The Sergeant's Unexpected Family

by Carrie Nichols

  “It shouldn’t be.” Brody tugged on his ear, a habit she’d noticed he displayed when irritated.

  “Don’t worry. We’re not here to disrupt your life. I wanted to give you an opportunity to get to know your nephew. My arrival might seem strange, but I think family is important, and when I met you at your father’s funeral, I realized you were...different than Roger.” She patted Elliott’s back, wanting to be sure she didn’t put him back to bed with a tummy full of gas. He was good about getting it up, but she liked to be sure at night.

  “That’s not what this is about.”

  “Isn’t it?” She shouldn’t have said that. Brody had been nothing but kind and caring, and he didn’t deserve her anger over Roger’s behavior directed at him.

  “Look, I—”

  “No, I—”

  Elliott’s loud belch interrupted them. Brody laughed first and Mary soon joined him, their disagreement forgotten. She rose and started to leave.

  “Mary?”

  She turned back, but didn’t speak.

  “I would like that. To get to know Elliott.”

  Brody roused to the smell of coffee brewing. After a restless night spent tossing and turning, caffeine was welcome. He regretted arguing with Mary over his worthless brother. Whether to press Roger for child support was Mary’s decision, not his. He needed to respect her judgment, but that didn’t change his feelings. Could he have done more for Roger? Was he complicit in Roger’s actions? The circumstances of his brother’s birth had nothing to do with him, but being the son from the right side of the bed had caused Brody a certain amount of irrational guilt.

  After pulling on jeans and a T-shirt, he stopped long enough to brush his teeth and run a comb through his hair before seeking out the promising aromas coming from the kitchen.

  Mary was at the stove cooking scrambled eggs, and Elliott was in an infant bouncy seat, chewing on his fist. As it had last night, his breath caught in his throat at the appealing domestic scene. His functional kitchen had come to life, filled with warmth. Was this what lured people in? Made them fall for the idea of family?

  Brody laid his hand on Elliott’s belly. “Hey there, little dude. Does that hand taste good?”

  “I think he’s teething.” Mary turned away from the stove. “You’re just in time. The eggs are ready. I’m afraid it’s nothing fancy. Eggs and toast. And there’s coffee.”

  “Mmm, I could smell it.” He poured some and stirred in cream and sugar. “I don’t expect you to cook for me while you’re here.”

  She shrugged and divided the eggs onto plates. “I enjoy cooking, so it’s no bother. Besides, it’s more fun preparing meals for someone other than myself.”

  As if by tacit agreement, they avoided the topic of Roger over breakfast. After Elliott dozed off, they discussed movies they liked and books they’d both read. Although Mary admitted she preferred romances and he wouldn’t touch one, they both enjoyed some of the same thrillers and nonfiction. He basked in Mary’s wry smile when she admitted to loving mindless action movies.

  When Mary stood to clear the dishes away, Brody jumped up. “Sit. You cooked. I’ll clean up.”

  She shook her head and continued to load the dishwasher. “I want to repay your kindness, and putting dishes in the dishwasher isn’t labor-intensive.”

  “I know, but—”

  The sound of a diesel engine in the driveway interrupted their discussion.

  She looked up. “Were you expecting anyone?”

  “No.” He didn’t tell her the people who came out here had business. He justified his omission because he didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable about staying here, but deep down, he didn’t want her to realize how pathetic that made him sound.

  Mary scowled. “Please don’t tell me people are bringing more things.”

  “We’d better go see.” He picked up Elliott’s seat and they went onto the front porch to find a dually truck with a green sixteen-foot livestock trailer hitched to the back.

  Brody set Elliott’s bouncy seat on the porch floor and shrugged in answer to Mary’s unspoken inquiry about their guest. He’d seen the truck in town, but other than that, had no idea why its owner was here. He stepped off the porch and strolled over.

