The Soldier's Redemption

by Lee Tobin McClain

  Back in Virginia, after everything had gone so terribly wrong, he’d sunk too deep into himself, to where he could only see what was bad and wrong inside him. It was the kind of shame and guilt that threatened to make you want to do away with yourself, and although it would have been deserved, and he’d come close, some faint inner light had told him it was wrong. He’d dragged himself to church and talked to the pastor, older than Finn and wiser, about getting a fresh start. He was suffocating in Virginia, and all he’d felt the smallest shred of desire for was the open spaces of the West, where he’d sometimes traveled for work. Next thing, the pastor had been calling his old high school friend, Penny. The job had fallen into place so neatly that Finn, who didn’t normally put much stock in God reaching down from the sky and fixing things, felt there’d been some of that going on.

  Maybe Kayla and Leo’s arrival had been a God thing, too.

  Finally, he felt the chill in the darkening air and realized that Leo was yawning, and wondered aloud whether it was time to go inside.

  “Not when there’s a fire to be built.” Willie got up and dragged an old fire-pit bowl from the back of the house. “Hey, Leo, can you give me a hand picking up sticks?”

  “And I’ll get the logs,” Finn said with a mock sigh.

  As they taught Leo how to build a fire—with appropriate safety warnings—Finn had a reluctant realization.

  He hadn’t wanted to get involved with people, especially women and kids. He’d come to Redemption Ranch to focus on making retribution, giving something back to a world from which he’d taken so much away. To lose himself amid the mountains that made even a hulk like him feel small. Not to grow close to a pair of souls who tugged at him, made his heart want to come alive again.

  But want to or not, it had happened.

  * * *

  Kayla washed the last dish and handed it to Penny, then let the water out of the sink. “Thanks for helping,” she said. “We got done in half the time.”

  “Yes, we did.” Penny hung the pan on the overhead hook.

  “No thanks to you,” she scolded Shoney, who’d been roaming the kitchen and generally getting underfoot, looking for dropped food and occasionally finding it. Kayla dried her hands, knelt to rub the dog’s shaggy head, and then stood and headed for the door. “I’d better go see how Leo’s doing.”

  “He’s doing fine.” Penny put a hand on Kayla’s arm, stopping her. “I can see him out the window. He’s with Willie and Finn.”

  “And he’s not acting scared of Finn?”

  “Come see.” Penny gestured out the window.

  Kayla looked and sucked in a breath.

  In the background, the setting sun made rosy fire on the mountains. Swallows skimmed and swooped, catching insects for an evening snack, chirring and squeaking their pleasure. The dogs sprawled on the blanket she’d brought out, the new puppy spooned in close to Winter.

  And there was Leo, laughing up at something Willie had said, while Finn looked on fondly.

  They weren’t related by blood, but they were interacting like three generations. It was what she’d always wanted for Leo.

  “Does he have a grandpa?” Penny asked.

  Kayla shook her head. “His father’s parents have both passed, and my dad...”

  Penny was wiping off the counter, but at Kayla’s pause she stopped and looked at her.

  “My dad’s in prison for life.” She said it all in a rush, as she did every time she had to discuss her dad with anyone. Then she knelt and pulled Shoney against her, rubbing the shaggy head.

  “That’s rough.” Penny leaned back against the counter, her face sympathetic rather than judgmental. “Did that happen when you were a kid, or later?”

  “When I was twelve.” She’d remember the day forever, even though she’d tried to push it out of her mind. Coming home from school to police cars every which way in the front yard. The neighbors whispering and gawking. And then her father, coming out of the house, swearing and fighting the two officers who were trying to control him.

  It had been another couple of years before she’d gotten her mother to tell her the charge. “He shot a convenience-store clerk,” she said now to Penny. “A robbery gone bad. Drugs.” She looked at the floor. “The man he killed was the father of three kids. And he disabled a police officer trying to escape.”

  “Oh, honey.” Penny held out her arms, and when Kayla didn’t stand to walk into them, she came right over and wrapped her arms around Kayla and Shoney both. “That must have been so hard.”

  Kayla felt a little pressure behind her eyes, but she had no intention of crying. She cleared her throat and took a step back. “It was hard. Kids can be cruel.”

  “Did you have brothers and sisters?”

  “Nope. Just me. I was a mistake.”

  Penny stared and slowly began shaking her head back and forth. “Oh, no. No, you weren’t. God doesn’t make mistakes.”

  Kayla waved a hand. “I know. I know. It’s fine. It’s just...that’s how my parents looked at it, is all.”

  “You ever talk to anyone about that?” Penny asked.

  Kayla’s eyebrows came together. “I’m talking to you.”

  “I mean a therapist.”

  “No. No way.” Her dad’s issues, and her mom’s problems after the arrest, were part of a big box of heartache she didn’t want to open.

  “So your parents had issues, let you know they hadn’t planned to have you.” Penny lifted an eyebrow. “How old were you when you married the abuser?”

  Kayla’s jaw about dropped. “What? What does that have to do with my folks?”

