by Jenna Mindel
“Yeah. You, too.” Zach’s younger brother was a professional sport fisherman, but he’d recently lost his biggest sponsor.
Cam snorted with contempt. “Not exactly my choice.”
Zach knew how that felt. “Sorry, man.”
Cam sighed. “Yeah. Me, too.”
“G’night. And turn off that light.”
Cam nodded and clicked the switch.
Zach shut off the TV and lay there watching the fire. Flames danced, casting shadows against the walls and onto the ceiling. The soothing sounds of snapping wood and the hiss and crackle of the fire finally lulled him into sleep...
He saw the flash in front, followed by an explosion that thundered through him, rattling the ground with a slam of pressure that stunned, and then a shower of dirt and rocks hit the hood. Rapid gunfire peppered metal, but it sounded muffled as if he wore earplugs.
He shook his head, trying to clear it.
Something ripped through the windshield of their vehicle. He felt it burn his arm, white hot and sharp, before he grabbed the wheel. The Humvee careened and he jerked away from the ball of flames that had been the lead truck and slammed into a ditch. Yelling orders to take cover and return fire, he wiped blood and bits of tissue from his eyes. The smell of burning fuel gagged him.
He opened the door and grabbed his sergeant, who’d been driving, but the guy slumped. Gone! Half of him gone.
“Zach!”
He jerked awake. Blinked a few times and stared at the pretty face in front of him. Soft red waves framed that face. And she held a baby.
“What?”
Ginger looked worried. No, she looked scared. Really scared. “Can you help me?”
He blinked again and sat up. “What?”
“Meet me in the kitchen.” Then she quickly turned and dashed away.
Zach ran a hand through his hair. Had he been dreaming? Memories or nightmares, he couldn’t always tell between the two. The smell of smoke was real, though. He inhaled the softer scent of wood smoke from smoldering embers. It wasn’t the acrid black stuff from IEDs that burned like no other.
He shook his head to clear it. Sounds came from the kitchen, so he slipped off the couch and followed the noise. In the kitchen, Ginger was there. Her red hair looked gorgeously messy. A fussy baby was cradled awkwardly in her arms. “What are you doing?”
She wouldn’t look him in the eyes, but she held the kid out. “Can you take him while I make a bottle?”
Zach looked at the boy but didn’t reach for him. “Why are you doing this?”
“So Annie can get some sleep. He’s still hungry and— Can you take him?”
He reached for the whiny little chunk before he cried outright and woke the entire house. “This kid’s a load.”
Ginger let loose a soft chuckle, but her movements seemed tense. “No, he’s not.” She stopped moving and openly stared at him. “Hey, you’re not bad at that.”
“What?” He rocked the little guy, who quieted down some.
“Holding babies.” She gave him a once-over, but her eyes caught on the puckered mass of scar tissue on his left upper arm and stayed there. Finally, she asked, “Where’d you learn how?”
Zach shrugged. “Growing up, I had plenty of practice.”
“That’s right. You’re the oldest of ten.” Her voice sounded forced and way too cheerful—even for her.
“Six brothers and three sisters.”
Ginger cocked her pretty head, but she seemed shaken. Nervous even. Baby or him? “Maybe you should be the one doing this then.”
He gave her a nod. “Bring that bottle by the fire where it’s warm.”
“Be there in a sec.” When she finally came into the family room, she handed him the bottle and looked more composed. “Want me to throw on another log?”
He settled into a rocking chair near the hearth and reached for the bottle. “Sure.”
The baby latched on and slurped.
And Zach watched Ginger feed the flames. Her toenails were painted bright blue. Dressed in his mom’s baggy flannel pj’s with her face scrubbed clean, it didn’t matter that she was old enough, she still looked too young.
Fresh-faced and innocent and probably sheltered, too. Yet she hadn’t asked about his dream. Did she know? She had to.
Ginger sat at the end of the couch where he’d slept and tucked her bare feet under his blankets. “I’m surprised you don’t have a family of your own.”
An interesting way of asking why he wasn’t married, or finding out if he’d ever been. “Never got around to it, I guess.”
“How come?”
He gave her the truth. “I saw too many guys torn up over leaving their wives and kids. Having to shut down to do the job. I didn’t want that juggle. And I didn’t find anyone worth juggling.” He checked the baby’s progress. The bottle was nearly empty. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“No boyfriends?”
She looked away. “Uh, no.”
“How come?” He repeated her words.
She shrugged. “They’re a hassle.”
The baby sucked air.
“You better burp him.” Ginger got up. “I’ll get a towel.”
Zach shifted the baby against his shoulder and gently patted until the deed was done along with a warm trail of spit-up.
“Whoops, too late.” Ginger had returned brandishing a dampened dish towel. “Sit forward and I’ll get it.”
He settled the baby against his other arm, while she wiped off his shoulder.
Her fingers brushed his bare skin near the scar and she froze. “When did you get this?”
That raw whisper made him look into her wide brown eyes. “Three years ago.”
She looked horrified, but pointed toward the knight tattoo on his other arm with the word ARMY across the shield. The one he’d taken heat for. “And that?”
