Riley and His Girls (Mills & Boon Vintage Cherish) (Mills & Boon Cherish)

by Janis Reams Hudson

  Riley swallowed hard. “You and Brenda were in the same unit.”

  “Yes.” Amy rubbed her palms up and down her thighs in a nervous gesture. “On the way back to the city, one of the vehicles ahead of us hit an IED—an improvised explosive device—and all hell broke loose. The morning started out with a Threat Alert Level Amber, and went to Level Black—meaning ‘ongoing conflict’—in a heartbeat.”

  With a storm of emotions rioting through him, Riley listened as Amy told how trucks in front of them exploded and the HumVee Brenda, Amy and others in their unit were riding in had taken so many hits that it quit on them. Bullets were flying at them fast and furious. They were forced to abandon the vehicle and seek cover behind a burned-out tank on the roadside left over from a day or so earlier. One of the guys from the truck behind them ran to join them.

  “But there was too much open ground. He took a hit and went down ten yards short of cover.”

  Riley’s stomach rose to his throat. The only reason for Amy to be telling him this was if Brenda…

  “Brenda laid down cover fire while Johnson and Cohen went after the wounded private from the other truck. Meeker. Don Meeker. Halfway there, Johnson took one in the leg. Brenda and I left cover and went to help.”

  Riley forced himself to keep his eyes open, rather than squeezing them shut and covering his ears with his hands to deny what he was hearing.

  “It was worse than any nightmare I’d ever had. It was hot and dusty and loud, with smoke from the burning vehicles thick enough to choke a bull elephant. It tasted bitter, the smoke did. Or maybe that was the taste of fear.”

  She fell silent for so long that Riley nearly choked. Finally he prompted her. “What happened next?”

  “What happened next was that Brenda stood out in the open and fired cover, shielding us with her body while Cohen and I got Johnson and Meeker to safety.” Amy’s eyes grew big and damp and anguished. “She was hit three times, but kept firing cover.”

  A loud buzzing in Riley’s ears threatened to drown out Amy’s words. He struggled to hear, to listen, even as he mentally cheered and simultaneously recoiled from the devastating scene playing out in his mind.

  “By the time we made it back to shelter,” Amy said quietly, “Brenda had taken a fourth bullet. It was that fourth one—” Her voice broke. “In the throat.” She paused again and collected herself. “There was nothing they could do for her. It was too late. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to come here and stir up old wounds. I’ll go now. I’m so sorry.” She jumped up to leave.

  Riley held out a hand to stop her. “No, wait. Please.”

  “I never dreamed you didn’t know.”

  “Why wouldn’t they have told me? All they said was she was killed by small-arms fire.”

  Amy sniffed and sat down again. “I guess, technically, that’s true. It’s just the biggest understatement I’ve heard lately.”

  Riley leaned back into his chair. “I can’t quite absorb it. Brenda’s a…hero? For real?”

  “You find that so hard to believe?”

  Riley’s head snapped up. “No, not at all. It’s so typical of her.” Suddenly he felt like smiling. “She always was the bravest person I ever knew.”

  “Really?”

  He chuckled darkly. “You haven’t met her mother.”

  Amy surprised him with a laugh. “You mean the Dragon Lady?”

  Despite the ache of grief welling up inside him, Riley choked out a bark of laughter. “She told you that?”

  Amy smiled. “You may have known her longer but I knew her in the trenches, literally. I might know things about her that you don’t. She told me about her mother. She loved her, but she couldn’t be the person her mother wanted her to be.”

  “Something Brenda understood and learned to get around by the time she was in second grade.”

  “You were close even then?”

  “If by close you mean did I live near her, yes, we lived two blocks apart. If you mean emotionally close, I was head over heels in love with her before we were out of kindergarten.”

  Amy smiled. “I can’t imagine how she managed to be who she was, and yet please her mother at the same time.”

  “She developed it into a fine art, but there were times when she couldn’t pull it off. Then she had to decide whether to disappoint her mother, or herself.”

  “It must have been tough to survive on the playground wearing ruffles and lace.”

  “Especially when she wasn’t allowed to get them dirty,” Riley clarified. “Her mother would never have forgiven her for getting dirty. Brenda had to keep extra clothes at various friends’ houses.”

  “She was sure resourceful for a child,” Amy noted.

  “She was desperate,” Riley said. “She wanted to do all the things her brothers were allowed to do. She decided to do them behind her mother’s back.”

  “And it hurt them both, because they both knew what was going on.”

  Riley’s chest eased. “You really did know her, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said softly, quietly. “Yes, I did. She was my best friend.”

  “I don’t know what Marva’s going to think about your news, but, Frank, Brenda’s dad, is going to be so proud, he’ll bust his buttons. After he gets over the new rush of grief. What are the chances you can stay in town until they get home from Austin tomorrow and tell them what you just told me?”

  “Oh, I don’t think—”

  “We’ve got a spare room here,” he offered quickly. He didn’t want her to leave town yet, but didn’t want to cause her any financial hardship, either.

  “No, it’s not that,” she said. “I have a room at the Tribute Inn. But thanks for offering. It’s just…are you sure you shouldn’t be the one to tell them?”

