Tempted by the Soldier

by Patricia Potter

  Josh poured the wine and Eve passed the spaghetti, then the red sauce. “This recipe comes from Josh’s grandmother,” she said. “I make a big batch, then freeze portions so I can just throw it into a pot.”

  “Don’t let her lowball it, Clint,” McGuire said. “I always covet an invitation on spaghetti night.” He accepted a glass of wine from Josh. “I heard you’re volunteering at the community center.”

  “Just a few hours and really simple things.”

  “They’re not simple to the folks you’ve helped.”

  “It’s not very much in return for the cabin.”

  “Maybe not to you.” McGuire heaped spaghetti on his plate and covered it with sauce and meatballs. Everyone fell to eating, Clint relishing every bite and every taste of a good wine. Conversation was scarce. He liked that, but then he liked everything about Josh and his wife and son. He envied them their easy and affectionate manner with each other, and the way Nick was brought into every conversation.

  It hadn’t been like that when he was Nick’s age. At boarding school, meals were strictly regimented.

  When he was almost finished, McGuire asked, “Do you know yet what you want to do?”

  “To tell the truth, sir, no. I had been thinking about finishing a degree in computer engineering, but I’m not so sure now.”

  “How many years do you have?”

  “A little more than two, plus I can claim credit for some military courses and experience. It would probably take a year.”

  Eve and Josh had been mostly silent. Eve and Nick took the plates to the kitchen and returned with a plate of chocolate cookies. Josh hadn’t yet figured out why everyone in Covenant Falls wasn’t at least a hundred pounds overweight.

  McGuire stood. “I have to get home, but thank you, Eve. It was a pleasure as always.” Then he turned his attention to Clint. “Good to meet you, son.” He peered down at Bart who hadn’t moved more than an inch from Clint. “Seems you have a way with dogs like you do with our seniors. Again, real good to meet you.”

  “And you, sir,” Clint said.

  “Hope you hang around for a while.”

  After he left, the four of them went outside, the dogs following.

  Eve brought out coffee.

  “Josh, have you heard any more about the guy in jail?” Clint asked.

  “Only that his attorney is going nuts, talking about violation of civil rights and on and on,” Josh said.

  “But he’s still there?”

  “If Tony has anything to do with it, he’ll be there for the next six months. He’s really annoyed now. All kinds of pressure is being applied from different sources, and he’s been delaying arraignment. But the guy isn’t saying anything.”

  “Has he learned anything about Stephanie’s ex-husband?”

  “Nope, but Tony has been checking,” Josh said. “He’s apparently really bad at marriage. Susan is the third. Stephanie didn’t know about that. Apparently, the first marriage happened when he was in college. It didn’t last long.”

  “Stephanie said he stole the money from the sale of her practice. It might be interesting to see if his other wives had money that disappeared.”

  “Tony said he got nothing from the Boston police,” Eve said. “No record. Not even a parking ticket.”

  “Boston, and no parking tickets?” Clint said. “That has to be a record.”

  “You know Boston?”

  “Visited there a couple of times with a buddy.”

  “Do you like big cities?”

  “Can’t say I do.”

  He saw looks pass between Eve and Josh and wondered what in the hell was going on.

  He looked at his watch. It was nine. Not late, but he had people coming over early in the morning to help with the dock. And tomorrow night, dinner with Stephanie. He’d stopped by the grocery on his way home earlier. He only hoped the dock construction wouldn’t extend past 6:00 p.m. Josh obviously noticed the gesture and stood. “I think it’s time to drive Clint home. He’s working on the new dock tomorrow.”

  “Thanks for doing it,” Eve said. “Josh has been wanting that dock for months. He’ll probably start camping on your yard.”

  Clint laughed. “I’m not doing much. The town’s taken over the project. Calvin says he’s got a good group of men coming.”

  “I know,” Eve said. “My husband is one of them.”

  “I don’t know if that’s allowed,” Clint said with a grin.

  “Try to keep me away,” Josh said. “By the way, Eve, Clint plays one hell of a guitar.”

  Eve’s eyes lit up. “You do?”

  “A little. Just for friends and myself.”

  “Next time you come, bring it,” Eve said. “I love guitar music.”

  Clint thought he saw another glint in her eyes. He feared he would be volunteered again. Eve seemed to be very, very good at volunteering people.

  “Nick,” she called. Nick, who had been throwing a ball to Miss Marple, Fancy and Captain Hook, came running to the table. “Clint is leaving,” Eve said. “Please give him Bart’s bowl, bed and toys.’’

  Clint felt like a dognapper as Nick nodded his head. The boy leaned down and gave Bart a huge hug first. Bart licked him, but didn’t move from Clint’s side. Five minutes later, he was loaded down with dog stuff and a dish full of spaghetti.

  “Thank you, Nick. That was incredibly generous of you, and you can visit any time. Eve, thank you for supper. It was terrific.”

  Then they were in Josh’s Jeep, Amos and Bart in the backseat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  DRENCHED AND COVERED with dirt and mud, Clint thanked and said goodbye to the men who had helped frame the dock and push PVC pipes three feet beneath the lake’s bottom.

