A Man of Honor

by Miranda Liasson

  “What kind of job is it?”

  “It’s for the local politics and business beat at the Charlotte Herald.”

  “You don’t sound too thrilled.”

  She hadn’t meant to sound less than thrilled, but just saying words like “mayoral debate” or “losses and gains” made her yawn. “A job’s a job, right? I mean, a person can be fulfilled in different ways, like through volunteer work and other things.”

  “You’re too young to give up so easily on finding the right job.”

  She got up and began moving from table to table, sweeping stray paper scraps into a dustpan and then throwing them all into a recycling container. “My family would never approve my going back to school to become a teacher. Grandmeel says, ‘Kingstons don’t educate children, they educate the world.’ Her side of the family has a history of being in the newspaper business, you know.”

  “Do you always do what your family tells you to?”

  With him she hadn’t. Preston didn’t tick off any of her grandmother’s boxes of her finding a husband that came from money and a good family, but Cat had never let that get in her way. “I’m just being practical,” she said. “Being twenty-six and living with your parents isn’t the best arrangement.”

  He leaned against the art closet and crossed his arms, watching her with cool blue eyes. “All I’m saying is don’t give up on what you really want, even if it takes some work to get there.”

  Oh, the irony. She had to remind herself he was talking about a job, not himself. Preston Guthrie was a conundrum that could take a person years to figure out. It would be the height of foolishness to continue to batter her head against that wall, handsome and irresistible though it was.

  She brought over a bucket of soapy water and handed him a rag, and they began scrubbing down the tables, putting the room to rights. As she dropped her rag into the bucket, their hands touched. He jerked his away fast—too fast. For the flash of a second, a panicked look flooded his eyes, followed quickly by his usual, perfectly controlled mask.

  They worked together in silence. Finally Cat tucked each tiny chair back under the tables, then flicked off the classroom lights. “Can’t wait to come back and do it all again tomorrow. I hope Mrs. McCarthy will be in to help.”

  “Congratulations on officially surviving your first day.” He smiled at her in such a way that made her feel he meant it sincerely. Like in the old days, when they could talk to each other and they told each other things.

  As he walked toward the door where she stood waiting for him to step out so she could lock it, she noticed his shuffle was a little more pronounced than before, and he looked tired. And a little sad. Or maybe she was imagining.

  “I want to do more than survive. I want to nail this.”

  He flashed her a look that seemed to signal that all he wanted right now was to nail her. Right on one of those low tables with all the colorful paper flowers spinning above their heads. A wall of heat hit her face. How could he act like he was about to flee one moment, yet in another, look at her in a way that dissolved her to molten lava? He was a confident man with a lot of experience with women and the ability to get whatever he wanted. What was it that held him back?

  For the hundredth time, Cat had the feeling that there was a lot more to his story than what he was telling her. Well, Robert had always told her she’d had one hell of an imagination, and maybe in this case it was working overtime. Conquering the affections of these five-year-olds was going to be difficult but not impossible. Getting over Preston Guthrie and not letting his charm suck her back under his force field, not so easy.

  Chapter Five

  “Thanks for doing this,” Preston said as Cat pulled up to a beat-up, peeled-paint shack of a house on the outskirts of town. He should have hired a driver and gone himself to rescue the abandoned feline. When they were in her car together after school something had possessed him to tell her, and once the cat was out of the bag, so to speak, she’d turned it into a crusade and insisted on driving them here immediately.

  He’d run in, scoop up Dirty Harry, and spend the rest of the night watching a ball game, working out, and enjoying a beer on his patio in front of the lake. And not thinking of her.

  Cat shot him a worried glance from the driver’s seat. “Preston, the house looks worse than ever. Maybe you shouldn’t—”

  “That’s because nobody’s home. Keep the car running, and if anyone from this neighborhood pulls a gun, tries to sell you a bag of weed, or flashes you, drive off and go home.”

  “I have a better idea,” Cat said with a devilish look in her eyes. “I’ll honk once for a suspicious-looking person, twice if I see a gun, and if the flasher is cute, I’ll sit back and enjoy the show.”

  What was he thinking, bringing her here? He obviously lost all judgment when he got within ten feet of her. “This was a mistake. Let’s go back, and I’ll find someone else who weighs more than a sack of sugar.”

  “Preston, it’s not that bad of a neighborhood.” She gave him a little push so he would get out of the car. “Just go in and get the poor cat.”

  The neighborhood didn’t really give him the creeps. It was all the memories of his father that did. Thank God Vernon Guthrie was well into his rehab stint and wouldn’t be here.

  His parents had finally divorced when Preston was a young teenager, and he and Jared lived with their mother for a few years. Preston had just graduated from college when his mother died suddenly of a heart ailment. He’d gone into finance and investing with the hope that he would make enough to send Jared to college, pay off his mother’s debts, and keep a roof over their heads. By the time Nick and he had started their venture capital business, he’d been doing well enough, and the risks they took paid off in spades. From the time he’d taken responsibility for Jared, they’d never gone back to this hellhole. Although their father continued to pop up at times, always to ask for money.

