“We were in school together,” Amy explained. “All through, from kids’ birthday parties to high-school track to his goodbye party when he went in the service. Knew his family, knew Lacey. Loved his dad.”
Angelica nodded. “From what I heard, everyone loved his dad.”
“Didn’t you know Buck, too?” Gina glanced up from putting Bobby’s sock back on. “You went to school here, right?”
“I was a year younger and on the outside of the main group in high school, but he was always nice to me.”
“He’s a good guy.” Amy lifted her baby out of the high chair and took him over to the sink to wipe him down. “His mom had a pretty bad drinking problem, but Buck’s dad and Buck and Lacey were so well liked, someone usually stamped down the gossip before it got too bad.”
“It had its impact on Buck, though,” Angelica said quietly. “Well, that and the war.”
“So I hear.” Amy came back to the table and sat down, holding Tyler on her lap. “I haven’t been around for a few years, but wowie! The stories of his drinking reached me all the way in New York City.”
“It was pretty bad.” Angelica leaned back in her chair and looked at Gina, the skin between her eyebrows pleated. “One time before Troy and I got together...”
Gina lifted an eyebrow, waiting, her heart sinking.
“It’s just... Buck and I were going to go out. He came out here—I was staying at the bunkhouse with Xavier. Anyway, he came to pick me up and he was really drunk. Too drunk to drive, so Troy and I called Lacey to come get him. He got pretty belligerent.”
“I heard there were a lot of incidents like that,” Amy said. “After he came back from Afghanistan, right? Substance abuse is a huge problem for vets. A way for them to cope with the things they saw and had to do.”
Amy’s choice of words—substance abuse—reminded Gina of how careful she needed to be. No judgment. She had absolutely no judgment where men were concerned.
She’d fallen for an addict before, and she was doing it again.
Angelica reached out and put a hand on Gina’s arm. “I don’t want to gossip, and I really like Buck. I’d just... I saw how you two were looking at each other, and I worried... Just be careful, okay?”
“Well, but he’s in recovery, right?” Amy rocked Tyler gently. “That can really work. I saw it dozens of times out in California. And shouldn’t we try to help him, not judge him?”
“Of course, and I feel for Buck—I really do. He’s had so much to deal with.” Angelica frowned. “It’s just...sometimes recovery programs don’t work. And families are devastated.”
Gina knew about that firsthand. She nodded, her thoughts chaotic.
“I would never tell you what to do,” Angelica said. “I’d just suggest you be careful. With Bobby and all.”
Gina nodded. “I will.” Restless, she stood and paced, Bobby on her hip.
On a built-in shelf beside the sink was a photograph in a wedding frame. Troy, Angelica and Xavier, all dressed up in wedding clothes, with the ripe harvest fields behind them.
Her throat closed. She remembered her own wedding day, the hopes, the promises. She’d thought that the biggest decision of her life was over and done. And done well.
There was so much she hadn’t known on that day. So much suffering in the future.
But for someone like Angelica, who’d chosen the right man, the future was bright.
Amy and Angelica were still talking about Buck. “I just don’t think he can handle a lot of stress. It’s likely to push him back into drinking.”
“That’s so sad, but you’re probably right.”
“Troy says he plans to leave Rescue River as soon as he’s repaid the debts he incurred during his drunk phase.”
Gina gripped the edge of the sink as she listened and stared at the picture. No matter her romantic dreams, she and Buck weren’t going to get together. There wasn’t a potential relationship. She wasn’t going to be saved by him.
She had to save herself...and leave Buck alone.
Chapter Eight
“So, why have you been avoiding me?”
The moment Buck asked the question, he wished he hadn’t. He and Gina had to work together this whole evening—they’d set it aside to wallpaper after Bobby was in bed. She’d just come downstairs and into the front guest room. Lacey was away, working her third double shift this week.
“I haven’t been avoiding you. We’ve been working together every day!” She stood by the table they had set up for spreading paste, her hand on her hip.
“Working together, yeah, but no talking. Did I do something wrong?”
He figured he knew the answer. It had started after her evening with Angelica and Amy. No doubt she’d been told some of the details about him and his past escapades.
She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something and then shut it again.
“Are you going to tell me or not?” He didn’t know why he was pushing; it was like he’d lost control. Like when he’d been drinking, only he wasn’t drinking. And he probably shouldn’t make a big deal of it, but it was bugging him. The way she acted toward him mattered.
He definitely needed to discuss this with his sponsor.
She looked down, then lifted her eyes to his again. “It’s just... I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. We can’t...you know.”
He nodded, defeat blasting his heart. “You heard the truth about me.” And he knew it, knew he had to get out of Rescue River for just that reason, but never had it discouraged him so much.
“It’s not exactly that.” She wasn’t entirely denying it, he noticed, because she was honest to the core. “It’s just...there is a spark.” She lifted her eyes to his, looking troubled.
Heat rose in him at her words. “On your side or mine?”
