Page 18 of Fiery Romance

I stop abruptly and stare at her. “Are you sure you’re only six?”

“I’ll be seven soon.”

“Lord help us all.”

She giggles.

I carry her back to the car, strap her into her car seat and sit behind the wheel. The adrenaline rush that sent my heart beating a million miles an hour is draining away. The horror of what could have happened is catching up to me.

Babysitter.

Nanny.

A freaking miracle.

I need it and I need it now.

* * *

Abe comeshome while I’m on the phone with Lincoln.

I nod to my son.

He nods back.

Without another word, he goes to his room.

I watch him disappear, noticing his slow steps.

Quiet. Introspective.

I’d blame it on Anya’s death, but my son’s always been that way. More artsy than athletic. More sensitive than brutish.

‘It was just a joke,’ I once told Anya after a little ribbing sent Abe up to his room in tears.‘We always talk like that on base.’

‘Well, we’re not ‘on base’ right now, Clay. We’re at home.’

‘He has two soldiers as parents. He can’t be a weakling, Anya.’

‘He’s not a weakling. He’s just got different strengths. And have you ever stopped to think that maybe he’s more artistic and emotionalbecausehis parents are soldiers? Maybe we’ve got enough brawn for a lifetime. Maybe some calm and gentle is what this family needs’.

I’ve always had a little harder time connecting with Abe and his interests. It was better when Anya was alive. She could smooth that bridge and lead me across it.

Since her death, I’ve given Abe a lot of space, not judging him and his interests but not being able to relate to them either.

“Clay? Clay, you there?”

I blink rapidly. “Yeah.”

I put my attention back on my phone call.

Lincoln chuckles. “I heard there was an unexpected wrench in today’s plans.”

“If you’re talking about a wrench wearing a princess-themed tutu and ballet slippers, then yeah. We had quite the day.”

“Regan’s bold. Like Anya.”

I set the knife down next to the carrots and release a heavy sigh. “She is.”

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