Carolina Man (12 page)

Relief roughened Luke’s voice. “Make sure you use them.”

“Will do.” Another grin. “Just because I’m, like, the poster child for unprotected sex doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

“You turned out all right.” They sat a moment in companionable silence, staring out at the darkened garden. “You know your dad never regretted having you, right?” Luke said gruffly.

Josh ducked his head, embarrassed. “Jeez, Uncle Luke. I know.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks, though.” A sidelong look. “Are you sorry you had Taylor?”

The question caught Luke like an undertow, dragging him in too deep.
Was he sorry
?

When he’d first heard from Kate that he was a father, he’d thought the whole thing was a horrible joke. But then there was Taylor, waiting for him to get off the bus, braced like a Marine for battle, his cover jammed over her corn-silk hair. Or dissolving into giggles, playing with the puppies in the sunlit yard.

“No,” he said slowly. “I’m not sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t know about her for so long, though.”

Wasn’t he?

If he’d known Dawn was pregnant with his child, he might never have enlisted, might never have left Dare Island. He wouldn’t have kept the peace in Kosovo or distributed water in Haiti or brought his platoon safe through hostile countryside.

He was proud to be Tom and Tess’s son, grateful to be Matt and Meg’s younger brother. But it would not have been enough.

As much as his family loved him, they did not need him the way his men did. The way his country did.

For Taylor’s sake, he could put the life he had chosen on hold for a little while. But being a Marine was all he knew. The best thing he’d ever done.

He didn’t know what else he could be.

 • • • 

T
HE COTTAGE WAS
quiet. A lamp cast a pool of yellow light on the table by the couch.

Luke glanced at the sliver of light under Taylor’s door. He should check on her. Maybe it was better to let sleeping dogs—and children—lie, but he couldn’t shut off the habits of patrol. Couldn’t shake the feelings Josh’s question had churned up inside him.

Are you sorry you had Taylor?

No. Yes.

No.

He’d come home out of duty and, yeah, remembered affection for Dawn. A guy didn’t forget his first serious girlfriend, even when she dumped him. Maybe especially if she dumped him.

Without even thinking, Luke had accepted that he would live up to his parents’ standards, to his big brother’s example, to his father’s model of what it meant to be a man.

Taylor was his daughter. His responsibility. Over and out.

Funny, though, he hadn’t really considered her as a person in her own right. A brave, suspicious, ten-year-old person who fought with her teachers and played video games with Josh and wore a USMC utility cover everywhere.

He heard a whimper and eased open the door.

His daughter slept curled in a tight little ball under the covers, cocooned in her old blue comforter. Another whimper escaped. Not from the puppy, wedged in the crook of her knees. From Taylor.

Luke frowned. In Afghanistan, he and his men had squeezed in, bunk to bunk, less than an arm’s length between them. Even with earplugs, he could hear everything, all the noises men made when they were sleeping. Or trying to. Coughs, snores, moans, the sounds of jerking off.

Taylor muttered.

She has nightmares
, his mother had said.

Probably having one now. He winced in sympathy.

It had been an eventful day. New house, new bed, new puppy. Plus the strain of the social worker’s visit tomorrow. He probably shouldn’t have done drive-thru for dinner, either, he thought guiltily. There was no fast food on Dare Island. Certainly not in Tess’s kitchen. Stopping on their way home had seemed like a harmless indulgence, a kid-friendly celebration to mark their new status as an independent family unit.

Taylor twitched and moaned.

Luke hesitated. He’d learned the hard way that waking somebody from a nightmare wasn’t always the best idea. At least his daughter wasn’t likely to wake up swinging. Not like Eric Cordero, who relived an IED explosion every night. Or Aaron Short, who was haunted by the dead.

Anyway, the kid was only ten. No danger there.

“Taylor, hey,” he said softly.

Her head thrashed against the pillow. The puppy snuffled and nestled closer.

“Taylor. Hey, baby,” Luke said, and smoothed a hand down her arm.

Her muscles went rigid. Her eyes dragged open, glazed with sleep. She saw him standing over her bed with the light behind him.

And screamed.

“Shit,” Luke said, startled, and dropped her arm.

She screamed again, flailing, striking out. The puppy whined, scrambling through the covers.

Luke’s heart revved. He took a deep breath, imposing calm on his body. On his voice. “It’s okay,” he said—to the dog, to the girl. “Taylor, it’s Luke.”
Not enough. Not nearly enough, in the face of her terror
. He tried again. “It’s Dad. You were dreaming. It was just a dream.”