She looked down, color staining her cheeks.
Was that because she felt the spark herself or because she didn’t?
When she didn’t answer, that told him everything. She’d noticed that he was attracted but she didn’t feel the same herself.
In awkward silence they worked together to paste, lift and spread the wallpaper. The moments in between, while they were waiting for the paste to permeate the paper, felt uncomfortable. And when they got to the big break, when they had to let the whole room dry before putting the moldings back up, the silence was excruciating. He was just about to get up and go to his room when she spoke up suddenly. “Let’s go explore the basement.”
“What?”
“There’s supposed to be a secret room or hiding place. Let’s go try to find it.”
Great. It was the last thing he wanted to do, the only way of breaking the silence he’d much rather have said no to.
But she was already out the door, and a gentleman couldn’t let a lady go into the dark alone.
They made their way down the house’s wooden cellar stairs. There was no railing, and a single bulb hung down to illuminate the old stone walls.
Something brushed his leg and he kicked out, barely restraining a yell, heart pounding.
An indignant yowl sounded, and the reclusive Mrs. Whiskers ran past him up the stairs.
Gina had grabbed a flashlight and she shone it around, but the darkness was so heavy that the light barely penetrated.
A sick feeling rose in him as they reached the low-ceilinged, dark main room, but Gina wasn’t affected the same way; she was giggling, grabbing his arm at the scuttling sound of some little creature, shuddering openly. To her, it was obviously a trip through the fun house.
Sweat trickled down his back. He tried to focus on her and not on the memories.
“I wonder what’s here. Have you even been down here before?”
“No.” He could hear the hoarseness in his voice and wondered if
she could, too.
“We’ll go over the walls, see what we can find.” She shone the light around, scanning the stone walls, exploring.
He took deep breaths of cold, dank air and told himself he was fine. He was in a basement in Ohio, not a cave in Afghanistan.
Still, when a rock she was fiddling with came out of the wall and fell to the floor with a thump, he grabbed her shoulders, heart racing, and pulled her back. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
She tried to move out of his grip, but he held on. “Come on!”
“Buck. Hey, Buck!” She twisted away but kept hold of his hand, shining the light in his direction. “Hey, what’s wrong? You look awful.”
He blew out a breath and drew in another lungful of musty cellar air. “Bad memories.”
“Memories of what?” She tugged him over to where they could sit on the stairs.
Light came in from the open door above, illuminating an escape route. His breathing calmed a little. “Afghanistan. There were...lots of caves.”
“And you had a bad experience in one.” It wasn’t phrased as a question.
“Yeah.” He took another minute to breathe, feeling his body steady, his heart rate settle. He was cold from the sweat, but he no longer felt sick. And since he’d already wimped out on her, and since she didn’t have any romantic interest in him anyway, he might as well tell her. “A buddy and I got ambushed in a cave. Separated from our unit, and we didn’t know the country near as well as our enemies did. It got ugly.” He ran a hand over his face.
“But you got out okay, in the end?”
“I did.” A bleak sense of failure overwhelmed him.
“And your friend?”
He shook his head. “He didn’t make it.” And that was the shame of it. He should have been able to save John, but he hadn’t. They’d made a plan to run for it, knowing they couldn’t cover each other, but he should never have agreed to it, because John had gone down. And he’d never forget the misery of walking down off that mountain without his buddy.
“That must be hard to deal with.” She’d never let go of his hand and now she gripped it tighter. “I can’t imagine. Wow.”
And then she just sat with him, quiet.
Her simple acceptance of how bad it had been, her comforting silence, surprised him. He hadn’t told anyone—outside of his shrink—about that particular failure. He’d worried that he’d be condemned. Thing was, no one could condemn him more harshly than he condemned himself.
She was kicking at the bottom of the stairs and a loose board fell down. She picked it up and studied it.
“Look at that,” she said.
“Is that a keyhole?” he asked at the same moment.
She squatted down and shone the flashlight under the stairs, and he had to marvel that she seemed to have no fear of mice or spiders or whatever other nasty thing could be down there.
Instead, she pulled out a wooden box, deteriorated, rotten on one side.
Her eyebrows lifted. She looked at him and then held it out.
He met her eyes and then, slowly, lifted the lid.
Inside was a tarnished silver cross necklace.
She studied it. “Wonder who this belonged to?”
“I don’t know. Maybe there’s some information in Miss Minnie’s paperwork.”
“Or maybe Mr. Love would know something.”
He put the necklace back into the box and closed the lid. “We didn’t find a secret room,” he said, “but we found something interesting.”
“There could be an amazing story behind this. We can display it in the guesthouse!” She sounded excited.
“You did the right thing, dragging me down here.”
She looked at him and their eyes held. Hers sparkled with the excitement of their find and then darkened. Her tongue flicked across her lip.
It took everything in him not to kiss her.
“Buck?” she said faintly.
“Yeah?”
“It wasn’t one-sided.”
