17. Maggie
SEVENTEEN
MAGGIE
“Need a caramel for the road?” Walter asked, offering a soft chew from his jacket pocket.
“Thanks, Walter. You’re the best.” I unwrapped the candy as we headed leisurely down the path from his front porch toward the main sidewalk that ran through the neighborhood.
I’d offered him a ride to the monthly Legion meeting, but he insisted he always walked as long as the weather held, and with winter not too far off, he wanted to take advantage as long as he could.
“My daughter drops me off afterward,” he assured me. But there was no reason to let him walk alone when I was hoping to drop in on the meeting myself. Might be easier to do if I had a chaperone to vouch for my attendance.
I glanced across the street as I waited for Walter, meaning only to see if Ellie was peeking through the curtain, but of course my traitorous gaze landed on Luke’s unit.
We hadn’t spoken since he dropped me off yesterday. An hour after I was home and fully dry from the yoga incident, I went over to return his flannel jacket, but he was already gone. I heard a door close sometime in the middle of the night, but I’d not seen nor heard any sign of him since.
The man was so damn confusing. Hot one minute, and colder than an iceberg the next. If I knew mentioning his late mother was off-limits, I obviously would’ve kept my mouth shut. Or maybe I’d have licked my lips instead, because I swore he was about to lean into the truck cab and kiss me.
And for some stupid reason that seemed to supersede simple lust, I wanted him to kiss me.
“I’m going a little slower today than usual,” Walter said, as though in apology.
“I don’t mind.”
“Then let me grab on to your arm. If anyone asks, I’m simply taking a lazy evening stroll with a beautiful woman.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” I winked at him, masking my concern behind a chipper expression.
He was moving slower tonight than any other I’d witnessed. Not an outright reason to be concerned, but I’d keep an eye on him this week just in case.
“No Ellie tonight?” Walter asked as we officially turned onto the neighborhood sidewalk and headed down the block.
“She’s pooped. We spent half the day at Paws of Purpose. She had so much fun helping socialize the puppies, but I think she overdid it.”
“Ken and Jenny surprised to see her?”
“They were. I thought they’d be disappointed that she didn’t make it through service dog training. But turns out, they almost didn’t send her in the first place.”
It was a happy reunion, and the couple who raised puppies to prepare them for official service dog training was delightful. Ellie and I had an open invitation to drop by anytime we wanted while we were still in town.
I experienced a brief moment of disappointment, confronted with the reminder that this stop in Bluebell Springs was temporary. I yearned for time to slow so I could savor every moment of this visit.
“I think it’s safe to say Ellie ended up right where she was meant to be,” Walter said as we turned the corner and headed toward downtown.
“She did indeed.”
The Legion Hall was easy to spot, not just because it was one of the only buildings on the main strip constructed entirely of brick, but because most of the cars downtown were flanked around the building.
“This reminds me of my grandpa,” I told Walter as we approached.
“He used to take me to Legion meetings when I was little. I was the only kid, of course. But I loved it. They made me the beer runner, and I thought it was the most important job ever. My mom loved it, too, because by the time I got home, I was totally wiped out from running back and forth from the bar counter to the seating area that I didn’t even fight bedtime. ”
“I hope they didn’t let you drink beer?”
“Don’t tell my mom, but Grandpa snuck me a sip once when I was seven. It was terrible. I’ve never touched a beer since.”
Walter cackled at that as we walked through the propped-open door of the Legion Hall.
It warmed my heart to see half the seats already filled, and several veterans mingling throughout the space—all men as far as I could tell.
The majority were older—Vietnam, I’d guess.
Definitely some Desert Storm vets, but I was pleasantly surprised by the number of veterans my age.
I recognized Connor, but not the two guys he was talking to.
I scanned the hall for signs of Luke, annoyed at the disappointment his absence caused me to feel. My trip would be far less complicated if I avoided the man, as I originally planned. So why was I so eager to stir up trouble?
“Would you smack me if I asked you to get me a beer?” Walter asked, nodding at the bar counter in the back corner of the open room.
“I’d be delighted. Save me a seat?”
“I have reserved seating on account of being the oldest one here.” He winked. “I’ll meet you in the front row.”
I slipped through the crowd, nodding a hello to Joe from the hardware store as I got in line at the bar.
“It’s not supposed to rain until Thursday,” I heard an older man say.
