Shelter in a Soldier's Arms (4 page)

“It’s the leather. I’ve only had the car a few months.”

Her eyes widened. “It’s new? You have a new car?”

Her tone of reverence made him wonder if Ashley had ever had a new car. Based on her current circumstances, he doubted it. At least not in the recent past. There were so many things in his life that he took for granted.

“I have to call someone I know,” he said as he slid into the driver’s seat. “I need to ask her what to buy to make your mom feel better.”

“Jell-O,” Maggie said firmly.

“Okay, but she’ll need other stuff, too.” He was thinking in terms of liquids. Or was that for a cold? His first-aid training ran more in the direction of gunshot wounds or emergency amputations.

He backed out of the driveway, then touched a button. A mechanical voice asked, “What name?”

“Brenda,” he replied.

Maggie stared at him. “The car is talking!”

He felt himself smile as the sound of a phone ringing came over the built-in speakers. It was nearly five-thirty. Brenda might have gone home.

But his assistant was still at the office. When she answered, he explained that he was taking care of a friend with the flu and needed her advice on what to buy at the grocery store. Also, what would be appropriate to serve a four-year-old for dinner.

With that he glanced at the girl. “Say hi, Maggie.”

Still wide-eyed and clutching her stuffed, white cat, Maggie licked her lips. “Hi,” she whispered tentatively.

“That was Maggie,” he said helpfully.

“Uh, hi, Maggie. Nice to talk to you.” His assistant’s tone of voice warned him that he would be getting a major third degree when he saw her in the morning.

“Do you even know where the grocery store is?” Brenda asked when she’d recovered from her shock.

“I have a fair idea. I was thinking of soup and juice. Liquids for the flu, right?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s right. As for dinner for the little one, there are lots of options. Rule number one is the less sugar the better. Are you cooking or heating?”

Ten minutes later he had a list along with instructions. Brenda cleared her throat. “Are they going to be staying with you for a few days?”

“Yes. Why?”

“If the mother isn’t feeling well, then she won’t be up to watching her child. Maggie, do you have a preschool you go to?”

The little girl beamed at being included in the conversation. “Uh-huh. Right by Mommy’s school. I stay there until two.”

“Ashley is a student at the University of Washington,” he clarified.

“Which means she’ll be missing class while she’s sick.” He heard Brenda writing on a pad of paper.

“Can we send someone to sit in for her?” he asked.

“Sure, but I need her schedule of classes first. Some lecture notes are available online. Also, Maggie will need a sitter for the afternoon. I can arrange that. What’s your student friend’s name?”

“Ashley Churchill. She works for us.”

There was a moment of silence. Jeff could practically see Brenda’s surprise. She knew everyone who worked for Ritter/Rankin Security.

“The cleaner?”

“Yes.”

“How did you meet her?” She coughed. “Sorry. It’s not any of my business, of course. I’ll get on all of this and call you later tonight.”

“Thanks, Brenda. I appreciate the effort.”

His assistant laughed. “No problem. You know I’m desperate to break into the spy business. There has to be a market for fifty-something operatives. Finding this information will be good practice.”

“I’d be lost without you in the office. I can’t afford to let you go into the field.”

“So you keep saying. But I think you’re just being kind and trying to not hurt my feelings. Oh, well. I’ll call you later, Jeff. Bye, Maggie.”

“Bye,” Maggie piped back.

Jeff disconnected the call, then wondered how Brenda could ever be foolish enough to think of him as kind.

Ť^ť

“They’re very good,” Maggie said earnestly.

They stood in the cereal aisle of the large grocery store just down the hill from Jeff’s house. He’d never been inside in all the time he’d lived in the neighborhood. He doubted Maggie had been here, either, yet she led the way like an expert, wielding her miniature shopping cart around other patrons, calling out names of favorite brands and making decisions with the ease of an executive. Now she held out a box of Pop-Tarts and gave him a winning smile.

“I had them at Sara’s house. Her mom fixed them for us. She said only kids could eat something that purple.” Her smile broadened. “I said that the purple is the best part.”

He looked doubtfully at the picture on the box. It showed a toaster pastry covered with vivid purple frosting. Just the thought made his stomach tighten. In this case, he’d have to side with Sara’s mom. “You really want those?” he asked, not sure how that was possible.