  He thought of the abandoned animal and mumbled a curse under his breath. There was no comfort in knowing his father didn’t treat animals any better than he did his own children.

  The front door was locked, but he picked it easily with a credit card. One survival skill from his past he could be thankful for. The living room he stepped into looked like an episode of Hoarders, with empty beer cans and piles of papers everywhere. An ungodly stench hit his nose, far worse than the smell of greasy fried food and old cigarette smoke. Maybe from the cat being shut in here for more than a week without any care? Fortunately, Harry came bolting out from the kitchen, thin and a little raggedy but meowing loudly. He rubbed around Preston’s legs. Preston stooped down to pick up the animal when he heard the voice he dreaded.

  “What are you doing here, son?”

  Preston startled and accidentally dropped the cat, which skittered away, dammit. An unshaven man with a week’s worth of beard, wearing a white sleeveless undershirt and brown pants worn thin at the knees, stood at the junction of the living room and a screened-in porch.

  Preston straightened, reminding himself he was six inches taller and at least fifty pounds heavier than his father. “Hello, Vernon. I could ask you the same question.”

  “Aw, I got tired of those know-it-all rich folks breathing down my neck all the time. I’m just taking a little break, getting things in order, then I’ll go back, I promise.” His bleary gaze roamed over Preston from head to toe. “How are you? Heard you got your leg shot up over there in Afghanistan.”

  “I’m doing great.” And thanks for your concern. “You know that was part of the deal—you promised you’d spend the entire time in rehab.” They’d agreed that Preston would pay for the stint in rehab, continued therapy afterward, and whatever else Vernon needed. Vernon’s end of the deal was to simply show up, and clearly, that had been too much to ask.

  Sometimes he wondered why he even tried with his father. God knows, the man had wreaked enough havoc on their family. Preston had promised his mother on her deathbed that he would try to help him, but so
far, three stints in rehab and all the money in the world hadn’t managed to buy Vernon salvation.

  “Oh, c’mon now, son. You’re a powerful man. I figured you could get me some time off for good behavior.”

  Good behavior for his father tended to last about as long as a TV commercial. Suddenly, it was all too much. The stench, his father’s rattly cough, and the beat-up house with all those memories he wanted to keep locked up forever. The longer he stood there, the more they were all clamoring to bust out. Thank God he’d gotten himself and his brother out of here for good. “Well, I was—stopping by to check on the place. I’ll be going.”

  “Say, son, you wouldn’t happen to have a couple of bucks I could borrow, would you? Just until my disability check comes in.”

  Preston reached blindly into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. As a rule, he never carried much cash. As he reached for the fifty he always kept tucked away for emergencies, he couldn’t help but see a flash of the photo he placed front and center, one of three he carried with him at all times. One was of his mother. The next one was Jared’s high school graduation photo, and the one in the front, of the sexy, smiling woman, was Cat. He ran his thumb over her beautiful face like she was some sort of talisman meant to shield him from this evil. “That’s all I’ve got.” He handed his old man the bill, then turned to exit the house.

  “Oh, Preston,” his father said, beckoning him back.

  He stopped but didn’t turn around.

  “I noticed your checks have stopped coming since I was supposed to be in rehab.”

  “That’s right, but I paid for the rehab program, Vernon. It’s one of the finest in the country.”

  “Pretty hoity-toity it was, too. Kids of celebrities and some washed-up actors pretending to be undercover. All them with their vegan meals and their power smoothies…what a bunch of bullshit. That cookbook guru was there—the one with that fancy cooking show on Food Network. Guess he used his wine for more than just cooking.”

  Preston calculated that he was around twenty steps from the door. They could end up being the longest twenty steps of his life. “Go back to rehab. They can help you.”

  “Nothing can help me, son. My problems started with a long-term injury, too, just like what you have. Pills, booze, nothing would numb the pain. You’ll see how pain and disability can drag a man down. Make him into something he’s not. You’ll see how it is.”

  Like hell he would. Preston clenched his fists to avoid saying anything he’d regret. The doctors at the VA Preston had been transferred to after he’d left DC told him he was their most stubborn patient, as by that time, he’d staunchly refused all pain meds. They’d had no idea why. A blur of black fur crossed his path. Preston made a clumsy dive and scooped the animal up. Over his shoulder, he said, “I’ll keep Harry while you’re gone.”

  That meant forever, whether his father went back to rehab or not, but Preston was certain his father wouldn’t put up a fight. Hell, he didn’t care that he’d left the cat, so he sure wouldn’t notice it was gone. Sometimes you could only do so much. Because his father was a hopeless case, but the animal wasn’t.

  …

  “Got what I came for,” Preston said as he climbed clumsily into Cat’s car while trying to hold on to the frightened cat.

  “Oh, a kitty!” Cat said, immediately reaching over to get acquainted. She crooned to it and scratched behind its ears and petted its sleek black back. Not only did the thing relax, but it nudged her hand to ask for more. “What’s its name?” she asked.

  “Harry,” Preston said. He decided to drop the “Dirty.” At least one of them should have a chance to put their best foot forward with Cat.

  “It’s scrawny.”

  “And filthy and neglected. I’m sorry to bring it in your car.”

