by Jenna Mindel
He watched her fluid movements as he waited for Ethan and Owen to catch up on drying the dishes. Monica hadn’t always moved with such grace. When he’d first laid eyes on her, she’d been awkward, with a good-sized nose and a habit of knocking things over. She grew in both height and composure as the years went by. She’d filled out some, her facial features softening. Monica now stood nearly three inches taller than him, still long and lean, but there was nothing awkward about her.
“What?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Quit looking at me like that.”
He laughed. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, like I’ve got mustard on my chin or something.”
He grinned. “Maybe I’d like mustard on your face.”
She rolled her eyes. “Maybe you’re crazy.”
Maybe he was. He’d always kept a safe distance from Monica. She could never be called simply pretty. She’d grown up to be gorgeous and even more off-limits. Her brother would skin his hide if Cash ever hurt her. Living the way he did, in harm’s way, he’d do exactly that. There were no guarantees that he wouldn’t lose a limb or worse. No way did he ever want to saddle a woman with the kind of worry that came with his job. He liked the rush of adrenaline too much to ever quit, and he cared for his company far too much to get out.
Once the dishes were done and put away, Cash opened the slider to the back deck. “We’ve got to gather up some kindling to start the fire and green sticks to roast marshmallows.”
“There are long metal forks around here somewhere,” Monica offered.
Cash shook his head. “Sticks are way better.”
“Yeah,” Ethan agreed, again with a note of challenge in his voice. “Way better.”
Monica threw up her hands in surrender. “Okay, sticks it is. Boys, if you have sweatshirts in your room, you’d best grab one. It’s a little chilly outside.”
Cash wasn’t so sure about that, since the sun still felt warm to him, but it wasn’t a bad idea. “You heard the lady. Grab your gear and I’ll meet you outside.”
The boys darted into their room.
“I’ll bring out the stuff for s’mores, but I’m getting a jacket, too.” Monica darted up the loft steps.
Cash grabbed matches and stepped outside. The crisp smell of fall was definitely in the air even though it was just the end of August. He gathered some dry branches and looked up as the back door slid open and Ethan and Owen came running toward him.
Monica was right behind them, carrying a tray loaded with everything needed to make s’mores and then some. He didn’t remember ever putting peanut butter in the mix, but hey, why not? The late evening sunlight set her long blond hair aglow.
“You’re doing it again.” She elbowed him in the gut before setting the tray on a bench.
“What?” But he knew. He couldn’t seem to stop drinking in every detail of her.
“We’re going to need more kindling than that to start a fire.” Monica headed into the woods, just beyond where the grass stopped.
The boys followed her.
Cash looked at the puny sticks he’d collected and chuckled. There were several cords for the fireplace stacked under the overhang at the side of the house, but Monica wanted to hunt for firewood. He dumped what he had in the firepit and joined them in search of better fuel.
* * *
Monica headed back to the firepit with her arms loaded with downed branches. She loved gathering wood for a campfire. Cash’s nephews seemed to get into it, as well. Both Ethan’s and Owen’s arms were full. “Good job, guys.”
“Can I light the fire?” Ethan asked.
Monica scrunched her nose. Not her call. “We’ll have to ask your uncle Cash.”
Uncle Cash.
She’d had no idea that Cassius William Miller would be so good with kids. He’d make a good family man, although as far as she knew, he’d never been close to getting married. He was thirty-four, but to her knowledge, Cash had never had a serious girlfriend. How come? He’d once joked that he was married to the marines, but evidently he’d been serious.
She dropped her wood just beyond the sandy circle surrounding the firepit that had been made from large rocks. “Boys, you can dump your wood here with mine. We have to stack it a certain way in the pit before we can light it.”
“Yeah, we know. Our dad showed us plenty of times,” Ethan said.
Monica bit her lip. She wanted to respond the right way, and ignoring that comment didn’t seem like a good idea, so she probed a bit. “Did you have a lot of campfires with your dad?”
Ethan nodded with pride. “Yup. Even in the wintertime.”
Monica glanced at Owen and her heart broke. His eyes appeared hopeful as he looked around. Did he understand that his father wasn’t ever coming back?
Cash returned from the woods with his strong arms full of fallen branches.
Her attention drawn to the way his muscles bunched and flexed as he broke up the pieces, Monica mumbled, “Well, your dad would be very proud that we’re doing this tonight. Carrying on his tradition.”
“What’s that?” Ethan asked.
Looking away, Monica asked, “What’s what?”
“A tra-di-shun?”
“It’s something so special that you repeat it yearly, or even more, and think of someone or something special while you do. For example, at Christmas, my family always cuts down a fresh pine tree together. It’s our tradition.”
Ethan looked thoughtful. “Mom’s allergic to pine trees so we can’t do that.”
Way to go. Monica looked to Cash for help. “Is there anything you can add about traditions?”
“Hmm, let me think a minute.” He stroked his beard.
Monica made a big show of waiting for his answer by gesturing for him to get on with it.
It made the boys giggle.
Cash cast an aggravated look her way, which made the boys laugh even more, then he crouched down in front of them. “When your dad and I were your ages, we used to see who could spot the first star of the night.”
