The Welcome Committee of Butternut Creek Read online

  Had they practiced this?

  He had several handy and completely believable excuses, good excuses. His leg hurt. Even after having more cushioning and doing exercises in PT with the prosthesis, he couldn’t walk for long. He didn’t have a car and he didn’t like getting into a car because he looked so clumsy and Willow’s car was really low. He could tell them he had no interest in their lives. But he couldn’t lie. And he couldn’t hurt them.

  He wasn’t their father. He wasn’t even related. He had no responsibility here. Still, he knew exactly what was going to happen next.

  “Sir, please?” The last word ended with a quaver in Nick’s voice that made the kid swallow hard and glance, embarrassed, at his older brother.

  Sam could tell them no if real Gyrenes stood in front of him, but not these two. They needed a man in their lives, even a half-used-up man like him.

  In his head he cursed. They were opening him up like a trout being gutted. It hurt.

  “Then, sir, yes, sir, I will come to school with you next week.”

  The boys looked at each other and laughed and shouted, then started toward him.

  “Do not break formation, marines.”

  They stopped, completely still, and came to attention. “Sir, no, sir,” they said.

  “Sir, will you wear your uniform?” Leo asked.

  Where had he put his uniform? Had the general taken it back to Ohio with him? It wasn’t in his closet. Other than jeans and T-shirts, nothing was. “No, but I will wear my marine T-shirt.”

  “Cool,” they said, still at attention but smiling happily.

  He’d never seen such happy marines. No, kids. He couldn’t make these guys into fantasy. They were kids. He was a washed up ex-marine with only one leg. In his fantasy, these boys had become his men, his troops. Pitiful.

  Even worse, every time they were here, he hoped their mother would drop by, so he could catch an eyeful of her. Even more pathetic.

  Okay, if the boys wanted to hang, he had to come up with something for them to do. If they had the material, they could start on that fence, but they didn’t. They’d already measured but the lumberyard couldn’t deliver until next week. Neither he nor their mother wanted them to just sit around and watch him sleep. He had allowed them to spend a little time watching DVDs of old war movies with him, and that would eat up thirty minutes before they became restless. What could they do the rest of the time?

  Maybe he could teach them manners. A couple of weeks earlier, the general had sent him stationery in case he felt like writing anyone. Oh, sure. The box lay in the bottom drawer of his dresser, still sealed in cellophane or whatever that plastic stuff was.

  “Marines, time to write a thank-you note to Mr. Masterson for that great cake.”

  After Leo completed that chore and Sam found a stamp in the package of stationery, the boys ran to the corner and mailed it while Sam watched from the porch.

  He was becoming a mother hen, but if anything happened to those kids, their real mother would kill him. Or shout at him. Or give him that disappointed look her sons had described. Sam didn’t think he could take that.

  “What are you guys doing?”

  His attention had been so focused on the boys he hadn’t realized Willow had approached the house, even climbed the steps of the porch, and stood only five feet from him. What kind of marine allowed an incursion like that? What kind of man didn’t notice a woman like Willow standing that close?

  “Mom.” Nick bounced up the steps. “We saved you a piece of cake.”

  “Chocolate cake,” Leo added.

  “Where did it come from? Did you bake it, Captain?”

  “I’m not much of a cook, ma’am.”

  “There was a note from Mr. Masterson with it,” Leo said.

  “He must have donated it when Miss Pansy brought me food.”

  “Because we ate so much, Sam made us write a letter to thank him,” Nick said, then gulped when Leo glared at him for giving away the fact they’d eaten chocolate cake, not exactly a health food.

  “Thank you for helping the boys with their manners.” She smiled at Sam. “I’ve tried. It’s not easy.”

  “Come on inside, Mom. The cake’s in the refrigerator.” Leo opened the front door for her.

  “Do you mind?” She glanced at Sam, oddly uncomfortable; he noticed.

  “No, ma’am.” He liked calling her “ma’am.” It put a little distance between them. Probably why she called him “Captain.” “You’d better hurry before your sons eat the whole thing themselves.”

