Nick eyed the baseball gear with contempt. “He’s going to play soccer.”
“He can play more than one sport,” Mimi argued.
Owen spoke up. “I played baseball for a while.”
“And ran track. And played football.” She shook her head. “You’re what they call an overachiever.”
“But you love me anyway.” He caught her hand in his.
“I do.” She squeezed his hand. Knowing he was leaving soon scared the crap out of her. It wasn’t like he was taking a semester abroad or going on safari.
He was joining the Marines—the front line.
Uncle Zach’s letters were few and far between. They hadn’t seen him in years. She didn’t want that for Owen—she’d miss him too much. And the fear of things like guns and explosions and injuries was enough to give her nightmares. Every time she thought of Owen out there dealing with that, it hurt—enough that tears kicked in before she could stop them.
And it could happen at any time. Like right now. “Be right back,” she said, needing an escape before the crying started.
She hurried up the stairs and into Jack’s nursery, taking deep breaths and shaking her hands. It was supposed to calm you down, according to Diana. She had a whole arsenal of ways to “calm down” and “decompress” and not all of them included smoking pot.
“What’s up?” Owen had followed her.
She shook her head, avoiding his gaze. He’d know. And as bad as it was for her, she knew it was eating him up, too.
“Talk to me.” He caught her hand and pulled her against him. “Talk.” He kissed her nose. “To.” Her forehead. “Me.” Her lips. He clung long enough for her to sway into him. “Did I do something?”
“No.” She gripped his T-shirt, holding on tight. “No. You’re here.”
He nodded, instantly understanding. “I’m coming back.”
“You promise?” she whispered, hoarse.
“I promise. I’ll write. I’ll call when I can.” He smiled. “You’ll be so busy at school, you probably won’t have time to miss me.”
“Don’t, Owen.” She frowned. “You know that’s not me. Thinking about next week—” Her voice broke.
“Then don’t.” His hands tightened. “Right now, it’s all about us. You and me.”
She nodded. “You and me.”
“I’m c
oming back.” He kissed her with everything he had.
…
Braden Martinez was a man of few words. Charity had taken to spouting off random bits of trivia just to see what reaction she could get from him. Not much. He remained ever aloof but ever present. And currently, he carried several large trays of finger foods into the dining room.
“Does he know about your condition?” her mother asked, watching the silent sheriff place the trays on the table, then straighten them before stepping back.
She nodded.
“Does he?” Her mother glanced back and forth between them. “You be careful, Charity Ann.”
“It’s not like he can get me pregnant, Mom,” she teased.
Her mother swatted her shoulder. “I wasn’t talking about you. And that wasn’t funny. Not in the least.”
Charity popped a powdered-sugar-covered wedding cookie in her mouth. “Who were you talking about?”