He shot up a prayer for calmness.
“Tell us what became of them,” Gina asked, seemingly unaffected by their closeness.
Miss Minnie shook her head, looking sad. “Like many women of those times, she died in childbirth. But Abraham and his parents raised her son, Ishmael, as their own and gave him their last name.”
Mr. Love whistled. “Even despite his mixed race.”
“They were staunch abolitionists and strong Christians. They believed all people were equal.”
“Wow.” Buck tore his attention from the woman beside him to focus on the story. “There are people nowadays who could learn a lesson from your ancestors.”
“They very nearly made a full-time job of assisting fugitives to freedom. It’s said that eight hundred people came through the Falcon home.” Miss Minnie smiled proudly.
“That’s amazing!” Gina was practically rubbing her hands together. “We have got to tell this story.”
“Miss Minnie should be the judge of that,” said Mr. Love. “She may not want it known that she has some mixed blood.”
She inclined her head at him. “My father was one of Ishmael’s five sons, the youngest, and he inherited the house. And while he didn’t advertise his ancestry, he didn’t hide it within the family, nor in Rescue River. He always encouraged me to be proud of my great-grandmother, and I am.”
“And you should be.” Gina gripped the older woman’s hands. “But what do you think about making it public? There’s no pressure to do that.”
“It’s not widely known,” Miss Minnie admitted. “In fact...” She trailed off and looked at the floor as if lost in thought.
“Are you okay, Miss Minnie?”
“I’ve never married,” the older woman said. “But I was engaged. When my fiancé discovered my background, he broke off the engagement.”
“For racial reasons?” Gina asked. “That’s awful.”
She nodded. “I’d left this area, gone away to school. People in other places weren’t as open as those in Rescue River.”
Mr. Love shook his head. “My, my. I always wondered why a fine-looking woman like you didn’t have a husband. You had plenty of suitors as a schoolgirl.”
Miss Minnie chuckled. “I did make a few conquests, didn’t I?”
“Hearts were broken, right and left.”
Buck didn’t ask, but he wondered whether Mr. Love’s heart had been one of those broken, or at least bruised, by a younger Miss Minnie.
“And so you stayed single,” Gina said.
“Don’t feel sorry for me, young lady. I’ve had a wonderful life in this town. And it may be that I don’t have the temperament for marriage. I always did have strong opinions of my own, and when I was young, not many men could tolerate having a wife on an equal plane.”
“Not many men in your circle had any sense,” Mr. Love said. “Why, I would have...” He shook his head. “But times were different then.”
“Yes, they were.”
As the two elders began sharing stories of people they’d both known in years past, Buck glanced at Gina to find her watching them, her face a study in care and concern. As if in common accord, they moved to the trunk and started sorting through the items now brought to life by the story they told.
Ribbons and photographs and letters. “Where do we begin to sort these out?” he asked quietly.
“We start small,” she said. “I think we should find just enough to make a display for the Freedom Festival. And if Miss Minnie is feeling up to it, maybe we could ask her to come talk to visitors.”
“Mr. Love as well,” Buck suggested. “He’s done presentations for the festival before.” He looked up to ask Mr. Love about it, but he was talking intently to Miss Minnie, their heads close together.
He turned back to Gina and found her lifting an eyebrow at him. “Senior romance?” she whispered.
“Love is beautiful at any age,” he said, and Mr. Love’s example gave him courage to reach out and touch Gina’s shoulder, gaze into her eyes. “We may have barriers, Gina, but it’s nothing like people faced in times past.”
She looked from the old diary in her hand to him and then back again, color rising to her face.
He touched her chin. “No pressure,” he said, “but maybe, when things settle down, you’ll give this a little thought.”
She looked at him, her eyes darkening. “Give what a little thought?” she almost whispered.
He let his hand caress her soft cheek and tangle in her hair. “Us,” he said. “Give us some thought.”
* * *
That night, Buck was going into the Star Market just as Dion was coming out.
“Any news about the mysterious buried treasure?” Dion asked, grinning.
Buck filled him in on the conversation they’d had with Mr. Love and Miss Minnie.
Dion whistled. “I had no idea. Definitely need to record them telling their stories, and sooner rather than later. Did she know anything about the ring you were hunting for?”
“You know, in the midst of all the storytelling, we completely forgot to ask.”
“Makes sense.”
Buck was about to turn away when he thought to ask Dion about Gina’s California in-laws. “Hey, any news about Gina’s situation?” He knew Dion had been monitoring the police airwaves and had also contacted colleagues in California to keep updated.
Dion lifted his hands, palms up. “It’s strange,” he said. “According to my friend in California, there was a ton of inquiry and investigation for the past couple of weeks. But yesterday, it stopped.”
“Stopped?” Buck tilted his head to one side. “What do you make of that?”
Dion shrugged. “Maybe they’ve given up.”
“Maybe,” Buck said.
“Or maybe... I don’t know. Let’s keep our eyes open.”
“Will do,” Buck said, an uneasy prickle crawling up his neck.
