Bittersweet: Can she rebuild her life? Read online

  “I like Ashley. She’s nice. Doesn’t she remind you of Mom?” she asked as she aligned the French fries on her plate.

  He didn’t think his heart could break again, but every time she mentioned his sister, El broke off another chunk.

  El stared at the pickle on her plate next to the half-eaten burger.

  Oh, El, please, don’t cry. Please? You’re killing me, here.

  He could defuse bombs, carry a wounded buddy off the battlefield, and run for miles with a pack half his body weight, but the look on his niece’s face when she mentioned Zoe totally crushed him.

  Taking a much needed breath, he said, “Yeah, she does a little. They both have blond hair just like you.”

  El’s face flickered to life for a second before fading again. She jabbed the remainder of her burger bun with her fork, poking at the food on her plate again and again.

  “El? What’s up with you?”

  The thumping of feet against the booth increased. “The teacher said in a few days it’ll be May. Mom left me in May.”

  Oh, God. Not this again. His hand folded into a fist. “That's right.” His voice remained calm and steady.

  “She's not coming back, is she?”

  No, she’d dead. He opened his mouth, but no alternative explanation popped into his brain to rescue him. How could he help a seven-year-old understand the concept of death? What could he say to help El understand her mother would never be coming back?

  Mrs. Azar, his sister’s neighbor, explained in detail how Zoe looked so peaceful, like nothing was wrong, like she was just peacefully sleeping when the paramedics strapped her on a cart and wheeled her away.

  It was no wonder El questioned why her mom had gone away, why she believed her mom would be back. She couldn’t comprehend that Zoe was gone forever.

  He wished he had a reasonable explanation for why, because some days even he didn’t understand why.

  Why hadn’t Zoe taken better care of herself?

  She was always pushing too hard, ignoring her asthmatic symptoms. But why?

  Heath forced down the lump in his throat. “No, El.” He shuffled the silverware on the table back and forth to align with the edge of the table. “She’s not coming back. I know you want to know why she died. I wish I had an answer for you, but I don't. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can say to help you feel better.”

  El dropped her fork and shoved it under her plate. Tears gathered, then spilled, rolling in streaks over her precious cheeks. “Did she die because I didn’t do my homework?”

  What the hell?

  Heath pushed out of the booth and slid in the opposite side. “El. Look at me.” When she didn't budge, he hugged her against his side. “No, Squirt. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He tipped her chin up. “Your mom was so proud of you.” He pointed at her heart. “Can’t you feel her love?”

  “No,” she whimpered. “What if I forget what she looks like?”

  “Then I’ll be here to remind you.” He reached for his wallet and slid a worn, battered picture out of the plastic sleeve. “Here she is.” He dropped the picture on the table. “Here’s your mom.”

  His sister’s image smiled back at him.

  He traced his fingers over the photo. Zoe’s face glowed with happiness. A blue and gold high school tassel dangled over the side of her face. She’d done it. She made it through high school, and sent him the picture in a letter addressed to an A.P.O address to prove she’d kept her promise to him, although the card had bounced around for a few months before making its way to his unit in Afghanistan.

  The guys had teased him about the piece of gum she sent along as a joke—a holdover from junior high when he kept taking the gum out of her backpack. He unwrapped the spearmint stick while he read her five-page update. She missed him.

  She had no idea how much he missed her.

  “Are you going to leave me too?”

  A frail question cut to the bone.

  He closed his eyes. Terrified of saying something wrong, he fought to find the right words. But what could he say? The kid was too smart to settle for half-baked generalizations.

  “No, El. You and me, we’re a team. Remember?” He placed his hand on the top of her head. “I’ll always be here for you.”

  At least that was the plan. Life had a way of screwing up plans—big time.

  He reached for a napkin. “Here,” he shoved the paper square into her hand, not knowing what else to do. She brushed her tears while he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave her another side-hug.

  Seconds trudged by before her stiff body slumped into his arms.

  “It will be okay, El. You’ll see.”

