A Soldier's Journey (17 page)

“How long have you been here now?”

“Three years, going on four. Mom's getting older and I thought I should be near.”

“Is your mom the Good Samaritan?”

“Yes. She's convinced I'll starve without her help, or else die early from too many stops at the Rusty Nail.”

He opened the fridge with his good hand and took out his newly acquired bottle of wine. “We have a few minutes before the pie is ready. Would you like some wine?”

She looked up at him. “Now, let's see here. You're just home from the hospital with one leg, and I'm driving with one hand.” Then she grinned. “I guess Joseph and I can always walk home.”

The smile was breathtaking. It lit her face like the North Star.

“I take that as a yes,” he said. He took the wine over to the table where he'd put the glasses. Then he made the mistake of discarding the crutch and balancing on the two legs as he turned the corkscrew.

“Nate!” He heard her voice just as his ankle folded under him and he started to fall. She reached out for him with her bad hand, and they both fell against the fridge, her face next to his, her body pressed against his. He held out his arms to steady her.

“Are you okay?” he said shakily as she echoed the words at the same instant. She felt so good against him. Softer than she looked.

She nodded with a grin and made no effort to move. “You make a good landing pad.”

He chuckled.

“What about you?” Andy asked.

“Pretty sure I'm as intact as I was a minute ago.”

She started to laugh. Their eyes met. He swallowed hard and did what he had been wanting so badly to do: he folded his arms around her and touched his lips to hers...

* * *

T
HE
FEEL
OF
his lips burned all the way through Andy, and she found herself responding with the same rush of heat she felt in him.

Reaction from the near fall. Relief that neither of us was injured.

As much as she tried to tell herself that, she knew it was something far stronger. He was awakening something she'd thought dead and gone.

Her body wasn't obeying her head. The whisper of his breath on her cheek, the warmth of his hazel eyes, the searching of his lips all blocked the part of her that wanted to deny it.

His lips explored hers, and her body ached with need.

Her arms went around him and she didn't feel so cold, so apart from everyone else. So alone. She found herself responding, her lips opening to him. The air between them was magnetic, storm winds blowing temptation.

Wrong. It was wrong. Jared was dead!

She jerked away and stood. Trembling. “I...can't,” she said.

He straightened. Leaned against the stove and his fingers soothed her hair. “It's okay. I'm...sorry. I...”

“Don't apologize,” she said. “It's me. Not you. I'm just not ready.” She looked up at him. “I don't know if I'll ever be ready.”

He took a deep breath and simply nodded. “I don't usually come on so strong. You just...looked so damn pretty and felt...well, just right.”

Just right.
She couldn't stop the smile tugging at her lips. Not the most elegant compliment, but now it sounded like one of the nicest. She realized then why she felt so comfortable with him. There was no pretense about him. He was strong, capable, comfortable in his own skin. And sexy. Much too sexy.

“Food,” he said, and she knew he was trying to cut the tension that the kiss had created.

She moved out of the way and picked up the unbroken bottle in her good hand. “You really think we should have wine?” she asked with a grin. “We're not doing very well without it.”

“I think we can manage,” he answered with a chuckle. “But I think I'll skip the ancient cheese with which I was going to tempt you and put the shepherd's pie on the table.”

This time, he leaned against the kitchen shelves as he uncorked the bottle. Then he took the shepherd's pie from the oven.

“The problem now, as I see it,” Andy observed, “is getting it to the table without dropping it.”

“Ye of little faith,” he replied. “I considered the problem earlier. I have two plates here. I will load each with shepherd's pie and you can take one at a time to the table while I use the crutch.” He looked very satisfied with himself and she couldn't help but smile.

She took the first plate, then the second, to the table while he limped over with the bottle of wine. He sat and watched as she took the first bite. Baked mashed potatoes covered with melted cheese topped a rich combination of beef, gravy, mushrooms and onions. Andy took a bite, then said, “Wow.”

She took a sip of wine and leaned back. She couldn't recognize all the spices, but whatever they were, the shepherd's pie was one of the tastiest dishes she remembered eating. “That's not like any shepherd's pie I ever tasted,” she said.

“It's my mom's own version. Ground sirloin, buttered mashed potatoes, onion, mushroom, several types of cheese and a bevy of spices known only to her. It's her favorite for everything from church socials to funerals.”

“You should offer it at the inn,” Andy said.

He looked thoughtful. “I haven't thought of that, but yes. I'll have to pry the recipe from her.”

She changed the subject. “You said you had something you wanted to discuss with me.”

He poured her another glass of wine. “The inn,” he said. “You haven't seen it yet, but you came up with the Camel Trail Inn, and we're running with it. You know we're having a preview for some travel writers in seven weeks, and Josh and I were considering activities Covenant Falls could offer.”

