The Other Soldier. Kathy Altman
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Still had to be paid.
He frowned at Briggs. “I’d like to help, but I have to respect Mrs. Dean’s wishes.”
“Never mind her. I’ll talk her around. Woman’s too stubborn for her own good. I know what you’re thinkin’—she can hire help. Easier said than done here in Castle Creek. And even if we do find someone, she can’t afford to pay what they’d be asking. You gonna walk away from a war widow in dire straits?”
Reid’s mouth flattened. “If she wants me to.”
Briggs waved a hand. “Now, don’t go gettin’ your dress over your head.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’ll see what I can do. You prepared to work if she takes you up on your offer?”
That was the idea. He’d put her in this position. It was up to him to get her out. And he had a month to do it. Assuming Briggs could talk her into letting him back on the property.
Reid squinted. “Long as you don’t expect me to wear overalls.”
“You can wear a tutu for all I care. Might even draw some customers.”
Reid grunted. Tutu, hell. He should have packed his tactical gear.
A loud, rumbling sound. The two men looked toward the road, and watched a school bus lumber to a stop at the end of the gravel driveway. A black Labrador retriever rounded the far side of the house, tail high, bark impatient, legs a blur. A young girl in bright pink jeans and a matching shirt stepped off the bus. She walked a few feet and dropped her backpack at the same time as she fell to her knees in the grass. Her arms went around the dog and she nestled her face in the shiny jet fur.
Reid’s scalp started to prickle. He resisted the urge to tug off his beret.
The dog wriggled free, ran a short distance and stopped, inviting the girl to give chase. She went along with the game, running after the Lab and covering half the distance to the strawberry patch before noticing Reid. She stumbled to a stop, mouth open, russet hair swinging around her face. Briggs called out to her but she ignored him, turned and dashed for the house as if suddenly caught in an icy downpour.
Like mother, like daughter.
The dog, on the other hand, greeted Reid as if he were packing bacon. He pushed his nose at both palms, snuffled up and down both legs, and ran figure eights around both men. When he paused to conduct another inspection Reid stroked his silky head, fighting the urge to hug him just as the girl had.
“What’s his name?”
“Chance. Sweet dog, but dumber than chickweed.”
“Hey, boy. Hey, Chance.” At the sound of his name the dog barked and jumped up onto his hind legs. He braced his front paws against Reid’s dress jacket.
“Careful, now. Don’t want to sully that uniform.”
Reid’s fingers tightened in the Lab’s fur and he glanced over at the farmhouse.
Too damned late.
* * *
PARKER’S SHOULDERS ACHED but she didn’t dare ease up on the scrub brush. Best thing in the world for emotional overload? A bucket of warm soapy water, a flat surface and a set of nylon bristles.
Unless there was something in dropkick range. But she couldn’t afford to play soccer with her plants.
Unfortunately the scrubbing thing wasn’t really working, either. She could barely breathe, with all that fury blocking her throat. She’d been doing so well, no longer reminding herself to mail her letter to Tim, or wondering if he was using his sunscreen, or when he’d next get the chance to call home. Keeping it together for Nat—
She sucked in a scalding breath and felt it sear all the way up to her eyeballs. Forgive me, the corporal had said. Now she knew he’d meant for so much more than startling her.
“You’re rubbin’ that worktable like you think a genie’s gonna pop out.”
Parker stopped, stared down at the suds coating the table and slowly relaxed her grip on the brush. Then she whirled and threw the dumb thing at the bucket. The resultant spray of soapy water was nowhere near as satisfying as she’d hoped. She yanked off her lime-green rubber gloves and tossed them after the brush.
“Did he tell you who he was?” She snatched up the hose. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? What made him think he could… Why would he even think I would consider—” She squeezed the nozzle too hard and water jetted off the tabletop and ricocheted back into her face. “Damn it. What I’d like to know is, why is that man even still in the Army?”
Harris took the hose away. “You need to calm down, my girl.” He plucked a handkerchief from his back pocket and held it out. “Nat’s home. Why don’t you go check in with her and I’ll finish up here.”
“I can do it.” She wiped her face, jammed the handkerchief down into her bib pocket and grabbed at the hose. Harris held it out of reach and she frowned. “I can do it. Why don’t you go pester Eugenia?”
He scowled and flushed at the same time. “Don’t you think it’s time you learned to delegate?”
“Don’t you think it’s time you learned I’m in charge?”
He raised an eyebrow. Parker felt a gush of mortified heat sweep up through her chest and into her neck. While she struggled to find the words to apologize, Harris tucked the hose nozzle in the crook of his elbow and took his time unwrapping a stick of gum.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean it.”
“I know that, Parker Anne. Anyways, Eugenia and I aren’t datin’ anymore.”
When Harris got that look on his face Parker knew better than to push her luck. She collapsed back against the table, palm to her forehead. What she’d give for a handful of ibuprofen and a caffeinated soda. The last thing she needed to do was alienate her strongest ally. Thanks to Harris Briggs she’d finally come to terms with Tim’s death. And Nat’s nightmares had only just gone on hiatus. Neither of them should have to deal with an in-the-flesh reminder of what they’d lost.
And how they’d lost him.
Thank God she’d sent the corporal away before Nat got home.
“Nat knows to get started on her homework,” she said. “She’ll be fine.”
“She’s bound to have questions.”
She left her hand where it was and talked into her wrist. “About what?”
“About your visitor.”
She launched upright. Oh, no. Oh, God. “She met him?”
“Not met. Saw. And as soon as she saw, she ran.”
Parker’s hands shook. She turned and leaned on the table, palms pressed flat on the soapy surface. “I don’t need this. Nat doesn’t need this. Not now.”
She stared through the plastic sheeting at the row of feathery pine trees that separated the greenhouse from the “garage” that was little more than a leaky barn. “He came a long way for nothing. I don’t have the slightest interest in helping to ease that man’s conscience. If I were in his position I’d never presume to—” Emotion backed up into her throat again.
“The man’s tryin’ to do the right thing.”
Parker turned her head sharply. “You’re defending him?”
“It was an accident. More than a year ago. He wants to apologize. I think, my girl, you should hear him out.”
She shook her head, not believing what she was hearing. “You of all people,” she whispered. “You know what we’ve been through. You’ve seen—” Wait a minute. She turned, and crossed her arms. “I get it. Marines, wasn’t it?”
“That has nothin’ to do with it.”