But soon, they were all pushing back chairs and standing to leave. All except Denny.

“For real, Denny, you can go. I can get around on my crutches.”

“I don’t know,” he said, frowning, shaking his head. “I told you I’d be around if you needed anything.”

“Well, I don’t think I’m ready to take on a flight of stairs, but otherwise I can manage, certainly for a few hours. I’m going to go back to the Middletons’ living room and zone out to Oprah or something.”

“Well…” he said, thinking. “We’ll go out in two trucks and I can come back early. You wouldn’t be on your own that long.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I don’t want to be a drag. This is your hunting party and I ruined it.”

“No, you didn’t, Becca. It was an accident.”

“Just go,” she said.

“If you’re sure?”

“Go,” she said again.

He gave her a little smile, then stacked up the plates on the table and walked them back to the kitchen. As he passed back through the bar, he said, “Paige said help yourself to the sofa, or if you’re tired and you want to lie down, their bedroom is on the ground floor and you’re welcome to it.”

Tired? She might die of boredom, but she wasn’t tired at all. She just smiled and nodded, waving him out the door. Becca was used to a very active lifestyle—chasing seven-year-olds combined with lots of sports from surfing to skiing. The last time she watched Oprah, she was home sick with the flu. The time before that, she was home sick with a broken heart.

She pulled herself up and with her crutches, hobbled through the kitchen door. Inside, busy with lunch and cleanup, was the Middleton family—Paige rolling out dough for pies, Preacher—or John, as Paige called him—scraping plates and filling the dishwasher, and little Dana in her high chair, messing around with Play-Doh.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Becca asked when Paige smiled at her.

“Absolutely. There are some DVDs if there’s nothing on TV that interests you. Check out the bookcase—you might not be interested in John’s military history but I have some fun stuff there. And please don’t hesitate to use the phone or our bed, for that matter, if you want to lie down for a proper nap. When I’m done here, I’m going to put Dana down for her nap. She needs a good two hours to be pleasant for dinner!”

“Will the TV bother her?” Becca asked.

“Not in the least. She’s a great little napper.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate this. Denny doesn’t have a TV or anything in his little apartment. He probably doesn’t spend too much time there.”

Paige laughed. “He’s a very busy guy. Not only does he work for the farm and around here, he’s always offering to help anyone who needs something.”

This time when Becca walked into the Middleton house from the kitchen entrance, she noticed how perfect it was designed. She walked through a spacious laundry room that undoubtedly serviced the bar and the family. To her left was a kitchen that was more of a serving center, complete with cupboards, dishwasher, refrigerator, sink, countertops and a pass-through to a dining room. But there were no stoves or ovens because the bar kitchen was just steps away. Just opposite the serving station and dining room was the master bedroom and bath, and beyond that the great room, complete with entertainment center, fireplace, locked gun rack and open staircase that led to a loft. The kids’ rooms must be up there—she could see a few toys scattered around. There was a door to the backyard from the great room. She peeked outside and saw a wooden jungle gym, slide and sandbox. To the far right, more behind the bar than the house, was a big brick barbecue and some picnic tables.

She paused in front of the bookcase in the entertainment center and found some old friends—Jill Shalvis, Kristan Higgins, Deanna Raybourn, Toni Blake. She pulled one out, tossed it across the room and followed it, causing the sleepy Comet to jump in surprise. “Sorry,” she said to the dog. The remote was easier—it was right on the side table. She got her leg propped up on the ottoman, gave Comet an apologetic pat on the head, turned on the TV to an afternoon talk show with the volume down, book in her lap, and thought again about what Paige had said. Denny’s a pretty busy guy. He helps anyone who asks….

He had a full-time job, even if he did say the farm wasn’t too busy this time of year. And he helped Jack around the bar all the time—that was probably a part-time job. And that was the Denny she had known and missed—the guy who was the friend you could depend on if you needed something.

He wasn’t going to be available to entertain her all the time, to keep her busy and her mind off the fact that she was bored out of her skull. She leaned back against the leather couch cushions and thought yet again, Oh, man, this is going to be so tedious! What was she supposed to do for two weeks? Watch daytime TV and reread her favorite romances? Nap? How in the world was she supposed to nap? She wasn’t the least bit tired. All she’d done for twenty-four hours was sit around with her foot up!

And that was the last conscious thought she had for a while. When she opened her eyes again, she blinked a couple of times. It was a different talk show and she had slumped down on the couch. There was a kid sitting on the sofa next to her. His backpack was on the floor and he was petting his dog.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked. “Because my mom said to be quiet.”

“No. No, not at all,” she said, pushing herself upright a little.

“I think you got a little drool there on your mouth.”

“Oh, Jesus,” she said, wiping her mouth. Sure enough.

“Oh, that’s okay. My mom does that all the time.”

“Does she? I bet you’re Chris.”

“Yup. And you’re Becca. What kind of name is Becca?”

“Short for Rebecca,” she said. “Are you just getting home from school?”

“Yup. And I have chores and homework. I’m not allowed to have TV on after school till the chores and homework are done.”

Becca fished around the couch until she came up with the remote and flicked off the TV. “That’s very smart of your mom. Mind if I ask about the chores? Like what kind?”

“I get the trash together, but my dad takes it out because the Dumpster is too tall for me. Sometimes I fold the napkins for the bar and when no one is sleeping on the couch, I run the vacuum around—Comet’s hairy. I have to let Comet out—I did that part already. My bed’s made—I did it this morning before the bus came. But I always look at my homework first, before the chores. Except Comet—he really needs to get outside right away.”

Becca liked that. “What kind of homework?”

