Forty-five minutes in, Pecca had nearly chewed through her lip watching Colton strain through the exercises. She knew he needed a break whether he admitted it or not, which she learned he would not, given the number of times she offered and he refused.
Pecca lowered the volume on the stereo. “You’re doing great, Captain Crawford.”
Colton stopped mid-exercise, letting the rubber band fall to his side. He turned to her. “I’m pretty sure that’s the hundredth time you’ve told me that.” He used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. “On top of”—his voice pitched mockingly high—“‘That’s great,’ ‘Keep it up,’ and ‘Looking good,’ though that last one is fine.” His voice returned to normal. “Are you always this motivating?”
“I find it brings out the best in my patients.” She went to the counter and grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge. She opened the water and tossed the cap before taking it to him. “And do I really sound that nasally?”
He shrugged and took the bottle of water with his left hand. After watching him, she learned it was his nondominant hand, which meant his condition was forcing him to relearn basic functions. Colton swigged from the bottle until it was empty.
“Would you like another?”
Wiping the wet droplets from his beard, he shook his head. “I’m good.”
Pecca watched him reach for the bands again. “So, is the beard part of the whole ‘let it go’ movement?” She leaned her hip against the counter. “You got out of the military and now you’re a hipster?”
“No.” Colton ran his fingers over the scruffy hair growing along his jawline. “Putting a razor anywhere near my face or neck can be . . . dangerous, given my condition.”
She closed her eyes, heat blossoming in her cheeks. Of course he couldn’t shave. What was wrong with her? Opening her eyes, Pecca found him watching her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think about that.”
“The hospital in DC had barbers who would come to our rooms and give a shave or haircut. My mom said she would try, but then I saw her hands shaking and figured I was safer to let it grow.”
Pecca gave a stilted laugh. “Most of our residents ride into town in the van for haircuts. I never thought about the shaving part though.”
Colton shrugged.
“I can ask Shirley about it and see if the barbers in town offer a shave, or if we can bring them here.”
Colton gave another tight nod, then picked up the band and started back into his reps, but slower. The movements in his arm were more pronounced, and she could see him struggling. She needed to distract him.
“Your file says you live in Texas. Is that where you’re from? Do your parents live there?”
“Yes.”
Pecca frowned at his one-word answer. Maybe he didn’t want to share about his life—too personal? She thought about her own life, and her mood darkened. Adrian still hadn’t called her back about the SSB or Javier’s cousin, and she hated to admit that the unknown had been messing with her mind.
The last couple of nights she kept finding herself looking over her shoulder, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching her or hiding in the shadows. When Maceo got up in the middle of the night for a glass of water, the noise nearly gave her a heart attack and she yelled at him. And then she apologized all morning.
Colton cleared his throat and Pecca blinked, realizing he had finished and was watching her.
“Oh, um . . .” She looked down at her clipboard, trying to clear through the fog of her own fear to figure out what he’d asked her. “I, uh . . .”
“Your name. I was asking you about your name. It’s unusual. Does it mean something?”
“Oh, yeah. Kind of. I have three siblings, all older, and I was sort of a surprise baby. The smallest and so my family started calling me Pequeña, which means small in Spanish. And that got shortened to Pecca.”
“And Maceo?”
“Gift of God.” Thinking of her little boy, she smiled. Despite his moodiness and the one schoolyard brawl, he truly was a gift.
“So, if Pecca isn’t your real name, what is it?”
“Serena,” Pecca deadpanned.
“Wow. Spoken with such enthusiasm.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Do I look like a Serena?”
Colton shrugged. “It’s nice.”
Pecca started to open her mouth to give him all the reasons why her personality didn’t fit the calm and tranquil name, when she realized what he’d said, and suddenly there was an unexplainable uptick in her pulse. It was just a compliment. Not even a great one. Nice. And yet the back of her neck was growing warm just the same.
“Uh, so, Texas. What do you miss most about Texas?”