Her eyes, dark and dilated, stared into his. Her mouth hung open. Her lower lip trembled.

“You’re safe,” he said, the way he would to Eric. To Aaron, before the poor bastard blew his brains out. “You’re home. You’re safe.”

Understanding bloomed in her eyes. She whispered, “Daddy?”

The blood left his head in a rush, flooding his heart, making him giddy.
Congratulations, it’s a girl. You have a daughter
. He had to sit down. “Yeah.”

He didn’t want to grab her. Didn’t want to spook her. He lowered himself to the end of her bed, putting his hand on her foot through the covers, and gave her toes a little squeeze. “You okay?”

Stupid question. He could see she was not okay. But she nodded anyway, looking small and forlorn against the heaped up pillows of the bed.

Since he couldn’t hug her, he rubbed the puppy’s head. “You kind of scared us there.”
You scared the shit out of me.

She held out her arms. The puppy crawled into her lap, and she lowered her face to its fur, holding the warm, squiggly body tight.

Luke watched as she lost her fear in comforting the dog. “So.” He cleared his throat. “You want to talk about it?”

She shook her head wordlessly.

Maybe that was best. Sometimes talking made it easier to let the images go. And sometimes talking just fixed them in your head.

He gave her foot another pat. “Okay.” Matt, he remembered, stayed with her the first few times she had a nightmare. “You, uh, want me to sit awhile?”

“I’m fine,” she said, the words muffled.

Okay, he was no Matt. And she had the puppy.

“Well, I’m here,” he said. “Right across the hall. If you need anything.”

Another head wobble. A nod.

A child recovering from a trauma needs four things
, Kate said in his head.
Routine, security, honesty, and love.

Today had hardly been routine. Security and honesty? He was here. He had offered to talk.

He felt a twinge of . . . something in his chest. He could do better. Taylor deserved more.

Daddy?
she’d whispered.

Yeah
. From now on and forever.

Slowly, he stood. Carefully, he leaned over her and kissed the top of her head. She smelled of sunshine and shampoo and faintly of dog.

He straightened. “’Night.”

Her smile blinded him. “Good night,” she said and snuggled back down with the puppy.

T
HE LADY FROM
social services (
Call me Alisha
, she’d said, like they were friends. Like Taylor
would
.) had smooth brown skin and warm dark eyes and a briefcase.

“Is there someplace Taylor and I can go to talk?” she asked Taylor’s dad.

They were all sitting around the kitchen table in the Pirates’ Rest, her dad and Uncle Matt and Allison, Aunt Meg in her New York clothes sitting next to Sam, Grandma and Grandpa and Josh. Grandma had put a plate of cookies on the table, but nobody was eating. Taylor felt slightly sick to her stomach.

It made her feel better, though, to have them all there.
Back to back to back
, Uncle Matt would say.

“Anywhere you want,” her dad said. “We’re staying in the cottage, if you want to see it.”

“That would be excellent.” The social worker stood and smiled at Taylor. “Maybe you could show me where you sleep.”

A hard knot of panic rose in Taylor’s throat. She threw an agonized glance at her dad.

He leaned down, bending forward so he could look her in the eyes. “It’s okay,” he said, flat and firm, almost making her believe him. “She’s just going to ask you some questions. All you have to do is tell her how you feel.”

“Like you did with the judge,” Aunt Meg put in.

Taylor swallowed and nodded.

“‘And remember, this is for posterity, so be honest,’” Josh said.

Uncle Matt smacked him lightly on the arm. The social worker looked confused.

But Taylor recognized the quote, Count Rugen in the torture chamber from
The Princess Bride
, and smiled gratefully at Josh. He winked.

After that, it wasn’t quite so scary to cross the yard and talk to the social worker alone.

“This is a pretty house,” she said when they were inside the cottage. “How do you feel about living here?”

She was safe here.
I’m here
, Dad had said last night.
Right across the hall.

“It’s okay,” Taylor said.
Please, please don’t take me away.

The sound of their voices woke the puppy snoozing in the corner of the kitchen. He scrambled to the baby gate in the doorway, pressing his small, furry body to the rails, whining a little in excitement.

“Can I let him out?” Taylor asked.

The social worker smiled. “Why not?”

So that was better, too. Taylor freed the puppy and then sat with him on the floor, holding his warm, wriggly body for comfort.

