made last night. She shrugged and snapped shut the lid
on her temper. “Your call.”
“Do you have a job? Enough money saved to pay a
security deposit, plus first and last month’s rent?”
“No, but—”
“It’ll take a while for the military to process Peter’s
life insurance policy and death benefits.”
Could he read her mind? “I’m not sure living here is a
good idea.”
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Pam Champagne
“Why not?” Katy piped in.
Mike’s eyes never left her face. “For the moment, you
don’t have a choice. In return for room and board, I would
ask that you take care of Katy on the nights I work.
Before you leave, I’ll find another sitter.”
Cyn frowned and suppressed a shiver at the memory
of the horrible woman who’d verbally attacked her the
night before. “What about Doreen? I thought she took care
of Katy.”
“Not any more,” Katy piped up. “She got jealous, and
Dad fired her.”
“Katy!” Mike shouted at the same time that Cyn
laughed. That one small spill of laughter warmed her and
her stomach actually growled with hunger.
Katy bounded from the chair and skipped across the
linoleum. “Gotta go clean my room.”
“Smart kid,” Cyn said, putting a forkful of pancake in
her mouth.
Mike grinned. “Too damn smart.”
22
Bridge of Hope
Cyn huddled in the passenger seat, gripping the
folded American flag lying on her lap. Mike swore her
fixed straight-ahead gaze saw nothing. Cyn had started to
come out of her shell in the past few weeks. She’d opened
up. Sadness still lurked in her eyes, but she’d made
efforts to participate in the day-to-day happenings. Even
helped Katy with her homework every night.
The pale woman beside him today was the one he’d
first found on the Hope Bridge.
The cold drizzle that arrived at dawn had turned to a
steady rain during Peter Jenks’ graveside service. Saying
goodbye to the dead in gloomy weather always put him in
a somber mood. Gray skies, moaning winds and soldiers
shedding tears for their downed comrade brought old man
depression knocking on his door.
Cyn’s stamina during the on-base funeral had
astounded him. Hell, she’d been a trooper coping with her
loss. She’d made the arrangements and insisted on
meeting the transport plane that brought Peter’s body
home. She’d done it all with strong determination.
With the arrival of rain, she’d shut down. She’d
barely acknowledged the mourners’ condolences. He’d
kept her in his scope, prepared to rescue her from a sticky
situation should one arise. She’d held her emotions in
check even when TAPS was played.
Cyn’s voice jolted him from his somber musings. “Are
we picking up Katy?”
“Katy is spending the night with her school friend.”
Cyn twisted in her seat. “Because of me?”
Mike chuckled. “No. She’s been hounding me for
23
Pam Champagne
weeks to spend the night with Misty. She loves staying
there. She’ll chatter on for days about baking cookies with
Misty’s mother.” Mike pushed away a spear of guilt for
not providing his daughter with a normal family. She
needed a mother.
“Why haven’t you remarried?”
It shouldn’t have, but her question startled him. “The
infamous inquiry that I get asked at least once a week.”
“I’m curious.”
He bit his tongue to keep from telling her to mind her
own damn business. At least she was talking. “I guess I
haven’t met the right woman.”
“Are you saying no woman could replace your wife?”
Mike frowned as the truth hit him. She didn’t want
to know about him. Cyn wanted to know what her own
future held. She wondered if
she’d
ever love again.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” he hedged. “I have
Katy to think about, as well as myself.” He abruptly
changed the subject as he drove into the driveway. “Your
first appointment with the counselor is tomorrow at nine.”
“So soon?”
He turned off the ignition and his heart skipped a
beat at the fear in her eyes. He reached over and covered
the hand still hanging onto the flag for dear life. “I know
the doctor. I think you’ll like her.”
“Don’t count on it,” she muttered. Her mouth curved
into a smile that even a child would have recognized as
forced. “I’m doing quite well on my own. I don’t need—”
“Forget it, Cyn. A deal’s a deal.” He climbed out of
the truck before she could protest.
The house was eerily quiet without Katy. Perhaps
he’d made a mistake letting her spend the night at
Misty’s. Her boundless energy might be a distraction for
Cyn—keep her thoughts away from the past and worrying
about an uncertain future. She’d gone straight for the
couch when they’d entered the house and now sat there
hugging the flag to her chest.
“Want some coffee?” he asked, hanging his coat in the
24
Bridge of Hope
closet.
That earned him a negative head shake.
“Tea?”
“Nothing, thank you.”
He walked into the kitchen, turned on the burner
under the teakettle, and then whipped together a chicken
and vegetable casserole while the water heated to a boil.
A few minutes later, Mike set two cups of tea on the
coffee table and lowered himself next to Cyn on the couch.
Today, she’d worn her hair knotted at the base of her
neck. In the short time he’d been in the kitchen, she’d
pulled out the pins and blonde curls spilled around her
shoulders.
He reached over to take the flag out of her hands and
the fingers of his right hand brushed her warm breast. A
jolt of desire shot through him like he hadn’t felt since
Mary Jo died. He yanked his hand back and noticed that
she hadn’t reacted to his touch.
He cleared his throat and pulled the flag from her
hands. “When it stops raining, we’ll fly this on the
flagpole in the yard. I can’t think of a better way to honor
Peter’s memory.”
Her expression softened. “Thank you. He would have
liked that.”
Still grappling with his physical response from a
simple touch, he blurted, “How old are you?
She focused puzzled eyes on him. “What?”
His eyes roamed her peaches and cream complexion
and the way her lips slightly trembled. God help him.
What kind of man lusted after woman who’d just buried
her husband? “I just realized that I know so little about
you,” he fudged.
