Her Cowboy Soldier

“Any idea why she changed her name to Love Soldier?”

“You’d have to ask her, but Erica has always been a little alternative.”

“Then you know her?”

“We were in school together. Besides, stay in Hartland long enough and you get to know everyone.”

“My grandmother keeps assuming I already know everyone the way she does. She was convinced you and I had met before, but I had to remind her I was only here for a few weeks in the summer.”

“I don’t think we’d met before.” He liked to think he would have remembered if they’d known each other before, but who could say what kind of an impression she’d have made on him when she was a girl? He’d spent more time focused on baseball and horses than chasing after girls.

“I’ll help you with the science bee, if you like,” she said.

He didn’t try to hide his surprise. “Do you really want to spend the day with a bunch of high school kids?”

She shrugged. “I think it would make an interesting story for the paper.”

“Is that the real reason, or are you just looking for an excuse to follow me around and report on other signs of inexperience or special treatment?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll report on what I see, the same as I’d do with anyone.”

“As long as you don’t single me out for any special attention. I wouldn’t want that, no matter what some people think.”

A blush of color suffused her cheeks again—from anger, or some other emotion? “No special attention,” she said. “Not from me.”

She started to turn away, but he touched her shoulder. “I don’t want us to be enemies,” he said.

“You’re not my enemy. I told you before—I’m just doing my job.”

Right. And someone had to matter to you in some way in order for them to be your enemy. Amy obviously felt nothing for him except that resentment she apparently felt for any veteran who had what her late husband did not—namely, a life. He couldn’t change those feelings with an apology or a smile. “The science bee is next month. I’ll let you know.”

“Fine.” She slung her purse over her shoulder. “See you around.”

“Yeah. See you around.”

Josh watched her retreat—that’s what it felt like to him, anyway. She didn’t run out of the building, but he sensed she wanted to. What was she running from? Was his presence really so offensive to her?

He’d been crazy to agree to let her come along on the science bee trip. The day would be awkward and tense and he’d probably come off looking bad in the article she wrote.

“Where is she off to in such a hurry?” Erica joined him. “I wanted to talk to her about the school garden.”

“She said she had a deadline for the paper.”

“Oh. Well, maybe I’ll call her tomorrow.”

He started to tell Erica to avoid talking about his involvement in the project when she talked to Amy. No sense stirring up animosity. But explaining his reasoning to “Love Soldier” would be too awkward. “I guess you want to talk about the irrigation system,” he said. “We could discuss it over coffee.”

“Thanks. We should do that, but not tonight. My boyfriend is waiting up, and I really want to get home and tell him all about what happened tonight.”

“What’s his name?”

“George Ramirez. You don’t know him. He’s from Berkley.”

“And his name’s George?” Not Rainbow or Peace Brother or something equally as colorful as Love Soldier?

She grinned. “He’s not into the name thing like I am. Though I’m beginning to think Love Soldier might be a little too far-out for Hartland.”

“Erica is a nice name.”

She wrinkled her nose. “But it doesn’t really say anything, you know?”

Josh thought he understood. He was proud of the name he’d been born with, but he sometimes wondered if it wouldn’t be easier if he’d come to town as a stranger, without his family name and history to brand him as a local. Would people like Rick and Amy hassle him less if he was an outsider?

“Anyway, thanks for backing me up tonight,” Erica continued. “We’ll talk soon, I promise.”

She left in a flurry of gauze skirts and flying pigtails. Home to share her news with the man she loved. A tightness in his chest pinched at him. If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought he was jealous of Erica and George—and Rick and his wife and all those people who had other people to go home to.

How much worse was it, though, for Amy? She had known that kind of love, that connection with another person, and war had taken that away. Josh might have lost a hand in Iraq, but she had lost so much more. He could replace his hand with a hook or a prosthesis, but would another man for Amy be like his hand—a dim imitation of what she really wanted?

Maybe that was at the heart of all his mixed feelings for Amy. As much as her treatment of him in the paper angered him, he sympathized with her plight. The war hurt men and women like her who had waited at home every bit as much as it injured and killed their loved ones who fought. He was one more reminder of that hurt. Just as well she wasn’t planning to stay in Hartland long. Her leaving town would be the best thing for both of them.

CHAPTER THREE

OF ALL HER jobs at the farm, Amy liked working in the greenhouses best. The long rows of tomatoes, peppers, lettuces and herbs made a fragrant jungle around her as she weeded, pruned, watered and picked. Worries and stress vanished as she focused on the plants. “You have a knack for gardening,” her grandmother told her as the two women worked side by side the morning after the school board meeting.

“Isn’t it funny, since I didn’t grow up around gardening? Mom didn’t even keep houseplants.” The family moved so often plants and pets and other dependents made little sense.

“They say sometimes a talent will skip a generation.” Bobbie leaned over and deftly pinched back a tomato plant. “Your mother didn’t have the patience for gardening. You have to stick around a whole season or more to see the fruits of your labors. She always wanted to move on to the next big adventure. She still does, I guess. Where are your folks now—South America, isn’t it?”

“Chile. Guiding tours to see penguins and whales.”

“That’s all pretty exciting, I’m sure, but I’d rather stay here and watch a plant grow and develop and bear fruit.”

“Look, Mama!” Chloe tiptoed carefully toward them, her eyes fixed on the bright red-and-black ladybug that crawled along her finger.

“That’s a ladybug,” Bobbie said. “She helps protect the plants from aphids and other bad bugs.”

“She’s so pretty.” The ladybug spread her wings and flew away. Chloe’s face fell. “She’s gone.”

“She didn’t go far,” Bobbie said. “She and her friends live in the greenhouses.”

“Then I’ll look for more,” the child said, and skipped away.

“She’s a smart girl,” Bobbie said. “And I don’t just say that because I’m her great-grandmother. She pays attention to things and really listens to what you say. She might end up being a great scientist.”

Chloe was smart. Amy wanted to give her every advantage in life—the best schools, stimulating activities—but what parent didn’t want those things for her child? For now, Chloe had found her own little bit of heaven in the greenhouses and fields of Anderson Orchards, where she ruled like a princess in her kingdom, doted on by all the adults.

“Speaking of science, Josh Scofield was at the school board meeting last night,” Amy said as she and her grandmother began to pick peppers from the heavily laden plants in the center of the greenhouse.