* * *
Two days later, Gina finished the dishes, strolled toward the sitting room and looked in. Buck was there, leaning back in a big chair with Bobby on his lap, turning the pages of a board book. In front of the fireplace, Crater and Spike nestled on a folded blanket, and Mr. and Mrs. Whiskers curled up together on the back of the couch. Pretty lamps stood on end tables, and paintings of local landscapes graced the walls. They’d all worked late last night, dragging furniture out of storage, to get several of the rooms finished.
She stopped in the doorway to survey the scene, her heart swelling with happiness.
Her son was thriving here, that was the main thing. He got all the attention he needed, and even though he had a case of the sniffles, Buck was cuddling him close. He treated the boy like kin.
She took pride in the beautiful room. The walls were a light chocolate shade, set off by white moldings, and this afternoon they’d put up the ornate chandelier she’d found in a local antiques shop. Heavy gold draperies added weight and warmth, and the chesterfield sofa and wing-back chairs gave the room the look of an old library.
At that moment, Buck looked up and saw her, and the light in his eyes sent warmth all the way to her toes. Maybe they had a chance after all.
“Ready?” he asked. They were planning to do the finish work on the final room tonight, in preparation for the start of the festival tomorrow.
“I’m ready. But you two look comfortable.”
“We are. He’s a little stuffy.” Buck studied Bobby and brushed his wispy hair off his forehead. “Almost asleep. Can he stay down here with us?”
Touched by the big veteran’s care for her son, she scanned the room. “We’ll be right next door. He can rest in here.” She folded a couple of blankets, put them on the floor and set up the baby monitor.
They worked in the connected room as the sun slante
d low and golden, making hazy squares on the polished wooden floor. Gina painted baseboards with glossy white enamel while Buck put a door back on its hinges.
Buck set his phone to play quiet contemporary music. They chatted a little as they worked.
Gina’s heart was full to breaking. After tomorrow, this interlude of renovation would be done. Lacey could find someone else to do the work, or she and Buck could do it themselves at a more leisurely pace.
And whether Gina stayed in Rescue River or moved on, her time of working closely with Buck would likely come to an end.
She didn’t want it to; she wanted to go on working with this man. Her attachment to him was growing daily, and her fears about his past were lessening. She was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, she’d fallen for a winner this time.
But he wouldn’t be around. He had a plan and knew what he needed. And that was, apparently, to leave Rescue River.
She finished her painting and tapped the lid back on the can, then stood to survey the room.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he said, coming up behind her.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “This has been fun, renovating the place,” she said, surveying the room. “I’ll miss it.”
“You’re talking like it’s over.”
“You know what Lacey said. Only until the festival—no more.”
“Okay,” he said, “but you’ll stay in Rescue River. Right?”
“I don’t know. I’d like to stay, hire out as a historical renovation consultant or open a shop for interior decorating, but I’m not sure it would be wise to take that on.” She sighed. “It’s a lot of responsibility, being a single parent, you know?”
She felt him nod behind her. And then he put his arms around her and pulled her back against him. “Whatever happens,” he said, “I hope you know you’ve got a friend.”
But, oh, she wanted more. “Is that what we are? Friends?”
“What do you think?” he asked, his breath warm against her ear.
The feel of his arms enfolding her, warming her, circling her, set her heart pounding. She felt him nuzzle her hair. The music swelled and the light was dying and the poignant contentment made her close her eyes. “I think I could stay like this forever,” she whispered.
His arms tightened, and for a moment, they just breathed together, their whole bodies in sync.
Suddenly, the dogs went crazy, Spike’s hysterical yip combining with Crater’s deep growl.
And then, before she could step away from Buck to investigate, she heard a sound and saw a sight she’d hoped never to experience again: her former mother-in-law, holding Bobby, standing in the connecting doorway. “How nice,” Lorna said. “You’re cozying up to a derelict while our grandson rolls around on the floor with the dogs.”
Chapter Twelve
Buck took in the situation instantly.
“Art! Lorna!” Gina’s voice was a breathy gasp. Based on her stricken expression and the well-coiffed older couple’s words, these had to be Gina’s husband’s parents.
The sight of that fist-size bruise that had marred Bobby’s leg when he first arrived came back to Buck. Bobby’s grandparents. His abusive grandparents.
Two long steps put him directly in front of them. “Bobby needs to go to his mother. Now.”
He reached for the baby.
The older woman turned away. “Step back, young man,” she said, her voice scornful, but also a little scared. “Don’t you dare touch me or this baby.”
“I don’t want to touch you,” he said, “but if you don’t give Bobby back to his mother right now, I will.”
He’d commanded men to do things they’d never have risked on their own. He’d frightened macho Afghan militants into backing down. Dead drunk, he’d glared down punks with guns in the seediest parts of Cleveland.
Never had his powers of intimidation felt so important.
Gina seemed to draw from his strength; she came and stood beside him and held out her arms.
The older woman looked sulky, but then some kind of nonverbal signal passed between her and her husband.