“What’s his name?” the social worker asked.

“It was Ronald,” Taylor said, not bothering to hide the scorn in her voice. “But we mostly call him just dog. Or JD.”

“Is he your puppy?” the social worker asked, which was kind of a dumb question, since JD was in Taylor’s house and in her lap, but Taylor nodded politely.

The social worker opened her briefcase. She had a low, smooth voice and a way of talking that reminded Taylor a little of Allison, and she asked the same sort of questions, the kind you couldn’t answer with just yes or no.
What are the things you like best about school? Do you go every day? What kinds of things do you like to do with your friends? What are some things you don’t like about school?

The last question made Taylor squirm. But Luke—Dad—had said they needed to cooperate, so she told the truth. “Mrs. Williams tried to take my hat.”

The social worker glanced up from the papers in her lap to the USMC utility cap on Taylor’s head. “Yes, I heard about that. Can you tell me what happened?”

If she already heard about it, why did she have to ask?

“Uncle Matt came to school.” Just thinking about it, the way he’d shown up on his motorcycle and yelled at the vice principal, made her feel good inside. “And now I get to keep the hat at my desk.”

“Is that the hat you’re wearing?”

Taylor nodded proudly. “My dad gave it to me. Before he left for Afghanistan.”

“How do you feel about having your father home?”

“I like it.” The social worker didn’t say anything, so Taylor added, “I’m glad he’s not getting shot at.”

“Do you miss your grandparents?”

“No,” Taylor said, surprised. “I see them all the time. They’re just across the yard.”

“I meant your other grandparents. Do you miss seeing them?”

The knot reformed in Taylor’s stomach. She
did
miss Grandma Jo sometimes, who bought Krispy Kreme donuts every Sunday morning and let Taylor watch anything she wanted on TV. And Grandpa Ernie’s slow smile and familiar smell of cigarettes. Until four months ago, they were the only grandparents she’d ever known.

You can’t tell
, Uncle Kevin had said.
Your grandma just lost your mom. She’s really sad. You don’t want to make her feel worse
.

Taylor didn’t want Grandma Jo to feel bad. But she didn’t want to go back, ever. She would rather die than go back to Uncle Kevin and the dark. She hugged JD tighter. “Not really.”

“What was it like living with them?”

Her heart thumped. Her palms sweat. What should she say? What could she say?

She put her head down in JD’s fur so she wouldn’t have to meet the social worker’s eyes. “All right, I guess,” she said, her voice muffled.

The social worker’s pen scratched as she wrote something down.

Taylor felt like throwing up. What if that was the wrong thing to say? What if . . . ?

Tell her how you feel
, Dad had said.

Like you did with the judge
, said Aunt Meg.

Taylor had a sudden memory of Miss Kate kneeling on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse, looking her right in the eyes, gripping her shoulders.
Feelings are never wrong, they’re just feelings. As long as you’re honest, everything else will work out.

Taylor raised her head. “I’m not going back.” Her voice was loud and thin. “I don’t care what you say. I want to stay with my dad.”

The pen stopped moving.

Taylor’s blood pounded in her ears. Her fingers tightened in JD’s fur until the puppy whimpered. She dropped her eyes, patting him in apology.

“Good to know,” the social worker said gently. “Is there something else? Anything else you want to tell me?”

Taylor’s heart threatened to choke her. She couldn’t tell. She couldn’t ever tell. It would
kill
Grandma Jolene. “No,” she mumbled.

The social worker sighed. “All right. Well, if you change your mind—” she reached into her briefcase and took out a business card “—this is my number. You can call me anytime, okay?”

Taylor took the card, even though she knew she would never call.

And maybe the social worker knew it, too, because she said, “Is there somebody else you can talk to? Like, when you get hurt or if you feel sad?”

Taylor didn’t even have to think. “Lots of people.”

“Like . . . ?”

“Uncle Matt. And Allison. Grandma Tess. Aunt Meg.” Just saying their names, seeing their faces in her head, made Taylor feel better. “Josh.”

“Do you talk to your dad?”

“Sometimes,” Taylor said cautiously.

The social worker smiled and closed her briefcase. “Why don’t we go talk to him now?”

“Are we done?” Hope cracked Taylor’s voice. She almost didn’t care.

“I think so.” Another smile. “Why don’t you show me where you sleep, and then I’m going to chat with your family a little while.”

