cool, thin hand lying in his—a china trinket on a wooden shelf. He had to force himself to look at what was no more than a mask of the face that had once left him breathless. He ought to regret leaving her, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Worse, he wanted to get up and leave her now. It hurt to look at her. She was in a bad way, and he could do nothing to undo whatever had been done. He wasn’t a doctor or a miracle worker or a magician. He was, like any man worth his salt, a guardian. And like any man who could survive on little more than the salt that measured his worth, he’d made keeping the peace his life’s work.
“So why are you here, Merilee? You didn’t want anything from me when you could’ve…” He shook his head. So he’d had some regrets, carried them around for a while, but not anymore. He couldn’t remember exactly when he’d last thought about her. “Why now?”
Because she’s dying now, and she has a kid.
Where had that come from? Dying? Hell, she’d made it to a hospital and gotten fixed up before. She’d do it again. She was young. And, yeah, she had a kid. She had something to live for besides Merilee.
The last time he’d seen her, it was all about Merilee. And Vic, she’d told Sam, she was “so into Vic.” Sam had actually tried not to see any of it coming. The drugs were their business. Maybe they’d been busier with their business lately, but he was pretty sure it was mostly weed. Harmless weed. Was that what was making them bug-eyed and jumpy and downright mean lately?
No, that was him. He was always on their case about “taking the edge off the day” the way everybody did, with a pipe or a little blow. They had it under control. Besides, Sam wasn’t exactly a saint. And they weren’t shutting him out. There was plenty of everything to go around.
Back then it was all about Merilee.
She’d looked bad the day he left, but not this bad. Not death’s-door bad. “You’re such a good man,” she’d said. “I’m doing you a favor. You’re doing yourself a favor. The marines build men, you know. I take them apart, piece by piece.”
She’d been right. After Merilee, boot camp had been a piece of cake.
But seeing her this way reminded him of his tour in the Middle East. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it, so he sucked it up—mind, body, soul—and packed it all in tight around his heart.
Chapter Three
Hilda topped off Dave Cochran’s sack of groceries with a plump loaf of Wonder Bread, put his card number through her new dial-up system and watched Star sneak Lucky an unearned treat while the phone sweet-talked a distant computer into approving the principal’s purchase.
“Is your school on break?” Dave asked absently as he slipped his wallet into his back pocket.
“Star’s visiting with her mother,” Hilda explained. She wasn’t sure what had roused her defensive instincts. Principals probably went to sleep at night counting children instead of sheep.
“What grade are you in, Star?” was his automatic follow-up.
“Second.”
“Mr. Cochran’s the principal of our school.”
“You only have one school?”
“The older kids go to Bear Root Regional, which is over in Medicine Hat. But our second graders go to Mr. Cochran’s school. The second grade teacher is…”
“We have two for second grade,” Dave said. “Mr. Wilkie and Miss Petrie. How many do you have?”
“Four, but there’s another whole school over on Water Street. I could go to either one. Can I give Lucky another treat?”
“Only for another trick. Star’s from…” Hilda dragged the dog treat jar across the counter and poised to spin the cap. “What’s the name of your town, honey?”
Star sprang out of her Lucky-level crouch as though she’d been bitten. “I think I should go back to the hospital now, in case my mom’s awake yet.”
“We’ll have some supper here in a minute.” Hilda handed Dave his credit card. “There you go, Mr… Oh, look who’s here,” she chirped, echoing the spring on the screen door.
Dave greeted Maggie and her son in his principal’s voice. Maggie was polite. Jimmy was quiet, clearly on a short leash. There was a brief exchange about the boy’s behavior during the second half of the day as Mr. Cochran turned on what passed for his charm. Hilda took pleasure in seeing for herself that Maggie didn’t get it. Or didn’t appear to. The pheromones were missing the target.
Hilda had heard plenty of comments about Maggie’s eligibility—single women were harder to find in Bear Root than available men—and she’d been treated to more than a few silly imitations of Dave Cochran’s stiff-necked approach. The real thing would have been more painful than gratifying to watch if Hilda hadn’t mentally taken Maggie off the mate market. On so many levels, Maggie was taken. All she and Sam had to do was wake up and smell the music.
“Yes, sir, I promise,” Jimmy was saying, and Cochran offered an awkward high five. Some people shouldn’t do high fives, Hilda thought. She, being an old lady, was probably one of those people, and the school principal, being the school principal, was certainly another.
“We appreciate your patience,” Maggie called after him.
“Just don’t tell him his call is important to you,” Hilda whispered. “He’ll think you mean it.”
Maggie shot her a look before turning her attention to their new charge. “Hey, Star, I see you’ve made friends with the star attraction of Allgood’s Emporium.” She bent to pat the motor-tailed little dog, quietly adding, “I just came from the hospital. Your mom’s still resting, and Dr. Dietel is taking good care of her.”
“I wanna go see her. She’ll be waking up pretty soon.”
“I thought we’d have a little supper first,” Hilda said. There was more to it than food, of course. There was company. Acting on the theory that kids help each other cope, Maggie had offered to bring her son over for supper. With a hand on each child’s shoulder, Hilda made a bridge of herself. “This is Jimmy. He’s just about your age.”
“How old are you?” Jimmy challenged. “I’m nine.”
“I’m seven and a half.”
“I’m nine and—” he used his fingers to calculate “—seven months, so you’re way younger.”
Star looked up at Hilda and murmured plaintively, “I’m not hungry.”
“Your mom would worry if she knew you weren’t eating. I know I would.” And did. It was easier than worrying about the faces of Star’s comatose mother and her own uneasy, unforthcoming son. She slipped her arm around the girl’s shoulders. “And you’re worried about her. I know I would. So we’ll all go upstairs, sit down and have some food, and then we’ll go see her.”
“Will she get well?”
“Dr. Dietel is very good at finding out what’s wrong and making it right,” Maggie put in. Hilda nodded,