She handed the baby to Gina.
Gina seized Bobby, pulled him close against her shoulder and stepped back. Her face was white. “How did you find us? What are you doing here?” She ran her hands over Bobby’s arms and legs as if she was worried that they’d already hurt him.
The man, Art, stepped between Buck and his wife and turned his back, effectively excluding Buck from the conversation. He was probably six feet tall, his sports jacket stretched across his shoulders, his khaki-clad legs planted wide. He crossed meaty arms over his chest and glared at Gina. “Did you think we couldn’t find you, with our connections?”
She swallowed visibly and clutched Bobby closer. “You don’t have connections in Ohio,” she said in a hoarse voice.
The woman cackled. “We know people everywhere. We aren’t like you, a nobody from nowhere.”
Buck mentally scanned through everyone he knew in Rescue River, wondering who would run in these folks’ elevated social circles. Sam Hinton, maybe? But Sam would swallow glass before he’d betray a woman and child in need.
“Our friends Bernice and Jerry Walker just happened to see their son’s post about a new guesthouse on social media,” the woman said. “They thought the woman and baby looked familiar. They got in touch with us, and we spoke with their son.”
Gina gasped. “Danny Walker. And those publicity pictures Amy was taking that one day. I never even thought—”
“After he met with Gina and assessed the situation for us, he was concerned,” Art interrupted. “He saw you getting involved with someone you shouldn’t. Said that you and Bobby were practically homeless.”
Betrayal was written all over Gina’s face.
“And I must say,” Lorna added, looking around the room, “he was right to be concerned. You’re working as a common laborer.”
“Place is dirty.” Art brushed imaginary dust off his sleeve.
“And our grandson, lying on the floor unsupervised, with a couple of dirty, dangerous dogs. He could have been bitten.”
“Or hurt on these nails and wood.” The burly man nudged at a small pile of scraps with his toe.
“Art. Lorna. Come on. There’s a baby monitor, and the dogs are perfectly safe,” Gina said. But her voice sounded insecure.
Buck felt a quake of doubt, too. He was the one who’d suggested that Bobby stay downstairs with them.
But he’d trust Crater with any child, and Spike wouldn’t hurt a flea.
Whereas these folks had already hurt Bobby. “You’re trespassing in my sister’s house,” he said. “Get out.”
“Door was unlocked,” the man, Art, said. “Anyone could have walked in. You might want to think about that.”
“It’s a safe town,” Gina said. “Or was, until the two of you came in.”
Dion. Buck needed to call Dion.
He got out his phone and scrolled through his contacts, tapped Dion’s name. “You need to get over to the guesthouse,” he said the moment Dion answered, not trying to hide his words from either Gina or Bobby’s grandparents. “The people who abused him before are here. Gina needs help.”
“Be right there,” Dion said.
Lorna’s penciled-on eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline. “We’re the danger? Us?”
The man pointed at Buck, thumb and forefinger out like a gun. “We know all about you, son. If anyone’s a danger to Bobby, it’s you.”
“We talked to the nice people next door, in the Senior Towers,” Lorna said, hands on hips. “They told us about your reputation. Drunk all over town, breaking places up, getting yourself arrested. Why, the very idea of our grandson anywhere near you has us terrified.”
“A
nd not that she’s treated us well,” Art said, “but we’d hate to see Gina take up with the likes of you.”
“Do you even have a job, aside from day work?”
“We heard you’re in AA but that you were also seen at a bar recently.”
“Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic.”
Gina was looking at him, her eyes stricken. “You were at a bar recently?”
“Not to drink,” he tried to explain. “Not to drink.”
But the words, true as they were, sounded false in his own ears. Like the excuses he used to make to Lacey. Like the lies every alcoholic knew exactly how to tell.
“You’re a danger to both Gina and Bobby,” Lorna declared. “We’ll certainly take steps to keep you away from our grandson. And, Gina, what on earth were you thinking, leaving safety and comfort in California for this?” She swung a scornful arm around. “For him?”
The words went on, spoken by all three, an argument the older couple was clearly winning. It all started to blur together in Buck’s head as he backed slowly out of the room and toward the guesthouse’s front door.
What had he been thinking, getting so close to a nice woman and her innocent baby? Thinking he could have a normal relationship with them, be good for them, even?
He’d been the downfall of Ivana and Mia, and he was headed toward being the downfall of Gina and Bobby.
He opened the door and stepped onto the front porch. He had to get out of here. Had to make Gina and Bobby safe by leaving. But he couldn’t go until she had another protector.
“If you think you’ll be able to keep custody after this, you’re wrong,” he heard Art say through the screen door.
“When we go back to California, we’re taking Bobby with us,” Lorna added.
A police car squealed to a halt in front of the house, and Dion was out of it and up the porch stairs in seconds. When he saw Buck, he stopped. “Fill me in.”
“The grandparents from California. Making threats, scaring Gina and Bobby.” As if to back up his words, a loud wail came from inside the house.
The Soldier and the Single Mom Page 15
