The Sergeant's Secret Son

by Bonnie Gardner

  They weren’t exactly a match made in heaven.

  She belonged in this town, and she wanted to make it better. He had run as far as he could from here, and he had never wanted to come back.

  Now he was back, and he could see that Lyndonville wasn’t the dead end he’d thought it was. But he wasn’t sure it was the right place for him. And he wasn’t sure he was the right man for Macy.

  But, he thought, remembering the kiss in Macy’s office the other night, he sure would like to find out.

  “MAMA, will that big man be at Gramma’s house again tomorrow?” Cory asked as Macy tucked him in.

  The last thing she needed was to have Cory asking questions about Alex, but she did her best to answer him. “I guess he will. He is Gramma’s grandson, and he’ll be visiting for a while.” She just hoped he’d find as many things as possible to do to stay occupied and away from the house while Cory was there. With all the storm cleanup, surely he would.

  “I like him,” Cory said simply, then rolled over and cuddled Mickey, his stuffed animal, and closed his big brown eyes.

  I like him, too, Macy thought, surprising herself. Lord, help me. I didn’t want to, but I do.

  Macy tiptoed out, loath to wake Cory lest he come up with an additional line of questions that might not be so easy to answer.

  Though she had managed to settle Cory in bed slightly earlier than usual, Macy still needed any amount of energy she could muster to finish her nightly chores before she could take herself to bed for some well-deserved and much-needed sleep.

  She glanced through the window above the sink as she caught a slight movement in Gramma’s kitchen window across the yards. Alex. She couldn’t hear what he was saying but she watched as he kissed his grandmother on the top of her graying head as Willadean carried something to the table. Then he sat down to eat.

  How she envied that kiss. That scene. Why couldn’t it be Alex in her kitchen, kissing her? She breathed in a deep sigh of longing—or was it frustration?—then dragged her gaze reluctantly away from the window.

  Macy, if nothing else, was a practical woman. She didn’t normally think about silly things. She didn’t daydream about men and things that could never be.

  Then why could she not steer her tired mind away from the memory of Alex and sex and rumpled sheets and what might have been?

  “Stop it, Dr. Jackson,” she muttered to herself as she locked up. “He’s not interested in anyone as ordinary as you. Especially anyone from Lyndonville, South Carolina.” She had long known about Alex’s feelings on their hometown. Alex—and C.J., for that matter—had never kept their desires to get out a secret.

  Macy knew she couldn’t interpret their kiss last night and Alex’s good deeds earlier today as anything but simple kindness or mild lust. Maybe a lapse of control due to too much adrenalin from the excitement of the storm. Perhaps he was simply a good man, far nicer than she’d thought in the past. Whoever he was, he would have done it for anyone, she thought.

  Yeah, right.

  She slipped out of the clothes she felt as if she’d been in for two days and into a nightgown. Macy laughed ruefully as she pulled the silken fabric over her head. Nightclothes like these were meant to be appreciated by a man, but no man had ever seen them. Still, Macy loved the way the delicate fabric felt against her skin, and she suspected a man would like it, too.

  What a waste when she slept alone.

  BLOCK’S EYES felt as if they’d been filled with sand and salt. And if he’d harbored any illusions of catching up on his rest last night, those hopes had been dashed as soon as recollections of Macy had insinuated themselves into his dreams.

  He should have slept like the dead, considering the grueling and long day he’d had, but his dreams had been filled with Macy. These were new dreams, sensuous dreams, that had left him hard and aching and awake in the wee hours of the morning.

  He thought that he’d expunged those images from his memory long ago, but in his sleep last night he’d relived that night in Fayetteville over and over again in glorious, living Technicolor.

  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t dreamed of Macy before, Block reminded himself as he dressed in his service dress uniform for his interview at the recruiting station in Florence. He’d polished his boots till they gleamed with a high shine, and he could probably see his reflection in them if he looked. He bent down to see. He could.

