BOH 8-21-07 (00178434).DOC (4 page)

made last night. She shrugged and snapped shut the lid

on her temper. “Your call.”

“Do you have a job? Enough money saved to pay a

security deposit, plus first and last month’s rent?”

“No, but—”

“It’ll take a while for the military to process Peter’s

life insurance policy and death benefits.”

Could he read her mind? “I’m not sure living here is a

good idea.”

21

Pam Champagne

“Why not?” Katy piped in.

Mike’s eyes never left her face. “For the moment, you

don’t have a choice. In return for room and board, I would

ask that you take care of Katy on the nights I work.

Before you leave, I’ll find another sitter.”

Cyn frowned and suppressed a shiver at the memory

of the horrible woman who’d verbally attacked her the

night before. “What about Doreen? I thought she took care

of Katy.”

“Not any more,” Katy piped up. “She got jealous, and

Dad fired her.”

“Katy!” Mike shouted at the same time that Cyn

laughed. That one small spill of laughter warmed her and

her stomach actually growled with hunger.

Katy bounded from the chair and skipped across the

linoleum. “Gotta go clean my room.”

“Smart kid,” Cyn said, putting a forkful of pancake in

her mouth.

Mike grinned. “Too damn smart.”

22

Bridge of Hope

Cyn huddled in the passenger seat, gripping the

folded American flag lying on her lap. Mike swore her

fixed straight-ahead gaze saw nothing. Cyn had started to

come out of her shell in the past few weeks. She’d opened

up. Sadness still lurked in her eyes, but she’d made

efforts to participate in the day-to-day happenings. Even

helped Katy with her homework every night.

The pale woman beside him today was the one he’d

first found on the Hope Bridge.

The cold drizzle that arrived at dawn had turned to a

steady rain during Peter Jenks’ graveside service. Saying

goodbye to the dead in gloomy weather always put him in

a somber mood. Gray skies, moaning winds and soldiers

shedding tears for their downed comrade brought old man

depression knocking on his door.

Cyn’s stamina during the on-base funeral had

astounded him. Hell, she’d been a trooper coping with her

loss. She’d made the arrangements and insisted on

meeting the transport plane that brought Peter’s body

home. She’d done it all with strong determination.

With the arrival of rain, she’d shut down. She’d

barely acknowledged the mourners’ condolences. He’d

kept her in his scope, prepared to rescue her from a sticky

situation should one arise. She’d held her emotions in

check even when TAPS was played.

Cyn’s voice jolted him from his somber musings. “Are

we picking up Katy?”

“Katy is spending the night with her school friend.”

Cyn twisted in her seat. “Because of me?”

Mike chuckled. “No. She’s been hounding me for

23

Pam Champagne

weeks to spend the night with Misty. She loves staying

there. She’ll chatter on for days about baking cookies with

Misty’s mother.” Mike pushed away a spear of guilt for

not providing his daughter with a normal family. She

needed a mother.

“Why haven’t you remarried?”

It shouldn’t have, but her question startled him. “The

infamous inquiry that I get asked at least once a week.”

“I’m curious.”

He bit his tongue to keep from telling her to mind her

own damn business. At least she was talking. “I guess I

haven’t met the right woman.”

“Are you saying no woman could replace your wife?”

Mike frowned as the truth hit him. She didn’t want

to know about him. Cyn wanted to know what her own

future held. She wondered if
she’d
ever love again.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” he hedged. “I have

Katy to think about, as well as myself.” He abruptly

changed the subject as he drove into the driveway. “Your

first appointment with the counselor is tomorrow at nine.”

“So soon?”

He turned off the ignition and his heart skipped a

beat at the fear in her eyes. He reached over and covered

the hand still hanging onto the flag for dear life. “I know

the doctor. I think you’ll like her.”

“Don’t count on it,” she muttered. Her mouth curved

into a smile that even a child would have recognized as

forced. “I’m doing quite well on my own. I don’t need—”

“Forget it, Cyn. A deal’s a deal.” He climbed out of

the truck before she could protest.

The house was eerily quiet without Katy. Perhaps

he’d made a mistake letting her spend the night at

Misty’s. Her boundless energy might be a distraction for

Cyn—keep her thoughts away from the past and worrying

about an uncertain future. She’d gone straight for the

couch when they’d entered the house and now sat there

hugging the flag to her chest.

“Want some coffee?” he asked, hanging his coat in the

24

Bridge of Hope

closet.

That earned him a negative head shake.

“Tea?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

He walked into the kitchen, turned on the burner

under the teakettle, and then whipped together a chicken

and vegetable casserole while the water heated to a boil.

A few minutes later, Mike set two cups of tea on the

coffee table and lowered himself next to Cyn on the couch.

Today, she’d worn her hair knotted at the base of her

neck. In the short time he’d been in the kitchen, she’d

pulled out the pins and blonde curls spilled around her

shoulders.

He reached over to take the flag out of her hands and

the fingers of his right hand brushed her warm breast. A

jolt of desire shot through him like he hadn’t felt since

Mary Jo died. He yanked his hand back and noticed that

she hadn’t reacted to his touch.

He cleared his throat and pulled the flag from her

hands. “When it stops raining, we’ll fly this on the

flagpole in the yard. I can’t think of a better way to honor

Peter’s memory.”

Her expression softened. “Thank you. He would have

liked that.”

Still grappling with his physical response from a

simple touch, he blurted, “How old are you?

She focused puzzled eyes on him. “What?”

His eyes roamed her peaches and cream complexion

and the way her lips slightly trembled. God help him.

What kind of man lusted after woman who’d just buried

her husband? “I just realized that I know so little about

you,” he fudged.