  He shook his head. “Frank will have questions I won’t be able to answer. I’d really appreciate it if you’d be the one to tell them. That is, if you can afford the time.”

  “I’ve got the time,” she told him. “If you want me to talk to them, I’d be glad to. Should I call them tomorrow, or what?”

  “Why don’t you come for dinner tomorrow evening? I’ll get them over here, and the girls can watch TV here in the den while we talk in the living room. How does that sound?”

  “Fine. That sounds fine. What about your parents?”

  “They moved to Florida years ago. I’ll talk to them on the phone.”

  “Oh,” Amy said. “Okay, then. Brenda’s parents, dinner tomorrow, here.”

  Riley relaxed a little more. “Good. Good. Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to drink?”

  “Oh, no, thanks. I should be going. But there is something I’d like you to think about.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Brenda was putting together some things for the girls for Christmas, you know, last year. When the army packed up her belongings to send home, the gift bags got left behind. I didn’t send them right away because they weren’t completed. I kept them and worked on them as I could. That’s the reason I came here, to give the gifts to the girls. What I need to know from you is, would you rather I give them the gifts now, or wait another three weeks until Christmas?”

  “What are the gifts?”

  Amy smiled and shook her head. “Surprises. A lot of small things and a couple of larger ones. Tailored to each girl.”

  “That sounds like Brenda.”

  “That’s right. They’re definitely Brenda-type presents.”

  “You said she meant them to be Christmas presents?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

  “Good, because they’re still not quite complete. I’ll finish them, and if I leave town before Christmas I’ll leave the presents with you.”

  “You’re staying in town?”

  “For a while. I’ll get out of your hair now.” She stood and moved toward the door.

  Riley rose and followed. “You’re not in my hair. You’re welcome here an
ytime, and I mean that, Amy.”

  “Thank you.” At the front door she paused and turned toward him. “She loved you very much.”

  Riley felt the familiar fist of grief squeeze his heart. “I know. I loved her, too.”

  Chapter Two

  Amy sagged onto the bed in her motel room. She was used to going without food, without sleep. She was used to killing heat, sand in everything including her toothpaste, and total lack of privacy. She’d seen people die. She had shot at men who were shooting at her.

  But today, she hadn’t done anything that even began to compare to the things she’d been exposed to during the past few years. It was the emotional strain of having to describe Brenda’s death to Riley that had drained Amy’s reserves. Only the middle of the afternoon, yet all she wanted was to curl into a tight ball and sleep. Seeing no reason why she shouldn’t do that very thing, she stripped off her clothes, crawled between the crisp, clean sheets—never again would she take crisp, clean sheets for granted—and was out before she could finish the thought of how lucky Brenda had been to have those three beautiful daughters and that gorgeous hunk of a husband.

  Amy slept sixteen hours and woke feeling both ravenous and grungy. A long, hot shower took care of the latter. For the former, she strolled down Main Street in search of a hot meal. But she took her time, ignoring her hunger. She had waited much too long to see and experience the town that Brenda had called home. She’d made it sound so wonderful that for quite some time Amy had thought of it as the hometown she’d never had.

  Since it was Sunday and not yet noon, most businesses on Main were closed, but that didn’t detract from the appeal of the place for Amy. It was all there, just the way Brenda described. People who smiled and waved, even when they didn’t know you. Wide, blue skies. The one and only traffic light.

  Just before she reached that light, on the edge of the town square, the aroma of coffee and bacon wafted beneath her nose and lured her into Dixie’s Diner.

  It had been a while since she’d eaten in a small café. An American café. The army could, upon occasion, serve up a decent meal now and then, but nothing had ever tasted better to her than the pancakes, bacon and eggs delivered with a smile by a friendly waitress named Nadine.

  She ate until she feared she might pop, then resumed her stroll down Main Street. The entire length from one city limits sign to the other was barely a mile. On her way back, she crossed and came down the other side. Once again at the traffic light and the town square, she sat on a bench in the small park before the court house and watched the occasional car go by.

  Before she got too comfortable, she got up and strolled to the smallest of the three monuments in the park. Dedicated to the Tribute sons lost not during the Civil War, according to the engraving, but the War Between the States, this smallest monument was divided down the middle. One side was labeled North, the other, South. This being Texas, the names under South far outnumbered those under North.

  The next monument was an overall war memorial, listing the Tribute citizens who lost their lives in every war after the Civil War: the Spanish-American War, both world wars, Korea, Vietnam, right up through Desert Storm and Operation Iraqui Freedom. Amy’s throat closed. The last name, dated just over a year ago, was Brenda Green Sinclair, Sergeant, U.S. Army.

  Amy ran her fingers over Brenda’s name. “I’m here, Bren. I brought those presents for the girls. Riley wants to go with your original plan, to give them to the girls for Christmas.” She might have said more, but a woman with two children came down the sidewalk from the courthouse.

