The Other Soldier. Kathy Altman
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until Parker had given in and ordered a dozen quince trees. Not one had sold.
And she never did get that jelly he’d promised.
He fingered a leaf on a geranium that sported blooms as red as a male cardinal. “He offered to stay. Help out.”
“He what?”
“He wants to make sure you and Nat will be okay.”
“We’ll be a heck of a lot more okay without him around. I couldn’t look at him without thinking of…of Tim.” She gulped, wrapped her arms around her waist and held on tight. “I don’t want him here.”
“He’s a soldier and he deserves your respect. No different from your husband.”
Her body went slack. “It is different. It’s hugely different. Tim never killed anyone.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she recognized the absurdity. She had no way of knowing what Tim had done in theater. She began to pace, shaking her hands as if she’d burned them. “You know what I mean. If he killed anyone it wasn’t an allied soldier.”
“Probably not. But you don’t know that. If he did, wouldn’t you want him to have the chance to ask for forgiveness?”
She stopped pacing. “He really got to you, didn’t he?” Her fingers dug into her hips. “Where is he, anyway?” So help her, if she found out he was anywhere within even a mile of her property…
Harris carefully set the hose aside. “Listen, my girl. Macfarland may be a soldier, but he’s a man first. A man trying to make amends. Remember that five-year-old boy, run down by a drunk driver a few months back? You said then that you didn’t know how the driver could ever live with himself after being responsible for something like that.”
Parker suddenly had trouble breathing. “Are you actually telling me that if I don’t forgive him he’ll kill himself?”
“All’s I’m sayin’ is, think about the consequences of your actions.”
“Too bad this…corporal…didn’t think about his.” He frowned and she scrubbed her palms on her overalls. “This conversation is over. I don’t want to see that man, I don’t want to talk to him, I don’t want him talking to me.”
“What if he goes back to the desert and gets himself killed? You think you might be sorry you didn’t give him a listen?”
“This is unbelievable. He makes a mistake that costs a man’s life and I’m the one getting the lecture.”
“I’m tired, Parker Anne.”
“Me, too. So let’s drop it. Why don’t you go on up to the house and—”
“I mean, I’m tired. I can’t keep up anymore. For Pete’s sake, I’m old.”
She looked at him then, really looked at him, at his sunbaked skin and disappointed shoulders. She fought the sudden sting of helpless tears.
“You’re not old. But you are right. I work you too hard. I’m sorry, I get so caught up in—” She swallowed. “I’ll figure something out. Get you some help. Why don’t you take it easy for a few days? I’ll handle tomorrow’s delivery.”
“You think I don’t know you can’t afford to hire anyone else right now? And you can’t run this place by yourself. There’s the spring contract orders to fill and more coming in every day. Unless you’ve found the secret to gettin’ by on a few hours’ sleep every day, I don’t see the harm in lettin’ the man help out.”
“I thought I’d made myself clear. That’s not going to happen.”
“It’s for your own good.”
“I think you’re more worried about him than me. Since when did you become so charitable?”
“Since when did you become so selfish?”
Parker stumbled back a step and banged up against the table. Harris looked at her, his eyes sad.
“You need help. He needs to help. Gardening’s therapy. You’re not the only one suffering, my girl.”
“But Nat—”
“Needs to learn not to hightail it every time she sees a man in uniform. She also needs to learn the power of forgiveness. And who’s she gonna learn that from, if not you?”
“I can’t forgive him. You don’t know what you’re asking. Even he knew better than to ask for that.”
“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t want it.” He waited a beat. “All I’m askin’ is for you to try.”
Parker shook her head. “That’s too much. I’m trying to rebuild here. Not just the greenhouses, but our lives. I don’t have time for anything—or anyone—that threatens that.”
Harris didn’t say a word. Not that she’d expected him to. How could he argue with her wanting to put her family first?
CHAPTER TWO
REID SQUINTED THROUGH the windshield. The motel outside Castle Creek looked about as inviting as a trailer park after a tornado. But according to Harris Briggs, it was his only option. Unless he wanted to sleep in the Jeep.
Still, the dingy, mildew-coated structure almost made him homesick for the pitiful piece of real estate he’d been assigned over in southern Afghanistan—which had included room for his bunk and his footlocker, and not much else.
Hell, who was he kidding? He’d been homesick for his unit since stepping off that cargo plane at Godman Army Airfield. Especially after learning he’d been kicked out of Fort Knox housing. New regulations—all unmarried soldiers had to find accommodations off-post. His shoulders tightened, and he rolled them back to shrug off the tension.
He pulled into the motel’s crumbling asphalt lot and parked in front of a battered metal post turned golden by the afternoon sun. The pole supported a newly made sign that read Sleep at Joe’s.
Clever. And just the kind of place he didn’t need. Odds were that behind the registration desk lurked an attention-starved, big-haired woman who would set aside her latest diet bible and siphon Reid for information like she was a ’78 Lincoln and he was the last gas pump for five hundred miles.
The backseat of the Jeep was looking better every second.
Then he thought about his unit over in the sandbox, and how during missions they had to sleep in trenches dug for protection from mortar fire. What did he have to complain about? He got out of the Jeep, stepped over a cluster of wilting daffodils and entered the office.
The clerk manning the desk was just that—a man. Despite his stubbly jaw and frayed jeans and T, he didn’t seem the casual-conversation type. And the book he set aside when Reid walked in had nothing to do with weight loss—it was bulky, yellow and full of telephone numbers.
The clerk gave Reid and his uniform the once-over and leaned forward, elbows on the counter. “Need directions?”
The man’s eyes held respect. Reid lowered his own gaze and pulled his wallet from a back pocket. “Only to an available room.” He slid a credit card across the counter. The clerk didn’t even glance at it.
“Sorry, man. Not open for business yet.”
Damn. “Any recommendations?”
“There’s a Motel 6 twenty-five miles east.”
“Thanks.” The phone trilled and the man nodded, then turned away. Reid was at the door when he called after him. “Not one to ask for favors, are you?”
Slowly Reid turned. “Meaning?”
“That was Harris Briggs on the phone. Said he’d told you to mention his name.” The clerk shrugged. “I have a room that’s clean but postapocalyptic ugly. I just bought the place. The reno’s barely