Lynnette Kent - Matt's Family

EARLY THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Kristin leaned back against the broad trunk of a tree at the top of one of Arlington National Cemetery’s rolling hills. She was grateful for the shade—without cloud cover, the summer sun burned fiercely. “The only people buried here are soldiers?”

“And some family members, plus military nurses from the Spanish–American War to the present.” Matt stood with his feet planted wide and his hands in the pockets of his shorts, gazing toward the elegant facade of the Lee mansion, once home to the Confederate general himself.

“War costs so much.” Kristin murmured, taking in the panorama of rolling green hills striped with row after row of small white stones.

Matt came over to lean on the same tree. “Yeah, but sometimes it’s necessary.”

His words stirred her temper. “I would expect you to think so. You’re trained to believe in war.”

He rounded the trunk to stare at her, his eyebrows high with surprise. “I believe in protecting this country and the people who live here.”

“And how did your trip to Africa provide anyone in the U.S. with protection?” She shocked herself with the question, especially after yesterday’s confrontation.

Matt’s expression turned grim. He’d warned her to leave the subject of Africa alone. Maybe she should respect his privacy.

But those five years had changed them both so completely…. Kristin couldn’t just ignore what had happened. She wanted to know. “What did you actually accomplish?”

He opened his mouth and started to shake his head. She held up her hand. “I know you can’t give me specifics. I don’t have the right clearance.”

He squared his shoulders and his mouth hardened. “We completed our assignment. If we hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been captured.”

“Was that assignment worth five years of your life?” She was pushing them both toward an argument, yet she couldn’t seem to hold back.

Eyes narrowed, he held her gaze for a long moment, then turned away to look out across the Potomac River toward Washington. He didn’t say anything at all.

Kristin needed to know. “Well?”

Without turning to face her, he shrugged. “I don’t know. If I could have foreseen…” He didn’t finish.

“If you’d known you’d be captured, you wouldn’t have gone?”

He took a deep breath. “I had to go. That was my responsibility and my duty. But I would have been more…careful…with you.”

Kristin had to concentrate on his words to realize the full implications. And then she went cold. Even if he’d known that he would be gone for five years, he would have left. But he would have been “careful” with her. What did that mean! Careful not to get too involved with her? Careful not to have sex with her?

So there wouldn’t have been a baby…Erin. There would have been no reason to marry Luke. That meant Jenny wouldn’t have been born, either.

What in the world would her life have been without them?

“Well, that certainly clears things up.” Straightening away from the tree, she drove her shaking hands into her pockets. “Where do we go from here?”

“Kris—” He reached toward her.

But Kristin turned her back and started walking, toward the parking lot, she hoped. She needed a chance to consider Matt’s feelings about their child. Though he loved Erin, and wanted her to know him as her father, he obviously thought of her as a mistake. Or at least an error in judgment.

So was their marriage his attempt to take care of the problems he considered his responsibility? As soon as possible after his return, Kristin had told him that Erin was his child, and had promised their daughter would know that fact, one day. Not long afterward, Luke had moved into a house by himself, when the comfortable, careful marriage they’d built crumbled under the burden of Kristin’s guilt. At that point, Matt had obviously felt bound to take his brother’s place as father and husband. Less than a year after her divorce from Luke, he’d asked her to marry him.

So here was the understanding she had wanted to reach. Her marriage was based on great sex and a very dependable man’s sense of obligation. At least now she knew where they stood.

Matt caught up as she reached the road. He didn’t try to talk on the long hike back to the van. Kristin was very glad of that.

THEIR RIDE out to Manassas, Virginia, was just as quiet. In the visitors’ center, she studied exhibits of war memorabilia while Matt made a short tour of the battlefield area. They skipped the cemetery and the memorial to Confederate dead.

“I reserved a room at an inn in Boonesboro, Maryland.” Matt hoped to break the silence with something non-controversial. “From there we can get to Antietam and Gettysburg with short drives.”

Kristin didn’t turn away from the side window. “That’s nice.”

Not exactly encouraging. And he wasn’t sure why she was so angry. She knew his father, knew that the Army tradition went back in their family for generations. One of his great-grandfathers had died at Gettysburg. This trip was about family history as much as war itself.

Of course, for the Brennans the two were pretty much the same thing. Or had been, until Luke broke the mold, ditched college and joined the police force. Little brother was definitely not a chip off the old block.

Matt’s thoughts skidded to a stop. Was his career part of the problem? Did Kristin regret giving up her marriage to a man who stayed in town and came home every day? Sure, a cop faced dangerous situations all the time, but usually on his home ground. Not five thousand miles away in a foreign country so that you never even knew what happened to the body.

“Dad’s really pushing me to rejoin the unit,” he said, trying to explore the issue.

“I noticed.” She didn’t move, didn’t uncurl from her withdrawn position.

He would have to be more direct. “Maybe it’s time I made a decision—change careers or go back to the one I had. What do you think?”

Kristin sighed and turned back to the window. “We’ve had enough change, Matt. Let’s just leave things the way they are.”

He didn’t attempt to start another conversation for the rest of the drive.

BOONESBORO WAS a small town, mostly a cozy main street crossed by a few short lanes. The bed-and-breakfast inn—Chisholm’s Rest—overlooked the village from atop a hill. Matt stopped the van in the circular driveway.

“This looks nice,” Kristin said as they climbed the steps.

“I hope so.” Matt rang the bell. “A guy in the unit recommended it. He used to live in the area.”

She touched the petal of a bright red flower in the window box, but didn’t reply.

The door opened and a tall woman peered through the screen door. “’Afternoon, folks. What can I do for you?”

“I’m Matt Brennan and this is my wife, Kristin. We made a reservation.”

“Sure you did! Come right on in!” She pushed the door wide open. “I was wonderin’ if you’d get here afore suppertime.”

The hall of the house was dim and cool and smelled like roses. Kristin appreciated the gleam of dark woodwork and polished floors. “Your inn is lovely, Mrs….”

“Chisholm. Sadie Chisholm.” She put out a hand to Kristin, and then Matt. “M’husband’s George. He’s asleep right now, but he’ll be up in a little while. I was flxin’ him a snack. You folks hungry?”

Before they could say yes or no, Sadie swept them down the hallway into a bright white kitchen. “Sit down at the table. I got some iced tea, here, and just a few sandwiches.” She put a platter piled high with crustless triangles of bread and cheese in the center of the table. “And some cookies, when you’re finished.”

Kristin sipped from the tall glass of tea. A cold, sweet trickle soothed her throat and eased the headache behind her eyes. “This is wonderful, Mrs. Chisholm.”