Thankful for You

by Cindy Spencer Pape

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Thankful for You

  Copyright © 2014 by Cindy Spencer Pape

  ISBN: 978-1-61333-695-3

  Cover art by Mina Carter

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

  Look for us online at:

  www.decadentpublishing.com

  The Calendar Men Stories

  Outback Dirty

  February Lover

  Seducing Helena

  Frontier Inferno

  Shockwave

  The Other Brother

  The Letter

  Burning Love

  A Model Hero

  Falling for Her Navy Seal

  Thankful for You

  Snow Angels

  Thankful for You

  The Calendar Men Series

  By

  Cindy Spencer Pape

  ~Dedication~

  To all the readers out there who, for one reason or another, have needed a fresh start in life, and to everyone who knows that sometimes, “not perfect,” can still mean “perfect for each other.”

  Chapter One

  “I heard you wowed them at the American Legion last night with your talk about living with PTSD.” Elsie Jordan’s soft blue eyes twinkled as she rang up Sig’s order of fish food and aquarium filters. She was small and cute and her smile was out of this world. Just talking to her made his day. “That’s your third public appearance this fall. Seems you’re becoming quite the local celebrity as well as the town’s biggest hero.”

  “Not that Haven is big enough to consider anyone a celebrity. Hell, everybody already knows me anyway.” Sig Nowicki shrugged. He loved talking to Elsie but wished she’d discuss anything other than his so-called celebrity. Then he softened his gruff tone as he looked at Elsie. “I suppose it went okay. I wish to hell everyone would find somebody new to pick on. I’m nothing more than a washed-up vet. Not any kind of hero, and damned sure not any kind of spokesperson.” Granted, he understood a little about living with PTSD, but his only other credential was a BS in psychology that he’d picked away at one course at a time while in the military, mostly online.

  “That’ll be sixteen ninety-five.” Elsie slipped the items into a paper bag. Sig wished it was his scarred-up skin her slender fingers were sliding across. All around them, the animals in the store did their thing, the kittens in the front window mewing and Bluebell clucking like a chicken, one of his favorite tricks. Sig, though, had eyes for nothing but Elsie.

  “And you can quit dishing out the baloney.” Her sharp tone drew his gaze back to her face. “I may not have grown up in this town, but I’ve read the newspaper articles. All of them. You saved a lot of lives in Afghanistan. That’s not exactly something to be ashamed of.”

  So what? Saving lives had been his job. “Yeah, I was a pretty good soldier, I guess, but I’m not a movie star or anything. It’s all because of that damned calendar.” Biggest mistake he’d made since he got home. “I should’ve known better than to let them use me as a model. This town was ignoring me just fine until the mayor’s assistant got ahold of a copy. Now all of a sudden I’m fucking John Wayne or Elvis Presley.”

  “Well, it was for a good cause. You should be proud of helping the families of deceased and wounded soldiers.” She shot him a stern glance over her silver wire eyeglasses. They should have made her look older, but somehow they only emphasized her girl-next-door sexiness.

  “That’s the only saving grace to this whole mess. I’m one of the lucky ones, despite all this.” He scraped his left hand, the one streaked with scars and with the pinkie and first joint of the ring finger missing, along the puckered white scar that ran through his left eye and across his forehead. His glass eye itched. At least Elsie didn’t wince when she looked at him. That had something to do with why he liked her so much. Then he let his shoulders sag. “What the hell. Maybe it’ll all blow over after New Year’s, once everyone’s thrown the stupid thing out.”

  “Fat chance, Bucko. You’re a big deal. Get used to it.” She wrinkled her nose and grinned. Sig reached out his mangled hand. As he closed it around the bag, Elsie’s slim white hand captured it. “You’re a good man, Sergeant. You make a difference, and finally people have noticed. Cope with it.”

  All Sig could do was grunt. Her touch set off sparks in his gut—sparks that had pretty much been dormant since he’d gotten out of the VA hospital over a year ago. Damn near everything about Elsie appealed to him—her strawberry blonde hair, her freckles, the way her rounded ass swayed as she walked. She reminded him of Becky Thatcher, all grown up and hot as hell. He found himself making excuses to come shopping for his aquarium at least twice a week, sometimes more if he was really lonely.

  Once she pulled her hand away, he tipped his chin. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night?” She didn’t open the store on Sundays, so she wouldn’t have to work.

  Elsie shook her head, but shot him a lopsided grin. “No, but thank you for asking. Again.”

  Sig shrugged. He asked her every time he came in. And every single time, she shot him down. “Ah, well. Can’t blame a guy for trying.” It made sense, of course. He was still mostly a wreck. He didn’t have a job, his military career was over, and all he did with his days was work on his house, take care of his fish tank, and put in whatever hours his brother-in-law could throw him at the garage. Other than that, he read and watched old science fiction movies on TV, mostly because he still didn’t sleep very well. So why set himself up for continual rejection? Probably because she smiled whenever he asked and he liked to make her smile. That made it worth getting rebuffed twice a week. Hell, it was the closest thing to a social life he had these days. Might as well enjoy it.

