Lip Service. Susan Mallery

the pain shooting through his leg, he eased it into the prosthesis, then tentatively pushed into a standing position. While it hurt, the soreness was bearable. As the alternative was crutches and an empty pant leg, he told himself he was fine.

      He left the makeshift bedroom and walked into the kitchen. He wasn’t hungry, but knew if he didn’t make an appearance, Fidela would come looking for him. He’d escaped her last night by turning out the lights in his room, guessing she would think he was asleep. But that wasn’t going to work for long. Fidela was stubborn and wily. He would rather face her directly. Besides, she was a whole lot easier than the dark.

      When it was dark, the past returned, haunting him like a ghost. He remembered what it had been like to be in love with Skye. How happy they’d been. He remembered his pain and disbelief when she’d told him it was over.

      In the dark, he remembered the explosion and how Pete had saved him, dragging him, not even slowing when he’d gotten shot himself. Pete had recovered in a couple of weeks and was already back in Afghanistan. Mitch knew the loss of his leg was just one of those things and the sooner he got over it, the sooner the dark would lose its power.

      He stepped into the bright, sunny kitchen. Fidela stood at the counter, mixing something in a bowl.

      “Morning,” he said, then frowned when he saw a young girl sitting at the table. “Who are you?”

      She had red hair and big blue eyes. She looked familiar even though he knew he’d never seen her before. Her spoon dropped into her cereal as she sprang to her feet and beamed at him.

      “You’re here! You’re really here. Fiddle said you were coming home and I’ve been waiting forever.” She moved close and reached out a hand, touching his arm as if to make sure he was real. “I’ve been hoping and praying. Fiddle and I prayed for you every day. And I talked about you in school and we sent cards to the soldiers. Did you get mine? I put your name on the envelope. It was pink. I know that’s a girl color, but it’s pretty. And you’re a hero and I thought you’d like something pretty and Fiddle said you’d come home and you’re here!”

      “Who the…” He caught himself. “Who are you?”

      She grinned. “I’m Erin. Fiddle and Arturo missed you so much. Arturo didn’t say anything, but I could tell. He was sad in his eyes. And Fiddle talked about you all the time, so it’s like I knew you and then I missed you, too. Are you hungry? Fiddle’s making pancakes. I really wanted some, but I waited for you because you’re back and it’s polite. So do you want pancakes?”

      Fidela wiped her hands on a towel. “Good morning,” she said, moving behind the girl and putting her hands on Erin’s shoulders. “This is Erin.”

      “I told him that,” the girl said happily as she smiled at him.

      “Skye’s daughter.”

      He got it then—the red hair, the shape of her eyes, although Skye’s were green, not blue. He saw the similarities in the set of her shoulders.

      Here it was—living proof of Skye’s betrayal. Her child with another man.

      The anger that lived inside of him flared again, making him want to raise his fist to the heavens. But then what? Did he plan to call God out? And if he did, what made him think God gave a damn?

      “Why are you here?” he snapped.

      Fidela glared at him. “Erin comes over most days. She keeps me company.”

      Some of the brightness faded from the girl’s smile. “I wanted to see you,” she said, sounding less sure of herself. “I wanted to meet you.”

      Skye’s daughter. The child they were supposed to have together. She’d promised to marry him and then had walked away because her father had told her to. She’d chosen Jed’s old friend as a husband, rather than him, and Erin was the result.

      “I’m going to make pancakes now,” Fidela told the girl. “Why don’t you get the plates.”

      “Okay.” Erin looked at him out of the corner of her eye, then turned away.

      Fidela was at his side in a heartbeat and dug her fingers into his arm. “She is a little girl,” she whispered. “She believes that you’re someone special. Do you understand me? She didn’t do anything wrong. You have no reason to be angry with her.”

      He would have ignored the words, except Fidela was right. Erin wasn’t to blame for her mother’s actions and he hadn’t fallen far enough into hell to take out his rage on an innocent child. Not yet, anyway.

      He nodded once.

      Fidela tightened her grip.

      “I’m fine,” he told her.

      She released him and returned to the stove where she picked up a pot of coffee. Mitch limped to the table. Erin stood there, looking uncertain. He forced himself to smile.

      “It’s nice to meet you, Erin,” he said, feeling stupid but determined to make an effort.

      Her smile returned. “Do you want me to get you a mug? I know where they are.”

      “Sure.” He eased into the seat. “Thanks.”

      She brought back a blue mug and set it in front of him. Fidela poured his coffee.

      “I’ll get started on the pancakes,” she said.

      Erin sat across from him. “Are you happy to be home? I would get really sad if I had to go away. Were you sad? Do you have lots of friends where you were? I have friends and I have horses, too. I ride.”

      “Erin rides over nearly every day all by herself. Very impressive for a little girl.”

      Erin laughed. “Fiddle, I’m not little. I’m growing like a weed.” She smiled at him. “That’s what Mom says. Are your friends going to come visit you? Did you fly on a big plane to get home? I was on a plane once. I wasn’t scared at all. Mom says I’m fearless. I’m not sure what that means, but it’s good, right?”

      She kept on talking, apparently not needing anyone to participate. She had an energy he admired. These days it took everything he had just to stay standing. As long as he didn’t think about Skye, he could handle Erin sitting across from him, looking at him as if he’d just made her day.

      “Fiddle says you’re getting more medals. She says you’ve saved our country.”

      He glanced at the older woman. “I had help,” he said dryly.

      “But you’re very brave. You’re a hero.”

      He frowned. “I’m not a hero.”

      Erin’s eyes widened. “But you are. Everyone knows that.”

      He started to argue, then shrugged. Let the kid think what she wanted. Life would teach her hard lessons soon enough.

      Fidela slid a plate of pancakes in front of each of them.

      Erin picked up her fork. “I told Mom there would be pancakes, but she didn’t want to get up. She said she was tired.”

      He wondered if Skye hadn’t slept well. Had she been haunted, as he had? Had she relived their time together? Had his harsh words wounded her?

      He ignored any stirrings of guilt, telling himself she deserved what she got.

      The pancakes were better than he remembered. He’d finished three when Erin asked, “Can you ride a horse without your leg? I hope you can because then we could go riding together. Does it hurt? You have a new leg, right? Fiddle told me about it. Can I see?”

      Mitch froze, not sure what to say. No one outside the hospital and rehab center had been so open in discussing the amputation. He wasn’t sure if he appreciated Erin’s attitude or if he wanted her to shut up.

      Fidela walked over and touched Erin’s shoulder. “Maybe less questions on the first day.”

      Erin