Kathy Altman - The Other Soldier

“Natalie! What happened?”

Fresh tears dampened the streaks on Nat’s face as Parker rushed forward and tipped up her chin. “We were playing basketball during gym,” Nat whispered miserably. “I ran into a pole.”

“Oh, baby.” Parker winced at the magenta-colored splotches surrounding Nat’s right eye. Carefully she smoothed the hair out of her daughter’s face. “Why didn’t anyone call me?”

“The bell was about to ring. Nurse Brewington put some ice on it, then I had to catch the bus.”

Parker frowned. The school should have called. She’d have to look into that. She clucked her tongue and took charge of Nat’s backpack. “Come on up to the house. We’ll get you an icepack.” Once they were on the gravel path she put an arm around Nat’s shoulders and drew her in close. Chance seemed to sense something was wrong and pressed against Nat’s legs.

“What exactly did the nurse say? Do we need to worry about a concussion?”

Nat wrenched away. “They checked me out for all that. I told you. I didn’t hit my head, just my face.” She walked faster, tennis shoes digging into the gravel. Each breath she took got thicker and thicker. “I’m never going back to gym class again,” she choked out. “They can’t make me.”

Now was not the time to tell her she was wrong. Parker felt a hot swell of sympathy and pressed her lips together to keep from saying the wrong thing. Kids could be so cruel. And Nat’s lack of athletic ability, painfully spotlighted every day in PE, gave them plenty of reason to tease.

Parker had tried to work with her. Harris had tried to work with her. But Nat couldn’t contain her frustration long enough to practice whatever game she needed help with. Unfortunately, Parker remembered those days all too well.

She transferred the heavy backpack to her other hand and jogged to catch up. “Can we talk about it? How about I make us some pancakes and—”

“I don’t want any dinner.” Nat’s pace quickened to a near-run, the Lab jogging along beside her. “Just leave me alone!”

She dashed the rest of the way to the house, thundered up the porch steps and banged through the front door. Parker trailed along in her wake. More than a year later and Nat still hadn’t come to terms with her father’s death. The resulting lack of sleep was ruining her ability to focus. Which explained today’s accident. On top of her usual sports-related challenges at school, Nat would never live this down.

And now Reid Macfarland was determined to insinuate himself into their lives.

Another soldier. Another deployment to a war zone.

Another possible heartbreak for Nat.

Parker drew in a quivering breath. How much more could one little girl take?

CHAPTER FOUR

THERE WASN’T A HELL of a lot to do in a motel room at five o’clock in the morning. Especially for a man without the benefit of female company. And he had a whole damned day to twiddle his thumbs before reporting for work tomorrow. After one hundred push-ups, a shower and a chapter of Baldacci’s latest, Reid knew he either had to go out or go crazy. If he were on post he’d be headed to the mess hall for breakfast before reporting for platoon formation and weapons training.

But the slice of pizza from the night before sat heavy in his stomach, so food was the last thing he needed. And he was tired of lying in bed and staring up at that damned turquoise ceiling, replaying the scene where Parker Dean’s little girl scurried away from him. He exchanged his bath towel for a pair of shorts and a T, and headed out for a run.

He couldn’t see the lake but he could smell it. Fresh water, decaying fish, seaweed. And though he couldn’t hear the surf, he could hear the distant drone of a motorboat. Some early riser on the hunt for lake perch.

Between the smell of fish and the image of fried perch leaking grease onto a plate, his stomach threatened to put an early end to his run. He planned on taking it slow, which was just as well because that’s what the citizens of Castle Creek had in mind, too.

Four times he was stopped. Once by a pair of white-haired ladies in a powder-blue Buick wondering if he’d seen a salt-and-pepper schnauzer and by the way wasn’t Castle Creek a lovely place to visit and which lucky resident had he come to see?—twice by fellow exercisers: one a young man, the other not so young—who’d interpreted his Army T as an invitation to discuss the war and wanted to know would he be around later to debate the advantages of the M110 sniper rifle. The last time he was stopped was by a guy in a pickup who wanted to know if he’d spotted a deer carcass that needed scooping up.

By the time he got back to the motel Reid figured he’d already met half the population of Castle Creek. He wondered if the other half was just as unconventional.

Gallahan was out front admiring the sole bloom on a trio of bushes. “Enjoy your run?”

Reid swiped at his face with the hem of his T. “Not much of a run. More like several rounds of dodgeball.”

Gallahan nodded wisely. “The people of Castle Creek like to know who their visitors are.”

“A woman just crossed lanes to block me. Wanted to know if I preferred my burgers with or without cheese.”

“Audrey Tweedy. If you’re vegetarian don’t admit it. She’ll make it her life’s work to win you back into the fold of the flesh eaters.”

“I’ll remember that.” He dug his key card out of his pocket. “Maybe I should stick to a treadmill. There a gym around here?”

Gallahan hesitated, then seemed to come to some decision. “Follow me.”

He led the way down the sidewalk to the end unit. Room ten, four doors from Reid. Gallahan produced a key card, pushed open the door and motioned Reid inside.

Just like Reid’s room, the paneled walls were a scratched-up, puncture-ridden mess. The water-stained ceiling wasn’t much better. But there the resemblance ended.

The carpet had been replaced with an oatmeal-colored remnant that almost reached to the baseboards. In one corner stood an industrial-size fan, in the opposite corner a flat-screen television. Rectangular mirrors mounted side by side covered the wall in between. A water cooler and a shelf stacked with folded towels completed the picture of a home gym.

But the equipment was the most impressive feature of the room. A state-of-the-art treadmill, elliptical machine and pulley-based weight system, plus a stand of free weights, all gleamed an unexpected, polished welcome.

Reid whistled his approval. “This is some setup.”

“It’s convenient.” Gallahan held out the key card. “Use it whenever you like. I’m here early most mornings, but I don’t mind company.”

“Appreciate it. You been in Castle Creek long?”

“About four months.”

“How’d you decide on the place?” Shit. Now he was starting to sound like the little old ladies in the Buick.

“Long story.” Gallahan frowned, and Reid knew he wouldn’t be hearing it. Fair enough. “Beer?”

“Got a cooler in here, too?”

He laughed. “That could be arranged, but I was thinking more along the lines of Snoozy’s. Beer’s cold, cheese plate’s free, pool table’s mostly level.”

“Beats staring at that butt-ugly turquoise ceiling. But it’s eight in the morning.”

“So we’ll give it a few hours. Hang out in here if you want.” Gallahan tipped his head. “You been in Iraq?”

Damn. Payback was a bitch. “Afghanistan.”

“Tough job. Thanks for doing what you do, man.” He held up his fist and Reid gritted his teeth as they bumped knuckles.

Now he really did need that beer.

They waited until eleven to head to Snoozy’s, which was everything a small-town bar should be. Easy to find and open for business. Besides the standard neon signs, wooden bar stools and lighting dim enough to guarantee permanent eyestrain, Snoozy’s had something…extra.