  Then his thoughts shifted back to Macy, the woman he’d tried to forget, but couldn’t. He’d dreamed of her many times. Those dreams had been pleasant diversions. They were never anything that stayed with him through the bright light of day.

  Why, then, did last night’s dreams bother him so? he asked himself as he knotted his dark blue tie and straightened it at his neck. And why couldn’t he shake them? He surveyed his appearance in the small, cloudy mirror in the ancient chifforobe that had dominated the tiny bedroom as long as he could remember. He looked fine. Anyone looking at him would be hard-pressed to diagnose his troubled sleep and night of dreams.

  He stroked his chin and satisfied himself that he hadn’t missed anything when he’d shaved. His hair was regulation cut, and his uniform was spotless. With the exception of his tired and gritty eyes—and he could fix them with some drops—he was ready as he’d ever be for the interview later that morning.

  Before he’d arrived in Lyndonville, he hadn’t really cared one way or another about the position in Florence. He’d had no desire to return to the rural area that had seemed so unforgiving when he was a kid, but now…

  Now that he’d seen how much the town had changed—or, at least, the people in it—he was rethinking his attitude about Lyndonville. Or maybe it was just because Macy lived here.

  He didn’t know. And it didn’t matter.

  He hadn’t gotten the job yet.

  And if he didn’t get a move on, he wasn’t going to get it.

  He reached for his beret and tucked it under his arm. He’d have to pose for Gramma before he headed out the door, but her inspections were nothing compared to the ones he’d endured in basic training.

  He was ready as he’d ever be.

  MACY STATIONED herself at her front-room window and watched Willadean’s house through slightly parted drapes until Alex finally came out. She’d known he was still there because the red SUV was parked out front, and she’d hoped he’d leave before it was time to take Cory over to Willadean’s for the day.

  Her breath caught in her throat as Alex stepped out of the house. He was dressed in the dark blue air force uniform, and he looked more handsome than ever. She’d seen him in uniform before, at C.J.’s funeral, but at the time she’d been too grief-stricken to really notice it. Now, she couldn’t help admiring the way he filled out the fitted jacket.

  Today must be the day that he had to go to Florence for his interview, she realized as she watched him pause on his porch.

  She let out a long, yearning sigh as she admired the handsome picture he made in the immaculate blue uniform, with his trousers tucked into spit-shined boots. Alex paused to draw a deep breath of the morning air, then situated his red beret on his head and strode to his car.

  “Whatcha lookin’ at, Mama?” Cory called from his usual spot in front of morning cartoons.

  Macy let the curtains drop as Alex unlocked the car door. “Nothing. I just remembered that I hadn’t put the mail out,” she lied. “You can watch the end of that show while I run out.” She grabbed a couple of bills she needed to mail and hurried out to the mailbox.

  Alex saw her and waved, and Macy waved tentatively back. She wouldn’t have minded looking at him in his uniform all day, but they both had to go. And there had seemed to be something cowardly about hiding behind the drapes while she watched. “Are you off to your interview today?” she called, hoping she didn’t sound silly commenting on the obvious. She opened the box and stuck the letters inside.

  “Yeah. It’s in Florence,” Alex replied. “If I get it, I guess I’ll be around more.”

&n
bsp; Darn. Macy hadn’t really considered that. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the prospect of having Alex around all the time. “Well, good luck, then,” she said, closing the mailbox.

  “Thanks,” he said as he yanked the door to the SUV open. “I’m still not sure whether I want it or not, but I’m going in with an open mind.”

  “I hope you make the right decision,” Macy said and flipped up the red flag. She did hope he made the right decision. She just wasn’t sure what that would be: to accept the job or to turn it down. And was she concerned for herself, or him?

  “Oh. How could I forget my manners like this?” she said, suddenly remembering her lapse of yesterday. Or was she just trying to find a way to keep Alex standing there so she could go on looking?

  And lusting.

  “What did you forget?” he asked, standing in the opened door of the SUV.