“What do you miss most about Texas?” Could that segue be any more obvious? But obvious of what? She was just trying to make conversation like she did with all her patients. Except . . . none of her other patients rattled her like this one did.
“Whataburger.”
“What?”
Colton eyed her. “What I miss most about Texas right now is Whataburger.”
“Oh, yes,” she said quickly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Their honey butter chicken biscuits are the best.”
“You’re from Texas?”
“Mom.” Maceo had walked into the gym, his attention on the iPad in his hand. “What are we having for dinner tonight, because Noah asked if—”
“Mac, watch out!”
Pecca’s warning came too late. Maceo’s toe caught the edge of the mat and pitched him forward, his prosthetic moving awkwardly to the side instead of in front of him. The iPad hit the ground, but before Maceo could, Colton’s left arm had wrapped around him, bringing him back to standing.
“Whoa,” Maceo said in awe. “That was cool.”
“It was not cool.” Pecca turned him so she could look him in the eye. “You could’ve been seriously hurt. How many times have I told you not to walk around staring at that thing? You have to watch where you’re going.”
Maceo’s cheeks turned pink. “Sorry.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. Staying mad at Maceo was nearly impossible. Kryptonite. That’s what she and her family called him. “It’s fine. But you need to apologize to Captain Crawford.”
“Colton.” A look Pecca couldn’t decipher crossed over his face before he glanced down at Maceo. “And it’s okay, but if you want to be good on the field, you’ve got to be quick on your feet.” Colton bounced from side to side on the balls of his feet. “Always ready to read your QB.”
Pecca frowned. “QB?”
“Quarterback, Mom,” Maceo said with a roll of his eyes.
“Hey!” She playfully bumped Maceo’s shoulder. “Maybe liver and onions are on the menu tonight.”
“Eww.” Maceo made a face. “Gross.”
“I agree.” Colton laughed.
The deep baritone sound woke something up in Pecca—something that had long been dormant. And it made her blush. Hard. So she flipped her wrist and checked the time. “Yikes, your session was over ten minutes ago.”
Colton made a move to leave, but Maceo held up his hand.
“Wait.” He mimicked Colton’s move, though, due to his prosthetic, it was a little less fluid. “Like this?”
“Yep.” Colton hunched, hands in front of him. The right one jerked, but Colton wasn’t focused on it—he was focused on Maceo. Facing off, Colton hopped left and Maceo mirrored the move. “See how you went right?” Colton went right and Maceo left. “That’s right. You’re anticipating my move. Good job.”
Maceo’s smile couldn’t have grown any wider, and Pecca’s heart twisted around in her chest. She wasn’t prepared for or even willing to acknowledge the flood of emotion that hit her.
“Hey, Mom.” With excitement lighting his eyes, Maceo turned to her. “Can Colton come to dinner with us tonight? I want him to meet Noah.”
“Oh, um.” She peeked up at Colton, who had shifted to avoid her gaze. Go to
dinner with a patient? There had to be a rule about that, right? “I’m not sure we’re going to the café tonight and—”
“Please, Mom,” Maceo begged. “Then he can show me some more football moves.” He turned to Colton. “Right?”
“Maceo.” Pecca’s tone held warning. “We can talk about it later.”
“It’s okay,” Colton said. His arm jerked, and he glanced down at it before tucking it to his side. “I’d be happy to show you some moves another time.”
Pecca sensed Colton’s mood darken again, and at once she felt bad. Had she embarrassed him? Did he think his movements bothered her? That she was embarrassed? Licking her lips, she made a decision and blurted it out. “I would love to take you to dinner tonight if you’re available.”
Love?
Colton’s gaze narrowed on her.
“I mean, to make up for yesterday.” Pecca tugged Maceo back by his shoulders, taking him by surprise as he stumbled backward. “It would mean a lot to Maceo, and it would make me feel better, because I still feel really bad and the food is good and—”
“Mom?”
She took a breath, looking down at Maceo and then back to Colton. “Sorry. Would you like to go to dinner at the Way Station Café with us tonight?”
“Please,” Maceo added.
