Kathy Altman - The Other Soldier

When the door opened again he wore jeans and a Go Army T. He waved her in and shut the door behind her.

She looked around the room, but all she could see was the damage to his muscled body.

“How can I help you?”

She turned to find that he hadn’t moved, gaze wary, fingers still on the handle. He didn’t want her to feel threatened, she realized. But she’d never considered he’d do anything to harm her. Not physically, anyway.

Striving for calm, cool and collected, she settled into one of the two lawn chairs that flanked the scarred round table.

“Well,” she said. “Joe’s really done wonders with the place.”

The left side of Macfarland’s mouth tipped up and Parker found herself staring. She turned away, and noticed the duffel bag atop the neatly made bed.

“You’re packed.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He cocked his head. “Are you here to… Will you allow me to apologize, Mrs. Dean?”

She sat back, and the aluminum chair squeaked out a loud complaint. Her hands clutched at the grooved armrests. “We’re not talking about an insult here, or a—a fender bender. You can’t apologize for making someone a widow.”

“I have to try, ma’am.”

“Stop with the ‘ma’am,’” she snapped. “You make me feel like I should start paying attention to…to denture commercials.” Her breath hitched on a sob. He moved away from the door and disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the sound of running water. Seconds later he placed a cup on the table in front of her and stepped back. She nodded her thanks, but kept her hands in her lap. No way she could drink that water without spilling it. She’d humiliated herself enough for one day, thank you very much.

She motioned with her chin at the other chair. “Would you sit, please?” He hesitated, then did as she asked. He sat with both feet on the floor, hands hanging over the ends of the armrests. She raised her eyes to a face she’d hoped never to see again.

“Harris said you don’t have to be back on post for thirty days. Wouldn’t you rather spend that time with your family?” Her gaze dropped to his left hand. His fingers flexed.

“I’m not married,” he said softly. Softly, but not gently. “No family.”

“Friends, then.”

“My friends are overseas.”

A pause. “Where are you from?”

“San Diego.” He angled his head. “I’m here because this is where I’m supposed to be.”

“The last thing I want is to accept your offer. But you have me at a disadvantage.” He waited. She dug her fingers into her thighs. “Harris is sick and…needs to cut back on his hours. I can’t afford to hire someone else. Not yet. This morning I called a supermarket over in the next county. They’d wanted to place a large order with us but I had to turn them down. With help we can manage the order. The extra money will pay the most urgent bills, and allow us to make some repairs. If you could stay that long, I’d—” She faltered. She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t manage the word grateful.

He hadn’t moved, but a new tension gripped his muscles. Her mind flashed another image of his scarred torso. Was he in pain?

“You don’t want me here.”

She fought a laugh. You think?

“You need money,” he continued. He stood and moved to the bed. “I’ve written you a check. I planned to leave it with Gallahan.” He slid an envelope free of a side pocket and held it out.

Her fingers itched to take it. Whatever the amount, it would be a blessing. But she’d promised Harris.

And her forgiveness wasn’t for sale.

She pushed to her feet. “Exactly how much does a dead husband go for these days? Shall I tell you the figure the Army came up with? Or do you already know?”

His fingers tightened around the envelope. “I can’t match the death gratuity. But if you give me time, I can come close.”

She shoved her hands into her pockets to keep them from reaching out. “That money would make my life easier. It’d be easier for you, too, wouldn’t it? If I took it? Which is the very best reason to refuse it.”

Slowly he lowered his arm. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I don’t want anything from you. Not your apology, not your sympathy, not your money. But I owe Harris Briggs everything. And I made him a promise. So, Corporal, it looks like you’re about to get a crash course on being a grower. Tomorrow’s not good so I’ll see you first thing Saturday morning.”

Without a word he opened the door for her. She stepped out onto the sidewalk, then swung back around. “One last thing. I need you to stay away from my daughter.”

His head snapped back, like she’d taken a swing at him. Parker put up a hand. “Not because… Listen, I know you wouldn’t hurt her physically. But you’re a soldier like—” She stuck out her chin. “I don’t want her forming any attachments.”

His jaw looked hard enough to drive nails into concrete. “You don’t need to worry. One look at me and she ran like the boogeyman was after her.” He shut the door.

Parker’s shoulders slumped. Thank heaven he hadn’t asked, because she had no clue to the answer.

How did she know he wouldn’t hurt Nat?

* * *

PARKER SCRUNCHED UP her face and struggled to hear what Liz was saying. Outside the potting shed, Chance was barking loud enough to be heard across Lake Erie. Give it up, dog.

“Hold that thought, all right?” Parker pressed the phone to her shoulder and stomped outside. The Lab was fussing at a pine tree, undoubtedly seeing a squirrel in its branches. “Chance!” she scolded. “Quiet, please!”

He looked at her over his shoulder and plopped down onto his belly. “Good boy.” She put the phone back to her ear. “Okay, I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, Parker. I know I said I could learn about plants and stuff but I’m getting plenty of hours here. The tips are tight. And I need the cashola. I’m saving up for a car.”

“I understand, Liz.” No tips earned at a greenhouse, tight or otherwise. Parker dropped her head into her hand. “Thanks anyway.”

“Hold on a sec.” Over the country music playing in the background, Parker heard Liz talking to Snoozy, the owner of Castle Creek’s most popular bar. The only bar, really, if you didn’t include the lunch counter at Hunan’s. “No, I’m not quitting. And yes, I see him. Jeez, dude, don’t blow a gasket.” She came back on the line. “I have to go. Wish I could help.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll see you around.” Parker disconnected the call and tapped the phone against her chin. It was either that or heave it against the wall. She didn’t have much left to sell. But the set of Desert Rose china she’d advertised for months had finally reaped a buyer. With the money from that, she could afford part-time help. Hence the call to Liz Early. Which had followed calls to six other people who had at one time or another expressed interest in working for her. She’d hoped to bring one of them on board because it would mean not having to put up with Corporal Reid Macfarland for long.

But it seemed she was stuck with him after all.

She set the phone aside, propped her elbows on the slab of wood that served as a desk and lowered her face into her hands. The biggest risk was to Nat.

“God,” she muttered. “What if she ever found out?”

“What if who found out what?” Parker snapped her head up. Nat stood in the doorway of the potting shed, one hand on the doorjamb, the other clutching her backpack. Parker waved her in while scrambling to think of something, anything, to distract her.

“Hi, sweetie. I didn’t hear the bus. What sounds good for dinner tonight?”

Totally lame. Nat would see right through—

Her daughter stepped into the shed and Chance scrambled in after her. Parker gasped.