 • • • 

K
ATE SWITCHED ON
the speakers in her car so she could listen to Alisha’s call and drive at the same time.

“It’s a shame about her mama,” Alisha said. “Taylor’s still dealing with something there. But you were right about the Fletchers.”

Kate felt an absurd, almost proprietary pride. “They’re a nice family,” she said, and heard an echo of Luke’s teasing.
Is that your professional opinion?

“Good looking, too,” Alisha said wickedly. “That Luke? And his brother. And the sister’s man, Sam? What a hunk. Even that boy, Josh, is probably breaking hearts in high school.”

“So you liked them,” Kate said, testing. Anxious.

“Hard not to. They obviously care about Taylor. And she flat-out told me she wants to stay with them.”

“Then you’re closing the investigation,” Kate said.
Please
.

“Yep. I’m writing up my report now. I’m going to recommend counseling for Taylor, but that will be up to the Fletchers. You didn’t hear this from me, but I don’t see any reason at this time for social services to be involved. They should get the letter Monday.”

“That’s wonderful.” Relief lightened her voice. “Thanks so much for letting me know.”

“My pleasure. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”

“‘He’?”

“Luke.”

Kate felt her face heat. She was grateful Alisha couldn’t see. “There’s no reason . . . I didn’t really expect him to. I’m not his lawyer.”

But she’d been hurt all the same that Luke hadn’t reached out. Hurt and disappointed.

“I got the impression there was something between you two,” Alisha said.

I did, too
, Kate almost said.

I’ll see you
, he’d said, his eyes hot on hers, and just for a moment she’d let herself believe.

But that was three days ago. She hadn’t heard a word since.

Of course he’d been busy. She made excuses for him in her head. Obviously, he couldn’t drop everything to make time for her. She was glad he was making Taylor his top priority.

But if he were interested, wouldn’t he have at least called?

“Obviously not,” she said. “Which makes things a little awkward.”

“Awkward, how?”

Kate hesitated, tempted to let down her guard. She and Alisha had always been friendly in a professional sort of way. But their relationship had never gone any deeper.

And whose fault was that?
Kate wasn’t six anymore. Or even sixteen. She didn’t need to protect her family’s secrets from her friends or her friends from her father’s rages.

She didn’t have to lie.

The freedom made her almost giddy.

“I, um, have something that belongs to him,” she confessed. “I need to find a way to give it to him.”

Alisha made an interested hum in her throat. “Are we talking something small, like boxers? Or something big, like a car?”

Kate laughed. “Something alive. Like a cat.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s really Taylor’s cat. Or it used to be. It got left behind at her old house when Dawn’s parents took her to live with them.”

“And you found it?”

“I trapped it,” Kate said with a little rush of pride. “I’m taking it to the vet now. But then I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Well, that’s easy. You call him.”

“You think?” Kate worried her lip with her teeth. “He just got his daughter a puppy.”

“So what? It’s the perfect excuse.”

“I did not rescue this cat so that I would have an excuse to call Luke Fletcher.” Kate’s flush deepened. At least, that wasn’t the only reason.

“Maybe not,” Alisha said. “But it sure is convenient.”

 • • • 

“C
ONVENIENT IS
NOT
the word I’d use,” Kate muttered two hours later.

She popped the hatch of the Mini Cooper. The white cat flinched, huddling deeper toward the back of the humane trap she was still using to carry it around.

It hated her.

She didn’t blame it. “Sorry about the vet’s.”

A baleful glare from yellow eyes.

Kate hauled out the cage and the bag of veterinary supplies. The cat yowled once, piteously, as she lugged it up the walk, malnourished, dehydrated, and covered in parasites.
I can sell you some topical medication
, the vet had said.
But she’ll need a flea bath before you introduce her into a household with other animals
.

Screw it, Kate thought. This wasn’t her cat. She didn’t want fleas in her house. She should call Luke right now. If he didn’t want to talk to her, he could let her call go to voice mail.

She set the cage in a patch of sunshine, sat on the stoop and dug for her phone.

Luke answered on the second ring. “Kate?” His deep voice, surprised and glad, plucked a chord inside her.

Her whole body thrummed.

“I’ve got your cat,” she announced without preamble.

“My cat,” he repeated. “Snowball? Are you sure?”

“I think so. It’s white. Long haired.” Kate regarded the dirty feline on her porch. Well, it
had
been white. Once upon a time. It would be white again.