A few seconds passed between them, and Pecca could see him weighing his response. She wasn’t sure if she was hoping he would refuse or accept.
“Okay.”
Maceo pumped his fist. “Yes!”
Okay. He said okay. So Colton would be having dinner with her tonight. And Maceo. Yes, and Maceo. “Alright, so I’ll give you the details this afternoon. I’m sorry I kept you so long this morning. You did really good today, by the way. And I’m excited to see you in the pool—I mean, swimming. For therapy.” Just stop talking.
Colton’s lip tilted into a smirk, and he released the bands into her hand. “See you this afternoon.”
Watching him leave, Pecca slid down to the weight bench and closed her eyes, trying to ease the pounding in her head—or was it her heart? It was just a dinner to make up for the other day. She groaned. This couldn’t go sideways at all, right?
SEVEN
“CAPTAIN COLTON CRAWFORD, I was wondering when you were going to come visit me.”
The older woman with short white hair and a sparkle to her eyes smiled widely and wrapped Colton in a hug the second he stepped into the Way Station Café. He flashed a look to Pecca, who smiled with a wink.
“I’ve been waiting for you, honey,” she said, pulling back but not letting him go. She looped her arm around his left elbow and escorted him into the café. “I’m Ms. Byrdie, and before I give you and Pecca our best table, I’m going to introduce you to everyone.”
Colton swallowed and tossed a glance over his shoulder. Pecca had stopped to talk to a brunette woman carrying a pitcher and Maceo abandoned him, running up a set of stairs. His arm jerked, and Colton worried that accepting the dinner offer had been a mistake.
Thankfully, the round of introductions was quick. There was a group of regulars that included a trio of men who liked to fish, though it seemed one of them—the scrappiest of the three—actually caught more ducks with his boat than fish, giving him the moniker “Ducky”; a motorcycle-riding couple named Harley and Dottie, who had just returned from a mission trip to Haiti; and a college-aged girl working behind the counter, whose name tag said Bethany.
Most kindly obliged Ms. Byrdie with a friendly smile and a few questions about where Colton was from and if he was staying at the Mansion. Ms. Byrdie whispered that that’s what most locals called Home for Heroes. She made a few more introductions, until Colton’s stomach growled, and with a quick wink, she hurried him over to a table near a large window with a view of downtown Walton.
“Ms. Byrdie, it smells delicious.” Pecca walked over and gave the woman a hug before turning to Colton. “So, have you met everyone? Know their favorite food? Color? Blood type?”
“Oh, you hush now.” Ms. Byrdie smiled. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”
Colton gave her a tight-lipped smile. “No, ma’am.”
Ms. Byrdie beamed. “With manners like that, you’re going to get a double helping of dessert.”
“Ooh, and I heard it’s your famous peach cobbler,” Pecca said, sitting in the chair across from Colton. “You’re a lucky guy.”
Colton’s arm hit the side of the table, sending the silverware clattering loudly. A few faces turned in his direction, and he tucked his chin. Yes, this was definitely a mistake. The worse his condition got, the more he avoided going out, especially to eat, but for whatever reason, he’d found it impossible to refuse Maceo’s request. Or his mom’s.
How was he going to do this? He didn’t even want to eat in the dining room at Home for Heroes. Trying to eat with his left hand was proving to be hard, especially when his movements were bad. Colton looked for a menu. Maybe he could order a sandwich. Or fries. Explain he wasn’t that hungry.
“Is there a menu?”
“Oh no, honey. We serve one hot meal in the evenings. Tonight’s special is country fried steak.” Ms. Byrdie grinned. “You two get settled, and I’ll have your plates out in a few minutes. Bethany will be over with some sweet tea.”
“Thank you, Ms. Byrdie.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
True to her word, several minutes later Ms. Byrdie delivered to their table three home-cooked meals Colton bet were as mouthwatering as they looked. He looked at his silverware and back at the plate of fried goodness slathered in gravy. This was a disaster waiting to happen.