  “It’s no problem. I have flea medicine at home. And tuna fish. We can stop by.”

  Preston barely registered her words. He couldn’t help looking back at the house, as if he half expected his father to run out and somehow stop him from leaving. “Um, for right now, can I ask you to just drive the hell away from here?”

  “Oh, for sure,” Cat said cheerily as she sat up and took the wheel, giving the cat one last glance. “She’s adorable.”

  “It’s a him. Harry.” He took a deep breath, more upset by the interaction with his father than he’d thought, but determined to not tell Cat any of the bad stuff that was rolling around in his head.

  “Oh, sorry. You did say that. I guess I was just getting a female vibe. Was he your pet growing up?”

  Preston snorted. “We didn’t have pets.”

  Cat pulled away from the curb. As soon as she put distance between him and his old man, Preston told himself everything was fine. He willed himself to relax, but his skin was crawling, and he felt a need to take a shower.

  “You okay?” she asked after a minute.

  He hadn’t realized he was tapping his good foot on the floor of the car. “Fine.” He was actually surprised when Ms. Enthusiastic didn’t barrage him with questions. After a few minutes of silence, he surprised himself by talking. “Actually, not so fine. My father left his rehab program. He’s alcoholic and mentally ill, and all the money in the world can’t turn him into a decent human being.”

  Preston was the son who resembled him the most physically, despite their difference in height and bulk. Funny, because Preston had spent his entire life convincing himself he was the polar opposite of everything his father stood for.

  Cat pulled into the Kingstons’ driveway and shut off the ignition. She rested her hand on Preston’s arm and simply sat there. He took a few more deep breaths, but nothing seemed to help him calm down. Dammit, he’d never meant to seem upset. Must be the damn leg pain, making all his emotions more raw than usual.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and he knew by her soft tone of voice and her gentle touch that she meant it 100 percent.

  He couldn’t look at her. He was too vulnerable, and it would make him stupid, like it did the other night when he’d finally held her in his arms.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said. He managed a nod as he readjusted the cat on his lap.

  She returned minutes later with a plastic bag she placed in the backseat. Then she addressed the cat. “You just hit the kitty jackpot, Harry.”

  “That looks like more than flea medicine,” Preston said.

  “Just some bowls, a brush, a feather toy, and a collar.”

  “You’re better than a pet store.” He turned to Harry. “This is your lucky day.”

  “We take in strays all the time. They wander in from downtown, and my mom usually catches them drinking water from the birdbath.”

  The thing seemed to calm under Cat’s magical touch. It lifted its head to give her better access to stroke along the back of its head, and even settled in on Preston’s lap. As they drove the few miles to his house, Preston couldn’t help comparing himself to this bedraggled animal, the lucky bastard. He wished it were as easy for him to surrender to her soothing voice, her calming touch. Bask in her clean, wholesome fragrance as he held her close. She was everything good and untouched by the poisonous, life-ruining violence that alcoholism had claimed as its own. Reason number one thousand why any association with him would only bring her down.

  After she’d parked in his driveway, Cat walked around to his side of the car and lifted the cat off his lap. Then she held it above her head and looked at its underside. “Well, what do you know.” She looked at Preston and grinned.

  Preston frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Harry is actually a Harriet.”

  Chapter Six

  “You’re late,” Preston said, sounding more than a little irritated as he paced back and forth near the bottom of his driveway the next morning as Cat pulled up her car. Seeing him with so much nervous energy all the time troubled her.

  He’d always been a little hypervigilant, maybe from being a kid whose life was full of the unpredictable, like his father s
howing up at any time angry or drunk or both, but the war had done something to him. She remembered that during their Skype sessions, he’d be sitting at his makeshift desk in his bunkhouse tapping his pen, drumming his foot so hard that all the odds and ends on his desk would rattle. As if he were trying to hurry time along until he could leave that place. Apparently the habit had followed him home. It was just one way in which the war had changed him.

  Cat glanced at her watch. “It’s one minute after eight. And good morning to you, too.”

  “Good morning,” he grumbled as he got in the car. He looked a little sheepish, and her heart squeezed a little. He seemed to be trying so hard to be…normal. As if all of it was a supreme effort. “Sorry. I guess I’m a little on edge for the doctor.”

  “You think?” she said, but she said it with a smile. “Are you expecting some news?”

  He sat up straight and stared out the window. “I’ve been hoping to avoid a third surgery. I’ve been doing extensive PT, and today I find out if it’s working.”

  Despite her resolve to distance herself, her heart went out to him. She did her best not to think of the way he’d stepped in and helped her with those little kids. Or insisted on saving a scraggly neglected cat. No, better she focus on his ability to push her away. He didn’t want her help, and he certainly didn’t want a relationship, and she was not going to get drawn into the electric current that was still so palpable between them. Still, he was a wounded soldier, hurting and probably more than a little afraid of what the doctors would say today. It wasn’t in her nature not to help. “I have an idea. We’ve got plenty of time; how about we drive through for a coffee?”

  “Well, you do owe me,” he said, but she must have looked confused so he elaborated. “You know. You said you’d do anything if I took Brandon to the bathroom.”