The Other Soldier. Kathy Altman

looked so different out of uniform. In his jeans and long-sleeved thermal shirt he looked like one of the guys. Like someone who might have hung out with Tim.

      Annoyed at the direction of her thoughts, she focused her attention on Joe, who looked amused.

      “What’s with the formality? I thought you two were friends.”

      Parker stiffened. Yeah. And Elvis was alive and selling cheesecakes in the Bronx.

      Macfarland’s gaze flickered, then he raised an eyebrow. “Anything I can help with?”

      “She has car problems,” Joe said.

      “Truck problems, actually.”

      “Briggs is out on a delivery?” She nodded, surprised, and Macfarland turned to Joe. “Anyone around here have a panel truck we could borrow?”

      So now he was trying to be a hero? Parker shook her head. “Don’t bother. I’ll figure something out.”

      “You may not have to.” Macfarland gave Joe an elbow. “Anyone?”

      “Pete.”

      “The same Pete who’s out of town? There’s got to be someone else.”

      With a yawn, Snoozy leaned on the bar. “Beanie Watson drives a chip truck. But he’s still out making deliveries.”

      Macfarland looked at Parker. “You on a timeline?”

      She spoke through lips that felt like hardening concrete. “Store closes at eight.”

      “Then we’d better get a move on. We’ll start with my Jeep.” He turned to face the room and raised his voice. “Anyone here with an SUV or a closed-bed truck willing to help us transport some greenery? Parker Dean here’s got a truck out of commission and a delivery due to—” he looked at her and she mumbled a response “—Cherry Point by eight o’clock. We can meet back here afterward and the next two rounds are on me. Any takers?”

      A swell of chatter. Joe held up a hand. “Let’s rephrase that. Any takers who are reasonably sober?”

      A few customers stood and the despair holding Parker hostage gave way to hope. At the same time she wished the person responsible for that hope had been anybody, anybody other than Corporal Reid Macfarland.

      Noble Johnson pushed to his feet and hitched up his pants. “I know where we can get hold of a minivan,” he said. Everyone turned to stare and he flushed bright red. “What? Not like it’s mine.”

      * * *

      REID COULD SEE IT WAS killing her, having to accept his help. Which didn’t bode well for what he had in mind over the next several weeks. He got the impression, though, that it wasn’t just him. Parker didn’t want to be indebted to anyone, just as Briggs had said. And she sure has hell wished she’d never set foot inside the bar. But if they could save her delivery she’d see that getting help didn’t always have to suck.

      Two hours and one sprawling, mismatched caravan later, Parker, Briggs, Gallahan, Noble, a gray-haired man in a black polo shirt who smelled like French fries, a skinny kid who looked barely twenty-one and favored light beer, and Reid all stood in the parking lot of the supermarket that, despite its ultimatum, had allowed Castle Creek Growers to make a late delivery. Parker stood in the middle of the cart-strewn parking lot, arms crossed against the night chill, and thanked her hastily assembled league of laborers.

      “I don’t know what to say. You all have been so generous with your time. And your gas.”

      “That was Noble,” someone called out. “He had the chili.”

      Laughter, and a few choice words from Noble himself. Parker thanked everyone again, and only the tension in her jaw betrayed what her indebtedness cost her.

      “Don’t forget the beer,” the same voice pleaded.

      Reid assured them he’d honor his promise, then hunted down Briggs. “What about the truck?”

      “I already arranged a tow. But I’m not sure why we’re botherin’.”

      “I can take a look at it tomorrow.”

      “You know engines?”

      Reid shrugged. “I know moving parts. I’m a machinist.”

      Briggs grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “I knew you’d come in handy.” Parker walked up and Briggs stopped grinning. “I know, I know. You want me to go home and tuck myself in. Maybe I’ll heat myself some milk before I change my diaper and go night-night.” He stomped off. Reid expected Parker to take off after him but she hesitated. In the dim glow cast by the light post he could see the conflicting expressions on her face. She wanted to thank him, and at the same time she wanted to tell him to go to hell.

      What else did he expect? Yeah, the Army had decided not to court-martial him, or charge him with homicide, since he’d believed he was firing at enemy soldiers. He still felt like a criminal.

      So he couldn’t blame her for thinking he was one.

      Which meant he really didn’t want to hear her stumble through a thank-you.

      “I’m heading back to Snoozy’s,” he said, and dug in his pocket for his keys.

      She moved a few steps back, toward her Camry. “I, uh, I need to get home.”

      She’d asked a neighbor to stay with her daughter while they finished the delivery. He didn’t know Parker well, but he did know she’d want to keep that favor short.

      “Thank you.” She licked her lips. “For—”

      “No big deal.” She looked surprised that he’d cut her off, and annoyed, but mostly relieved. He hadn’t done it for her. Damned if he’d stand there and listen to her tone waver between courteous and contemptuous.

      “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said. She looked as excited as a soldier tapped for patrol after a whopping two hours’ sleep. He couldn’t help watching the determined rhythm of her stride as she walked away.

      Reid gritted his teeth. What the hell have you gotten yourself into, soldier?

      CHAPTER FIVE

      THE SAUSAGE-AND-EGG biscuit Reid had eaten for breakfast never quite managed to make friends with his stomach. He parked the Jeep—this time in the weed-infested gravel lot on the far side of the third Quonset hut—and took a swig of ginger ale. He’d have to start eating better, and make sure he took advantage of Gallahan’s gym, or else he’d be in a world of hurt when he got back to his unit.

      The soda helped. Another hefty swallow and he set off in search of his temporary employer. The one who’d had all night to change her mind. He’d stashed the envelope containing the check in his glove compartment, just in case.

      It had rained sometime during the night and his boots squeaked over the damp grass. Over by the tree line a gaggle of frogs chorused their good mornings. In the predawn dimness Reid checked out the first greenhouse, breathed in the smell of flowers, of dirt, the sweet, sharp scent of wet gravel. No Parker Dean.

      He found her in the next hut, which looked just like the first. Gently whirring fans hung suspended from the structure’s metal ribs. Racks inside the door held rakes and hoes and shovels. Rows of scarred plastic and metal tables and benches brimmed with container after container of ruffled, rainbow-colored blooms.

      He shifted his gaze from the greenery and zeroed in on Parker. She worked at the other end of the shelter, back toward him, head bent in concentration, nimble fingers plucking brown leaves out of the bright pool that rippled along each side of the concrete path.

      “Mornin’.”

      Reid jumped. Damn, when was the last time he’d let someone sneak up on him like that? He turned, and automatically reached for the mug of coffee Briggs offered. “Good morning. You always up this early?”