His Mistletoe Family

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Her words sounded hollow. She’d taken a step back when what she longed to do was move forward. Hesitation didn’t become her. And tonight, as he walked out the door, she felt like he was walking away.

  But that was silly, right? Because he’d be back tomorrow morning. He’d said so.

  He trudged across the angled parking lot, cutting a bee-line path to his store across the two-lane road. Rain poured down on him, steady. Relentless. He didn’t run. He didn’t reach up a hand to cover his head. He did nothing to stop the onslaught, his upright stance brave and true.

  And that just made her feel smaller inside.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I’m giving you a green light.” Brett’s flat expression dulled the happy moment as he and Haley rounded the last corner of Bennington Station’s second floor the next afternoon. He tapped his clipboard lightly. “Full approval. You’re good to go.” He signed off and gave Haley a copy for her records and one for the bank. “This should clear the draft they’ve been holding.”

  She should be dancing in the streets, knowing the money would finally be available. Her debts would be satisfied and she’d have a personal savings account again. Small, but small was a big step up from nothing. “Thank you, Brett.”

  She started to reach for his arm, but he turned, leaving her hand fluttering. Had he done that deliberately?

  Well, why not after she’d shrugged him off last night?

  “I’ll file my copies right away,” he told her as he moved toward the exit. He’d kept his jacket on, as if planning a quick escape. Her fault, she knew. “That way if the bank double-checks through the computer, you’re good to go.”

  “Thank you. Again.”

  “Just doing my job.” No little smile. No easy, long, lingering look. “Once I’ve got that squared away, I’ll take over with the boys and let Charlie go home. If you don’t mind.”

  “Of course I don’t mind. I just—”

  He held up a hand. “I get it, Haley. It’s not a problem.”

  It was a problem and he didn’t get it because she was having trouble understanding her mix of feelings herself. Why had she let her buttons get pushed like that? Why did she build walls when it came to a man like Brett?

  A man like Brett? How much do you know about him? Almost nothing. You’ve done what you should do to protect those boys. They’re your primary responsibility now.

  Except she was never there. Brett was. Which only made things more confusing. “I’ll see you later.”

  He nodded and left, not angry, but... resigned. Once again she sensed the military person within. Strong. Unintimidated. Resourceful.

  “Oh, mama, that is one gorgeous guy.”

  Lisa’s vocal approval underlined what Haley already knew. “He’s very nice.”

  “Well, there’s that.” Lisa nodded, slipped a piece of chocolate to the college girl working the front checkout and then offered one to Haley with a wink. “And to-die-for good-looking, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  How could she not notice? Rather than admit it, she changed the subject. “Well, he’s been a huge help with the boys. I felt bad having him watch them today in case either one gets sick to their stomach, but he assured me he’s done latrine duty before.”

  Lisa laughed. “He said that?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Because I don’t think colonels see a lot of bathroom duty in the service.”

  “Colonel?”

  “Colonel Brett Stanton, U.S. Army, retired.” Lisa turned, puzzled. “You really didn’t know?”

  Haley shook her head. Lisa’s revelation made her concerns seem sillier. No one got to the rank of colonel if they reneged on their duty, right?

  “It’s nice to see him out and about.” Lisa accepted the day’s mail from the mailman, handed it off to Haley and started walking away.

  “Why wasn’t he out and about before?”

  Lisa turned. Her expression blended surprise and hesitation. Then she sighed, remembering. “I forgot, you weren’t here back then and you’ve been crazy-busy since you arrived last spring.” She exchanged a reluctant look with the desk clerk and shrugged acceptance. “It’s not a secret. I just thought he might have mentioned it to you.”

  Haley lifted an eyebrow and waited, silent.

  “His son, Josiah.”

  “And this son is?” Haley left the question open-ended for Lisa to fill in the blank. She did.

  “He’s dead, Haley.”

  That was not what Haley expected. Lisa’s expression said there was more to tell. “How?”