“After I’d enlisted.” As an enlisted man, getting tattooed with a crusading knight was unconscionable. Didn’t matter that it was one fierce-looking armored dude, his tattoo resembled the West Point mascot too much and his company name not at all.
“What made you choose that one?” Even she knew enough to question it.
Zach shrugged. He’d been young and green and liked the idea of a knight on a noble quest. He’d been itching for a fight in those days, ready to conquer the world for good. But the reality of combat often twisted up good reasons until motives were a blank page of just following orders. “My dad went to West Point, so I grew up watching Army football. They’re the Black Knights.”
“Here, I better take him back.” She gave him the towel and leaned down for the baby.
Her hair tickled his shoulder and he inhaled quick and sharp. She smelled nice. Really nice. Like flowers and rain. He caught her wide eyes. Did she feel it, this hum of awareness between them? Like a couple of magnets lined up but drawn to move together and stick if they got close enough. Like now.
Ginger quickly stood. She held the baby’s dark head close to hers like a shield, but then he saw her kiss the little guy’s forehead. “Well, good night. And thanks for helping.”
Zach nodded. “No problem.”
She’d helped him, too, waking him before the worst of it. And she hadn’t asked. He’d seen that look of fear in her eyes. She knew, but hadn’t asked. He was grateful for that. He didn’t want her to know the details. He couldn’t expect her to understand how one wrong move had changed the lives of so many. His fault. He’d given the orders.
He didn’t want to tell her. Not ever. He just wanted to forget.
* * *
Ginger woke with a start and sat up. Looking around, she noticed that Annie and the baby were gone, but their overnight bag remained. They were most likely downsta
irs, maybe even getting another bottle ready. Annie had been smart coming prepared to stay over. But then, with a baby, a mom had to be ready for anything.
An image of Zach thrashing on the couch flashed through her mind. The guy had nightmares and a gruesome scar to go with them. Three years ago, he’d said. What had happened that he dreamed of it still? Maybe it was best if she didn’t know. If she didn’t ask, she wouldn’t be faced with what he’d had to do.
Tempted to remain under the warm covers, Ginger got up instead. She headed for the bathroom armed with a new toothbrush Helen said she kept by the dozens, just in case. Once in the hall, the sounds of conversation floated along with the smell of freshly made coffee and bacon. People were definitely up.
She tamped down the swishing unease in her stomach. It might be a long ride back to town with Zach this morning if she didn’t face him and ask. But questions about his nightmare scratched like sandpaper. Rough and gritty. Did she even want to know the answers?
It explained so much. His contempt for her welcome-home parade and the discomfort he had when talking about his deployments. Whatever ate at the man’s peace hadn’t been dealt with. And Ginger knew all too well how old wounds festered into something rotten.
After she dressed and made it downstairs, Zach was the first person she made eye contact with as he leaned against the counter sipping coffee. He was dressed in yesterday’s clothes, and his short hair looked as if he’d run his hands through it over and over. His bright blue eyes were sleepy. An image of his broad shoulders in an undershirt sneaked its way into her mind, too, unsettling her further.
He raised his mug toward her. “Roads haven’t been plowed yet. Can’t make it to your church.”
Ginger nodded and peered out the windows. The wind had stopped blowing and even the sun shone brightly, but deep snowdrifts were everywhere. The family room’s sliding glass door was half covered by white.
“Ginger.” Helen touched her shoulder. “There’s a pot of plain tea on the table with cream and sugar. Mugs are on the counter.”
“Thank you. Is there anything I can help you with?” She scanned the table where Annie sat rocking John to sleep.
“Oh, no, everything’s made and staying warm in the oven. Andy’s plowing the driveway with a couple of the boys moving cars, but they’ll be done soon. We’ll eat after they come in.”
Ginger glanced at Zach. How long would they be stuck here?
He moved toward her, empty mug in hand, and pulled out a chair for her at the table, near the teapot and Annie. “Might be a while.”
Ginger took the offered mug and sat down. The table had fifteen place settings complete with juice glasses. She’d never seen so many matched plates before. Not in real life.
“Thanks again for feeding him last night,” Annie said.
Ginger pointed. “He did.”
Zach nodded.
“Thank you. I’m sorry he interrupted your sleep.” Annie smiled.
“No problem.” Zach sipped his coffee.
And Helen looked concerned but didn’t say a word.
Annie saw that, too, and gave Ginger a want-details look.
She might be her best bud, but Ginger wasn’t about to spill on Zach’s nightmare. She didn’t think he’d want that information out there. Pretending she didn’t know might not be good, either, even though she wanted to feign ignorance.
Ignoring Zach’s issues smacked way too much of her mother. Ginger wasn’t about to bury her head in the proverbial sand, not if she might be of help. If Zach was open to help. In the meantime, she’d pray for him. He clearly needed it.
Male voices from the foyer announced that the driveway was clear.
“How’s the road look?” Zach asked.
“Not yet plowed. We saw high drifts from the open field.” Andy Zelinsky’s cheeks were red. “No one’s leaving yet.”
Zach looked grim and sat next to her.