“And?” she asked.

“We thought of offering activities when they arrive—horseback riding, a Sunday brunch at the falls, fishing on the lake. A trip to an old abandoned gold mine. But we have women coming as well as men, and we need a theme, something to pull everything together.”

Andy immediately knew what he meant. “You already have the theme,” she said. “You have Angus and his story. Build entertainment around that. Songs from the time. Dances.”

“You've seen excerpts from his journals,” Nate said. “Maybe we can draw from them.”

Andy went cold. “Al and Sara have been good to me. I'm not going to abuse their trust.”

“I wouldn't ask you to. We don't want you to do anything you feel is wrong or unprincipled,” he said. He drew a long breath. “Maybe it's just a dumb idea, Andy. Probably is. Josh and I were talking about what to do the night everyone arrives, and we were stymied.”

She studied him for what seemed forever, then said, “A play. A series of skits. Maybe even a pageant. I saw one in North Carolina when I was young. It was about the Cherokees being forced off their land. I still remember it. My da...”

Her voice faltered, then she said, “But it's not impossible. You already have enough legend here without the journals, but you need a writer. I was willing to try to write a brochure, but I'm not a scriptwriter. And seven weeks isn't very long...”

She watched the wheels spinning in his head, his brow furrowing with concentration. She liked watching him. More than she should.

“Maybe...” he started.

“Maybe?” she prompted.

“If we had a few scenes of Angus coming here, saving the chief and marrying the chief's sister, maybe the first birth in a new town. We could incorporate Western and folk songs in the telling. Most are out of copyright, so there should be no problem. We have a great drama and music teacher here. It could give students and recent grads an opportunity to show their talents.”

“Would there be time?” she asked.

“I'll call Louisa, the drama teacher. Won't hurt to ask,” he said. “She'll probably think I'm nuts, but hey, that's been said before. What's more, it could bring the town together.”

“What tore it apart?”

“There's always been tension between Al and some of the other families. Some of it is just old-fashioned envy. Part of it was Al's dictatorial grasp on the town for years. Eve has made inroads, but it would be nice to put it to rest.”

“A suggestion,” she offered. “Ask for Al's thoughts, his help. Enlist his wife. She was an English teacher and she knows the history better than he does. She's read all the journals, has a deep interest in them.”

“Okay, Eve first. She may think it's impossible. Or crazy. Or both.”

“I should go,” she said. “I think you have some work to do.”

“I think I do,” he said with a smile that warmed her down to her toes.

“That was a great dinner. Thank you.”

It was polite. Nothing more.

It was all he could do to keep from grabbing her, holding her. But though she said she'd forgiven him, she was making it clear that she wasn't ready to go farther.

He watched as she walked down the porch steps and past the roses.

He wondered if he had completely destroyed any chance he had with her. Hell, he wasn't even sure he wanted one. A voice from within reminded him of his ex-wife, cautioning him he was a rotten judge of character.

He closed the door.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A
NDY
CLOSED
THE
leather-bound journal as the door to the garden room opened and Sara appeared, followed by Elena carrying the tray of tea and small cakes. Sara had called her earlier in the day and asked whether she would like to read some more of the journals. Andy had grabbed at the chance. She had been far too occupied with thoughts of her dinner with Nate last night.

“I thought you might need a break,” Sara said. “You've been reading for more than two hours, and it's not that easy to read.”

Andy shoved back her chair. “I didn't realize... I'm sorry... I've just traveled a long way with Angus.”

“He does bring you along, doesn't he,” Sara said. “Where are you now?”

“Crossing the Mississippi. It took Angus and Liam two months to travel from New York to Hannibal by horseback.”

“With only what they could carry in saddlebags,” Sara said. “Their next stop is Independence, Missouri.”

Elena poured tea into a cup and handed it to Andy, who thanked her.

Much to her surprise, she was beginning to prefer it to coffee. Suddenly, Al Monroe walked into the room. “Still poring over those old journals?”

“Have you read them?” she asked.

“Yes. Most of them. A long time ago.”

“I want to ask you something.”

“Nothing stopped you before,” he said as his eyebrow arched.

“What would you think about an outdoor play about the founding of Covenant Falls?”

She waited for the fallout.

“That sounds like a lovely idea,” Sara exclaimed eagerly.

Andy saw the denial in Al's eyes. It was there instantly, but then he looked at Sara. Her eyes were alive with interest. There was actual color in her cheeks. She looked like a different woman than the one Andy had met just days earlier. Still frail. Her face still had that unhealthy pallor. But there was life in her eyes, and Andy knew Al saw it, too.

“Who will write it?” he said.

“I think your wife should spearhead it,” Andy replied.

Sara glanced at her husband.

He didn't react—at least he didn't say no.