  She nodded, then pushed her plate back. “Can I have a slice of cherry pie?”

  He fisted his hand, and released a steady breath. Okay. He’d let El switch topics, because he understood about ignoring the things that hurt the most. The same way he understood why she kept asking the same questions over and over again.

  Heath drummed his fingertips on the table, waiting to see if El would switch topics again to the asthma attack...or the funeral...or the fact her life would never be the same.

  “Sure. You can have a piece of pie, but then no dessert tonight. Deal?”

  “Okaaaay,” El mumbled her disappointment under her breath, the rest of her mutterings lost in the crowded pub’s noise.

  “I’ll place the order unless...” Unless what? He could take the pain away? Or convince her life was grand? Neither of which he could do. “...you want to chat some more.”

  Her puppy-dog eyes spoke volumes, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.” He massaged the muscles in the back of his neck on his way to the bar.

  “Hey, Watson. Ready for your check?” asked Jack Burke, Mad Jack’s owner and captain of the local volunteer rescue squad. He'd known Jack for a little under a year, but he liked the guy. The well-respected emergency medical tech slash bar owner also knew how to listen. His customers came as often for his advice as for his hand-crafted beers and sweet potato fries.

  “Hey, Jack.” Heath leaned against the wooden bartop and slid his credit card across the worn surface. “A piece of cherry pie for my niece and then the check would be great.”

  Jack punched the additional item into the computer, then ripped and shoved the receipt and a pen in Heath’s direction.

  “Is everything okay?” Jack pointed toward El, then grabbed a hand towel to finish drying a glass.

  El had hunkered down into the booth, her chin resting on the tabletop. Heath hung his head “How do you tell a kid where their mom has gone when they have no concept of death or heaven? El keeps wanting answers. I don’t mind the questions, but I have a feeling she believes her mom will reappear one day—like Zoe’s away on a trip, or something. She still blames herself for her mom’s absence.”

  “Sorry, man. That’s a tough one.”

  “The social worker said to let her talk and eventually she’ll figure things out, but I’m not sure.” He punched down the fear. “I can’t screw this up. El deserves to be happy.”

  Jack retrieved the signed receipt and shoved the slip into the register slot. “Looks to me like you’re doing the best you can. Getting a military discharge. Coming home. You did what needed to be done.”

  Jack reached for the pie the cook slid onto the serving line. “Here you go. Will I see you at the mountain rescue meeting on Thursday?”

  “If I can find a sitter. I hate asking Ashley to watch El all the time.”

  “I’m sure Ashley doesn’t mind. She adores the kid.” Jack grabbed a clean rag and sanitizer bottle to wipe down the counter. “Hey, I have good news. The state finally approved a full-time search and rescue coordinator position. Guess they got sick of us complaining.”

  “No kidding. That’s great. Is the job for Eagle county, or are they including the unincorporated mountain counties too?”

  “Don’t know yet.” Jack positioned a beer g
lass below the lager dispenser and pulled the lever to release the amber liquid. “I’m waiting for the job to be posted.”

  “You gonna apply for the position?”

  Jack’s face folded like a crumpled piece of paper. “Hell, no. You did hear me say it’s a full-time position, right? I can barely manage to keep this place going and get you screwballs to a meeting once a month.”

  Heath chuckled. “Well, I hope they find someone who knows their shit. Coordinating fire, land, air, and volunteers isn’t easy.”

  “Why don’t you apply?”

  “Me?” He thought about the thrill of having command over the rescue efforts for only half a second. “Can’t. Between El, school, and work, I’m in the same boat you are, only my boat is sinking at the moment.”

  “I’ll loan you a bucket. Just keep bailing, buddy. Just keep bailing.”

  Heath tapped a lose fist on the counter to pound out his growing restlessness. “I’d better take El her pie. Hopefully this afternoon she can settle in and stop disrupting class.”

  “Give her time.”

  Time? How much time was enough? “I’ll give her the time she needs, but she’s got to learn she can’t act out at school. I’m starting to suspect she just wants to skip class. She’s always hated change, and being at a new place, with a new teacher, and having to make new friends doesn’t help.”

