by Skye Taylor
“What’s carry?” Rick looked up at her, his brow furrowed.
“It’s like when you add a five and a seven. The answer is twelve, but there’s nowhere to put the one, so you put it at the top of the next column,” Meg answered patiently. What were they teaching kids these days?
“But it’s not a one, Mom. It’s a ten.”
“Yes. I know that, but if you already know that, then why do you need these pictures?” She tried to keep the frustration out of her voice.
“Never mind, Mom. I’ll ask Dad to help me when he gets in.” Rick shoved the homework assignment into his notebook and stacked it with his spelling book.
Meg felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. Her son was going to ask his father for help? Ben, the guy who couldn’t keep his bankbook balanced! How could Ben do this stuff any better than she could?
“I can help you. Just be a little patient with me while I try to figure out this new math. I just got home, remember?”
“Don’t feel bad. I stink at math, too,” Rick consoled her.
“But I don’t stink at math.” Frustrated anger rose in Meg’s gut.
Her protest got ignored in the noisy arrival of Ben bursting into the kitchen with Evan hard on his heels. Rain slatted against the windows and followed them into the kitchen. Ben scuffed his wet boots on the doormat, removed his dripping wet rain jacket, and hung it on a hook.
“Hurry up, Kip.” Evan held the screen door open and made urgent come gestures with his free hand.
Kip? Who was Kip?
Then the dog Meg had seen jump down from the bed of the truck the day before trotted into the kitchen and shook. Rainwater spattered everywhere. Ben chuckled, and Evan laughed out loud.
“Sorry about the water, Mommy.” Evan beamed up at her. “Kip’s sorry, too. Right, Kip?”
The dog looked up at the sound of his name. He gazed first at Evan, then at Ben as if waiting for further instruction.
Rick slid off his stool and hurried across the kitchen. “Where did he come from?” Rick dropped to the floor in front of the big dog and offered his hand for a sniff the way his dad had taught him. The dog sniffed Rick’s hand, glanced at Ben, then back at Rick.
“This is Kip,” Evan introduced the dog excitedly. “He’s a police dog. A really brave police dog. He saved a lady’s life.”
“Sit,” Ben ordered in a soft voice.
Meg backed up hastily. Her heart raced. Her head pounded. Instead of a dog with rain-wet fur plastered against bones that were too prominent, Meg’s brain flashed a vision of Scout, his fur orange with dust, backing up and sitting. And then the explosion.
She bolted from the kitchen. Her heart thundered in her ears. She didn’t realize her eyes were clenched shut until she tripped over the ottoman and landed in a heap on the living room floor. She buried her head between her knees as a wave of dizziness washed though her. She hugged her knees and willed herself to stop shaking.
“Meg?”
Meg tensed. She swallowed hard, pressed her lips together, then, resolutely forced her eyes open and looked up at her husband. He was on his knees in front of her, blond brows drawn together in bewilderment. Concern deepened the blue of his eyes.
“Why did you bring him in here?” she asked, trying desperately to keep the panic out of her voice. Ben had often brought dogs into the house, and she’d never questioned it before. No wonder he was confused. She hadn’t told him about Scout. Maybe she should have. But Ben loved dogs so much she hadn’t wanted to distress him. Besides, talking about Scout might bring up the subject of John again.
Ben reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “He needed people. I didn’t think you’d mind. But he can go back to the kennel if his being here distresses you.”
“N-no.” Meg strove to get a grip on herself. “H-he can stay. I just—I just had a little flashback. I’ll be okay.” Please, God, give me the strength to be okay. I need to be okay for Ben and for the boys.
“Are you sure?” Ben cupped her chin with his hand. He tipped her face up and looked intently into her eyes. “You’re sure you’re okay with him being in the house?”
“I’m okay with it.” Thank God her voice came out firm and positive. She wasn’t going to burden Ben with her nightmares. Not if she could help it.
“Want to talk about it?”