“I think a play sounds like a wonderful idea,” Sara said, “but me? It's been years since I've written anything...”

“I'm thinking a group effort,” Andy said. “You know the history better than anyone. You've read the journals and you live here. You taught English. You love stories. And that's what this is, but it's better than fiction because it's true.

“I talked to Nate about it,” she continued. “He thinks the high school's music and drama teacher could work on music and help with the script, but they need someone to put it all together.”

“What about you?” Sara asked. “Aren't you writing a history of the town?”

“
Trying
is a better word for it,” Andy replied.

Sara looked at her for a long moment, then asked, “Is there a deadline?”

“Seven weeks. Josh has some tourism officials and travel writers committed to be here then,” she said as she glanced at Al's face.

“That's impossible,” Al interjected. “Sara can't—”

“Sara's going to try,” Sara interrupted her husband. “I used to think about writing Angus's story, and then Sam came to us.” She looked at Al, challenging him.

“Then, do it,” he said with a hint of a smile. He turned to Andy. “I expect Eve had something to do with this.”

“I don't think so. I think it was all Nate Rowland this time.”

He didn't look convinced.

“It may not happen,” Andy said. “It's just in the idea stage, but I wanted Sara and you to know that the idea is being discussed. It's really essential that you two be part of it.”

“If I know Nate and Eve, it's more or less certain,” Al said with a strained smile.

“I don't think anyone wants to go ahead unless you approve,” Andy said.

“It's not up to me to approve or disapprove. I'm not on the council now, and I couldn't stop you if I wanted. When does all this begin?”

“It has to be immediately if everyone agrees. In the meantime, I would love to read more of the journals.”

“Come whenever you want,” he said. He turned and left the room, leaving Andy to stare behind him.

“He's a proud man,” Sara said softly. “What happened last fall, it hurt him. He loved Sam. I do, too, but I saw what was happening to him, and Al wouldn't let himself see it.” She sighed. “He feels he hurt the town as well as the boy he thinks of as his son.”

“How is Sam doing?”

“I think he's horrified at what he did,” Sara said. “I don't know if you have heard the whole story, but one thing led to another and got out of control. I think Josh is the man Sam wanted to be and he...” Her voice broke.

After a few seconds, she said, “I visited him a few days ago, and he's doing well. He's taking several correspondence college courses and will be out in a year, thanks to Eve and Josh. It could have been a lot worse, but they spoke on his behalf.”

Andy mentally added that piece of information to the puzzle that was Covenant Falls. Peaceful to the eye, but apparently there were ripples under the surface. She simply nodded. “Sometimes people just need a wake-up call.”

Sara looked hopeful but diverted the subject. “What is the next step if you go ahead with the play?”

“Nate and Josh are trying to determine whether there's enough interest from the drama teacher and others in town to pull something like this together. I don't think they would try without you and Al. You're at the heart of the story. Because of the time element, there will be a meeting to toss around ideas. Can I tell them you and Al are in?”

Sara nodded. “Maybe a good place to start is with a narrator opening the first journal and reading an entry. Then the actors could dramatize it.”

“I know nothing about plays,” Andy said. “But it sounds good to me. The secret would be choosing the pertinent journal entries.”

“I can certainly help there,” Sara said.

Andy felt her excitement building. Sara's reaction was far more than she'd expected, and Al's more or less favorable attitude unexpected. She could hardly wait to tell Nate.

That sudden thought startled her. How could Nate become important so quickly? A lifeline? But she didn't want a lifeline. She didn't want a complication.

“Will you join us for dinner?” Sara asked.

“Thank you,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, “but I left Joseph home and he probably has to go outside.”

“Please bring him next time,” Sara said. “I truly enjoyed having him here.”

“I'm sure and Stephanie could find one for you,” Andy said.

“Al...”

“If I've noticed anything,” Andy said, “it's how much your husband loves you. I fought the idea of getting Joseph. Too much trouble. I didn't want to be emotionally involved. I didn't want to lose someone again. Adopting Joseph is one of the best things I've ever done. And when I lose him—which I hope is many, many years away—I'll be pounding on the front door of the nearest shelter to get another.”

Sara was staring at her, and Andy suddenly felt embarrassed about being so vehement. Dr. Payne would be proud.

“Have you ever told him you wanted a dog?” Andy asked in a gentler voice.

“No, but Sam did, and he refused to even talk about it, and he loved Sam.”

“Maybe he didn't think Sam could take care of one.”

“There's that,” Sara admitted.

“Maybe he would like a well-disciplined dog,” Andy ventured. “They adopt out retired military dogs.”

Sara looked doubtful.

“I'd best be on my way,” Andy said.

“Would you like to take one of the journals home?” Sara asked.

“I thought...”