“You won’t likely get a meal better than this anywhere within a hundred-mile radius,” Pecca said as she motioned to someone over Colton’s shoulder. Maceo ran up. “Did you wash your hands?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Maceo held up his hands and sat. “Noah’s doing homework, but he’s going to come down to meet Colton when he’s finished.”
“See, Noah does his homework.”
Maceo rolled his eyes and scooped a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.
Colton started to reach for his fork and then hesitated. It would be rude not to try and eat something, and the teasing aroma was causing his stomach to grow angry with hunger.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Pecca asked, her fork paused midair. “Is something wrong?”
“Um, no.” Colton balled the napkin in his lap. His right arm jerked and rattled the table, sending their sweet tea spilling over the edges of their glasses. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Maceo said around a bite. He placed his napkin over the spilled droplets as if it was the most natural thing to do. “So, do you think you could teach me the Saint James Fake?”
“Maceo.”
“But Mom, if I know how to do it, maybe they’ll let me on the football team.”
Colton thought he saw Pecca flinch, but before she could answer, he spoke up. “I don’t mind. I’m free in the afternoons after my appointments with Chaplain Kelly. If it’s okay with your mom.” He looked at Pecca, who was chewing on her lower lip. “I can teach you a few moves.”
Maceo’s fork clattered to his plate. “Please, Mom!”
Pecca looked between Maceo and Colton a few times before her shoulders relaxed. “Fine, but only if you eat your dinner and do all your homework—and promise to never, ever push another kid again.”
“Unless it’s for football, right?” Maceo held his finger up. “Because you have to push people in football, Mom.”
Colton stifled a laugh, which earned him a harsh but playful smile from Pecca. He cleared his throat, hoping to calm the swell of feelings rushing through him. He reached for his glass of tea just as his arm twitched, sending his spoon and knife to the ground.
Without missing a beat, Maceo slid out of his chair and grabbed them, his attention still on his mom as he placed them in front of Colton. “It’s called tackling.”
“Well, is there such a thing as gentle tackling?”
>
“No, Mom,” Maceo answered with exaggeration.
“You better finish, your friend is coming.”
Colton turned and found the woman Pecca had been talking to earlier walking toward them with a tall man wearing a tan deputy uniform and a little boy with light brown hair who looked about the same age as Maceo.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner, but I want to make sure you’re saving room for dessert,” the woman said. “Ms. Byrdie’s cobbler is the best.”
“Colton, this is my friend Lane Lynch.” Pecca wiped her lips with her napkin. “She owns this lovely café, and her cinnamon rolls rival the cobbler, I can assure you.”
“Well, I don’t know about that.” Lane blushed. “But I can send you home with a box of them to share with D-Wing, and you can judge for yourself.”
Colton wasn’t sure he wanted to take anything back to the men who called him Cap and kept razzing him about being sacked by his “hot tamale” nurse. He couldn’t imagine what kind of heat he’d find himself under if they knew where he was and who he was with right now.
Hmm, maybe the cinnamon rolls were a good idea—a distraction to keep D-Wing off his back.
“Pleasure to meet you, Colton,” the man in the uniform said. “I’m Charlie”—the man looked down at the boy in front of him—“and this is Noah.”
Noah gave Colton a smile that was missing one front tooth. “What’s wrong with your arm?”
“Noah!” Charlie’s and Lane’s voices collided, and each of them gave Colton an apologetic look.
“He’s got a movement disorder,” Maceo said, pushing his empty plate away. “It means his arm moves by itself.”
Maceo’s simple explanation, the way he didn’t bat an eye adjusting for Colton’s movements when he dropped or spilled something . . . it was easing some of the discomfort he had carried into the café. Somehow in his seven years of life, Maceo had mastered compassion and understanding—characteristics some adults didn’t possess.
Colton’s gaze slid to Pecca and an appreciation developed. At least that’s how he was going to identify the feelings swimming in his chest. All afternoon he’d been trying to figure out if it was nerves, anxiousness, or something else entirely. The only conclusion he had come up with so far was that it started shortly after Pecca plowed into him the day before.
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