Chapter 19
Chapter 19
“ L ook at that,” Juniper breathed. They stood at the edge of a massive field of poppies, thousands upon thousands of them. “Poppies.” She tugged John’s shirt.
“I see,” he said. His eyes squinted over the poppies to the trees beyond, scanning for people or danger.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” Juniper said.
“Opium,” Bear said, finally turning his eyes to the flowers. “They’re grown for opium.”
“Poppies are used for opium?” She faked a gasp. “I had no idea.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re a botanist,” he said, booping her on the nose.
“I know they’re used for ill purposes, but look at them and tell me they’re beautiful,” she demanded, hands on hips.
He shrugged.
She put her arm around his waist and turned him to face the field of flowers. “Clear your mind of crime and danger, of drugs and drug lords. Look at these flowers and see the beauty, the majesty, the amazing miracle of nature.”
He studied the field, squinting intently, then picked her up and set her in front of him, in his line of vision. “Now I’m starting to see it.”
“Oh, my lands.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “What else are you hiding beneath that no-nonsense exterior, Mr. Romance?”
“Come here and find out,” he said. Reaching for her hand, he pulled her close and led her in a dance. As with everything physical, he was a perfect lead, turning her and pulling her close again while she watched in wide-eyed amazement.
After he showed off his skills for a bit with the foxtrot, he pulled her close and slipped both arms around her, swaying gently.
“We’re trampling thousands of dollars worth of opium here,” he said.
“Totally worth it. And guess what?”
“What?” he asked, preemptively smiling at whatever she was about to say.
“Poppies are my new favorite flower.”
“Quite a distinction, coming from a botanist.”
“I’ll say,” she agreed.
“Guess what?” he said.
“What?” she asked, and now she was the one who smiled in anticipation of what he was about to say.
“Poppies are my new favorite flower, too.”
“Quite a distinction, coming from a major.”
“I’ll say.”
They swayed in comfortable silence a while longer, saying things with their eyes they dared not say with their lips. “Where and when did you learn to dance like that? Don’t tell me the army taught you.”
“In a manner of speaking. For anyone on the kind of career track I’m on, dance lessons are highly recommended. Never know when you might get called up to a political or diplomatic to-do.”
“You are ever full of surprises, John Caruthers,” she said.
“No, I am forever the same and unchanging,” he said.
“That’s what gets me. You are consistent, and yet unexpected. Tough, yet tender. Hard, yet soft. Strong, yet gentle.”
“I don’t think many people would agree with you on those second points, Juni,” he said.
“They don’t know the things I know, haven’t been privy to the things I’ve seen and observed. I remember…I remember when you told me about your dog.”
He felt like he swallowed a handful of toothpicks, all of a sudden. “You were so little. You can’t possibly remember.” She was only four when he blurted the story of his dog. It was his mother’s birthday and he felt unusually sentimental. As ever, Juniper was his constant companion. He had grown so comfortable with her that he sometimes had the habit of talking out loud, as if to himself, forgetting her little listening ears. He told her about his dog. He shouldn’t have. It wasn’t a story for children; it wasn’t a story for anyone. But talking to Juniper had become its own sort of therapy and it came spilling out of him that day.
“But I do remember. I remember every word. His name was Pal. He was a shepherd mix mutt your dad brought home from the road one day.”
He shook his head, not wanting her to continue, but she pressed on, either oblivious or stubborn.
“He was your constant companion, your best friend. He slept on your floor each night, guarding you, comforting you when your parents fought. And then…and then your dad, well… Pal died.”
John clutched the shirt at her waist, trying not to remember. Of all the horrible things that happened in his childhood, he had no idea why it was the worst memory. His mother had often been at his father’s mercy, had been beaten and bruised. Why a dog’s torturous death should rank higher than that didn’t make sense. But perhaps it was because his mother had a choice in the matter and the dog hadn’t. To this day, the sight of a dog made him sick and he had to look away.
“I remember your face the day you told me. It was the only day in our entire history together that I saw you so sad, so…vulnerable and human. I so badly wanted to help you, to fix you.”
John remembered how she’d climbed in his lap, little arms hugging his neck tightly. That day for the first time, maybe for the only time, he hugged her back, pressing his face hard into her neck and squeezing in return. He’d forgotten, until now. Another memory blocked because he didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to remember that he had once gotten something from his time with the Dunbars. It was easier for him to believe he’d been an unwilling participant in their family dynamic than to believe he’d walked away from an actual family who’d loved him, who he had loved in return.
