“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.

“That Seth—he couldn’t walk and chew gum at the same time. Didn’t you carry him, Troy, about two miles after he blew out his knee in Baghdad?” Denny asked.

“Yeah, it was me, and I’ve had trouble with my knee ever since.”

“I offered to take him,” Rich said. “I think you were looking for a medal or something.”

“And all I got was a bad knee. Seth, though—he’s fine.”

Denny served them a salmon and wild rice dinner, a culinary event that had the boys talking about fishing as opposed to duck hunting the next day. They had all come with empty coolers, prepared to take their trophies home to impress either girlfriends or mothers.

When Denny cleared the dinner plates away, the bar was taking on a slightly different atmosphere. The locals had cleared out and there were only a few out-of-towners, either fishermen or hunters. Jack wandered over to their group, pulled another table up close and sat down with them. He asked the guys about their hunting. A few minutes later, Preacher came out of the kitchen, checked to make sure their few patrons were fine, then went behind the bar to pour a couple of shots, which he carried to the table Jack had pulled up.

There was a little grousing about last night’s poker—apparently Jack had taken complete advantage of the younger guys and Preacher had folded before becoming a victim.

Talk among the men wandered back to the Marine Corps, how it had been in the old days, how it was now. The few patrons who had lingered wandered off and it was just them—Jack and Preacher and Denny’s hunting party. The bar was dim and cozy, the fire was warm, the mood was one of friendship, camaraderie and mutual respect. Becca was feeling more comfortable and at home than she had since arriving. She was feeling less alone than she had in a long time.

“What time do we go out to the river?” Dirk asked.

“It’s close and dawn is later—seven is good,” Denny said. “Salmon’s up now and it’s good fishing. They’re moving upriver to spawn.”

“Salmon’s bleak in Sacramento right now,” Troy said. “I’m looking for something huge. Like that,” he said, gesturing to the mounted thirty-pounder over the bar.

“Becca, you feel okay?” Rich suddenly asked her.

“Sure,” she said. “Why?”

“You haven’t kept your mouth shut this long since the day you were born,” he pointed out.

“I said the salmon dinner was amazing!”

“You usually have a lot more to say,” he said. “About everything.”

Denny laughed before he said, “You about ready for bed, Becca?”

The entire gathering, including Jack, sent up a great round of whoops and laughter. Becca actually blushed.

“You know what I mean,” Denny said, more to the men than to Becca. “I’m sleeping on an air mattress so I can be handy if she needs anything.”

“Becca, even though it might make Dirk jealous, I could do air-mattress duty tonight if you’d rather,” Troy said with a teasing grin. “You know, since Denny broke your ankle and everything…”

“Jealous?” Dirk protested loudly, giving Troy a shove.

“Now boys,” she said. “We all know it wasn’t Denny’s fault and he’s been very thoughtful. So shut up and back off.”

“Whatever you say,” Troy said, holding up his palms toward her.

Rich stood to his full six foot two, gave his trousers a yank upward and pulled his jacket off the back of his chair. He draped it around Becca’s shoulders and said, “Come on, gimpy. I’ll drive you home. Then you’re on your own.”

“I better go with or he’ll leave her at the bottom of the stairs,” Denny said, getting to his feet. “Jack, you need me for anything? I can get Becca settled and come right back….”

“Nah, we’re good here. We don’t need you. Aren’t we good, Preach?”

“Good,” Preacher said, standing.

The gathering dispersed with plans to meet in the morning for fishing. Rich drove Becca home and carried her up the stairs to Denny’s room while Denny followed with the crutches.

And then, there they were. Alone.

Denny stood just inside the door, looking across the room at her. He had obviously taken care of inflating the air mattress earlier; it was lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, a pillow and blanket tossed on top. Although her crutches held her up, she sank to the bed, bone tired again.

“Do you need a little help to get ready for bed, Becca?”

She shook her head. “No, but if you wouldn’t mind lifting that suitcase onto the bed, I’d sure appreciate it. I can’t figure out how to kneel on the floor.”

“You got it,” he said, accommodating her at once. “Do you have warm pajamas? Because I have sweats and stuff…”

“I have it covered,” she said. She immediately began digging around in her big suitcase.

“I’ll clean out a couple of drawers,” he said. “Top drawers, so you don’t have to worry about lifting the suitcase or kneeling.”

“Don’t go to any trouble,” she said. Pajamas tucked under her arm, she stood from the bed. “Do you need the bathroom?”

“No, go ahead. Take your time. Here, let me carry those in for you. Need anything else in here?”

“That small cosmetic bag there would help—toothbrush and stuff.”

“Got it,” he said. “Leave this in the bathroom, if you want.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I hate needing help.”

He grinned at her. “But I like helping, so we’re okay so far.”

And then he backed out, pulling the door closed.

Becca sighed. She certainly had herself in a situation. All alone with the man she considered to be her long-lost love, and getting ready to brush her teeth and don her flannels. Over her bandaged foot. Ah yes, this was the moment every woman dreamed of.

After washing up and getting into her pajamas, tucking her clothes under her arms to toss back into the suitcase, she exited the bathroom. Denny stood beside his air mattress. He wore a pair of sweats that were slung low on his hips, his chest bare, and she got the impression he was still a bit overdressed for bed. Way overdressed. Becca was momentarily paralyzed. Yes, this was the Denny she remembered, yet so much more. She had fallen in love with a boy; this version was all man. He seemed taller and broader; his arms and shoulders were so muscled, his belly ripped. There was now a mat of hair on his chest, when before there was some brown fur surrounding his ni**les and disappearing into his waistband. And he had that scruffy unshaved look again. The guy had so much testosterone running through his bloodstream he could produce a beard in eight hours.