Meg shook her head. No way could she talk about it. Not without breaking down again. She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about this dog either, but she had to say something to reassure Ben. “T-tell me about the dog. Kip, I think Evan said? Is he really a hero?”
“He did what he was trained to do. Not sure if that makes him a hero or just a well-trained canine.” Ben stood and reached a hand down to pull Meg to her feet.
“Why is he here?” Meg straightened her shirt and picked at a loose thread to avoid looking at Ben.
“His human partner was killed in the line of duty. Kip is not adjusting well. Will suggested they bring the dog to me to see what I could do with him.”
Ben peered at her intently. Meg could feel it, even though she hadn’t yet met his gaze. She forced a smile and looked up. “They brought him to the right place, then. If anyone can help him, it would be you.”
“We’ll see about that.” Ben’s shoulders relaxed visibly. “Some dogs never recover. But he’s too valuable not to give it a try.”
“Hey, Mom!” Rick bounded into the living room with Evan and the dog on his heels. “Watch this.” He turned to the dog and pointed at his brother. “Hold!”
Kip immediately pushed Evan to the carpeted floor and placed his paws on Evan’s chest. Evan giggled and wriggled, but the dog kept him pinned to the floor.
“Off,” commanded Rick, imitating his father’s quietly authoritative voice. “Sit.” Kip removed his paws from Evan’s chest and sat. Evan was still giggling, thoroughly enjoying the game. Kip looked up at his young commander, his tongue lolling as if pleased at a job well done.
Ben watched the interplay between his sons and the dog with a smile of pride on his face. “Maybe all Kip needed was to get out of the police kennels and spend some time with kids.”
Conflicting emotions tore at Meg. Watching her sons following in their father’s footsteps, imitating his gentle but effective way with canines should have filled her with delight. If only she was watching them learn how to whittle, or sail a boat or any of the other things their father was so adept at. But the presence of the dog stole her sense of satisfaction.
She didn’t hate the dog. At least she didn’t want to hate the dog. She just wished he didn’t look so . . . so much like Scout. It’s not the dog’s fault. I can’t hold his genes against him. If only he’d stayed out in the kennels.
“Can we keep him, Dad?” Rick and Evan piped almost in unison. Evan had one arm wrapped about the dog’s neck. Kip hesitated and then gave Evan’s cheek a quick lick. All three looked up at Ben. Ben looked at Meg.
Chapter 7
SCOUT TIPPED HIS head and looked back at his handler, clearly pleased with himself for finding the hidden object he’d been sent to find. Eager to have his reward, the bright green ball he loved, he backed up and sat as he’d been trained to do.
Meg bolted upright in bed. Her heart thundered in panic. Smoke billowed out, stinging her eyes. Bits of debris rained down around her, and the big green transport vehicle rocked with the sound of the explosion.
“Meg?” Ben’s voice sounded alien and out of place in the echoes of Meg’s nightmare.
Meg shook her head to clear it. There was no smoke. No explosion. And no Scout.
“Are you all right?” Ben sat up and cupped her shoulder with his hand.
“I’m—I’m good.”
“You don’t sound good.” He wrapped both arms about her.
She tried to stifle the tre
mbling so he wouldn’t notice. “Just a bad dream, but it’s over. I’m good.”
Ben lay back down, pulling her with him. Panic rose in her chest. Every instinct told her to bolt from the bed and get out of here. Away from Ben and . . . and what? And go where? There was nowhere she could go to get away from the nightmare in her head.
She forced herself to relax in Ben’s arms. Breathe in. Breathe out, she told herself. Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax.
“Want to talk about it?” Ben asked.
“No.”
“Maybe talking would help. Get the nightmare out in the light and face it. You always said I was a good listener.”
“It won’t help.”
She felt him sigh but couldn’t decide if he was disappointed, hurt, or just tired.