  A stranger got out of the mud-spattered truck and adjusted his blue-striped train engineer’s cap. Nodding to Mary, he stuck out his hand to Brody. “I know you’re Brody Wilson, but I don’t think we’ve officially met. Bill Pratt from Hilltop Farm.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Bill.” Brody shook the farmer’s hand. Hilltop was a dairy farm, so chances were good Bill hadn’t come about boarding horses or restoration hardware. While a friendly and caring bunch, farmers didn’t have a lot of spare time for idle socializing. Oh, man, was that a calf in the trailer?

  “Bill, this is...” Brody turned as Mary climbed down the steps and stood by his side as if she belonged there. But she didn’t and he needed—Why was she looking at him like that? He cleared his thoughts and his throat. “This is Mary Carter. She and her son, Elliott, are visiting Loon Lake.”

  “Welcome, Mary. Hope you’re enjoying your stay.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Bill.” Mary shook hands. “Thanks, I am. It seems like such a friendly place.”

  The dairy farmer nodded. “Hope that means you’ll be staying awhile.”

  Mary’s answer was a noncommittal “We’ll see.”

  Brody shifted his stance but didn’t move away from Mary; he stared down at the top of her head as her fresh scent teased him. Visiting implied she’d be leaving, and the thought of her departure bothered him but he refused to examine the causes. The farmer cleared his throat and dragged Brody’s attention back to his other visitor. Hilltop Farm was clear on the other side of the county. Bill hadn’t come to chat.

  “What brings you out here this morning?” Brody asked, as if he didn’t already know.

  The farmer adjusted his cap again. “Got a problem I heard you might be able to help with.”

  “Problem?” Yep, that was a calf, and this wasn’t good news. Brody’s attention shifted back to Mary when she reached up to remove a strand of hair from her bottom lip. His fingers itched to brush it off. Yeah, enough problems of his own making, without others bringing him more.

  “Be easier if I just show you.” The man went to the back of his trailer and released the gate with a clatter. “Her mama rejected her. I tried to get one of the others to adopt, but no luck. I bottle-fed for a bit, but I ain’t got the time or manpower for it. I can’t keep up with that level of care, but my granddaughter has taken a shine to this one and...”

  Good old Bill wasn’t just asking for help, he was upping the stakes with a little show-and-tell. Great—if the town saw him as a soft touch, then his reputation had been cemented by rushing to the ER and offering Mary and Elliott a place to stay. Probably why the farmer thought he could dump a calf in his lap. “What makes you think I can take care of it?”

  “My granddaughter is friends with Riley and Meg Cooper’s little redhead, Fiona, and she put the notion in my head that you could help. Fiona said her mom brought her out here to see some of the animals you’ve taken in. My granddaughter wouldn’t let up until I promised I’d bring the damn thing to you.”

  “Uh-huh.” Brody shifted again. Mary’s bottomless dark eyes studied him as if she was trying to see inside him, as if this was some sort of test of his character. Why should he even care what she thought? He shouldn’t have brought her here. A motel, that’s where she belonged, not here watching him with those expressive eyes. But she and the baby had looked so vulnerable in that ER, the thought of abandoning them seemed wrong. Oh, man, he was a soft touch.

  The farmer pulled off his hat, revealing thinning gray hair. He scratched his scalp. “Never thought I’d see the day when a six-year-old told me how to run my farm. I tried to fight it, but, as my granddaddy
used to say, a bulldog can whip a skunk, but in the end, it just ain’t worth it. So here I am.”

  Brody chuckled at the farmer’s wisdom. “You do realize I’m not a vet.”

  Bill dipped his head. “I don’t need a vet, just someone to take her off my hands without breaking my little Elena’s heart.”

  The calf began bawling, and Brody tunneled his fingers through his hair, bowing to the inevitable. “Bring it out.”

  The farmer led the skittish calf out of the trailer. “Wish I could pay you for your trouble, but things are a bit tight and...”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Brody assured him. Helping Farmer Bill had nothing to do with Mary or the way her big dark eyes were watching him. Nothing at all. Who was he kidding? He could hardly pay attention to the damn conversation with her so near. “I can’t guarantee results, but I’ll do my best. If she survives, she’ll be company for Gertie, the Holstein I took in.”

