by Jenna Mindel
She let go of his hand. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good.” He listened as she made her way inside the cabin, closing the slider door with a whoosh.
He stayed by the fire, watching the low flames awhile longer. He’d do what he could to convince Monica to stay on for a bit. Cash needed her help, and maybe she needed them, to give her mind a rest from whatever decisions she faced.
He wouldn’t pry into her situation, but he’d pray for her. He’d been praying a lot lately when he wasn’t yelling at God for taking yet another person he cared about from him. As for Monica, he shouldn’t know too much and it’d be better if she didn’t tell him. He was leaving soon, so he didn’t want any entanglements with a woman back home. Getting too close wouldn’t work for him. It might cost him his edge.
Chapter Three
Upstairs in the loft, Monica changed into a pair of pajama bottoms and a plain T-shirt. The warmth of the day had given way to a chilly night, but they hadn’t built a fire in the woodstove. There wasn’t any point, since tomorrow promised to be much warmer according to the weather forecast. Propping pillows against the headboard of the bed, she slipped under the covers and grabbed her phone.
Her brother had texted her back saying that he’d given Cash the keys to the cabin before he caught ship. He added that he was sorry he couldn’t join them, because it would have been like old times.
Monica felt a reminiscent stab to her heart and texted back that she wished he was here, too. Of all her brothers, she’d been closest to Matthew. Growing up, she’d idolized him and tagged along as often as she could. More times than not that meant hanging around Cash, too.
Cash had been the one to teach her to drive a snowmobile on one such outing. She’d been only thirteen and wanted to go with them. A trailhead was right down the road from her parents’ house. Cash had chosen the two-up so she could ride with him, much to her brother’s chagrin. Matthew hadn’t wanted her to go, because the two of them loved jumping ditches and riding off trail.
While Matthew was way ahead on his sled, Cash had pulled over to let her drive. She’d never forget the thrill of it, her first time driving a snowmobile. She’d been afraid, too, but Cash had been right behind her, coaching her on how to steer, showing her how to brake and speed up.
His gloved hands had covered hers a few times through the curves in the winding trail. She smiled, even now remembering the feel of his strong arms around her, guiding her.
Matthew had had a fit when they’d finally caught up to him. She’d been too young to operate a snow machine without a safety certificate, and the guys, at only seventeen, were too young to legally supervise her. Fortunately, they hadn’t been caught by the authorities. It had been midweek and the Department of Natural Resources officers were typically out in full force on weekends.
Now that she thought about it, she realized Cash had often taken the time to teach her things, as if she was his little sister, too. She owed the precision of her foul shots in basketball to his coaching. She couldn’t even count the times he’d shot baskets with her before leaving the Zelinsky household for his own home in town.
She wanted to help him with his nephews, but wasn’t sure how. Still holding her phone, she searched the internet for information regarding children and grief. So far, much of what she’d found dealt with how to tell kids when a loved one died. She kept searching.
After an hour of perusing various sites, she was amazed by what she’d found. There in print was Owen’s manifestation of grief by not talking. He might be a little old by a couple of years for the loss of speech, according to the article, but still, it was all there and it didn’t sound abnormal. So there was hope. Obviously, their mother must have thought so, or Monica doubted she would have sent her boys with Cash to the cabin.
Cash.
He wanted to help his nephews, but Cash was grieving, too. He had that same determined look in his eyes that she’d seen when his father had passed away. He’d been determined to beat his sorrow then by sheer force of will, fighting for control through the funeral without shedding a tear.
Monica had been twelve at the time and Cash sixteen. She remembered it well, because that was when she’d first looked at Cash with new eyes. He wasn’t her brother’s annoying friend anymore, but her friend, too. Maybe a little more than friends, because that was the day hugging Cash Miller in an attempt to console him had seemed to move him into a special place in her heart.
Her phone whistled with an incoming text, scattering her thoughts. Scanning the screen, she opened a message from her mom.
Are you okay?
Of course her mother would check on her, but it was too late to call, with the boys in bed. Monica didn’t want her voice to carry and wake them up. She quickly texted back that she was fine and she wasn’t alone. She explained that Cash was here with his two young nephews.
After a couple seconds, another text came through.
Good. I’m glad you’re not alone. Have some FUN and give him our love.
Always to the point, her mother. Monica smiled as she texted back. I will. Love you.
Just then she heard the downstairs slider door open and close. Cash had come in from the fire and Monica listened to his footsteps on the hardwood floors below. He stopped at the fridge, opened it and then closed it. Next, she heard the snap of a tab top can being opened.
She closed her eyes and listened harder. It sounded like he was in the living room, right below her. If she got out of bed and looked down over the railing, she’d see him. Would he see her? Was he maybe gazing up at the loft right now?
Her heart skipped a few beats, but Monica reined in her foolish thoughts before they got out of hand. She might still harbor her childhood crush for Cash, but that’s all it was or ever could be. Their lives had veered in completely different directions. His was wrapped around the 2nd Marine Raider Battalion based in North Carolina, while hers was here in Michigan.