  Nick took her hand. “Come into the kitchen.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and caught him watching her. He lifted his eyes to her face. Had she noticed? Probably didn’t matter. Most likely she was accustomed to guys checking her out.

  “Have a seat.” He remembered as he spoke that there were only two chairs at the kitchen table and the stepstool the boys dragged in so the three of them could all sit there. She took one chair and he took the other.

  Nick took a fork from the drawer, placed it on the table in front of his mother, then stood at attention next to her while Leo brought her the piece of cake.

  “Looks lovely.” She looked at the sliver and grinned.

  “It’s not very big, is it?” Leo said. “We should have cut you more.”

  “This is exactly the right amount. Thank you.”

  “We asked the captain to take us to school,” Leo said. “Along with you. Is that okay?”

  “Oh?” She glanced at Sam, but he couldn’t read the expression. Was she hurt that they wanted him along? No, he thought she looked more nervous than displeased.

  “Is that all right?” he asked.

  “Of course. I’ll have the boys give you the information when we know more.”

  She cut the tip of the cake, placed it on her tongue, and closed her mouth to chew.

  Oh, Mama. He could watch her do that all day.

  It only took her a few seconds to finish the small piece. Then she glanced at Sam. Obviously he hadn’t hidden the emotion that had flooded him as he’d watched her savor the cake.

  “Gyrenes, pick up the equipment in the backyard.” With a quick movement of his head, Sam signaled for the boys to leave. As they ran out to obey his orders, he put his hand on hers.

  She glanced down at their hands, then lifted her eyes to his. “Captain, this is a very bad idea.” She stood but he held her hand in place so she couldn’t move away. She didn’t struggle but she didn’t sit, either. “Captain…”

  “Sam,” he said.

  “I need to go. It’s not a bit professional for me to be here.” She nodded toward his hand. “Like this. Alone.”

  “You’re not my only physical therapist. What’s-his-name works with me, too.”

  “Yes, but I do work with you and will supervise the fit of your prosthesis.”

  He grinned. Although he didn’t know why, the expression was usually very successful with women.

  “Oh.” She blinked.

  Obviously the grin worked on her, too, because she sat back down slowly, as if she’d lost the strength in both of her legs and the will to resist. He could only hope.

  He was glad she’d settled in the chair next to him because standing, balancing on one good leg and a prosthesis wasn’t easy. Even seated, he couldn’t keep his feet steady on the floor. Sure that falling out of the chair wouldn’t show his macho-ness, Sam kept his right elbow on the table to stabilize himself. Feeling secure enough to make a move, he leaned forward to run his thumb down her cheek. He hadn’t flirted with or attempted to seduce a woman in forever. Had he forgotten how to do it?

  She blinked again and swallowed, but she didn’t say anything. Then she shivered a little. He grinned, inside. He still had it.

  Slipping his hand behind her neck, he pulled her forward gently and leaned in enough—keeping himself balanced—to touch her lips with his. Then he pulled her even closer until their mouths met, hard against each other. He nibbled h
er lower lip. For a moment she relaxed and opened her mouth a little, but when he started to slip his tongue inside, she pulled away and leaped to her feet.

  “No fair,” he said. “I can’t stand up that fast.”

  “I… I… have to see how my sons are doing.” But she didn’t move, just stood still and studied him.

  “Coward,” he whispered.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Then what?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I… my husband…”

  “Must have been a complete idiot.”

  For a moment she stared at him. Then she grinned. “Yes, he was, but Tiffany’s a young and gorgeous creature. One day he’s going to realize she has no brain, but right now he doesn’t care.”

  Pushing on the table, he stood. “Don’t run away.”

  “I wasn’t.” She looked down for a moment before meeting his eyes. “Okay, I was. And I am, but…”

  “You felt something.”

  “Oh, my, yes. Only the dead wouldn’t have, but I don’t think I’m… I mean, it was… but I’m not ready.”

  “If you weren’t ready, you wouldn’t have felt it.”

  She glared at him. “A fine argument. I bet it works with some women, but I know that sometimes the body acts before the brain can kick in.”

