Penelope (3 page)

The woman at the door shifted a look at Penelope and then back at Brock. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Okay, then.”

The woman looked at him again and narrowed her eyes further. “I’ll be just in the other room. I’m a registered weapon, soldier, and I will detain you if I have to.”

“There will be no need, ma’am.”

She gave him a nod and walked back into the house.

As she moved, Brock got the first sight of Penelope Monroe and his heart sank. It shouldn’t have been a shock, really. He knew she’d be pregnant, though in his mind she wasn’t, so he’d neglected to imagine her looking as she did. What he was more surprised about was the fact that even with her slightly swollen stomach she was still beautiful and that was doing strange things to him.

Penelope held her hand out to him. “I’m Penelope.”

“Romero. Brock Romero, ma’am,” he said as he shook her hand.

She smiled sweetly, just as she had in the photographs he’d seen of her. “You don’t have to address me like that. I’m not old enough to be a ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He cringed. “I mean, okay.”

She stepped toward him. “Can I offer you a drink? We don’t have much. But I have some cold water in the kitchen.”

He was dying on the porch and sure could use some water, but the thought that the kitchen might be filled with those people who hadn’t been very receptive to him didn’t enthuse him. However, his need for hydration won out.

“I’d like that, ma…” He tensed. “Thank you. That’s very generous.”

She giggled and turned to walk into the house giving him a wave with her hand, inviting him to follow.

Brock tried to walk casually, but he wasn’t practiced in casual. He was a soldier and letting that slide just the littlest bit was hard. In time, he was sure it would come with ease. But this was new. He’d been a civilian for exactly three hours now. He hadn’t even seen his own mother yet. Finding Penelope Monroe had been his main objective since July when Adam Monroe took his last breath in his arms.

When he reached the kitchen with its outdated decor, he sucked in a breath of cool air from a misting fan. But just as quickly the air turned thick again as the eyes of those who had been at the door followed him.

Penelope pulled two bottles of water out of the refrigerator and handed him one. She then looked at the others who were looking at him.

“This is Brock Romero,” she told them. “Brock, this is Amelia, Sam, and Vivian.”

“It’s nice to meet you all,” he said.

“How can we help you?” Sam asked.

“I came to see Penelope.”

Sam nodded. “Why?”

Brock twisted the top from his water and took a quick sip. He should have answered him first, but the need to wet his mouth was taking over.

“Sergeant Monroe asked me to.”

All of their faces were stone hard when he mentioned Adam’s name. All of them but Penelope’s.

She sweetly looked at the three of them. “Do you mind if we sit in here where it’s cool and talk?” She paused for a beat. “Alone.”

Amelia grunted. “We’re going to be just within yelling distance.”

Penelope nodded and slowly the three others stood, gave him a hard stare, and walked out of the room.

“You have more security than the First Lady,” Brock said and it merited a laugh from Penelope.

“Mentioning Adam in this house is a very brave thing to do.”

“Why?”

“Let’s sit down.” She motioned to the table.

Brock pulled back a chair and waited for her to sit, then he pulled back another and sat too.

Penelope opened her water and took a long sip. She’d closed her eyes for a moment as she’d done so and Brock watched her with pleasure. He’d had her picture with him for nearly three months. He’d studied that blonde hair which hung in loose curls. The roundness of her cheeks. The fullness of her lips. The blueness of her eyes. And now she was sitting only inches from him.

He never should have studied the pictures as closely as he had. This was another man’s wife. She was carrying the son of a fallen soldier—his friend. But it had been a long three months and she’d consoled Brock and she didn’t even know it.

As she pulled the bottle back she let out a sigh and opened her eyes. “It’s so hot. If I ever get pregnant again I’m doing it so I’m not in the middle of the summer with the baby.” She laughed. “As if I’ll ever do this again.”

There was a sadness in her words.

“I’m sorry about your husband,” Brock said. “He was a fine man. A fine soldier. He saved my life and I am grateful for that. But had I taken that step, I wouldn’t be as missed as he is.”

Her mouth tightened. “You were with him?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He tensed. “I’m sorry. That’ll take some work.” He let out a breath. “Yes. I was with him.”

“Tell me about it.”

Brock wasn’t sure that was a good idea. There was no way to paint such a gruesome picture so that she wouldn’t lose sleep.

“We were under fire. I’d been hit and Sergeant Monroe was doing his best to lead us out of harm.” The scar on his shoulder throbbed and sweat dripped down the back of his neck again. This time it wasn’t from the heat, but from the memory that still shook him. “Two more of our men had been hit. None of us fatally, but none the less hit. Sergeant Monroe got us safely tucked away. He and the others began to tend our wounds.”

Brock stopped and took a sip from his water as his mouth had gone dry. “We were still and low for hours. Lieutenant Simms was losing blood and our time was running out. Sergeant Monroe had called for backup and we could hear helicopters in the distance. He’d moved out so we could get to them.”

Brock’s heart was racing faster now and he fought to still his shaking hands by setting them palms down on his thighs.

It all played in his mind. Sergeant Monroe had ventured out just far enough and then everything went bright and loud. Brock could hear him when it was over and his senses came back to him. The helicopters were overhead. The men moved toward them and he’d moved toward Sergeant Monroe.

He took another sip of water. In his mind he could see Sergeant Monroe lying bloody in his arms. He wouldn’t tell her more. But he could see it. Sergeant Monroe’s look of shock. He wasn’t even sure he knew that his legs had been…well, Brock thought…he was just sure Sergeant Monroe didn’t know.

