Kathy Altman - The Other Soldier

“Parker!” She ignored the shout that came from somewhere behind them and disappeared into the greenhouse. Ten seconds later a sixty-something man in baggy overalls—must be some kind of uniform—strode around to face Reid, brawny hands on hips, no hair above his neck save for the steel-colored eyebrows that shaded a narrowed gaze.

“What’s goin’ on? Who’re you?”

Reid sized up the other man. Rough, no-nonsense, shoulders like a lumberjack. Carried himself as if anything in his way had better get the hell out of it. Ten to one a former Marine.

Huh. Could be he’d go back to Kentucky sporting a cracked rib or two.

Things were looking up.

“Corporal Reid Macfarland.” He hooked his shades in his breast pocket and offered his hand. “I came to see what I could do.”

“Harris Briggs.” He gestured with his head at the greenhouse where Parker Dean had sought refuge. “You in her husband’s unit?”

“No, sir. I’m the one who killed him.”

Briggs sucked air and his eyes stretched wide. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. He looked down at the ground, scratched his chin, looked back up. “You mean to kill him?”

“No, sir.”

“They call that an accident.”

“They call that fratricide.”

Briggs eyed Reid’s stripes. What was left of them. “Got away scot-free, did you?” When Reid didn’t answer he pulled a pack of gum from his bib pocket and held it out. Seriously? He’d just admitted to manslaughter and the old guy offers him a stick of gum? Reid’s muscles were clamped so tight he couldn’t even shake his head. Briggs shrugged and tucked the pack away, unopened.

“Tell me somethin’, Corporal. What happened over there?”

“No offense, Mr. Briggs, but you’re not the one I came to see.”

“Fair enough.” He moved past Reid and plucked Parker Dean’s water bottle from the strawberry patch, used it to motion toward the greenhouse. “Wouldn’t listen to you, huh?”

“Can’t say I blame her, sir.” Reid nodded once. “I’ll be on my way.”

“Why is everyone in such a blasted hurry?”

Reid blinked. “With all due respect, shouldn’t you be chasing me off the property?”

“Ain’t my property.” Briggs caught his eye and shrugged. “Been over a year. Talkin’ it out might help her move on.”

Move on. Right. As hard as it had been for Reid, he couldn’t even imagine what the widow had been through. Not to mention her kid.

“You overseas all this time?”

“I came when I could.”

“So what now? You headin’ back home?”

“I wanted to apologize. It’s the least I can do.”

“What’s the most?”

“Sir?”

“You said apologizin’s the least you can do. What’s the most?”

Reid shifted. Talking to Briggs was like having a conversation with his own conscience.

“I’m on thirty days’ leave. I didn’t know what I’d find here, but I’d planned to offer to help. Any way I could. Always supposing—” he eyed the greenhouse “—Mrs. Dean was willing to have me around.” Which, clearly, she was not.

Probably figured he’d go after her kid next.

His neck muscles locked. Suck it up, soldier. He’d never expected this to be easy. Had counted on the exact opposite, as a matter of fact.

“Good idea, offerin’ to help.” With a sweep of his muscled arm, Briggs indicated the farmhouse, the garden plots, the greenhouses. “We could use it.”

Reid studied the house. Two stories of weathered wood standing in a copse of trees bordered by acres of flatland. A tired-looking Toyota hunkered in the yard, flanked by an oak tree sporting a tire swing and an unruly hedge showing off sunshine-yellow blooms. A pink bicycle with a purple bear duct taped to the handlebars lay on its side in the grass.

In comparison to…everything…his five-year-old Jeep looked brand spanking new.

Beside him Briggs stroked his chin. “Sure does need a paint job.”

“Like a desert needs water.”

“That mean you’re stayin’?”

“That’s up to Mrs. Dean.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket. “My cell number. Unless Mrs. Dean calls and tells me not to come, I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Where will you be till then?”

Reid put on his beret. “I’ll find a motel.”

“We only got one. Joe’s not officially open, but I guess he’ll put you up.” Reid nodded his thanks and Briggs hooked his thumbs in the straps of his overalls. “This mean you won’t be coming back if she says she doesn’t want you?”

“That’s right.” Hadn’t Reid done enough to this family?

“You, uh, never met Tim Dean, did you?”

“No, sir.”

“Neither did I. But I can tell you he’d believe his wife and daughter deserve better than a personal check.”

Reid stiffened. Briggs had read his mind. But what choice did he have? Financial help made perfect sense, considering Reid had caused the death of the family’s breadwinner. A death that had left a widow and a child to fend for themselves.

He tamped down a surge of regret he’d let play out later. Much later, when it was just him and a bottle of beer.

Reid didn’t have many expenses, and he sure as hell didn’t spend much of his pay while deployed. He’d already talked to his bank about a loan. Whether or not she let him pitch in with physical labor, he’d planned to give Mrs. Dean enough money to keep her family solvent. He’d hoped to have a frank discussion with her about that. Given her reaction, it seemed a check in the mail was the best bet.

Yeah, it was guilt money. Didn’t matter. Still had to be paid.

He frowned at Briggs. “I’d like to help, but I have to respect Mrs. Dean’s wishes.”

“Never mind her. I’ll talk her around. Woman’s too stubborn for her own good. I know what you’re thinkin’—she can hire help. Easier said than done here in Castle Creek. And even if we do find someone, she can’t afford to pay what they’d be asking. You gonna walk away from a war widow in dire straits?”

Reid’s mouth flattened. “If she wants me to.”

Briggs waved a hand. “Now, don’t go gettin’ your dress over your head.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’ll see what I can do. You prepared to work if she takes you up on your offer?”

That was the idea. He’d put her in this position. It was up to him to get her out. And he had a month to do it. Assuming Briggs could talk her into letting him back on the property.

Reid squinted. “Long as you don’t expect me to wear overalls.”

“You can wear a tutu for all I care. Might even draw some customers.”

Reid grunted. Tutu, hell. He should have packed his tactical gear.

A loud, rumbling sound. The two men looked toward the road, and watched a school bus lumber to a stop at the end of the gravel driveway. A black Labrador retriever rounded the far side of the house, tail high, bark impatient, legs a blur. A young girl in bright pink jeans and a matching shirt stepped off the bus. She walked a few feet and dropped her backpack at the same time as she fell to her knees in the grass. Her arms went around the dog and she nestled her face in the shiny jet fur.

Reid’s scalp started to prickle. He resisted the urge to tug off his beret.

The dog wriggled free, ran a short distance and stopped, inviting the girl to give chase. She went along with the game, running after the Lab and covering half the distance to the strawberry patch before noticing Reid. She stumbled to a stop, mouth open, russet hair swinging around her face. Briggs called out to her but she ignored him, turned and dashed for the house as if suddenly caught in an icy downpour.

Like mother, like daughter.

The dog, on the other hand, greeted Reid as if he were packing bacon. He pushed his nose at both palms, snuffled up and down both legs, and ran figure eights around both men. When he paused to conduct another inspection Reid stroked his silky head, fighting the urge to hug him just as the girl had.