Navy Rules. Geri Krotow
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the hammer?”
“Doug and Brendan made a birdhouse yesterday and the tools are still on the workbench.” Robyn’s voice reflected impatience—at Winnie’s constant nagging to be more mindful of safety or at Brendan’s morning antics, Winnie couldn’t be sure.
“So how did he get into the garage?” Winnie loved her sister but they raised their kids very differently. Winnie had been an organized parent from the start; it had seemed like a prerequisite for a Navy wife. Not to mention her sanity, which relied on tidiness. Even as a child Winnie liked to have all her toys and books organized.
Not Robyn.
“He’s figured out how to open the doors.”
“Ouch. Time for some sliding bolts, up high.”
Robyn sighed.
“Yeah, I think I’m headed to Home Depot with the little guy today. What are you up to?”
“The usual. I don’t have any orders going out until next week,” she said, referring to her fiber orders. Sales would pick up over the next several weeks, as retailers were beginning to order for the following season. She’d started the business from scratch four years ago when she’d discovered, by accident, that there were a number of private farms on the island that raised fiber-producing animals, including sheep, alpaca and llamas.
Winnie’s lifelong love of knitting had led her to the few knitting and crochet groups in the area, where she met the farm-owners and listened to their wistful dreams of being able to market their own fiber. Winnie had dreamed with them until Tom’s death—and the realization that she needed a means to provide for her and Krista. The insurance they’d received was more than generous, but Winnie never looked at it as anything other than a means to pay for Krista’s future education.
Winnie had founded Whidbey Fibers with only three sheep farmers. Today she had almost two dozen clients not just on Whidbey but on a few of the outlying islands like San Juan and Orcas, too. Her fibers included merino, alpaca, llama and angora.
Robyn chuckled.
“You always say you don’t have a lot going on, Winn, but you’ve got tons to do every day or you wouldn’t be the famous businesswoman you are.”
“Yeah, right.” Winnie brushed off Robyn’s compliment. Robyn was talking about the attention Winnie had received last season for taking her business to the international level by procuring a client in Victoria, British Columbia.
“I do have one important appointment today—an assignment with Sam, up in Dugualla.”
“When? Can you meet me for lunch?”
Winnie bit her lip. Despite her praise of Winnie’s success, Robyn didn’t really understand how much work her fiber production business was, on top of two kids, her volunteer work and no husband.
Robyn had always been there for her. Sometimes she just forgot Winnie’s extra burden.
“I’d love to meet you but I have no idea how long this one will take. I’m driving Sam out to a residence—the client wants to be able to spend time with Sam but not at the base hospital or even on the base.”
Please don’t ask any more questions.
“You’re a good soul, Winnie.” Robyn didn’t ask for more details—she knew that Winnie’s canine therapy work was confidential.
Of all people, you can trust Robyn with who your new client is.
Robyn was the one person who knew the whole story, knew who Maeve’s father was. Robyn had never betrayed her, even to their mother.
Maybe she should tell Robyn. But Robyn would kill her if she found out Winnie was driving up to Max’s today.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you that the mother of the autistic boy I told you about wants you to bring Sam over at some point.” Robyn was off on another tangent, nothing new for her sis.
“Have her call the base. Maybe there’s another dog therapy team available. I only work with returning sailors at this point.”
“I told her that, but she sounds desperate.”
“She has to work through her pediatrician.” Winnie sensed Robyn’s frustration, and she wanted to help, but she and Sam could only be in one place at a time. Since she’d started dog therapy with Sam a year ago, requests for service work had increased tenfold.
She’d begun it with the intent of giving back to the Navy community that had so strongly supported her and Krista in the aftermath of Tom’s death. The basic obedience and Canine Good Citizenship tests had been easy for Sam to pass. True to his German shepherd genes, he was incredibly intelligent and motivated to please his trainer, Winnie.
“Okay, then, I’d better go. Brendan is off on a tear!”
Winnie laughed. “Of course he is. I still say you’d enjoy a day or two on your own each week. For your sanity, you know?”
“Maybe we could just switch lives for a day.”
Winnie understood what Robyn meant. Winnie had the girls taken care of, between school and day care. She had to—she didn’t have a husband or partner to support her. But true to her oversensitive nature, Robyn panicked at the immediate silence on the line.
“Oh, Winnie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Stop it, Robyn. I know exactly what you meant. Please, please let it go.” Robyn ran on guilt as much as caffeine, a trait both girls inherited from their devout Catholic mother. Whenever the three of them got together over a cup of coffee, their father accused them of sounding like a beehive in overdrive. Thank God for their father, whose patient nature made him a revered high school teacher and track coach, and had kept their family on an even keel when they were younger.
“All right. But if your day turns out differently, come and meet me for lunch, okay? We can get takeout and eat it while Brendan naps.”
“Will do. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Winnie turned off her phone with a sigh of relief.
Thai takeout in front of Robyn’s woodstove sounded like pure bliss. But the chances of there being enough time to drive up to Anacortes, the town north of Whidbey Island, and back again to get the girls from school in Coupeville, were slim.
She still had to finish her fiber inventory. Whidbey Fibers’ success wasn’t an accident. She’d taken the energy she’d focused on her marriage and put it into the corporation, client by client.
The farm-owners were, for the most part, great at raising livestock and producing viable quantities of fiber, but getting it spun into usable yarn was another story. Drawing on her business background, Winnie had recruited machine- and hand-spinners across the Pacific Northwest and became the liaison between the farmers, spinners and yarn shops. She’d begun receiving orders from Europe and Australia within eight months of start-up.
Her business model was unique in that instead of simply purchasing the fiber outright, she shared the profits of the finished product with the farmers. This increased their motivation to produce and created a camaraderie in the Whidbey Island fiber community that hadn’t existed before. Instead of competing, each farm benefited from the success of all the farms. She also employed hand- and machine-spinners who transformed the fresh fiber into usable yarn.
As she walked by bin after bin of sheared wool and alpaca and checked off her inventory master list, Winnie’s mind drifted back to her other commitment for today.
Her therapy-dog visit.
Max.
She’d accepted the assignment knowing full well that she risked losing the secure life she’d built for herself and the girls.
Self-recrimination washed over her. She took a ball of alpaca out of its bin and held the soft wool to her cheek. She should’ve told