  Calvin had been right. He had needed help. Water had to be pumped from the pipes before the treated posts and cement could be placed inside. Now they would have to wait until the concrete dried. In the meantime, they marked each post to choose the height of the dock.

  Conversation ranged from the unusual heat to last week’s altercation with the Boston detective. Everyone wondered why he was photographing buildings in town, especially at night, and even more why he’d attacked Clint.

  Clint feigned ignorance. Then talk turned to two new forest fires in northern Colorado. There were some, as well, in New Mexico and Arizona. Heavily forested areas throughout the West were at risk. The volunteer firefighter units were on alert. Three of the crew today were members.

  So was Stephanie. A shiver of fear ran down Clint’s spine.

  They had lunch, brought by several wives, then left at three. Nothing more could be done until the concrete dried. Several said they would return Sunday after church to frame the dock. The cement would be dry then.

  Bart had not left his side since they’d arrived home. He had crawled up in bed with him and frantically waved his backside when Clint asked him if he wanted to take a walk at dawn. Then he’d stayed with him all morning, ignoring the other humans who attempted to say hello. The dog obviously was trying to strike a happy medium between fear that Clint might disappear again and his fear of strangers. Clint had won, and he felt that was a huge victory for both him and the dog.

  When the last pickup left his driveway, he went inside with Bart and threw his muddy clothes on the floor. He jumped in the shower, washed his hair and stepped out. Bart sat happily on Clint’s muddy clothes, mud all over his face.

  “We’re having company tonight,” he said with a grin. “Now you need a bath, too.”

  He put the clothes into the sink, then pushed and shoved Bart into the shower and closed the curtain. He turned the shower back on and Bart panicked, jumping out and shaking himself, spreading water all over the floor. As Clint tried to catch him, Bart ran and jumped onto the bed, dr
ying himself on the clean sheets Clint had optimistically put on the bed.

  Owning a dog did have its challenges.

  He spent an hour cleaning up the bathroom floor and changing a wet bed, which was damp down to the mattress. Bart licked him when he bent down to scold him, then he forgot about it. Clearly, Bart just did what dogs do.

  Clint turned his attention to himself. He shaved with great care since his face was tender from the fight. He noted that his face still sported any number of colors. Then he dressed in clean clothes. He half expected Stephanie to call and cancel any minute, and his heart jumped when the phone rang. It did, several times. A reporter from the weekly paper wanted to interview him about the altercation at the courthouse. Someone who said he couldn’t come today to help with the dock wanted to know when he could help. Someone who had helped had left gloves behind.

  At five he made a salad for two and checked items he needed for an omelet. He had picked up some spices and other ingredients at the local grocery. All he needed was wine, but he hadn’t been able to find any at the grocery.

  At six, he and Bart went out to the porch. He’d never felt this kind of expectation before. Or wishful thinking. She was definitely guy-shy, with good reason. He didn’t see a victim, though. He saw a fighter. A capable, compassionate woman who was damn attractive.

  What if she had second thoughts?

  Through the pines he saw the boards stacked on the side of the lake and poles sticking out of the water. He planned to do most of the dock work himself Sunday and Monday. Once the cement settled, it shouldn’t take long to fill in the frame.

  Stephanie drove up at six thirty and exited the van with a package in her arms and Sherry at her side. Bart stood and wagged his tail. Apparently Stephanie and Sherry were on Bart’s approved list of visitors.

  Clint stood and opened the door to the porch and took the bag from her.

  “I thought an omelet might need some wine,” she said. “I didn’t know whether you had time to get any. It isn’t easy around here.”

  “I didn’t. I didn’t see any in the grocery store.”

  “You won’t. Colorado laws are pretty weird. You have to buy wine and beer in a licensed liquor store. Nearest one is ten miles away in the middle of nowhere. My guess is the owner has friends in high places. I keep some wine in stock.”

  Stephanie wore brown slacks and a brown-and-white-checked blouse. Her hair was pulled back by a brown ribbon. Sherry said hello to Bart by touching his nose. They sniffed each other.

  “I didn’t think you would come,” he said.

  “My curiosity won out. I had to see whether you could cook an omelet as good as you claimed.”

  “It’s my culinary skills that drew you here?”

  “What else?” she asked. “Maude does many things well, but an omelet? Not so good. She’s more the scrambled-eggs-and-steak cook.”

  “I hope you don’t have great expectations.”

  “I do, after you bragged about it at the center.” She leaned down and stroked Bart. “I hear you’re the new proud owner of Braveheart.”

  “Bart. It’s official now.”

  “You went to court?”

  “Nick’s court. He approved.”

  “He’s a neat kid.”

  “He is that, and more. I hear you’re giving him a new puppy. Is it Lulu?”

  “You remembered in all that confusion.”

  “I remember everything about you.” He longed to lean over and kiss her, but reined himself in. She was the usual cool veterinarian now, not the vulnerable woman he’d seen after the attack.

  He opened the door to the living room and she went in first.

  She looked around. “You haven’t changed anything.”

