by Geri Krotow
Emily stopped, too, and took in the smokers. “They haven’t seen us yet. Let’s keep moving, quickly.” Serena didn’t answer, but she and Emily upped their pace and made a beeline for the other path, where they’d passed groups of hikers.
“We’re okay, Serena. It’s just some teens out for the day.”
They got back to the main path before Serena spoke.
“It’s just scary.” Serena shook with what she had to assume was residual fear after the intruder’s visit to the barn.
“I know, hon. That’s why we walked together and not by ourselves!” Emily smiled and patted her shoulder.
“Em, if Jonas hadn’t shown up when he did...”
“You would’ve made it to the house before the loser even got up, and the police would have taken him in.”
“Pepé could have been hurt.”
“He wasn’t. You made sure of that. But he could be hurt getting on the school bus, or playing soccer on City Beach. Life’s a risk, Serena.”
“I know that. Of course I know that—I’m a damned lawyer. But living alone in the middle of nowhere, it’s...different. Riskier.”
Emily waved her hand at Serena in a gesture of calm.
“You’re doing fine, Serena. You’ll get more and more used to being out there, and you’ll settle in. The alpacas made it through the night fine—now you know you don’t have to run out to see them whenever it gets cold.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Whidbey Island
Late October 1945
SARAH HEARD THE dogs barking and she looked out the living room window. Missy and Busy, the two farm dogs of indiscriminate lineage, ran behind Murphy, her fearless shepherd. Anxiety mingled with anticipation, her constant companion since Henry had gone missing. The emotion rose like a winter tide in her throat, threatening to suffocate her.
At least Dottie was at school, not here. She wouldn’t have the scene of being told her father had died a war hero burned into her mind, forcing out all the good memories Sarah had tried to keep alive for her over the past four years.
Tears hovered in her eyes but she blinked them back.
Be strong.
That was her prayer whenever the war had pushed her spirits down.
Her gaze homed in on the interloper. A lone man walked up the dusty drive. They hadn’t had rain in weeks and the smell of pine, cedar and dust marked the end of fall. An early winter was around every bend.
The man grew larger as his steady steps brought him closer. Oddly, the dogs followed him as if in unquestioning obedience to this stranger.
She’d heard of other sailors and soldiers returning, how their families didn’t recognize them after the years apart.
Her brain knew it could be Henry; he could have survived. But this man wasn’t him; her heart knew it as surely as she’d recognized Dottie as her own when the nurse had handed the baby girl to her nine years ago. This man was shorter and broader than Henry, his gait different. And his hair—nothing like Henry’s blond crew cut.
She should be afraid in that way you were when you feared a thief, or worse, a rapist. But the dogs were her barometer. She saw no weapons in the man’s hands. He wore a plain brown leather jacket over basic work pants and a collared shirt. The cold must be blowing right through him but his stride never faltered; he never paused to look around. This was a man on a mission.
She walked out to the porch, her long itchy cardigan wrapped tightly around her. It had been the one luxury she’d knitted herself since Henry left for the war. Her mother had spun the wool for her, from Sarah’s two sheep. The kitchen paring knife was in its front pocket, just in case. A woman living alone with her child learned to take precautions.
He looked up once he reached the bottom step. His sharp brown eyes seemed honest, and she knew from somewhere deep inside that she could trust this man.
But he wasn’t Henry.
“Mrs. Forsyth?”
“Yes. It’s the news about Henry, isn’t it? He’s...he’s...”
She couldn’t say the words. The inevitable statement that would end her torment and start her nightmare. He’d been missing for over four years!
“He’s alive, Mrs. Forsyth. I came here to tell you that. I didn’t wear my Navy uniform, because I didn’t want to give you a fright. I didn’t want you to think I was bringing a telegram.”
Sarah sank to her knees.
“Thank God. Oh, thank God!” She allowed the tears to fall, allowed a complete stranger to witness her like this. What difference did it make anymore?
