“No, I wasn’t in the army.”
He hadn’t known Jenna was in the army. But did he ask little boys about their mother, and about the military? He didn’t think so.
“She was in Iraq.” Timmy solved the problem of Adam asking for more information.
“That’s pretty amazing.” More amazing than he could imagine. She wasn’t much bigger than her boys, but he had pegged her right. She was tough. She had something that so many women he’d met lately didn’t have. She had something…
“Boys, time to come in for supper.”
She had two boys and no interest in him.
Adam stood and turned. She was standing on the porch, leaning on a cane. He didn’t know what to do. Had she heard their conversation? Her face was a little pink and she avoided looking at him.
He should go. He shouldn’t get involved. He didn’t ask the women in his life if they were okay. He didn’t worry that they looked more wounded emotionally than physically. He didn’t delve into their private lives.
He had easy relationships without connecting because if he didn’t connect, he didn’t get used. The girl in high school, Amy, had used him against Clint. She had used them both for her own games that he still didn’t understand. As much as he had lived life, he still didn’t always get it. Maybe because his childhood and teen years had been spent on the football field guided by his dad, and without a lot of social interaction off the field.
“Do you want to stay for supper?” It was Timmy, holding a hand out to him, not Jenna offering the invitation.
“I should go.” He looked down at the little guy and tried to remember when he’d last had supper cooked in a farmhouse and eaten at an oak table.
“You can stay.” Jenna walked onto the porch, her brown hair pulled back in an unruly ponytail. “I have plenty. It’s nothing fancy.”
He pushed his hat back and stared up at her, a country girl in jeans and sneakers. He resented Billy for putting him in this position and Will for telling him to stay. Because this felt like home. And he hadn’t been home in a long time.
It had been so long that he’d forgotten how it felt, that it felt good here, and safe.
“Adam?”
“I shouldn’t…”
“What, shouldn’t eat? Are you afraid it’ll ruin your boyish figure to eat fried chicken?”
“Fried chicken, you say?” His stomach growled. “I think I might have to stay.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had fried chicken. Or the last time he’d known a woman that cooked fried chicken.
Timmy pulled his hand, leading him up the stairs. Jenna limped back into the house. He followed her slow pace, telling himself that questions weren’t allowed.
He had rules about women, rules that included not asking questions, not getting personal. Because he knew how much it hurt to be used, to be fooled. But he couldn’t admit that, because he was Adam Mackenzie, he could take a hit and keep going.
“What can I do?” He pulled off his hat and hung it on a nail next to the back door.
Jenna turned, her face flushed. “Pour the tea? I have glasses with ice waiting in the fridge.”
“I can do that.” He opened the fridge. Four glasses. She had expected him to stay. Did she think she was going to have to take care of him while he stayed in Oklahoma? He’d have to make sure she understood that he didn’t need that from her.
But not today. Today there were shadows in her eyes. Today his heart felt a lot like that grassy field behind his trailer—a little empty, kind of dusty.
And Jenna Cameron looked like the person that needed to be taken care of.
He poured the tea and carried the glasses to the table. The boys were setting out the plates and flatware. He smiled down at them. They, unlike their mother, smiled back.
As Jenna came to the table with the chicken, the boys dropped into their seats. Jenna sat down, sighing like it was the biggest relief in the world to sit.
“David, pray please.”
Pray? Adam watched as the boys bowed their heads. He followed their example, remembering back to his childhood and meals like this one.
The prayer was sweet, really sweet. The way only a kid can pray—from the heart. The little boy had prayed for their meal, and for soldiers and for the new baby that Willow said wouldn’t let her sleep. And he prayed for Adam because he was a new neighbor.
Adam smiled at Jenna as she stood again, going for something on the counter. He should have offered. Before he could, she stumbled, catching herself on the counter.
He started to stand, but Timmy shook his head.
“Are you okay?” He scooted his chair back.
“I’m fine.”
“My mom got injured in the war,” David whispered. “But she’s good now. We take care of each other.”
A warning if ever he’d heard one.
“Maybe you need to take a few days off. I can find other help.”
She put a basket of rolls on the table. “I don’t need a day off, Adam. There are no days off from life.”
She was one tough lady. He had to give her that. And when he left that night, he knew that she was different than anyone he’d ever met. He drove away from her house, relieved that his stay here was temporary. And he ignored the call from his sister, a call that would have required explanations.
Jenna awoke with a start, her heart hammering in her chest and perspiration beading across her forehead. It took her a minute to place this dark room—her room in the farmhouse she’d grown up in, not the dark room in Iraq that had been her hiding place. As the fear ebbed, she became more aware of the knife-sharp pain in her leg. It throbbed, and she couldn’t close her eyes without remembering the sweet lady who had tried so desperately to fight the infection and save the limb.
Jenna had survived, though. Her prayers that she would live, that she would come home to her boys, had been answered. Every day she remembered those prayers and she was thankful. Even on nights when she couldn’t sleep.