Maggie nodded vigorously, making her dark curls dance around her head.

“Does your mother buy these for you?”

Big blue eyes suddenly turned away from him. She became intensely interested in the contents of her cart, rearranging the three frozen kid meals he’d bought her. Finally she returned her gaze to him and slowly shook her head. “No.”

Outside of his abilities, he didn’t count on very much in the world, but he would have bet his life that Maggie Churchill was incapable of lying—whether because of her age, her character, her upbringing or a combination of the three. He didn’t think he’d ever met anyone like her before.

“Would you really eat them if we got them?”

Questions filled her eyes. Questions and hope. She practically vibrated her assent.

“All right.” He tossed the package into her tiny cart. “If you’re sure.”

She gazed at him as if he’d just created a rainbow right there in the grocery store. She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his legs and squeezing tight.

“Thank you,” she said fervently. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

He hadn’t known she could be anything but.

They continued their shopping, going up and down each aisle. Jeff found that buying bread for sandwiches also meant buying something to go in between the slices of bread. Maggie favored peanut butter and jelly. He thought her mother might appreciate something more along the lines of sliced turkey or beef. Which meant an intense discussion on mustard versus mayonnaise, and an interpretation of whether or not Maggie’s shudder at the thought of pickles meant her mother didn’t like them, either.

The girl’s cart was already full and his was nearly so when they turned the corner and found themselves in the pet food aisle. Maggie touched a can of cat food and sighed.

“Do you have a kitty?” she asked, sounding hopeful. “I didn’t see one but maybe she was asleep.”

“Sorry. No pets.”

“Why? Don’tcha like them?”

“Cats?” He’d never thought about them one way or the other. Dogs could be a problem. Dogs made noise, alerting people to the presence of intruders. More than one mission had nearly been compromised by the unexpected presence of a dog. But cats?

“I travel a lot,” he said, then hesitated. Conversing with Maggie was both easy and difficult. He didn’t mind spending time in her company, which surprised him, but he wasn’t sure what to say. How did people talk to children? He only knew how to talk to adults.

“Pets are a big responsibility,” he continued. “It wouldn’t be fair to the animal to leave it alone all the time.”

She considered his statement, then nodded slowly. “Mommy and I are home plenty, but she says we can’t have a kitten just yet. They can be expensive. Not for her food, but if she got sick or somethin’. Mommy gets sad about money sometimes. She cries in the bathroom.” Maggie pressed her lips together. “I don’t think I’m supposed to know, but I can hear her, even with the water running. Can you make Mommy not be sad?”

He wasn’t sure what to do with the information Maggie shared. Based on the little he knew about Ashley’s situation, he wasn’t surprised by her financial concerns. But he also wasn’t willing to take on responsibility for her emotional state.

“Your mother isn’t sad now,” he said, sidestepping the issue.

Maggie thought for a moment, then nodded her agreement. “Mommy’s happy.”

Jeff thought that might be a stretch. Ashley might be relieved to be out of the shelter, but he doubted she was pleased with her present circumstances. His guess was she wouldn’t rest easy until she had her life back in order.

*

While Jeff heated soup in a pan on the stove, Maggie watched her frozen kid’s dinner as it warmed in the microwave. The entree had come with a small toy, which she clutched in her hand as she danced from foot to foot, waiting for the timer to beep.

“I like chicken,” she announced. “And macaroni and cheese. I’ve never had them together before.” It didn’t sound like much of a treat to him, but then, he wasn’t four. After stirring Ashley’s soup, he returned to the task of putting away the rest of the groceries. As the pantry shelves were bare, it didn’t take long. He put milk and juice into the refrigerator, along with several cartons of yogurt. Frozen foods went into the freezer.

Grocery shopping and cooking had to be two of the most normal activities, and yet they all felt foreign to him. He didn’t eat yogurt from a carton. The last time he’d had the stuff had been during a covert operation in Afghanistan and the goat responsible for the yogurt had watched him warily, as if to make sure he swallowed every spoonful.

He stirred the soup again, then checked on Maggie’s dinner.