“Here, ma’am, let me help you.” He offered his assistance in the form of two large, capable hands that hoisted her up and then let her sink down onto the steps.
“How do you know Henry?” She didn’t look up from her own hands, not yet.
“He was on my ship. Well, not my ship. I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself.”
She peered up at him. His face was handsome and kind, his expression earnest. As far as Sarah was concerned it was the face of an angel. He’d brought her good tidings of Henry, after all.
“I’m Petty Officer Charles Dempsey. Waterman First Class, off LST-19. Our ship pulled into Japan to rescue the G.I.s from the prison camps.”
“He was captured in Thailand, in 1942.” She whispered the only fact she had, what she’d clung to through almost four years of waiting.
“Yes, he told me that. Henry and I got to be pretty good buddies, crossing the ocean to the Marianas. He was taken to the base hospital there. The Japanese moved him from POW camp to POW camp. He was hopscotched up to Japan, via the Philippines. He’s been in Japan the past eighteen months.”
“Is he here with you?” She looked past him, willing to see a vehicle with a familiar figure in the passenger seat. She knew the answer before she asked. But the heart hopes.
“No, no, he had to stay at the base hospital until he’s strong enough to travel. I think they’ll bring him to Hawaii first, then back here. He could even be in Hawaii by now—it’s been a few weeks since I got off the ship in Pearl Harbor.”
“How is he? How did he look? Why did he send you here?”
Charles Dempsey had a deep, rich laugh. “He looked pretty bad when I first met him. He couldn’t talk much, and he needed a lot of care from the nurses and hospital corpsmen. Don’t you worry, though, because he was talking every day by the time I left. It was hard to leave him and all the other G.I.s there. They deserved to come home before I did, for sure.”
“I’m sure you’ve done your time, too, Mr. Dempsey. I mean, Petty Officer Dempsey.”
“That’s okay, ma’am, call me Charles.”
“And you must call me Sarah. Can I offer you a meal?”
“That would be very nice, yes. I’ll take you up on that. It’s been a long drive.”
“Where did you drive from?” She suspected Seattle or maybe Portland.
“San Diego.”
“California!”
His laughter rang about her. She joined in. Henry was alive!
* * *
CHARLES DEMPSEY WAS a generous man who’d traveled thousands of miles out of his way to tell her that Henry still had a chance. More than a chance—he’d made it out of the Japanese POW camps. As Charles told the story that Henry had related to him, tears rolled down her cheeks. Gratitude, sorrow and at times rage at what Henry had endured tightened around her chest. It felt as if the tears were being squeezed out of her. If she could spare Henry any of his pain she would have done it in an instant.
Charles sat with her while she wept, never trying to intrude on her grief.
“Momma, Daddy’s alive. We can cry tears of joy now, just like you said we would!” Dottie slipped off her chair and walked around the dinner table to hug Sarah.
“These are tears of joy, honey. You
r daddy’s coming home.”
“I know, Momma.” Dottie drew back and looked at Charles. “Does my daddy remember me?”
Charles smiled, and tweaked Dottie’s nose. “He sure does, honey bunch. He never stopped talking about you.”
Sarah’s tears multiplied as she watched the relief and happiness flood Dottie’s expression. No one had suffered as much as Dottie, not seeing her father for so long. Henry had missed so much.
“I need to stop crying. My husband’s coming home.”
“Momma, I’m going to go do my chores with the sheep.” Dottie was already pulling on her coat and boots. Sarah knew her daughter—Dottie was going to talk to the sheep and dogs about Henry’s return. The animals had provided Dottie with moral support throughout the war.
The door slammed shut behind her, thanks to the wind.
Sarah watched Charles as he smiled at Dottie’s departure, his expression wistful.
“What are your plans, now that the war’s over, Charles?”
“Well, I have a girl in Dubuque, and I hope I’ll get my job back as a molder with the same folks, A. Y. MacDonald Company.”