“I’m telling you, it’s going to rain,” another argued.
“There’s nothing in the forecast,” his buddy pointed out between sips of beer.
“My knee’s killing me tonight. Ever since I jumped out of that Huey down in Mekong Delta and twisted it all to hell in that rice paddy, I’ve been able to predict when it’ll rain. Trust me. It’s going to rain.”
“You should really get that looked at,” the other man said.
“It’s too expensive and there’s too much damn red tape.”
I should stay out of their conversation.
I didn’t know these men, and they didn’t know me.
But I had a sixth sense when it came to veterans who could use a little guidance with benefits they may not even understand they had, so I took a chance.
“Do you have a claim filed with the VA? For your knee?”
Both men looked at me, obviously taken aback by the stranger who’d been eavesdropping.
I readied my apology for the interruption, but before I could get it out, the gentleman with the messed-up knee said, “Damn military screwed up my knee, and do they care? No. I tried to call, but I just get told to log in and do it myself. They don’t want to help me. ”
“I could help you,” I offered.
The man twisted his face in distrust. “Who are you again?”
“Sorry, Maggie Holland. I’m just passing through. But when I heard there was a Legion meeting, I couldn’t resist dropping in.”
“Who in your family served?” the other man asked, understandably skeptical of my attendance.
“I did.”
“What branch?”
“Army.”
“Still in?”
“No, I’ve been separated for about a decade. But I’ve done a lot of work off and on with active duty and veterans since I got out. I’d be happy to help you submit your claim.”
I braced for the rejection. These men didn’t know me. Sure, Walter could vouch for me, but I was still overstepping. But if there was even a sliver of a chance I could help, I felt compelled to try.
“I don’t have a computer,” the man with the injured knee said.
“Not a problem. I do.”
He took a slow sip from his beer can, then set it back on the bar. “Why would you want to help me?”
“Why not?” Finally at the front of the line, I quickly ordered Walter his beer.
Once I had it in hand, I added, “I can come by the Legion Hall anytime tomorrow. If you want my help, all you need to bring is your DD-214, and I’ll walk you through the rest.” I could tell he was still on the fence, and I didn’t want to push him off the wrong side.
“Just let me know at the end of the meeting.”
I turned and nearly face-planted into a wall of cedar-scented flannel. A firm hand caught me by the back of my arm, steadying me. An electrical current from the point of contact shot up my arm, and my pulse went wonky.
“You okay?” It was impossible to look at Luke Mason and not notice his towering height, but standing toe-to-toe with him, it felt as though those light blue eyes were looking down at me from another time zone.
“I’m good, but I might need to get Walter a new beer.
” I looked down at the sealed can, my forehead grazing his chest. The roar of chatter around us dulled to a low hum, or maybe it was the way Luke’s body seemed to cocoon around me, creating a bubble for just the two of us.
This close proximity was a hazard to my sanity, and yet, I didn’t move.
I didn’t want to move. I wanted everyone else to leave.
“I’ll take that one,” Luke offered.
“I’d wait a bit to open it,” I said, handing over the can. His fingertips grazed mine, leaving behind a trail of heat. Maybe I was the one who was hot and cold. One minute I was determined to avoid him at all costs, and the next I was fighting the urge to crawl under his shirt to get closer to him.
You’re not well.
“Let me get you a new one,” Luke offered.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s the least I can do.” He placed his hand on my shoulder, urging me to turn back toward the bar.
All this light touching was scrambling my brain, and it took an embarrassing amount of concentration to put one foot in front of the other without tripping over them.
What the hell was wrong with me? Was I so starved for physical contact with a man that my bones practically turned to liquid at the slightest touch? I wouldn’t survive an orgasm from this man. Of that I was certain.
“Chief, you made it,” an older man in a striped button-up shirt said, joining us and popping our invisible bubble. As though a volume knob had been turned up, the roar of conversation grew louder once again.
A woman wearing a T-shirt with the words #TeamDarius and a pair of bloody fangs on the front looped her hand through the man’s arm. Despite the T-shirt, she wore several layers of necklaces, all different materials, colors, and designs.
“I’m so glad I’m not the only woman in this sausage fest,” she said to me, starting a separate conversation from the men. “I’m Dylann Mercer. This here’s my husband, Frank.”
Frank nodded, but otherwise continued talking to Luke about power tools and logistics.