Susan Mallery: Shelter In A Soldier's Arms

The girl's cart was already full and his was nearly so when they turned the corner and found themselves in the pet food aisle. Maggie touched a can of cat food and sighed.

"Do you have a kitty?" she asked, sounding hopeful. "I didn't see one but maybe she was asleep."

"Sorry. No pets."

"Why? Don'tcha like them?"

"Cats?" He'd never thought about them one way or the other. Dogs could be a problem. Dogs made noise, alerting people to the presence of intruders. More than one mission had nearly been compromised by the unexpected presence of a dog. But cats?

"I travel a lot," he said, then hesitated. Conversing with Maggie was both easy and difficult. He didn't mind spending time in her company, which surprised him, but he wasn't sure what to say. How did people talk to children? He only knew how to talk to adults.

"Pets are a big responsibility," he continued. "It wouldn't be fair to the animal to leave it alone all the time."

She considered his statement, then nodded slowly. "Mommy and I are home plenty, but she says we can't have a kitten just yet. They can be expensive. Not for her food, but if she got sick or somethin'. Mommy gets sad about money sometimes. She cries in the bathroom." Maggie pressed her lips together. "I don't think I'm supposed to know, but I can hear her, even with the water running. Can you make Mommy not be sad?"

He wasn't sure what to do with the information Maggie shared. Based on the little he knew about Ashley's situation, he wasn't surprised by her financial concerns. But he also wasn't willing to take on responsibility for her emotional state.

"Your mother isn't sad now," he said, sidestepping the issue.

Maggie thought for a moment, then nodded her agreement. "Mommy's happy."

Jeff thought that might be a stretch. Ashley might be relieved to be out of the shelter, but he doubted she was pleased with her present circumstances. His guess was she wouldn't rest easy until she had her life back in order.

While Jeff heated soup in a pan on the stove, Maggie watched her frozen kid's dinner as it warmed in the microwave. The entree had come with a small toy, which she clutched in her hand as she danced from foot to foot, waiting for the timer to beep.

"I like chicken," she announced. "And macaroni and cheese. I've never had them together before." It didn't sound like much of a treat to him, but then, he wasn't four. After stirring Ashley's soup, he returned to the task of putting away the rest of the groceries. As the pantry shelves were bare, it didn't take long. He put milk and juice into the refrigerator, along with several cartons of yogurt. Frozen foods went into the freezer.

Grocery shopping and cooking had to be two of the most normal activities, and yet they all felt foreign to him. He didn't eat yogurt from a carton. The last time he'd had the stuff had been during a covert operation in Afghanistan and the goat responsible for the yogurt had watched him warily, as if to make sure he swallowed every spoonful.

He stirred the soup again, then checked on Maggie's dinner.

"Twenty more seconds," she told him, never taking her gaze from the timer.

He dug through kitchen cupboards, pulling out a bowl from a set of dishes he doubted he'd ever used. He also unearthed a wooden tray. After rinsing and drying the bowl, he poured the soup, then, along with a spoon, set it on the tray, next to some toast and a glass of juice. When the microwave beeped, he lifted Maggie's dinner onto the tray, along with cutlery and a drink, and started toward his guest's room.

"I get dessert later, right?" Maggie asked, confirming the reality of her purple Pop-Tart.

"Absolutely. We'll get your mom settled first, though."

"Okay."

He waited while Maggie pushed open the door, then he stepped into Ashley's room. Light spilled out from the bathroom, but the bedroom itself was in twilight. He could make out her still figure on the bed. Her eyes were closed, her breathing even.

He was about to retreat, taking Maggie with him, when the four-year-old flew at her mother and pounced onto the mattress.

"Mommy, Mommy, we brought dinner. There's soup for you and chicken pieces and macaroni and cheese for me. And Mr. Ritter got me Pop-Tarts and they're purple!"

Ashley came awake slowly. She opened her eyes and smiled at her daughter, then shifted her gaze so she could take in the room. He both felt and saw the exact moment she noticed him. For a second she looked confused, then she blinked and the questions in her eyes were gone.

Jeff was pleased she didn't appear frightened. He doubted the circumstances were to her liking, but she was in no condition to change them. He'd said and done as much as he could to convince her she was completely safe in his company, but it would take time and experience for her to learn that she could trust him.

"I brought dinner," he said as he flipped on the floor lamp. "Do you think you can eat?"

"I'm going to eat with you," Maggie said, sliding off the bed and walking to the small table by the window. "Is here okay?"

"It's fine, sweetie." Ashley shifted until she was in a sitting position, her back against the headboard. She rubbed her eyes, then looked at the tray. "I'm not hungry, but I haven't had anything since dinner last night, so I should probably try to get something down."

He served Maggie first, carefully putting her entree in front of her, then setting out a fork, a glass of milk and three napkins. When he carried the tray to Ashley, he noticed that she'd changed her clothes while they'd been gone. She'd traded jeans for sweatpants and her blouse for a loose T-shirt, both in faded navy.

She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Sleep had mussed her dark hair. While it wasn't as curly as her daughter's, it was thick and wavy, falling just to her shoulders.

"Maggie promised that you like chicken soup," he said adjusting the tray so the legs bracketed Ashley's slender thighs.

"What's not to like?" she said, picking up a spoon and taking a sip. "It's great." She paused and looked at him. "You've been more than kind. I really appreciate it. We'll be out of your hair by morning."

"I doubt that," Jeff told her. "You're sick. You're going to need a few days to get your strength back. I want you to feel comfortable enough to do that here."

Her hazel eyes seemed more blue than green or brown. Was it the hour of the day or a reflection of her navy T-shirt? Her arms were thin… too thin. Maggie had a sturdiness about her, but Ashley looked as if a slight breeze could blow her away.

As he continued to stare, he noticed a flush of color climbing her cheeks. At first he thought it was from her fever, but then he had the sudden thought that she might be uncomfortable with his scrutiny. He shifted his attention to her daughter.

"Maggie was a big help at the grocery store," he said.

The little girl beamed at him.

"I can only imagine," Ashley said dryly. "She convinced you to buy Pop-Tarts."

"I wasn't a hard sell."

"Mr. Ritter has a magic car," Maggie said between bites of chicken. "A lady spoke to us from the air and everything."

Jeff pulled out the second chair at the small table and sat down. "I called my assistant from the car, using the speakerphone. I needed some menu ideas."

"She was very nice and said hello to me," Maggie added.

The girl had finished most of her macaroni and cheese, although she wore a good portion of the sauce on her face and hands. Jeff studied the shape of her eyes and her mouth, then glanced at her mother, trying to figure out what traits they shared.

Ashley's features were slightly more delicate. The eye color was different, as well. Did Maggie's blue eyes come from her father?

Ashley tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, using her left hand. Jeff had already noted that she didn't wear a ring, but now he looked to see if there were any telltale marks showing one had recently been removed. He didn't see any tan lines or indentations. A divorce? he wondered. Although having a baby didn't require a woman to marry, Ashley struck him as the marrying kind. He didn't think she would have chosen to have a child on her own. Not without a good reason.