  Penny took the dish towel from Kayla’s hands, folded it once and hung it on the stove handle. “I just think it’s interesting that you chose a man who didn’t value you properly, after being with parents who maybe did the same. Patterns.” Penny looked out the window. “We repeat patterns.”

  The older woman’s words hit too close to home. After her father had gone to prison, Kayla had tried to stay close to her mother, as close as the multiple boyfriends and stepfathers would permit. But when her mom had been killed in a drinking-related car accident...yeah. Kayla had connected with Mitch almost immediately, drawn to his self-assurance and dominant personality.

  Kayla didn’t want to think about what that all might mean, psychologically. Instead, she turned the tables. “Are you speaking from experience?”

  “Touché,” Penny said. “I sure am. And one day, you and I can sit down and talk about it, maybe. All I know is, I’m not quick to put my trust in any man. But it’s important to trust someone. I want you to know you can trust me.”

  “Why?” Kayla asked bluntly. She didn’t understand why Penny was being intrusive, and she really didn’t understand why she was being kind.

  “I’ve watched how you interact with your son for a couple of weeks now. You’re a good mom.” Penny smiled at her. “And more relevant to me, you’re a good worker. I’d like to keep you around.”

  A sudden thickness settled in Kayla’s throat. “Thanks.”

  “And when I said what I did about men, I wasn’t talking about Finn. He’s one of the good ones. So are Long John and Willie, for that matter.”

  Kayla nodded but didn’t speak. Penny might think these men were good, and trustworthy, and probably on some level they were. But on the flip side, they were military men and loyal to their band of brothers.

  Men like Mitch.

  “We’re done in here,” she said instead of answering. “Want to go outside by the fire?”

  “For a bit, sure.” Penny’s eyes were hooded, and Kayla was suddenly sorry she hadn’t pursued Penny’s remarks about men. She got the feeling that the older woman had a story that was plenty interesting, not to mention a few issues of her own.

  She led the way, but when she got to where she could see the fire, sh
e stopped. Penny almost ran into her.

  Willie was playing guitar, softly, and Long John picked harmony on his banjo. The fire burned low, sending the warm, friendly smell of wood smoke in their direction.

  And Leo was sleeping in Finn’s arms.

  Kayla drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was something about a man who was good with kids. Something about a man big enough to hold a five-year-old boy with no problem, and confident enough in his masculinity to be nurturing.

  Penny walked past and perched on a log beside Willie. They spoke for a moment, low, and then Willie launched into another song, a love song Kayla remembered from when she was a kid.

  Penny stared into the fire, a remote expression on her face.

  Kayla walked over to Finn’s side. “Are you okay holding him?” she asked. “He can get heavy.”

  “It’s not a problem.” But his face was serious, his eyes a little...sad? Troubled?

  So they all sat around for a little while longer, huddling in the warmth of the fire. A circle of humans in the light of the moon, seeking warmth, needing each other.

  In the distance, there was a howl.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Coyote,” Long John said. “Keep the dogs and the boy near home tonight.”

  Kayla shivered and scooted her log a little closer to the fire’s warmth.

  She looked around at the faces, old and young. She’d gotten almost close to these people in the past two weeks, and she never got close. She liked being here, liked being with them.

  She especially liked being with Finn, if she were honest with herself. They’d fallen into an easy routine, working together in the kennels, sharing information about the dogs and the weather and the ranch. They laughed at the same jokes on the country-music station, liked the same songs. Both of them usually carried a book around for slow moments, and he’d turned her on to Louis L’Amour.

  All the connections were something to enjoy, but also something to be cautious about. She’d liked being around Mitch and his friends at first, too.

  Of course, looking back at it, she couldn’t miss the warning signs. Why had she chosen Mitch?

  There was the obvious fact that no one else had wanted her. And that she’d wanted to have a baby like nobody’s business. Still, she should have had more sense.

  Unless Penny was right, and it had to do with her parents, her childhood.

  Willie played a last riff on his guitar and then looked over at Long John, who’d fallen silent. “That’s it for me,” he said. “These old bones are ready for bed, early as it is.”

  “It’s not early when you get up for chores.” Penny arched her back and stretched.

  Both of the older men watched her, identical longing expressions on each weathered face.

  Oh. So it was that way. And yet the two were best of friends, and Penny seemed oblivious to the way they’d been looking at her.

  As they put their instruments away, Penny stood. “Thanks, everyone. See you tomorrow.”

  Willie cleared his throat. “Walk you home?”

  Penny paused a beat. “No. Thanks, but I’m fine.” She turned and headed for the road at a good clip.

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Willie muttered.

  Long John gave him a look. “She’s the same age as your daughter.” He started to heave himself up out of his chair, then sank back with a sigh.

  Willie held out a hand, and Long John hesitated, then grasped it and got to his feet. Willie picked up both musical instruments, and the two of them headed back toward their cabins.

  That left Kayla alone with Finn, who still held the sleeping Leo in his arms. “I...I’ll put out the fire.” She felt absurdly uncomfortable.

  He nodded. His face was hard to read. Was he enjoying holding Leo or was it a burden for him?