  “Maybe the brain should stay out of this.”

  “Oh, like with my husband and Tiffany?”

  Not what he meant at all, but he’d stupidly reminded her of the general treachery of men. From the flash in her eyes, he could tell he’d blown any chance he had, at least for a while.

  “Sir, we put everything in the shed.” Leo clattered through the slider, across the dining room, and into the kitchen with Nick following.

  “Are you guys finished?” Willow asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” they said together.

  “Then we need to go, Captain.” Willow grabbed Leo and started toward the front door, holding her son like a shield.

  “Just a minute, Mom. I’ve got to police the kitchen.” Nick glanced at Sam as he picked up her plate and fork to take them to the sink. “Sir, you have something pink on your mouth,” he said.

  Twirling, Willow dropped Leo’s hand, took the plate from Nick, and shoved him toward the door, then turned on the hot water and squirted dishwashing liquid. “Go on outside, to the front porch. Now! I’ll be right there.”

  “Did you cut yourself?” Nick asked Sam. “Are you bleeding?”

  Leo’s thoughtful gaze leaped back and forth between Sam’s face and Willow’s.

  “Shoo.” Willow waved her hands at her sons while Sam burst out laughing. “This is not funny, Captain.”

  But it was. He laughed harder than he could remember laughing for months.

  “Go on out to the car, boys,” she said and waved them out the door.

  When they left, he said, “I’m going to kiss you again.” He watched her scrub the plate so hard she might remove the pattern from its surface. “Someday.”

  “Don’t count on that.” She twisted the dishcloth as if she wished she could wring his neck. Then she turned and glared at him. “You have a very high opinion of yourself.” Before he could answer, she tossed the dishrag on the counter and hustled out after the boys.

  He stopped smiling. Okay, so he’d kissed her and he wanted to do it again. But after that, what? Going after a woman with two kids counted as serious business. He didn’t want to hurt any of them, but he sure wasn’t ready for commitment, exactly like Willow.

  What was he doing?

  The Thomases walked down the sidewalk and got in the car. In the rearview mirror, Willow could see the boys whispering. She put the keys in the ignition but kept her eyes on her sons.

  After several seconds of Leo giving information, Nick said, “You’re kidding?” Then he glanced up at her, eyes wide.

  She dreaded considering what her sons might be saying. Actually, she had a pretty good idea, and she knew Nick, her lovable but bigmouthed child, would blurt it out as soon as he heard it all.

  With the boys settled in the backseat, she put the car in gear and pulled onto the street. As she did, Nick said, “Mom, Leo said you kissed the captain. Did you?”

  “Shut up,” Leo whispered. “I told you not to say anything.”

  “Okay, okay,” Nick said. After only a few seconds, he added, “Mom, do you like the captain?”

  From the muttered “ouch” she heard, she bet Leo pinched his brother. “Of course. He’s a very nice man. I really appreciate the amount of time he takes with you guys.”

  “No… ouch, stop it,” Nick began before, she guessed, Leo elbowed him. “Do you really like him? More than you liked Dad?”

  Of course her sons would wonder. They liked Sam. They knew he’d kissed her and wondered about the entire situation. “It’s not like that.”

  “Then what’s it like?” Nick persisted.

  This time there was no ouch from the backseat.

  “Yeah, what is it like?” Leo said.

  “He’s an attractive man, but I’m his physical therapist. It wouldn’t be professional for me to like a patient, someone from work.”

  “That’s dumb,” Nick muttered. “Dad did.”

  “It’s still not appropriate. Hard to understand, but that’s how it is.”

  She’d pulled into the parking lot behind the apartments, found a place, and shut the car off. Was she safe?

  As she opened the car door, Nick said, “But when he’s better and you aren’t his therapist anymore, then you could like him more, right? Kiss him again?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Before she could step out, Leo asked, “How could you not know? He’s great, he likes us, and he likes you. Why wouldn’t you like him back?”

  She stood and watched the boys pile out of the back, then closed the door and hit the lock button. “It’s more complicated than that.”

