The Coldwater Warm Hearts Club (23 page)

He went silent for a moment, reliving his last wrenching day with Kim. Lacy put a hand on his thigh.

“Jake, don't tell me she . . . she didn't leave you because . . . you were wounded, did she?”

“No. Kim had sent me a Dear John a couple of weeks before the incident. Turns out that old saw is right,” Jake said. “Absence does make the heart grow fonder . . . for somebody nearby.”

It was hard to make a long-distance marriage work. Harder still when one partner was in a combat zone, but having Kim cheat on him was a wound even the Taliban couldn't inflict on him.

“I know what it feels like to be two-timed.” Lacy's brows tented together in distress and Jake remembered she'd been almost engaged to the lout who stole from their company and ran off with someone else. “I'm so sorry that happened to you.”

“Don't be.” He tried to brush aside her sympathy. He couldn't bear it. “Like I said, we were too young.”

“Why do I get the feeling there's more to this story?”

There was, but he hated to talk about it. Still, when Lacy waited in silence, he felt duty-bound to fill the void. “When I woke up in the hospital in Germany, Kim was there.”

“She wanted to come back to you?”

“No, not really.” Kim told him she'd left the other guy. But Jake knew she was only at his side out of pity and that was harder to take than his injury. “The divorce wasn't final, so she said she wanted to give our marriage a second chance.”

“But you didn't want to forgive her.”

“No, it wasn't that. At least, not only that.” He looked away from Lacy, feigning intense interest in the motorboat chugging across Lake Jewel. Even though his body was still in Coldwater Cove, his mind wandered back to the hospital ward in Germany.

It had been the sound of water that had made him open his eyes and realize for the first time that he wasn't in Afghanistan any longer. The overbright sun that bleached out all colors but dun and poppy red was in hiding. Falling in slashing torrents on the hospital windows, rain washed the whole world in gray.

Kim was there, sitting in a chair at his bedside in the bleach-scented ward. Her head drooped forward, her long dark hair obscuring her face. When she looked up and saw that he was awake, her eyes were red with weeping. At first, he was happy to see her, but then he remembered the letter. She'd cheated on him. The pain was still like a mortar to his gut.

She didn't love him anymore, so why was she there?

Then while she fussed over him and cranked up the head of his bed so he could sit up, he realized dimly that something else was wrong, too. The blankets draped over his body weren't lying right. They were flat where his left foot should have been.

He'd been wounded, Kim explained. Unconscious for several days because he'd suffered a head trauma in addition to . . . well, she wasn't able to finish the sentence. But she was there now. She'd come to take him home and, once they were back stateside, to take care of him.

It was pretty clear Jake was no longer the man she'd married. Heck, she hadn't even wanted him when he still was. The Dear John proved that. He wasn't about to let pity be the only thing that tied them to each other.

“I didn't want anything from her,” Jake said softly, almost forgetting that Lacy was there. Kim hadn't seen him as a man any longer. He was a pathetic cripple and she'd cast herself in the role of the saint who'd stuck by him.

Then he met the gaze of the woman who didn't see him as an invalid. The one who still saw him as a man. And realized he needed to tell Lacy the whole truth.

“Kim didn't leave me because of my leg. I let her go because of it.”

“I see.” Lacy tugged absently at a loose thread on the hem of her shorts. “And do you still need to let the people who want to be with you go because of your leg?”

“No.”

“Good.” Lacy smiled at him. “Let's ditch the concert, go back to your place, and make some deviled eggs.”

 

—the
Coldwater Gazette
classifieds

 

 

 

D
aniel was no judge of music, but he could have sworn the piccolo solo in “The Stars and Stripes Forever” wasn't supposed to sound like a gang of mice having their tails stomped off. Of course, it didn't matter much what sort of noise was coming from the gazebo because on the edge of the crowd, a group of teenagers was singing “Be Kind to Your Web-Footed Friends” at the top of their lungs, drowning out most of the band's mistakes.

Toward the end, all pretense of matching the right pitch was abandoned as the boys switched into screeching falsettos.

Daniel hid a grin as he walked by them. Once again, he was thankful to be in law enforcement in Coldwater Cove, where the worst youthful offenses seemed to be skateboarding in unauthorized areas, cruising around the Square too fast, and singing out of tune.

Loudly.

Coldwater Cove was a great little town. It was the best place in the world for his son to grow up.

If only Anne would allow him to be part of Carson's growing up again. He didn't blame her for limiting his time with the boy. Until he got himself together, it was the right thing for her to do. But knowing that it was right didn't make it hurt any less.

He'd been assigned to patrol the band concert on the off chance that there might be some drugs changing hands. The sheriff had heard that meth had found its way to Colton Springs, a town some fifty miles away. He wanted to make sure the drug didn't migrate up the highway and get a toehold in Coldwater, too. Daniel hadn't seen anything suspicious, but he did spot Anne and Carson on a blanket under one of the big live oaks that sprawled over the green.