“I just want to forget.” She turned into him, burying her face against his chest. If he was feeling hurt because she wouldn’t share what was obviously bothering her, she still wanted him to know she loved and trusted him. Silently she begged him to accept that there might be things she couldn’t bring herself to talk about. At least not yet.
“I know,” he murmured as he began rubbing her back.
You don’t know. You weren’t there.
Gently he massaged the nape of her neck, then her shoulders, then her back. His caress was soothing and undemanding and not meant to be arousing. She wished it was. Meant to be arousing, that is.
When Ben touched her with passion, the echoes of war receded. With his mouth on hers and his sensitive fingers urging her to arousal the wrenching memories she’d brought home with her fled. When he pounded into her, his need as urgent as hers, none of the guilt and anger could claim her. In those sensuous, heart-racing, mind-blowing moments, she could forget everything.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax. Don’t think.
The trembling subsided, but the memories persisted. Meg gave up the mantra and slipped her hand between them. When her fingers slid beneath the waistband of his pajama bottoms, Ben sucked in a sharp gasp. The hand that had been rubbing her back froze. For several long moments Ben was ominously still. Then he relaxed and began trailing his fingers slowly down her spine. He welcomed her intimate touch with soft sounds of pleasure, not questioning why.
WHEN BEN’S ALARM went off, Meg didn’t stir. He turned off the annoying buzz and kissed her before he rolled out of bed. She pretended to be asleep. It was easier to feign sleep. That way Ben wouldn’t ask about the nightmares. He padded into the bathroom and closed the door. Meg rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in his pillow. His scent lingered in the rumpled linen. She inhaled and relaxed.
She woke some time later, surprised that she had fallen back to sleep. A dead sleep, totally devoid of dreams. She glanced over at the alarm clock and then scrambled off the bed in a rush.
When she reached the kitchen, it was empty. The boys had left for school, and Ben was gone. Presumably out to his kennels. Meg poured herself a cup of coffee from the machine Ben had thoughtfully left on warm. Once again the kitchen was spotless, the counters cleared and wiped down, dishes stacked in the dishwasher. Even the floor had been swept. There was nothing left for her to do.
Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow was Saturday. Was the Saturday morning ritual of waffles and cartoons still followed? Or had that changed in the months she’d been gone, too? There was so much Meg had missed out on this past year. She felt like a stranger in her own family. How long was it going to take before she got up to speed again?
She still had twenty-six days of leave. Twenty-six days to relearn the life she’d left behind and the things her menfolk did or didn’t do.
But besides that, what was she going to do with herself? She sat at the counter staring at nothing and considered the question. She got off the stool and went to consult the calendar on the wall. Ben’s meticulous entries noted a dentist appointment for the boys, Cub Scouts for Rick and swim lessons for Evan, and an eye exam for himself. His brother Jake’s wedding was written large with a heart drawn around it. And the Harvest Fair.
The fair! A thought percolated into Meg’s head.
Every year their little parish of St. Theresa’s held a huge and successful fair that drew people from all over the county. And every year except last year, Meg had set up a craft workshop just for kids. She ran her forefinger over the squares, counting the days between now and then.
Planning for the fair would have been months in the making, but maybe whoever was running it would welcome her return. Aunt Bea was probably still in charge? Meg would have to call the church office and find out. She had less than three weeks if it was still possible at all. Something to do, and being part of her community, was just what she needed.
Meg hurried into the hall and reached for the rope attached to the attic hatch.
What sort of craft could she think up for little kids to do this year to make holiday gifts for their parents? There were always the tree ornaments with the children’s photos inserted. She’d done those every year, first with an ancient Polaroid and more recently by hauling her digital camera and a printer to her Elf’s Workshop.
No adults were allowed except the helpers, in order that the gifts would be a surprise for the moms and dads. Meg would have to think fast and be creative to come up with a new idea for the kids. Tree ornaments were all well and good, but by now, hardly a surprise to anyone.
