“It would be our pleasure,” Travis answered for both of them and held out his arm to Fran. “Your taxi awaits.” He turned back to Will before getting into the cab of his Chevy truck. “I’m low on gas. If I can’t find an Esso station open this late, you’re on your own until morning.”
Will nodded at Trav.
“Ames . . .” Fran made one last appeal to her friend, who ignored her and clumsily climbed onto the torn front seat of her vehicle.
“It’ll be fine, Fran. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Will slid behind the wheel of the old Ford, started the engine, and backed out of the parking lot. He glanced over at the curly-haired imp who appeared to be dozing off already. “Hey, Amy.” He reached over and shook her arm. “You need to give me your address and directions in case you pass out.”
“I won’t.” She opened her eyes and turned to him, then mumbled her address which took him three attempts to get before he managed to piece together where she lived. Now if he could only find it in the dark.
Will wondered what he was doing. His buddy was dead on. Duck and cover never was his specialty. He had no right involving himself in this girl’s business. His own life was a mess, and yet here he was driving her home without a thought to what he’d do when he got there. He sure hoped Travis could find gas otherwise it would be a long, cold night. What the hell had he been thinking? Dumb ass. His damn savior complex had kicked in again. He could still hear her pitiful sobs in the parking lot—I’m scared to death. I don’t know how I’m going to keep the farm.
He let out a sigh, rubbed the back of his neck then down-shifted as he neared her road. Maneuvering clutch pedals was still a might bit tricky with his bum leg. He turned off the main highway, and onto a dirt lane, then slowed in front of a small cobblestone farmhouse set back from the road down a long, rutted driveway. Thank goodness she’d left the porch light on or he never would’ve seen the place.
When he reached the house, he got out, went around to the passenger-side door, and gingerly lifted Amy into his arms. Damn, she’s an itty-bitty thing. He’d think he was carrying a kid if she didn’t have the rounded softness of a woman. She didn’t stir when he fumbled with the door lock but when he hit the switch to the inside light, she groaned and turned her head into his chest to better shield her eyes. He felt an unwanted tug in the region of his heart and sucked in his breath. Where the hell was her room? He glanced at the stairs and thought it best not to attempt the climb with his unsteady gait and arms full. He and the girl would most likely land sprawled on their rumps.
He moved around to the side of the staircase and spied a well-worn davenport underneath the front window. It would have to do. Carefully he laid her down, removed her shoes, and yanked the knitted afghan off the back and covered her. She turned on her side, rested her head on her hands, and gave a little sigh which absolutely struck Will’s heart surely as if William Tell had launched an arrow at it.
He backed up with grim determination, snatched a quilt from the back of a chair, and left the house. Hopefully, Trav would be able to find gas and return to pick him up, if not he was in for a miserable few hours. Spending the rest of the night sleeping in a freezing-cold truck wouldn’t have been his first or second choice, but compared to a muddy foxhole in pouring rain, he couldn’t complain. Besides, he deserved it for sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong. At least he’d worn his heavy military jacket and had a quilt to wrap up in. He sighed, leaned back against the corner of the cab between the doorframe and seatback, propped one leg on the bench seat, and promptly dozed off until the early haze of dawn flashing between the trees startled him upright, heart pounding. He fought down the panic until his brain readjusted to its environment, and he could relax again.
“Bloody hell.” He grabbed and rubbed his lower left leg. It amazed him it could still ache after three years. The doctors had reassured him it was phantom pain, but it sure as shit felt real. Overall, he knew he’d been lucky compared to some poor sods, he’d come home alive and mostly ambulatory. Yet, he didn’t feel it. Maybe if he could find work and move out of his damp basement dungeon he’d get back to being the man he’d been before the war. Fat Chance. That Will Henderson died on the battlefield as surely as if they’d buried him six feet under with the rest of his fellow Marines. He wasn’t quite sure yet who the man still wandering around was.
Fueled by an urgent need to pee and the cramp in his leg, Will crawled out of the truck and walked behind the gray, weathered barn where he promptly emptied his bladder and gazed over the barren fields as an early flock of geese glided in V-formation overhead, their elemental beauty awakening hope in his heart.
Time to plant. The thought came to him as surely as if he were still living on the family’s Midwestern farm. The home he’d naively left to enlist and see the world. And see the world he had, from one muddy foxhole to the next. Now standing in the fresh air gazing over the wide expanse of open land and appreciating the serenity of the moment, his earlier far-fetched notion solidified in his mind.
Limping back past a rusted Model A John Deere tractor to the front of the barn, he lifted the crossbar on the door and wandered inside. It wasn’t a large barn, but there was a small tack room in the back that would suffice. With a little elbow grease, it might actually work.
Chapter 6
Amy grabbed her head and ran for the toilet then promptly threw up. Ugh, she felt ill. Her head throbbed as if someone beat it with a hammer, and she rested it on the edge of the toilet seat waiting for her stomach to stop lurching. What had made her drink so much? Rob’s sneering face, that’s what. Oh God, how on earth was she going to work the Sunday lunch crowd at Ray’s today. This being her second weekend she didn’t dare call in sick.
