“They’re not losing you, so just stop.” I refused to consider it. It couldn’t happen. Plus, the cancer was responding well to treatment. Things were looking up.
“He asked me to teach him how to knit,” she said, turning back to the window where Major was now half-sodden with water from the hose. He still had his usual calm demeanor even though Billy’s face was guilty as hell.
“Knitting? The major?” I couldn’t picture it.
“Yeah, I don’t know, but when I realized I wouldn’t be able to finish the Christmas stockings I wanted to make for everyone, he offered to take over and be my fingers. I could still pick out the patterns and the yarn, but he’d be the one to knit them.” She chuckled. “He’s really terrible at it.”
And that’s when the dam broke. I realized the reason I hadn’t seen her with knitting in a while. She couldn’t knit because of the neuropathy in her fingers, and Major Fucking Steadfast had noticed and offered to take over to relieve her burdens. Who the hell did the man think he was? While I was working hard at the clinic, he was here playing perfect husband and father with my family?
I lit out of there like my ass was on fire. Once I flew down the front porch steps, I barked in his direction. “Barn, now.” I didn’t stop long enough to notice his reaction, just kept moving until I was in the wide open aisle inside the barn where the kids wouldn’t be able to see us.
As soon as he walked in, I took a swing at him and clocked him in the jaw. His eyes widened in shock, but he just stood there ready for another. So I gave him one, this time a punch to the ribs. The wind whooshed out of him, but I didn’t care and he still didn’t do anything to block me.
“Defend yourself, dammit!” I hollered at him. My voice was broken and half-screechy. I sounded like a lunatic. “Why are you letting me do this to you?” This time I shoved his shoulder. Hard.
“I’ve been waiting six months for this. Gotta be honest, glad it’s finally here,” he said in his low, steady voice. He was breathing heavier now and blood trickled from his lip, but of course he kept his calm. The jackass.
“You should have told me!” It came out as more of a sob than a yell. “I hate you! I hate you for keeping that from me. You should have told me!” I beat on his chest with my fists until I wailed his name and he grabbed me tight around my arms and we both sank to the ground. My breathing came in frantic gasps. “Wes… Wes… she’s sick. And I can’t watch.”
“I know, baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But she’s a fighter. She’s going to kick this.”
I didn’t catch the endearment at first. It just sounded so natural and went along with accepting comfort from my best friend. It was the kind of thing I’d heard him say to my children when they’d scraped their knees or fallen off their ponies. Affection, praise, comfort. And I needed it from him like Betsy’s roses needed water in the hot Texas sun.
I clung to him and sobbed, but then his words sank in. She’s going to kick this.
If there was one thing I knew about Lieutenant Colonel Weston Marian of the United States Army it was that the man was rarely wrong about anything.
I blew out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Yeah, she’s a fighter. She’s going to kick this.”
Two weeks later she was hospitalized for pneumonia, and before the sun came up the following morning, she was gone.
I went back to hating Weston Marian for being wrong. If he’d been right about so many other things, why did he have to be wrong about this? He was an easy target for my anger, and I was barely able to hold an adult conversation with anyone anyway, so it didn’t matter.
It wasn’t until George Hobart died of a broken heart and Billy went missing on Thanksgiving Day that I was forced to shake off my grief and ask the major for help.
Chapter 20
Weston “Major” Marian
I’d politely declined to join the Wildes for the Thanksgiving meal, claiming I’d already accepted an invite from an old army buddy down at Fort Wolters. It was clear to everyone that Doc didn’t want me around, and I didn’t blame him.
I was an easy scapegoat. Plus, whenever I was nearby, I couldn’t help but try and cheer him up or make him forget, and he damned well didn’t want to be cheerful or forget.
Again, I didn’t blame him.
But I didn’t go to Fort Wolters either.
George Hobart had fallen asleep one night in October only a week after his daughter’s funeral, and simply hadn’t woken up. He’d left me in charge of farm operations even though ownership had been legally left in trust for Doc and Betsy’s kids. Since Doc was in no shape to focus on much more than the kids and his job at the clinic, that left me to make sure the farm was running smoothly which meant I wasn’t leaving town for the foreseeable future, even if only to spend a few hours eating turkey and pie with friends.