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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.
“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.
Gallahan caught him looking. “Yeah, I know. I forget it’s weird until someone like you comes in and looks at it like that.” He tipped his chin at the man behind the bar. “It belonged to his wife.”
“A sort of tribute?” Reid stared doubtfully at the front corner of the room, where a hot-pink salon chair faced a full-length, gilt-framed mirror draped with leopard-print garlands.
“More like a warning. She took everything he had, except for this place.”
Ouch. Reid followed Gallahan to the bar. Behind the scarred wooden counter a tired-looking man with a droopy mustache and purple half-moons under his eyes arranged cubes of cheese on a plastic platter.
Had to be Snoozy.
They ordered two brews. A man the size of an upright freezer with white-blond hair down to his shoulders and scabbed-over knuckles slapped the bar. The wood trembled.
“How about that chili I ordered?” he demanded. He pivoted to his left and caught Reid staring. “Something I can do for you, Sport?”
“Depends.” Reid swigged his beer. “Know anything about geraniums?”
The bar went quiet. Behind him Gallahan made a strangled noise. The blond behemoth narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth. Reid tensed, waiting for either an invitation to step outside or a punch to the kidney. The behemoth leaned in. Maybe a head-butt.
“Storksbills or cranesbills?”
Reid stared. Gallahan laughed and thumped him on the back. “Corporal Reid Macfarland, meet Noble Johnson, Castle Creek’s award-winning librarian. You should stop in sometime, listen to him read The Velveteen Rabbit to the kiddies. It’ll make you weep into your whiskey.”
“Kiss my ass, Gallahan.” Noble frowned at Reid. “You serious about geraniums?”
Reid’s lungs started working again. “For the next several weeks, I will be. Parker Dean’s putting me to work.”
Noble eyed Reid’s haircut. “Knew her husband, did you?” Luckily he didn’t wait for an answer. “You want my help, there’s three things you gotta do. Make a donation to the library, buy me a beer—” Snoozy slid a bowl of chili in front of Noble, who picked up his spoon and jabbed it at Reid “—and pay attention.”
* * *
“MA’AM? MA’AM. YOU all right, ma’am?”
With a start Parker realized she’d drifted away at the deli counter. She straightened out of her slouch and smiled blankly at the woman with the hair net and the curious stare. Dorothy? Delia. Parker pointed at random. “A pound of that, please, Delia.”
Delia frowned. “But you don’t like pastrami.”
Parker blinked. “Of course.” She felt a sudden swell of affection for the small community she lived in and gave Delia a grateful smile. “I’ll take the usual, please.” Three minutes later she was accepting two pounds of smoked turkey and a pound of provolone cheese. The warm-and-fuzzies lasted until she guided her cart toward the produce section and one of the wheels bumped a cardboard stand. An entire row of flower seed packets rustled and slapped to the floor. With a quiet sigh, Parker bent to scoop them up.
Maybe she’d better save the shopping for another day.
She set the last packet in place and turned to find one of Castle Creek’s newest residents hovering at her elbow. Eugenia Blue smiled warmly, and tucked her short blond hair behind her ears.
“Parker, how nice. I don’t see you in town very often.”
Parker pasted on an answering smile and scrambled for the energy to be polite. “How’re things at the shop?”
“A little slow, but you know how it is. I’ve only been open a few months.” She gestured at Parker’s cart. “Harris was running errands just yesterday morning. You should have asked him to do your shopping.”
Parker fumbled her smile. Harris would be doing a lot less for her in the future. “I was in town anyway. An appointment with the principal.”
Eugenia looked doubtfully at Parker’s jeans and polo shirt. “Everything all right?”
“As right as it can be.”
The older woman’s gaze dropped to her own basket. Carefully she studied each item, as if checking for holes or dents or bruises. “How is Harris?” she asked in a too-careless voice, and Parker’s heart went south. Harris and Eugenia had dated a few times but then Harris had announced they’d stopped.
Apparently it hadn’t been a mutual decision.
“He’s okay,” Parker said. But of course Eugenia wouldn’t be satisfied with that. Since Harris’s news wasn’t Parker’s to share, she gambled on a distraction.
She backed up and made a show of admiring the sweater set and gray pencil skirt that hugged the older woman’s trim figure. “You always look so elegant.” She nodded at Eugenia’s outfit. “One of yours?”
Cheeks flushed with pride, Eugenia nodded. “You should come by. I’m holding my first sale next week. Trying to get people to come inside instead of peering through the windows.” She plucked at her skirt. “I have something similar in sage. It’d go perfectly with your coloring.”
“I’ll try to make that sale. I don’t remember the last time I didn’t wear denim.”
Eugenia looked like she was floundering for something tactful to say when Hazel Catlett click-clacked up in her low-heeled sandals.
“Parker Dean.” Hazel was a white-haired, bright-eyed woman in her seventies who wore lipstick the color of Cheetos. She pointed with a skinny eggplant. “You look fit as a fiddle. Just like that guest of yours.”
“I’m sorry?”
“June and I—we saw your soldier out running this morning and stopped to introduce ourselves.” Hazel winked. “We couldn’t help admiring his…stride.”
Eugenia chuckled while Parker curled her fingers around the handle of her shopping cart and squeezed. Hard.
So much for small-town bliss. Yes, Castle Creek’s residents considered looking out for each other a privilege and a duty. But they also considered gossip a competitive sport.
