Kathy Altman - The Other Soldier

He had to be twenty years younger than she was. If she had to guess, she’d say thirty-five. Flattering, to say the least. But though she liked Joe, and admired him for tackling a project like resuscitating the motel from hell, she had her sights set on someone else. Someone who refused to stand still in the crosshairs, but that was beside the point.

“Are you asking me out?”

An instant’s hesitation, followed by a warm smile. “Yeah. I am. You choose the restaurant.”

It was a quick recovery. And a smooth one. But still a recovery.

“Okay, so not a date. I don’t know what I was thinking, considering I’m old enough to be your mother. What did you really have in mind?”

“Hey.” Joe moved in, rested his palms lightly on her upper arms. “I may not have come up with the idea, but I think it’s a damned good one. And no way you’re old enough to be my mother.”

His chivalry would have made her feel worse if she hadn’t seen the sincerity in his eyes.

“I appreciate that.” She backed up a step. “But I’d have to say no, anyway. I’m…interested in someone.”

He lifted broad shoulders in a good-natured shrug. “If it doesn’t work out, maybe you’ll reconsider.”

“Maybe I will.”

A boisterous laugh on the other side of the street. They turned to see Harris Briggs shaking hands with an elderly man who’d obviously just come out of the hardware store, the plastic bag he gripped practically brushing the sidewalk, making him lopsided. She watched the genial exchange, watched as Harris made the other man laugh. Belatedly she turned back to Joe. And felt mortification heat her cheeks.

“It’s no use,” she said, in response to his gotcha smile. “He refuses to forgive me.”

“What’d you do?” He winced and held up a hand. “Strike that. None of my business.”

“It’s all right. I bought him something, and he didn’t appreciate it.”

“He didn’t like it?”

“He claimed I insulted him. I think I offended his manhood.”

“The gift didn’t happen to be blue, did it?”

She frowned. “How did you know?”

“Tiny, and in the shape of a diamond?”

She gasped, and slapped him on the arm. “Not that. Don’t you need a prescription for—” He was laughing and she flapped a hand. “Never you mind. Point is, I blew it.”

“You apologize?”

“For all the good it did. I plan on trying again after closing today.”

“No time like the present.” He looked back across the street. Eugenia grabbed for his arm but wasn’t fast enough.

“Hey, Harris!” he called. “Got a minute?”

Eugenia swallowed a tortured moan. Joe lowered his voice. “Tell me I called the right man over. Or is it Mr. Katz you have a crush on?”

“Mr. Katz is ninety years old.”

“Yeah, but I hear he takes vitamins.”

That he could joke so casually about age after her embarrassing assumption made Eugenia feel better. Until Harris stepped up onto the sidewalk, looking like a lumberjack in his heavy boots, jeans and thermal shirt. Eugenia caught her breath and rubbed her suddenly damp palms against the insides of her sweater pockets.

There was something about his size, his solidity, the strength of purpose and kindness in his eyes. He made her feel ultrafeminine. Safe.

And frustrated as all get-out.

He squinted at Joe, then at Eugenia, then back again. “What’s up?”

“Just thought you should see what Eugenia’s done here. About time someone brought some style to State Street.” Joe beamed a roguish smile at Eugenia. “Guess I should get on over to Cooper’s before they sell out of drywall screws. Let me know if you change your mind about dinner. I do have more than tax schedules on my mind.” He turned and jogged across the street, leaving an awkward silence behind him.

Harris cleared his throat. “You did a good job on your window there,” he said at the same time she said, “I owe you an apology.”

He grunted. “Most people say thank you when they get a compliment.”

“Most people say thank you when they get a gift. You, however, responded with, ‘Guess this is our last date.’”

“Most people don’t give the sort of gifts you do.”

“I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted was to insult you. I’m a make-it-happen kind of person. I see a need, and I want to fill it.”

“That’s all well and good, but you can’t just go around buyin’ trucks for folks.”

“But it wasn’t just folks. It was you. I never thought you’d be so ungrateful.”

“Ungrateful?” He scratched his bald head. “Because I was honest about not wanting something I never asked for? Listen, Genie, no man wants to feel like he’s bein’ bought.” Someone drove by in a mud-streaked pickup and honked, and Harris lifted his arm. Eugenia stared.

“Excuse me?”

“If I need a truck I’ll buy it myself. Now I’m done explainin’. Like I said before, you and me, we just wouldn’t work out.”

“You know what your problem is? You’re stubborn and you’re scared.”

He scowled. “There’s no call for insults.”

“I wasn’t trying to insult you, I was trying to enlighten you.”

“Either way I don’t appreciate it. Guess I best be movin’ along.”

“You do that,” Eugenia snapped, and gave herself a mental eye roll. Why could she never come up with anything clever to say?

And did it really matter? His anger over the issue meant they’d been dating on borrowed time, anyway. If he ever found out what else she’d done, he’d…well, at the very least he’d never speak to her again.

Damn the man’s pride.

He swung away, then turned back and jerked his head toward the hardware store. “You datin’ Joe now?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Just wonderin’ if you’re planning on buyin’ him a new motel.”

Eugenia sputtered. Harris marched away down the sidewalk, then when he was almost at the corner he turned back. “By the way,” he called. “Heard you turned that pretty truck back in and donated the money to the rescue squad. That was a mighty fine thing to do, Genie.” He gave her a nod, then continued walking.

Eugenia stared after him, feeling as though someone had grabbed her by the ankles and swung her upside down.

* * *

IN, TWO-THREE-FOUR-FIVE-six-seven. Out, two-three-four-five-six-seven.

Her lungs ached. Parker opened her eyes and stared at the door to room six. Then she looked back, toward the sparse traffic that motored past the motel. People ran errands, visited friends, headed home to their families. A squirrel chittered, and she watched it bounce across the parking lot and disappear under a rather sad-looking azalea.

She should call Joe and offer him some pointers. Happier-looking landscaping would be good for business.

She should also stop procrastinating.

She rolled her shoulders back but the tingling in her chest persisted. The deep breathing hadn’t done much for her stress level. Apparently it was effective only for mother-daughter-type challenges.

Raise knuckles. Knock twice. Hold breath. The door handle turned—oh, God she really did have to talk to him—and she released her breath in a head-spinning whoosh.

Corporal MacFarland wore nothing but a towel, a pair of flip-flops and a grim expression. “Mrs. Dean. Sorry, I thought it was—” A harsh exhale. “Stand by.”

When he shut the door, Parker thought, Run. But she stood where she was, rooted to the sidewalk by the image of the left side of his torso, and the faded red ribbons of puckered skin along his rib cage.

He looked like someone had hacked at him with a sword. Her eyes felt wet but she willed the tears away. Darned if she’d let a little sympathy dilute the resentment she had every right to feel.