“I’m quite a mess, Juniper,” he declared.
“We’re all a mess in our own way, Bear,” she returned.
“You are not a mess. Look at you, so lovely and put together. A botanist, working on your own in your chosen field.”
“I’m certain no one looking at you would guess what you’ve been through, either,” she reminded him. “People only see what we want them to see. They only see the masks we put up.” They were silent a while. Somewhere in there they’d stopped swaying. Instead they clung, hugging tightly, her ear on his heart, his head on hers. “You should get a dog.”
“Can’t,” he said.
“Because you’re gone too much or because it hurts too much?”
“Both,” he reluctantly admitted. There was no sense in trying to tiptoe around the truth when she already knew it. Strangely, he didn’t mind so much to have her peer into the painful parts of him, the parts he tried to keep hidden.
“This is where a wife would come in handy. She could keep the dog while you’re away. Coincidentally, I love dogs.”
He laughed and gave her a squeeze. “You’re relentless.”
“You already knew that about me.”
“Yes, but I’d forgotten. I forgot a lot of things I shouldn’t have, Juniper. I’m sorry about that. Sorry I hurt you, sorry I hurt your folks.”
She eased back so she could see his face. “You were an eighteen-year-old kid, dealing with a lot of painful emotional scars.”
“You’re being awfully generous and forgiving,” he noted.
“I wasn’t finished. You were an eighteen-year-old hurting kid then, but you’re a thirty-two-year old man now. What are you gonna do about it? Because it seems to me you have some lost years to make up for, to me especially. Starting now.”
“You don’t give up.”
“Not ever,” she said. “I happen to know a good thing when I see it and you, Major Caruthers, are the best thing I’ve ever found. Now, I want you to do something for me.”
“What’s that?” he asked. If she asked him to kiss her right now, he wasn’t certain he had the strength to resist, nor that he wanted to.
“I want you to try and beat me to the other side.” With a little smack to his bicep, she turned and took off.
John’s competitive instinct roared to life. He set off, overtook her in three steps, then made the mistake of turning to look at her—hair streaming, face beaming. He stopped short and stood still while she sprinted past him, arms out, poppies all around her. He hadn’t spent a lot of his time pondering artwork or photographs, but he wished then he had the talent and ability to capture the moment, not that he’d ever be able to forget.
Juniper stopped at the other side of the field, bent over and trying to catch her breath. John caught up with her slowly. When he reached her side, she straightened and tossed him a saucy smile.
“Does this confirm the fact that you’re too old to win?” she asked.
“Maybe. Or maybe it confirms that I’ve finally found something I like better than winning,” he said.
“And what might that be?” she asked.
“Juniper Dunbar, enjoying life.”
“If I didn’t know you better, I might think that was a line.”
“Then knowing me as you do, you realize it’s not. You are full in on life, Juni. Brimming with passion and joy. It’s a sight to behold.” He reached up and touched one of her curls. Her hair was tousled, as usual. And as usual she seemed not to notice. But he liked that about her. Juniper was more concerned with the actuality of living than the appearance of it. He picked up her hand and inspected her nails, confirming what he’d guessed. They were broken and jagged, stained from so many hours in the dirt and touching tree bark and sap.
“You’re staring at my fingers a disconcerting amount. You can’t keep them, you know. I need them.”
“I would, if I could,” he said, bringing her hand to his cheek. He pressed it to his face. “I would keep every part of you tucked in my pocket and bring it out when I need a smile. Because you make me smile, Juniper, even when I don’t want to. You make me remember there are good people in the world. You make me believe.”
Far from being pleased by his words, she looked sad. “Just not enough.”
They regarded each other in somber silence a moment, her unable to let go of the hope that he might unbend and let her in, him unable to convey how much he already had. Did she have no idea the changes she had already wrought in him? But he couldn’t give her more. They had reached the end of the line.
He turned his back to her. “Hop on, I’ll carry you the rest of the way.”
“How far is it?” she asked. She hopped on his back and nestled her nose against his cheek, inhaling his scent while unconsciously bestowing her own.
“Not far enough,” he said and, with an affectionate little pat to her arm, set off once again.