Kathy Altman - The Other Soldier

“I’m heading back to Snoozy’s,” he said, and dug in his pocket for his keys.

She moved a few steps back, toward her Camry. “I, uh, I need to get home.”

She’d asked a neighbor to stay with her daughter while they finished the delivery. He didn’t know Parker well, but he did know she’d want to keep that favor short.

“Thank you.” She licked her lips. “For—”

“No big deal.” She looked surprised that he’d cut her off, and annoyed, but mostly relieved. He hadn’t done it for her. Damned if he’d stand there and listen to her tone waver between courteous and contemptuous.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she said. She looked as excited as a soldier tapped for patrol after a whopping two hours’ sleep. He couldn’t help watching the determined rhythm of her stride as she walked away.

Reid gritted his teeth. What the hell have you gotten yourself into, soldier?

CHAPTER FIVE

THE SAUSAGE-AND-EGG biscuit Reid had eaten for breakfast never quite managed to make friends with his stomach. He parked the Jeep—this time in the weed-infested gravel lot on the far side of the third Quonset hut—and took a swig of ginger ale. He’d have to start eating better, and make sure he took advantage of Gallahan’s gym, or else he’d be in a world of hurt when he got back to his unit.

The soda helped. Another hefty swallow and he set off in search of his temporary employer. The one who’d had all night to change her mind. He’d stashed the envelope containing the check in his glove compartment, just in case.

It had rained sometime during the night and his boots squeaked over the damp grass. Over by the tree line a gaggle of frogs chorused their good mornings. In the predawn dimness Reid checked out the first greenhouse, breathed in the smell of flowers, of dirt, the sweet, sharp scent of wet gravel. No Parker Dean.

He found her in the next hut, which looked just like the first. Gently whirring fans hung suspended from the structure’s metal ribs. Racks inside the door held rakes and hoes and shovels. Rows of scarred plastic and metal tables and benches brimmed with container after container of ruffled, rainbow-colored blooms.

He shifted his gaze from the greenery and zeroed in on Parker. She worked at the other end of the shelter, back toward him, head bent in concentration, nimble fingers plucking brown leaves out of the bright pool that rippled along each side of the concrete path.

“Mornin’.”

Reid jumped. Damn, when was the last time he’d let someone sneak up on him like that? He turned, and automatically reached for the mug of coffee Briggs offered. “Good morning. You always up this early?”

“Didn’t want to miss the show.”

Reid’s gaze returned to Parker, who hadn’t acknowledged either of them. Briggs gestured with his own mug.

“She’s got them earbud thingies in. Likes to start off her day with some kind of self-help recordin’.”

Reid took a sip of coffee and it was all he could do not to spit it back out. Briggs chuckled. “You’ll get used to it.” He nodded at Parker, who’d worked her way closer. “This should be interesting.”

“Why’s that?” Reid set his mug on a table. He’d find someplace to dump it later. Like a barrel marked Hazardous Waste.

“She’s not happy you’re here but she’ll want to show you the ropes yourself. Girl’s not good at handin’ over the reins.”

At that moment, Parker turned and spotted Reid. Her backbone snapped straight. He waited, settling his gaze on a face even more hostile than the one he’d seen yesterday at the motel. Still it was a nice face, with smooth, pale skin, light brown freckles and bright hazel eyes. And a pair of nicely shaped lips, currently pressed in an unfriendly line.

He’d bet money at least one of those ropes she’d be showing him came equipped with a noose.

* * *

PARKER HAD A PLAN. A plan to avoid Corporal Macfarland. It involved…well, avoiding Corporal Macfarland.

Which would help keep her from being arrested for assault with a pitchfork.

But as easy as her plan sounded, she’d stayed awake most of the night coming up with it. At least she’d had plenty of practice over the years, operating on little to no sleep—before Tim deployed, during his deployment and after his death.

No way she’d let dealing with the corporal throw her off track.

Except, it already had. Just not in the expected way. Those scars… He could have played them up, used them to gain an advantage. Instead he’d scrambled for a shirt. And what he’d done for her in the bar—without his organizing that caravan, her business would have lost much-needed revenue.

Part of her appreciated his resourcefulness. A very small, tiny, minuscule part. The rest of her nurtured an all-consuming resentment.

Though her conscience kept reminding her that the resentment wasn’t entirely justified. Even her earbuds couldn’t drown out the voice of her conscience. She shoved the useless things into her pocket and forced her legs into motion.

“Morning,” she said stiffly. “Saturdays are busy around here so I don’t have a lot of time to spare. Harris, can you please show the corporal what to do?”

Briggs coughed. “Sorry, but no can do.”

“You all right?”

“Didn’t get much sleep last night.” He paid sudden fierce attention to a rip in his long-sleeved shirt. “I came over to let you know I need a few more hours.”

Uh-huh. She crossed her arms. “You got out of bed, got dressed and drove all the way over here to tell me you’re going back to bed? You could have called.”

“Guess I was hopin’ by the time I got here I’d be feelin’ better.”

He did sound tired. Suspicion gave way to worry and she dropped her arms. “Anything I can do?”

“Not a thing, but thanks for askin’. I’ll just go home and catch a few more winks. Be back after lunch.”

“Call me first. If you’re not feeling better I want you to stay home.”

“What’re you packing for lunch today?”

“Chicken salad and carrot cake.”

He winked at Macfarland. “Then I’ll be back before lunch.” He turned and strolled away, cut himself off midwhistle and ducked out the door.

Parker watched him go, wishing she didn’t feel like she was the only solo guest at a dinner party because her two-timing date had just bailed on her.

Macfarland cleared his throat. “Mind if I ask a question?” Without looking around she made a don’t-let-me-stop-you gesture. “Can I get in on some of that chicken salad and carrot cake action?”

She resented the heck out of the involuntary pleasure his words sparked. She put on a frown before she turned, and it deepened on its own accord. The man knew how to wear jeans and a sweatshirt.

And why should she care? She slapped her gloves together, impatient with the ridiculous turn of her thoughts. “You work here, you get lunch. Want some coffee before we get started?”

“Not if it’s from the pot Briggs made.”

She supposed she should give him credit for trying. But she didn’t have the time or the energy for banter.

“Follow me,” she snapped, and wondered if he’d salute behind her back. She led him inside the first Quonset hut and made a point of closing the door firmly behind them.

“Always make sure the door is shut tight. If Chance gets in and sees anything move, even if it’s just a leaf, he’ll chase it. Which means something will get broken. Someone’s delivery will be shorted, and I’ll lose money I can’t spare.”

“Understood.”

With a brisk nod, she launched into her spiel. “We have three greenhouses. Hut One for geraniums, Hut Two for petunias and pansies, Hut Three for seed propagation.” He opened his mouth and she held up a hand. “No football jokes.”