Fear and pain tangled inside her, both fighting to be the thing that took over, that consumed her thoughts, forcing her to focus on them, not on the good things in her life.
She could control it. She had learned ways to deal with it, even on nights like tonight when it hurt so much she didn’t know if she would ever be okay again.
She closed her eyes, breathing deep, thinking about being home, and her boys, and God. The pain lessened, but her heart still ached because the dream tonight had gotten mixed in with the memory of Jeff, the last time she’d seen him. He hadn’t been able to look at her.
He had sent her a letter to say goodbye.
The next day the counselor had asked her to write a five-year plan. She hadn’t included love or marriage. Nor had she included them in her fifteen-year plan. Her plan included raising her boys, dedicating herself to making them young men that she could be proud of. Her plan included being at home, alive and healthy with her family. And her plan included thanking God every day for giving her a second chance at life and faith.
The list had included never having a man look at her like that again, that look that wavered between pity and horror, as if he couldn’t get out the door fast enough.
The throbbing pain continued, bringing an end to the trip into the past and the return of her convictions. She reached for crutches and pulled herself out of bed. Slow, steady and quiet, she left her bedroom and eased through the house.
At the front door she stopped, looking out at what was left of the night, and watching as the eastern horizon started to glow with the early-morning light of sunrise. The trees and fields were still dark, making a perfect silhouette against the sky as it lightened into pewter and lavender.
She walked out the door, easing it closed so it didn’t bang against the frame and wake the boys. Outside the air was cool, but damp with morning dew. Horses whinnied and somewhere in the distance dairy cows bellowed in the morning as they stood in line at the barn to be milked.
Sh
e hobbled down off the ramp and across the lawn, greeting the day and praying as she went. The pain faded to a less intense throb, rather than the breathtaking pain that had kept her awake.
She stopped, letting the world come into focus. Unafraid.
As she walked, the dog joined her. She reached down, petting his dark head. He froze, whining and then snarling low.
“Stop that, silly Dog.” Jenna spoke with a lightness she didn’t feel at the moment. Her heart picked up speed, because she heard it, too. Footsteps on the road, coming fast, much faster than she could run.
“Shhh, Dog, quiet.” Jenna patted the dog’s head, calming him, wishing she could calm herself as easily. The footsteps were closer. And then she spotted the figure of a man. The dog barked at the shadow standing at the end of her drive.
“Jenna?”
Adam Mackenzie. Her heart was pounding and cold chased up her arms. She froze, knowing she couldn’t escape. She waited, the dog no longer snarling at her side.
“Jenna?” He called out louder. She could see him clearly now, coming up her drive.
He wore shorts and a T-shirt. She was in cutoff sweats and a T-shirt. She stared down at her foot, waiting. When she looked up, he was in front of her. His gaze lifted from the lost leg to her face.
“You’re pale.”
Not the first words she expected from him, but it gave her a minute to gather herself. “Because you scared the life out of me.”
“What are you doing out here?” He hadn’t turned away. He was still looking at her.
“The same as you, taking an early-morning run.”
He looked like he didn’t know if he should laugh or not. She smiled, wanting him to be the way he was yesterday, before he knew. But if she had a wish, she wished she could go back further in time than yesterday. A year, maybe more. She’d make wiser choices. She would be more careful.
But this was her reality and it couldn’t be changed. Deal with it. And Adam needed to deal with it, too.
“Adam, that was a joke.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Please, don’t do this. Don’t get weird on me.”
He nodded.
“I mean it.” Anger put power behind her words. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m not. You can give a guy a minute or two to adjust, right?”
“Fine, but I’m heading for the house and I’m making coffee.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Not really.” She smiled up at him, glad that he was still talking, still being real. The tightness that had gripped her heart was letting go, releasing. “Yes, I guess it is.”
“What are you doing out here at this time of the morning?” He walked next to her as they neared the house. “Or is that question off-limits?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” She stopped. “Some nights are worse than others.”
“Pain?”
He opened the back door and motioned her inside.
“Yes.” She flipped on the kitchen light and reached for the coffeepot. He leaned against the counter and watched. His shirt was stained dark with perspiration. She remembered jogging. Someday she’d be fitted with a limb that made it easier to run. Now, she wore one that worked for riding horses and living on a farm.
Her life hadn’t ended on that summer day in Iraq. It had started over, with new obstacles, and new moments when God proved Himself. She had met Him there, in the desert, as far from church and Sunday-school lessons as a person could get.
She poured water into the coffeemaker and added fresh-ground beans, leaning on the crutches, but her hands free. She was good at this now, at balancing, at moving and continuing with everyday duties that had always seemed like second nature. Before. Her life was cut into chapters. This chapter was about learning to be the person she really wanted to be. The last chapter was the “Jenna who was whole” chapter.
But she hadn’t really been whole. She had been missing something vital. Faith.
The coffee started to brew. She turned and Adam was waiting, watching her.