  “But you said there were no jobs in Kansas.”

  “There weren’t. I looked. I even went back to the place I worked in high school. There just weren’t any jobs that would pay enough to cover the bills. Moving was the best option for me to provide El what she needed. Thankfully, Chase saw my Facebook post and pinged me about a job.”

  “Once a Marine, always a Marine, eh?” The military veteran leaned against the counter. “You were El’s age once. What kept you in class?”

  “The disappointment in my parents’ eyes.”

  Jack’s brow leveled up to a ten on the smug chart while Heath’s brain processed the ah-ha moment.

  “Smart-ass. I see your point.”

  “See? You know what you’re doing.”

  Heath snorted. Jack was a good man and quickly becoming a solid friend. “Thanks, man. Let me know who applies for the job. Hope it’s someone who’s got the goods.”

  Jack nodded. Heath grabbed the pie plate and a roll of silverware, then froze.

  Where’s El?

  The burger he’d just eaten mushed together in his gut.

  He scanned the table and booths, by the jukebox, pool tables, dartboard lanes. He dropped the pie on the table. El where the hell are you?

  She wouldn’t leave...would she?

  Maybe she went to the bathroom.

  He headed for the stage, his chest tightening with each step.

  Then he picked up the tinkling sound of her voice and whipped around.

  Anger welled, then flooded over with relief. “El, I thought I asked you to stay put.”

  “Your daughter isn’t a dog, Deputy.” The woman with long, dark hair glared at him.

  Mara, his boss's wife was sitting across from the woman, and shifted uncomfortably.

  The brunette couldn’t be from town. He hadn’t seen her before, and he’d pretty much met everyone, especially since he and El started going to the high school football games.

  The scowl on her face meant she disapproved of his admittedly bad choice of words. But the tone she used pricked his already frayed nerves.

  “She’s my niece, and I’m well aware she's not a dog, Ms....”

  “Nickerson.”

  “Ms. Nickerson. But I did ask her to wait for me at our table while I ordered her dessert.”

  He’d like to wipe that sharp, critical expression off her face with a snide remark, but she had a point. “She loves Mara’s service dog, and always stops to say hello.”

  El, who was trying to scratch every spot on Buddy’s body, ignored him.

  “Most children like animals.”

  He gave up on the rational or the friendly. The Ice Queen wouldn’t thaw anytime soon.

  “Hey, Heath.” Mara waved a hand to get his attention. “I’d like to introduce you to Leza. She worked here a couple of years ago, and just came back.”

  Oh, great. The storm is here to stay.

  Mara leaned his direction. “Leza, this is our newest deputy, Heath Watson.”

  “Hello, newest deputy.” Ice Queen gave him one of those looks that suggested he should have known what she meant, but was too dumb to pick up on it.

  He rested his elbow on his utility belt. “Is there a problem, Ms. Nickerson?”

  “No problem.” She blushed.

  Could a warm human exist under those layers of ice after all? He reached toward El. “Your pie is waiting at the table. We should go.”

  El ignored him and hugged Buddy. “Mara. Ma’am. Have a nice day.”

  He leaned in to whisper a warning to El for disobeying his request again.

  “Deputy?”

  His whispered name, colored with genuine regret, made him pause.

  Her eye color had switched to a lighter shade. Plus her spine had also softened, adding to the intrigue.

  “I’m sorry if I came off as judgmental. It’s just…” she rubbed her head, suddenly interested in a speck of dust on the table. “...I’ve experienced firsthand the bad things that can happen to kids, so I tend to be overprotective. I didn't mean to judge. I was out of line.” Her eyes again met his. “I’m sorry.”

  The disconcerting intensity in her expression proved beyond doubt that she possessed intimate knowledge of the ugly side of life. There’s only one way a person acquired that type of experience—the up close and personal kind of way.

  He took a second to study her set jaw and proud spine, noting the way she kept herself behind the perfected safeguards. Yep, the spitfire had seen hell, or her version anyway.