“Twenty more seconds,” she told him, never taking her gaze from the timer.

He dug through kitchen cupboards, pulling out a bowl from a set of dishes he doubted he’d ever used. He also unearthed a wooden tray. After rinsing and drying the bowl, he poured the soup, then, along with a spoon, set it on the tray, next to some toast and a glass of juice. When the microwave beeped, he lifted Maggie’s dinner onto the tray, along with cutlery and a drink, and started toward his guest’s room.

“I get dessert later, right?” Maggie asked, confirming the reality of her purple Pop-Tart.

“Absolutely. We’ll get your mom settled first, though.”

“Okay.”

He waited while Maggie pushed open the door, then he stepped into Ashley’s room. Light spilled out from the bathroom, but the bedroom itself was in twilight. He could make out her still figure on the bed. Her eyes were closed, her breathing even.

He was about to retreat, taking Maggie with him, when the four-year-old flew at her mother and pounced onto the mattress.

“Mommy, Mommy, we brought dinner. There’s soup for you and chicken pieces and macaroni and cheese for me. And Mr. Ritter got me Pop-Tarts and they’re purple!”

Ashley came awake slowly. She opened her eyes and smiled at her daughter, then shifted her gaze so she could take in the room. He both felt and saw the exact moment she noticed him. For a second she looked confused, then she blinked and the questions in her eyes were gone.

Jeff was pleased she didn’t appear frightened. He doubted the circumstances were to her liking, but she was in no condition to change them. He’d said and done as much as he could to convince her she was completely safe in his company, but it would take time and experience for her to learn that she could trust him.

“I brought dinner,” he said as he flipped on the floor lamp. “Do you think you can eat?”

“I’m going to eat with you,” Maggie said, sliding off the bed and walking to the small table by the window. “Is here okay?”

“It’s fine, sweetie.” Ashley shifted until she was in a sitting position, her back against the headboard. She rubbed her eyes, then looked at the tray. “I’m not hungry, but I haven’t had anything since dinner last night, so I should probably try to get something down.”

He served Maggie first, carefully putting her entree in front of her, then setting out a fork, a glass of milk and three napkins. When he carried the tray to Ashley, he noticed that she’d changed her clothes while they’d been gone. She’d traded jeans for sweatpants and her blouse for a loose T-shirt, both in faded navy.

She was pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Sleep had mussed her dark hair. While it wasn’t as curly as her daughter’s, it was thick and wavy, falling just to her shoulders.

“Maggie promised that you like chicken soup,” he said adjusting the tray so the legs bracketed Ashley’s slender thighs.

“What’s not to like?” she said, picking up a spoon and taking a sip. “It’s great.” She paused and looked at him. “You’ve been more than kind. I really appreciate it. We’ll be out of your hair by morning.”

“I doubt that,” Jeff told her. “You’re sick. You’re going to need a few days to get your strength back. I want you to feel comfortable enough to do that here.”

Her hazel eyes seemed more blue than green or brown. Was it the hour of the day or a reflection of her navy T-shirt? Her arms were thin

too thin. Maggie had a sturdiness about her, but Ashley looked as if a slight breeze could blow her away.

As he continued to stare, he noticed a flush of color climbing her cheeks. At first he thought it was from her fever, but then he had the sudden thought that she might be uncomfortable with his scrutiny. He shifted his attention to her daughter.

“Maggie was a big help at the grocery store,” he said.

The little girl beamed at him.

“I can only imagine,” Ashley said dryly. “She convinced you to buy Pop-Tarts.”

“I wasn’t a hard sell.”

“Mr. Ritter has a magic car,” Maggie said between bites of chicken. “A lady spoke to us from the air and everything.”

Jeff pulled out the second chair at the small table and sat down. “I called my assistant from the car, using the speakerphone. I needed some menu ideas.”

“She was very nice and said hello to me,” Maggie added.

The girl had finished most of her macaroni and cheese, although she wore a good portion of the sauce on her face and hands. Jeff studied the shape of her eyes and her mouth, then glanced at her mother, trying to figure out what traits they shared.

Ashley’s features were slightly more delicate. The eye color was different, as well. Did Maggie’s blue eyes come from her father?