“So I guess this means you like me,” I stated.
He chuckled softly. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
“I never saw the point in that.”
“What’s not to like?”
Besides my aggressive tendencies, especially when surprised, my preference to be alone, and oh yeah, my previous relationship track record that my boyfriend didn’t survive? Besides all that, I’m a real catch.
I also wasn’t one to share, if it ever came to that. “What about Jenna?”
He took in a breath as if he were going to reply, then stopped himself. After a long moment, he said, “This has nothing to do with Jenna.”
“What is she to you?”
“That’s something you’ll need to ask her.” His voice had dropped to a whisper as if it hurt to say it any louder. Clearing his throat, he said, “Go to bed, Army.”
Army. Why did he keep calling me that? I mulled the word around in my mind. He had yet to call me Mac like the others. It was always Parish or Army. If anyone else had called me Army, I’d have decked them, but for unknown reasons, I liked the way it sounded coming from his mouth.
“Marines,” I mumbled more to myself than to him.
His breathing had grown slow and even. “What?” His voice was thick and I was surprised he was awake enough to hear.
“Marines,” I stated louder. “I was in the Marines.”
He huffed out a laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”
* * * *
I had stall duty the next morning. After cleaning the first stall, I’d tossed the oilskin coat Lottie had given me to wear in place of my leather jacket over a bale of hay. By the time I’d finished the second one, I was down to a T-shirt despite the fact the sun wasn’t above the horizon and I could still see my breath.
Then Jenna and Quinn came tumbling in the rear sliding doors of the barn, laughing and giggling. From where I was digging the manure out of the corner of the stall, I couldn’t see them, but there was no mistaking who it was. Before I could call out to let them know I was there, the laughter stopped and the stall wall beside me shook slightly when someone bumped against it. A puff of dust rained down from the cracks between the horizontal boards and I stifled a sneeze.
They started kissing, and immediately the image of Hank and his lips on mine came to mind. He’d said he was interested. I didn’t have a clue as to what I wanted or expected from him. I didn’t want a relationship, I didn’t even know if I wanted a friendship, but something about him captivated me.
The kissing started to get a little steamy on the other side of the wall and I wondered if maybe Hank was right about the kids not needing too much privacy. Besides, standing still in the stall, I was rapidly cooling off. I was about to make a noise, clear my throat or scuff the manure fork against the wall to let them know they weren’t alone before things got too hot and heavy, but Hank beat me to it.
I didn’t know he’d come in, but even through the boards I heard the whoosh of air as he exhaled. In my mind, I pictured a fifteen-hundred-pound bull with a red-caped matador in his sights, steam billowing from his nose as he pawed at the hard-packed dirt. “Quinn. Outside. Now.”
“God, Hank. You don’t have to manhandle him,” Jenna protested.
Boots scuffled and then came sounds that could only be Hank ushering Quinn outside, then came Hank’s heavy footfalls as he strode back inside the barn.
“Looks like he was the one doing the manhandling,” Hank said, sounding as if he’d forced the words from between his teeth.
“We were just kissing.”
“Just kissing?” Hank’s voice rose an octave. “His hands were on your…”
“My what, Hank? My ass?”
“Jenna,” he warned.
“So what? So what if his hand was on my ass or anywhere else for that matter. It isn’t any of your business.”
“It is my business. You’re my business.”
“No.” Her voice instantly lost its fight, replaced by a deep sadness. “You gave up that right a long time ago.”
“You’re only sixteen.”
“Seventeen, Hank. I turned seventeen last month.”
“Sweetheart—”
“I have work to do.” The stall boards creaked as she heaved herself off them and excused herself from the conversation.
Hank’s footsteps retreated, and I couldn’t help but peek out the back of the stall over the Dutch door and watch as Hank clasped a firm hand on the back of Quinn’s neck. “Is that how your father taught you to treat a lady? To push her against a stall and…”
Hank’s voice faded as they walked away, and I was unable to catch any more of the conversation, but I could hear Jenna crying in the aisleway. It might embarrass her to see me come out of the stall, but I still had more stalls to clean, and I figured she could probably use a friend.
I left my rake in the stall and stepped into the aisle. Jenna was sitting on the bale of hay by my jacket a couple stalls down from me, her arms wrapped around her legs, her head resting on her knees. She lifted her head when my boots thunked against the concrete floor.
Wiping at her tears, a sheepish smile crossed her face. “I guess you heard all that.”
“Sorry.” I plopped onto the bale beside her.
“’S okay.”
“You all right?”
She shrugged her shoulders and nodded her head at the same time. “Just frustrated. You’d think I’d be used to my dad dropping in every few months or so thinking he has the right to parent me when he hasn’t been here.”
Dad? Hank’s her father? Whoa. Before I could process that little tidbit of information, she prattled on. I don’t think it mattered that I was almost a complete stranger. I think she just needed someone who’d listen.
“He’s a fine one to talk. He knocked my mother up when she was sixteen.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want you making the same…” I stumbled over the sentence, trying to choose the best words.
“Mistake?” she ventured with a rueful chuckle.
“That wasn’t the word I was searching for.”
“Maybe not, but it’s the one everyone uses. Mistake. But I’m a person. I shouldn’t be someone’s greatest regret.”
“I’ve seen the way Hank looks at you. Regret isn’t what I see in his eyes. At least not in the sense you’re speaking of. Parents want what’s best for their children. My best friend in high school got pregnant her senior year. It isn’t an easy road. I don’t think it’s bad that a parent would want their child to wait until they’re grown up and better equipped to handle a family.”
“I know. I know. I get it. Trust me if anyone gets it, it’s me. If he’d been here more, if he’d spent any amount of time with me, he’d know I’m well educated about birth control. More important, he’d know I’m saving myself for someone who matters.”
Her words stuck deep. Rahim had been my boyfriend, for lack of a better term, when I’d been in Iraq. I’d liked him. I’d had fun with him when fun had been hard to find. I’d trusted him. If the situation had been different, I easily would have slept with him.
Had he really mattered to me? In the way someone you gave your body to should? Probably not. Not if