  “Wasn’t complicated for Dad,” Nick said. “He and Tiffany…”

  “Shut up, squirt.” Leo gave his brother another jab.

  “Don’t hurt your brother,” she said, leaping on the opportunity to change the subject. “Just because you’re the big brother doesn’t give you the right to…”

  “Yeah, just because you’re the big brother,” Nick said, “you’re not the boss of me.”

  She sighed, deeply grateful for the interruption of the quarrel. Not that a good mother would encourage bickering, but she preferred that to their curiosity and the uncomfortable questions. Someday, of course, she’d have to face their inquiries honestly and work through her feelings, because whatever might or might not happen with Captain Peterson affected her sons as well.

  As she listened to Leo and Nick argue, she knew the reprieve was temporary. Nick never let go of anything until the answers completely satisfied him.

  The next day, Willow considered herself in the full-length mirror in the PT department. Everyone had cleared out and she’d grabbed her purse and her laptop to head for the door when her reflection caught her attention.

  She wasn’t the type of woman men fell in love with immediately. Despite her fragile exterior, inside she was too pushy, too cold, too in-charge and controlling, not a bit girlie and flirty. The traits made her a great physical therapist, but not, as Grant had often said, a great wife.

  The jerk. Fortunately, she hadn’t listened to him. Much.

  For example, her hair, which he’d mentioned more than occasionally. She’d never been able to do anything with it so she pulled the unruly red tresses back and forgot about them except when wisps escaped and refused to be pulled back.

  Tiffany had gorgeous blond curls and waves, artfully shaped and colored and pampered by an expensive hairdresser. Willow had considered such spending unnecessary. No, she shook her head. She wasn’t a bit girlie.

  She turned sideways. She did have a great figure, through no effort of her own. Men liked that. Grant had. Sam did.

  White shirt and navy slacks. Comfortable, flat sh
oes that didn’t make her legs look yards long, like Tiffany’s. Hers were actually longer than Grant’s third and present wife’s. She’d just never showed them off. Although very effective for stealing husbands, short skirts and strappy sandals on three-inch heels didn’t work in the PT department or as the mother of two active boys.

  Why after all these months did she continue to compare herself with that woman? Certainly she was better than that. If not better, at least different. She’d always accepted herself, always had pretty healthy self-esteem until Grant chose the über-feminine Tiffany.

  All of which brought her back to the original question: Why did Sam find her attractive? He could have his pick of women, and yet he’d settled on her, at least for now. Maybe because she was handy? Propinquity?

  Doggone, there she went again, unable to even think a man could find her attractive. Grant had done a job on her, ruined her self-esteem and trust—but she’d allowed that. Why? She had great kids, was terrific at her job, and had started a new life for herself and the boys.

  Doggone number two, she sounded exactly like her mother comforting her back when Willow didn’t have a date for the prom.

  But she couldn’t stop wondering. Why, after all this time, did she allow her cheating husband and his third wife to control her life and her thoughts? Habit? Guilt? She bet neither of them ever thought about her. What had she gotten for remembering the hurt? She leaned closer to the mirror and noticed two thin grooves between her eyes. Then she wiggled her jaw, an action that hurt because she clenched her teeth too much. All she’d gotten was wrinkles and painful muscles.

  “Mizz Thomas?” The janitor stuck his head inside the door. “Are you still working?”

  “No, Ralph, come on in and clean.” She glanced at the clock. “Five thirty. I didn’t realize I was so late.” The boys would be wondering where she was.

  As Ralph rolled the cleaning cart inside, Willow turned slowly to study the department. She’d done a great job here in the few months since she arrived. The number of patient hours had increased significantly. Although the hospital hadn’t purchased as much new equipment as she wanted, she’d added a lot and requisitioned more.

  “Mizz Thomas?”

  “I know. You need to get to work.” She grabbed her lunch bag and remembered the brownie Nick had placed inside, saved from dinner with Sam the previous evening. Not a complete brownie. There was a corner nibbled off, but he’d given her most of it. Yes, she had great kids who loved her. She didn’t need a man to make her feel whole.