“Not anymore,” she agreed. “But he has issues, honey.”
“He was a soldier.”Like Dad. “You can’t hold that against him.”
My mother gave me another sharp, penetrating look. “I don’t hold it against him. I respect him for trying to turn his life around. Dan’s a good man. It’s not easy adjusting to civilian life, even with support.”
All my life, I had relied on my mother’s advice, protected by her wisdom, secure in her love. But...
“I just want to be his friend. I think he could use one.”And so could I.
“As long as that’s all it is.”
That’s all it could be.
“I love Colt,” I reminded her.
My mother shook her head. “You have such a soft heart.”
I smiled. “Dan said I take after you.”
“That’ll get you in trouble one day,” Momma said.
No marble lions guarded the Laurence house, a mile down the road from our farmhouse. Only Mr. Laurence himself, with his growly voice and intimidating eyebrows.
The first few months after Trey came to live with his grandfather, my sisters were in and out of their house all the time. Especially Jo. At eleven, I felt too young—and much too timid—to tag along.
“You’re a year older than Amy,” Jo had pointed out.
But Amy was never shy.
That Halloween, though, Meg and Jo had been invited to a party atSallie Gardiner’s with Trey. Before the party, they were taking Amy and me trick-or-treating in town. Meg, the oldest, was entrusted to drive. I was glad not to go to the Gardiners’. I would have skipped trick-or-treating, too, even in our familiar old neighborhood. But Amy had sulked and Meg had coaxed and Jo promised it would be for only a little while.
Which is how I’d found myself standing in the lion’s den that night, facing old Mr. Laurence himself.
Meg had dressed for the party as a demurely sexy vampire. Amy was a glittery rock star. (She had been a glittery princess the year before and a glittery fairy the year before that.)
“And who are you supposed to be?” Mr. Laurence barked at Jo, in period costume.
She grinned at him. “Mary Wollstonecraft.”
“Who’s that?”
Jo brandished the pamphlet in her hand. “She wroteA Vindication of the Rights of Woman.”
“Votes for women!” Trey said.
Mr. Laurence harrumphed and turned those scary eyebrows on me. “And you are...?”
I wore a white tunic Amy had made from a sheet and carried a sword, a play prop borrowed from Jo. I opened my mouth to explain, but no words came out.
“She’s Joan of Arc,” Jo said.
My face was one hot blush. As if I could even pretend to be that brave.
Mr. Laurence had scowled quite fiercely and then winked, so quickly I almost didn’t see it. “You look like Princess Leia to me.”
Like a heroine.
Even all these years later, the memory made me smile. He’d always been so kind to me.
