No, it was worse than that. When she’d gotten away from him and had had a moment to think, she’d realized she didn’t want anything to do with him. What had she said? No more of that.
Maybe she’d had time to think about the drawbacks of a man who was afraid of small dark places. Or a man with a bad history everyone in town knew about. Or a man from a modest background, rather than the wealth she was accustomed to.
Or maybe it was just something about him.
For the second time this week, he thought back to his marriage. Not the loss of Ivana and Mia, but the months leading up to it, when he’d heard repeatedly about his failures and inadequacies as a husband.
He hadn’t had it all together when he’d come back from Afghanistan. He’d needed counseling, time to figure out the right professional direction. The fact that he hadn’t been sure of himself, combined with Ivana’s weariness as a new mother, had made for stressful times.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried. He’d practiced listening skills he’d learned in counseling, brought flowers and gotten sitters so they could go out on dates. But none of it had worked.
You’re not the man I thought you were. Those words, the ones he’d stuffed down and tried to forget, came ringing into his brain now.
He’d like to rip that brain right out of his skull. He could feel himself going down.
What did it matter if he had a drink, or ten? His life was never going to get any better. Work, sleep, try not to drink. Always alone.
At least at the bar, he’d have companionship. Not the kind he wanted, but something was better than nothing.
He paced some more. Looked up at the ceiling, where he could hear Gina moving around.
Was she upset, too? Uncomfortable hearing him roam around the house? Ambivalent about pushing him away?
Maybe she was, but she’d sounded sure of what she was saying. She’d made a decision.
Just for a moment, he’d thought he might get the girl. He’d thought that life could open up for him again, that he could have the companionship he craved. Not just someone to hold in his arms—although Gina fit beautifully there—but someone to talk to, someone who understood.
He had to get out of here.
Grabbing his jacket from the hook beside the door, he ran to his car and drove.
Twenty minutes later he was parking beside the big, dark barn out at the dog rescue farm. When he opened the door of his truck and slammed it shut, all the dogs started barking. Only then did he realize he needed to text Troy and Angelica, who lived with their kids in the adjacent house, to let them know he wasn’t an intruder.
It’s just me, out at the barn.
You okay? came the text back from Troy.
Yeah. Just forgot something.
He went inside, breathing in the familiar smells of hay and sawdust, feed and dogs. Rather than put on the main light, he just turned on the lamp on the desk near the door, found a flashlight and headed back.
The dogs continued barking, of course, and he got drawn into petting some of the needier ones. When he saw Spike, the Maltese mix from the alley the other day, he opened his crate, picked him up and carried him around. He’d turned out to be healthy enough, just your average senior, overweight dog with bad teeth. But with most of his matted hair shaved off, he was a little guy. He didn’t fit in with the bully breeds that made up most of the population at the rescue.
“But somebody loved you, huh?” He rubbed behind the dog’s ears, thinking of the note and the money.
The dog licked his face gratefully.
“Your breath smells worse than a garbage dump,” he chided the old dog.
Yeah, he was talking to a dog. Which might mean he was crazy, or might mean he was sane.
Finally he got to the kennel he’d been seeking. There was Crater, in the back of it, licking his paws. When the dog saw Buck, he came bounding forward.
Buck opened the kennel awkwardly, still holding the Maltese. “Hey, buddy,” he said. “Want to come home with me tonight?”
He only did that on the bad days. Lacey hadn’t bargained for a big, clumsy dog in her house. But she knew he needed the company sometimes.
Crater trotted confidently beside him, mouth open, tongue hanging out. He seemed to laugh at the other dogs, still in their kennels.
When they got back to Spike’s small crate, Buck bent down to put the little guy in.
Spike struggled, looking up at him with big, dark eyes, letting out pitiful cries.
“I don’t even like small dogs.” Firmly, he shut the crate and headed for the door.
Above the noise of the other dogs, he could hear Spike’s high-pitched howl.
All the dogs were barking. All of them needed a home. He was giving one of the unadoptables an outing, that was all. He reached down to rub Crater’s head and the dog stared up at him adoringly.
That high-pitched howl again.
Buck groaned. Stopped. Started walking again.
Crater looked at him quizzically.
His steps slowed. He turned around. Then he jogged back to Spike’s cage, opened it and swept the fat Maltese into the curve of his arm. “One night on a real bed. Just one, you hear?”
Twenty minutes later, as he let himself into the guesthouse and went upstairs—Crater beside him and Spike in his arms—he realized he hadn’t even considered taking the turnoff for the bar.
Chapter Nine
A scratching sound tugged at Gina’s consciousness. Was Bobby scratching, or was it Buck? Someone was in a box and she needed to help him get out of it, she knew that, but she couldn’t make herself move.
More scratching, and then vigorous, high-pitched barking.
Barking?
And then an indignant yowl, some growling and more barking.
Gina sat up in bed, her eyes barely able to open. When she saw the bright daylight outside her window, she jumped up. How late had she slept?