“He’s not my soldier, Hazel. And how is June, by the way?”
“She dragged me away from Glenn Ford and Hope Lange just to look for a special kind of noodle she needs for some Thai recipe.” She leaned closer, and Parker could see that some of her bright orange lipstick had wandered off into the wrinkles around her lips. “And this is the woman who thinks almond butter is exotic.” Hazel straightened. “So, are you two an item?”
Parker was tempted to put her arm around Eugenia and smile an affirmative. But that wouldn’t be fair to Eugenia. Darn it.
“Not an item,” she said, and just the thought did unpleasant things to her stomach. “Barely friends,” she added.
If “barely” meant “when hell freezes over.”
“Don’t give up, honey.” Hazel patted her arm, then frowned at Parker’s hair, which she’d gathered at the back of her head and fastened with a big plastic clip. “Speaking of honey—”
“Isn’t that June?” Eugenia cocked her head. “Hazel, I think your sister’s calling.”
“Thank you, hon. My hearing’s not what it used to be.” She tucked the eggplant in her basket and took off for the pasta aisle.
Eugenia shook her head. “What a pair. Harris calls them Hazel and Nut.”
“Today Hazel’s the nut. Why is everyone trying to set me up?”
Eugenia shrugged. “It’s spring.”
Parker’s cell rang and she checked the ID. Harris. The knots in her stomach tightened. Something was wrong, she just knew it. She’d wanted to make the delivery herself, but that stubborn so-and-so had thrown a fit when she’d suggested it.
Please let him be okay. “What’s up, Harris?”
“I got halfway to Cherry Point before the truck broke down.”
Parker closed her eyes.
“Parker? Is everything all right?”
She opened her eyes to find Eugenia watching her anxiously. Meanwhile Harris’s gruff voice was advising her that unless they wanted to pay to have the truck towed all the way to the store, they’d better find another way to get the plants delivered. And soon. Because the supermarket only accepted deliveries until eight.
And if Castle Creek Growers didn’t meet that deadline, they’d be in breach of contract. Which meant they wouldn’t be paid. Which meant Parker wouldn’t be able to afford the groceries she’d already plunked into her cart.
“I’ll bring Pete,” she said into the phone. “Where exactly are you?”
Once she disconnected Eugenia shook her head. “Parker, you can’t take Pete. Today’s Friday. The garage closes early.”
Parker choked out a laugh. “Of course it does. Guess I’ll just have to go by his house.” Which would take her fifteen minutes longer. Each way.
“Why don’t you check Snoozy’s first? His pickup’s usually there when I drive by in the evenings.”
“Thanks, I will.”
Parker jammed her phone back into her purse. How the heck would she manage if Pete couldn’t fix her truck?
* * *
WHEN PARKER PUSHED INTO the bar’s dim interior, Snoozy had Glenn Miller playing. Normally that would have delighted her, but the current situation demanded the most plaintive of country songs. Stress goaded her heart rate into a faster pace as she narrowed her eyes and scanned the room. A lot of familiar faces, but no—oh, Lord. What was he doing here?
Corporal Reid Macfarland shared a table with Joe Gallahan and Noble Johnson. Noble was saying something in his I-snack-on-thumbtacks voice and Joe laughed out loud, while Macfarland showed his approval by tipping his beer. Parker felt that now-familiar surge of resentment, the one that set off sparks behind her breastbone. How dare he party—and with her neighbors—after taking away her husband’s ability to drink, to smile, to laugh?
After taking away his life.
Her breath hitched and she turned away before the trio could spot her. Not fair, Parker Anne. She’d been struggling to move on for thirteen months. Of course he would be, too. Which was why he’d come looking for her in Castle Creek.
Not fair, no. But no one had ever accused grief of being rational. And right now she cared about rational as much as she cared about facials and high heels.
“Parker.”
She cringed. She hadn’t turned away quickly enough.
She swung around. Joe was crossing the room toward her. Behind him Noble remained seated, while the corporal stood beside the table, his expression wary.
“Everything all right?” Joe asked.
“I’m looking for Pete Lowry. Have you seen him?”
“He left about an hour ago. Said something about visiting his folks in Harrisburg. Why?”
Parker clamped her teeth together. “Nothing, I—I just need a mechanic.”
“Can we give you a lift somewhere?” Joe asked, as Macfarland came up behind him.
“Mrs. Dean.” He looked so different out of uniform. In his jeans and long-sleeved thermal shirt he looked like one of the guys. Like someone who might have hung out with Tim.
Annoyed at the direction of her thoughts, she focused her attention on Joe, who looked amused.
“What’s with the formality? I thought you two were friends.”
Parker stiffened. Yeah. And Elvis was alive and selling cheesecakes in the Bronx.
Macfarland’s gaze flickered, then he raised an eyebrow. “Anything I can help with?”
“She has car problems,” Joe said.
“Truck problems, actually.”
“Briggs is out on a delivery?” She nodded, surprised, and Macfarland turned to Joe. “Anyone around here have a panel truck we could borrow?”
So now he was trying to be a hero? Parker shook her head. “Don’t bother. I’ll figure something out.”
“You may not have to.” Macfarland gave Joe an elbow. “Anyone?”
“Pete.”
“The same Pete who’s out of town? There’s got to be someone else.”
With a yawn, Snoozy leaned on the bar. “Beanie Watson drives a chip truck. But he’s still out making deliveries.”