Penelope covered her mouth and he noticed for the first time she had tears in her eyes and they rolled down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I shouldn’t go on.”

Penelope lowered her hand to his, which was still on his thigh. She rested it atop his and gave it a squeeze. “No. Please go on.”

Brock nodded. He waited for her to move her hand, but she didn’t. He took a breath and continued.

“He asked me to pull something from his chest pocket. There was a letter and pictures. Pictures of you,” he said as he raised his eyes to meet hers.

“I sent him pictures.”

Brock nodded. “I have them in my bag. I’ll bring them back to you.” She smiled and that hurt him. He’d have to give up the pictures of the beautiful face which had helped him heal.

“Anyway,” he looked down at his hands with hers on top. “He said to find you. You needed to know he loved you.”

That had caused her to gasp and when he looked up at her, her eyes had gone wide.

“He said that? Me? He loved me?”

“Yes. He said find my wife Penelope. Tell her I love her. Tell her I love our baby.”

Penelope moved her hand and sat back in her chair. She rested her hands on the swell of her stomach and let the tears fall freely.

“He knew about the baby?”

“He’d gotten your letter a few days earlier. We’d all been handed a cigar in celebration. He would have called…”

She shook her head. “I understand.”

Brock nodded. “He told me that you needed to know all of this and I should find you. He said he had something in his footlocker I was to bring you. I don’t have it with me. It’s in my hotel in Oklahoma City. But I’ll bring it.”

“He loved me?”

Why would she doubt such a thing? He’d flown all this way and had to track her down to tell her. Wouldn’t she have known how her husband felt about her?

“I was his last thought?” she asked as if she’d needed validation—again.

“Yes, ma’am.” He couldn’t help himself. In time perhaps the ma’am and sir would be reserved, but they were still there.

“Me?”

Again, he wasn’t sure why she would question it. “Yes. You. He gave me your pictures and the letter. He said to find you. Though he didn’t tell me to look in Oklahoma.”

Penelope wiped her tears and nodded. “No. This is new.”

“What are you all doing here?” He looked around the outdated kitchen and wanted to laugh at the décor.

She wiped at her cheeks. “Adam’s father gave us this house. We are going to open a daycare center here. This way we can have jobs and be with our children.”

“He gave it to you and the others that are here?”

“Yes,” she said and then let out a sigh. “Adam, well…” She took a moment, rubbed her stomach, and then looked back up at him. “Adam was married before me.”

“I didn’t know he’d been married previously.”

“Still.”

What was she talking about? He didn’t take her to be dim witted. “Still? I don’t understand.”

Penelope adjusted in her chair. “Adam was married to two other women as well.”

Now
he
felt dimwitted. As he watched her, he realized he’d sucked in a breath and now held it. He let it out on a cough and just stared at her. “Sergeant Monroe had three wives? You mean he married you and has two ex-wives?”

“No. I meant he was married to all three of us.”

“And you knew about that?” Didn’t that kind of stuff only happen in Utah, he wondered.

“No,” she shook her head. “None of us knew.”

Brock closed his eyes. He could hear the explosion and see the white light again. What she was telling him couldn’t be true. What kind of man does that? Certainly not a fine soldier. Not a man like Sergeant Monroe.

What could Brock Romero be thinking, Penelope wondered. His eyes clouded and he’d become quiet. There was some solace that most of the town thought she and Amelia were cousins of Adam’s. They hadn’t had to face this kind of reaction yet.

“You thought he was a different person, right?” She finally asked when he hadn’t said a word.

“I can’t judge, ma’am.”

She narrowed her eyes, but he didn’t apologize. Obviously he was still too shocked.

“You knew him better than I did,” she said aloud to herself more than to him. “Certainly there was something in his character that told you he was a…” She stopped. She’d been his defender for nearly three months. She couldn’t be calling him names now.

Brock rolled the water bottle between his palms. “He took leave in April. He did say he’d be attending a princess birthday.” He smiled and held the bottle in his hands still. “He also said there were some problems back home.”

“I’d say.”

“When he came back,” Brock continued, “he had a new energy to him. He carried a picture of the two of you. He said he’d gotten married. A few weeks after that, you’d sent him pictures of you. A lot of pictures of you. And you wrote to him about the baby.”

Penelope pressed her fingers to her forehead. “What happened to the pictures of me? You said you had them? Do you have
all
of them?”

“Just what he carried in his pocket.” He leaned in. “I know what pictures you’re speaking of. He burned those.”

“How do you know about them?”

“Because when he opened the envelope he looked at them, smiled, and threatened any man who moved out of their seats to stand behind him with castration.”

Penelope laughed.

“None of us moved,” Brock said as he sat back in his chair. “He looked at them. Smiled. And then took a lighter and burned them. He didn’t tell us what kind of pictures they were. We didn’t ask. But we assumed.”

She could feel her face flush with heat. “Okay, we can forget about that now.”

Brock nodded and she assumed he was trying to compress a smile.

Penelope took a sip of water. She could hear voices from upstairs and the shuffling of feet. She looked back at Brock. “Did he ever mention that he was married before?”

Brock shook his head. “I only met Sergeant Monroe last December. He made mention once that he had some strained relationships back home. But that was all. He’d write letters all the time, but he never received any from anyone other than his mother. Not until you sent him things.”

“He never mentioned his children?”

Brock’s eyes grew wide. “Sergeant Monroe has children?”

“Two beautiful little girls. That was the princess party he came home for, I would assume.”

Brock’s perfect posture sank. “He never mentioned them. They must not have been close.”