The Chance. Robyn Carr

the proprietor sitting on the deck in the sun, though he wore a jacket. He had his laptop open and was studying something closely.

      “Hey, there,” she said. “How’s the house coming?”

      He looked up and smiled at her. “About time you checked out my place. House is coming along ahead of schedule, thank God. Sarah’s had about enough of living in one room.”

      “When’s the baby due?” she asked.

      “July. We should be in the house by June at the latest.”

      “That’s awesome, Cooper.”

      “How about your place?” he asked.

      “It’s looking good. My stuff came right behind me and the movers took the owner’s furniture to the storage facility. I’m pretty settled already. Just a matter of putting a few more things away.”

      “I heard you have a good view.”

      “Oh, yes. A big deck and a big kitchen and a couple of fireplaces. If I’m not happy every day, I can’t blame the real estate. Hey, any chance Rawley is around?”

      “Last time I noticed he was carrying in supplies. He should be in the kitchen.”

      “Thanks. I’ll see you on the way out.”

      She went through the bar and into the kitchen. Rawley was crouched, rearranging some things in a cupboard. “Hey, stranger,” she said.

      He stood and turned toward her. He wore worn jeans, boots, a heavy shirt over a T-shirt and a red cap. She knew he was in his early sixties but because he was skinny and his face was deeply lined, he looked a little older. She caught the light in his pale blue eyes as he recognized her. Only one corner of his mouth lifted. He nodded toward her right arm. “How’s the wing?” he asked.

      “Coming along,” she said, automatically rotating her shoulder. “I’m in good shape now.”

      “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Don’t you have spy work to do?”

      She smiled, looked down, shook her head. “I’m on leave,” she said. “I need more time before I—” She cleared her throat. “I’m not a spy. I...” He smiled at her and put his thumb in the front pocket of his jeans, leaning on his left leg. “Well, not exactly. I’m an investigator. And I think we should downplay that role a little bit.”

      “Whatever you want, chickadee,” he said. “Good work,” he added.

      “You saved my life.”

      “Nah. Not really. I got in that camp to find Mercy. I think it was Spencer saved your life, jogging down some back road, carrying you with his fist shoved against your shoulder on account a’ the bleeding. Yeah, he’s the one I’d say saved you. I’m just an old vet. But I got attached to that little girl and I wasn’t about to let some lunatic take her away from her mother.”

      “Some old vet,” she repeated. “A Green Beret with two Purple Hearts, a Bronze Star and a Silver Star....”

      “Window dressing,” he said with a shrug. “It’s the by-product of staying alive.”

      “You’re one of the most decorated men I know.”

      “It was a bad time, back then, but we all did our best,” he said. “And there’s a rumor you got yourself a little window dressing, too.”

      She gave a nod. “I’ve been notified. I was recommended for an award. You know these things take time.”

      He grinned at her. “Notified of what kind of award, exactly?”

      “FBI commendation. It’s very big in my crowd. But that’s another thing I’ll try to keep to myself. I’d appreciate it if you’d do that, too.”

      “No problem, chickadee. I was never one for struttin’ so I get it.”

      “I wanted to say thank you,” she said. “I know you weren’t alone, but I read all the transcripts and everyone agrees, you put a plan together to get Mercy out, along with anyone else stuck in that camp. Will you come to my house for dinner? So I can thank you with food? I love to cook.”

      “Might could,” he said. “Cloudy and wet weather this time of year, Cooper can manage. But I ain’t much company....”

      “How about if I invite Devon, Spencer and Mercy. I’ve been meaning to anyway. They helped a lot with the whole move.”

      “Sounds okay.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a cell phone and showed it to her. “Got one of these now. Cooper couldn’t stand it if he didn’t know where I was every second. Now he calls this. And I usually don’t answer. But it’s got games and books and a flashlight. Not a bad contraption. Want the number?”

      What a kick he was. And he was so full of it—he was not the old bumpkin he portrayed himself to be. He bordered on genius, but he battled PTSD and had for years so he’d never really developed his intellect as much as was possible for him. He told her his number and she merely nodded.

      “You don’t wanna write that down somewhere?” he asked.

      “I got it,” she said. “I’ll give you a call. And listen...Rawley, there are no words. If you hadn’t done it, gotten inside, run the rescue like you did...”

      “Some things just work out to be kismet, chickadee,” he said, showing her a wide grin. “Right place, right time, luck.”

      “Skill,” she added. “Courage.”

      He looked down, maybe uncomfortably. “Courage. Kind of funny what you’re left with when there ain’t no way out. I just put one foot in front of the other, that’s all. Glad it worked out. You gonna be able to paddle a kayak with that busted-up wing?”

      “By spring. I’ll call you in the next day or two.”

      “Sounds good. You ain’t one of them vegetarians or anything, are you?”

      She laughed. “No. I like hearty, meaty meals.”

      “That’s a blessin’. I hate leavin’ the table hungry.” Then he grinned at her again.

      She couldn’t help herself. She hugged him. She laid her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arms affectionately around him. He might look like a skinny old man but there were solid muscles under her cheek, her arms. She just stood like that for a moment and then she felt him wrap one long, strong arm around her back while the other hand stroked the top of her head a little bit. Then she let go of him.

      “I’d say you were the brave one,” he said. “You could’a bled out from that bullet.”

      “I’m getting a medal,” she said. “The by-product of staying alive.”

      He smiled. It was melancholy.

      “You lost a few along the way, didn’t you, Rawley?” she asked.

      He lifted a thin, graying eyebrow. “A few. Didn’t you?”

      She just nodded, but she wasn’t willing to think about or discuss the details. Ten years in the FBI, a lot of it undercover, they’d lost a couple of men. And then suddenly she knew what he was getting at—he’d rather have the men than the medals.

      She slapped his arm gently. “Thanks,” she said. It came out very softly. “I’ll call you about dinner. And you won’t go away hungry.”

      “Good enough.”

      She left him then and as she walked through the bar she was thinking that old soldiers go away quietly. It was apparent to her that Rawley had used his time in the Army well, but it had also used him up. True heroes never talked about their acts of heroism. He was one in a million.

      I’ve used my time in the FBI well, she thought.

      When she got back to the deck, Cooper had the laptop closed and his feet up