The Soldier And The Single Mom. Lee Tobin McClain
said, “and then work on doing what I can this afternoon with my car so I can move on. Maybe there’s a police officer who can run me out to where it is. I’ll need to take some gas.”
And she’d need to rely on God, because twenty dollars wasn’t going to buy much gas or baby food, and it was all she had.
* * *
Buck heaved a sigh as he put the last stroke of paint on the breakfast-room wall. Having Gina here was even more difficult than he’d expected.
She worked hard, that was for sure. She’d single-handedly cleaned one of the guest rooms that had been finished but a mess. Carried out vinyl sheeting and masking tape, swept up nails, scrubbed the floor on her hands and knees, polished the bathroom fixtures to a shine. Now she was removing the tape from the area he’d painted yesterday.
The only time she stopped working was when Bobby cried. Then she’d slip off, he assumed to nurse the baby or to change his diaper. She’d put together a makeshift playpen from a blanket and pillows, and he crawled around it and batted at a couple of toys she had in her diaper bag.
She was resourceful, able to compartmentalize in a way few women he’d known could do. Certainly, in a way Ivana hadn’t been able to do.
Unfortunately, in other ways, it was way too much like having Ivana around. Some of their best times had been working around the house together with the baby nearby. They’d felt like a happy family then.
So having Gina and Bobby here now brought back good memories, but alongside them, a keen, aching awareness of all he’d lost. All he’d thrown away, really.
He shook himself out of that line of thought. He had a mission, and he needed to stick to it. Find out what you can about her, Lacey had told him.
He was curious enough that the job didn’t rankle. Not only would they find out whether she could be trusted to stay in their house another night, but he could maybe get rid of the crazy impression that this woman was just like Ivana.
“Do you want me to help with the trim?” She came in now, a little out of breath, with Bobby on her hip. “Or I could work on the kitchen cabinets. I noticed they need cleaning out.”
“I’d stay out of Lacey’s stuff. You’d better work on the cabinets in here. Do you know how to use a screwdriver?”
“Sure.”
She set Bobby up in the corner of this room and went to work washing the cabinet fronts, removing the handles, humming a wordless tune.
It was a little too domestic for him. “So, how are you gonna punt here?” he asked, his voice coming out rougher than he’d intended. “You got a plan?”
She looked up, and her eyes were dark with some emotion he couldn’t name. “I thought I’d try the churches in town first,” she said. “Where I lived before, some of the churches had programs for homeless families. Just until I can get on my feet and figure out what to do next.” She paused. “I’d prefer finding work, but I don’t know what’s available.”
So she thought of herself as homeless. That suggested she wasn’t just traveling from point A to point B. Something else was wrong. And it was weird, because she did have that rich-girl look to her. Her clothes were stylish and new, her haircut and manicure expensive looking. But she also looked scared.
“Not sure if you’ll find anything formal around here, but the churches are big on outreach. I can take you to ours. And then...you mentioned talking to the police about your car?”
“They’ll want to get it off the road as much as I do.” She frowned. “I just hope they won’t put my name in some kind of system.”
“You hiding from someone?” he asked mildly.
Her eyebrows went together and her eyes hooded. “I... Yeah. You could say that.”
“Boyfriend? Husband?”
She shook her head. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
That figured. A woman as pretty as she was had to have a partner, and Bobby had a father. Had someone abused her? “I’m not asking you to tell me everything, but I can help you better if I know your situation.”
Her cheeks flushed with what looked like embarrassment. “Thanks.” She wasn’t saying more, obviously.
“Where were you headed, originally?” he pushed on as he finished painting the crown molding.
She didn’t answer, so he repeated the question.
“I don’t know,” she said finally. “Anywhere. It didn’t matter. I just had to leave.” She studied the cupboard she was sanding, one of the old-fashioned and charming parts of the breakfast room, according to Lacey. “I wouldn’t mind finding a place to settle for a while. As long as it was safe.”
Not here, not here. He didn’t need any complications in Rescue River, and this woman seemed like a complication. “Safe from what?”
She shook her head. “Too long of a story.” Her voice sounded tense.
“Okay, then, what would you like to work at? What are you shooting for, jobwise?”
“My line of work was being a housewife, but obviously I need to find something else.”
Hmm. From the little she’d told him, he’d guess she’d been abused. And the last thing he and Lacey needed around here was an angry husband looking for his wife and child. She didn’t show any bruises, but maybe they were hidden. “What are you good at?”
“Organizing things. Raising kids. Planning parties.” She shrugged. “The type of thing housewives do.”
He’d have said that housewives washed dishes and cooked meals. He had a feeling about what kind of housewife she’d been—not an ordinary one. With that breakfast she’d cooked, he could imagine her catering to some wealthy husband, giving brunches for country-club ladies.
So it was very interesting that she’d run away.
* * *
Gina was bone tired after her short, broken sleep and a morning of physical work, and stressed out about the eleven messages she’d found on her phone, her in-laws demanding that she return Bobby to them immediately. Of course she’d disabled the GPS on her smartphone, but she was still worried her in-laws could somehow find her.
But Buck had offered to drive her around and, tired or not, she needed to seize the opportunity. Once she had her vehicle nearby with some gas in it, she’d feel better. She’d have an escape route and she wouldn’t be quite so dependent on the kindness of strangers.
When she went out to Buck’s truck, he was leaning in through the rear door, adjusting something.
“Wow, where’d you get a car seat? That’s wonderful!”
He cleared his throat. “It was sitting around here.” He reached out and took Bobby from her arms without meeting her eyes, then settled him into the infant seat and expertly adjusted the straps.
Mr. Tough Guy continued to surprise her.
They stopped first at the grocery store, a small, homey market a quarter the size of the superstore she’d shopped at back home. The aroma of rotisserie chicken filled the air, and bushels of produce, labeled as locally grown, stood in rows just inside the front door. Gina held Bobby in his sling, facing out so he could see the people passing by, which he loved. Buck waved to a cashier and pounded a bagger on the back as they walked toward the baby aisle.
When they got there, she picked out six jars of the cheapest baby food available. She looked over at the diapers and bit her lip, hoping the single one remaining in the diaper bag would last until she got to the box in the SUV.
Buck held a plastic basket for their purchases and studied the shelves. “Look at this stuff. Turkey with pears. What self-respecting baby would eat that?”
“I