“What happened?” Adam pushed out a chair for her and took the one next to it. He looked like a giant at her table. A big golden-tan giant with hair that glinted in the soft overhead light.
“We were in a convoy and we were attacked.” She closed her eyes as the memories came to life. “I remember being on the ground and the sand was hot and I could feel that I was bleeding. I knew the enemy was close and I didn’t think I’d live to see my boys again.”
“Jenna, we don’t have to do this.” Adam’s big hand covered hers.
She looked up, and he was looking straight at her. His gaze held hers and he didn’t look away. She didn’t know how to feel about that, about him here in her kitchen, coffee brewing and the rooster crowing in the morning.
She smiled. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. I’ve told the story before. I have to tell people what God did for me that day.”
“Oh.”
Was that him discounting God, and disconnecting? “Oh?”
“I’m sorry, go ahead.”
“I managed to move a short distance from where I’d been hit, but then I couldn’t move any farther. I had one of those moments. You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes? Well my life hit me between the eyes. Good memories and bad came at me. I remembered stories from Sunday school. I remembered being picked up by various neighbors or by church buses and hauled to nearly every church in the county. I remembered oatmeal cookies with butterscotch chips. And I remembered those stories of Jesus. I had never really thought that He loved me enough to die on a cross for me. No one ever loved me that much, except maybe Clint. At least that’s what I thought when I was eight.” She looked across the room at the blurping coffeepot. “The coffee is ready.”
“I’ll get it, you talk.” His chair scooted on the tile and she watched him pour coffee and then add sugar to hers.
“You really want to know all of this?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, I’ll keep talking.” Because maybe that was the reason for his early-morning jog and her early-morning walk. Maybe God had brought Adam all the way to Oklahoma for this moment. “I had all of those thoughts and I thought of my boys and I knew that I couldn’t die. And I knew that I could no longer deny God. After that I passed out and I don’t know when I woke up again.”
She took the coffee and added more sugar from the bowl on the table. His eyes widened as he watched her add the two spoons and creamer.
“Want coffee with your sugar?”
“Only a little.” She sipped and it was just right.
“What happened next?”
“An elderly lady saw the attack and she sent her nephew out to rescue me before the insurgents found me. He dragged me back to their shack and they hid me. The lady had once been a nurse and she knew enough to keep me alive.”
“Not enough…”
“To save my leg.” Jenna sipped her coffee. Out the window the sun peeked over the eastern horizon where the sky was streaked with pink against blue. It promised another beautiful June day with clear skies.
She couldn’t look at Adam Mackenzie.
“It had to be hard for you.”
“It wasn’t easy,” she whispered, holding the hot cup of coffee between her hands.
“Is it easy now?”
“It’s getting easier all the time. I have faith, my life and my boys. I have a career training reigning quarter horses.”
She didn’t stop to think of the things she didn’t have, and wouldn’t have. Willow had told her those were self-imposed “can’t haves.” If that was the case, so be it. She wouldn’t have a man in her life. Especially when he looked at her with pity. She wouldn’t have a man in her life when she knew she couldn’t let him look at her. And what man would want to look at her?
“It’s that easy?” He shook his head and she smiled, because she could hear that he didn’t believe it.
And she had to be honest with him. “It isn’t alw
ays that easy. I get angry. I get down. I give up. And then…”
“You pick yourself up again. You would have made a great football player.”
“Thank you.” And she no longer wanted to talk about her. “Now do me a favor, let’s talk about you. How does it feel to be home?”
“This hasn’t been my home for a long time.”
“Of course not. I understand that because I left as soon as I could get away. I went into the military so I could live anywhere but here. But family and roots have a way of bringing us home.”
“Family and roots didn’t bring me home. Unless, I guess, you consider Billy dying.”
“Why haven’t you gone home to see your family?”
“Because I…” He laughed. “You almost got me. All of this emotion, and you almost pulled me in.”
“You’re right, it was a trap. I shared my sad, pathetic little story just to get you to engage with your inner child. But there is no child in there. The tough guy squashed him.”
“Exactly. And I have been home, just not in a few years.”
“I hear the boys.” Jenna stood, wobbling a little before she got her balance.
“That’s my cue to go?”
“It is. They wouldn’t understand that it’s morning and…”
“I get it.” He stood in front of her, towering over her. He smiled, but then the smile faded and he leaned.
Jenna choked a little and leaned back. “I don’t think so, cowboy. I’m not a woman who plays games.”
Adam looked startled, his head tilted to the side a little like the dog when she smacked his nose for messing with her garden or chasing the cat.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He reached for his ball cap and walked out the back door. On the step he paused. “Will you still be over later?”
“An almost kiss doesn’t mean that I’m not going to help you. I’m not going to give you an excuse for backing out of helping those kids.”
He nodded, and she watched as he jogged away, her dog running alongside him. She listened as the boys scuffled around upstairs, the sound of a normal day starting. But she knew that today was anything but normal.
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