Monica had joined them at the table along with Zach’s baby sister, Erin, and his brothers Cam, Matthew, Marcus and Benjamin. A couple of cousins, whose names Ginger couldn’t remember, took their places, too. Darren hadn’t stayed over. He had dogs to take care of and had braved the snowstorm. But Ginger had overheard that he’d made it home, after he’d called Helen.
Zach’s mom carried covered pans to the table and then sat down, as well. “Let’s pray.”
Andy Zelinsky bowed his head and led his family in a prayer they recited in unison.
“Bless us, oh Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from Thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord. Amen.”
“Amen,” Ginger whispered.
The pan covers were taken off to reveal heaps of bacon and steaming pancakes. And then there was a mad dash to fill plates while everyone chattered and passed butter and syrup and juice.
Ginger watched the action with awe. This was like something from an old TV show. Laughter and teasing and warmth. A family this big and there’d been no yelling, no cursing or even slamming food on the table. No drama.
Matthew dished up a couple of pancakes for Annie and then traded it for the sleeping baby. Like a pro, he tucked John into his car seat and draped a blanket over his legs.
“Pancakes and bacon?” Zach held a plate in front of her.
“Thanks.” She reached for it and her fingers brushed his. She glanced up. They shared a secret. One she really didn’t want to know.
He stared back. “You look a little out of your element.”
She looked away and slathered butter on her cakes, then doused them in warm syrup. “Totally.”
“That’s a nice change.”
“Uh, why?” She leaned forward to bite into a forkful of dripping pancake.
“You can organize a whole town, but a simple family breakfast stops you cold.”
“Amazed, I guess,” she mumbled while syrup dribbled down her chin. “And there’s nothing simple about it. These are awesome.”
“My mom’s a great cook.” He narrowed his gaze. “But they’re just pancakes. Surely you make pancakes.”
Ginger looked away. A couple of frozen waffles popped in the toaster were her Sunday morning treat or sometimes those cinnamon rolls from a tube. “Not like these.”
Zach polished off his short stack in no time. He got up to refill his coffee and asked if anyone wanted more, as well. Watching him walk around the table, pot in hand, refilling mugs made her heart prick with envy.
Zach had a great family. A family that cared and was supportive. Loving.
Scanning the table, Ginger wondered how different her life might have been with a family like this one. There were no guarantees in life, but how one tackled problems was the proving ground for faith. God had helped her overcome her past, but that didn’t mean she’d trust a man to provide a safe future.
Zach was the sort of man who invited trust with his long army career and budding new business. The gentle way he’d held little John proved he was a good man. But Ginger knew better than to allow the attraction she felt toward him to go any further. Dark resentments had twisted her father into a man who’d broken her heart over and over.
Ginger wasn’t about to offer up her heart for Zach to do the same thing. He was a man with potentially serious issues of his own. Resentments and trauma might as well be interchangeable as far as she was concerned. The end result would always be the same. One way or another, Ginger was bound to get hurt.
Chapter Five
“Snowshoeing? I’ve never done it before, but I’m game to try.” Ginger looked as eager to get out of the house as him.
“The sun is shining and there’s no more wind. A perfect day.”
Waiting for the secondary roads, such as the one his parents lived on, to be plowed was making Zach stir-crazy. He couldn’t sit around any longer. A br
isk walk with snowshoes would hopefully clear his mind of the list of things he’d hoped to get done today. The fact that a couple of his brothers and sisters were going as well made it okay to ask Ginger.
Ginger scrunched her nose. “Is it hard to do?”
“No.”
“What about gear?”
His patience was definitely wearing thin. “We have everything. Come on.”
She exchanged a look with Annie. That silent communication girlfriends were famous for. What they’d said with one look, Zach could only guess.
Ginger finally stood. “Okay, okay.”
It didn’t take long to slip into jackets, hats, mittens and boots. Ginger happened to be the same shoe size as his mom, so that made things easy. Those leather knee-high things she’d worn out here were useless.
“Ready?”
Ginger pulled a knit hat over her head. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He held the door for her. Once outside, he sat on the edge of the porch and showed Ginger how to get in and out of the snowshoe bindings. It was no surprise that his siblings hadn’t waited for them. They were halfway across the backyard.
He stood and offered her his hand. “Now just walk.”
She took a step and then another with no problems.
“See? Easy.”
She laughed. “So far, but we haven’t made it out of the yard.” Once they got into deeper snow, Ginger tried to turn and teetered.
He reached for her hand. “I got you.”
“Thanks. Backing up isn’t so easy.”
He chuckled. “Forward movement works best.”
“With most things.”
“True.” He couldn’t agree more, but sometimes the past had a way of moving forward, too, clinging like an ocean barnacle.
Many things Ginger said, or didn’t say, nagged him. Her admission last night about no boyfriends was one of them. Why would a pretty girl like her have no boyfriends? And maybe more important, not want one?
They were in the open field now, their footfalls a rhythmic swooshing sound as they headed toward the woods. He pointed at the trunks marked with blue paint. “Those are the trees my dad will tap for syrup.”