  “Gertie? You mean Hank Finley’s cow? The one who didn’t get pregnant last few go-rounds, but he kept her anyway?” When Brody nodded, Bill belly laughed. “Always was a softhearted ole geezer. Too bad about the stroke but his daughter’s taken good care of him. Just like you’re taking good care of Gertie.”

  Brody rolled his eyes and the farmer chuckled as he went to his truck, reached in and pulled out a small carton.

  Mary walked to the brown calf and scratched behind its ears, murmuring, “You sweet girl. I’m sure you’ve come to the right place.”

  The dairy farmer studied Mary a moment, then winked at Brody as he handed him the box. “Milk replacer. And thanks.”

  Brody nodded. “Yeah, glad to help.”

  “I can pick up more milk replacement and bring it out here.”

  Brody waved a hand. “I can take care of it.”

  The metal drop gate clattered as the farmer pulled it back up and secured it. The calf balked at the commotion, and Brody shifted the box under his arm and stooped to pick up the end of the rope tied around the calf’s neck. Mary soothed the animal with gentle stroking motions.

  Brody sighed. “Mary, I should—”

  “Nice meeting you, Mary. I hope to see you at the Independence Day picnic,” Bill shot back over his shoulder as he hauled himself into his truck, a huge grin splitting his weather-beaten face. “I appreciate this, Wilson.”

  Mary caught Brody’s attention. “Maybe his granddaughter could come and visit the calf?”

  Brody shifted his weight to his heels as he mumbled, “We’ll see.”

  The dairy farmer stuck a hand out his window and waved before driving off, the now-empty trailer rattling and bouncing behind his truck.

  Mary waved at the farmer and continued petting the calf and talking to it. Brody sucked on his teeth. He hated what he was about to say, but he had to warn her. “Don’t get too attached.”

  Her head jerked up, and she frowned. “But you said you’d—”

  “And I’m going to do my best, but she’s not out of the woods yet.”

  Mary’s fingers dug into the calf’s thick hair near its ears. “What do you mean? Why not?”

  “Bottle-fed calves don’t always have a happy outcome.” Dang, she needed to quit looking at him with those expressive eyes. He wasn’t some damn calf whisperer. Experience had taught him Mother Nature could be cruel. “They can succumb to something called scour. I’ll keep a close watch.”

  She swallowed. “But it’s not always fatal?”

  Her hopeful expression twisted his gut. Be brutally honest; don’t give her false hope. “Not always, no.”

  She smiled and patted the calf’s head. “I’m sure you’ll do your best. Otherwise that farmer wouldn’t have brought her to you.”

  “He was happy to hand off his problem, that’s all,” he told her, and yet a strange tingling curled through his belly when she looked at him.

  “I don’t believe that for a minute.” She flashed a smile. “He was doing it to keep his granddaughter happy, and he wanted to do the right thing by both her and the calf.”

  Brody grunted. “Believe what you will.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. Why were people always expecting him to make things right? Just once he’d like to see what it was like to be selfish, like the rest of his family. You’d think his time in the army would’ve taught him to recognize his limitations. And yet here he was, tasked with keeping a calf alive when he knew the odds. He’d been tasked with bottle feeding calves as a kid on his grandparents’ farm but that didn’t make him a calf whisperer.

  “What are you going to name her?”

  He gave Mary a quizzical glance. “Who?”

  “The calf...she needs a name.”

  “What part of ‘don’t get attached’ did you miss?” He regretted his harsh tone. But dang, she looked at him as if he was a calf whisperer.

  Instead of the hurt he’d expected, her expression turned mulish.

  “She has to have a name.”

  “Be my guest.” He sighed, thinking of Bill’s analogy involving skunks. At least he’d warned her. He’d remind her of that if... No, he wouldn’t. He’d do his best to console her, but there wouldn’t be any I-told-you-so. Yep, his Special Forces badass days were over.

  “Thanks.” She grinned and bounced on her toes. Her impish grin made her appear younger than the midtwenties he’d first guessed. “I’ll let you know what I decide.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be waiting.” God, he sounded like such a cynic. “I’m going to get her settled.”