  She snorted out a little laugh. It might have sounded coarse on a less impish-looking woman, but on her, it was cute. “I adore you for asking. But the answer is still the same. No. I have no interest in dating. Anyone.” She waved him toward the door. “Come back Wednesday. I’ll have those new clownfish I wanted to show you.”

  “Now that’s a date.” He swung toward the door, package in hand. “Have a good day off.”

  Elsie waved as he walked out the door. Ten feet from his car, Sig’s cell phone rang. He juggled his purchases to reach into his pocket and then leaned on the fender of his truck. “Hello?”

  “Hey, son, glad I caught you.” The gravelly voice made Sig wince. What the hell did the mayor want with him now? He’d already spoken to every civic group Haven could muster. His Honor went on. “Veteran’s Day is almost here. That means the parade and pancake breakfast at the VFW. The post would like you to be the guest of honor at the breakfast and the town council has chosen you to be grand marshal of the parade.”

  “Why me?” Crap, Sig hadn’t meant that to come out sounding as whiny as it had. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, Your Honor. I mean, I’ve already had my day in the sun
. There are a lot of other decorated vets in the area. I’m sure one of them would be glad to do it. I’d be fine with that. Maybe share the wealth a little.”

  “Sergeant, you have no idea what an inspiration you are to the people of this community, do you?” Mayor Bradford asked.

  Sig sighed. “Honestly? No, sir. I don’t get it at all. Why on earth would you want someone in the parade whose face is enough to send kids screaming in the other direction?”

  “Because it shows those same kids that they can overcome whatever problems they might have,” the mayor said. “As an extra incentive, there’s a dinner following, a fundraiser for the Hero Family widows and orphans fund. You and a guest will be seated at the head table, of course. Tickets are selling like—erm—hotcakes, ever since someone leaked out that you might be the guest of honor.”

  Oh, fuck. How could he say no to the widows and orphans fund? He couldn’t. That’s what had gotten him into this mess to begin with. He’d been suckered into posing for a beefcake calendar to benefit the same cause. At least they’d shot the photo from his good side, so the worst of his facial scars didn’t show. But a fancy dinner? Not his favorite thing to do—especially when he’d be at the head table in front of everybody, and they’d all be staring at him, the one-eyed freak. “Look, I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll give you a call first thing Monday morning. Remember, son, your community is counting on you.”

  Sig rolled his eyes at the mayor’s corny cheerfulness. Calling Sig son, when Lucas Lowery was no more than ten years older than Sig’s thirty-six.

  Once inside his truck and headed for home, Sig swore at his own sappy inability to say no. Hell, he might as well go into the hero business, the way things were looking. It was too bad none of this stupid celebrity nonsense came with anything useful—like say a real job offer. Then he wouldn’t care how many people pointed and stared. The scars weren’t ever going away, and he’d mostly gotten used to that. He didn’t need to be coddled. What he needed was to feel useful again. Besides, if he kept buying fish, he was going to need more than his disability pension to feed them all.

  ***

  The following Wednesday, Elsie dropped a few flakes into the aquarium holding three baby clownfish which had arrived that morning. All three attacked the food, determined to get their share, small fins swishing rapidly through the clean water of the tank. Their bright, cheerful colors never failed to make her smile. Owning a small-town pet shop might not be the most glamorous career, but Elsie loved coming to work every day, which hadn’t been true when she had been a big-city accountant. She hadn’t once regretted her move to this west Michigan town to take over the Pet Haven. After almost three years here, she’d become part of the local community in a way she never could have been in the Chicago rat race.

  “Brawwwwwwk!” Elsie almost dropped the bag of food as the raucous screech of a macaw echoed through the room.

  She caught her breath, and turned toward the sales counter and the giant parrot cage beside it. “Jeez, Bluebell, knock it off before you scare me out of my skin. You’ll get your breakfast after the fish are done.” For about the hundredth time, Elise wanted to kick herself for taking in the macaw when its elderly owner had passed away. Since parrots usually only bonded with one person in their lifetime, and hyacinth macaws were among the largest members of the parrot family, he was both loud and potentially dangerous. Sure, parrots were mostly vegetarian, but they had beaks that could open coconuts. An unwary admirer could easily lose a finger, which was why Bluebell’s cage was behind the counter, out of reach of curious customers, but right where he could squawk in Elsie’s ear.

  Bluebell—the most ridiculous name for such a big, demanding creature—shrieked again and Elsie groaned. “Knock it off, bird brain. I swear I’ll hunt the internet for a recipe for parrot fricassee.” She didn’t want to resort to migraine medication tonight. It always made her feel like crap the next day. At least she’d been able to lose the daily meds since coming to Haven.

  Bluebell made a noise like a raspberry. Apparently, he recognized an idle threat. Elsie turned back to the fish, humming a popular song along with the radio and ignoring the nattering in the background, until it rose to another squawk at the same time as the little brass bell above the front door chimed.