“Oh. My birthday was a few weeks ago. I’m twenty-

four.”

So damn young. He had a good twelve years on her.

“And you?”

Mike laughed. Tit for tat. “A lot older than you.”

She shrugged. “Age doesn’t matter in the grand

25

Pam Champagne

scheme of things.”

“Ah, spoken by someone on the right side of thirty.”

He handed her a cup. “It’s green tea. I’ve got a casserole

in the oven. No,” he said when she opened her mouth to

protest. “You need to eat.”

She heaved a sigh. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.” He rose and went to the kitchen to

check on their meal.

Mike pressed his forehead against the cool

windowpane and watched the rain bounce off the

pavement. From the beginning, he’d thought of Cyn as

nothing more than a houseguest—a young woman with a

broken heart who needed help getting back on her feet.

Today, she’d buried her husband. And his mind had

taken a sudden 180º turn without conscious thought.

Shame burned from within. The sooner Cyn got back on

her feet, the better. Either the wind or rain turned on the

outdoor sensor light, drawing his attention to the garage.

Why hadn’t he thought of it before? The mother-in-

law’s apartment where he’d stored her things. Even

though he and Mary Jo had talked about renting it, they

never actually followed through with the plans. Up until

now, he’d always considered it as a storage place. Now it

seemed like an answer to everyone’s needs, his own as

well as Cyn’s. She’d have more freedom, yet he’d be right

here if she needed him. After a time of counseling, it

would be a perfect place to transition to a new life.

Perhaps if he didn’t see her every day, these

unexpected longings would dissipate. Raising his

daughter as a single dad created enough problems in his

life. The last thing he needed was to fall in love with a

grieving widow twelve years his junior.

Thirty minutes later, Mike leaned against the

doorjamb watching Cyn hide her face in the couch pillows.

He knew exactly what emotions churned in her heart.

Peter’s death had left a wound that she doubted would

ever heal. She’d breathe, eat and sleep because people

told her to. Her eyelids fluttered but refused to stay open.

26

Bridge of Hope

She tried to sit up before she lay back and closed her eyes.

Mike remembered all too well the dark void that engulfed

her. He walked to the couch and covered her with a quilt.

For a few seconds he rested his knuckles against her

cheek. As much as he wished for her sake that soon life

would look brighter, he knew damned well that wasn’t the

case.

****

blew through the slightly opened window. Surely, the

temperature tickled the freezing mark. Late last night,

she’d woke on the couch and sought the sanctuary of her

bedroom.

Snuggling back under the covers, she thought about

yesterday. She’d said her final goodbye to Peter. Seeing

all his friends and comrades had given her courage. She

now regretted that she’d brushed off the other military

wives attempts to get to know her. Making friends had

always been so hard. She’d always been afraid to trust,

afraid she’d be hurt. So she’d clung to Peter as a friend, as

well as a lover. Now he was gone and she accepted that

she’d made a mistake by isolating herself.

“Get up, Katy. You’ll be late for school.”

Hearing Mike’s voice in the hall, Cyn bolted upright.

She’d forgotten about her appointment.

Damn. In one fluid motion, she was out of bed,

grabbing everything she needed on her way to the

bathroom.

The shower’s hot spray woke her better than a super

dose of caffeine. She scanned her features in the mirror

and groaned at the dark circles under her eyes.

Determined to face life head on, she dug into her bag of

makeup.

An hour later, a young secretary ushered her into the

doctor’s office. The large room didn’t look or feel like a

psychiatrist’s work area. It reminded Cyn more of a

history professor’s office.

27

Pam Champagne

A large desk sat in one corner with four comfortable

cushioned chairs casually arranged around the front.

There was even a coffee table. To her left, cheery flames

danced around logs in the fireplace.

She rose and moved to the large windows overlooking

a residential neighborhood with a quiet park across the

street. Children chased each other in a game of tag,

slipping and sliding in the early spring mud. Some of the

older ones attempted to fly kites in the slight breeze of the

late April day.

“Good afternoon, Cynthia.” Cyn turned to face a

young, smiling woman. “I’m Dr. Amanda Wentworth. I’m

glad to see you’ve made yourself at home.”

Cyn’s anger at being here gave way to a flood of

courage. “So is this where you pick my brain and lay the

pieces on the desk?” She frowned at the counselor’s laugh.

“What’s so funny? Isn’t that why I’m here? To be taken

apart, fixed and then put back together?”

“I’m surprised someone as young as you has such an

archaic view of mental health treatment.”

Cyn brushed an invisible piece of lint off her skirt.

“Yeah? Well, I’ve had a few sessions with a shrink in my

life.” The doctor settled in the chair behind her desk. “Care

to share?”

Cyn caught herself twisting the handle of her

handbag. She set it on the floor. Dredging up memories of

her mother and father hurt. She took a deep breath. “My

parents were killed in a car accident during my

honeymoon. Peter…er…my husband suggested I seek

help for my depression.”

“Smart man. Did it help?”

She shrugged. “I guess.” At the time, she’d gone

through the motions during her therapy sessions. Peter

had been the one she’d leaned on through the hard times.

“You’ve certainly been handed a plateful of grief in

your short life. It’s a shame you’re trying to cope on your

own. I can help you.”

28

Bridge of Hope

Cyn widened her eyes in mock surprise. “You do

realize the reason I’m here, don’t you?”

“I’m hoping it’s because you want closure and to

accept the loss of your husband.”

“I’m here because I considered jumping off the Hope

River Bridge. Agreeing to get counseling beat spending

thirty days observation in psychiatric hospital.”