“So there’s someone special waiting for you, Charles?”
His smile grew subdued and tears formed in his eyes. It reminded Sarah that the war meant long separations for everyone, not just her and Henry.
“Lillian. I hope Lillian’s still there for me, yes.”
“I do, too.”
He cleared his throat and placed his napkin on the table. “This has been a wonderful visit, Sarah, and you make the best egg-salad sandwiches this side of the Mississippi. I won’t take any more of your time. I’m hoping to be home by midweek, so I’d best be on my way.” He stood, and she walked him to the door.
“Do you have enough gas?”
“Yes, and I’ve got several cans in the back of my truck, don’t you worry. I parked at the end of the drive—I wasn’t sure how you’d react to a strange truck rambling up to your house.”
He paused at the door. “Henry gave me something for you. Now don’t read too much into his shaky writing. He was still pretty feverish when he had me help him write this. It’s in his hand, but you’ll see where I spelled out the words when he couldn’t get his hand to write well enough.”
He reached into his jacket inside pocket and pulled out a small envelope.
“He asked me to tell you that no matter what, he loves you with all his heart. Never a day passed while he was in captivity that thoughts of you and your daughter didn’t help him through it.” Charles sounded unusually formal, as if he’d memorized Henry’s message word for word.
He placed the letter in her shaking hands and pressed his own hands around hers.
“You’re a dear woman, Sarah, and I have every hope that Henry will be back with you soon.”
He kissed her on the cheek and left.
She forgot to get his address in Iowa. Sarah prayed he’d write them. Henry would want to know how he was doing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Whidbey Island
One week before Christmas
“MOM, I WANT to put a Transformer at the top of the tree!” Pepé ran around in circles, holding a Transformer toy in each hand, the half-empty ornament boxes and leftover garland no deterrent for his enthusiasm.
“Pepé, slow down, or we’re going to have to stop decorating the tree.” She didn’t have to add that his chances for a mug of hot chocolate were dwindling, as well.
“But, Mom, it’s Christmas. Don’t be such a grinch.” Jonas’s voice rumbled low and sexy next to her as he helped reach the higher branches, hanging her icicle collection.
“You’re going to be in time-out with him if you don’t stop egging him on.”
“Look at me when you reprimand me. Bet you can’t say it to my face.”
Heat washed over her chest, her throat, her cheeks. She didn’t dare look at his eyes, not with Pepé in the room. Her willpower around Jonas was being eroded layer by layer, with each ornament he hung, each chore he did.
He’d shown up a couple hours earlier and proclaimed it was time to put their tree up. With the awful “night of the intruder” as she’d started to think of it, decorating for Christmas had taken a backseat for the past several days as she’d focused on getting Pepé to school and preparing to start work in January.
Now with Christmas only a week away, she was lucky Jonas had found the heart to help her. Otherwise, she might have put it off longer, and the extra effort a real tree took made it worth enjoying for a while before Christmas.
“Dare you.”
Distracted by her thoughts she forgot her vow and looked at him. His blue eyes sparkled with humor—and a desire that demanded expression.
“Jonas, Pepé’s right here,” she whispered. Her voice cracked, betraying how deeply he affected her.
His fingers caressed her cheek. “He’s in his own Santa dream. And he has a bedtime, doesn’t he?”
She didn’t misinterpret his question, nor did she play coy. “Yes, he does.”
His gaze sent more of that sexy heat right down to her toes, which curled in her fleece-lined slippers.
“Can we use the Transformers as the star, Mom?”
She drew in a quick breath and took a step back from the tree, from Jonas’s searing stare.
“No, Pepé. The star goes at the top. But if you want to turn some of your toys into ornaments, that’s fine. Go over to my knitting basket and find some yarn. We’ll make holders so we can hang the Transformers.”