  His face suggested something else entirely, but she wasn’t sure what.

  * * *

  Finn watched as Kayla hauled a bucket of water to the metal fire pit. She was tiny, but she lifted the heavy bucket easily and poured it on.

  That was Kayla—however vulnerable she appeared on the outside, there was solid strength hidden beneath.

  She straightened and put her hands to the small of her back. “I should probably bring another bucket of water, right?”

  “Just to be sure. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

  “You’re helping, believe me.” She gave her sleeping child a tender glance before taking the bucket back over to the outside spigot.

  Finn felt the weight of the five-year-old boy against him as if it were lead. Pressing him down into the lawn chair.

  Pressing him into his past.

  He’d held his own son just like this. It was such a sweet age, still small enough to fit into a lap and to want to be there.

  Leo would soon grow beyond such tenderness.

  Derek wouldn’t, not ever.

  The knowledge of that ached in Finn’s chest. Outside of the guilt and the regret, he just plain missed his son.

  Would Derek have been shy and quiet, like Leo? Or more blustery and outgoing like his cousins, kids Finn never saw anymore because he couldn’t stand his brothers’ sympathy?

  Kayla sloshed another bucket over the fire pit. “There. No sparks left to cause a fire.”

  He met her eyes and the thought flashed through him: there are still some sparks here, just not the fire-pit kind.

  But although it was true, it wouldn’t do to highlight the fact. “Do you want me to carry him inside?”

  She hesitated, and he could understand why. It was an intimate thing to do. Yet a sleeping five-year-old was substantial, and he could bear the burden more easily than she could. Despite the ache in his leg, he wanted to play the man’s role rather than watching a small, slight woman do all the heavy lifting.

  Before she could refuse him, he stood, carefully holding Leo’s head against his shoulder. The boy stirred a little, then cuddled marginally tighter and relaxed against Finn.

  His throat too tight to say anything, he inclined his head, inviting Kayla to lead the way inside.

  It was tricky, but he used his free hand and good leg to climb the ladder to the sleeping loft, following behind Kayla. He had to duck his head beneath the slanted roof. When he went to put Leo down, his leg went out from under him and he lurched, making Kayla gasp. But he caught himself and managed to place the boy carefully on his low, narrow cot, made up with faded race-car sheets.

  The sight of those sheets hurt his heart a little. Kayla must have packed them up and brought them along, wanting to give her child a taste of home. “Sorry about that,” he said, gesturing at his leg. “I wouldn’t drop him.”

  “No, it’s fine, thank you! I forgot that climbing might be hard for you.”

  He shrugged. “My pleasure.”

  “I guess he’s finally used to you,” she said as she pulled the sheets and blankets up to cover Leo’s narrow shoulders.

  “It took some doing, but yeah.”

  “He...he’s seen some scary things. His father...well.”

  “Same man that gave you the bruises?” he asked mildly.

  Her sharp intake of breath wasn’t unexpected, but Finn was tired of the distance between them, the concealment, the connections that weren’t getting made. Something about this night made him want to throw caution away and nudge her a little, see if the thing he felt was there for her, too.

  She ran a hand over Leo’s hair, not looking at Finn. “Yes,” she said, her voice so low he had to bend closer to hear it. “Same guy.”

  “If I could get my hands on him, I’d be tempted to do worse to him than he did to you and Leo.” Because the words were confrontational, he kept his tone mild.

  She glanced up at him, secrets in her eyes. And then she rose, gracefully, to her feet. “It�
�s late.”

  Yes, it was, and he didn’t want to go. He climbed the ladder down ahead of her, so he could catch her if she fell—odd protective urge, since she was probably up and down the ladder a dozen times a day. At the bottom, he waited.

  She stepped off the last rung. The slow way she turned, he could tell she knew he was there, close. “Finn...”

  He reached out for her, touched her chin. “You’re a good mother and a good cook,” he said. “Thank you for tonight.”

  That was all he meant to do; just thank her. But the unexpectedly soft feel of her skin made his hand linger, and then splay to encompass her strong jawline, her soft hair.

  She looked up at him through long, thick lashes. There was a light spray of freckles across her nose.

  Finn’s heart swelled with tenderness, and he lowered his face toward hers.

  Chapter Seven

  Kayla drew in a panicky breath and reached out, feeling the rough stubble of Finn’s face. He was going to kiss her and she wanted him to.

  But he stopped short and brushed her cheek with his finger. “Your skin is so soft. I didn’t shave. I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

  She inhaled the piney, outdoorsy scent of him and her heart thudded, heavy and hard. “You won’t hurt me,” she whispered.

  He narrowed his eyes just a tiny bit, studying her, as if to test her sincerity.

  And then he pulled her closer and lowered his lips the rest of the way down to hers.

  Tenderness and respect? She’d never experienced kissing this way. It made her want to pull him closer, but she didn’t dare. And after a moment, he lifted up to look at her. “You’re like a tiny little sparrow, ready to fly away.”

  His whimsical description amused her, cutting through the moment’s intensity. “Sometimes I’ve wished I could fly,” she admitted, her voice still soft, heart still pounding.