She yanked the hatch down and stood back to let the ladder unfold. Then she climbed the dusty steps into the dim attic interior. Where were those totes?
Hadn’t she left them parked next to the chimney? Apparently not. A neat line of clear plastic bins stood on the far side of the chimney, but those, she knew, held outgrown clothes or stuff that was out of season. The boys would need their winter jackets soon, if nothing else.
Meg hauled the bin with winter outerwear to the top of the steps and then wrestled them through the opening and down to the hall below. She sorted it right there in the hallway, dumping hats, mittens, scarves, and jackets in a heap. When she’d finished, she shoved the nearly empty bin back up the ladder and into the attic.
Then she went in search of a flashlight to take a more thorough look around the attic for the missing craft totes. They were bright teal blue, bought on sale just for the storage of her Elf’s Workshop gear. They couldn’t be that hard to find. Half an hour later, she stood in the middle of the attic, her hands on her hips, her hair straggling into her face, and her teeth gritted in frustration.
Where were those totes?
“YOU DID WHAT?” Anger exploded in Meg’s head.
“I didn’t think you’d mind.” Ben ran his fingers through his blond hair, leaving it standing on end. His brows bunched together in puzzlement. “You weren’t here, and she said she wanted to make sure there would still be an Elf’s Workshop.”
“That was my thing.” Meg bit down on her lips to keep from screaming. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Except she could believe it, and she didn’t want to. Anne “The Snake” Royko had taken over Meg’s pet project! And there had to be some ulterior motive. The Snake never did anything that didn’t benefit herself. Ever!
Long before Meg even knew Ben, back when he was still a jock in high school, he’d dated Anne Royko. The only reason Meg knew that was because her big brother CJ was one of Ben’s friends. Anne had gloried in being seen on the arm of the school hero, but shortly after Ben had been injured and sidelined for the remainder of his senior year, she’d transferred her devotion to the son of a wealthy banker in downtown Wilmington. A rich little “daddy’s boy” with entrée into the country club and elite circles Ben could never aspire to.
The moment my back is turned that Snake comes sucking up to my husband with the outrageous excuse that she’s concerned about my project! Hah! I don’t believe it for a minute.
The fury in her brain probably had sm
oke coming out her ears. Meg took a deep breath and dragged her anger into submission.
“So where are the boxes now?”
Ben shrugged one shoulder, his face plainly showing his discomfort and confusion.
“She didn’t bother to return them?” Meg clung to her temper by a thread.
Ben shrugged again and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“And you didn’t ask?”
Ben frowned and looked beaten. “I didn’t want to ask. I didn’t want to give her another excuse to come by the house.”
Meg opened her mouth to ask why, but then shut it again. She’d been right! The Snake had wanted something else. She’d wanted Ben.
Anne Royko’s brief marriage to an up-and-coming news anchor had left her a wealthy widow with no need to tie herself down to any one man. She was rich, beautiful, and sexy—a flirt with a reputation for casual affairs, and it didn’t seem to matter to her that some of her conquests were married.
“Why not?” Meg couldn’t help herself. Her own dark night of temptation lurked uncomfortably in the back of her mind, but guilt over one moment of temptation in Iraq didn’t measure up to infidelity here at home. In her house! Why had Ben not wanted the woman here? Had something happened he was ashamed of and didn’t want to repeat? Or was he afraid he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of an all-out assault on his virtue?
“She came on to me,” Ben admitted, his voice tight with something that could have been either guilt or distaste.
“And—?”
“And nothing. I just didn’t want her here.” Ben yanked his hands out of his pockets and gestured vaguely, taking in the room, or perhaps the whole house. “This is our home, Meg. I didn’t want her in it when you weren’t here.”
Ben had never lied to her before, and he’d been faithful to her for years. Long before she even had a right to expect his fidelity. Through all her absences and commitment to the Marines. Why had the thought even popped into her mind? Was she projecting her own guilt onto him?
