Penelope (13 page)

“Don’t panic. I invited him to spar and he’s too afraid to hit me. So I’m kicking his ass.”

“I was taught not to hit girls,” he said in retort to her statement.

“You know, girls start fights too. Look at how many men have had to chase down their dismembered parts because of a woman.”

“Amelia!” Penelope screeched again.

“I’m not sure how she got pregnant. She’s really a prude.”

He watched as Penelope’s face began to grow redder. He pulled the helmet from his head. “I could do with some coffee. Do you mind if I make some?”

Amelia shook her head. “You’re done already?”

“I think so.”

She nodded. “I’d love some coffee. Yell down when it’s done.”

Brock pulled the gloves from his hands, tucked them into the helmet, and set them in the corner. He followed Penelope up to the kitchen and could hear Amelia begin her assault on the heavy bag.

“Did she hurt you?” Penelope asked the moment he cleared the last step.

“No.”

“She used to train soldier’s wives to defend themselves against their husbands. The first time she met Adam she kicked his butt too.”

He laughed and moved toward the coffee pot. “She’s very strong.” He pulled out the pot and began to fill it with water at the sink. “I heard that her mother died in combat.”

“Yes. Those are some big shoes to fill.”

“You’re right.” He turned off the water and began to fill the coffee maker. “Speaking of mothers—I asked mine if she’d mind if you came for a visit with me.”

“You what?” Her voice was sharp. “Why do you want me to go visit your mother? I don’t really know you.”

Brock could feel anger rise in him at her reaction, but he focused on the task at hand to calm himself. Filter. Coffee—two scoops. Close the filter lid. Press brew. Breathe in. Breathe out.

By the time he turned to look at her he was calmer, but by the look on her face she wasn’t.

“You don’t have to make the trip with me. It was only a thought—an kind invitation,” he said as calmly as he could.

Her lip trembled and she adjusted the nightshirt as if she finally realized what she was wearing. “I just met you.”

“I understand that.”

“I still don’t understand why you want to be around me. I’m someone else’s discarded, pregnant wife. I have nothing to offer a man.”

She was batting her eyes and he could see the moisture on her lashes. Why did he have to always make her cry?

Brock took a step toward her then stopped. “You weren’t discarded.”

“Sure I was. He didn’t choose me the first time he met me and marrying was a game to him. It doesn’t make a woman feel very worthwhile.”

He took the few steps to get closer to her. “What do you mean he didn’t choose you the first time?”

Her lips twitched and her eyes batted faster. “We met him at a bar one night, an ex-friend and I. She went home with him.”

Brock felt the last bit of respect he held for the man plummet to the bottom of his stomach. “He was taking girls home from the bar?”

Penelope nodded. “That should have been that. I should have forgotten all about it, but I couldn’t. The next time I saw him he was talking to
me
. He knew I was a virgin and was waiting for marriage and he just wooed me.”

He hadn’t heard that word in a long time—wooed? But what he heard loud and clear was that Sergeant Monroe was a player and Penelope had been played.

Despite the kisses they’d shared—and especially the ones she’d planted on him—he knew he had to tread carefully on the subject. He wasn’t just dealing with a woman scorned by a man. He was dealing with a pregnant widow of a lying, cheating man.

She was wiping at those moist eyes now and he couldn’t let her cry without offering some kind of support.

Brock pulled her to him and held her against his chest. Her blonde curls went in all directions so he smoothed over them with his hand.

“Think about going home with me. Nothing more than a few days away from here. I want you to meet my family and to just be around family. My sister has kids and my sister-in-law is pregnant too. You’d have someone to talk to about it.”

She eased against him and he closed his eyes. Months of looking at her face in pictures hadn’t prepared him for actually holding her in his arms.

“I will warn you,” he said on a laugh. “My mother will try to feed you. You’ll want to take small portions.”

She giggled against his chest and looked up at him. “My mother never cooked for me. I’m guessing your mother’s bad cooking beats that.”

In that moment he knew this wasn’t just looking at her face in pictures or fulfilling a promise, there was more.
He
wanted to take care of her and give her a life with no missing pieces.

When the tears had dried Penelope had become very aware that she was still in her pajamas, teeth unbrushed, and her hair a mass of unruly curls. As quickly as she’d run down the stairs when she heard the commotion in the basement, she retreated to get ready.

Brock found a mug and poured a cup of coffee. And because he could hear Amelia on the steps, he poured one for her too and had it in his hand when she finally showed herself.

“I’m not very sneaky, huh?” She smiled as she reached for the mug.

“You might be just fine. I’m trained to hear everything.”

Amelia nodded and sipped. “You want to take her home and meet your family? That sounds like a relationship thing. You just met her.”

Brock decided that his week as a civilian had dampened his senses. He hadn’t heard Amelia until Penelope had left the room. But she must have been on the stairs for a long time.

“I think a dose of real family would do her some good. I want her to see not every man was raised by a screaming mother like Sergeant Monroe’s. Or a neglectful one, like her own.”

“She doesn’t talk about her mother much.”

“I don’t think there’s much to say,” he said as he sipped at his own coffee.

He was fully aware that they would protect Penelope against anyone. Whatever the bond was between them was strong and he was a stranger.

Brock set his coffee on the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I know that Mrs. Monroe—Vivian—doesn’t trust my reasons for being here. I want you to know though, I don’t mean anyone any harm.”