  He shrugged. “I’m only a temporary resident.”

  “I see the dock is underway.”

  “A community effort this morning.” He took the bottle of wine. “Thank you.” He paused. “I was afraid you would reconsider.”

  “I almost did.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “Seeing you yesterday with Mrs. Terrell. You were so easy and patient with her. You can’t pretend that. And Braveheart—oops, Bart. He’s gone through bad times with bad people. There’s no way he would make such an attachment to you if there was the slightest doubt you were a good guy.”

  “I’ll have to bribe him again with an extra piece of cheese tonight.”

  “I don’t think he can be bribed,” she said. “And I’m hungry.”

  “Good. I couldn’t find everything I wanted at the grocery here, but enough.”

  “You said you were famous for your omelets. Among whom?”

  “Doubting my word, are you?”

  “Just gathering all the facts. That’s what a vet does.”

  “Fellow chopper pilots. Four of us shared a house off base and others often crashed with us. We took turns cooking when we were together. Our schedules weren’t always normal, and omelets were good at any time of the day.”

  “Am I supposed to be impressed because a bunch of guys are impressed?” She grinned.

  “Of course not. I intend to present proof. In the next few minutes, if you will kindly leave the kitchen.”

  “Can’t I watch?”

  “And reveal my secret? Most definitely not. But you can open the wine and set the table.”

  She gave him a searching look, but her wariness was gone. For now, anyway.

  * * *

  STEPHANIE GATHERED THE WINE, wine opener and two glasses from the cupboard and carried them into the dining room. She placed the glasses on the table and opened the bottle easily. Then she looked around the room. It was familiar, and yet it wasn’t without Josh and Amos. There were subtle changes. Her eyes spied a guitar resting against the easy chair and some paper scattered around a lamp table. She walked over for a look. He had written music on plain white paper. She didn’t know music well enough to hum the notes.

  Another aspect of Clint Morgan she hadn’t known existed. He was full of surprises. She had liked him the moment she’d met him, although she’d fought that liking tooth and nail. Then she’d done everything she could to avoid him, but he wouldn’t be avoided. It was as if they were being drawn together in some big scheme of things.

  There was so much she didn’t know about him: why did he never mention family? Where was he from? She didn’t even know how he had been wounded. Then she mentally listed everything she did know: chopper pilot, teacher, dog whisperer, fighter, dock builder, cook and now musician. What else was packed inside that very nicely formed body?

  Her body warmed thinking about it, and she found herself smiling at his wry one-sided smile. It got to her every time. Of course, he could be a terrible cook, but she doubted that. Whatever he did, he seemed to do well. It was unfair. Fate was playing with her.

  Even if he planned to stay, she wanted no long-term involvement. She didn’t want her life overtaken by someone else’s. She wanted to go where she wanted to go and when she wanted to go without worrying about someone else.

  She touched the guitar. He hadn’t had one when she picked him up in Pueblo, and no one sold guitars in Covenant Falls. Someone must have sent it to him or maybe he had bought it online. It did look well used, though.

  “Ready,” Clint called, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He was holding a platter as if it were pure gold. “You can get the salad on the counter of the kitchen.”

  She hadn’t known omelets could smell so good, but this one did. She suddenly realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She hastened to get the salad.

  Then she sat down as he held a chair out for her, resting his warm hand on her shoulder for a moment. Mark had also held a chair out for her in the beginning, and she was surprised she didn’t resent Clint for doing the same
. Maybe it was the warmth of his hand, the gentleness of it, the way he left it on her shoulder as if he didn’t want to break that fragile contact.

  Clint poured the wine before sitting down. He divided a huge big fluffy omelet that smelled heavenly, and put half on her plate. She took a bite, and was blown away. There was ham and cheese, some onion and finely chopped pepper, but it was the lightness and spices that made it great.

  “Okay, I’m convinced,” she said. “The salad’s great, too. Maybe you should open a restaurant.”

  “And compete with Maude? I don’t think so. Besides, all I can do is omelets. I’m a one-trick pony.”

  “I seriously doubt that,” she replied. “What have you been thinking about doing?”

  “Ah, that’s the million-dollar question. I’m a damned good chopper pilot. But as long as I have blackouts, I’m grounded. I’m definitely out of the service for good. A few years ago, I could have returned if the headaches and blackouts magically disappeared, which, according to the docs, they could. There’s no reason for them except what my doc called a bruise to the brain which may, or may not, heal by itself. But now the army’s downsizing and they have more pilots than they need.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He shrugged. “Thanks. But I was lucky. I got to do what I loved doing for more than seventeen years.”

  “You always wanted to fly?”

  “Always. I even tried to fly off the roof of my house when I was seven.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing good,” he said, not elaborating. Because of the sudden cloud in his face, she didn’t push. “I’m also a good chopper mechanic. I used to haunt the shop when I wasn’t flying. Problem there is I don’t know if I could be around them and not fly.”

  A shadow appeared in his eyes. Regret? Or maybe an emptiness he hadn’t revealed before.

  “Enough about me,” he said. “Did you always want to be a veterinarian?”