The Sergeant's Secret Son. Bonnie Gardner
out in the living room. Block glanced at the clock. After four. The mother must have come to collect her child. He supposed she hadn’t been able to get back sooner because of the storm.
He heard the front door close, and he listened as his grandmother padded to bed. Whoever the woman was, she was gone, and she wasn’t his problem, anyway. The kid wasn’t his problem, either. He had to learn that he couldn’t solve every problem that crossed his path, even if he was used to being a take-charge man.
He rolled over and punched the pillow and tried again to sleep. But every time he closed his eyes he thought of Macy Jackson. And every time he saw her, his body reacted. All his adult life, he’d tried to move forward, to improve himself. And to him, coming back to Lyndonville was a step back.
But then, Macy Jackson was just another one of those things he’d always wanted and couldn’t have. That’s why he’d left her office tonight. Wasn’t any sense in prolonging the agony.
There had been so many things in Lyndonville that he’d wanted and couldn’t have. A future. A job. Respect. The town had held him back. It had killed his father because he hadn’t been able to pay for the antibiotic that could have cured him, and he hadn’t had a car to get him to one of the free clinics in Florence or Darlington.
It had nearly worn his mother down, physically and mentally as she struggled to clean other people’s houses and had so little in her own. Life in Lyndonville when he was a boy had been a constant struggle for food, for shoes, for anything that was worth anything. In his mind, the only way to move up in the world was to get out of Lyndonville, but Macy had chosen to stay.
She’d chosen to make her life here. She’d chosen to make Lyndonville better, and by doing so, she’d earned the respect of everyone. He’d seen it in the way the sheriff had treated her, and her patients, and…even he was a little bit in awe.
With that thought in mind, as the sky was beginning to lighten in the east, he drifted off to sleep.
MACY YAWNED and let herself into her own little house, a mirror twin to Willadean Blocker’s. She’d inherited it from her Aunt Earnestine, who’d raised her and her two brothers after her mother had died in childbirth and her father had gone up north to look for work and had never returned. It wasn’t exactly the kind of place you’d expect a young doctor to be living in, but she had student loans to pay off, and the house was free. Macy let out an exhausted sigh and started for her bed.
No, she’d better set the alarm for a couple of hours. Then she could be up and off to work, and Alex would be none the wiser.
Batteries checked, clock set, she headed for bed without bothering to undress. She simply kicked off her shoes and fell onto the sheets she’d vacated when the storm had struck. It seemed like days since she’d left that bed, but it had only been hours.
So why did she find it so impossible to sleep?
She managed a wry chuckle to herself. She knew exactly why. Alex Blocker. Back in town and, worse than that, right next door.
Why had Alex decided to come back now? Why had he come back at all? She remembered how strongly he had felt about Lyndonville. How he had blamed it for killing his father and wearing his mother down. He’d always said that nothing good ever happened to him in Lyndonville. After her brother C.J. had died in a helicopter crash, Alex had sworn that the next time he came back, it would be in a pine box, like C.J.
Well, he was back. And he wasn’t in a pine box. He was very much alive.
IN SPITE OF his late night, Block woke up shortly after dawn. He would have preferred to sleep in this morning, but he figured he’d best get out there and see where he could help. He didn’t have a lot of carpentry skill, but he had a strong back and a willing mind. The hour or so he’d slept had refreshed him. If he’d slept any longer, he probably would have been a wreck, but in special ops, he had long ago learned to make do with combat naps.
He stumbled into the bathroom and cleaned up as best he could without the benefit of hot water and light and dressed in worn jeans and a sleeveless sweatshirt. He hadn’t brought much in the way of work clothes, but these were sturdy and they’d have to do. He headed for the kitchen to see what his grandmother had to eat.
He stepped into the room and stopped short. A kid, back to him at the table, a bowl of multicolored cereal in front of him, was chattering like a blue jay while Gramma looked on indulgently.
“I thought you didn’t take in day-care kids anymore, Gramma,” he said once he’d gotten over the initial surprise.
“Well, I had thought to retire,” Gramma said as she pushed herself up out of her chair. “But this one is just so special, I couldn’t resist.”
The object of discussion turned around. His eyes grew wide, seeming to take over his elflike face, comical-looking with several circles of colored cereal stuck to his milk-chocolate-colored cheek. He stared at Block.
“Good morning,” Block said to the little boy.
The kid smiled shyly and quickly turned back to his cereal, but Block saw that the kid wasn’t eating.
“This is Cory,” Gramma said, rubbing the little boy’s head affectionately. “I guess he’s goin’ to be shy this morning.”
Block’s experience with kids was limited, but he figured he’d do his best to make friends if his grandmother was going to be taking care of the boy for the duration of his week or so stay. “Nice to meet you, Cory. My name is Bl—I mean Alex.” He’d been Block to his fellow combat controllers for so long, he still had a hard time thinking of himself as Alex. He guessed he was going to have to get used to it.
Cory held up four sticky fingers. “I’m four,” he announced proudly. “Next year I getta go to the kiddie garden like a big kid, an’ I won’t hafta stay at Gramma’s like a little kid.”
“Gramma’s? Is this a nephew I don’t know about?” He looked at his grandmother for clarification.
“It’s a long story,” Gramma said, putting a plate of cold corn bread and ham on the table. “Power’s still out so I can’t cook, but here. Eat. You need all your energy for today.”
Block looked at the cold ham and congealed fat and grimaced. “Gramma, you know I love your cooking, but I think I’ll see if I can find something hot in town. Maybe some of the fast-food places are up and running. The power can’t be out all over.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d best get moving.” He headed for the front door.
He yanked the door open and stopped still.
There, on the porch, stood Macy, her hand raised to knock.
Macy gasped, then stepped back a half step. Her other hand rose involuntarily to her throat, and she let out a startled squeak. “Oh my goodness. Alex,” she managed. “I didn’t expect the door to open.”
Though he’d seen her just a few hours ago, Block was stunned by the vision in front of him. He’d almost convinced himself that he hadn’t spent most of the night with Macy Jackson, that they hadn’t kissed, that he’d just dreamed it.
Her hair was the same chestnut brown that had curled in ringlets around her face, although today she had it pulled back in some sort of prissy ball. Even as she’d tried to tame them, some of the ringlets had pulled free and framed her face. Her skin was the same blend of coffee and cream he remembered from last night, but now, in the light of day, he could see something different about her.
Her formerly skinny frame seemed riper, more lush than he remembered. Why hadn’t he noticed it last night? Of course, they’d been in the middle of a major disaster. But in the morning light he could see that Macy had matured and filled out.
“Nice to see you again, Macy,” he said, trying to sound cool and collected. “I wish we could talk, but I’m outta here. Got to go see where my services are needed with the cleanup.”
“Oh. Okay. That’s fine,” Macy said, an expression akin to panic in her wide, hazel