  Amy said a silent goodbye to Brenda and turned away. Across the sidewalk stood the third and final granite monument. This one was named the Tribute Wall. It was more than a simple list of names. Each entry on the twenty-some-foot-long wall told a brief story of an ordinary citizen going above and beyond, and doing something truly heroic. A schoolteacher, Melba Throckmorton, saved her students from a tornado back in 1901. In 1923, unarmed grocer Wendell Stoklosa faced down armed bank robbers to shield a pregnant woman and was shot for his effort.

  One after the other were listed, ordinary people putting someone else’s welfare above their own, including a man who donated his organs and saved the lives of several people by doing so, and a school janitor rushing the flames to make a daring rescue.

  None of those listed were military. Did the powers that be think they didn’t belong here because they had their own memorial?

  She pursed her lips. All military deaths were not equal. There was getting killed, then there was getting killed because you stepped out and put yourself in harm’s way to save someone else. Such an act deserved special recognition, namely, the Bronze Star. And, if Amy could swing it, the Tribute Wall.

  Riley’s morning did not go as well as Amy’s. Neither had his night. His sleep had been plagued with images of his beautiful Brenda playing Rambo on a desert highway. Saving lives. Getting shot on a desert highway. Dying. On a desert highway.

  He woke with a silent scream locked in his throat. Never had he had such a dream, one in which he saw her death played out before his mind’s eye. Gasping for breath, he glanced at the clock and found it was 4:00 a.m. A trip to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face helped settle him, but he couldn’t get those pictures out of his head.

  Knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep again that night, he lay in bed and turned on the TV. By 6:00 a.m. he knew all there was to know about roasting anything edible, and three different pieces of exercise equipment, each one the only one he’d ever need.

  With his mind sufficiently numbed, he got up and stood under the shower until the numbness cleared and he was able to focus on the day before him. Any day that allowed him to spend time with his three beautiful daughters was a gift, as far as Riley was concerned. If he would rather share that gift with Brenda, that was only natural, but since that was impossible, he wouldn’t let missing her take anything away from enjoying the girls. They missed her, too. But every day, he knew that her memory dimmed a little bit more.

  That was natural, too, wasn’t it? It had to be healthier for them to look ahead and meet each new day with eagerness and excitement than to look back and ache for a loss that could never be recovered. Of course it did.

  After having that talk with himself he was able to be completely in the here-and-now for the girls. After breakfast they drove across town to church and home again.

  “I wish Sergeant Amy was here,” Cindy said.

  All three girls had questioned him repeatedly the evening before. Why had she come? Why had she left? What had they talked about? Was she coming back? Did she talk about Mama? Was she coming back? Why hadn’t she stayed? Was she coming back?

  It didn’t seem to matter how many times he told them that yes, she was coming back, they felt the need to keep asking.

  “Are you sure she’s coming back?” Pammy asked.

  “Okay, that’s it.” Riley pulled into the garage, but pressed the door lock to seal them all inside the car, then killed the engine. “We’re not leaving this car until you girls tell me why you don’t believe me when I say she’s coming back. Who wants to explain?”

  The three girls, strapped in beside each other, shared a look in the backseat of Riley’s sedan—the Sunday car, the girls called it, because that’s about the only time he drove it.

  “Come on.” He twisted around to face them. “Just tell me. I’m not going to get mad or anything. Am I?” he thought to add.

  “You tell him,” Pammy whispered to Jasmine.

  “Huh-uh.” Jasmine nudged Pammy with her shoulder. “You’re oldest.”

  Pammy grimaced. She frequently played the age card whenever it was to her advantage. This time it was coming back at her. “Okay.” She sighed heavily. “It’s just that…sometimes you tell us stuff that you know we want to hear, even if it’s not real.”

  Riley’s stomach sank. “You think I lie to you?”

  “No, Daddy, not on purpose, but sometimes it just h
appens that way, like with Mama.”

  He dropped his head to the headrest of his seat and closed his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy. We didn’t mean to make you sad.”

  Riley jerked his head up. “Honey, you didn’t make me sad, not the way you think. I’m just sorry that what happened to Mama makes you feel like something bad’s going to happen to other people you want to see, like Amy.”

  “But she’s a sergeant, like Mama.”

  “Yes, she is. But she’s right here in Tribute. She spent the night at a motel on Main Street. Wouldn’t you think chances are pretty good that she’s safe?”

  Pammy shared a hopeful look with her sisters. Through their silent “sister” communication, they must have decided to trust his word this time, because they all smiled.

  “Okay, Daddy,” Pammy offered. “We’ll quit asking all the time.”

  “Good.” He smiled. “So, when else have I lied, but not on purpose?”

  “When you said you’d think about getting us a puppy.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it. I didn’t lie, I just haven’t decided yet.”

  “You lied when you said I’d like brussels sprouts,” Jasmine claimed.

  For the second day in a row, Amy stood at the Sinclair door and rang the bell, only this time she came bearing a half gallon of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

  “You may regret this,” Riley said as he let her in and took the ice cream from her.

  “How so?”

  “When the girls see this ice cream, they’ll be your slaves for life. This is their favorite flavor.”

  “Good,” Amy said. “Where are they?”

  “They’re on their way home from their grandparents’. Should be here any minute.”