A Soldier's Promise. Karen Templeton
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when they were still in school and he’d hear the sniggering. Like it was somehow Val’s fault her mother was the way she was, that her father had left them high and dry when she was a little kid.
No, he thought as she backed out of the drive, took off, he didn’t imagine trusting had ever come easy to Valerie Oswald. With damn good reason. By comparison he and Tomas had led charmed lives, with parents who loved them, were there for them, even if Levi’s had sometimes been a little more there than he might’ve liked. But it hadn’t been like that for Val, who must’ve figured it was simply easier to keep to herself than to either live a lie or apologize for her mother. Which naturally led everyone to think she was either stuck-up or weird.
Almost everyone, anyway, Levi thought, as he yanked a large toolbox out of the truck, grabbed a crowbar to start prying up the rotten floorboards. So how could the girl who’d worked so hard to overcome her past not look at Levi without being reminded of what she’d lost?
Clearly Tommy hadn’t thought that part of his plan through.
With a grunt, he wrenched up the first board and tossed it out into the yard, chuckling when the dumb dog first scampered back, then growled at the board like it was a snake.
Which pretty much said it all, didn’t it?
Val shoved the last of the peach pies into the commercial-size freezer, then crossed to the stainless steel sink in the gleaming kitchen to wash her hands.
“All done?” AJ Phillips, who with his wife, Annie, had run Annie’s Café for thirty years, called from the other side of the checkerboard-floored room, where he was molding a half-dozen meat loaves to bake for the dinner rush. On the massive gas stove simmered cauldrons of green chile stew and posole, although the fried chicken would happen later, closer to dinnertime. In any case, the kitchen already smelled like heaven. A New Mexican’s version of it, anyway.
“Yep,” Val called back, shaking water off her hands before grabbing a paper towel. “A dozen.”
Grinning, the bald, dark-skinned man noisily shoved the trays in the oven. “My mouth’s already watering,” he said, and Val laughed.
It wasn’t ideal, though, having to make the pies during the afternoon lull, then freeze them to bake the next morning. But between the kids and not having a health-department-approved kitchen—yet—this was the best she could do. And since nobody was complaining, neither would she. Take that, Marie Callender, she thought with a slight smile as she walked back out into the dining room, where the only customer was Charley Maestas, hunched over a probably cold cup of coffee at the counter. His part pit bull mutt, sporting a blue bandanna around his neck, lay on the floor beside him, still but alert, as if he knew he wasn’t supposed to be inside. Although Annie said as far as she was concerned Loco was a service dog, and that was that.
Val squeezed the older man’s shoulder, his vintage denim jacket worn soft, as she passed him on her way to the ladies’. “Hey, Charley—how’s it going?”
Charley grunted his acknowledgment, his hand shaking as he lifted the heavy crockery mug to his mouth. The Iraq vet wasn’t homeless, although the cabin on the town’s outskirts next to his old cabinetmaking shop was no palace. But his graying beard was always neatly trimmed and his clothes clean, smelling of pine needles and menthol. She knew he’d served a couple of tours overseas with the National Guard, back before she and Tomas were married, that he’d been medically discharged when an IED went off close enough to inflict some brain damage of indeterminate severity. Some days were better than others, but according to Annie the poor guy would never be able to hold down a real job again. As it was, he often had trouble simply holding on to a thought.
“Can’t complain, honey.” He took a sip, swallowed, then turned droopy-lidded dark eyes to hers. “You?”
Val smiled, even though seeing him nearly every day was hard on her heart. And not only because he was a constant reminder of her own loss. She remembered him as a funny, sweet man who was crazy about kids—he and his wife, who’d passed away shortly before his last tour, had been childless—with a laugh that could be heard for what seemed like miles. Seeing him like this crushed her inside. Were the sacrifices really worth it? she wondered.
“I’m doing good, thanks. But seems to me you’re missing something.” She reached into the glass dessert case for the last piece of blueberry pie, which she set, with a fork, in front of the older man.
“Oh. I didn’t—”
“It’s too messy a piece to charge for. No, seriously, it looks like my dog sat on it.” She smiled at his raspy chuckle; then he sobered, staring at the pie.
“He didn’t really, did he?”
“No, Charley,” she said gently. “I’m just pulling your leg. Because he would’ve snarfed it up long before he sat on it.”
Charley chuckled again, the fork trembling when he picked it up. But the flicker of light in his eyes as he looked over at her, then back at the pie—a blob of flaky crust floating in a glistening, purple puddle—made Val’s heart turn over in her chest. The same as it did each time they played out this little scenario, which was pretty much every day.
“You are an angel, girl,” he said softly, releasing a blissful sigh as he took his first bite. “Some guy’s gonna be damned lucky to get you.”
Even as her face warmed, she smiled, ignoring his last comment. She’d told him about Tomas, more than once. Wasn’t his fault the information didn’t stick.
“It’s only a piece of pie, Charley. No biggie.” With another light squeeze to his arm she went on to the ladies’ room, leaning heavily on the sink to gather her wits. Because to be honest, sometimes Val thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, not remembering the stuff that hurt. Except then it’d be like finding out for the first time over and over, wouldn’t it? As awful as it was knowing she’d never see her children’s father again, she couldn’t imagine reliving that initial, searing, disbelieving pain. Whether she’d know she was reliving it or not.
And there went her hyperactive brain again, she thought on a sigh as she pushed away from the sink to go potty. Over the past several hours, between waiting tables and baking, she’d been too busy to think, thank goodness. Especially about how hiring Levi Talbot had left her feeling as if she’d sold her soul. And not only because she still wasn’t sure she hadn’t made a pact with the devil, but because as much as she wanted to stay angry that Levi had returned unscathed while her husband hadn’t returned at all, the haunted look in the devil’s green eyes told her he wasn’t all that unscathed. Not on the inside.
And that could be a problem.
She flushed and went to wash her hands, grimacing at her reflection in the way-too-brightly-lit mirror. Like most men, Levi would probably bluster through whatever was behind that look, or pretend it didn’t matter—Tomas had been a master at it—but Val was guessing Stuff Had Happened. Bad stuff. Which poked at that damned weak spot inside her that, despite everything she’d been through, she’d never been able to toughen up, or even ignore, no matter how badly she’d wanted to. Yeah, caring could be a bitch. The only saving grace was that she imagined the dude would appreciate her sympathy even less than she wanted to feel bad for him—
The door to the tiny bathroom smacked her in the butt as Annie pushed inside. “Sorry, honey—didn’t know you were in here!” Her boss vanished into the stall, calling out as she tinkled, “You know the pies sold out today, right? Except for maybe a half-dozen slices, and I doubt they’ll last until five-thirty.”
“So I gathered. That’s great.”
“You’re telling me.”
The toilet roared behind her employer as she emerged to wash her own hands. As usual, half of Annie’s salt-and-pepper hair had escaped its topknot, floating around her sun-weathered face as she grinned. “Especially