He lifted an eyebrow, wondering if she meant what he thought she meant.
“That...spark. I...I felt it. Feel it.”
What was a man supposed to do when he’d faced his fears and found a treasure? How was he supposed to remember to do the wise thing?
He put a hand on either side of her face, reading her expression, trying to figure out whether she’d mind. Her eyes were wide, but not afraid.
He pulled her closer and lowered his lips to hers.
* * *
Being in Buck’s arms, immersed in his sweet but intense kiss, Gina felt like she was floating. Never in her life had she experienced anything like this.
His lips were firm. He definitely knew what he was doing, kissing her. She sighed and settled into the strong, warm circle of his arms.
He lifted his head to look into her eyes, and she couldn’t hide her dreamy satisfaction. He nodded and dipped down for another kiss, his hands stroking and touching her back, but not straying anywhere that made her uncomfortable.
He was careful, protective. He was looking out for her rather than going for anything he could get. That alone set him apart from most men she’d known.
And the closeness she felt wasn’t just physical. He wanted to know about her, to help her; he cared. More than that, tonight he’d let her know him more. What he’d revealed, his vulnerable side, made something burst free in her heart, a seed that could grow.
And then, through the baby monitor she’d left in the kitchen, she heard mild fussing.
“Bobby’s crying,” she told Buck.
He dropped his arms immediately. “Better check on him,” he said, and she stood, steadied herself and then turned and hurried up the stairs, the little wooden chest still in her hand.
As she trotted up two flights, the euphoria of kissing Buck faded and doubts rushed in.
He’s an alcoholic!
He’s too vulnerable to take on the mess of your life!
He’s leaving Rescue River!
She reached her room and found Bobby tossing, face red, half-asleep. He’d gotten himself into the corner of his crib and was too sleepy to find a more comfortable position.
She moved him and patted his back until he settled down.
Touching her baby brought her back into line with her goals. She needed to remember them.
She was here to take care of herself and Bobby, to protect her son from harm, and find a safe place to raise him.
She wasn’t here to get involved with another risky, dangerous person.
The door creaked. “Is he okay?” Buck asked, coming up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder.
A hand that felt possessive. And although everything inside her wanted to curl toward him, to feel his arms around her again, her responsibility for Bobby overcame it.
She braced herself. “That can’t happen again,” she said and looked up at him.
Hurt flashed across his handsome face, making her remember that he wasn’t a carefree, blustering addict like Hank had been. He was a man who’d fought for his country and bore the emotional scars from it. A man who’d lost a wife and child.
She closed her eyes for just a minute, confused.
When she looked at him again, his mouth and eyes had gone flat. “All right. If you’re both okay, I’m going to turn in.”
His words were flat, too. When he walked away, his shoulders looked stiff.
Her mouth opened to call him back, and she pressed both hands over it to stop herself. It hurt to nip this thing between them, but it was best to do it now rather than ripping apart a full-grown love affair.
And it had to be stopped. It was best for Bobby. Ultimately, it was best for Buck, too.
But what about me? What about wha
t I want? She wrapped her arms around her middle. She felt like she was breaking apart.
When you were a parent, you made the decisions that were best for the child. That, she knew.
Doing the right thing was hard, but in the end, it would lead to less pain.
She walked over to her bed and sank down on it, arms still wrapped around her middle. She tried to pray, to cry out to God, but rather than finding comfort, she saw Buck’s hurt face before her eyes.
Why did she have to hurt someone else to do the right thing by Bobby?
Why did she have to hurt herself?
No answers came. So, slowly, she closed the door to her room and got ready for bed. Went to check one last time on Bobby and saw the wooden box she’d been clutching in her hand when she’d run upstairs.
There was the cross. But now, studying the box in brighter light, she saw that it should be deeper than it was, suggesting that it had a false bottom. She tried to pry it up, and when her fingers wouldn’t do the job, she found a metal nail file and slid it between the bottom of the box and the side, prying upward until the old piece of wood gave way.
Inside was a slim leather book filled with careful, old-fashioned handwriting.
Immediately, she thought of telling Buck. She wanted to share this with him. And she would, but not tonight—they were both too vulnerable, too hurt.
She flattened the pages out and began to read.
* * *
Buck paced the guesthouse, feeling like a caged dog. He picked up a magazine and then threw it down again. Started to straighten up the wallpapering supplies and then realized they’d just need to get them out again tomorrow. There was nothing to do now, and no way he was going to sleep.
He’d opened himself up to Gina, had experienced her sweetness and the hope of some more substantial connection with her.
But she’d shut him out.
He slammed a hand into the wall of the downstairs hallway and relished the pain of it. She’d responded to him; he was experienced enough to know that. Her breathing, her quickened pulse, her dark, lidded eyes told him that she’d enjoyed the kiss. And he hadn’t pushed it too far; he’d been careful to respect her boundaries. He knew what kind of woman he was dealing with. Gina was a lady, through and through.
The Soldier and the Single Mom Page 10