parker really want to teach her daughter to be unforgiving?

Still. Thinking about forgiving someone wasn’t the same thing as actually forgiving them. That bit of wisdom might get Parker through the next thirty days.

She scrubbed her hands over her face, then followed Harris into the kitchen. Enough about her. “Does your heart condition have anything to do with why you’re not seeing Eugenia anymore?”

He stiffened but didn’t turn away from the coffeepot. “We were finished before then. And it ain’t none of your business why.”

“Fine.” She inhaled. “I don’t want you to come in today.”

He whirled around so fast it made her dizzy. Thank God the mug he held was empty. She held up a hand before he could start bellowing. “It’s only one day. Besides, I have a list of things you can pick up at Cooper’s for me.”

“Errand boy. That’s what you’re reducin’ me to?”

“You know better than that, Harris Briggs. And considering how long you’ve kept me in the dark about this, you’re lucky I don’t cut off your muffin supply.”

He did his best to look menacing. She refused to flinch, and eventually his shoulders sagged. He swung back to the counter and poured his coffee.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” she ventured. “Between you and Eugenia. She really seems to like you.”

“She doesn’t like people so much as she likes doin’ for them.”

“What does that mean?”

“Never mind.” He handed her a mug and scowled. “Guess it’s too much for a man to hope you put chocolate chips in those muffins.”

Parker sighed. Subject closed. For now. She patted him on the cheek and reached for the napkins.

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.