His footsteps sounded lighter and farther away and then she heard the soft click of his bedroom door being shut. Monica let out the breath she’d been holding. She had so many memories of him, memories of the two of them growing up, and they came to her like a silent filmstrip, making her smile and filling her with warmth. The words she’d said in jest while they were making dinner were absolutely true.
Cash Miller is dangerous.
She was far too vulnerable right now and her emotions too raw to entertain any ideas about her attraction to Cash. She didn’t want to drag him into her troubles when he had his own to deal with. In the morning, after breakfast, she’d pack up and head home. That’d be the right thing to do. The smart thing.
* * *
The next morning, Cash struck a match and held it to the pile of kindling in the woodstove. Watching the flames quickly spread, he threw in a couple small logs before shutting the glass doors. That would take the chill out of the cabin.
He gazed out the windows to where the sky was getting lighter, ready to meet the rising sun. Mist huddled in low spots and the grass glistened with heavy dew. He’d always been an early riser. Something about the stillness of early morning appealed to him. Everything seemed peaceful at the start of the day, before plans and missions unfolded.
He wasn’t at peace, though. Deep inside, he still raged at God for taking his brother. God was big enough to handle his anger, he knew that, but it didn’t help answer one simple question. Why would God take Cole? What purpose could it possibly serve to leave those two boys without a father?
He’d chased that question round and round and still came up empty. When a soldier died, Cash could accept it, even though it was painful. Even after his commanding officer had died in his arms, he knew that going into harm’s way, death was part of the deal. Losing his brother to some freak accident wasn’t.
Rubbing his whisker-covered chin, he stuffed all that into a proverbial box to look at later or nev
er. Rehashing the past didn’t change it. Besides, he had breakfast to make. He entered the kitchen area and quietly mixed the ingredients for chocolate chip pancakes. Letting the batter sit, he made coffee.
He spotted Monica making her way down the loft steps dressed in a sweatshirt over a pair of Detroit Lions flannel pajama bottoms. Her stick-straight hair hadn’t been brushed and her eyes seemed a little puffy, but she still managed to look good. Maybe too good. He’d always preferred her natural good looks to all that makeup, anyway.
“Morning.” The raw sound in his voice wasn’t welcome.
She yawned as if still half-asleep. “Is that coffee ready?”
In spite of the boxed-up rage over Cole’s death and noticing Monica far more than he should, he forced a smile. “Not yet.”
“Are the boys up?” She sat on a bar stool across from him at the kitchen island and hung her head in her hands, as if trying to wipe away the remnants of sleep still clinging to her.
“Not yet.”
“Well, aren’t you a chatty one this morning. What are you doing?”
“Pancakes.” He gave her an insolent grin. Mornings weren’t meant for a lot of talk.
She yawned again. “How’d you sleep?”
“Better than you, it appears.”
She shrugged. “I’m not a morning person.”
He chuckled. “So I see.”
She made a face as she slipped off the stool, grabbed a mug from the cupboard and pulled the coffeepot off its hot plate.
“It’s not done brewing.”
“So? It has auto pause.”
Cash spread his arms wide. “So...you’ll make the rest of the pot weak.”
She shrugged, opened the fridge and grabbed the half and half, drizzling a good portion of it into her mug. “It’s only one cup.”
“Monica, Monica, Monica.” He watched her take a sip and grimace. “Too strong, huh? I told you.”
Again she made a face as she grabbed the sugar dispenser with a stainless steel top, tipped it over and poured a healthy dose into her cup. Then she grabbed his measuring spoons and stirred.
“Give me those.” He reached for the spoons at the same time she was pushing them his way, and his hand covered hers. He didn’t let go.
Her eyes found his. “What?”
“Are you always this annoying?”
Monica pulled her hand back. “I could say the same about you.”
Of course she could. He’d teased her since they were kids. “Are you going to stay the weekend?”
“I figured I’d leave after breakfast.”
Disappointment stabbed him quick and hard. He didn’t like that feeling, either. “I’m taking the boys out on the side-by-sides. It’d be more fun if you drove one, too.”
She frowned, making tiny lines appear above her nose and along her brow line. Even her eyebrows were perfectly shaped.
His gaze swept to her flawlessly painted orange fingertips. Monica had become a woman who took meticulous care of her appearance. His buddies would call that high maintenance, but he knew Monica well enough to know that wasn’t so. She’d always held her own in any activity he and her brothers had dragged her into. So why’d he get the feeling that perfection in her appearance might be a shield?
“Do you know how to drive a utility vehicle?” he asked.
She looked insulted, reinforcing what he already knew. Monica was no shrinking violet. “Of course I know how to drive one.”
She still hadn’t accepted his offer to stay. It might be smarter if she left, but Cash had meant that prayer. He needed help, so he pleaded. A little. “Owen is drawn to you, Monica. You might be the key that unlocks his speech.”
Her bright blue eyes turned stormy and dark. Her lashes were lighter without makeup and looked as if they’d been dipped in gold. His fingers itched to reach out and touch to see if any of that gold dust came off.
Monica had taken a deep breath, as if rallying her courage, when a horrible cry sounded from the boys’ room.
Nightmare?