“Math, spelling and reading. I worked on the spelling on the bus a little, but everyone was rowdy so I’m gonna have to do it again. I have to use my whole brain for the math. And I’m already good at reading.”

She smiled at him. “How old are you?”

“Seven. I’m in second grade.”

“Boy, do I have a surprise for you,” she said. “I’m a second-grade teacher.”

“In real life?” he asked.

“In real life. In my pretend life I’m a girl with a broken ankle.”

“From jumping out of the truck without looking where you were going?” he asked.

“Something like that.”

“Denny came back from hunting with a dead duck. He gave it to my dad and went down to his place for a shower. After he looked at you sleeping. He said if you woke up to tell you he’d be back when he smelled better.”

Her first thought was that he’d seen her drooling. “Nice,” she said.

“So he’s like your boyfriend or something?”

Becca thought about this for two seconds or less before changing the subject. “Since I’m a teacher and everything, want me to work on your homework with you? We could do math or spelling or you could read to me.”

“I like to read to myself, but I could use a little help with the math. We’re doing multiplying, which is like adding over and over and over.”

“In second grade?”

“Some of us got ahead of ourselves.”

“Totally. Where do you normally do your homework?”

“At the table over there.”

“Let’s go.”

“You gonna use your crutches and everything?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, dragging herself to her feet. “I have to put my leg up on a chair, so can I have the end, please?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. You gonna do it by yourself?”

She balanced on her crutches. “Wait till you see how good I am at this.” She swung her way across the room, pulled out a couple of chairs, got situated and hoisted her leg up. “Ready for math!”

“You act like you like homework or something,” he said.

“Well, being a teacher and all…”

“Yeah. You prob’ly can’t get enough of it, huh?”

“There you go. Show me your books, Chris. I want to see what you’re working on.”

“Sure,” he said, unloading his books onto the dining table. “Try not to get too excited about this—it’s work.”

She laughed at him. “You know how I learned my multiplication tables? We had to write them out a hundred times when we got in trouble. But for me, it was fourth grade, not second. I think maybe you’re a wizard or something.”

“Well, I don’t want to write ’em a hundred times, no offense.”

“I understand completely. But it really works. Not that it’s what I’d call pleasant. Ah,” she said, opening his math book. “You’re working at fourth-grade math, just as I thought. Very progressive. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Well, I would be, except, it’s a lot harder to get an A on this math than at second-grade math.”

He was so right! It would be years before he’d appreciate having a teacher who had moved him along at his pace.

A half hour later, with Chris’s books spread around the table, Denny stuck his head in from the hall. “How you feeling, Becca?”

“Okay. You got a duck?”

“I got a duck. That lake was crazy with ducks this afternoon. Can I get you anything? Want a cola or hot chocolate or anything?”

“Cola would be good. Chris, do you get a snack after school?”

“I had it already. I get milk and whatever cookies my dad made. Today was peanut butter.”

“Hey, Denny. Can you snag me a milk-and-cookie snack? After all, I’m working on homework!”

Six

Becca wondered if it was weird that a little time with a seven-year-old put her right, but it did. And before they were done with homework, Dana was up from her nap and sat at the big dining table for a little while to color; Becca colored with her. For some of the time Paige sat on the sofa in the great room with a big pile of freshly laundered kids’ clothes that she folded and stacked in the basket to be carried upstairs to their bedrooms.

All this time, Denny was helping out behind the bar. When the folding and coloring and homework were done, Dana and Chris moved to the kitchen. Paige and John had worked all afternoon on dinner; now it was down to serving. Chris would have his dinner at the kitchen work island, while Dana had hers in the high chair. “When you run a restaurant, it’s hard to sit down together as a family,” Paige told Becca. “But we manage sometimes. When Denny helps serve and bus, the kids and I get a table in the bar, usually with Jack’s wife and kids. And every Sunday is reserved for a family meal at our own table—we have our family meal at two in the afternoon and Jack and his family have theirs at three-thirty. It’s harder for the Sheridans—Mel being a midwife and all. We have to be flexible.”

“It must be a challenge sometimes,” Becca said.

“Somehow it works,” she said, shaking her head and laughing.

Becca left the Middleton’s residence and went into the bar as the dinner hour approached. The bar was starting to fill up with hunters and locals. She found a table and no sooner had she gotten settled than her brother and his friends came in. They were exuberant; they had dead ducks in the back of the truck. Becca laughed as she secretly measured the merits of broken bones.

Denny was busy behind the bar, but only for a few minutes after his pals returned from hunting. He made sure his party was served, then sat with them. Since Becca hadn’t had a pain pill since morning, she thought a beer might serve her just as well, so she asked for a mug and poured one from the pitcher Denny brought.

The hunting party of Marines relaxed with their beer and reminisced about Iraq, about mutual friends, about what they’d been doing for the past few years, and she enjoyed it thoroughly. Men, she knew, weren’t too good about keeping in touch with each other. There were the occasional emails or phone calls, but it took a gathering like this to really put them in touch again. And these were men who had served in a war together, who’d kept each other’s backs, who had stood watch while their buddies slept on the desert floor in a faraway land.

They poked and jabbed at each other, made fun, and no one escaped. There were a few toasts to comrades past and one very solemn remembrance of a man named Swany—she made a mental note to ask Denny or Rich about him later.

It seemed they all but forgot she was there and this was very much to her liking. She sat at the end of the table with her foot up on the opposite chair, while Denny and Rich sat on one side and Troy and Dirk on the other. She was able to be an observer, taking in their easy rapport, their humor and even gallantry as they spoke up for each other, praising small acts of bravery in the field.