“Oh. My birthday was a few weeks ago. I’m twenty-
four.”
So damn young. He had a good twelve years on her.
“And you?”
Mike laughed. Tit for tat. “A lot older than you.”
She shrugged. “Age doesn’t matter in the grand
25
Pam Champagne
scheme of things.”
“Ah, spoken by someone on the right side of thirty.”
He handed her a cup. “It’s green tea. I’ve got a casserole
in the oven. No,” he said when she opened her mouth to
protest. “You need to eat.”
She heaved a sigh. “I’ll try.”
“That’s all I ask.” He rose and went to the kitchen to
check on their meal.
Mike pressed his forehead against the cool
windowpane and watched the rain bounce off the
pavement. From the beginning, he’d thought of Cyn as
nothing more than a houseguest—a young woman with a
broken heart who needed help getting back on her feet.
Today, she’d buried her husband. And his mind had
taken a sudden 180º turn without conscious thought.
Shame burned from within. The sooner Cyn got back on
her feet, the better. Either the wind or rain turned on the
outdoor sensor light, drawing his attention to the garage.
Why hadn’t he thought of it before? The mother-in-
law’s apartment where he’d stored her things. Even
though he and Mary Jo had talked about renting it, they
never actually followed through with the plans. Up until
now, he’d always considered it as a storage place. Now it
seemed like an answer to everyone’s needs, his own as
well as Cyn’s. She’d have more freedom, yet he’d be right
here if she needed him. After a time of counseling, it
would be a perfect place to transition to a new life.
Perhaps if he didn’t see her every day, these
unexpected longings would dissipate. Raising his
daughter as a single dad created enough problems in his
life. The last thing he needed was to fall in love with a
grieving widow twelve years his junior.
Thirty minutes later, Mike leaned against the
doorjamb watching Cyn hide her face in the couch pillows.
He knew exactly what emotions churned in her heart.
Peter’s death had left a wound that she doubted would
ever heal. She’d breathe, eat and sleep because people
told her to. Her eyelids fluttered but refused to stay open.
26
Bridge of Hope
She tried to sit up before she lay back and closed her eyes.
Mike remembered all too well the dark void that engulfed
her. He walked to the couch and covered her with a quilt.
For a few seconds he rested his knuckles against her
cheek. As much as he wished for her sake that soon life
would look brighter, he knew damned well that wasn’t the
case.
****
blew through the slightly opened window. Surely, the
temperature tickled the freezing mark. Late last night,
she’d woke on the couch and sought the sanctuary of her
bedroom.
Snuggling back under the covers, she thought about
yesterday. She’d said her final goodbye to Peter. Seeing
all his friends and comrades had given her courage. She
now regretted that she’d brushed off the other military
wives attempts to get to know her. Making friends had
always been so hard. She’d always been afraid to trust,
afraid she’d be hurt. So she’d clung to Peter as a friend, as
well as a lover. Now he was gone and she accepted that
she’d made a mistake by isolating herself.
“Get up, Katy. You’ll be late for school.”
Hearing Mike’s voice in the hall, Cyn bolted upright.
She’d forgotten about her appointment.
Damn. In one fluid motion, she was out of bed,
grabbing everything she needed on her way to the
bathroom.
The shower’s hot spray woke her better than a super
dose of caffeine. She scanned her features in the mirror
and groaned at the dark circles under her eyes.
Determined to face life head on, she dug into her bag of
makeup.
An hour later, a young secretary ushered her into the
doctor’s office. The large room didn’t look or feel like a
psychiatrist’s work area. It reminded Cyn more of a
history professor’s office.
27
Pam Champagne
A large desk sat in one corner with four comfortable
cushioned chairs casually arranged around the front.
There was even a coffee table. To her left, cheery flames
danced around logs in the fireplace.
She rose and moved to the large windows overlooking
a residential neighborhood with a quiet park across the
street. Children chased each other in a game of tag,
slipping and sliding in the early spring mud. Some of the
older ones attempted to fly kites in the slight breeze of the
late April day.
“Good afternoon, Cynthia.” Cyn turned to face a
young, smiling woman. “I’m Dr. Amanda Wentworth. I’m
glad to see you’ve made yourself at home.”
Cyn’s anger at being here gave way to a flood of
courage. “So is this where you pick my brain and lay the
pieces on the desk?” She frowned at the counselor’s laugh.
“What’s so funny? Isn’t that why I’m here? To be taken
apart, fixed and then put back together?”
“I’m surprised someone as young as you has such an
archaic view of mental health treatment.”
Cyn brushed an invisible piece of lint off her skirt.
“Yeah? Well, I’ve had a few sessions with a shrink in my
life.” The doctor settled in the chair behind her desk. “Care
to share?”
Cyn caught herself twisting the handle of her
handbag. She set it on the floor. Dredging up memories of
her mother and father hurt. She took a deep breath. “My
parents were killed in a car accident during my
honeymoon. Peter…er…my husband suggested I seek
help for my depression.”
“Smart man. Did it help?”
She shrugged. “I guess.” At the time, she’d gone
through the motions during her therapy sessions. Peter
had been the one she’d leaned on through the hard times.
“You’ve certainly been handed a plateful of grief in
your short life. It’s a shame you’re trying to cope on your
own. I can help you.”
28
Bridge of Hope
Cyn widened her eyes in mock surprise. “You do
realize the reason I’m here, don’t you?”
“I’m hoping it’s because you want closure and to
accept the loss of your husband.”
“I’m here because I considered jumping off the Hope
River Bridge. Agreeing to get counseling beat spending
thirty days observation in psychiatric hospital.”