  “That wonderful picnic lunch you brought to me. I’m afraid I was so busy and harried that I forgot to properly thank you.” She smiled. “Thank you for the lovely lunch. You cannot imagine how much I needed that break, even if I wasn’t willing to admit it.”

  Alex returned her smile, and Macy loved the way his stern warrior’s face lit up. “I think I knew,” he said simply. “That’s why I did it.”

  “Well, thank you. I appreciated it, even if I did forget to show you how much. I have to admit that I was a little unnerved.”

  “It’s okay. Any time.”

  “Oh my! What am I thinking? You have an appointment.” Macy cast an apologetic look at Alex. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  Alex glanced at his watch. “Yeah, I’d better go. I don’t know what the roads are like between here and Florence since the storm.” He made a saluting motion. “See ya,” he said, then stepped inside the SUV.

  Yeah, see ya, Macy thought. And she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to or not. Still, she watched as Alex drove off, and then she sighed.

  What was the matter with her, anyway? Here she was spying on him like a lovesick teenager, creating opportunities to speak to him, while at the same time hoping he’d go away. She really had to get a handle on her feelings for Alex.

  And she had to do it fast before she got herself into a jam she wouldn’t be able to climb out of.

  She had to figure out a way to talk to Alex about what had happened that night so many years ago, and she had to figure out how to do it without sounding like the selfish coward she’d been. After all, she had kept a secret from him for five very long years.

  And, boy, it was a doozy.

  Macy hurried inside and clapped her hands together in a businesslike manner. “Come on, son, let’s go, let’s go. I’ve got patients to see, and Gramma is waiting.”

  She drew in a deep, long breath as Cory complied. When had things become so complicated?

  When she was a girl she’d always assumed that one day she would grow up and marry Alex, and they would have their happy ending. When he’d left for the air force, she’d hoped he’d come home and sweep her away. After that night in C.J.’s apartment, she’d dreamed that he’d come looking for her, professing his undying love.

  She had been such a fool.

  He hadn’t come, and years had passed. Too many years. Too many years wasted on wishing and hoping, and now she was afraid that no matter what she told him about Cory, he wouldn’t believe her.

  Much less love her.

  Macy sighed. Let’s face it, she told herself. Happy endings were for fairy tales, and this was real life. And this was her real life. She’d never had any breaks before. What made her think she’d get any now?

  Otherwise she wouldn’t have grown up without a mother and a father who’d cared so little that he’d left her with his sister and never come back.

  “I’m ready, Mama.”

  Macy drew her thoughts back to the present and the real world and smiled at her son. He was the one good thing that had come out of all of this. “Well, I guess we’d better go then.”

  She took Cory by the hand and ushered him outside and across the dewy lawns to Willadean’s.

  And Alex’s.

  BLOCK STEPPED OUT of the recruiting office in downtown Florence and put his red beret back on his head. He looked at his reflection in the storefront window and adjusted the beret so that the distinctive flash was positioned correctly, then he turned toward his car.

  The men in the office seemed like a stand-up crew, but he still wasn’t certain he was cut out to be a recruiter. Yeah, Colonel Harbeson, his commanding officer, had suggested that as a decorated member of an elite unit, he’d be a perfect draw for the air force, but he still wasn’t sure.

  Would he get bored sitting at a desk all day? Would he be able to convince young men that devoting their lives to the service would be in their best interests?

  He thought a moment as he unlocked the car. Well, he supposed, if his own story was any indication, he could say yes to the second question, but he still had doubts about how happy he’d be working at a desk all day. But then, what else could he do?

  There wasn’t much call for jumping out of airplanes in civilian life. And he couldn’t do that anymore, anyway, with his bum knee. He couldn’t even teach it because of his stupid injury.

  At least he had the luxury of knowing that the job was his if he wanted it, and he could finish out the last two years of the twenty he needed to collect his retirement pension. He hadn’t devoted all that time to the air force to give that up at this late date, and the extra money would help when he had to start at the bottom at something new. Block slid into the car and started the engine.