Automatically she checked on Bobby, but he was sleeping through the sounds of an animal fight right outside their door. She shrugged into her robe and went out to see what was going on.
Buck was coming up the stairs at the same time, already dressed and covered with a fine white powder, like he’d been plastering.
“Hey.” He snapped his fingers and the big dog, Crater, bounded over. Buck pointed at the floor, and Crater sat.
The orange cat, Mr. Whiskers, and his reclusive lady friend perched on a high, built-in ledge. They both glared disdainfully at a small, fat white dog who continued to bark furiously at them.
Gina bent down and picked up the little dog. It quieted down and licked her face before twisting toward the cats.
She wrinkled her nose. “Dog breath, wow!”
“His teeth aren’t the best. That’s Spike.”
“Spike?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay.” She studied the ten-pound dog doubtfully. “These guys weren’t here when I went to bed.”
“I needed company,” he said gruffly. “Sorry they woke you.”
His words brought back the night before, and she immediately thought of their kiss. Her face heated and she started to touch her lips, then cuddled the little dog closer instead.
He’d needed company. Why had he needed company? Because she’d hurt him?
She remembered the old journal she’d found and opened her mouth to tell Buck about it when Bobby called. He was always hungry in the morning.
She pressed the little dog into Buck’s arms and went to her son.
As she changed him and prepared him for the day, she heard Buck whistle to Crater and go back downstairs. Good. And she’d keep Bobby with her today, maybe do some paperwork instead of working beside Buck. They were making good progress on the renovation, and it looked like there
would be several rooms ready to display for the festival if they all stayed on task. It was time to figure out a publicity plan.
And it was time for her to spend a day apart from Buck. Exactly what she didn’t want to do, because the thought of working with him, beside him, filled her with longing. Made her want to share another sweet kiss.
But she couldn’t reopen that wound. It was kinder to be cruel.
After feeding Bobby some breakfast, she went out onto the front porch. She sat on the steps and put a blanket and toys in the yard for Bobby. As he banged plastic together and plucked at grass, she updated the marketing plan.
At one point, Buck opened the door to let the little dog out and saw her there. “Will it bother you if Spike hangs outside with you? He’s getting into everything.” Buck’s voice was toneless, exquisitely polite.
“No problem. I like him. C’mere, Spike.”
Normally they’d have laughed together about the ill-fitting name. He’d have told her the dog’s story. But today, he just nodded.
He was turning away when Bobby started shouting. “Buh! Buh!” He waved his arms at Buck and started to crawl toward him.
Buck looked back, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. He stepped inside and closed the door.
Pain twisted in Gina’s chest. She didn’t like being estranged from him. Didn’t want this coldness. Didn’t want Bobby to get sad from rejection, although truthfully, her son had spotted a robin and turned toward it, easily distracted.
If only she could be distracted that easily.
It’s better this way. She tugged the little dog closer to her side and determinedly went on writing out her plan.
An hour later, she heard the sound of a camera clicking and looked up to see Amy, phone in hand, snapping photographs. “You just look so cute, with Bobby and that little dog,” Amy said. “I’ll send these to you. You working hard?”
“Yeah. Getting some paperwork done.”
“For the national-landmark thing?”
She nodded as Amy opened the picket fence and let herself in. “Some of that, and I’m working on marketing. We need to send out some blasts on social media, get the word out about the guesthouse and how it’ll be open for the festival.”
“I can help with that,” Amy offered. “You think you’re going to make it, then?”
“It’s looking good.” Then it came together for her. “Hey, we need to take a bunch of pictures of the renovation. We can post them, and the fixer-upper crowd will think it’s awesome.”
“That’s for sure. Want me to take a few more of the outside?”
“The inside, too, if you’re willing. I’m a terrible photographer. But where’s Tyler?”
“Out at Angelica’s. Why isn’t Bobby there today?”
“He’s only there three days per week.” Gina didn’t add that she needed the comfort of keeping her son close today.
They went inside and Amy walked around snapping photos. In the kitchen Gina put Bobby in his high chair, placating him with dry cereal while she fixed a tray of fruit, cheese and crackers for an early lunch. She made a separate plate for Buck to find when he was ready. She and Amy could sit outside to eat, away from him.
She could hear Buck and Amy talking, but she stifled her desire to listen. It didn’t matter. Wasn’t her business.
The voices came closer, and then they both walked into the kitchen. When Buck saw her, he stopped in the middle of a sentence. He stammered something, turned abruptly and left.
Amy frowned after him and then looked at Gina. “Why’s the tension so thick in here?”
Gina so wanted to tell her. She was suffering from a serious shortage of girlfriend consultation.
But what could she say? He kissed me and I liked it and then I cut him off? It’ll never work for me because of who he is and who I am? I’m crazy about him?
She blew out a sigh. “Grab those glasses, will you? I’ll carry the pitcher and we can have some lunch outside.”