Amelia nodded slowly. “She’s vulnerable right now.”

“I know that. And I’ll admit I might have shown up here already half in love with her. That doesn’t help.”

Now he’d turned Amelia against him. He saw it in the stance she took when she turned and set her mug on the kitchen table.

His first response was to stand away from the counter and prepare his body for a battle. It took more will power to remain at ease, leaned against the counter—arms crossed.

“What the hell does that mean?” She was moving toward him now, but he remained at ease.

“I carried her pictures for months. I built her up in my mind. What else was I supposed to do? She got me through my recovery. Knowing I’d be coming here to meet her and give her what Sergeant Monroe asked me to kept my spirits up.”

“You said in love.”

“I did. I don’t mean I think she loves me or that I am in fact in love with her. I just have the advantage here.”

“Now you sound like him.”

And that made him stand up straight. “In no way did I mean to. I came here thinking he was an upstanding man, but I’ve changed my mind.”

Her jaw twitched and she took a step back. “A good solider. Not an upstanding man.”

Brock nodded. “I’ll agree with you there.”

Amelia paced the kitchen. “You’re good for her. Vivian doesn’t think so, but I do.”

That hurt, though he wasn’t sure why it was important for them all to like him, but he’d like to have Vivian’s approval too. “I want to be good for her. I want to be here for her and the baby.”

Now Amelia’s eyes narrowed on him. “What does that give you?”

His shoulders dropped. “Give me?”

“What man meets a woman and suddenly wants to take on her unborn child?”

Was that what he’d said? “I meant that I want to be a good male role model for her baby. Penelope didn’t have a man in her life, but I think her baby should.”

“And you’re volunteering to take that position?”

“I think I’d be a fine prospect.”

“Like a job?”

“Like something I think is important and I’d like to do.”

The scowl slipped away and there was something in her eyes that said he’d answered correctly. “How long have your parents been married?”

“Nearly forty years.”

“You have siblings?”

“A brother and a sister.” He knew where she was going now and he was just going to beat her to the punch. “My sister and her husband have three children and my brother and his wife are expecting their first.”

That something in her eyes was a sparkle and it was bright now and so was the smile that formed on her lips. “You come from a good family.”

“The best if you ask me.”

Amelia turned and picked up her coffee. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you can understand why we are a little hesitant.”

“I would be too. But I will never—ever—hurt her.”

“That’s a lot to ask from anyone.”

“That’s a promise I can keep.”

As he turned to pick up his mug they both heard Penelope scream from the top of the stairs.

They both set their mugs down as they ran for her just as the front door opened and Vivian walked through.

“What’s going on?” She was right behind them as they started up.

“I saw a mouse! I saw a mouse!” Penelope screamed and all three of them stopped on the top step and just looked at her.

“Are you kidding me?” Amelia’s eyes went wide. “You screamed because of that?”

Penelope’s lips tightened. “It scared me.”

Brock wanted to laugh, but that wasn’t nice so he stifled it as he cleared the first step. “Where did it go?”

Penelope pointed to the room across the hallway.

Brock nodded and walked to the room opening the door. There were boxes stored against the walls and a few pieces of old furniture.

Amelia followed behind him. “This is the next item to fix. It’ll be the office.”

He looked around. “Well it looks like we should get it started soon.” He pointed to the corner. “There is the hole.”

He walked toward the wall where the trim had been gnawed away. Brock knocked on the wall and above them he heard the scattering.

“Oh, God! They’re in the attic!” Penelope had nearly jumped on Vivian.

“I’ll go look,” he offered and walked out into the hallway.

Just as he pulled the rope to the stairs all three women yelled, “Wait!” But it was too late. The wall of steps came crashing toward him giving him only a moment to step out of their way as they crashed toward him.

The air was thick and they all looked at him.

“I’ll fix those today,” he said.

Amelia nodded. “You’re lucky it didn’t hit you. Sam wasn’t so fortunate.”

“Sam got hit by that?” They all nodded. “That could kill someone.”

Brock stepped onto the first step and felt the stairs shift under his weight.

“Is there a light up here or do you have a flashlight?”

“There is a switch just to the right at the top,” Vivian said as she watched him.

He gave them a nod and started up the steps. When he reached the top he felt for the switch, hoping nothing would bite him first.

As soon as he hit the light the room above him illuminated with white Christmas lights strung from side to side.

“Have any of you been up here?” He looked down at three shaking heads.

“No,” Amelia said. “As soon as Sam tried and the stairs hit him we didn’t go back up.”

“Well it’s really pretty.” He continued up until he was in the small, dusty room. “Someone used this space once as a library or something.”

He looked around at the shelves of books and the small couch by the window that looked out over the front of the house. It was certainly filled with storage items, which someone had recently stacked near the opening, but once it was a room someone enjoyed.

Brock looked down as Vivian started up the steps, followed by Penelope and then Amelia.

Vivian looked around. “I can’t believe I have never been up here.” She took in the sight.

Penelope coughed and his instinct was to move quickly to her. She smiled at him and moved closer.

Amelia stopped as she cleared the step. “This is awesome. Who would have done this?”

“Adam’s grandmother,” Vivian said looking around. “She was a German Jew who had survived the Holocaust as a child. During the years of hiding she read a lot. That became a source of security to her. The older she became and her mind began to slip, she would hide with books. This is where she hid.”