  “Afghanistan. Two years ago. About the same time your brother, Anthony, was killed.”

  The surge.

  “Oh, Lisa.” Haley closed the distance between them and kept her voice low. “His son was in the service?”

  “He had him young. Very young. But Brett was career army and he and Deb never got married. He supported Joe, but didn’t get to see him often.”

  “And now he’s gone.” Haley understood absentee fathers. Too well. Her biological father had left three kids high and dry, and her stepfather was more interested in status than the child that came with marrying her mother. But poor Brett...

  Lisa’s lips thinned. “Brett took it hard. He had just retired when it happened.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I’m sorry.” Lisa’s voice reflected her discomfort. “I wouldn’t have told you if it was private, but the whole town knows. There was a huge parade, bringing Joe home. People lined the streets, waving flags. Crying. Praying. You couldn’t get near the cemetery because of how many veterans turned out to lay him to rest. Except...”

  Haley frowned, waiting.

  “Brett didn’t attend the services.”

  “He missed his own son’s funeral?” Haley tried to imagine why anyone would do that. She couldn’t.

  “He stayed home. And he’s kind of stayed home ever since,” Lisa continued. “Other than his involvement with the fire department, he stayed under the radar. Totally. Until Thanksgiving, that is.”

  Until he met me.

  The insinuation seemed crazy, but deep within, Haley recognized the truth. Something had clicked that day, for both of them. Something warm and nice and blessed. A connection unlike any other.

  Really? That’s what you’re going with? Doesn’t every smitten girl think the same thing?

  Haley hushed the internal voice. Maybe the warning held merit. Maybe not. In any case, how would she know if she never gave anyone the chance? And by anyone, she meant Brett.

  “Hey, I—”

  “Don’t apologize,” Haley assured Lisa. “I’m glad you told me. It explains a lot, like why I never met him over the summer. And people’s reactions when he walks into a room.”

  “People have been concerned.” Lisa didn’t need to say more. “They’re glad to see him doing better.”

  Until she’d shut him down the night before. What must he think of her? Probably no more than she thought of herself right now. She had no idea how to fix this, and as a bus pulled into the loop adjacent to Bennington Station’s decorative entry, she knew she had to re-direct her thoughts to work. But tonight?

  Tonight she and Brett would have a talk.

  * * *

  The emergency call came in as Brett took a pot of chicken noodle soup off the stove. Charlie hurried in through the back door. “I heard the monitor. Accident on I-86, just east of Karr Valley Road. Cars overturned. One’s on fire. You go. I’ve got the boys.”

  Brett kissed the tops of both boys’ heads, grabbed his keys and moved to the door. “Thanks, Charlie. Haley should be here in a couple of hours.”

  “Don’t matter. I’ve got all night.”

  “Where are you going?” Todd raced across t
he room and encircled Brett’s leg in an iron grip. “I don’t want you to go. Pwease?”

  Oh, man.

  Brett bent and met the little guy’s gaze. “I have to, Todd. I’m a fireman, remember? Someone’s in trouble and they need me. Right now.”

  “Todd, he told us that,” Tyler scolded. “Sometimes he has to help people. Let go!”

  Tyler’s imperious older-brother voice didn’t help matters. Todd clung tighter. “Can I come, too? I want to be with you!”

  Brett’s heart ground to a halt. A link of that rusty chain grabbed hold again, remembering how little time he’d spent with Josiah. “Sorry, bud. I’ve got to go. Charlie will stay with you until Aunt Haley gets here. And I’ll explain tomorrow, okay?”

  Charlie disengaged the little boy from Brett’s leg.

  Todd set up a wail.

  Tyler scowled.

  Derringer leaped to his feet, tail wagging, following Brett to the door. Riding shotgun to emergencies was Derringer’s job, and the hound took it seriously.

  “Derringer, don’t go! Don’t go! Don’t weave me! Pwease!”

  Brett patted the dog’s head, gazed into his cinnamon-toned eyes and gave the command. “Stay.”