“And then what?” Ethan asked, with hope shining in his eyes.
Cash looked at Monica. “The winner made a wish, but if he told what it was, it wouldn’t come true. Come on, let’s get this woodpile built up big so we can burn it.”
“Yeah!” Ethan cheered.
Monica shook her head. Once a thrill seeker, always a thrill seeker. Cash did everything in a big way. Like now, turning a simple campfire into a huge bonfire. Growing up, he’d been the one who had often lured her brother Matthew into trouble or injury or both. Cash had always exhibited a need for speed, whether racing bicycles, motorbikes, snowmobiles or even cars. He still drove a muscle car. The black Dodge Challenger parked in front of the cabin might not be new, but it was no doubt fast. All the more reason to steer clear of Cash Miller. She had enough to worry about without the added concern that he’d one day break his neck.
She got busy stacking the gathered pieces of wood, leaning the smaller sticks against each other to form a tepee. She glanced at Owen watching her and stretched out her hand. “Want to help me?”
The boy nodded and inched closer.
“Let’s lean those larger sticks over the smaller ones in the same shape, see?” Monica handed him a broken branch. “You try.”
Owen handed it back to her.
Monica shrugged and anchored it against a larger one, then looked around. Cash and Ethan were hunting for green sticks for roasting the marshmallows.
Owen handed her another branch.
She smiled and searched those big gray eyes of his. Had he truly lost his ability to speak, or was he simply refusing to talk? When she was little, her older sister Cat used to hold her breath to get what she wanted. It rarely worked. Their mom refused to be manipulated. Owen looked much too sweet
for such tactics, but then kids worked from a simpler approach than adults.
“Here we go. Four perfect sticks.” Cash started stripping twigs and leaves off one.
Ethan copied his uncle with another stick.
“Owen, it looks like it’s up to us to clean our own.” Monica handed the five-year-old a stick.
He pulled at the leaves.
“Like this, Owen.” Monica snapped off the little branches.
Owen followed suit and smiled.
“Good job.” She looked up and caught Cash watching her.
His gaze softened and he mouthed “Thank you.”
Monica nodded and returned to the task at hand. This might not be what she’d expected when she drove up here, but maybe God had saved her from the inevitable wallowing she would have sunk into had she been here all by herself. Maybe tonight was a good thing, something she needed, because her mind was drifting away from her own issues to why Owen wasn’t talking.
* * *
Cash sat back and watched Monica help both Ethan and Owen roast their marshmallows. The fire had burned down some. The boys had loved the towering flames shooting high into the sky. They’d jumped up and down. Ethan had cheered. Cash had loved it, too, regardless of the indulgent smile Monica had given him, as if he should know better.
Yup, she’d make a good mom. He couldn’t believe she wasn’t already married. Her brother said she’d dated some, but never anything serious. He wondered why. He’d wondered a lot of things about Monica over the years. She’d occasionally slipped into his thoughts at the oddest, least opportune times, like during a lull in gunfire, but he’d firmly pushed her aside. That was a good way to get killed, losing focus on the mission at hand over something as simple as a woman back home.
He glanced toward where the sun had set, leaving behind a sky that glowed orange and pink through a clearing in the trees. It was only eight forty, less than an hour before bedtime for the boys.
That would put him alone with Monica—
“There’s the first star, Uncle Cash.” Ethan pointed to the darkening sky just above the clearing.
“That’s Venus, buddy. Not a star at all, but a planet.”
The kid’s eyes narrowed as if he didn’t quite believe him. “Can I still make a wish?”
Cash chuckled. “Sure. Or you can wait a little bit longer for the stars to pop out. Then it’s off to bed.”
Ethan groaned. “Do we have to?”
Cash looked over at Owen, slouching low in the camp chair. His eyelids drooped. “Afraid so, buddy. Big day tomorrow.”
“What about Dogman? Will he come out after we’re in bed?”
Owen’s eyes flew open, wide as half-dollars.
“No, Ethan. There’s no such thing as Dogman. He’s make-believe, only a pretend character in an old story. Stop trying to scare your brother.”
Ethan folded his arms and pouted.
Owen slipped out of the camp chair and climbed onto Monica’s lap.
She welcomed him, wrapping her arms around his waist, then resting her chin on the top of his head. “Owen, did you want to make a wish?”
He shook his head.
“Why not, little dude?” Cash asked, hoping Owen might answer with spoken words. It was why he’d brought the boys to this cabin, hoping a change of scenery and lots of activity might reopen the floodgates of his speech.
He shrugged instead, leaning deeper into Monica’s arms.
“I’ll wish for us, okay, Owen?” Ethan whispered.
Cash battled against the knot that formed in his throat. Why had he told the boys that stupid tradition of wishing on stars? He knew what they wished for—something that couldn’t come true. They wanted their dad back.
Cash wished for the same thing. He’d never had the chance to tell Cole how much he admired him or how much he loved him. There hadn’t been a proper goodbye the last time he’d seen him. They’d slapped each other’s backs, saying they’d see each other later, but later never came. He caught Monica’s watery-eyed gaze across the crackling campfire and nearly lost it.