  She went over and picked up a still sleeping Elliott and his infant seat. “Is it safe for him to be in the barn?”

  If he told her no, she’d go back into the house, out of sight, and he would be able to ignore her appealing smile and her optimism over the calf. He’d be able to ignore her. He closed his eyes. Opening them again, he shrugged. “Sure. There’s a small office. He’ll be fine.”

  He guided the skittish calf toward the barn and slid the doors open. Grinning, Mary followed them.

  Inside, she paused to let her eyesight get accustomed, then gawked at the cavernous interior, her expression full of awe. He glanced around, but all he saw were repairs and upgrades he’d yet to finish. He’d accomplished a lot in three years, considering he’d done most of it alone. The physical labor had acted as a kind of therapy, clearing his head after the things he’d seen and done in the army. He’d been a professional soldier, something that branded his soul. Despite being cut short, his time in the military had been intense and those experiences plunged that brand deep inside. And close contact combat had added a callus that would be with him forever.

  The barn still needed a lot of attention, but Mary looked around as if it was the most wonderful thing she’d ever seen, and while pride filled his chest cavity, his gut twisted at the same time. She was stirring things inside him he wasn’t sure he wanted disturbed.

  “You can put Elliott’s seat on the desk in the office.” He pointed toward a walled-off corner. “The door isn’t locked.”

  He led the calf toward an empty stall.

  “I’m counting on you to cooperate and survive,” he muttered in the calf’s ear and glanced back toward the open office door. “You wouldn’t want to break her heart, would you?”

  * * *

  Mary put Elliott’s seat on Brody’s desk. His office was neat and tidy, as was his house. At least it had been before she and Elliott had swept in and disrupted everything.

  She left the door ajar as she came out of the office so she’d hear Elliott when he woke up. Back in the other part of the barn, she found Brody preparing bottles for the calf. She wrinkled her nose at a pungent, musty, sour smell and glanced around. “Yuck. What’s that?”

  “The milk replacement.”

  “Oh.” Why had she thought it would be like table milk? Elliott’s formula wasn’t.

  Brody q
uirked an eyebrow at her. “Still want to help?”

  “You can’t scare me.” She raised her chin. Did he think she was a city slicker who would balk at a smell? “I’ve changed diapers that smelled worse than that.”

  He handed her one of the bottles. “Let’s see if she’ll take it with you standing in front. Bill said he’d been bottle-feeding already, so I assume she will.”

  “What happens if she won’t?”

  “We’ll have to try straddling her, but like I said, I doubt if that will be necessary.”

  Despite her enthusiasm, she’d planned on a careful approach, but the calf had other ideas. Eyes wide, the animal tilted her head back, opened her mouth, and out came a tongue longer and wider—and sloppier—than Mary had imagined.

  She held tight as the calf latched on to the bottle and tugged, splattering milk replacer and drool everywhere. “Wow, hope I don’t have to burp her, too.”

  Brody’s answering chuckle launched a series of flutters in her stomach. She glanced away, hoping to distract herself from the awareness starting to simmer between them, and she eyed a shelf with more bottles. “How come you already had some bottles if you don’t have but the one cow?”

  He rubbed his chin and frowned. “Remember when I said the outcome wasn’t always happy?”

  “Oh.” Her chest tightened, and she did her best to put that thought aside. She of all people knew life’s harsher realities, but whenever she fell into the trap of feeling sorry for herself or unable to find joy in the simple things in life, she remembered one exceptional foster mother. Aunt Betty, as she’d wanted to be called, had instilled in Mary an optimism she clung to when things got bad. Even now, she heard Betty’s voice telling her to be thankful for having something worth mourning when it was gone. Mary had had hopes of staying with Betty until she aged out but Betty got sick and her grown children had convinced her caring for foster kids was too much. But as ill as she was, Betty had put up a fuss when the social worker had pulled out a black trash bag for Mary’s belongings. Betty had insisted on giving Mary one of her own suitcases, and before Mary left, Betty had gripped her hand and pleaded with her to remain optimistic. Mary had done her best to keep that promise.