“Al and I talked about it. We trust you...and we know you can't spend all your time here.”

“You don't know me,” Andy protested.

Sara smiled. “I think we do.”

Andy was touched by Sara's words and felt unworthy. She had become involved to save herself, not anyone else. She stood. “I really should go.”

Sara said, “Call me if you have any questions.”

“Will I read about Chiweta?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile. “And her brother.”

“I'll call you when I hear from Nate about a meeting.” Andy left quickly, the heavy journal in her hands. She felt as if she had a treasure chest in them. She also felt she'd made a friend in Sara, one of the few she'd had outside the military. Sara obviously ached from not having children and having so little purpose now.

That was why she'd suddenly decided that Sara, rather than the drama or English teacher at the school, should head the writing committee. If, indeed, there was one. She hoped she hadn't raised Sara's interest for nothing.

She also hoped that Nate and the others would agree. There obviously were troubled waters between the Monroe family and the rest of town.

Had she overstepped?

Probably.

How had she ever become so involved?

Because she had nothing else.

How Jared would have hated that thought.

She arrived at the cabin, parked and hurried inside. Joseph ran in circles of joy as if she had been gone for weeks.

After a few minutes of affection, she hitched the leash to Joseph's collar. “Walk time.”

Joseph patiently waited until she opened the door and they went outside.

They walked halfway up the trail, then turned back. She should call Nate, and yet she was avoiding doing that. She wondered whether he had talked to anyone, received any response. She feared returning to the nothingness she'd felt in the months following Jared's death, and yet she equally feared becoming so involved in other lives. She didn't want to care deeply again. It just plain hurt too much.

Joseph whined as if he could read her thoughts.

“You're different,” she assured him.

Halfway back, she saw Nate. He was sitting cross-legged on her dock.

There was no mistaking his lanky form. His hair fell over his forehead and he looked so darn comfortable with himself. He rose slowly as she approached and limped toward her. “Hi,” he said as he reached down and ran his fingers through Joseph's fur. The dog actually grinned.

“You should be using crutches,” she scolded.

He shrugged. “Too much trouble.”

“Too much macho,” she retorted.

“I have news, and you didn't answer the phone.” His grin was downright irresistible.

“I do, too.”

“You go first, then.”

“Sara Monroe,” she said. “She's excited about a play and I suggested she head the writing committee.”

“Writing committee?”

She shrugged. “She's really excited about participating.” She paused, then asked, “Do you think I overstepped by asking her to head the committee?”

He stared at her, then threw his arms around her and swung her around. When he set her down, she tried to scowl at him. “Your ankle,” she protested.

“To hell with my ankle. You've just managed a miracle. Does Al approve?”

“Let's say he doesn't disapprove.”

He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. Spontaneous and quick, but it sent quivers down her back. He straightened quickly and his face lost its exuberance. “I'm sorry,” he said. “But you're a wonder. And hell no, I'm not sorry.”

She stood there, stunned, both by his action and her body's response.

He straightened and looked rueful. “Can I come in and get the details?” he asked. “I promise to be good.”

She smiled. “Of course.” She started to lead the way to the cabin, but he caught up with her and they walked in companionable silence. Once inside, she turned to him. “Coffee?”

He nodded and she went straight to the kitchen and brewed coffee, but she was only too aware of his presence. Her body was, as well. She told it to behave. Nate was a friend. Nothing else. She certainly didn't want anything else.

After she brewed the coffee, Nate carried the cups outside. She avoided the double swing and sat in one of the two chairs. “You had something to tell me?” she said carefully in a cool voice.

“First,” he said, “is that book on the table what I think it is?”

“It is.”

“Did you steal it?” he asked conversationally.

“Nope.”

“Find it?”

“Not that, either.”

“I give up.”

“Sara loaned it to me.”

He looked at her in total disbelief. Then that slow smile spread over his face. “Can I read it?”

“Maybe. Now what is your news?”

“I'm embarrassed to mention it now.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I won't belittle you.”

“Oh, you're cocky,” he said.

She laughed.

“I like that,” he said, “and for that reason, I will tell you my good news. At least I thought it was until I heard yours. Anyway, the drama teacher thinks it's a great idea. Because of money shortages, they weren't planning a stage play this year. They will readily participate in ours. The principal gave his okay, as well. It helps that the drama teacher and principal are married. We can use their auditorium for rehearsals.”

He leaned over and took her hand. “You said Sara Monroe wants to help write the play.”

“She had this great idea.” Andy related Sara's thought about a narrator reading directly from the journal.

“Are the journals that good?”

“I haven't read them all, but, yes, I think so. Your Angus was a good writer. Succinct, yet somehow he makes you feel you're there.”

He stood. “Okay if I look at them now?”

“Sure. Just don't take the coffee anywhere near it.”