Dan had been praying. He'd been working on his problem. He even swallowed his pride and drove all the way to Muskogee for a Gamblers Anonymous meeting on his day off. The hardest part was getting up in front of that roomful of strangers and admitting what he was. After that, he received nothing but support and a sponsor who was so committed to Daniel's recovery, he promised to be available to counsel him by phone anytime, day or night.

Maybe once Anne saw how serious he was about kicking his addiction—he could admit that was what it was now—she'd give him the benefit of the doubt. He screwed up his courage and headed her way.

Anne was still as pretty as the day he'd married her. And she was the best of mothers. He loved the way she held Carson's dimpled hands and clapped them together in time with the music. When the song ended she scooped him up and gave him a kiss on his chubby tummy. The child squealed with pleasure.

Watching the tender way she played with Carson made Dan's chest swell. They were his little family. His to love. His to protect.

He was so ready to do that again. All he needed was for Anne to trust him. To let him back into that safe little circle of love they'd once had so they could rebuild their life together.

Lester Scott's face swam in his vision. Dan rarely let himself think of the man as his father, but there was no denying the connection. Still, contrary to the old man's warning, he was not looking into a mirror, Daniel told himself. He didn't have to repeat Lester's mistakes.

Maybe Lester couldn't help his mental problems, but he hadn't tried to do anything about his mean-fisted drinking either. He'd given up any chance for a normal family in exchange for the worm at the bottom of a tequila bottle.

Daniel was determined not to do the same thing to Anne and Carson no matter how often a quartet of queens winked at him.

“Hello, Anne,” he said, taking a seat on the quilt beside her before she could tell him not to. Gabbling a string of da-das, Carson crawled over to his lap. Dan hugged him close. “I see the boy's doing good.”

She nodded, a smile drifting over her lips, there one moment, gone the next. “He misses you.”

“Not as much as I miss him.” He planted a kiss on the boy's temple and inhaled his fresh baby-powder scent. Dan shifted the boy up onto his shoulders so he could see the band over the heads of the people in front of them. Then he met Anne's gaze. “Not as much as I miss you. I do, you know. More than I can say.”

Her eyes shone at him for a moment, but then she looked away. “I got the job.”

“Oh?”

“At Walmart in the jewelry department,” she said. “It's only part-time, but that's okay. I don't think I can bear being away from Carson more than twenty-five or thirty hours a week anyway.”

“Is your mom taking care of him while you work?”

She nodded.

At least his son wasn't being watched by a stranger. Just someone who sort of hated his dad. Still, Celia would take good care of Carson.

Daniel lowered the boy from his shoulders, leaned back and crossed his legs, turning his right foot into a horsey for Carson to ride. “If you let me know your work schedule, I could ask for time off some of those hours so I can take him.”

“I don't want you to put your job at risk. Mom told me you've been giving her money and bringing over groceries to help with our keep,” Anne said. “She's beginning to think you're not such a bad sort now.”

Daniel chuckled. “If I'd known that was the way to Celia's heart, I'd have tried bribery sooner.” Then he sobered. “What about you? Do you still think I'm a bad sort?”

“Danny, I never thought you were bad. Just . . . you just have a problem.”

“But it doesn't have me,” he corrected, putting Carson down to play on the blanket between them. “I'm dealing with it.”

Her dark eyes seemed unsure. “I wish I could believe you.”

“Here. I'll prove it.” Daniel reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a much-folded scratch ticket. He handed it to her.

She stared at the piece of paper and then at him, her expression puzzled. “Danny, this is a lottery ticket. The only thing it proves is that you're still gambling.”

“No, I'm not. Don't you see? The ticket hasn't been played,” he said, pointing at the fading type. “Look at the date. I've carried it with me ever since then.”

He'd bought it in despair at a twenty-four-hour convenience store the same day Anne left him. But then he realized that even if the ticket was a big winner, money wouldn't fix what he'd broken between them. So he'd folded up the ticket and put it in his shirt pocket without scratching off the surface to reveal whether or not he'd won. He kept it in his pocket, close to his heart, like a coiled viper he was trying to tame.

Resisting the urge to play the card was worse than the most vigorous exercise. It tested his will instead of his body. At first, hands shaking, he'd pulled out the card several times a day, always on the brink of peeling away the surface with the edge of a penny. Would he feel the rush of winning or the crush of loss? Each time, he forced himself to put the ticket away without answering that question.

Even after the drawing was past and the ticket was invalid, it still called to him, singing the siren song of winnings that were just out of reach. There were still ways to play the ticket for one of the state's “second chance” drawings, but he somehow always managed to refold it and stuff it back into his pocket.

“This must have been a terrible temptation for you,” Anne said, turning the bedraggled card over in her hands. “You could have thrown it away. Why did you keep it?”