She best drag her fanny up and get going or she’d be late. Moving slowly, she splashed cold water on her face, brushed the foul taste from her mouth, and swallowed several aspirin. She stripped off the clothes she’d slept in and climbed into the tub for a shower.
The hot water did wonders toward waking her up, but not much for improving her lousy mood. Any way it went, the day was going to be a shit. She’d prefer to stay in bed with the covers over her head rather than drive to work. Thinking of which, she wondered how she’d gotten back to the farm last night. She had no recollection of driving home or entering the house, and why had she slept on the sofa? As an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, she hopped out of the shower, toweled off, and slipped on her natty old robe.
What if someone drove her home and the truck wasn’t in the driveway? Panic struck and she rushed to the front door and yanked it open. Relief rushed through her at the sight of the old, battered vehicle until she realized a man was sleeping in it. Who the hell is that? Worried, she slammed the door shut and locked it. She moved to the phone and called Fran who seemed unusually grouchy this morning.
“Hey Fran, do you perchance have any idea why I’ve a man sleeping in my truck?”
“He’s still there?”
“Yeah. Who is he and why’s he here?”
“You don’t remember what happened?”
“Not much past Rob coming to the table, after that I think I made a conscious effort to forget that he did.”
“Obviously, you did a good job of it. You threw me to the wolves, or I guess I should say the wolf last night.”
“Oh no, what did I do?”
“You were too soused to drive and dropped the keys in the parking lot. When the two guys from the bar who’d bought our drinks came out, the one sitting in your truck at the moment—whose name is Will by the way—found the keys but refused to let you drive. To make a long story short, since I needed to be home this morning, you insisted I ride to Albion with Will’s buddy Travis, and Will could drive you home—hence the man sleeping in your truck.”
“Please, say it ain’t true.”
“Fraid, so.”
“You got me. I would have thought his buddy would have come back for him. Guess he didn’t have a way to get home.”
“Hey, I got to get off the phone. The guy you called Will just got out of the truck and is headed for the front porch. I’ll call you later.”
Amy ran upstairs to her room and threw on her gray waitress uniform, ignoring the loud knocking at her door while she ran a brush through her wild and crazy hair. She wrinkled her nose at the image in the mirror. Damn, she looked like hell, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. She couldn’t continue to ignore the incessant rapping. The poor man probably needed to be some place. She put her hands over her eyes. How on earth was she going to face him when she had no idea what she said or heaven forbid did last night? She cringed at the thought.
“Hello.” She opened the door and called to the man limping back toward her truck. “Can I help you?”
He stopped, turned quickly then rocked on his right hip as if to regain his balance.
He’s injured his left foot, she thought, as she watched him work his way back to the porch.
“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am,” he said as he carefully made his way up the steps and took off his cap. “Will Henderson’s the name. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind giving me a ride back to town this morning, or if not, allow me the use of your phone and I’ll call my buddy for a ride.”
Now that Amy could see Mr. Henderson in the broad daylight, she trembled inwardly at his visage, not in fright but more with curious fascination. Beside the fact he stood a good foot taller than her, and outweighed her by a hundred pounds, there was something in the depth of his eyes—a deeply held pain maybe, but she wasn’t sure. His lids briefly shuttered and when he opened them again the dark emotion was gone, and an amiable expression spread across his face.
“How’s the head this morning?”
Amy felt her cheeks flush with heat. She tucked her head, embarrassed. “Not good and I have you to thank for it.”
Will chuckled. “Sorry little lady, don’t think I should shoulder the brunt of the blame. All I did was pay for what you ordered.”
“And that’s the point.” She jabbed her finger at him. “If you hadn’t been buying, I wouldn’t have drunk quite as much. I couldn’t have afforded to.” She bit down on her tongue, wishing she’d kept that tidbit to herself. She had some pride after all. Irked that she’d admitted her precarious financial position to a mere stranger, she proceeded to cram the rest of her foot in her mouth. “If you hadn’t been plying me with drinks all evening, I wouldn’t have needed a ride home, and hence, I wouldn’t be forced to drive you back to Albion this morning, now would I?”
Will’s steady gaze locked with hers then shifted back toward the road. His lips pursed as if he were pondering her choice of words then he gave her a curt nod and limped off the porch.
Amy stepped back into the house and slammed the door behind her. Fine, she thought with a pout. He could go sit in the truck until she was ready to leave. She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, horrified at her own rudeness to a man who’d been nothing but kind, an injured Marine to boot. Geez, what next? Kick a puppy while it’s down. She couldn’t have been any ruder if she tried. Her mother would be ashamed. What on earth had come over her? Just because she was bitter about Rob, didn’t mean she needed to take it out on the rest of mankind.
She glanced at the clock. Damn, if she didn’t hurry she’d be late for work two days in a row. She only had fifteen minutes to spare before she needed to leave. The dang man would have to wait a little longer.