  “Hello to you too, Bluebell.” Sig Nowicki’s deep, rumbly voice was soft and full of affection. “Hi, Elsie. Did the clownfish come in?”

  “Right over here.” Her words came out breathy, shakier than she would have liked. Something about the wounded veteran always turned her knees to jelly. She wanted to take him home, feed him, and pet him like she did Bluebell, or the litter of abandoned kittens in the front window. Keep telling yourself that, you little liar, said the voice of her conscience. The way you want to pet him has nothing at all to do with kittens. She wasn’t into that kind of kinky.

  Bluebell cooed at Sig and butted his head against the bars of his cage. Sig reached across the desk with one long finger and rubbed the dark blue head. Elsie sighed. Bluebell was out of reach for most customers. Sig was an exception to the rule, standing well over six feet. His dark hair was still cut military short, exposing several red lines on his scalp, below his baseball cap. Despite his scarring, he was still handsome, and his big brown eyes were the kindest eyes Elsie had ever seen. He watched her with both, even though the left one was artificial. He’d been coming in for six or seven months now, and it was good to see the pain slowly easing from his expression, while his quirky smile appeared more often.

  “Keep it up and you’ll lose a finger.” Elsie had told Sig over and over that Bluebell was a menace, but he didn’t seem worried.

  Instead, he grinned and lifted his left hand. The little finger was completely missing along with nearly half of his ring finger. “I’ve already got that covered.”

  Tears clogged Elsie’s throat. “Geez. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry, Sig.” Would she ever learn to keep her mouth shut? The idea of the pain he’d been through made her stomach hurt. “You’re sure you don’t want to take him home? You seem to be the only person he remotely tolerates.”

  Sig gave a sheepish grin, looking for all the world like a little boy caught raiding the cookie jar. “Nah. It’s too noisy around my place with all the renovations. I’m surprised even the fish tolerate it sometimes.”

  That’s right. He’d bought his mother’s home when she’d moved into a condo, and now he was updating it to modern standards. “Well, once your renovations are done, he’s yours free of charge, if you want him.” There was no one else she’d have made that kind of offer to, but the bereaved bird and the scarred soldier seemed to have developed some kind of intangible bond. Elsie figured they’d both be better off together. “I think you come in every week to see Bluebell as much as to buy fish food.”

  “I come in to see….” His deep brown eyes widened and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Umm, sure. Bluebell. So those are the clownfish?” He strode over to where she stood, the bag of fish food hanging from her fingertips. “Cute little guys. You’re sure they’ll work in the same conditions as the rest of my tank?”

  “Well, yeah. That’s why I recommended them.” Elsie drew a deep breath and stepped away from Sig and the aura of potent masculinity that surrounded him. “I’ll get some baggies and a net. What else do you need today?”

  He blinked rapidly and took a deep breath. “A favor.” His throat worked.

  Elsie tipped her head. “What kind?” Once upon a time, she’d have agreed without a thought. She wasn’t that naïve girl anymore. Sig, with his teasing invitations, was the first guy to make her regret that. Heck, he’d probably run the other way if she ever said yes.

  “It’s…. You see….” He ran his hand over the scars at his temple, a nervous gesture she’d noticed before. “Oh, hell. Next Tuesday—it’s Veteran’s Day, you know?”

  Elsie nodded. “Last time I checked.”

  “Well, you’ve been here long enou
gh to figure out that Haven makes kind of a big deal out of it.”

  She nodded again. She’d seen the parade.

  “The thing is, the mayor….” He rubbed his face again. “He’s dead set on having me as grand poobah of the parade.”

  Elsie chuckled. “You mean grand master?”

  “Yeah.” Sig snorted. Then the words seemed to pour out of his mouth so fast she could barely keep up. “Whatever. And there’s this dinner, afterward, a fundraiser. I don’t want to go—I mean who wants to look at me on the stage—but I have to. It’s for the widows and orphans fund. And I need a date. Looking like I do is bad enough. Going alone is sort of, well, lame.”

  “Ah.” Elsie put two and two together. Her heartbeat accelerated. “And for some crazy reason, you want me to be that date.”

  “Yes.” He heaved a huge sigh. “Exactly. I know it’s on a Tuesday, but I was hoping you could get someone to cover the shop during the parade. Will you?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then looked at his toes. “Sig, I tell you every week that I don’t date. It isn’t you, honestly. It’s just that…I don’t think I can do it.”

  He held out a hand, palm up, and waited until she tentatively took it. “Look, Elsie, this isn’t a ploy to get you to go out with me. I promise. I’m not expecting anything here. I’m bright enough to recognize a fellow survivor when I see one. Your scars may not be on the outside, but they’re there all the same. I figured that out the first time we met. This doesn’t have to be a real date. I desperately want someone sitting next to me at that head table and I have no idea who else to ask.”

  Elsie caught her breath and looked into his eyes. How had he seen that far into her soul? She’d always assumed her happy-go-lucky mask was impenetrable. She tried another tack. “Sig, there have to be plenty of women in town happy to go out with you. You’re the town hero, for goodness’ sake.”