Why did his brother have to die? He had a wife and two boys to look after. Cash had been the one dancing with death for as long as he could remember. All those deployments and risky missions into enemy territories had left him whole, without critical injury. Why?
Why was life so unfair?
They sat silently by the fire and Cash stared into the flames. When he finally checked his watch, it was well past nine. He glanced at Monica, still holding Owen, who’d fallen asleep.
He stood and reached for the boy. “Time for bed.”
Ethan got up without argument.
Cash shifted Owen to his shoulder and followed Ethan inside.
Monica stayed put by the fire.
“Go to the bathroom, Ethan.” Cash didn’t bother with orders to brush teeth. This was camp and normal grooming habits were pretty much ignored. It’s what made it camp.
He entered the bedroom the boys shared and laid Owen on the bottom bunk. He didn’t want to wake him, so Cash just slipped off the boy’s shoes and socks before lifting the covers over his motionless form, still dressed in his sweatshirt and jeans.
Ethan came in, changed into his pajamas, and climbed up to the top bunk. “Uncle Cash?”
“Yeah, bud?”
“Is she staying the whole time?”
“Monica? I don’t know. If she does, is that okay with you?”
“Yeah.” Ethan nodded. “Owen likes her, and then Mom and Grandma can meet her, too.”
“She’s easy to like.” Cash ruffled the kid’s hair.
No matter how much Ethan teased his little brother, he still looked out for him. He was a lot like his father in that respect. “Your dad would be proud of how you’re taking care of your little brother.”
Ethan looked at him hard. “I wish he was here.”
That knot deep in Cash’s throat tightened up again, but he swallowed through it. “Me, too, buddy. Good night, Ethan. I love you.”
Ethan looked at him, appearing wiser than his tender years. “I love you, too.”
Cash closed the door only halfway, leaving the bathroom light on. He padded into the kitchen, opened the fridge and grabbed a couple cold beverages before heading back out to the fire.
Monica looked up as he approached.
He handed her a can. “Want one?”
“Sure.” She snapped open the tab top and took a sip. “So, what’s the story with your nephews?”
“My sister-in-law was at her wit’s end with Owen not speaking. Since I had the time, I figured I’d try to help. Ruth had some legal stuff with the tree business, so I asked to bring the boys here. The timing worked well.”
“He’ll talk eventually, won’t he?”
“I hope so. I think it’s the stress of losing his dad. I’ve seen soldiers psychologically lose their eyesight, even their hearing, after combat, with nothing physically wrong with them. If Owen is purposefully keeping quiet, I imagine he’ll give up eventually. I’m hoping some activity away from home will flip the talking switch back on.”
Monica’s eyes shone with approval. “It’s good of you to try.”
Cash shrugged and looked away. “They’re my brother’s boys. I have to do something.”
Monica nodded. “How’s your mom?”
His mother had told him that he was all she had left now, and that comment stuck with him, haunting him. He shrugged. “Upset. She moved in with Cole a while back, after she sold the house.”
“That’s good.” Monica shivered and pulled her chair closer to the fire.
“I can throw on a couple more logs.”
“No. It’s fine. I’m going to turn in soon.”
He watched her stare at the flames, admiring her profile. She still had a long nose, but it was straight. He
’d thought for sure that he’d broken it once during a snowball fight when he’d hit her dead-on, but she’d kept a stiff upper lip.
She’d always come back with a sharp retort to his teasing. He liked that about Monica. She’d never been a wimp. She had a stubborn streak and didn’t like to show any weakness. More tomboy than princess, her choice of swanky clothes and makeup seemed at odds with the girl he’d grown up with. But then again, maybe he held onto his youthful memories of Monica too tightly because he didn’t want to notice how beautiful she’d become nor accept how attractive he found her.
Tipping his head, he asked, “Why’d you come up here alone?”
“Just needed to get away for a few days.” She took another sip, but didn’t glance up from the fire.
“Everything okay back home?”
“Everyone’s fine.”
“But not you?”
She looked at him with those expressive blue eyes of hers reflecting anguish. “I’ve got some decisions to make.”
“Ahh. Is there a guy involved?”
She uttered a short bark of laughter. “Not anymore. He broke it off. We weren’t serious or anything.”
It was Cash’s turn to chuckle at the cavalier tone in her voice. “Monica, Monica, Monica. What’d you do?”
Her face turned grim. “Absolutely nothing.”
“And yet he broke it off—”
“It’s fine,” she interrupted. “I’m not in a good place for a relationship, anyway.”
He leaned forward, curious. “Why not?”
She finished her drink and crumpled the can, then stood. “Not something I really want to talk about, either.”
Warning bells went off inside his brain. Monica wasn’t one to hide anything. Worse, where was that sharp tongue of hers? She looked defeated and that wasn’t at all like her.
Cash tried again. “If you do want to talk about it, I can listen.”
She patted his shoulder. “I know you can. Thanks.”
He grabbed her hand and gave it a friendly squeeze.
She surprised him by hanging on tight. “Good night, Cash.”
“See you in the morning. I hope you stick around for breakfast. I make pretty mean pancakes.”