“So I could prove to you, and to myself, that I could quit.” He decided to take a chance, the biggest gamble of his life, and reached for her hand. To his relief, she didn't pull away. “Anne, you are the most important thing in the world to me, you and Carson. I will never lose sight of that again. Ever. I promise.”

Her chin trembled. “You mean it?”

“I'm betting my life on it. I'm no good without you, Annie. And I'll work hard. I promise. We'll have our own house again as soon as I can get a down payment together and—”

She stopped him with a finger to his lips. “This was never about the house.”

It was to him. Losing their home had made him feel lower than a worm's belly. The little bungalow on Crepe Myrtle Street had meant comfort. Stability. Permanence. A place to shut out the world and bask in the love of his family. He'd never had that as a kid. Now he was driven to provide it for his wife and son.

And he'd risked it all on the turn of a card.

“Life doesn't mean a thing if I can't share it with you.” He cupped her cheek. “Please. Give me another chance.”

“I'll do better than that.” She leaned into his caress and smiled up at him. He could live happy for a week on just one of those smiles. “I made mistakes, too. How about if we both give
us
another chance?”

His heart flooded with tenderness. It was so like her to shoulder part of the responsibility, but Daniel knew his weakness had caused all their problems. No more. He had plenty of reasons to be strong, but none were more important than the two he was sharing a blanket with at that very moment.

“My shift ends in an hour,” Dan said, still hardly daring to believe he was being given a reprieve. “Can I come by tonight and move you and Carson back to my place?”

When Anne had left him, she hadn't taken any furniture with her except Carson's crib and high chair. Daniel had moved everything they owned from their little house into his rented duplex. Except for the nursery, everything was ready for his family to rejoin him. In a fit of hopefulness, he'd even put up Carson's swing set in the tiny backyard.

She hesitated, so he redoubled his efforts. He figured she deserved to make him grovel a little.

“Please, Anne, come home tonight.” He drew her into his arms, not caring if any of the other picnickers were looking on. “I know the duplex won't be as good as the house was, but tell me you and Carson will move back in with me tonight.”

“For the umpteenth time, I don't care about the house, Danny. I care about you. And wherever you are, that's home to me. But it won't be just Carson and me moving in.”

Despite his frantic silent prayer, he managed to say, “Oh?” in a semi-neutral tone.

“Another little person will be coming home, too.”

Wonderment settled over him as Anne took his hand and put it on her slightly rounded belly.

Daniel blinked back tears. Anne had forgiven him for the mistakes of the past. The folks at Gamblers Anonymous had told him he'd always struggle with his addiction. But his darling wife was giving him a new reason to keep fighting the good fight. He held her close.

Then she pulled away from him, tore the lottery ticket to pieces, and tossed them into the air like a handful of confetti.

“That's littering in a public park, ma'am,” he said in a mock-stern tone.

“Then you'd better arrest me, officer,” she said as she threw her arms around his neck. “And never let me go.”

“That's a promise.” Daniel kissed her long and deep. He didn't give a rat's rear end who saw them doing it in a public park either.

He'd been forgiven. He had a second chance.

Was there anything better in the world?

* * *

All afternoon and into the evening, Lacy and Jake played in his kitchen. She taught him how to make three-cheese deviled eggs and once he mastered that, he started improvising. Next it was deviled eggs with bacon and jalapeños that were so hot it made sweat bead up on Lacy's forehead. Then he concocted a cool mixture of chives and cream cheese to put the fire out.

“I've never done anything but the traditional relish and mayo and paprika deviled eggs before,” Jake said as he sampled his latest creation. “I wonder how it would taste if I substituted mashed-up avocado for the mayo.”

“I don't know. Call me a stick in the mud, but I think green eggs should only appear in a Dr. Seuss book.”

“Or as a St. Patrick's breakfast special,” Jake said, unaffected by her doubtfulness. “Might be worth trying next year.”

“Oh, I know! Maybe you could approach one of the elementary teachers about taking a field trip to the grill. You could set things up for the kids to make their own eggs and end the event with a
Green Eggs and Ham
read aloud.”

“Sort of tying good nutrition and books and creativity all together in one gooey project,” he said. “I like it.”

“Or you could do a cooking-with-kids class some evening to get the parents involved.” Lacy recognized the burst of imagination surging through her. She used to get that same high when she discovered the right concept for a design. It felt good to know the old creative juices could still flow, even if it was in a totally different direction. “I know you've got a lot of regular customers, but surely you can always use more.”

“That kind of thing would certainly pull in a different crowd.” Jake filled the sink to wash up the bowls they'd used. “It would be great if families with kids wanted to come to the Green Apple to sit down for a meal instead of driving through a fast-food place.”

“You wouldn't have to limit your cooking classes to parents and kids, you know,” Lacy said. “In Boston, sometimes chefs would put on food raves that made for a great date night.”