crochet him a good fishing cap and he can paint her sitting in the window, gazing out toward the sea.”
Alec laughed out loud. “You have a vivid imagination. But you do have a romantic job.”
“And you seem to want to go with the conspiracy-theory thing. What’s involved with running the Caldwell Foundation, anyway?”
He put his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Right now I’m trying to raise money for our Caldwell Canines Service Dog Association. We train and supply rescued dogs as service dogs for disabled veterans.”
“Oh, that’s amazing. I mean really amazing.”
“Hey, that’s my word. Find one of your own.”
“Incredible,” she quickly amended.
“You mean you never would have thought a rich-man type like me had a noble bone in my body?”
“I mean—” She stopped and looked at her shoes. “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant, or maybe thought, but not anymore. I’m not doing very well at this networking thing, am I?”
He laughed and glanced around. “At least you’re honest. That’s refreshing.” He nodded toward the other booths. “I guess I should mingle, huh?”
Marla warred with that notion. “I guess so.” Relaxing a little bit, she glanced around. “Where’s your table?”
He pointed two tables over behind her. “Right there. I’d better go finish setting up. Come over and see me when you have a minute. I have a vet coming with his service dog to show people exactly what we can do.”
“I’ll try,” she replied, hoping she wouldn’t have a minute, hoping she’d stay so busy she’d forget Soldier Boy. She didn’t want to like Alec but something about his shyness and his wit made her want to get to know him. When she watched him walk away, his back straight in spite of that slight limp, Marla felt her heart turn as soft as marshmallow icing.
She could deal with the visible scars, but what if that handsome marine had the kind of scars that only came out when he was in a dark mood? And what if being around her brought out the worst in him, in the same way as it had her late husband?
She couldn’t risk Gabby being scared into even more trauma.
And Gabby would always come before Marla’s love life.
Two hours later, Alec was exhausted but also glad that he’d come to the single-and-social event. He’d handed out a lot of business cards and had fielded a lot of questions about Caldwell Canines. His friend Wilcox had shown up with his service dog—a beautiful Labrador retriever named Rocket—right by his wheelchair. They’d both talked to the people walking around while Rocket stood by and did his job. People asked to pet him and Wilcox let them, but carefully explained how service dogs worked while they got to know Rocket.
“We got some donations, bro,” Wilcox said once the line moved on. “You need to tell them about the school you want to build, too.”
“Working on that,” Alec replied. “Baby steps, Wilcox.”
“I’m too impatient,” his buddy grumbled. “And I’m ready for a good meal.”
“I think it’s about time to eat,” Alec replied, his own stomach grumbling. But he did feel a tremendous satisfaction in seeing Wilcox so content after the turmoil of losing both his legs in battle. Rocket had been a big part of that contentment. The trained dog could fetch anything Wilcox needed, help him remember to take his medication and even alert him and calm him when an attack of posttraumatic stress was about to hit.
Now it was time for dinner and a short devotional.
Preacher walked up and nodded toward Alec while Wilcox trailed behind, still letting people pet Rocket. “I’ve heard only good things about you tonight.” He waved to several others as they headed toward the food line. “You’re using your resources to help others in need.”
Alec glanced back at Wilcox. “Did you see the way Rocket protects him when anyone gets too close? He can bring Wilcox just about anything from a soda to his medicine. I want that for any veteran who needs it.”
Preacher grinned and looked like a fresh-faced kid again. “Now you see what this networking stuff is all about. Like leading troops, but into a very different battle.”
“I sure understand that,” Alec replied. “Just hope I can keep fighting for the veterans who can’t fight for themselves.”
When Preacher got called away, he turned to search for Marla. She’d been pretty busy all night, too. Her display table was almost bare, and Alec didn’t see her. Maybe she’d taken some empty trays out to her car.
“This was kind of fun,” he said to Preacher when he returned. “Hey, where’d you find all these single people, anyway?”
“They’re not all single.” Preacher chuckled but his smile was triumphant. “But I did invite a lot of available people from other gatherings—the baseball park, the grocery store, the soup kitchen. I talk a lot, and single people volunteer a lot.”
Alec shook his head. Rory Sanderson had his dream job. He’d seen death and war, but he’d always kept a positive, faithful attitude.
Alec wasn’t so sure about himself however. “Does that make us generous or pathetic?”
Rory frowned. “Hey—nothing pathetic in lending a helping hand. But from what I’ve seen, when people are on their own too much they get lonely sometimes. It helps to find other people and do something good to contribute to the world around you.”
“I guess I can’t argue with that,” Alec said. “I like volunteering, but I really need to focus on the foundation.” At the look in Rory’s eyes, Alec held up his hand. “I’m not saying I won’t try to get out more, but I have to hit my stride, so to speak.”
Preacher glanced toward Marla’s table. “You might check with Marla about trying to hit that stride. She’s always looking for help around her bakery, especially delivery-truck drivers.” He crossed his arms over his chest and did that calm-and-relaxed thing Alec wished he could mimic. “You might have to get a special driver’s license to make deliveries, but that’s easy enough to do. And if you volunteer, you’ll be helping her without making it look like charity.”
Alec glanced heavenward. Was God trying to tell him something? Or was his friend trying to force him into something Alec wasn’t ready for yet? “I’d have to think about that, Preacher.”
Preacher caught on to his hesitation. “Your therapy seems to be working. The limp is less noticeable these days. The scar is improving every day, too.”
“Yeah, the Florida sun makes the scar more pronounced but also helps it to heal, as long as I wear sunscreen,” Alec replied, his hand automatically moving down the jagged edges of his wound. “I only remember it when I smile.”
Rory punched him on the arm. “If you smile more often, you’ll forget it’s even there.”
Alec