  Before he knew it, he’d driven the twenty or so miles from Florence and had entered Gramma’s neighborhood on the other side of the tracks.

  Block drove down the quiet, tree-lined street and looked for any evidence of children, but noticed nothing. No closer to solving the mystery about the kid Gramma was watching, he parked the car and hurried up the walk. He rapped on the door, but didn’t wait for an answer. As he stepped inside, he was greeted with the smell of something delicious and the sound of afternoon cartoons.

  The boy was there again, seated cross-legged in front of the television, thoroughly engrossed in a cartoon about heroes who looked as if they had stepped out of a video game. They sure were a change from the kind of cartoons he remembered.

  “Hey,” the kid said. “You came back!” He scrambled to his feet, and his eyes widened. “Are you in the army?” He scampered over to look at him straight on.

  “No, I’m in the air force,” Block replied patiently.

  “Can I see your u’form? I never saw a arm—I mean air force u’form up close before.”

  “Have at it.” Block obliged, giving the kid a chance to look him over.

  “Do you wear this all the time?” Cory asked, after he’d walked around Block and scrutinized him from head to toe.

  “No, this is just for special occasions. Most of the time I wear my BDUs. That’s battle-dress uniform. It’s for working in,” Block said. Of course, if he took the recruiting job, he would be wearing this all the time, he supposed.

  “So,” the kid said, staring up at him, “are you a for-real gen’ral with all them medals?”

  “No, I’m a senior master sergeant,” Block replied, beginning to become impatient with the game of twenty questions. “And they’re not medals. They’re ribbons. You only wear your medals on ceremonial occasions.”

  He could see that Cory was confused by the ceremonial occasion remark, but Cory didn’t ask for clarification, and Block didn’t explain.

  “Is a senator messer sarge better than a gen’ral?”

  Block chuckled. “I’d like to think so, but no.”

  “Cory, who you talking to?” Gramma called from the kitchen.

  “It’s me, Gramma. I just got back,” Block answered and turned toward the kitchen.

  “Well, how did the interview go?” she asked as she stirred a pot of something that smelled wonderful.

  Block st
epped up behind Willadean and peered into the steaming pot. “The interview was good. I have the job if I want it. I told ’em I needed to give it some thought before I said yes or no.”

  He made his excuses and changed out of the dress uniform and hurried out into the backyard where some arm-size branches still lay scattered by the wind. Cory followed him out and amused himself on the tire swing and then by kicking a football around while Block picked the scattered tree limbs up. Block figured he could give the kid a few pointers. But first he needed to get those limbs piled out by the road.

  “How come you not wearing your u’form?” Cory asked as he dropped the ball and swung at it with his foot. The ball dribbled sideways and rolled about three feet.

  He’d definitely have to help the kid with his technique. “Because it’s a dress uniform, and I don’t want it to get dirty. I have on jeans because they’re meant for working.”

  “What about that other u’form? The DBU?”

  He’d done cleanup just like this in that type of uniform many times before, but he shrugged. “That’s a BDU. Battle-dress uniform,” he explained again. “I didn’t bring it with me because I didn’t know I’d need it. Anyway, I’m just cleaning up in my grandmother’s yard, not going off to battle.”

  “Oh yeah. Is she your for-real gramma? She’s just my ’ornerary gram-muvver ’cause I stay at her house with her inna daytime.”

  “Yes, she’s my real gramma,” Block answered patiently. “Let me finish and we’ll practice with the football.”

  The kid’s eyes lit up like a hundred-watt lightbulb as he scampered away.

  The limbs were easy to pick up and stack, and Block was finished in no time. He headed around to the backyard where Cory was still fooling around with the ball. Block couldn’t see the harm in tossing it around with the kid for a little while.

  “Okay. You ready to play ball?”

  Cory grinned. “Yes, sir. I’m ready,” he said, saluting with the wrong hand. The kid held the ball up high and dropped it, kicking it again with the same disappointing results as earlier.