“Great. Got it, Mom!” He darted over to the basket she’d shoved under the coffee table. Since her facial bruises were healing and she’d started to read over some case files that Paul had given her, her knitting had taken a backseat, too.
She had a good feeling that she wouldn’t be playing with yarn tonight, either.
* * *
JONAS LOVED WATCHING Serena in her role as Pepé’s mother. Pepé was a terrific kid, but he had a way of pushing the boundaries of good—and safe—behavior. Jonas had to bite his tongue a lot around the two of them. Pepé came up with the most outrageous ideas, and if not for Serena’s reining him in, the boy would’ve gotten hurt a time or two. Like when he thought tying Ronald’s leash to his Razor scooter was an excellent idea. Serena had caught Pepé just after he’d managed to tie the knot in the leather leash.
Jonas grinned at the memory of Serena’s eyes going wide, then the wild anger in them that she somehow magically channeled into a calm, firm, no-nonsense voice.
The same tone Dottie had used with him when he’d tried to build a tree house with some of the leftover wood from the back porch his dad had redone. “What’s so funny?” Her eyes leveled their challenge at him. When had every look from Serena become a beacon for his libido?
“I’m remembering when Dottie had to all but tan my hide so I wouldn’t build a tree house with planks my dad had thrown into a pile after he redid the back porch.” He laughed at Serena’s stare and Pepé’s smile.
“I always wanted a tree house. My brothers said they’d build me one, but then they got interested in girls and football. I was about ten, and my dad had taught me how to use his drill. Dottie found me out back, drilling holes in the planks, with no adult supervision. I could have lost a finger or worse.”
Guilt sucker-punched him in the gut when he saw the fascinated admiration in Pepé’s eyes.
“Hey, buddy, I was very wrong to do that. You should never, ever play with grown-up tools unless your mom or another adult is around. You know that, right?”
Pepé nodded.
“Did you hear what he said, Pepé?”
Serena shot Jonas an “are you crazy?” look. Crap, he hadn’t meant to stir up Pepé’s mischievous instincts.
And definitely not Serena’s mama-be
ar self. He was more interested in her hot-mama persona.
“Okay, why don’t you go wash your hands and get your pajamas on, mi hijo? I’ll make your hot chocolate.”
“Do you often give him chocolate before bed?”
“Are you questioning my parenting skills, Jonas?” Her hips moved in the way that tightened his jeans across his crotch.
“Um, no.”
She shot him a seductive grin. “You’re afraid I’ll change my mind, aren’t you?”
“Frankly, yes.”
She chuckled. Low, sexy, throaty. How long would it take Pepé to drink his chocolate and get to bed?
“I give him mostly milk with a touch of cocoa. I make it myself. You’re right to ask—if I gave him a full dose of it he’d either be up late or pee in the bed. Neither of which I’m a big fan of.”
“Me, neither. I hate when I pee my pajamas.”
She giggled at his straight face. “Do you want some coffee or tea, Jonas? Something stronger?”
“I’m good with water. I don’t need anything else.”
This woman was everything he needed, and she stood at the kitchen counter, mixing cocoa into warmed milk for her son.
* * *
“DO YOU THINK he’s asleep?” Jonas didn’t want to overstep his boundaries. He wasn’t Pepé’s father, nor was he trying out for the part. He did, however, want to take Serena to bed in the worst way. Now that they were most likely only a few minutes away from that, his patience had frayed to its last thread.
“If he isn’t he will be. He ran around all day. Before you came over, we played outside with Ronald for a good hour.”
The woodstove pumped out its familiar heat, the glow in the small window a hint of the fire that roared inside its cast-iron belly. Serena and Pepé’s Christmas tree twinkled to the left of where they sat on her oversize sofa.
“When did you get all this new furniture?” And what had happened to Dottie’s?
“I had it shipped from Texas when we were still in the rental closer to town. Once your family had taken the furniture they’d wanted to remember Dottie by, they gave me the option of keeping the rest or selling it.”