Cash nodded toward the sound. “I better check that out. Ethan sometimes has bad dreams.”
Monica nodded.
He dreaded this. His sister-in-law had warned him about the dreams, which had become worse since Cole died, but so far Cash hadn’t had to deal with one. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door to the boys’ room.
Ethan jerked awake. “Dad?”
“It’s me, Ethan. Uncle Cash.” He crept toward the beds. Ethan was on the top bunk.
The kid recognized him with such a sorrowful look of disappointment that Cash’s heart broke. Then the waterworks started. Silent at first, then louder. Deep wails of pain.
Cash pulled him from the bed, ready to take him out so he wouldn’t wake Owen, but it was too late. Owen woke up, took in the scene and started crying, too.
“I know, buddy, I know.” Cash sat in a chair near the bottom bunk, shifting Ethan to his lap. The kid was all arms and legs, but he rested his head on Cash’s shoulder and bawled.
A lump the size of a tank stuck in his throat as he reached for Owen.
The little guy climbed into his lap in turn, hanging on for dear life.
Cash closed his eyes and swallowed hard, trying to keep it together. He hadn’t cried in years and he wasn’t going to start now. He felt a light touch on his shoulder and looked up into Monica’s concerned eyes.
She gave his shoulder a squeeze but didn’t let go.
That small gesture of comfort nearly undid him. He leaned his head against her arm and turned so his lips grazed her wrist as he whispered, “Don’t leave.”
She sniffed, knelt down and wrapped her arms around all three of them.
* * *
Monica held on tight, tighter even. She fought against the tears that threatened by closing her eyes. She couldn’t erase that look of helpless devastation in Cash’s eyes from her mind, though. Even worse, her skin tingled from that brief touch of his lips.
This wasn’t good at all. She felt like the pile of dry tinder in the box next to the woodstove. One embrace from Cash and she’d go up in flames, burning them both. She needed to leave as soon as possible, and yet he needed her help. He’d practically begged her to stay, and those boys might need her help, too. She had all that information she’d found online.
Monica pulled away. This was too intense. Leaning back on her haunches, she said, “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m hungry for those pancakes Uncle Cash is making.”
Owen slipped off his uncle’s knee, eyes wide.
Even Ethan moved back, rubbing the tears from his eyes. “What kind?”
Cash sent her a look of pure gratitude before answering, “Chocolate chip.”
“Yes-s-s!” Ethan fist pumped the air.
“Maybe you two should go wash up and then meet us in the kitchen,” Monica offered.
The boys raced for the bathroom, shoving each other, tears forgotten.
She glanced at Cash. “You okay?”
He slapped the tops of his jean-clad thighs and stood. “Yeah. I don’t know how they shift gears so fast. Sad one minute and then laughing the next.”
“Kids are pretty resilient that way.” Monica followed him to the kitchen. The boys were still horsing around in the bathroom. She heard the water running in the sink and hoped they were washing their hands.
Keeping her voice low, she added, “Don’t worry, that’s normal. In fact, last night I looked up information on grieving kids, and Owen’s situation is not uncommon, either.”
“Yeah?” Cash’s whole face lit up.
“Yeah.”
The boys tore out of the bathroom, racing to the bar stools at the island. They each climbed onto one, then kept jockeying each other, as if trying to knock the other off.
“Boys, cool it,” Cash said
.
Monica saw Ethan pinch his little brother. Owen kicked him in return, but they’d quieted. She shook her head.
The coffee was done, so she dumped her first cup in the sink and poured a fresh one. “Cash, do you want coffee?”
“Please.” His voice sounded soft.
She felt him nearby. He stood right behind her and her whole body tensed.
He reached over her shoulder into the cupboard and grabbed a mug. “No cream or sugar.”
“You’re hard-core.” Her own voice sounded strained.
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Marines don’t take it easy. Now get out of my space so I can make breakfast.”
Monica joined the boys on a bar stool, but watched as Cash grabbed plates, silverware and glasses, which he placed in front of them while the griddle pan heated on the stove.
Really, she should do something. “Want me to get the milk and syrup?”
He waved her offer away. “I got it. Just sit.”
She sipped her coffee, which she’d laced with cream and sugar. In spite of sneaking an early cup before it had finished brewing, the coffee was still strong. Evidently Cash liked his java close to battery acid.
She couldn’t pretend she didn’t enjoy being waited on, especially watching Cash do so. Maybe she should test him, ask him to grab a bunch of stuff for her, to see what he’d do. Just for fun. Tempting, but then he might burn the pancakes. It wasn’t worth the risk.
Thinking about fun, she recalled how her mother’s text last night had told her to have some. Monica knew riding those two side-by-sides would be that and more.
Ethan banged his silverware on the island counter and started to chant, “Pancakes, pancakes...”
Owen joined in, banging his silverware. He didn’t speak.
Monica was about to tell the boys to stop, but didn’t. They weren’t hurting anything other than her ears.
Cash didn’t seem bothered by the noise, either, as he ladled batter into eight puddles on the griddle. He sprinkled in mini chocolate chips and waited until the batter bubbled. Then he made a big show of flipping the pancakes over with a spatula.