  The dog frowned, perplexed. But then he shifted his head as if assessing the moment. Dropping his chin, he turned and went to stand alongside Charlie and Todd. He nudged Todd’s leg with his muzzle as if to reassure the boy, then set a big, red paw on Charlie’s thigh. He let out a doggie sigh that said he understood his new command, even if he didn’t like it.

  Brett hurried out, torn.

  Had Josiah missed him like this each time he deployed? Was this what Deb went through every time something changed in the boy’s life? Was Todd’s reaction normal or just an overwrought, tired little boy who got nervous with change?

  Brett suspected a combination. Todd’s life had been riddled with unexpected turns. He and Tyler didn’t have a norm. And what Brett had hoped to be the norm now seemed at odds with their guardian’s wishes.

  So be it.

  He couldn’t risk setting them up for disappointment. He’d mistaken Haley’s gratitude for something more. His fault. But he was man enough to know how to respect a line drawn in the sand. He’d still help, but he’d keep his distance. Better all around that way.

  It didn’t feel better, but once he rolled up to the accident scene, he shoved everything else out of mind. Wandering thoughts had no place there.

  * * *

  Jaws of Life.

  Gas-fed fire.

  Cold rain.

  Life-threatening injuries.

  The senseless, brutal accident numbed Brett’s brain. By ten o’clock that night he was wet, tired and discouraged. God, watch over them. Heal them. Help them. Please.

  A drunk driver and a teen going too fast for the wet road conditions. Both now grappled for their lives after being airlifted to the University of Rochester Medical Center via Mercy Flight. The first responders had closed the interstate to allow the choppers room to set down. That had been dicey in the wet conditions, but at least the predicted snow had held off. This deep in the hills, ninety minutes by ground from the nearest trauma center, critical care victims might spend that first crucial hour in the back of an ambulance on slick roads if the helicopters were grounded by inclement weather.

  Derringer rushed to meet Brett as he came through the door, eager to make sure his owner was all right. Brett bent low, rubbed the dog’s head between the ears and met the coonhound’s eyes. “Thanks for staying, old man. Better that you be here, taking care of the boys. You’re okay with that, right?”

  The dog’s look said maybe he was and maybe he wasn’t, but when Brett read Charlie’s note, the old man’s perception made him realize he’d made the right decision.

  Todd settled down right after you left. Tyler and I played War with your cards. Todd and Derringer played with the big trains and watched Thomas the Tank Engine. Both fell asleep. Luckily Haley came by before I joined them. Whatever happened to action cartoons like Road Runner? And that crazy coyote that was always chasing after him? My kids loved them things. I told Haley that Mother and I would watch the boys early tomorrow in case you need to sleep in.

  What would he do without Charlie and LuAnn? What had he done to deserve such good friends?

  He settled into the recliner and picked up his Bible. He knew right where to go. Where he always went when the day’s events pulled him down. The thirty-ninth Psalm, a prayer of need and grace... “Withhold not thou, O Lord, thy tender mercies from me; thy mercy and thy truth have always upheld me. For evils without number have surrounded me; my iniquities have overtaken me, and I was not able to see.”

  He’d done his best tonight, and it still might not be enough. Both drivers might perish, their fate in God’s hands.

  Why didn’t someone stop the drunkard from getting behind the wheel? Why didn’t the kid’s parents tell him to slow down and take it easy?

  Why didn’t you advise Josiah against the military? Why didn’t you fill your son with stories of war? Death? Destruction?

  He dropped his head into his hands, running the reasoning full circle. This country was worth fighting for. He believed that. But he hated that it cost him his son. His brother. His mother’s lapse of sobriety. And Deb’s loss of her child.

  At what cost, freedom?

  He knew the answer. Any cost.

  But he longed for a world through the prophet Isaiah’s eyes, where the lion lay down with the lamb and peace reigned.