  “Ma’am.” He nodded, and let his expression speak for him.

  She seemed to want him to understand, accept her apology, which deepened his curiosity.

  A few seconds more then should have been necessary passed before he forced his soul-deep, steady look back to the sheriff’s wife. “Mara? Would you tell Joe I’ll catch up with him later?”

  “He’s supposed to meet us here. He must have been held up.” Mara pressed her open hands against the tabletop presumably to feel grounded. “He'll be sorry he missed you. Feel free to stop by the house tonight. I made elk stew and corn bread.”

  Even though he’d eaten more than he should for lunch, his mouth watered for real home cooking. “That’s mighty kind. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to keep the option open.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He tapped on his niece's shoulder. “Ready for pie?”

  Ellie tugged on the Labrador’s ear once more, then skipped back to their table. He followed at a more leisurely pace, glancing back over his shoulder just once to consider how those brown eyes with specks of golden-green had studied him.

  He shook off the image and slid into the booth.

  “Eat up. We need to get you back to school.”

  He chuckled over Ellie’s eye roll and groan, knowing full well she'd try to nibble at her pie for the next quarter of an hour to avoid math class.

  He didn't blame her. He hated math as well, but he couldn’t open that door. He made a note to himself to develop a disappointed, wicked-eye, parental stare in the mirror.

  He had a feeling he would need it.

  He had to prepare El for life.

  Protecting her was his job. Only he had no clue how to keep her young, vunerable heart safe.

  Chapter 3

  Why did her insides go all wonky at the sight of a man in uniform?

  An explosive craving rushed to her core, the discomfort making her shift and cross her legs.

  Men. Who needs them? They make promises and then get themselves killed.

  But, man. The way that utility belt sat low on Heath Watson’s hips was sexy as hell. />
  Her gaze locked onto those handcuffs, then skimmed over his nice, firm, round rump.

  She forced her gaze away from the precision-creased shirt, pressed pants, spit-shined shoes, broad back, narrow waist, and bicyclist quads. The scrumptiousness imprinted on her brain.

  What am I doing? Look away, NOW!

  The honed masculine form filling the uniform did nothing but enhance the image.

  The Cobb salad no longer appealed to her. Not when scrumptiousness had settled less then ten yards away.

  What was his scent? A wafting memory floated to the surface. Maplewood and pepper. That’s what he’s wearing. Her beloved granddad had worn a similar scent.

  Granddad had been strict, yet kind. Bold, yet tender. Controlled, yet wild. Like her father, Granddad was an entire picture book full of crazy stuff. Military pictures. Trips to Africa. Meeting friends in Europe. Each one a fascinating story to be cherished and held close to the heart.

  However, the deputy definitely leaned more toward serious, but the scent piqued her interest. What did he like to do for fun? Or did he even know how to have fun? And why did he have his niece with him?

  “Do you miss him?” Mara's question jerked her out of the loop of questions.

  Who? Heath?

  Leza’s brain did a quick recalibration. No. Mara wasn’t talking about Heath. She wanted to talk about her friend and brother-in-law. “In some ways, Sam's memory kept me alive these past years.” Leza forgot and met Mara’s blank stare. “I didn’t know he was gone until my former boss thought I could handle the news. He should have told me sooner.” She stabbed at her salad, sweeping aside the bacon and blue cheese before giving up and placing her fork on the side of the plate. “The nights I was able to sleep, Sam came to me. He seemed so real, I hated waking up. He kept telling me he had my back.” She sucked in a breath. “I’m not saying I believe in angels or ghosts or anything.”

  “You may not, but I do.” Mara relaxed into the booth. “My parents and sister were killed in the same car accident that took my sight and left me with a whole bunch of rods and pins in my body. In the hospital, when I couldn’t fight anymore, my mom and dad, and even my sister, came to me. My dad especially told me to keep living, that I had more to do. I still feel them with me, although less since Joe came into my life.” She began adjusting her long-sleeved teal pullover to cover her fidgeting. “It's a comfort to know I’m not alone.”