Later, when she grabbed her keys off the counter from where Will had dropped them the night before, another pang of guilt hit her in the gut. She sighed. Hell, she’d make amends on the way into town.
She locked the side door behind her and rushed to the truck only to realize it was empty. She peered inside. No Will. She glanced in the truck bed, not there either. Damn, where did the blasted man go? She glanced at her watch. She’d be late. Then she peered down the road and had a sinking feeling the moving speck in the distance was Will Henderson. He must have decided to limp to town. She was mortified. Could the day have gotten off to a worse start? She didn’t think it possible. Will was a veteran with a bum leg, and she’d treated him as if he were her worthless husband. She rushed to the truck and drove after him.
She stopped on the side of the road just ahead of him and rolled down her window. “Mr. Henderson,” she called, “please get in and let me drive you to town.”
He ignored her and walked right on by the vehicle.
Amy stepped on the gas, drove past him again, pulled over, and put the truck into ‘park.’ “Damn stubborn ass,” she mumbled under her breath then stepped out onto the road and slammed the door. She marched back down the dusty lane and planted herself right in his path.
Will started to go around her, but she sidestepped him and extended her arm in a halting motion. “Stop. Please. I’m sorry. I was unforgivably rude, and I apologize. Please get in the truck and let me give you a ride back to town, it’s the very least I can do for all your kindness.” Tears sprang up in her eyes, but she fought valiantly to suppress them.
The pig-headed fool stood there staring off into the distance, his jaw set hard with determination.
“Please.”
His gazed locked with hers before shifting once again to a place farther down the road. Then without a word, he gave a taciturn nod and hobbled over to the truck.
A lump formed in her throat when she realized his limp had gotten worse.
The cab of the truck diminished in size when the large brooding giant climbed in.
They drove for several miles in awkward silence.
Finally, the tight-lipped Marine spoke up.
Chapter 7
“I think maybe we got off to a bad start this morning.” Will glanced over at the young woman driving. “Why don’t we try it again? I’m Will Henderson. I am,” he corrected himself, “was a Marine.”
She nodded at him. “I’m Amy. Last name’s Boyd.” She grimaced when she said it. “I hate using that name. It belongs to the jerk you met last night. My maiden name’s Lake. I would have returned to it if it weren’t for my son Thomas, but it’s less confusing this way.”
“From my brief acquaintance with your ex last night, I can fully understand your feelings. He seemed pretty riled about your farm.” Will left it at that, not wanting to pry into her business even if he was hoping for more details.
Amy said nothing for a few moments then sighed. “The judge awarded me the farm in the divorce settlement or really my son. Rob was none too happy about it, and as much as I hate to admit it, he has a valid point. Even though it’s a small place, I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to do with it. I grew up in town. Rob and I boughtthe farm the year before last. We were hoping to work it this year to help pay the banknote.”
She stopped speaking and began to gnaw her lower lip. A habit Will suspected she did unconsciously when nervous. He focused on the road ahead waiting to see if she’d add any more details, but when none were forth coming, he bit the bullet. “I have some experience farming.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, I grew up on a large farm in the Midwest.” He waited to give her time to process that information.
“What brought you to Albion?” she asked.
“Jobs were scarce where I came from, and when I was released from the military hospital my buddy Travis Wilson, you met him last night, convinced me to move here.”
“I bet that’s one decision you regret.”
He did in some ways, but not for the same reason Amy alluded to. “It’s a nice area. Folks are friendly. Unfortunately, work opportunities are still limited. Too many vets returning from the war.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. It’s hard for women as well. Any open jobs are going to the returning men,” she said bitterly. “When Rob and I broke up, I tried to get my position back at the Novelty Shoppe, but my old boss said with the war over the men needed the work. I won’t tell you what I said in return.”
Will swallowed his laugh. He could imagine what she said. “I understand, but many of those jobs you are talking about were filled by men before the war. Now that they are no longer receiving military pay they need employment. They have families counting on them.” Will thought that was a reasonable statement. Evidently, he’d been sadly mistaken because the little termagant driving exploded.
“That’s not fair. Women have as much right to those jobs as the men. We earned that right during the war. And . . . and,” she sputtered, “what about all the women who lost their husbands fighting or whose husbands are unreliable like mine. What are we supposed to do? Starve?”
Will knew when to shut his mouth and backpedal. This definitely wasn’t an argument he could win or wanted to try to at the moment. “I expect you have a point there. Like you, I’m frustrated with the lack of work opportunities, but hey, listen, since I’m unemployed, maybe I can lend you a hand with the farm?”
Amy remained quiet for a moment. Her lips pursed and unpursed several times before she spoke in a quiet voice. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “I can’t afford to pay you.” She sighed.
Will nodded an acknowledgement. No news there. She’d given her secret away earlier this morning, but he’d had time to ponder the problem and come up with what he hoped would be a workable solution for both of them. He shifted in his seat to better see her face. “I might have an idea that will benefit us both if you’re interested. I’m in need of a place to stay and would be willing to work for room and board until the crops come in.”
When The Geese Fly North Page 3