  He lay back, hands clasped over the book, and closed his eyes. Sleep came briefly before another alarm roused him. This time a fire, a house fire, not far from where the old fire tower used to stand. Rushing, he tugged on his gear with automatic precision, a soldier trait that worked well for firemen, too.

  The rain had turned to a wet, slushy snow, enough to muck the roads. The plows hadn’t been commissioned yet. Brett radioed the fire crew that he was en route and advised them of road conditions. He turned east, knowing the first trucks to respond would be close behind him.

  And even knowing that, as his SUV took the Jersey Hill fork off of County Road 2A, the orange glow melded to peach spires with the falling snow. Eerily beautiful, the sight clenched his gut. Had everyone gotten out? Were they safe?

  Derringer made a commiserative noise in the back of his throat, his worried sound echoing Brett’s concern. Brett screeched to a halt, barreled out of the driver’s side and came around.

  “Help him! Oh, please, please, help him!”

  A nightgown-clad woman’s cries pierced the night. The roar of the fully involved fire dulled Brett’s hearing. He saw a man dressed in nothing but pajama pants trying to find a way into the burning home.

  Which meant someone hadn’t made it out yet. “Who’s in there? In the house?”

  She clapped a hand over her face, unable to speak.

  Brett grasped her upper arms in a firm brace. “Help me. Which room?”

  “The second one on the second floor. On that side.” She waved her hand to the right. “My son, Nick. Oh, my son...”

  Brett raced for the house. “Stay back!” He pulled the man away.

  Sirens screamed closer, but with no one else on-site yet, Brett had to restrain the man from trying to fight the flames and rescue the child. Because it couldn’t be too late. He refused to consider that possibility.

  Firm hands grabbed the crying man from behind. “Go. I’ve got him.” Two firefighters joined up alongside Brett. A host of others now milled the perimeter, setting up hoses, the sound of male voices pricked with the woman’s cries.

  There was no way in the front door. Left open, the brisk wind fanned the flames from front to back, feeding the fire an oxygen-heavy diet. If only they’d thought to close the door.

  They ha
dn’t, and the front was fully engulfed.

  Firefighters raced around the front corner, aiming for the northern exposure. The fire wasn’t as bold here. Maybe... Just maybe...

  Overgrown bushes burned beneath the boy’s eastside bedroom window. Flames licked the underside of the frame. There’d be no entrance there. They moved to the next available window, around the back corner of the house.

  Much better. The house blocked the wind and the second-story window was accessible from the ladder.

  A group of men hoisted the ladder into place and braced themselves. Brett and two other firemen scrambled up. Using his metal bar, Brett broke the second-story window. Smoke billowed forth. Darkness swallowed him as he crawled through the opening, peering through his mask and the thick, pungent smoke. Smithy followed him in, while another fireman manned a hose to provide cover water.

  The mother had indicated a room that now lay to Brett’s left. He bent low, fighting his way forward. Smithy edged up alongside him. He motioned left. Brett agreed. They moved in tandem, the roar of flames pushed their way by the west wind. The jet of back water might help, but it couldn’t buy them much time, and time was of the essence. A wind-fed fire. Snow instead of rain. A trapped child.

  Brett prayed the boy hadn’t tried to go downstairs. He wanted to locate the room and find a living, breathing, scared child behind a closed door that kept the bulk of the smoke at bay.

  Feeling along the wall, they found a door. It refused to open, as if weighted by some strong, low force. No kid could put that much pressure against a standard bedroom door, but it took Brett and Smithy long seconds to push the door open enough to get through. Just as Brett pulled out his hatchet to chop their way in, the door gave way to their combined muscle.

  Smithy went first.

  He tripped instantly, and the way he went down told Brett that he didn’t trip over a kid’s toy or a rolled-up sheet.

  Smithy fell over a body.

  Brett’s heart seized. He hauled Smithy up and fought the bile rising in his throat. He reached down to retrieve the boy’s body, praying he might not be gone, begging the angels and saints to bring any help they could muster.