Once they were settled on the porch, Gina rocked Bobby and held him against her, and just as she’d hoped, he relaxed into sleep. After he drifted off, she ate some snacks with one hand and held him, and then Amy made a nest for him and they laid him down.
“You’re still not off the hook. What’s going on between you and Buck?”
Unable to think of a real excuse, Gina settled for half the truth. “We went forward a little bit in our...friendship. And then we...I...decided not to go further.”
“Why?” Amy poured another glass of lemon-infused water for both of them.
“Because Bobby comes first,” Gina said firmly.
“And? Is Buck somehow anti-Bobby?”
“No, he’s great with him. It’s just...men mostly aren’t reliable, and Buck...well, you heard what Angelica said that one night. He’s got a drinking problem, and I—”
“He’s in AA, right?” Amy interrupted. “Have you ever seen him drink?”
“No, I’ve never seen him drink. But still...”
“Why did you say men mostly aren’t reliable?”
Man, Amy was like a bloodhound on the scent. But Gina didn’t know whether to get into talking about her dad. “Just...past history.”
“But Bobby’s a boy. It would be nice if he had some male role models in his life.”
“That’s true, and yet...” She sighed. “I don’t know.” She leaned over to check on Bobby, hoping Amy would take the hint and get off this line of questioning.
But no chance of that. “What was your childhood like?” Amy pressed. “Was your dad in the picture?”
“Yes.” Gina thought of her dad, and as always, the shaggy, smiling image of him brought a fond feeling. “He was my only parent. My mom passed on right after I was born.”
“Good relationship with him, I assume? Because you’re smiling.”
“I’m smiling because I love him to pieces,” Gina said. She was about to stop there, to brush it all off as she usually did with inquiries about her childhood, but Amy’s understanding face, her receptive silence, made Gina feel like she could share a few details. “But my childhood was a little different.”
“Different?”
Wondering how to explain, Gina thought back, and a memory flashed into her head. “Once when I was about seven,” she said, “I invited a couple of girls to come over after school. We all got notes from our parents and they rode home on the bus with me.” She put her elbows on her knees and leaned forward, remembering. “When we got off the bus, we were running up toward the house, but one of the girls stopped. She wanted to know why my house was so little, and why the porch roof was sagging, and why the driveway was made of dirt, not asphalt.”
“You grew up poor,” Amy guessed.
“Yeah. I explained it away, and we went inside. And there was nobody home.”
“Your dad was gone?”
She nodded. “I was used to being alone, but they both got scared and started to cry. They wanted their moms.”
“What did you do?” Amy asked.
“I fixed us all a snack. Showed them how to put butter and sugar on white bread, and they loved it. And then I told them stories until their moms came to get them.”
Amy nodded, looking sympathetic and nonjudgmental. “Sounds like you were pretty mature. Did the moms find out?”
“My dad rolled in just as they did, and somehow, he smoothed it over. He really was handsome back then, and super articulate. There wasn’t a woman within miles who couldn’t be charmed by him.” She sighed. “But of course, the girls weren’t allowed to come over again, and they spread the word. Pretty much nobody trusted my dad to do what he said he’d do.”
Amy nodded. “And so you don’t trust men,” she said. “Makes sense, with that background.”
Gina hadn’t really put it tog
ether like that before, and she wasn’t sure she bought it. “I got married, though. I was happily married.” For a while.
“And what was he like? Your husband.”
Gina thought. “He was the playmate I never had,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “When we were first dating, and when we first got married, we had so much fun together. He really was like a little boy, and I got to be a kid again with him, too.”
“That sounds good,” Amy said, “but it also sounds like you married your father. Someone else irresponsible, you know? How did he do when Bobby came along?”
Gina frowned. “Not well. I couldn’t party anymore, and he couldn’t cope with responsibility, and...” She blew out a sigh. How to explain the disaster their marriage had become? How to explain the issues with his parents, who’d morphed from kindly caregivers to monsters with the arrival of Bobby?
She pushed her plate away. “I should probably get back to work. I’m sorry to do all that talking.”
“It’s okay,” Amy said. “I was the one asking all the nosy questions.”
“I’m glad you came over.” And she was. Gina hadn’t had much girl talk since she’d been here, aside from a couple of phone calls with Haley back in California.
They hugged, and then Amy held her shoulders. “Remember,” she said, “the past doesn’t have to determine the future. Buck isn’t your dad. And he’s not Bobby’s father. Give him a chance, okay?”
Except he was all too much like them, Gina thought as she settled back down to work. And though she’d put her trust in two men who hadn’t repaid it, she wasn’t going to make the same mistake a third time.
She watched her baby’s chest rise and fall with his sleep breathing. No mistakes. Not this time. The stakes were too high.
* * *
After lunch, Buck changed into scrubs and headed out the front door, Crater trotting behind him.
Gina still sat there, working on Lacey’s laptop. Bobby slept beside her and the little Maltese pressed against her side. In the spring sunlight, she looked so pretty that his throat hurt.
The Soldier and the Single Mom Page 11